Barhal: A Good Tip

Leaving Kars, we were planning to on to Trabzon, a town on the Black Sea. Our guide at Ani asked why we weren't going to the Georgian Valley and Kackar Mountains while we were in the area, and since actually we couldn't think of any reason why not, we changed our plans and went. And lucky that we did-- our time in the tiny mountain village of Barhal was a highlight of our time in Turkey.

The village sits at 1100 meters, and is reached by a harrowing drive along a snaking one lane road in a confidently driven minibus. The 38 kilometers from the larger town of Yusufeli up to Barhal takes two hours to drive, and as a passenger you spend the whole time thinking thankfully that the driver isn't going any faster. The town really only consists of two general stores, two cafes, and a few houses, but is popular with outdoorsy tourists and has several pensions. Ours consisted of simple wooden rooms up on a hillside, with a barn filled with hay and a cozy dining terrace where our proprietor, Mehmet, served up hearty meals (always including bread, rice, and potatoes, along with meat, salad, and soup!) To our surprise, the pension was full of Israeli tourists; we learned that Barhal is one of the towns firmly on the Israeli Turkey circuit.

The morning after our arrival, we set out on a difficult, awesome hike, which took us 2000 meters up from Barhal to Karagol, or Dark Lake, lying in the rocks at 3300 meters. The climb started with an 8 kilometer uphill walk along the dirt road between Barhal and the even smaller town of Nasranah. (When winter comes to the region, which will be soon, the road and everything else will be covered by a couple meters of snow-- we couldn't quite figure out how all the people whose wood and stone houses are perched on the mountainside get around during that long season.) From there, a path started taking us up the mountain, but crossing a meadow we pretty quickly lost the path, and did our best to ask for directions from villagers; after a few detours and one shepard kindly running after us when we headed the wrong way, we finally made it to the right path. This brought us on a climb that was breathtaking in both the literal and figurative senses. Every step was truly a difficult effort, and our hearts were pounding, but the scenery that surrounded us was well worth it. To our left was a rich, rather gentle valley, green with brilliant patches of red plants dotting it; the odd house sat on the mountainside beyond. To our right was a harsh, steep valley of stone, all gray and black. In every direction, in the background, were mountains. Hawks swooped and called. When this stunning climb ended, we could see the waterfall that came from Karagol, and knew we'd almost made it. But again we lost the path, and the only way we could see to get across to the final ascent was by crossing the steeply sloped field of rocks, the remnants of some hopefully long-ago slide, that lay in between us and our goal. This we did, slowly and nervously but successfully. Then we pulled ourselves up clinging to some of the amazing rhododendron bushes that grew from the mountain in several places, and after a short climb more, we came to Karagol. There was a mist rising from the lake and a cloud over it, and the air was so cold and wind so strong that we couldn't admire it for long, and had to eat our lunch huddled between some boulders. Coming down, we found a path that avoided the rock scramble, although when it split we went--no surprise-- the wrong way, and after some failed attempts to cut back to the trail we had to retrace our steps. The last couple kilometers along the road felt pretty long, but it was a very contented tiredness that consumed us.

The next morning was rainy, which provided a welcome excuse for having a long breakfast chatting with three Israeli women we'd met on the trail, then all sitting wrapped in blankets reading and leading each other in yoga poses. We took just enough of a walk in the afternoon to justify our chocolate and honey-filled picnic, then sat reading more when the rain started again. The peace of the place could not quite last through the 15 hours of bus rides we had to endure the following day, but came close, and that says a lot.