Konrad and Alexandra (PDF) - Rolf Gross

Kazbeg, higher than Montblanc, and the peaks of Khevsureti further east, only one road crossed the range, theCaucasian Military Road.The rug merchant, obviously a veteran of many such trips, had pulled his bowler hat over his eyes and slept soundly inhis corner of the carriage, undaunted by the shaking and rocking on the rutted road. Leist read a time-worn AlexanderDumas novel. The child had put her head into her napping mother’s lap.The carriage labored up the Terek Valley. Numerous medieval watchtowers crowned the bare rocks on both sides, andafter an hour the coach and the roaring river disappeared between steep rock walls.Leist put down his book, waved his hand at the passing scenery, and said. "Now begins the dramatic Daryan Gorge, thePorta Caspiae of the Ancients. Since prehistoric times people have migrated through this narrow defile and over the Passof the Cross. Another name for these gorges was the ‘Gates of the Alani,’ and in fact, to this day the Osseti, the remainsof Gothic tribes, occupy these remote valleys. They speak an ancient Indo-European language."They crossed a bridge to a posting station in an old fort under an overhanging rock. Local tribesmen in heavy shepherds’cloaks, armed with silver daggers and front-loading guns loitered around the station. Surprised, Konrad commented upontheir blue eyes."Oh, yes," Leist said with a laugh, "these are the famous ‘Blue Eyes of the Mountain Georgians’. Ethnically they are Indo-European Ossetis not Georgians, but they have mixed with the Georgians with beguiling results: imagine a statuesquewoman with black hair and these unreal, deep-blue eyes!"Hardly enough room remained for the road next to the roaring river in the canyon. The road got steeper, and the horseslabored hard.Unexpectedly a side valley opened on the end of which Mt. Kazbeg majestically towered over a craggy glacier.At the end of the gorges the river fanned out across a rock-strewn floodplain where thousands of sheep grazed in thesparse grass along its banks. A group of wild shepherds squatted next to a two-wheeled cart around a smoking fire. Intheir high, conical, fur hats and dirty, long-haired, sheepskin coats, their black, bearded faces and tousled, matted hairlooked medieval. Barking and snapping, the scrawny sheep dogs attacked the coach. The horses reared, and the driver,cursing in Russian, furiously whipped at the dogs, while the shepherds watched idly, laughing and shouting obscenities.Soon they were surrounded by a sea of wooly sheep. Led by stinking, evil-eyed billy goats, and driven from behind byshepherds on horseback, the animals surged in waves around the carriage. Caught, the carriage had to wait until theherd had passed. The second coachman got off his box and walked ahead of the horses to part the woolly sea likeMoses with a broom.Around noon the road eased, and they reached the village of Kazbegi. Like a huge shepherd’s hat the mighty ice mass ofKazbeg’s volcanic hulk rose majestically over the verdant valley. Driven by high winds, continuously changing thin cloudsveiled its glaciated peak."We break here for lunch," said Leist. "Let me take you to the only restaurant in this place. It is grubby, but they servereal Georgian food that one cannot find in Tiflis, and from its terrace one has a fine view of the mountain."Unaccustomed to the altitude, breathing heavily they clambered the steep hill to the restaurant. Green meadowsstretched across the valley, a few houses at the foot of a bare hill crowned by the black silhouette of a church against thewhite snow fields of Kazbeg.Leist pointed at the church. "One of Georgia’s most celebrated landmarks: Mtatsminda Zameba Kazbegis. The HolyMountain of the Trinity at Kazbegi. Sometimes you should visit it in late July when the rhododendrons are blooming fromthe church right to the edge of the Ortisferi Glacier. The view of Kazbeg from there is exceptional, and the meadowssurrounding the church are covered with rare Caucasian gentians and primulas."The eatery was a cave far dirtier than Konrad had expected and full of smoke from the fire. They fled onto the terrace.With a sly smile at Konrad, Leist ordered fa meal or both of them in Georgian."This is going to be your introduction to Georgia! A test of your fortitude. Nowhere else but at Alaverdi in November canyou find such freshly made khashi. You absolutely must try it."Konrad was surprised by a simple bowl of clear broth served with thick, circular loaves of flatbread and a saucer ofchopped garlic. A few innocent looking bones and cartilages swam in the bowl. He tasted the first spoon and gagged.Leist gloated with laughter! The broth was revolting. Mutton leftovers seasoned with huge amounts of grated garlic.Not to spoil Leist’s pleasure, Konrad pulled himself together and bravely swallowed the soup. It did have an unexpectedlypleasant effect on his queasy stomach.Konrad shook himself. "Now I am a fully seasoned Georgian, reeking of garlic!" Leist, pleased with his experiment,grinned and patted Konrad on the back: "Rost, you are a splendid fellow!"For a while the road was passable. They skirted a fortified village, Sioni, with a watchtower and an old basilica on a steeppromontory in a large, barren mountain bowl. Behind Kobi, a village populated by long-legged, black pigs and peoplewho looked like robbers, the road became much worse.In a desolate scree of red rocks the road deteriorated into a washboard of rivulets fed from the last snowfields on theslopes. Primitive wooden galleries, supposed to protect the road from avalanches, which had half collapsed during thewinter forced them into often hair-raising maneuvers.8