As we pulled off the asphalt main road onto a dirt road, I thought to myself, “This high-end four-wheel drive SUV is overkill for this terrain.”
That thought was fleeting, though, as we soon pulled off the dirt road onto…well, dirt. Rutted dirt with barely discernible tire tracks and with rocks training to be boulders.
Our ultimate destination, if we survived, was the so-called Rainbow Hills, a natural treasure about 90 minutes away from Tbilisi, the eclectic and delightful capital of Georgia (the country, not the state).
I was in the left-hand front passenger seat (yes, left, as the Toyota was imported from Australia especially for the type of driving that lay ahead of us). So, as our guide, Alex, and the two other guests kibitzed happily in the back seats in blissful ignorance, I had a front-row seat to the life-ending dangers just seconds away. In counterpoint to the laughter behind me, I’d exhale an inaudible OMG as our driver, Guram, plunged over steep descents that had looked like cliffs and up steep inclines that had looked like walls.
And don’t get me started on those sharp turns that had to have been millimeters away from massive drops and imminent death. OK, well, at least several feet away.
After a while, though, I got used to it. Guram knew what he was doing and where he was going. He’d driven this route scores of times before. So my grimaces yielded to smiles and even the occasional soft-spoken “woo-hoo.” Gradually, my butt yielded from clenching to whatever butts do when they’re not clenched.
Thanks likely to a combination of muscle memory and impressive navigation skills, Guram made turns where turns hadn’t seemed to exist. Ahead of us, cloudless blue skies extended to the silhouettes of rolling hills. Behind us, we left clouds of scattering dirt.
“Oh, look! A lizard!” one of us would shout, and we’d slow to a stop. Likewise for birds, turtles and photo opps.
And so we made our way across the broad plateau of the Gareja Desert to the Rainbow Hills. “Desert” is the correct term, but this desert was as much green as brown, coated with low vegetation and scrub, the results of a rainy spring.
Our intrepid guide, Alex, explained that we were close to the junction of the Eurasian Plate and the Afro-Arabian Plate. Eons ago, their tectonic mischief had given literal rise to the Caucasus Mountains to the north. More recently that same mischief has led to the region’s frequent destructive earthquakes.
Before those mountains were thrust into existence, much of the area had been submerged. The Mediterranean, Caspian and Black Seas are remnants from that period, and earlier waters left the mineral-rich sediments that are responsible for the bands of color that give the hills their name.
The final 15 minutes of the drive were the roughest but also the most scenic, as the multi-colored hills came into sight. We came to a stop at the manmade Mravaltskaro reservoir, as scenic as any natural lake and a perfect shimmering canvas for the colorful hills that bordered it.
We stood on one side, the plateau extending behind us. Ahead of us, parallel bands of color streaked the hillsides.
The rainbow hues come from sedimentary soil layers left behind eons ago as the sea retreated. Yellow indicated sandstone. Minerals gave layers of clay their red, brown and gray colors. Salt added white streaks.
“Let’s go on a walk around the lake,” Alex said. “It’s about four kilometers and should take us about 90 minutes.”
I’d asked the tour company whether I should bring my hiking poles. I’d received a negative response: “I did it just a week ago, and it was easy.”
So I’d envisioned a placid, relatively flat walk along the banks of the lake.
I was wrong. The trail may have gone around the lake, but it also went up and over the rolling, erosion-carved hills. Lots of hills.
After all these years, I should have realized that “easy” is a relative term.
We started off on a benign double-track route, which gradually narrowed to somewhat defined trails carved into the hillsides. Still seemed easy enough,
Until I started on a short downhill section. I felt my hiking shoes lose their grip on loose gravel, and I went from a position fairly perpendicular to the trail to one distinctly parallel to it. In layman’s terms, I fell on my ass. My back, shoulders and head followed.
Alex and my two fellow hikers heard the scattering of gravel followed by a thud. And a grunt. They ran back to me, asked me if I was OK, and helped me stand.
“That was the easiest part,” Alex told me, with concern on his face. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Well, not necessarily, I thought. I’m 70 years old, have poor balance, and likely have a longer recovery time should anything break. I’m not fully recovered from a stroke two years ago. And we’re in the middle of a Georgian desert. Oh, and did I say it was humid and stifling hot under a blinding sun?
“I think you should do it,” he continued before I could respond. “It’s so beautiful. I’ll help you.”
Neither of us knew what we were in for.
For the next hour or so, most times when we encountered a steep, slippery climb, I grabbed onto one of Alex’s arms for stability. From time to time, he pulled and added human horsepower to my efforts. For similar descents, I grabbed the back of his shoulders, my hands dripping with his sweat. When the trail became especially narrow, rutted and steep, we side-stepped in a kind of grotesque combination of the shuffle and the hokey pokey.
But that’s not what it was all about.
What it was about was the views. At this point, though, our views of the hills were limited. The first line of hills blocked the wider-ranging hills that lay beyond.
When we reached our first summit, we could finally see how extensive the hills were. And the extent of the rising and falling trails, which Alex explained were drier than usual. Hence the slippery gravel.
Ribbons of color formed rows of diagonals across the hills. In some places, where clay was dominant and firmed the soil, wind and long-gone streams and rivers had carved away the hillsides. In other places, the hills seemed more like massive sand dunes.
Behind the hills, strips of color appeared intermittently on the desert floor. The desert then blended into meadows of sporadic green and brown. In the far distance, some 12 miles away, we could see the low mountains that formed the border between Georgia and Azerbaijan.
As we made our way through and across the hills, up and down around the lake, our views changed, and we could see the full extent of the hills. The views were both breathtaking and otherworldly.
Soon the ups and downs lessened, and we passed through green meadows livened by blue and yellow flowers. We made our way through a stand of trees. Moments later, we spotted our SUV. Our faithful driver had cold water waiting for us, and the A/C cranked high.
Our hiking crew gave each other high fives, and I took Alex aside to express my gratitude for not letting me die. He smiled and asked me if I was glad I’d done it.
“Absolutely,” I responded.
Note: This tour was organized by Tbilisi-based Friendly.ge. You can learn more about this tour here. I recommend it highly.