Crossing into Armenia

 Crossing into Armenia

Sorry folks but the weather has been so wet, misty and low cloud that there have been no decent photos to post except...

We departed Telavi, the obvious route had a lot of road works so we took a different route via Ninotsminda, Sagorejo, renowned for its nearby Davit Gareti monastery plus a castle on a hill before and several nodding donkeys so we were passing through one of Georgia’s oil fields.

We reached the border crossing to Armenia. The truck through quickly until it reached Armenian customs. The passengers were through in a reasonable time. We stood around and waited for Alan and Frida. It looks like a truck but it carries passengers, so it is a bus. It is a common problem as buses and lorries are treated and importantly, taxed, differently. Drivers always argued for the cheaper option, typically calling the vehicle a bus. (Although to overlanders, the vehicle is always referred to as a truck; some trips impose penalties for overlanders referring to the vehicle as a bus, for instance, a minor monetary fine towards a communal BBQ drinks kitty or ten press-ups in public).

The whole process took three hours. Whilst we were waiting, it started raining. When the truck had finally through customs having been classified as a bus, we drove into the mountains to find a bush camp in the rain. We passed two unsuitable sites. We just had to stop before it got too dark. The third site wasn’t ideal as the ground sloped and it was next a road that looked quiet but there was intermittent traffic all night, grinding up the steep slope in low gear.

We erected the kitchen awning, put up tents in the rain and except for the cook group, most people sat in the dry on the back of the truck, waiting for our dinner of spaghetti bolognaise. Luckily a simple meal to prepare in adverse conditions.

It rained for most of the night and was still raining at dawn. It held off just long enough to have breakfast and pack away the kitchen awning and the tents before it started again. We drove on to Dilijani and its national park. There are two nearby monasteries to see plus a few sites in the town but it is also a beautiful area known for its hiking trails.

I would normally jump at the chance to go for a walk in the mountains. It was cold, the forecast was for rain all day and we had bush camped for two nights and were scheduled to bush for another nights. I didn’t want to get wet. I couldn’t tie shoelaces as one hand was in a caste and I hadn’t had enough practice to get it right.  

At the last two bush camps, everyone was helpful. They saw me struggling, left me alone for a few minutes to develop my skills using teeth, elbows and just one hand. John thought it quite amusing to watch me struggle with one hand with whatever task I was trying to achieve and how innovative I could be to achieve success.

After those few minutes of leaving me alone to develop some of those one handed skill, someone would come over and sort me out, to tie laces, help my tent buddy to put up the tent, or thread a belt through the trouser loops. I could call on everyone to help me. Most people had either offered general help or specific help such to help my tent buddy take down the tent in the morning.

I still wanted to contribute to the group and they had their own jobs to do. I struggled, they all pitched in to help the group, to help me and to help my tent buddy to erect or pack away our tent.