Mezmay, Krasnodar Krai, Russian FederationA LATE AFTERNOON IN MEZMAY VILLAGE
We arrived in remote Mezmay village in the late afternoon feeling tired and jaded. And it was no wonder. After a hot and uncomfortable three-hour train trip from Mineralnye Vody to Armavir, then a long and boring visit to the musical instrument museum in Maykop, followed by a 100-kilometer drive across the border into Krasnodar Krai, it was hardly surprising that by the time we reached our destination of Mezmay, our view of the world was somewhat tainted.
And although the village was nestled in the loveliest mountain forest setting, Mezmay was a pretty disappointing sight. Tired dwellings, tacky tourist signage, heaps of cheap B & B's together with hooning cowboys on undersized horses, did nothing to add to our first impressions of the village.
Furthermore, our Hotel Mezmay, whilst looking reasonable from the outside could best be described as "basic". And that would be generous. When we finally found one of the hotel staff, we were shown through a grotty shared kitchen area and a large sitting room housing a few roughly upholstered chairs and an old billiards table. Mounted on the wall was the stuffed head of what was once a very large stag deer bearing over-sized antlers. Our room was no better. Just two hard single beds and a very basic bathroom. It was adequate. But only just.
It didn't help either when we were told that the hotel did not serve meals. Not even breakfast. We could buy some food at the markets at the end of our road. Oh, and there is a general store down the road but it isn't open, we were told.....
Our arrival in Mezmay was astonishingly reminiscent of a stay we had in 2016 at a village called Hemu, in Xinjiang Province, far western China.Yes, it was a long time ago but the memories of that god forsaken village are crystal clear. A tragic example of how rapid tourism had completely destroyed the fabric of what was once a humble but once culturally interesting ethic Tuvan village, Hemu had overnight turned into a gaudy tourist centre, with very little planning and virtually no infrastructure. And overrun by thousands of swarming visitors. Oh, and we couldn't get food there either. Well, only a blow-torched sheep head that is.... The similarities were overwhelming. See "A Torch Blown Sheep’s Head OR Hell in Hemu…" http://v2.travelark.org/travel-blog-entry/crowdywendy/7/1483986146
Fortunately Mezmay was not quite that bad. And perhaps it just appeared so disappointing because of our state of mind - and our miserable hotel. It didn't help either that it was drizzling misty rain.
Abdullah had made plans for a late lunch with a tourist company Mezmay Eco-Tours; a local business that apparently specialised in wildlife tour, hiking, biking and skiing in the winter months. Owner of the company Vlad picked us up at our hotel. He called himself a wildlife guide. But he was a truly alternative guy, right into meditation and natural therapies. A wild looking, tall thin man with an engaging smile, Vlad seemed surprised and disappointed that we weren't interested in a massage with hot stones or a body thrashing with natural birch whips.... But I may add, there was absolutely no pressure. When Abdullah explained we were kind of weirdo in not liking bania (hot baths) and "natural health" treatments, he just shrugged his shoulders with a resigned look of "bloody mad foreigners"...
Vlad lived "out of town" on a very pretty, lushly forested site on the edge of the national park. His current project was the construction of an impressive, beautifully gabled, large wooden two-storey house which he proudly told us was built to accommodate his ever expanding family. The father of eight very young children, we could see the sense in his ambitious project.
But in the meantime Vlad and his family lived in a modest small wooden planked cottage which I think Vlad had built himself. And it was here we enjoyed a very pleasant meal cooked and prepared by his thirteen year old daughter Nika. To my delight, Vlad's family also included a large number of cats. Of course, I was in my element.
A DISMAL EVENING IN MEZMAY
Alan was not feeling well so Abdullah and I went out to find some food for our evening meal. Fortunately the markets were still open with a couple of small stalls selling smoking hot kebabs. Abdullah was disappointed. The only meat was pork which of course being Muslim, he not could eat. He sighed, saying he would try to find some yoghurt instead. I bought a couple of charred overcooked pork sticks for Alan and me but we needed at least some bread, hopefully some butter and perhaps some tomatoes.
We wandered down the street to another tiny shop which was thankfully open. The young woman serving looked at me apologetically. The only bread they had left was a small loaf of black bread. In remote Mezmay, bread was only delivered once per week. There was no butter and no tomatoes. Would I settle for a cucumber? Well, there was no choice. Abdullah bought some dubious looking yoghurt and that was dinner.
The young shop assistant obviously saw me as a potential tourist catch. Would I like some wooden bowls and spoons? Her husband made them himself, she told us. And would I like some spices perhaps? She made up her own secret mixture for chicken and pork kebabs. It was very difficult trying to explain through Abdullah's translation that our home country of Australia strictly prohibits the entry of anything wooden unless it is certified it has been treated. And sorry I said, the same applies to spices unless they are sealed.
"What sort of country is this Australia? It sounds like a horrible place!" she exclaimed. I wasn't going to get into our Australian quarantine policies. Instead, being a devout coward in the face of this woman's shocked behaviour, I nervously bought a couple of horrible looking Mezmay fridge magnets with scratched photos of an ancient logging mill and some spices that were, well sort of sealed.
Back at the ranch, Alan looking visibly disappointed at the charred remains of the pork kebabs and the notion of no butter, decided to cut us some bread. But even our trusty serrated-knife-that-travels-the-world-with-us had no hope of severing the rock hard recalcitrant loaf. In the end we prised off lumps with our fingers while Abdullah looked on passively spooning his doubtful looking yoghurt into his mouth.
Lying in our rock hard beds, I remarked as brightly as I could "Well, things can only get better tomorrow" "Perhaps not." replied my disgruntled friend....
A MORNING IN MEZMAY
News from Home: Yekaterina Still Missing. And a Glorious Morning.
Things didn't exactly improve, although it had stopped raining. Our cat sitter Hazel had sent me through an email overnight saying there was still no sighting of our missing cat Yekaterina.
Hazel explained she was leaving food morning and night at the local school - close to where the poor animal and her kittens had been dumped by her callous former owners; a effort well beyond our expectations but for which we very grateful. Hazel had also contacted most of our neighbours, the local beach kiosk, the mowing man and anyone else she could find in our small village of Crowdy Head, asking them all to keep an eye out for her.
And there was a slither of hopeful news. Some of the bowls of food Hazel had left out were half-eaten. But of course that could have been another cat or dog. Or even a bandicoot? Hazel even sent photos of "before" and "after". But it really didn't help much with our missing cat forensic research....
Once again Vlad picked us up at our hotel, this time in a very nice four-wheel drive car. His company must be pretty successful we concluded. After all, apart from the nice new home under construction he owned five rather spiffy looking vehicles. And then of course there was the cost of supporting his wife and eight kids.
On a splendid fine morning even we had to admit that Mezmay was looking a lot better. Previously unseen flowering pears adorned the front garden, along with some fine looking beech and birch trees, all with their bases traditionally painted in white wash as a pest control measure.
And the surrounds were quite lovely too; verdant fields with lush thickets of brilliant green forests. On a brilliant sun-drenched morning after the night rain, even the humble local cottages were gleaming. Our spirits rose. After all, we were to have a cooked breakfast at Vlad's home, followed by a brief tour around Mezmay before being driven to the coastal city of Tuapse where we were to board our train for our journey to Sochi city. It sounded like an interesting morning coming up, and hopefully better than the previous day.
I have often commented on what I now call the Travellers' Roller Coaster Mood Swing Syndrome. When travelling the way we do, it's so easy to have your spirits drop like a ton of bricks, only to crazily swing again in the opposite direction when things start to improve. The only problem is of course, that the mood swings can reverse at any time. Which they were to do again that day....
A Note About Mezmay
Mezmay village, meaning "wild apple forest"* is located in the Apsheronsky district of Krasnodar Krai. It is situated at an elevation of about 670 meters in a densely wooded canyon between three mountain ranges. The village is close to the confluence of the main Kurdzhips River with the Mezmay River, and about 35 kilometers south-east of the administrative centre of Apsheronsk.
*Apparently the region is still famous for some old and rare varieties of apples.
The area was initially inhabited by Circassian tribes who remained in the region until Russo-Caucasian Wars of 1817-64. Inaccessible Mezmay was in fact the last stronghold of the Circassians, and indeed refuge of renowned Circassian leader Mohammed-Amin, during the wars with the Turks and Russian troops. After the Circassians conceded defeat to the Russians, the area then became home to the Kuban Cossack army, and later inhabited by the Cossack people. The village of Mezmay was founded in 1868 as a settlement of woodcutters and miners.
During Soviet times, the Mezmay region was a highly productive timber area. In the economic crisis following the 1990's Soviet collapse however, the economy of the logging town suffered a major downturn, with many of the residents leaving the village.
During its hey day, the nearby village of Guamka housed a narrow gauge railway for transporting timber from Guamka Gorge to Apsheronsk. In 2011 however, the railway was destroyed in part due to a major landslide. Today the railway goes only as far as the landslide accident and acts mainly as a tourist attraction for transporting passengers to a lookout above Guamka Gorge.
Today, while a logging industry does exist, Mezmay is more of a hang out for environmentalists, those seeking an alternative lifestyle, downshifters (those dispensing with a financially rewarding but stressful life for a lesser paid but more fulfilling lifestyle), natural remedy, yoga and meditation enthusiasts - as well as artists, authors and poets.
According to mezmay.org (translated) "... the timber industry had to make room for a rapidly growing flood of tourists, holiday makers, freedom loving and extraordinary people. The village is literally flooded with poets, painters, sculptors, writers, parapsychologists and psychics..." And what is a parapsychologist? Well, it is in fact the study of psychic phenomena.
Yes, it is truly home to an alternative society. Could it be classed as Bohemian? I think not. But perhaps I tend to regard a Bohemian lifestyle as that adopted by the economically privileged and/or aristocrats. Mezmay is definitely more quirky. More alternative. More crafty than artistic. More hippy in style. And it certainly does not look to be the home of an indulgent, wealthy intellectual class.
Today Mezmay, due to an abundance of natural attractions including beautiful canyons, caves, mossy thickets of boxwood, cascading waterfalls and surrounding national park, is a popular tourist destination, especially with people from Krasnodar Krai. It is also home to a diversity of vegetation (beech, hornbeam, fir and wild fruit trees), birds (jays, eagles, vultures, etc) and animal life (bears, wild big cats, jackals etc). The area is also well known for its variety of rare and endangered wildlife species; a biologists' and ecologists' delight.
Charming Breakfast at Chateau Vlad. Discovering Magic Hop Bread!
This morning, Vlad's daughter Nika excelled herself. A self possessed young woman, she quietly prepared for us a fabulous yet simple breakfast of fried eggs, potato salad, fresh tomatoes and the most amazing hop bread with fresh homemade butter.
I love cooking and one of my great pleasures is recreating recipes I have tasted during our travels.
But finding out how Nika made her hop bread was quite a challenge for Abdullah's translation. It was clear that a fresh yeast starter would have to be prepared but the amounts and the methodology was lost "Try Googling the recipe" suggested an exasperated Vlad after Abdullah's umpteenth effort in deciphering his translation. I gave in. I'd look it up at home.
But what I did remember was the crumbly, moist buttery texture and the delicious taste. Something not like anything I had ever eaten before. I have a recipe and I have the hops. I just need to try it! Vlad and Nika offered to send me some starter, warning that the fermenting product can explode.... I would shudder to think what our Australian Quarantine officials would think. It was too hard to explain. I thanked them profusely and decided to use a Googled recipe. Here is a link to one recipe I found for hop bread: https://sallywise.com.au/2014/09/05/recipe-for-hop-yeast-bread/
To Guamka Village
Abdullah had suggested a hike through one of the nearby canyons but Alan's foot was giving him so much trouble we opted for some simple sightseeing.
Our first stop was at high ridge not far from Vlad's place. Atop a steep mountain slope were pristine alpine meadows covered with summer flowering wild flowers and astonishingly beautiful, simple flowering weeds; a carefree natural cottage garden at its very best.
A natural lookout, the meadow heights provided great views across the deep river gorges of the Mezmay Valley to snow capped distant peaks. It was really very beautiful and at long last we began to understand why Mezmay was so popular. We spent an hour or so happily wandering around the meadows, taking photos and talking to Vlad about life in Mezmay.
Our next stop was Guamka village, the base of which sits the famous narrow gauge railway, once a passageway for timber to Apsheron city.
Quite a different scene from Mezmay, Guamka village looked as if it had been established as a tourist centre for quite some time. Numerous markets adorned the tiny streets and in the background we noticed some very smart hotels (I did wonder at the time why we had not stayed here. It looked a lot more comfortable a place). Dotting the streets were several cafes, food and souvenir shops. There were some tourists but not a huge amount. All in all Guamka village looked very pleasant. And a mile better than poor Mezmay....
Abdullah and Vlad wandered around the market stalls, pointing out the Russian samovar tea makers and asking us if we would like to try some tea or buy some souvenirs. Although we are not tea drinkers, watching the tea makers feed the samovar with wood chips and make the Russian tea was fascinating. The Russian tea making couple were charming, explaining in great detail what makes a good cup of Russian tea. And you must pour a small amount of the tea into a saucer, then drink it slightly cooled from the saucer itself, they told us. Apparently the smokiness of the wood heated water adds immense flavour to the tea. And it certainly did taste a lot better than normal tea (read: I simply hate tea!).
We were then introduced to a young woman stall seller who sold what I can best describe as "singing bowls". A wooden pestle when swirled around the inside of these pretty brass bowls gave a very clear, almost magical ring which resonated for some time after the pestle had stopped its swirling. It all had to do with the particular metal from which the bowls were mad, explained Abdullah.
We selected a tiny, very attractive piece as a souvenir. I regret to say that despite many attempts at pestle swirling, it has not "sung" since it arrived in Australia. Oh well, it looks nice and it is a reminder of Guamka....
Vlad and Abdullah were very relaxed, insisting that we wander down to the nearby river and explore the greenery and beauty of this restful stream. And it was sublime, we must admit. At the time however, it was around midday. We began to think "Now we do have to drive to Tuapse which is quite some distance, then catch our booked train to Sochi. Surely we are running out of time?" The drive from Guamka to Tuapse was in fact 150 kilometers and some three hours drive from Guamka. And our train trip was we estimated another two hours on to Sochi.
Vlad suggested that we catch the narrow gauge train to Guamka lookout. The queues however were very long and at last our guides decided we just didn't have time. Quietly relieved, we returned to Vlad's car for our journey to what we thought would be a three hour drive to Tuapse, reportedly a beautiful port city on the Black Sea coastline.
Russian town names often amaze me. Some are basically named after the number of kilometers from one point to another (as in say "789" on the Trans Siberian Railway), others are named after a particular part of a road (as in The 19th Corner, Chukotka). When we past a curious sign which I translated as "Red Dagestan", I asked Abdullah the origin of this unusual name, particularly as it was in Krasnodar Krai, not Dagestan. Abdullah was honest. "I don't know. Well, perhaps because Soviets liked red" he tried to explain. "But this is not Dagestan" I argued. "Well, maybe there are many people from Dagestan living here" he offered hopefully.
I imagine guides would hate clients like me who ask endless impossible questions, both during and after their tours. But at the time, I thought it could be an interesting, if useless snippet of information for my blog. For the record, Red Dagestan in fact does not house anyone from Dagestan. It is in fact home to mainly Armenians who escaped from Turkey during the Armenian genocide. Now that IS a bit of Blog Trivia!
TO TUAPSE. OR SO WE THOUGHT....
A Relaxed Start to Our Drive
We were still mildly surprised by our guides' casual approach to the timing of our coming journey. We stopped for fuel which seemed to take forever and then Vlad drove us carefully toward our destination of Tuapse. He was an excellent driver and of course he knew the roads better than us. We never thought to question our coming travels. And anyway guides, even the good ones, never tell their clients too much about their itinerary. After all, anything can happen to a schedule. We have always laughed that a guide's philosophy must be "Don't tell them too much. You might want to change your mind...!"
What we didn't bank on was a return to Adygea. It was actually on our way to Tuapse. In fact it was just out of Krasnyy Dagestan (Red Dagestan - yes, it really does exist....) that our road zigzagged back into Adygea, then back to Krasnodar, back into Adygea and back to Krasnodar. We had encountered roads like that in Central Asia; a reflection of changing borders, not of crazy road engineers. At one instance while driving through Kyrgyzstan, we actually crossed an international border into Kazakhstan for several kilometers. Without our driver Slava's information we would have had no idea we were travelling in neighbouring Kazakhstan.
Surprise Stop at Khadyzhenskaya Railway Station
After just less than an hour's drive, Vlad pulled our car into a surprisingly lonely looking railway station.
Perhaps we had been incorrect with our estimation of distance from Guamka to Tuapse? We never thought to question that we were NOT at Tuapse. Perhaps Tuapse railway was located a long way for the city centre?
We bade Vlad a grateful farewell and that was it. And there we were just the three of us - on a boiling hot day, stranded on a deserted railway station that Alan and I knew nothing of. Little did we know that we were in fact at Khadyzhenskaya, only 45 kilometers north-west of Guamka. Instead of being dropped at Tuapse, we were landed here with a five hour train trip to Sochi.
Our train carriage was cramped and stiflingly hot. Furthermore, we could not open the windows so there was nothing else we could do other than sit and sweat. Thankfully, for the first leg of our journey, we still thought we had alighted somewhere near Tuapse.
Abdullah was just about as happy as we were. Probably less, as he hated trains and knew where we were and that we had a huge train trip ahead of us. In desperation, Alan and I said we would try to find a dining car to get a drink. Abdullah said he didn't want to join us so we left on our own.
To our delight we found the air conditioned dining car and a nice woman who served us with beer and several packets of crab flavoured potato chips. And so that's where we stayed for the next three hours.
As the train line swung south along the coast line of the Black Sea, Alan noticed a railway station labelled "Tuapse". It was only then that we realised what had happened and that we had another two hours of train travel ahead of us.
It was a good thing that the last leg of the train journey was at least interesting. The railway line from Tuapse to Sochi clings right onto the shoreline of the sparkling Black Sea coastline; a haven for wealthy Russian tourists and international travellers and beach seekers.
The beaches were stony but the sea looked divine. Crystal clear waters were filled with happy looking bathers and even though there were no waves to speak of, many had surf boards. Other parts of the coastline were lined with private swimming pools and what looked like fun parks. It touristy and was not our idea of an ideal beach scene, but it sure would have beaten being trapped in our stiflingly hot train compartment.
On the slopes leading up from the beaches were huge mansions; beautiful white houses with glorious views of the azure Black Sea. It did make me wonder why the sea was given such a boring and depressing name.
It was time to return to our cabin and retrieve my camera. As a blogging tourist in any situation, it is always a good lesson to take it everywhere you go, even a mundane dining carriage.
We arrived in Sochi in the late afternoon. The sparkling modern city looked simply splendid. But we never found out why we had been short-changed and given the long second class, and exceedingly slow rail trip. And even Abdullah had no idea.
But anyway, it was time to alight in Sochi and explore a city about which we had heard so much. We had reached the last of our destinations in our long journey across the Russian North Caucasus.
2025-05-22