Claiming Yaku
The young strapping yaks awoke at 6am to the birdsong sound of their alarm, within the familiar comforts of Catharine’s sleep-inducing interior, yet on a rather unfamiliar dishevelled looking road in Georgia. Despite Elliott’s vivid dreams (in his nourishing 3 hours of sleep) having him convinced that they had driven much further through the night, they were still painfully far from their next destination- Yerevan, Armenia. Yerevan signalled the home of one of Synopsys’s (a very significant sponsor of the yaks) most notable European bases, and the chance to get their photo taken by one of Armenia’s most famous photographers alongside the company. With yaks being notoriously vain (and Elliott & James certainly being no exception to this), they were chomping at the bit to make good time in their pursuit of the kind of fame only Istan currently enjoys among Yak-kind.
A bridge
Running on fumes (unlike Catharine who was brimming with Georgia’s finest 92 vintage Benzin), the weary yaks gently tottered off into the really quite stunning Georgian sunrise, deciding early on that the pot-hole full road through the mountains recommended by Google would be a step too far for their rather fragile wagon. Much like her namesake, Miss. Salpa, Georgia turned out to be a beautiful land, with mist-touched green mountains serving up a much needed treat to the fading yaks as they began their Caucasus adventure. Progress was slow however, with windy tracks, giant trucks, roadworks, and an unfathomable number of horses and cattle keeping a leash on Catharine and her fabled speed.
Driving was at times akin to a time warp, with Catharine beginning her journey in the bustling coastal party town of Batumi, before finding herself in a secluded mountain village within half an hour, with grass used for rooves, horses for tractors, and holes in the floor for toilets (although this was clearly not an issue for yaks).
Our European cousin leaving after a hearty breakfast
Fascinated by their journey, Elliott and James eventually reached the border with Armenia at around 1pm, having taken about an hour to cover to cover the final 10km of potholed track. The Georgians really didn’t seem to want them to leave! Having been warned of machine gunfire and mortars the previous day on the Azerbajani-Armenia border, the yaks were a tad nervous, but eventually passed through untroubled. This may have been due to the fact James was not well versed in border crossings at the time and in his eagerness to see Armenia made some errors that meant the passage through was a fast but expensive one. The yaks had never seen such a happy customs officer as the one that shook their hands, beaming uncontrollably as if he had just won ‘Yak of the Year’ at the local Mongolian Yurt Annual Fair.
Baaaaaaaaa-d roads
Armenia turned out to be similar to Georgia, although slightly browner to the keen eyes of the herbivores, who were always on the lookout for some luscious green leaves. The border towns in both countries seemed similar to 16th Century England, although Armenia’s roads (peaking at a huge 50 km/h speed limit) were slightly less kind to Catharine.
After reaching Yerevan at 7, and having a very friendly local guide them to the door of their Beatles themed hostel in a ‘very weird’ part of the city, our yearning yaks were treated to some of Armenia’s finest food, drink and music by the incredibly hospitable Gayane (of Synopsys) and her husband (Arzoo). After an incredibly delightful evening of interesting conversation and a cracking BBQ, the nimble nomads retired to the hostel to catch up on some much needed sleep.
The whole population of Armenia like this
12 hours of slumber later, Elliott and James headed towards the Synopsys office to be greeted by Gayane and Anna, and proceed to have their photos taken alongside Catharine. After a delicious Armenian lunch (trout this time), and having turned down the pleads of the photographer to stay around and take part in ‘Armenia’s Next Top Model’ (Elliott was a sure bet to win apparently), the yaks began their amble back up to Georgia, aiming for Tbilisi.
At the Ceremony for 'Best Looking Yak- Armenia Edition'
Another long drive along Armenia’s tediously slow roads eventually took the trio to a different and altogether more run-down border crossing, with Elliott being attacked by the largest most ferocious death-hound the world had ever seen. All 30cm of him. A cheaper international passage later, our rampaging beasts were soon into Georgia, and navigating kilometre upon kilometre of horrendously pot-holed roads in fading light. If not for the rally headlights expertly attached by Cambridge Coachworks, they could have been in real trouble.
Now just 30km from Tbilsi, the tremendous trio explored a long path that cut off the main road, and lead to a ‘lake’. Shrouded in complete darkness, and with the ‘lake’ turning out to be a reservoir, the yaks decided they couldn’t face any more time at the wheel and proceeded to set up camp, munching away what remained of their Armenian BBQ in the insect-free car.
‘MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO’. That is the blood-curdling noise that awoke the yawning Yaks the next morning, with the silhouettes of a horned monster passing along each of their tents. Initially full of panic and fear, the previously unflappable travellers quickly realised that they were not in fact circled by a pack of hungry lions, as initially feared, but by their beloved European cousins- COWS! Elliott and James proceeded to excitedly exchange farm-like noises with their pals, before seeing a man riding a horse on the horizon. Not wanting to be shackled to the chains that followed these poor enslaved beasts, the free and independent yaks hurriedly packed away their pens and made a quick getaway towards the Azerbaijani border.
Had to mooooooooove quickly
Two hour of queues, checks and document-purchasing later, Elliott and James stood on the brink of entering the country that only Microsoft Word knows how to spell. Triumphantly pulling up to the final guard, Elliott handed over documents to a friendly guard, before being asked for $5. Unfortunately, the poor guy didn’t seem to understand quite how bribes worked, as he specifically said the money was for him and had no choice but to immediately let us through due to the beeping traffic he was holding up. The innocent yaks were however disappointed that such an initially friendly chap chose to aggressively mutter to them that they were ‘looking for trouble’ as they drove off, and he likely wasn’t referencing the kind of ‘trouble’ Taylor Swift sings about.
Within half an hour of entering the country, James was quickly pulled over by the famously nosey police. With Elliott forced to stay in the car, James did well to batter back the initial allegations that he was speeding (despite threats of having him deported), and barter down a ‘fine’ of $1000 to $50 for the new accusation of not being an insured driver. Being split up, James was not able to confirm with Elliott that it is in fact the car and not the yak that is insured in Azerbaijan, thereby setting a worrying precedent for the corruption the poor yaks had heard TAILS of, but had hoped were untrue. In retrospect, the yaks did well on their journey to Yaku, with other intrepid explorers enduring far more stops and far larger ‘fines’.
An 8 hour scenic drive, highlighted by an uncharacteristically perfectly tarmacked mountain road, eventually resulted in the supremely beautiful yaks arriving at the capital as night fell. The city was incredibly busy, with driving regulations seemingly unheard of. After a stop-off at the Wi-Fi haven of McDonald’s, the tired traversers booked into the centrally located Caspian Hostel and proceeded to enjoy a refreshing night’s sleep, after an hour spent looking for parking.
The promised land
For the next 3 days, our now rather lazy legends spent their time getting Catharine fixed up in a garage, catching up on some thrilling admin, trying to sort a ferry crossing to Turkmenistan and eating a huge amount of food amongst some spectacular surroundings. Yaku, is a strange and hot place, resembling a youthful Dubai with a huge number of designer boutiques and restaurants littering the Caspian Sea shore line. With most of these however laying empty due to the searing heat, it seems that the phrase ‘build it and they will come’ does not seem to have worked.
With Catharine due to be finished this evening, and a ferry supposedly said to leave tomorrow, the yaks are maximising the last few hours of civilisation they have before the rally really begins.
