Is this hike in a former Soviet state a good idea? Don’t ask the locals

Russian massage is a real thing, the masseuse reassures me. She smells of cigarettes and tells me about learning this therapy in Siberia’s Altai mountains. To me, it’s Thai with extras: hot stones, springs coiled around fingers and herby oils. I won’t argue. After three days hiking, I need pampering.

This is Borjomi, a town famous for mountain vistas and salty mineral water. Favoured by Stalin, a bottle of that water was the first request from Yuri Gargarin after completing mankind’s first trip into space.

Borjomi, the hillside spa town.Credit: iStock

Most hikers to Georgia head straight to the Caucasus mountains, but Borjomi has its own charm. Cradled in a steep valley, the town is a mix of Russian Imperial architecture and Soviet tower blocks, continuing to attract those seeking restoration… and adventure.

“So are there any bears?” I ask half-jokingly, looking at a wall-sized mural of one.

It’s four days earlier and we are in the visitor’s centre.

“They are very rare,” responds the unreadable ranger, from behind the front desk.

My partner and I exchange a glance while he traces the three-day trail on the map.

“But is it difficult?” I ask.

“The second day is a bit slippery,” he says.

“I mean, is this whole thing a good idea?” trying to coax frankness.

“Yes. It is very beautiful,” he says, giving nothing away.

Hiking through Borjomi Gorge.Credit: iStock

The next morning, we start in a pine forest, the ground a carpet of moss, before climbing 800 metres through switchbacks, emerging sweating into open grasslands and wildflowers. We drink spring water that bubbles straight from pipes stuck into rocks. Overhead, threatening dark clouds churn.

We reach shelter as the rain breaks. Neither of us really knew what “tourist shelter” meant, but we reach a hut with a balcony, bunks and a stove with firewood, far more comfortable than expected. As rain beats on the roof, we start a fire, heat up Georgian flatbread, stirring Abkhazian spices through hard-boiled eggs, then fall asleep not having seen another soul all day.

We awake to a shelter shrouded in fog, get up and start climbing the 600-metre ascent through dewy forest. The mist soon recedes, revealing a towering mountaintop. An eagle hovers on unseen convection currents and I spot a pair of wild horses nibbling the grass beside a stone chapel. They startle as we approach and gallop down into the roiling fog.

The “bit slippery” trail down has been churned by hooves into a quagmire. We both find branches to plumb the sticky mess for balance. Then, a distant roar echoes throughout the forest. I’m sure it’s a bear, but my partner is unconvinced.

We have more immediate things to worry about: the mud is deep enough to swallow my boots to the shins. After an hour and a river crossing, I squelch with each step. The effort is redeemed by a semi-tropical landscape of broad-leaved ferns.

Hours later, exhausted, we finally reach the second tourist shelter, legs aching. I just want to wash the mud off, eat our cold dinner and sleep, but I see we’re not alone. A stout Russian truck is parked in the clearing with the shelter nearby appropriated for what looks like a party: old men cook shish kebabs over a campfire, kids and women walk back and forth with loaded plates as the shelter’s porch table is covered in bottles of beer, wine and Georgian cheese bread called khachapuri.

I’m too tired to socialise and stand there dumbly until a girl comes over and greets us in English. “We booked this shelter in Borjomi and are very tired,” I stutter out.

“Don’t worry – we are having a party but will leave very soon,” she said, before adding: “The beds are free”.

Sharing some local wine and produce.Credit: iStock

We each roll out our sleeping bags on the wooden bunks, but the festivities on the porch are loud. When the rain begins again, everyone gathers just outside the door, laughter ringing through the hollow room.

Then, a knock. An old man totters in and places a plate of meat and khachapuri before waving off our “thank yous” and leaving.

Soon another knock. “Would you like to try some of our wine?” says the English-speaking girl now in the doorway.

A few minutes later we are at the table – drinking, eating and explaining our lives. I feel light-headed from fatigue and the chacha, a grappa-like liquor named after the sound of stomping grapes.

“We now have to go,” the girl says suddenly. Within minutes, the party is dismantled, floors swept. Everyone waves from the truck, which revs then vanishes, leaving us alone, full, tipsy and confused.

The next day, we stumble into Borjomi tired and sore. Neither the party, the mud nor even the bear’s roar surprises the ranger the next day when we return our sleeping bags. I wonder if anything ever would.

Then we wander off to discover Russian massage.

THE DETAILS

FLY + DRIVE
The beauty of Borjomi has been preserved by its inaccessibility. Flying to the Georgian capital, Tbilisi, is easy, but from there you’ll need to find a shared taxi or minivan, called Marshrutka. If you have time, the four-hour train runs twice a day – an option that’s slow, but scenic and dirt cheap ($1). See georgia.travel

STAY
There are loads of accommodation options, ranging from the fancy Crowne Plaza (ihg.com, rooms from $180) to budget rooms and Airbnbs. Book ahead in summer. The steep valley means that it’s easy to score a beautiful view for cheap.

The writer travelled at his own expense.