It was a cold, but dry night and the coldest morning so far. There was a lovely pink sunrise and the clouds lower down in the valley created a rather wonderful mystical scene as we peered over them. Some birds wheeled in a changing black pattern overhead in the early morning light. A magical moment.

We were pleased to find that nothing had got too damp overnight so we were able pack up the Ritz and our camping bag that holds our sleeping bags, sleeping mats and pillows. Several of the most recent wet camping nights have led to our having to dry the sleeping bags out in the truck before stuffing them away.

After breakfast set we set off for the half an hour ride to the border. However, the brief hop to Georgia was not to be. Within the first 50 yards Penelope slewed in the mud and came to an abrupt stop, back wheels dug six inches in the turf. A muddy hour and much churning later there had still been no progress. Zaza and Emma went off into the village for help while Simon, with us working as his labourers, continued to try to get the truck to make progress up the hill. About twenty minutes later, five men wandered down towards us. They looked more likely to be an additional audience to the drama than offering help but, as it proved, our first impression was incorrect and this was not the case. About five minutes later the roaring of a large engine heralded the arrival over the hill of one of the heavyweight Russian Gaz trucks that had appeared on the trip earlier to get us up to the high pastureland of Kyrgystan.

Initially, the Russian heavyweight equally had no joy, but once the decision had been made to run the truck down the field to another exit, Penelope was able to kick herself out of the mud. We were not allowed to ride the truck out, so made our way to the road on foot and met up with Simon and Penelope when they were safely out of the mud. Two hours later than anticipated, we were back on track.

We zig zagged down the hill as the road made its way to the bottom of the valley through the tree covered slopes of the valley sides. Fruit sellers occasionally appeared on the roadside. The day’s earlier sunshine had clouded over and by the time we reached the border it was quite a grey day. Happily, I think it was the easiest border crossing we have experienced so far and before long we were back in Georgia, our last country before Turkey.

We passed through almost tumble down towns, with crumbling concrete and with television satellite dishes vying for position with washing on apartment balconies. There were few people about.

In another couple of hours the enormous sprawl of Tbilisi was below us. A quarter of Georgia’s population live in Tbilisi the capital. From the road,
blocks and blocks of white apartment buildings shone in sunshine across the other side of the valley to our approach. On the edge of the city there were signs of additional building as pipes were being laid and land cleared. Eventually the river that divides the new and old city came into view and then the opposite bank rose to cliff like proportions. Hotels peered down from the cliff top in a rather haughty way like elderly matrons overseeing the day to day activity of the traffic below.

Our hotel was on the other side of the river. The first bridge we came to was closed. Driving on we found an alternative way across the river and turned towards the city. We followed several tree lined streets and turned into the Freedom Square and we ground to a halt for the second time in the day. Now what? A parade! Suddenly the paraders came into our view some in local costumes – many were quite young. Unfortunately the drivers behind us did not have the benefit of our high perch and lots of hooting broke out behind us.

Despite the pressure from behind, we waited and watched the young people go past. Eventually a policeman signalled us forward and we found our hotel in a narrow street just across from the old city. The cars parked by the side of the road and the wedding taking place in the church at the bottom of the road made it a very tight squeeze, but we were able to get out and into our rooms.

Keith and I decided not to take on Tbilisi at this stage but to rejoin our chums for the Georgian food and dancing in the evening. A wise decision.
When we got to the venue it was to find quite a gathering of people in rather festive mood, including the group from the Dragoman truck, Odyssey’s arch competitors. I think we last saw them in Baku. Their numbers are about 20 in about the same sized vehicle. Take it from me, that number would be horrendous. We are now at 10, having retrieved Sarah and Wendy and life is very comfortable.

The food and traditional dancing were great. To top the evening, ZaZa bought all the ladies a rose. These Georgians are such charmers…….

The day dawned bright and sunny. Our sojourn in Yerevan was over and we had quite a late start to the day, leaving at 10.00 am. The plan is to head back towards the Georgian border and camp over night. We have to go to Georgia to get into Turkey as the Armenian/Turkish border is closed due to the strained relations between the two countries.

As we left the modern city centre, old houses (looking more like shacks) appeared on the steep banks on the side of the road. These were in marked contrast to the designer mansions on top of the banks looking back towards the city. Soon both are left behind and we are in the countryside again.

At one point we are looking over into the mist where we should be seeing the long disputed Mount Ararat. The darned thing has been swathed in mist since we arrived. We can only hope that we get a better view from the Turkish side later in the month. At the moment this seems somewhat disloyal to the people who have been so nice to us in Armenia and for whom the ownership of Mount Ararat is such a big issue.

Gold trees line the highway. These give way to fields and mountains and we look down on a town sloping away from the road. There is little traffic. We pass a man guarding his cow as it grazes by the roadside in a gap in the sharply painted blue and white safety barrier. I think this is the first safety barrier I have seen since we left the M25. It proves to be very short lived!

Now and again a person sits in isolation by the side of the road with a small pile of apples. What chance of anyone stopping I wonder…..

Before long we stopped at the base of a hill by a lake. Perched on the top of the steep incline is the dome of a church. After rather breathlessly climbing up to the top (the air is a bit thin – we are back at 6,000 feet above sea level) we arrive at the Sevanavank Monastery. It is built on a site which once boasted a pagan temple. These monks certainly know how to pick their locations don’t they? Looking down over the beautiful blue lake, now fringed with trees in their autumnal colours, it was quite stunning. There were actually two churches dating back to the 9th century. One, St Katapet, devoted to John the Baptist and the other, St Astvatsatsin dedicated to the Holy Mother of God, apparently. As always the Russians had ‘tidied’ the old monastery ruins in between the two churches and had ‘topped them off’ with some nice white concrete, to encourage tourists (?!?). They had also created something of a resort around the bottom of the hill. Now the Armenian President has a summer residence there as it is really just a step from Yerevan.

What about the monks you might well ask. They have very sensibly built themselves a new monastery site around the back of the hill. Not so good on views, but well out of the way of the tourists. I have a vision of them creeping out after – say – 7.00 when all the trippers have gone to enjoy the tranquility of the place. It was a lovely spot.

Having clambered back down the hill, we set off again. Our journey took rather an interesting turn when we went through a long tunnel where a woman’s voice could be heard making a rather mournful announcement throughout our time in it. Even if we spoke the language, I would defy anyone to know what she was saying. It was a but creepy….. Happily after this we were out into to a deeply sided wooded valley. The road twisted and turned along the bottom of it. The trees are all colours – from green to gold and every shade through to rust.

Our final visit of the day was yet another monastery – the Haghpat Monastery. It sits on what the guidebook describes as the ‘lip’ of the Deped Canyon. The place did nothing for Keith – he later described it as ‘thoroughly underwhelming’ which I found a bit disappointing – but I think it will remain one of the highlights of my trip. I found it had an amazing atmosphere, not least because one of the two churches had three singers practising plain chant. The acoustics were unbelievable. If only you could picture sound! Their voices rang out over as I wandered around the area in the late afternoon sunshine. There has been a church on the site since the 4th century although the current buildings are thought to be 9th century. One of the ancient inscriptions on the wall describes one of the churches as a ‘cathedral site’.

I just found the whole area had a wonderful ‘aura’ and I did not want to leave…..

While we visited the Monastery, Simon and Zaza were negotiating with the local farmer to use his field for our bushcamp. Permission granted, we parked about three hundred metres down the road from the churches in a field with mountains on two sides and the valley and church hill on the two others respectively.

I was on the cooking duty and we soon knocked together a Thai curry. Keith made a fire – but this was all done before 8.00 and it was dark. Bed was really the only option. At least it was not raining and the wind that had been very evident when we arrived on the hill, had completely disappeared. Great.

We opted for a tour of Yerevan’s famous brandy. Our 9.30 tour time was not exactly perfect, but you know us, dedicated to the last……. After a decent breakfast to line the stomach we took off for the brandy factory.

Our tour guide was another painfully thin but pretty, false eyelashed lassy with amazingly high heeled shoes and very tight trousers. A bit difficult for the chaps to concentrate on the issue at hand really, but they did their best!

Anyway, back to the brandy. We visited the Noy (Armenian for Noah) brandy factory which is associated with the famous(?) Ararat brandy originally established in1877, apparently Churchill’s brandy of choice. He is said to have got a brandy maker who Stalin had dispatched to Siberia for political activism, brought back because he noticed a change in the taste of the brandy and as a nationalised industry it could not afford to lose such a good customer. It is said that Churchill was sent over 300 bottles a year ! The current Noy factory supplies brandy to the Kremlin.

The factory is built on the site of an old fortress. The site suffered from both earthquakes and Russians. Following the collapse of the Soviet regime, the factory fell into disrepair. In 2003 it was taken over by a Russian oligarch who looked a real bruiser in the photographs – in each photograph he had on a red tie unknotted and his shirt undone! Not quite the ticket! Nevertheless he has made a good job of resurrecting the brandy factory.
We had a great tour and saw the vast vats of the stuff in the cellars. One of the old cellar walls is dated 1600 and from there tunnels duck out by prisoners of the fort go out. One now ends up at the American Embassy which was not, of course, there when they broke the surface and the other in the city square, now old barrels line the tunnels. Some of the larger barrels hold 15,000 litres of brandy.

The inevitable tasting, despite the hour, included a 90 year old wine found when the factory was resurrected. It was something like Madeira. The 20 year old brandy was very good. However, all good things have to come to an end and following our lesson on how to drink and age brandy, our young guide teetered back to us to tell us that our hour was up and before long we were back out on the pavement, clutching our 20 year old brandy purchase.

We decided to adjourn to the hotel for some r and r. We lunched on leftovers from the previous night’s Armenian feast and then went our separate ways, Keith to an afternoon to himself and I set off to town with Helen.

First we went to do some people watching while having a drink at the Marriott pavement cafe in Republic Square. This was very entertaining as
we watched the fashions go by, was fascinated by the members of a delegation disappear into their black limousines with all their designer packages and had a preview of Yerevan’s birthday celebrations at the weekend