In which Roz and Layla explore cave monasteries, eat more cheese pies, and have the top layers of their skin removed by enthusiastic old ladies

by Roz

We left you as we were about to wander out of our studio flat in search of dinner. This sounds quite a peaceful activity, but in fact is terrifying, since Freedom Square is huge, with a fair numbers of cars hurtling towards you in a way that does not encourage crossing the road. But we finally dashed across and made our way into the Old Town, to go to the highly recommended restaurant Teremok. It's been designed to look like a Russian cottage (to the extent of having a witch on broomstick perched in a corner) and is supposed to be famous for it's blinis (little round pancakes of which I am particularly fond). Alas, I failed to find this on the menu (probably due to my own inadequacies rather than them not being there) and my order of a cheese pancake produced...a very English cheese pancake. Which was nevertheless nice, and I felt encouraged to move outside the box and onto a cheese and mushroom pancake thereafter. Neither of us are able to remember what Layla had - she suggests it was a bean pie, but I think that it was something a little more exciting than that. But it was all perfectly pleasant and washed down with local beer.

From there we wandered down to a very sweet street full of pavement cafes, bars and restaurants (having dodged the road works) to Cafe Kala. It's allegedly a gay-friendly bar (and there certainly seemed to be a lot of men in parties of 2), and we drank local wine, and Layla ate a giant dessert. Life music started after awhile, which made the whole atmosphere even more jolly and we stayed til late. And certainly didn't pick up an ice cream on the way home: that would have been greedy.

The next day brought with it the horror of a comparatively early start (7.30 - long after we are usually up in the UK!). We dashed down to Entree (creatures of habit / respite from the cheese pies) for a quick breakfast prior to our guide's arrival at the cafe. We were heading out to Davit Gareja, described by Lonely Planet as "the most remarkable of all Georgia's ancient sites". It was a fairly long drive.

And now by Layla (Roz got distracted by her book!)

Indeed, the drive to Davit Gareja involved going out into the countryside, past farms and tiny villages and into an odd landscape described by our guide as 'semi-desert', and by Lonely Planet as 'a lunar landscape'. In fact the description that seemed most accurate was our guide's 'this used to be the sea bed'. Far out in the middle of this surreal scene is a monastery, built in the 4th Century and carved into hills and caves. We had never seen a cave monastery - for which Georgia is rather famous - so it was with much interest that we explored, finding it is a working monastery, complete with monks who were dressed curiously like, well, chavs (neds). It was a fascinating, isolated spot and after touring the main monastery (we were the only tourist other than a man who looked as though he was on a solo church tour) our guide, clad in city shoes and not in any way resembling a hardened climber, pranced up into the hills behind the monastery like a mountain goat, leaving Roz and me wheezing in her wake. But a lovely opportunity to walk in the Georgian countryside.

Next up was lunch, in a random isolated roadside restaurant, where our guide and driver ordered an array of vegetarian Georgian food and we ascertained that we've successfully pretty much tasted everything Georgian. We wolfed down another cheese pie, and an array of vegetables and bread, washed down with luminous green lemonade, before hopping back into the car and driving through Kacheti, also known as wine country. According to our guide, almost everyone in Georgia knows someone with a vineyard, from whom they get their wine. And each village has different grapes. They stopped the car at the roadside for us to buy a weird long thing that looked like a sausage but was in fact walnuts in some kind of wine product. Odd but tasty.

Onwards to Bodbe Convent (alas we were not holy enough to be allowed down to the holy spring, but the murals on the walls were fab) and then to Sighnaghi. When we'd planned to stay longer in Georgia I'd planned three nights in this mountain wine town. Three minutes were enough to make me feel relieved that we hadn't done so. The ambience wasn't helped by the chill and gales blasting us as we walked through the town, but clearly there wasn't a great deal going on. We went to a winemaker, of the label Pheasant's Tears, for a wine tasting. We tried four wines and a very strong spirit, accompanied by some cheese and bread, while the very enthusiastic owner showed us round his little place, being done up for the summer tourists into a cafe. And we visited Georgia's version of the Las Vegas chapel of love. Indeed, one only need turn up there, and pay one's money to the adjoining bank, and one can be immediately married. Presumably this is why Sighnaghi is known as the city of love... We also climbed up into the city walls and towers and were almost blown off by the violent gusts of wind. We retreated to the car just as the first raindrops fell, and settled down to listen to our audiobooks and watch the countryside go by til we arrived back at our apartment.

We relaxed with beer and chocolate before heading out for dinner, to another Georgian restaurant where I managed to order mushroom dumplings. Despite all her best efforts, Roz found herself with yet another cheese pie. But the ambience was cheery, and we enjoyed it all. We grabbed some more beers and chocolate from a corner shop and headed home to watch a rather rubbish DVD I'd bought, before it was off to bed.

Today we reveled in our last long lie (tomorrow we get up at 4am) and then got up and went to Entree for another predictable but satisfying breakfast. Then Roz wanted to go to an art exhibition we'd seen advertised all over town - Vestiaires and the fashion scene by Lappartient. It was at the top of Rustaveli, in a spectacular round glass building, with a wonderful winding ramp going up to the top, with pictures displayed on the walls between the windows, and then it opened to the air at the top, at which point one crossed the roof, and went down the other ramp, to see the other half of the exhibition, plus the somber security guards led us to two little rooms where there were very effective and atmospheric projections of fashion slides and music. A rather beautiful experience, in a wonderfully 'shabby chic' and impressively designed building. Rather like being in the Guggenheim... only better.

After the art, we headed to the old town where we wandered around the art galleries and little shops, and ate soup in the Grand Cafe, where Roz found that - disaster - her Kindle (e-book device) had died. That's the last time we rely on electronic books on holiday! We'd planned a wander in the botanical gardens, but as the blue sky gave way to ominous grey, we decided to proceed straight to our other destination: the sulphur baths. However, instead of getting a private room, this time we were going to understand what the locals found so compulsive about the baths and go communal!

We were told that the bath itself wasn't open, but that we could have a shower and sauna. This sounded inoffensive, if rather an anti-climax. Soon we were to learn that this wasn't so. We mounted the stairs and found ourselves in a women's changing room, presided over by a large woman and her sweet little daughter. Women of all shapes and sizes sat on the benches, either fully clothed or entirely stark naked. They gestured for Roz and me to sit. We sat. And waited... It was soon clear that we had no idea what was going on. Luckily, eventually one of the women took us under her wing. It seemed to operate on a one-in-one-out system, and soon, amid the fully clothed old ladies, we were being instructed to strip by charade. Our belongings trapped in a locker, we crept with terror through the door indicated. And found ourselves in a big shower room. There was someone in each cubicle, washing themselves (clearly having brought soap and shampoo for the purpose) in the sulphur water. We stood, perplexed. Until two large ladies wearing small pants sidled up on either side...

Before long Roz and I were both lying on a ceramic ledge having most of our skin removed by said ladies brandishing violent loofah gloves. We were scrubbed and pummeled and every so often a boiling bucket of water was suddenly sloshed over us. We emerged, missing the top layer of our skin, and regrouped under a sulphur shower. We then popped upstairs and used the sauna, before heading back to the gauntlet of the changing room where our belongings were liberated. Shiningly soft-skinned, we fled back to our apartment via the ice cream shop, and packed our bags in anticipation of tomorrow's flight to Kiev. At a disgustingly early hour.