Portait of a Svan man, 5km N of Mestia, Georgia.

As recently as 5 years ago, to mention the Svans would have struck fear into the average Georgian urbanite.

Because as recently as 5 years ago, the Svans carried out massive blood feuds between families. If one family did seriously wrong by another family it was tradition to kill as many of the betraying family members as possible. In fact they have a verb in the Svan language which means "I will demolish your entire patronym".

Today, after some secretive and possibly brutal iron fistedness by the current government the Svans, who have had a distinct culture for centuries (and still have their own language), have been brought into check with the governments will and fully opened up to the effects of tourism.

Mestia, one of the largest towns in the Svaneti area has seen this most of all, thanks to a new road, meaning that the town slowly growing into an area comparable to somewhere in the Alps.

Yet, in saying that, the traditions are so strong that the new infrastructure doesn't get entirely rid of the old traditions. At the guesthouse, the owners still live off the land. Walking to the only wifi spot to update my Blipfoto stuff you have to push past countless cows and Caucasian sheepdogs. And men carrying scythes around the town is a ubiquitous sight.

On my walk today I met this chap. He spoke to me for a full five minutes in his unique, gutteral, Svan language. I nodded politely as I think he was referring to influx of business and machinery to his area. And that he had lived in the rural outskirts for years and years.

It'd be interesting to know what he's seen, considering that his heyday would have been during the height of Svaneti culture and bloody tradition, through the semi-successful intervention by Stalin in the area (he met considerable resistance!)

But since I'd heard that the Svans were cold and distant, getting a portrait here seemed a huge task. I was glad to get at least one.

* behind yonder hill commences the Great Motherland.