One of my favourite days in Georgia was our day trip to Kazbegi (ყაზბეგი), a small town high up in the Greater Caucasus mountains of Georgia. Our bus spent a few hours winding zigzagging the Georgian Military Highway, and we watched the cows grazing on steep slopes like dozens of tiny ants across undulations still dappled with snow.

When we reached the base of the mountain, our guide NeNe gave us a choice: we could hike up for two hours, or we could ride up in a Soviet-era jeep. I felt as the youngest members of the group we should trek up the mountain, but John and Adrian were fans of motorised transport. The rest of the group mocked us for our slothfulness. Even NeNe chastised us, telling us with a smile that we were very lazy and we should hike up, and we will miss out on many amazing sights. Adrian asked if there would be bears, and she told us with a straight face that there would be hundreds of them.

I was convinced to take the jeep, and we chose a little purple 4×4 AvtoVAZ Lada to take us to the top of the mountain. Our driver knew the rocky one-way path very well, expertly manoeuvring across the rocks and the mud, and even reversing down the hill to let another car pass us. Abundant wilderness and emerald foliage trees embraced the car as it tackled the precipitous incline.

After a bumpy but beautiful 40 minute trip, we reached the top and saw the Gergiti Church ahead of us. We strolled through a vast field of wildflowers, passing through a heard of cows munching on the flora. I wasn’t able to enter the church (no dress, no entry), but I was able to run through a massive meadow of millions of marigolds. We then perched on top of an old stone wall to enjoy our picnic lunch of potato salad and coleslaw.

An hour later, we saw the first members of the hikers emerge from over the crest, looking red, sweaty and exhausted. I greeted NeNe brightly, and asked her if she had seen any bears. “I hate you”, was her exhausted reply. Suddenly the weather changed, and the blue sky disappeared behind gloomy grey clouds. We decided to return back to the village in our Lada, and the hikers had to turn around too, in order to make it back by 3pm. As soon as we hopped in our car, it started to hail, and I am ashamed to admit that we might have waved to the hikers as they trudged through the mud on the way down.

As we drove through the village, our chauffeur stopped to talk to a farmer with six spotted piglets. I hoped for a second that we were going to give all the wiggly piglets a ride in the jeep, but sadly we kept on driving without taking on any porcine passengers. While the rest of the group limped back into town, we spent the afternoon in a very low-frills café and its shrill Georgian pop music. The end of the tape would bring short-lived relief, until our hostess would emerge from the other room to turn over the cassette to ensure the performance was repeated.

One of the highlights of our trip so far has been the day trip out to Amberd Fortress. This is a 7th century fortress on the slopes of Mount Aragats (not to be confused with Mount Ararat), and its name means “fortress in the clounds”. While these walls once contained a palace filled with silk and gold, for us they formed a stunning backdrop to the tousands of wildflowers that had bloomed throughout the valley. The grass was full of yellow and purple hyacinths and scarlet poppies. We are starting to remember what sunshine feels like.

On the way back into town, our bus weaved through dozens of sheep, as well as a few donkeys. Our guide told us that these were all the sheep from a particular Yezdi village, carefully hearded by professional shepherds sitting upon patient horses while whistling to their eager sheep dogs.