Death, Taxes And Soviet Sunburn

Ah, fuck.

I've only gone and done it again. At this point, maybe being burnt will become one of those quirky little tidbits about my character, a bit like how I always make tea milk-first or know pi to 28 digits.

It's not my fault ok!! I can't help that I have the skin of a naked mole rat, and the common sense of a slightly sluttily dressed mole rat. It was literally cloudy! I only took my shirt off for 5 minutes (blatant lie). If it makes it any better, yes, I feel very ashamed. I'll drink whatever aloe vera goo my mum tells me to and brush my teeth with 100 SPF suncream for at least a month, promise.

More to the point, today we did an uphill thing. Stepping out from Stepantsminda, we ascended over 1100 m through lush, alpine meadows, heaving our heavy limbs over tuft after tuft of matted grass. Cows lounged lazily on the terraces, wildflowers swayed cheerfully in the breeze and our lungs drew crisp air deep into our bronchioles.

After 45 minutes of wheezing and legs seizing, we reached Gergeti Trinity Church, where the views were so good I might've developed a mild God complex (although it could've just been self awareness finally kicking in on my regular ego tbf). Then I saw the road that literally takes you straight to the front door. Perfect. And so, as we perched on a wall, dripping with sweat and gasping for oxygen, gaggles of Asian tourists flooded off air-conditioned buses, demanding that we move from the recovery position so they could poke Thomas with selfie sticks and pose with the view like Angelina Ballerina (also made funnier by the fact that, for a brief moment, Thomas genuinely thought they wanted a photo with him.)

Lots of elevation gain and even more lots of burning later, the ridgeline views opened up over the ominous grin of the Caucasus: a snarl of chasms yawning wide, sawtooth shards gnashing skyward, and glacial saliva drooling down to the valley floor.

We'd hoped to reach the towering icy walls of the Gergeti glacier, but with menacing clouds shrouding the elusive summit of Mount Kazbeg, we stopped at the panorama cafe, where to continue a theme, I sourced 90% of my calories through beer.

Still, we'd come within four miles of Russia (and a likely prison cell), hammered our chopstick legs, and climbed most of the way up a 5054 m mountain, which being the fifth highest in all of Europe, stands taller than Mont Blanc. The four greater peaks all await us on the next leg of our trip, and I can already hear the final boss music mounting in the distance.

In the final action of the day, we shot back in a mashrutka, where I somehow convinced the driver to stop at the Gudauri panorama, a colourful concrete mural overhanging the rift and plastered with mosaics depicting heroic moustaches and poorly proportioned horses celebrating Russian 'friendship'.

Then in Tbilisi, we finally made our obligatory culture visit to McDonald's, where I had something which called itself a 'Grimace shake with cream'. It was around then the burn started to pang. Fitting really. I grimaced, shook my fist, then applied moisturising cream.Baca lagi