It was another beautiful day as we left the delights of Batumi to travel to the Sumela monastery, half a day away.

Breakfast was interesting as the hotel had provided a picnic breakfast to eat on the truck. This basically comprised hard boiled eggs (lots), plastic sausages individually wrapped in thin plastic (lots), plastic pots of yoghurt and jam covered in cling film and bread. It was not terribly appetising and it turned up for lunch as well, but then (happily) it was abandoned.

On a personal note, the not very funny humerus (near enough!) is now beginning to turn black from the escapade of the persimmon trees. It will be long gloves up passed the elbow for me for the foreseeable future…….

We pulled away from the hotel and it’s sparkling seaside location and followed the promenade as it continued along the sea shore. As we headed towards Turkey, mountains appeared to our left as the sea glistened to our right. In no time we were at the border, the last before we leave for home and we were bidding fond farewell to Zaza who has been such a lovely and knowledgable guide.

To us border veterans, this was a doddle – it took no time at all – but it was far busier than any of the other borders experienced on the trip. It was also far more efficient. We were soon back on the truck, continuing to skirt the Black Sea. It was interesting that there were fishing boats now in the bay, something we did not see in Georgia. Initially a steep cliff rose to our left and our route took us through several tunnels, but then the cliffs fell back and houses and mosques appeared to our left as we continued to follow the coast road. Now the far less towering apartment buildings were cream and pink and yellow. We had at last left the grey Russian concrete behind and were in the land of the Turks, seemingly untouched by the mighty hand of the soviet republic.

Regrettably the brilliant day clouded over as we passed through the coastal towns. More carved tunnels came and went as we continued along the coast. Now there were fig trees by the roadside and geraniums appeared more frequently.

We found an early lunch stop by the sea where some men came to inspect us and chatted to Keith in German (I didn’t know he spoke German!) prior to responding to the call to prayer echoing over the valley. We saw a number of mosques after lunch, full of men and then we realised, of course it was Friday.

Not much later we passed the runway of a small airport. The towns and villages feel very different. The bread shops are different. There are modern trucks and tractors and showrooms selling both.

Eventually we turned away from the sea and turned up a narrow, steep sided, wooded valley. By now it was raining. We passed the town of Macka and then the wooden chalet type hotel where we are staying overnight, but we continued climbing up, passing two fish farms on the way. We eventually stopped at the car park of the Sumela Monastery which clung to the rock wall at the top of the cliff above us.

Nearly 300 metres high, the Sumela is in the tradition of monasteries built near forests, caves and sources of water. Sumela means black and the monastery is thought to be named either in honour of the Black Madonna once owned by the monastery or after the Black Mountains in which it is situated. It was first built in 375 AD and was restored in the 6th century and enlarged to its current size in the 13th century. It was sustained by imperial funds and its rights were preserved by the Ottoman Sultans and the Turks but it was seized by the Russians in 1916-18 and the monastery was abandoned in 1923. The wonderful, although vandalised, frescoes are thought to date from the 9th to the 19th century, with the majority from the more recent past.

How do these monks decide on these amazing locations? Does Brother Barnabas or the Abbot Petronichus wake up one morning thinking ‘today I will go and create a monastery which will hang on the side and at the top of a cliff’ and then pick up his spade and pick axe, gather up his prayer book and rosary beads and a few friends and set off? What happened to my enterprise of this kind? Did I just miss out? It is a puzzle …..

There were two paths up to the monastery, one was a very steep zig zag for one and a half kilometres and the other was a three kilometre walk up the road. We of course opted for the short and steep route and I panted as I climbed up the steep incline for about half an hour to be rewarded by an amazing view down into the valley and the monastery just above me. After a flight of steep stone steps (oh joy) we arrived at the monastery buildings. Although now only the shells of the rooms remain, their use was quite clear. Niches for books in the library, the large fire place and the bread ovens in the kitchens and fireplaces in the monks cells. By far the best feature of the monastery were the frescoes both inside and outside the main building. Although graffitied and vandalised they are still quite remarkable.

I loved the it because, once again, I cannot but admire the commitment, skill and enthusiasm that goes into creating such a place.

Although it was still raining, Keith and I opted to walk down the steep route, made even more treacherous by the fallen leaves which the rain had stuck to the rocks underfoot. Nevertheless it was good to be out and to take time to reflect on what we had seen.

Once we had all gathered again it was back into the truck to go back to our hotel. This proved to be excellently snug as they had turned the heating on for us. Bliss!

As the hotel was somewhat remote, we ate in and had an excellent repast of dal soup, trout and rice pudding. We then adjourned for a very early night,

Listening to the rain dripping down outside we did spare a thought for the Dragoman group we had met up at the monastery who were camping overnight further up the valley……..

When we woke up the rain had stopped and all that could be heard was the water rushing over the rocks in the river below. We had a good breakfast and set off for the interim stop en route for Goreme. It should have been a bush camp but the rather heavy rain we have experienced led to a request, supported by all, that we should try and get a hotel instead. Happily Emma had been successful in her mission so no more camping. Good news! We settled down for a nine hour drive.

Our route down out of the valley took us back through Macke where new apartment buildings were in progress on the hillside. We passed the mosque and stopped at the bakers for lunch supplies. Although not raining it was dulling heavily. At the end of the valley we reached the large city of Trabzon where unexpectedly (well I didn’t expect it anyway) we were back at the Black Sea. Larger fishing trawlers were out in the bay. A watery sun came out and went again.

We followed the coast road for a couple of hours. It was totally urbanised with apartments, houses, restaurants and small hotels fringing the road on our left as the Black Sea continued to our right. We then left the water and turned inland again. By now the rain was back. It was a true mountain pass similar to those in the Lake District. The river ran through the valley bottom and hills. The surfaced road came and went and reappeared again.

We had lunch at the top of a ravine. Few vehicles passed us. We then set off again and the valley broadened out again. Bedraggled sheep. Wandered the hill with even more bedraggled shepherds following behind looking the picture of misery. Occasionally there were cattle grazing. After that our. viewing was limited as the windows steamed up and water began to trickle in through Penelope’s weak points.

As the afternoon wore on we became aware that the intermittent gear problems that have occurred on several points along the way had returned with a vengeance. In the end we were moving very slowly. With another 200 kilometres to go to our overnight stop we lurched into a town and ground to a halt. Thank goodness it had not happened on the isolated. mountain road!

It was still pouring and very cold and damp in the truck, but we waited while Emma and Simon set off to find an hotel for the night while they tried to resolve the gearbox dilemma.

We were in a town called Sebinkarahisar. It seemed just an ordinary town in the middle of the hills and an unlikely spot for tourists. Nevertheless a very nice little hotel was found tucked behind a tractor show room. We tramped off the truck with enough belongings for a couple of days as we did not know what was to happen next or when we were likely to be reunited with Penelope.

We really came up trumps with the hotel. It was clean, warm and generally of a higher standard than a lot of the hotels we have stayed in to date. So we adjourned, found the largest bedroom and cracked open a bottle of Georgian red wine. Such is the stuff of which overland stories are made!

We even did well with supper. It was still raining heavily when we set out to find food. We found it in a small cafe just across from the hotel and upstairs. No-one spoke English, but with a lot of pointing and much goodwill we were all happily fed and watered. Perfect.

On the way back we met a very wet Emma and Simon who gave us the news that we should be ready to board the truck at 7.00 for a very, very long day as we had to make up the hours lost.

We recommended our supper venue.

It was another beautiful day as we left the delights of Batumi to travel to the Sumela monastery, half a day away.

Breakfast was interesting as the hotel had provided a picnic breakfast to eat on the truck. This basically comprised hard boiled eggs (lots), plastic sausages individually wrapped in thin plastic (lots), plastic pots of yoghurt and jam covered in cling film and bread. It was not terribly appetising and it turned up for lunch as well, but then (happily) it was abandoned.

On a personal note, the not very funny humerus (near enough!) is now beginning to turn black from the escapade of the persimmon trees. It will be long gloves up passed the elbow for me for the foreseeable future…….

We pulled away from the hotel and it’s sparkling seaside location and followed the promenade as it continued along the sea shore. As we headed towards Turkey, mountains appeared to our left as the sea glistened to our right. In no time we were at the border, the last before we leave for home and we were bidding fond farewell to Zaza who has been such a lovely and knowledgable guide.

To us border veterans, this was a doddle – it took no time at all – but it was far busier than any of the other borders experienced on the trip. It was also far more efficient. We were soon back on the truck, continuing to skirt the Black Sea. It was interesting that there were fishing boats now in the bay, something we did not see in Georgia. Initially a steep cliff rose to our left and our route took us through several tunnels, but then the cliffs fell back and houses and mosques appeared to our left as we continued to follow the coast road. Now the far less towering apartment buildings were cream and pink and yellow. We had at last left the grey Russian concrete behind and were in the land of the Turks, seemingly untouched by the mighty hand of the soviet republic.

Regrettably the brilliant day clouded over as we passed through the coastal towns. More carved tunnels came and went as we continued along the coast. Now there were fig trees by the roadside and geraniums appeared more frequently.

We found an early lunch stop by the sea where some men came to inspect us and chatted to Keith in German (I didn’t know he spoke German!) prior to responding to the call to prayer echoing over the valley. We saw a number of mosques after lunch, full of men and then we realised, of course it was Friday.

Not much later we passed the runway of a small airport. The towns and villages feel very different. The bread shops are different. There are modern trucks and tractors and showrooms selling both.

Eventually we turned away from the sea and turned up a narrow, steep sided, wooded valley. By now it was raining. We passed the town of Macka and then the wooden chalet type hotel where we are staying overnight, but we continued climbing up, passing two fish farms on the way. We eventually stopped at the car park of the Sumela Monastery which clung to the rock wall at the top of the cliff above us.

Nearly 300 metres high, the Sumela is in the tradition of monasteries built near forests, caves and sources of water. Sumela means black and the monastery is thought to be named either in honour of the Black Madonna once owned by the monastery or after the Black Mountains in which it is situated. It was first built in 375 AD and was restored in the 6th century and enlarged to its current size in the 13th century. It was sustained by imperial funds and its rights were preserved by the Ottoman Sultans and the Turks but it was seized by the Russians in 1916-18 and the monastery was abandoned in 1923. The wonderful, although vandalised, frescoes are thought to date from the 9th to the 19th century, with the majority from the more recent past.

How do these monks decide on these amazing locations? Does Brother Barnabas or the Abbot Petronichus wake up one morning thinking ‘today I will go and create a monastery which will hang on the side and at the top of a cliff’ and then pick up his spade and pick axe, gather up his prayer book and rosary beads and a few friends and set off? What happened to my enterprise of this kind? Did I just miss out? It is a puzzle …..

There were two paths up to the monastery, one was a very steep zig zag for one and a half kilometres and the other was a three kilometre walk up the road. We of course opted for the short and steep route and I panted as I climbed up the steep incline for about half an hour to be rewarded by an amazing view down into the valley and the monastery just above me. After a flight of steep stone steps (oh joy) we arrived at the monastery buildings. Although now only the shells of the rooms remain, their use was quite clear. Niches for books in the library, the large fire place and the bread ovens in the kitchens and fireplaces in the monks cells. By far the best feature of the monastery were the frescoes both inside and outside the main building. Although graffitied and vandalised they are still quite remarkable.

I loved the it because, once again, I cannot but admire the commitment, skill and enthusiasm that goes into creating such a place.

Although it was still raining, Keith and I opted to walk down the steep route, made even more treacherous by the fallen leaves which the rain had stuck to the rocks underfoot. Nevertheless it was good to be out and to take time to reflect on what we had seen.

Once we had all gathered again it was back into the truck to go back to our hotel. This proved to be excellently snug as they had turned the heating on for us. Bliss!

As the hotel was somewhat remote, we ate in and had an excellent repast of dal soup, trout and rice pudding. We then adjourned for a very early night,

Listening to the rain dripping down outside we did spare a thought for the Dragoman group we had met up at the monastery who were camping overnight further up the valley……..

How clever not only to have a birthday at the only seaside resort on the trip, but also on a ‘free’ (ie no planned activities) and beautifully warm sunshiny day. Our only commitment for the day was for a group meal for supper. We took advantage! First of all our hotel did not serve breakfast until 9.00 – unheard of! So we sauntered down to find everyone there to sing Happy Birthday which was fun and a wonderfully good start. I then opened the cards that Keith had been tasked to bring with him and some very jolly ‘e’ cards. The ‘ girls’ gave me a lovely ceramic bowl in my favourite green tones. People are very kind. I am a very lucky girl.

We had planned to have a few birthday drinks before we set off for supper and I was pleased to discover that the hotel had a sort of sun terrace overlooking the beach where we could have our little ‘soirée’. Having discovered the venue, all that was required was a few nibbles and we would be ‘in business’ as they say. I did hope the drilling that was taking place underneath the said ‘terrace’ would stop before the designated 6.00 pm bottle opening time!

Barry was taking a taxi to town, so we joined him. Here I have to mention the statue of Jason and his Golden Fleece in the square where we got out of the taxi. One of our party thought that it was a woman holding her dog upside down instead of the much vaunted Jason…….. Easy mistake to make. I think art can get a bit too ‘avant grade’ myself. Anyway, back to the story, the first stop was a juice on the very nice piazza where we had listened to the jazz band the night before. Beautiful buildings, wonderful sunshine. Perfect. That worked well and Diane turned up to join us. We then set off on the nibbles hunt and before long found a supermarket where not only Camembert but a blue Auvergne cheese was to be had – incredible. Just to add that bit of ‘flair’ I am always searching for for my table I found lime green plastic cups and napkins to match, it made my day as only the discerning will understand…

We then wandered back, trying to find some humous. We thought we had cracked it when we found a Turkish store. In response to our enquiry the man offered us chick peas to make our own – not quite what we had in mind! Despite this set back, we were pleased with our purchases and set off back to the piazza for lunch and then back to the hotel for a bit of sunbathing (it really does sound like a holiday doesn’t it?!) and evening preparations.

What a lazy day. I took my book to the beach and watched the world go by for a bit. When this palled I adjourned to my diary and it was then time to don what I am referring to as my ‘stage 1 metamorphosis clothes’ to go out. I have now got real jeans and real boots to go with the birthday jacket. The only mar to my joy was the hairdryer not working – so the hair still looks a mess.

All this aside our soirée went well, there was a perfect sunset, the Georgian red wine was excellent and the nibbles and green detail worked out well. I was very touched that Zaza came and gave me a necklace made from shells and a Batumi fridge magnet (these Georgians are charmers!). Diane bought a bottle and another fridge magnet with a little set of bottles (what is she implying?!) All my favourites were there and we had a jolly time watching the sun go down. We then set off for a very nice Georgian meal overlooking one of the dancing fountains and then a stroll back along the promenade.

What a day and apologies to those purists who have missed out on the culture – a normal service will be back tomorrow…….

Apologies for two Mondays this week for those who got the early version – it should by now have been republished as Tuesday with a description of the cathedral added…….the observant will have noted that the original was published late in the evening of the 16th October (!!!)

We left Kitaisi for the comparatively short journey to the Black Sea and Batumi. We descended from the hilltop location of the home stay, back down over the cobbles and through the Kitaisi town centre.

The early morning sunshine disappeared and was replaced by a grey mist. We were in the countryside again. We were travelling alongside a railway line. Rather alarmingly I watched as vehicles and people continued to weave round the crossing gates that had come down at one road/rail junction. Had the crossing gates got stuck, I thought, or had I glimpsed a major rail calamity about to happen. I will never know as Penelope continued her progress towards the Black Sea and the crossing disappeared.

Another town appeared and then the sun emerged again and more countryside. Here, it seemed, was every indication of an area of self sufficiency. Busy chickens, cows, fruit trees, vines and vegetables were frequently in evidence in the yards around large square Russian houses behind the rusting metal fences.

At 11.00 am we got our first sighting of the Black Sea as it suddenly appeared, trickling towards us over a muddy beach. The seashore receded again as the road departed from the sea side and oddly a large Ferris wheel emerged, apparently in the middle of nowhere. The train line appeared again and then, surprisingly, very soon the Black Sea was beside us and we were entering Batumi through the docks.

A large grey battleship – flags flying from bow to stern (I trust you appreciate my mastery of nautical terms) – loomed over us as we passed it. We subsequently learned the American navy was in town. Then there was neat pathways and lawns and very odd shaped, sculptures, towers and buildings. It was a bit like the Disney-esque world of Arslanbob – but with people!

We followed the promenade with its palm trees and fountains until we arrived at the Marina Hotel, which was something of a mystery. Were they doing it up or knocking it down?! Throughout our stay there was the loud sound of drilling…….. The Mariina sat squat at three floors high and had obviously seen better days, while new high rise hotels and apartments soared skywards around it. We never did make out whether it was coming or going!

We dropped off our bags and set off to walk back down the promenade, which is 7 kilometres long to ‘centre ville’. The Marina Hotel was perhaps half way along it. The palm trees stood like sentinels as we passed. Most of the ice cream booths had closed for the winter, but some remained stoically open. Basket ball, tennis, volleyball and hardcore football pitches had been built on the edge of the stoney beach with tiered yellow plastic seating for the would be audience around three sides of each court.

By now it was a lovely sunny day, so we walked as far as the ‘alphabet tower’ – an interesting open metal work structure with Georgian alphabet letters on it and a sort of large marble on the top. It seemed to have no real purpose except perhaps to celebrate the alphabet. We then turned inland to find the Italian restaurant recommended in the Lonely Planet where we decided to have a pre birthday supper as there is a group meal arranged for my birthday dinner. Having found it and booked a table, we adjourned to a pavement cafe for a cooling beer and snack lunch only to find ourselves knee deep in a Thompson Cruise group who had recently docked. It was rather unusual to hear broad scots accents and the lilt of the welsh valleys around us……! We kept very quiet although they had all noticed the English truck go past them. We looked very different.

After lunch we scattered to do our own thing and then wandered back to the hotel, prior to setting out again later for the the piazza where Peter had found out that an American jazz band from the ship was putting on a free concert. This was a nice prelude to supper which was decidedly disappointing, except for the fact that we found some very acceptable Georgian champagne to which I was treated by Helen and Keith. Mmmmmm. Very satisfactory. Batumi looks particularly attractive at night as all the odd buildings are lit up, so we wandered back along the promenade with the sea on one side and the crazy buildings on the other. They are also very fond of what they call dancing fountains …….

This bit of the trip almost feels like a holiday!