In The Mountains of Didi Gonduri, Samtskhe-Javakheti, Georgia

I didn't bring any of my camera gear with me on this weekend trip. I felt uneasy about doing so. The situation in Georgia has been tense for well over a year now, from protests which are growing more violent with each month, to a government and border control which has been rather odd and selective regarding who it allows to enter the country. It's not uncommon to go online and see many posts from people that have had sudden rejections and deportations even despite having all of the required documents to enter. Upon my first visit to Georgia, before moving there for ten months, I was briefly questioned on why I had a camera and gimbal on my being. This was a road border and before the situation had kicked off. I was asked in a variety of languages whether I was a journalist and despite my answer of "No." being given, it was simply ignored.

This left me on edge. I had recently started a business in Armenia and I didn't have time to get anywhere near applying for a temporary residency. I was living on my visa free days which were coming to an end. I knew I wanted to bring the gear, I knew the risks of being denied entry based on the past few months. I chose to leave it all behind in Armenia. Heading off to the small Armenian village of Didi Gonduri. A little settlement not far from the border, where the luxuries of modern life are mostly void. This is where farming is small, something generational in old homes that look straight out of the past. I wanted and still want to one day document the lifestyles of the people there in a short film. Something I'll have to do another time, after all, a weekend of spending time there was not enough to really see everything.

Whether or not it was from a lack of gear, the border went smoothly and off I went to the village. The weather was completely different to that of Yerevan, just a few hours drive away. Cold, windy, and damp. The humidity I had almost forgotten. The feeling of smooth hands from the moisture in the air. The crisp air which fills the lungs with a certain freshness that only nature can provide. Albeit the inevitable smell of fresh cow shit and the burning of all sorts of things would follow throughout the day. You win some, you lose some! But I felt a bit more at home, where the village was much more different to the one I grew up in back in England. But still a little similar. That natural environment. On Sunday, I milked a cow for the first time. Something I had wanted to try doing, something that I felt I had to do. A challenge that connects us with nature in a very basic manner: an act of survival in the past. And in the present, also. 

Surrounded by old Soviet cars and trucks. A horizon of low hanging clouds that would cling to the nearby mountains. The odd bit of a smoke that would rise from a chimney in the distance as the cold air grew stronger as the day progressed. I wanted to see more of it. I decided to hike up the mountain behind the house and get the view from above. It rained that day. I didn't care. Above the little forest emerged either an eagle or a hawk; I won't pretend I can really tell the difference between the two. Though I could see this massive wingspan. The details of its white feathers on its tail. It was silent in its flight, but flew with a grace to it that had me stand still in my tracks and observe as it glided above, down and through the treeline. Around the rocky landscape and off into the low rain clouds. After that I continued walking forward. Feeling some fatigue from some poor sleep the night before. 

This wasn't the only bird of prey that I saw. I continued to see them above, gliding with the wind, sometimes in circles, sometimes almost still in the air. Looking down from above. Breaks in the trees revealing them and their curiosities, much like my own as I looked up with admiration over the beauty of it. This route had me on edge a bit. I had been told of wolves that lurk the steppe-like environment. Of larger animals that would sometimes find their ways down towards the villages in search of a little farm snack. I was on my own. Without Internet. Without an ability to make calls or receive texts. Not that the connection here would've been any good anyway. But my curiosity had me pushing forward, up and around, as the height of the mountain revealed itself with the homes below growing smaller. The horizon growing larger in view. More visible and more beautiful. Open nothingness.

I didn't quite reach the top of this mountain, to the left it continued up higher. Though the area I reached levelled out. Beyond all I could see were the other little woodlands of pines. Tall grass which looked dry and dead. An environment unlike any other I had seen before. Scattered with bits of rock. No signs beyond of the life that was below, where little villages sat. No more sounds of little cars. No more sounds of cows. Just the wind that would blow. The little sounds of raindrops landing on my coat. The hike up the mountain had boosted my temperature up to some rather uncomfortable levels, though the cold air would still feel unpleasant on the ears. I wrapped a scarf around my head purely to address that issue and pressed forward, with more curiosity of what was ahead. No more homes. No farmland. Nothing. Though not too soon after, I checked the time. It was soon to get colder, the temperature to drop more with increased rain. As the sun would soon set.

Here and there I would take a breather. To perch up on a rock and observe. A moment to relax and reflect. It wasn't the most comfortable spot for this, but the views were too nice to pass up. And to no surprise: all it did was make me more curious of what remained ahead. 

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