Kthaahthikha

VI - 1700

The Voidanyoi put in at Rostov after a fair voyage. It was a great reief to be free of the cramped confines of the vessel, and I stretched my legs by walking in search of a place to rest. I found it in the shape of an inn by the name of The Red Cockerel, a comfortable place that made its trade off of the less affluent marine travellers. I had enough money left from the quantity provisioned for my return to see me well - if not extravagantly - in the region, and I aquired for myself a small room with a soft bed and a delicious meal of peppered chicken and wine. The wine was only rough, but good enough for my purposes, and the chicken was buttery and tender and sauced with soured cream and onions.

The hotelier was a tall, thin man who ran the establishment with his wife. he was very pleasant, and manged to point in the direction by which I might be able to aquire a phrasebook or guide. The later was, unfortunately, beyond me, but I did manage to locate a bookshop and purchase a dictionary of Georgian. I spent the afternoon in walking about the town, and managed to see the Saint George cathedral before departing. I had no desire to tax my resources by spending too long in that town, when my buisness lay far to the east and south.

My goal lay somewhere inland of Makhachkala, near Grozny or there abouts. A small village of farmers was said to lie in the mountains, and Alim had provided me with a map drawn over the top of an atlas page. I took passage in a carriage destined for the latter city, cramped together with a number of men and women who were for the better part pleasant enough, although I soon would have dispelled with them all in exchange for a little more leg room.

The journey was long and uneventful. For several days we travelled southwards across the grasslands, until the dorests appeared upon the southern horizon. These dense stretches of pine, cut through with rivers and minute tracks, have for centuries been the generators of myth and legend. At night we stayed in inns and roadhouses along the highway, and the travellers would amuse one another with ghost stories that I could barely understand.

After some time, I was forced to leave this coach and wait at a crossroads for another to carry me along. It was towards evening when I dismounted the carriage, and the driver bid me a fond adieu and allowed me a swig of his flask before departing. I stood alone in the cool breeze amidst the trees, listening as the branches rustled and the twitter of birds. In the distance i could see the mountains rising up out of the trees, and I wondered idly about the many myths that surrounded them.

The Caucasus contain Ararat, and so are a sacred place. It was something of a marvel to think that, amidst those mountains, was a place of such fantastic importance. I am no religious man myself, yet the shear fact of it's role in the history of a world was enough to impress itself upon me. I thought, to of how the Greeks had claimed those mountains as eastern pillars of the World. It seemed odd to me to travel from Africa, home of the Atlas range, and find myself here below the slopes of their distant cousins. I wondered if Prometheus, when he lay upon the slopes, had regarded this rolling forest with wonder or with abject horror as he watched the eagle near.

It was very easy to impress myself with such mythological symbolism, but I was soon distracted from it by the arrival of my coach. It was a rickety open-topped affair, without springs, but well-presented with coats of red and yellow paint and a brass sign that, when I investigated, translated as 'The Lightning Porter'.

The driver was a talkative gentleman who rambled away cheerfully at a speed that I could not follow at all. His accent was thick, and he seemed very eager to meet me. At one point he ceased in his conversation, and it took me some moments to realise that he expected news of the outside world.

I told him, as best I could, of what I knew to be transpiring, but I am afraid that I could share little due to my having been so busy, and unable for the better part to understand that much of what I had seen written in the papers. Nonetheless, he appeared to take what I said as a considerable sum, and thanked me heartily.

The village, when we came to it, was a hamlet situated far back in the hills, beside a small lake.

Ah, but what fun. I should also like to note the qualities of the steak that i just ate. Several hundred grammes of deliciousness.