Trabzon Mosque

After a restful week in Yusufeli we felt more than up to the task of our 6 hour bus ride to Trabzon. This was no ordinary road, but a winding, rocky pathway on which giant buses passed each other going opposite directions like slugs creeping past one another. I quickly fell into my “sleep when you can!” routine and managed to feel marginally normal for the first twenty minutes. But when we hit the first of a series of winding curves it was back to barfing into a Doritos bag for me! Looked up at one point, mid-puke, and Mike was laughing hysterically as I gave the thumbs up and finished emptying my stomach. Apparently I had eaten something red (I don’t remember that?!).

We arrived relatively unscathed in Trabzon, which is one of the biggest Black Sea coastal cities in Turkey. We had decided not to take a direct bus to Ankara, but to tour the Black Sea Coast and soak in our last glimpses of this temperamental sea. Trabzon was a delightful city with glistening white Christmas lights hanging over pedestrian streets that were crowded with merry people shoving baklava into their mouths by the fistful. We checked into a hotel and received a discount based on how utterly hopeless we looked with our giant bags and sweat-covered faces. We wandered into the central park and had tea before finding a place to dine and exploring the city on foot. Mike’s primary interest was in acquiring a few beers, since Ramadan was now over. This proved more difficult than one would imagine, and Mike became ever more determined as the shops displayed endless amounts of sweets but no beer for poor Mike.
We strolled around feeling like it was a Christmas-like city, without snow and full of Muslims. The attitude was jovial and holiday-like, and everyone seemed happier than normal and full of holiday cheer. It was the last day of post-Ramadan feasting, which was perhaps part of the mood, but I think Trabzon is also just a friendly place.

Sumela Monastery. The next morning we booked a trip with a travel company (our first group tour!) to go to the Sumela hanging Monastery, about 45minutes away. Our minibus held mostly Turkish tourists and three other international travelers. It rained, and our minibus sent showers of water up the windshield with every puddle we hit. We were deposited at the top of the mountain to climb the last 1/4th of the mountain on foot. As usual, Mike forgot his umbrella so we huddled under mine as we climbed through the woods and up ancient stone steps to the monastery. The buildings have been restored, but were original built in Byzantine times by the Greeks who had hoped to acquire the area as a Greek state. The creation of the Turkish Republic saw the demise of Greek Orthodoxy and the abandonment of the monastery. The structure itself clings almost desperately to the side of a sheer rock face high above an evergreen forest, with a raging river and waterfalls galore below. We wandered from room to abandoned room and gaped at the paintings of Christ and the Virgin Mary on cave walls.

After an hour at the Monastery we wandered down the mountain in the rain as cars splashed past us on their way up. Midway down my shoes had more water inside than out, and my toes began to turn to raisins inside my mushy socks. A friendly Turkish family picked us up, thanks to our pathetic looks once again, and drove us down the road (which was now more a river than a road) to the base of the mountain where a small restaurant sat nestled in the woods. Here our driver had instructed us to gather at the appointed time. We ate a small meal so that we could sit inside where it was warm, and then boarded our minibus back to Trabzon where I sat with a German lady, an Australian man and a Polish traveler as we discussed what was worth seeing in Turkey and the highlights of the Caucus—the normal backpacker conversations one hears in every bus station, airport and hostel across the planet.

Mongol Rally Logo

Lauren and Mike landed a team in the Mongol Rally 2010! We’re in the process of picking a few team members, looking for sponsors, and planning our route. You can follow all of our progress via the blog, but we’ll also be creating a Mongol Rally page on our website soon with updates and more information.

The Mongol Rally is a charity event wherein each team (500 total) take a 1 liter car from Europe to Mongolia to donate the car to charity along with $1500 for Mercy Corps. We’re overwhelmed with glee that we get to participate in the event this year, having witnessed several teams from the 2009 rally while in Turkmenistan. It is a once-in-a-lifetime, crazy event and it’s for a good cause.

Our team, the Abandon the Cube team, is conjoined with the Not Cubists team from Yelm, Washington. We’re busy with the preliminary aspects of putting together two winning cars with one winning strategy to make it to Mongolia in our perfectly unsuitable, tiny little cars.

More information on the Mongol Rally .

To sponsor us, or if you have ideas for sponsors please send us an email at lauren (at) abandonthecube.com or mike (at) abandonthecube.com

Water Pumping

Having arrived in Yusufeli without a map, we had to rely on shabby LP written directions to get us a place to sleep. We have not had good luck with these in the past, but luckily since we were so exhausted after the 4 minibuses that day, we found the place within a half hour. We walked through the very quiet town of Yusufeli to Green Piece Pension. Reading our guide, we were tipped that there were places to camp here, which really appealed to us because we were somewhat shocked at the inflated prices in Turkey, or at least in comparison to everywhere we had been. We walked across a creaky suspension bridge that made Lauren’s stomach churn and down a gravel road for less than 1 k. Nestled next to a rolling stream, several vegetable fields, and rocky hill tops in every direction, this was a great place to stay.

The friendly family immediately showed us the camping area and within a few minutes, our camp was all set up. The nice thing about Green Piece, was that we could use their facilities, which included a restaurant, wifi, warm showers, and bathrooms. Over the next several days, as we really took a liking to the place, it rained 5-6 times a day. I was joking with Lauren that it was a lot like Seattle. Coincidently, we also heard a comedian’s joke about Seattle on my iPod, “You know what they say in Seattle, if you don’t like the weather, just wait 5 minutes and then shoot yourself in the face.” – Probably a little dark for the blog, but the rain was actually really refreshing and the rain lulled us to sleep in the tent at night. We also got a lot of work done on the site. It was funny making a few Skype calls from our tent – as the fact that we had wifi in a tent was ridiculous, but I made a point to tell everyone where we were. Traveling is not what it used to be, huh?

One thing that did not take us too long to pick up was that there was a shortage of food!!! Yusufeli was a very religious Muslim town. We realized this the first night when the 5:00 am call to prayer blared on for several minutes and woke us up in the middle of the night. We also quickly learned that it was the festival or “torture” of Ramadan. Ramadan, a Muslim “holiday,” is a long period of fasting. This made people irritable, hungry, short-tempered, and ill-humored. It was also difficult for us to find food as all the food establishments were closed. It also made me feel guilty to eat in front of the family when they couldn’t eat from sun up to sun down. The lesson learned was, and we had heard it before: Don’t go to Muslim countries during Ramadan. Unfortunately, I don’t really keep track of things like as they usually don’t apply to me. They did in Turkey. We were able to cook a few meals in the kitchen as well. They told us we could use the kitchen, but I am not sure how happy they were about it. We also saw several whitewater rafting groups come there while we were there, a man from Holland who had been riding around on a motorcycle for a year and a half, as well as another Dutch couple with a camper who lived in St. Martin. Besides the great company we had while we were there, the slow atmosphere of the mountain city as well as the trekking around the village, made it a worthwhile place to plan and time the rest of our trip up to Ankara.

The Minibus

Having crossed several borders, with shady officials and legitimate ones, we have now crossed the easiest border on the planet between the Republic of Georgia and Turkey.

Georgia has no visa requirements, but welcomes everyone to their country. Turkey sells visas for $20 a pop at the border crossing, a simple sticker and a quick scanned copy of our passports was all that was needed. They did not check our bags, or fingerprint us, or ask if we had the swine flu, or rob us, or tell us their political views. It was as if we were going from one friendly place to another, which is exactly what we were doing.

We left the beach in Georgia in the morning and caught a simple, 1 GEL bus to the Sarpi border. From there we simply walked across the Georgian side with a wave and an exit stamp, and we were in Turkey! A friendly border guard pointed us to the visa purchasing office, and we bought the required stickers and got the required stamps without hassle.
Once outside the barbed-wire fence we sat around waiting for a bus. Without any Turkish language ability we were SOL for a while before someone came up and offered to take us to Hopa for 4 TL a person, which seemed reasonable. Once in Hopa we watched everyone else pay 2 TL a person and had to grin a bit. Less than twenty minutes in the country and we were swindled. Typical, but we’re not in Georgia anymore, are we! And there was something special about Georgia, perhaps the shared religion, that made the people honest and kind and unable to cheat.

From Hopa we found a nice family who helped us onto another bus to Artvin. Here is where the world proved itself to be a great leveling device. Because the other bus driver had charged us double (and we had agreed in advance) we did not have enough money for the bus to Artvin. The driver took the money we did have, which was 4 less than the correct amount, and drove us all the way to Artvin without complaint. Hence, we ended up getting there for 2 TL less than a local would have. Ironic.

Once in Artvin we had to wait an hour for my stomach to stop hurling from the motion sickness. Hopa to Artvin was a winding, mountainous road that followed a raging river. We hurtled through the mountains without a care to the deathly drop-offs next to the bus, and without worrying about oncoming traffic or rocks in the road, or cows. I’m surprised I didn’t vomit just from looking over the edge of the cliff as we whizzed past. While we waited, our driver got in his minivan and put it in reverse and then floored it! His minivan was aiming right at Mike and I as we sat on a bench catching our breath. Everyone yelled and I propped by feet up on the bench hoping the metal frame would stop the van before it crushed me. Luckily the screaming worked and the driver got out of his minivan and looked at Mike and I (and a local sharing the bench). We still had our feet up, but thanks to the nausea we were more focused on not vomiting than not being hit by crazed, lunatic drivers.

Finally, we boarded the bus to Yusufeli, which was to be our destination for the night. We got in the mini bus (meant to hold 12, but now holding 18) and settled in for a long drive. Midway the road was closed due to an avalanche, so we all got out to throw stones at the river below us. A passenger got in the driver’s seat and put the car in reverse while trying to impress two female passengers. He rammed the minibus directly into a parked truck, rocking both vehicles precariously close to the drop off. Our driver came running, full of curses and wild hand gestures, to the passenger and berated him in front of the ladies—the opposite of his aim. We watched the whole event from the river bank, wondering how we’d fish out our belongings from the river if the car had slid in. Finally, as night approached, we made it to Yusufeli, having left Georgia that morning and taken 4 buses in the course of the day and witnessing two car accidents.

Our New Travel Companion - Photo: Keyboards for There's Always Wednesday

Here at Abandon the Cube we’re always happy to hear other traveler’s adventure tales. We’ve met a lot of great people along the way, and admire (with tears of jealousy) some of the insane routes people have chosen. But now we’d like to announce that Abandon the Cube has a new traveler jumping in on the itinerary.

The story of how Matt is joining the ATC crew is a funny and inspiring one. Matt was at the casino over the weekend when he put a penny in a lucky machine and out popped a $1300 prize.  He got on the web, sent an email to Mike that said, “I’ve won at the penny slots, I’m getting my birth certificate, applying for a passport, and I’m coming to join you!”

Matt will be joining ATC in Ankara, Turkey, and traveling with the, what will become trio,  throughout the Medderiterranian region. We’re happy to have him on board and look forward to the adventure!

Batumi Beach

After Bojormi National Park, Gori, Tbilisi, Kazbegi, Baku, and the Caspian Sea ferry, we were ready for a break. However, we were unaware that we would get such a great one. As our minibus emerged from the foliage and hilltops, we caught our first glimpses of the Black Sea. It was right here that Jason and the Argonauts landed in search of the Golden Fleece. Being a huge fan of the film from childhood, it was an awesome experience coming to the realization that the story was based on actual legend and places and that we were standing on the very ground that the story unfolded upon. My first impression of the Black Sea was that I quickly understood where the name came from. Black clouds were rolling over the hills surrounding the sea and gave the water a opaque dark color. The beach was very rocky and, my imagination running wild, I thought of the rough whitecaps throwing wooden ships onto the rocky shores.

After a few more hours, the bus pulled to a stop near a small port city. The bus driver turned around, enamored that we were from ‘America,’ gave me a head nod and said, “Batumi.” He then gave me a thumbs up and said, “Chicago Bulls.” I immediately got a west coast United States feeling from Batumi. It seemed like a laid-back beach community. We wandered through town with our cumbersome bags, receiving stairs of wonderment and distress. Many women would stop and stare at Lauren and look at her in distress over the big bag she was carrying on her back. I couldn’t help but feel like they then glared at me as if I was some kind of horrible creature to make her walk around carrying such a weight. We found an acceptable place to stay, albeit slightly musty, but we just figured that added to the coastline experience.

We walked down to the beach and, although still very rocky, we found it full of locals. We enjoyed two days and three nights in Batumi and kicked our feet up in the laid-back atmosphere. Lauren read her books, drank a few beers, and snacked in the sun and under umbrellas, while I spent half my time floating out by the buoy and the other half, running into town or the other side of the beach to replenish water and other beverages. I found out, days later, that my parents were worried about us being in flooding that was going on in Turkey. Little did they know that we were laying out on a beach drinking vodka tonics. It was a very enjoyable drive out to Batumi and the atmosphere was unlike anywhere else we had been, and was very different to anything else in Georgia. Batumi makes for an interesting entrance or departure into the Republic of Georgia, but definitely a must see in Georgia, as we saw Georgians in a new relaxed light we had never seen them in before.

Mike in the Creep Zone

Although not in any guidebook for the area, our hostel owners told us about a cave not far from town that we could get to only via a cab. We linked up with Emily and decided to try our luck negotiating a cab to the spot. When in town, we easily found an elderly man (in his 90s!) who agreed to take us in his equally ancient Lada car to the caves. We all piled in the death-trap of a car and rattled off into the hills.

Our friendly driver deposited us safely at the entrance to the cave, where a national park ranger who looked like the sneaky guy in Mr. Deeds told us to wait fifteen minutes. In my broken Russian I understood him to mean that an event happened every hour on the hour in the cave, and we sat about for fifteen minutes pondering what the event could be: feeding time for the bats, or an old faithful type explosion?

The event turned out to be a guided tour by the Mr. Deeds sneaky guy, who laughed at our ridiculous expressions when he unlocked a large metal door covering the cave entrance. Inside, he flicked a series of switches and the cave was semi-illuminated. We climbed down into the belly of the cave, and listened to the dripping as he explained that it took a century for the stalactites to grow one centimeter. In front of us were stalactites and stalagmites that ranged from inches long to over a meter. A group of Georgians joined our tour and translated for us along the way, instructing us to keep a wary eye out for some of the white bats that call the cave their home.

We inched ever deeper into the cave as the guide hopped around like an expert spelunker with night-vision capabilities. A hole in the cave a meter off the ground turned out to be a cave 30m into the belly of the beast, which our guide proudly said he had explored. “That’s where the spiders and worms live,” he said, as calmly as if telling us about his boring day.

We snapped pictures, letting the flashes of our cameras illuminate further into the cave than the eye could otherwise see. After what felt like forever (but turned out to be about ten minutes) we reached the largest of the stalactites, which our guide called “the heart” there was an opening and we were instructed to reach our arms into the opening and feel how soft and cool it was inside. I let everyone else go first, hoping the plethora of arms reaching into the heart would scare away any albino creatures inside. It was indeed squishy and wet inside the heart, and I held my hand into the abyss as long as possible before a tickling (or imagined tickle) made me jerk my arm out to the guide’s endless amusement.

Outside the cave again, and thankful for the light, we scampered up the hill to the driver and asked him to take us to some dinosaur footprints we had passed on the way in. These turned out to be two large limestone platforms with various sized giant-turkey footprints from ancient dinosaurs. We walked around atop the limestone like you’d never be allowed to do in the States, and took pictures of our hands inside the footprints, and our toes looking tiny inside the claw prints. After a while, the driver took us half way back to the city before jumping out of the car and running into an alley. He returned a while later with pomegranates fresh from a tree, and then we putted off down the hill into town again.

Reconstruction of Bagrati Cathedral - Kutaisi, Georgia

Kutaisi, Georgia offered us some much needed rest after city-hopping for the previous few days.  The minibus dropped us off at a random bus station, which was of course, not even on the Lonely Plant maps.  It would be so difficult traveling without that book, but it is a love-hate relationship as you read and look through it occasionally wondering why they wasted space and why they gave you worthless information when there was so much more to write about.  Lucky for us, the Caucasus have been so easy to travel around in.  After China and Central Asia, we were expecting mind numbing conversations as you walk from bus to bus asking to go to a certain city and then each person points in a different direction.  Azerbaijan and Georgia have been completely different.  Baku was simple to navigate and using public transportation was a cinch.  Georgia was a great breath of fresh air. Leaving Central Asia behind and entering into a new world of Judeo – Christian values, we found no endeavor to result in a headache.  People were friendly, curtious, helpful, and seemed to have ethics matching our own.  In the previous town of Gori, we talked with the owner of “The Man Bar” and he gave us our meal and beer on-the-house just for being American and talking to him and his friends.  This was the first time in all of my travels that being a foreigner actually resulted in a direct benefit within the culture.

Back in Kutaisi, we painlessly enlisted the help of a local taxi driver who drove way out of his way, after several roads were closed – up winding streets and hills to where we wanted to stay for the night.   We were greeted at the gate by a very friendly young girl who spoke fluent English. She took us through their beautiful compound home that was over 100 years old.   The two storey building didn’t look like much on the outside, but the interior was ornately decorated with a classic Russian feel. As we walked around the side of the home, which was probably once a sanitarium, we noticed grape vines hanging down around our heads.  The whole house was surrounded with a vineyard.  Around the back, a huge greenhouse took up most of their backyard. Inside were tomatoes, lime trees, and an assortment of other vegetables.  With the exception of meat, I would say that the family was practically self sufficient.

After meeting Emily, a young solo traveler from the U.K., we walked around the side streets and back alleys of hilltop Kutaisi.  Less than 1 km away, the Bagrati Cathedral – early 11th century – sits in ruin.   However, reconstruction was underway while we were there.  The cathedral was destroyed by the Turks in the early 17th century, it was still awe inspiring to stand underneath the now dome-less ceiling.   To the East of the cathedral are the ruins of a medieval palace, complete with wine cellars and a chapel, also gave great views of the city below.  The palace was destroyed by Russian artillery bombardment from the opposite bank of the river.  We returned and had dinner with Emily, and enjoying the comfort and company so much, stayed an additional 2 days.

Grant Lingel weaves a fascinating and modern coming-of-age tale about an American boy from New York fresh out of college who finds himself confronted by a world without choices. From grammar school to college, and even choosing a major, Grant found the path before him was already laid out. But, with seven credits to go to graduate, Grant abandons the world he knows and sets out to find himself, and defy the expectations American society demands.

From working in Mexico on a resort to traveling with crazed Minnesotans in Guatemala, to working a hostel-farm as a volunteer, learning poi and experiencing everyday with an open mind. Grant travels around from place to place, meeting amazing people and seeing life in a new light. His adventures leave the taste of rum and coke in the reader’s mouth, and a yearning to be a part of the trip Grant created for himself.

Grant writes often of the camaraderie travelers feel when abroad, an almost instant friendship that develops the moment you hear someone else’ amazing adventure tale. Reading Grant’s book while on the ferry from Turkmenistan to Azerbaijan, I was struck with a feeling of knowing and empathizing with the trials and joys of Grant’s experiences in Mexico. While I don’t share his enthusiasm for countless nights of partying that would shock a rock star, I feel that Grant’s adventure is well worth the telling, and feel that his up-beat and emotional readiness while traveling is an example many a weary traveler can learn from.

The characters in Grants adventures are so real that one can imagine they are a member of the small pack of friends Grant travels with while abroad. From drunken parties to day-trip adventures and midnight food runs, the reader truly comes to understand the atmosphere of life in Mexico as an expatriate. A life on the edge with extreme sporting, extreme partying, and sucking the very marrow out of each day of life, leaves the reader wishing to buy a one-way-ticket to a sandy beach.

I hope that his book inspires other people to imagine the possibilities in their own lives. Anyone can abandon their cube to see what life is like on the other side of the office wall. Anyone can buy a one-way ticket to paradise. For some reason, it is a select few who chose to defy the norm, abandon the cube and imagine a more thrilling life. Grant chooses to spend time in Mexico, Guatemala and more living on the beach, working with locals and other expats, and losing himself in the moment with drugs, women and a seemingly endless supply of booze. While Grant realizes that the world he is living in is a dangerous one, he has nevertheless stepped off the plank and into a world that is mixed with good and bad. By making the initial choice, Grant accepts the consequences and as a result, lived a more fulfilling life—and one worth reading about.

From one traveler to another, I recommend Imagine: A Vagabond Story
as a great read into the psyche of a traveler living on the edge. The tale ends happily enough with Grant starting a new adventure on another continent, letting all of us be reminded that it’s the experiences in life that make it worthwhile, not the 7 missing credits or the lack of a decent salary.

Review written by Lauren Johnson, from Abandon the Cube (Republic of Georgia, September 6th, 2009)Though we were very kindly given a singed copy of the book by Grant, we passed the book onto an English traveler heading East in the Republic of Georgia, who will pass it on as she finishes it.

Camping in the Park

Bjormi National Park is a colossal nature preserve covered in a criss-cross pattern of winding eco-trails and camping grounds. For 5 GEL a night, we could camp anywhere in the park as long as we registered in advance. When we arrived in Bjormi, the registration center was closed for the weekend (thanks, Lonely Planet) but a friendly guard called the English-speaking receptionist who explained to me that we could spend one night in the reserve and meet her in the morning to register. We hiked, with all of our stuff, along a 3k trail that made a loop into the wooded reserve from the registration center on the fringes of town. About 1k into the trail our 50lb bags were weighing on us, and sweat poured from our brows in streams. We set up camp atop the wooded hill, and Mike set off to find fire wood while I read and stayed with the bags.

Around twilight I set up the tent and built a fire pit out of rocks that were strewn about the campsite. I broke down the fire wood into manageable sticks, and set up the interior of the tent. Darkness was approaching, so I got the Ramen dinner ready for the fire, then spent about thirty minutes pleading with Prometheus for fire. Mike had hiked into town for some snacks and wine, and when he returned he got the fire roaring via a clever trick he’d learned in Mongolia about using bark rubbed together in paper as kindling. We cooked our Ramen and gagged it down, having eaten the same Ramen meal multiple times already that week. We sat around the fire singing, chatting and listening to the forest around us. We were a bit paranoid about the black bears that live in the reserve finding us and thinking we looked just tasty enough to eat, but the wine solved that paranoia easily and we headed to bed when the fire turned to embers.

In the morning two hikers came upon our tent along the trail and loudly complained that we were a messy bunch who had wreaked the forest. Readers, upon our arrival the campsite was a mess, and obviously we didn’t leave any of our trash about. We even picked up other people’s trash in our bags to carry out. What we didn’t pick up were used, dirty dippers that were up on the hill side rotting, or other disgusting, partially biodegraded objects. The hikers yelled for us to clean up our mess and then stomped off without picking anything up. We got out of our tents and packed up our stuff and climbed down to meet the receptionist at 9:30, as we had previously organized. She never showed up, and the two climbers came down the trail behind us showering us in glares. Obviously we had no baby with us, did they think the dippers were really ours? Idiots! Need I point out that one of them was French?

At any rate, with the idiots behind us, and the receptionist nowhere in sight we tried to register to go back into the park but the guards would have none of it and sent us packing. When it was obvious we would have to wait until Monday to get into the park again we decided to leave Bjormi and head west. We walked into town and waited at the bus stop in a bummed-out mood. An elderly man in a fishing cap approached us and when we told him we wanted to go to Kutasi he told us to come back at 11:30. We found breakfast in town and returned at the appointed time, the old man had flagged down a passing van for us and had even rearranged the van passengers so we were sitting in the front seat with the driver. The driver was friendly enough, and kept telling me how much he adored Arnold Swarzeneggar. I used my limited Russia and he used his limited English and Russian, and we had a bit of a conversation as he peeled along curves that would kill us all if his attention shifted even a hair. It was a four hour drive to the next town, and I was petrified most of the way by our driver’s complete lack of concern for the drop-offs to his right or left, and with the screaming and wailing of the 25 passengers crammed into the 16 passenger van. Obviously, since I’m writing this, we made it to the next town without incident.