High Causcasus, Northern Georgia

HIGH CAUCASUS, taken from the taxi.

I met a Czech father-and-son backpacking duo on the marshrutka from Batumi to Zugdidi. They were also going on to Mestia (Upper Svaneti), famed for it's 10th and 11th century towers and sturdy, proud indigenous population.

Travelling alongside others is always much easier, so I tagged along and got on the same marshrutka to Mestia.

The owner of said marshrutka was huge. His belly busted out from below his Arsenal top and his grin revealed a golden gob which glinted in the midday sun.

The marshrutka took off, and we were on our way. I had tactically positioned myself next to the rucksacks on the back seat so as to avoid being squished between people like I was from Batumi. We did a couple of circles near the bus station and pulled into a yard full of old military vehicles and old, military people crouching around.

Right, okay. I guess he knows what he's doing.

The Czech dad, able to speak Russian, managed to deduce from this overly-animated driver that we needed to get four more people before it was economical to make the 4hr trip into the mountains.

The thing is, though, he alighted from the minibus and got into a taxi with one of his mates who then zoomed off down the road. No sooner had they got round the corner than another marshritka pulled up and a bespectacled man from inside yelled "Mestia?!, Mestia?!".

We had no time to answer. The driver glanced worriedly in his wing-mirror to see the Bruiser and his pal in the taxi, angrily gesturing. I guess now we were his property, his sole income. We were going nowhere.

And we didn't, for two hours. Two girls got on the bus. Finally, I thought, we can surely go!

- "Mestia?"
- "Yes, yes"
- "These two seat, our!"

Then they arsed off down to the market. Leaving us, alone, stifling for another hour.

I'm so passive, that normally I'd just sit and wait. Tick it off as an experience, right?
Fortunately for easy-going me, the Czech dad has other ideas and had secured a deal with a local taxi-man. 100 Lari all the way. 30 Lari each (£15) for a two and a half hour drive...

No bad yershel.

Escaping the angry marshrutka driver felt great and the smell of pine and woodsmoke came billowing through the window the higher into the Caucasus mountains we went.

I hope I don't run across Thierry Henri again tomorrow, though, as I fear he'd eject me from the bus.