Tao Klarjeti: Three Days, Too Many Toilet Stops, and a Piece of Georgia’s History

At 6:30 in the morning, Gegeshidze Garden looked less like the starting point of an exciting school trip, but more like a gathering of people who had been dragged out of bed against their will. Half-asleep seniors slowly made their way onto the buses, while our new headmaster, Mr. Campana, somehow arrived looking cheerful in a Jurassic Park T-shirt. We were tired, but we had three days ahead of us and a destination that had been part of Georgia long before any of us were born: Tao Klarjeti.

Our first stop was Borjomi, where we had lunch at Loqo, a local restaurant, and were treated to some delicious Georgian food. On the other hand, the toilets at the restaurant were Turkish-style and none of us were emotionally prepared for that. Even Eka Mas was visibly concerned. Some students decided that they would rather hold it in than attempt to use the toilet, a decision that would haunt us very soon.

After lunch, we continued our journey towards the Georgia-Turkey border. By the time we crossed the border, practically everyone desperately needed to use the bathroom. Unfortunately, entering Turkey meant that the Georgian toilets were out of reach. Luckily, the border officer made an exception and allowed us to go back on the other side of the border. Half of us managed to use this chance, while the other half were still unable to relieve themselves, being promised another opportunity at the Turkish side. Somehow, that possibility was overlooked too. 

And then came Nene’s incident.

Since she had a Spanish passport, there was suddenly a problem with her leaving Georgia and later returning back with the rest of us. For about half an hour, we waited nervously, hoping that everything would be sorted out. Then Nene finally appeared like a superhero, returning from a particularly difficult battle, crying as if she had survived the climax of the movie. We were relieved to see her, and after all the confusion was resolved, we finally continued our trip. 

Back on the buses, the mood recovered quickly. We sang, played games, listened to music, and, most importantly, turned our attention to Keti Mas telling us the history of Tao-Klarjeti and how these lands became separated from Georgia. Her stories gave our journey a different perspective. We were not simply exploring another country, but travelling through an important part of Georgian history, unseen by most Georgians. 

Our bladder-related adventures, however, were far from over. We stopped several times in the valleys because people desperately needed to use the restroom, only to discover that the valleys were completely open and offered absolutely no privacy. We would quickly return back to the bus after looking around and realizing that there was nowhere private for the students to go. At that point, we had developed an impressive ability to simply endure the given situation.

Eventually, we reached a breathtaking mountain landscape filled with forests, cliffs, and endless views. We took countless photos, and in the middle of all that quiet beauty, Giorgi Martiashvili and David Vacharadze even played the harmonica. For a moment, the tiredness and discomfort of the journey disappeared. It was one of those moments when you realize that the long hours on a bus are worth the destination.

 We later stopped at Tbeti Cathedral. Thankfully, there was a toilet nearby. The restroom was probably worse than the one in Borjomi, but at this point nobody cared. After several hours of enduring discomfort, dignity had become a secondary concern.

As the day went on, we visited Doliskana. The site was beautiful, although because of the darkness and rain, we could not fully appreciate the landscape. We eventually reached our hotel, where we ate dinner quite late. After a long day of travelling, sightseeing, and surviving various unexpected challenges, everyone was asleep almost immediately.

The next morning began with the unmistakable sound of Eka Mas repeatedly banging on our doors. Breakfast was no longer optional. By 11 a.m., we were back on the buses and heading toward Oshki Monastery.

Oshki was one of the places that stayed with us. The monastery itself was incredibly beautiful, but we were only partially satisfied, since we were unable to enter it. It was even more difficult seeing such an old and significant church abandoned and slowly falling into decay. This visit reminded us that history is not always protected simply because it is valuable. 

Our next destination was the Khakhuli Monastery, which was converted into a functioning mosque. Being able to enter and see the interior of the monastery allowed us to appreciate its beauty from a different perspective. From there, we travelled to Otkhta Church, a huge and impressive structure surrounded by beautiful nature. Some of our classmates decided to climb around the site, turning the visit into one of the more energetic stops of the trip.

Then came Yusufeli.

Calling Yusufeli a city is generous. After hours of travelling, everyone was exhausted and extremely hungry, searching for somewhere to eat. We ultimately decided on eating döner kebab in a rather questionable-looking place. Under normal circumstances, some of us might have thought twice about it. However, at that moment, the kebabs tasted like the greatest meal on Earth. We also managed to shop for souvenirs and snacks before returning to the hotel, where everyone was more than happy to rest. 

The following morning, we were once again awakened by a familiar knock, although by then we had learned to expect it. We headed towards Ishkhani Monastery, which has been beautifully restored. Keti Mas explained how the dislodged stones had been returned to their original places and the damaged parts were carefully reconstructed. The monastery was closed, but with Zuka Mas's help, we were able to look through an open window, seeing the beautiful paintings on the ceiling. Even from outside, it was clear how the history was preserved within the walls.

Our final stop was Bana Monastery. The destruction of the monastery still did not take away all its beauty. Keti Mas explained how perfectly the church's location complemented the surrounding landscape: the structure stood in the middle while the different colors and textures of nature surrounded it like a natural color wheel. It was the kind of place that made you stop for a moment and simply observe.

Eventually, it was time to head back toward the border. Of course, we made regular snack stops along the way. These stops also provided Eka and Zuka Mas with several opportunities to remind us, quite loudly, that spending an hour standing in line at a gas-station market was probably not the most efficient use of our limited time.

On the way back, the border crossing went smoothly. Everyone was there with necessary documents, and nobody had the anxiety of being left behind. The successful process of entering Georgia felt like an achievement. 

And then we returned to Loqo.

After several days of snacks, late dinners, and questionable food, especially the infamous fish, cold rice, and oily French fries from our first night, Georgian food had never looked better. Everyone was starving, and this time absolutely nothing was left on the table. We still had another three hours to go on the road to Tbilisi, but nobody seemed to mind anymore. We were back in Georgia, full of good food, and heading home.

At around 1 a.m., we finally arrived in Tbilisi. Everyone was exhausted, yet their fatigue felt different now. We had spent three days travelling through mountains, visiting ancient churches and monasteries, getting lost in small towns, eating whatever we could find, laughing on buses, listening to stories, taking far too many pictures, and occasionally wondering whether we would ever find a decent toilet again. However, the feeling of discovering a part of Georgia that many of us had only known from history books was unmatched.

For us, Tao Klarjeti was more than just a field trip. It gave us a chance to see a piece of Georgian heritage with our own eyes and to better understand what it means to have a culture that stretches beyond modern borders. One of the most memorable parts of the trip was the people we experienced it with: our classmates, our teachers, and of course our headmaster, Mr. Campana, who survived the chaos right alongside us. And, somehow, despite everything, most of us would probably do it all again.

Edited By: Ninia Chaduneli