Friday, 13 October 2017

 

Start: Gori 12:00

Arrival: Tbilisi 18:00

Total: 120 km

 

On which I...

 

stood inside Stalin's train

climed up and down an ancient cave town in sandals

discovered a Luxembourgish kolkhoz in the Georgian capital

 

 

When I woke up, the sun was shining warm and bright into the hotel room. A perfect day to visit a revolutionary's childhood place! Josef Jughashvili, the Georgian boy who would become known to the world as Stalin, was born on 18 December 1878 in a small town house in Gori. And now here I was, standing directly in front of that house. Me, Irakli, about a dozen German tourists and a lazy, sunbathing dog. A truly memorable moment.

 

Irakli had found himself a new passtime. On top of being my guide, nighttime driver and pubcrawling buddy, he also made an excellent photographer. A man of many skills. While he clicked away on my cellphone, I looked up at the facade behind me. Why did they have to put this marble monstrosity around the house? It looked like a temple, as if someone had just forgotten to demolish the strange little barrack that had stood there before. Which was a pity, because the small house with the wooden porch was actually quite beautiful. Quiet, homey. I tried to imagine what Stalin's childhood must have been like, reading books and dreaming of mighty deeds and grand ideals while trying to escape his father's alcohol-fuelled violence.

 

Unfortunately the house itself was closed to the public, but next to it was a huge Soviet-style museum dedicated to the life and works of the erstwhile dictator. A grand staircase - all red carpet - led straight to a larger-than-life statue of Stalin, then up to the first floor where several large halls explained his life from childhood to death in the most minute detail. Having myself curated several exhibitions, I enjoy analyzing other researchers' efforts to introduce the general public in an engaging manner to a person's lifestory. Starting with Stalin's family background, his teachers and childhood friends, the museum's curators had dug far and deep, coming up with a multitude of interesting paintings, photographs, books and items of everyday use to bring it all to life. By the time I was reading about this first meeting with Lenin, I felt like I knew this young man better than most of my real-life friends.

 

Unfortunately the explanations were only in Russian, so I barely understood half of it. Irakli was trying to translate, but then he spotted a small tourist group with their English-speaking guide and advised me to follow them. Good thinking. We went from room to room and it wasn't in the least bit boring. Some people might protest that the museum is painting an unbalanced, idealizing picture of the man, but then I doubt that anyone coming to this museum is completely unaware of Stalin's politics and reputation.

 

Before we left the museum, Irakli, who had been here several times before, asked if we could see the private collection not usually accessible to the general public. So they took us to a locked room that contained Stalin's uniform, his chess board, guns and diplomas.

 

The museum complex held yet another attraction that I absolutely wanted to see: the premier's personal train. Well, it's actually just one wagon, painted all in green, and you can visit the interior. So I got a peek at Stalin's toilet, his bathtub, the bed he presumably slept in and the desk he wrote at. At the back of the train was a comfortable meeting room. In a way it was stylish, but then again, a train by its very nature is narrow and cramped, and this was after all seventy years ago. The interior reminded me a bit of the Lenin atomic ship that I visited in Murmansk two years ago. I love to explore unusual modes of transport. In that context, I also remember a submarine in Northern Germany that I had seen three years before. Very interesting too, that one.

 

 

 

 

"What now?" I asked when we were back in the car. It was not even noon and I was ready to sightsee all of Georgia. Unfortunately, Irakli had to get back to Tbilisi that night, so we were slightly restricted in our choices. But just a few kilometers outside of Gori is a very worthwhile tourist spot, with the most tongue-twisting name imaginable. Yesterday I had thought that Mtskheta was bad. So how could I possibly be ready for Uplistsikhe?

 

On the way to Uplistsikhe, I asked Irakli to teach me some Georgian. The number one must-know phrase is of course "thank you". In Georgian, this is "madloba". I suppose it could be a lot worse.

 

The porous rock which constitutes the hills east of Gori is split into many water-made cracks and natural caves. Sometime during the middle of the first millennium BC, these hills were transformed into an enterprising town, with lanes, stairs, dwellings and high vaulted ceilings cut out of the rocks.

 

We parked the car in front of the entrance and walked over to some food stalls. I was really thirsty. An elderly lady was selling fruit, beverages and strange, coloured sausages hanging from a string. "This is the Georgian Snickers," Irakli explained. "All natural and homemade." I eyed the sausage curiously. It didn't look like candy to me. But Irakli insisted that I try it. So we bought a bottle of water and one churchkhela. I took a tentative bite. It was a sort of hard fruit jelly with nuts inside. Not bad at all. He was right: this was an energy bar. Munching on my churchkhela, I listened to Irakli's description on how these sweets are produced: first you prepare a thick liquid from grape juice mixed with flour. Then you thread nuts onto a long thin string. The string is dipped several times into the thick juice and left to dry. Et voilà, you can enjoy your homemade churchkhela!

 

We purchased an entrance ticket. At first, the lane takes you through a pleasant, treelined meadow to the river Kura, the same river that flows through Tbilisi. We had the riverbank all to ourselves, except for a playful dog that took an interest to my candy.

 

After a short rest at the waterside, we proceeded to climb up into the ancient cave town. I quickly noticed that I was wearing the wrong footwear for that sort of undertaking. The ground was sandy, gravelly and thus quite slippery. Plus you had to find your own way among the boulders and rocks and it was going steeply uphill. Why had I not put on my running shoes? Irakli held out his hand. "I'll help you." Yes, this was much easier.

 

We clambered up and up, from one small, carefully cut-out dwelling to another, then on to much larger domed halls and rectangular excavations in the ground. Each place had a more or less fanciful name attached to it, there was the Lofty Hall, the Pleasant Hall and one cave whose name I've forgotten, but I do remember that we speculated that it must have been a massage parlour. In any case, I loved all of it. Uplistsikhe is vying to get on the UNESCO World Heritage list, and really I think it should be included.

 

There are several plateaus with dwellings, and the higher up you climb, the more impressive the panoramic view over hills and vales. All the way at the top it was quite chilly, with a fierce wind blowing over the rough stones. Wuthering heights indeed! Crowning the hill is a basilica from the 9th century and, a little bit further down, an impressive vaulted cave hall carries the name of Queen Tamar, the famous ruler during the Georgian Golden Age 800 years ago. Of course Tamar was also a sky goddess in ancient times, so the name is quite fitting for this lofty mountain town. As a matter of fact, Uplistsikhe means the Lord's Fortress. You really do feel close to Heaven up here.

 

But now we had to find a sandal-friendly way down. I looked doubtfully at the uneven gravelly gully. The only reason this was a path was because generations of visitors had decided it to be so. But with my hand firmly clasped into Irakli's, I made it down to the middle platform. I wasn't looking forward to more slipping and sliding. Luckily, we found a narrow tunnel with a steep iron staircase leading down to the waterside. I adored it!

 

When we arrived at the end of the tunnel, I turned to Irakli, beaming with joy: "I adore tunnels and underground ways!" He smiled. "I don't like them." Oh. And yet he had come with me to avoid the rocky path. He was a true gentleman!

 

 

 

Our next stop was Mtskheta. The previous day we hadn't had time to visit the town properly, so we would do that now. Mtskheta is quite a small town, and my first impression was of a place geared entirely towards tourists. The main street is lined with stalls selling food, drinks and all kinds of souvenirs, from kitshy trinkets to traditional vases and colourful handmade wool rugs. The horse-drawn carriages reminded me of tourist hotspots like Prague or Krakow in Central Europe, while the cobblestoned streets look very mediterranean. The wooden houses again would not be amiss in Southern Germany either. And then there is a Greek temple, right in the middle of town! I suppose it is a new building just imitating the style, but I liked it nonetheless. If I remember well, the tourist centre is housed in it.

 

But the most impressive building by far in Mtskheta is its cathedral, built in the 11th century. It's name is Svetitskhoveli. Sveti means in the Slavic languages saint. Maybe it's the same in Georgian? Then again, tsikhe meant fortress, as I had learned just a few hours ago. Could it mean cathedral, too? I was just making guesses, but it helped to remember the name. In any case, the cathedral complex was a wonderful sight. Unlike most other churches I visited in Georgia, this one still had its old frescoes on the walls. Again, I felt myself swept away by its calm and peaceful atmosphere and the quiet awesomeness of the towering domed structure.

 

To enter the church complex, I again donned my headscarf and wrapped the cloth provided by the church authorities around my hips. This time, Irakli made a picture of my outward transformation into a pious little nun.

 

After so much food for the mind and soul, I needed some nourishment for my belly too. At the gate next to the parking lot were several terrasses under a lightly thatched roof, where customers could enjoy both the fresh air and the adjoining restaurant's cuisine. Like yesterday, the food was both delicious and cheap. I took a picture of the menu which was both in Georgian and English with pictures of the dishes. At the time of my visit, 1 € was 3 Georgian lari. As you can see, it was really cheap.

 

During the meal, Irakli and I talked about my plans for the rest of the holidays. I had decided to skip Armenia and just stay in Georgia. My original plan had been to take the night train to Erewan in a few hours, but I felt like slowing down the pace. Instead of running off to one more country, I would take shorter trips into the mountains with this car.

 

"Is it okay if I keep the car for another four or five days?" Georgian car rental agencies are very uncomplicated and flexible, or at least Star Rent-A-Car is. Irakli assured me that it was no problem at all. Again, I congratulated myself that I had chosen a small, local business instead of a multinational company like Avis or Hertz. We convened that I would drop by his office tomorrow to pick up a Wifi router for the car. That way I wouldn't have any trouble finding my way through Georgia. Now I just had to organise a hotel for tonight in Tbilisi. "Do you know a nice place?" I asked Irakli, "not too expensive, but modern, not too far from the centre and with a parking spot for the car." He nodded. My humble wishes could probably be accommodated.

 

 

 

But first I had to negotiate early evening rush hour in Tbilisi. Irakli guided me through the narrow streets of the old town to a beautiful vine-covered building. Hotel Kopal, it was called. I remembered this place! Aarat and I had come through this street after our visit to the presidential palace. That had been on Tuesday. It seemed like a life-time ago.

 

They only had one room left and it came at a higher price than I had expected. I decided to have a look at the room first. It was very small, with very little daylight, dark panelling and overall very little light in the room. But it had a huge and stylish walk-in shower. This would do for one night. I didn't want to keep Irakli any longer from his work and besides I had to contact George, see if my date was still on for tonight.

 

Alone in the room, I fell over my internet connection like a Sahara-traveller over a bucket of fresh water. Scary, how addicting social media is. I chatted for a while, when I suddenly noticed that the room had become uncomfortably warm. The heater was way too large for this tiny place and it was turned all the way up. I turned it off and got back on the phone. Twenty minutes later, I had a terrible headache. This room was getting hotter by the minute. I checked the heater. It was just as hot as before, even though it seemed to be turned off. I opened the window to let in the cool evening air, but that didn't really help. In my despair, I opened the door to the corridor. Blissfully cold air streamed in. I leaned my head against the tiles in the bathroom. My face was burning up. When the draught had cooled the room down to an acceptable degree, I closed the door to the hallway and told reception about the problem. They promised to send someone over. I waited. After half an hour, no one had shown up. In spite of the open window, the room was unbearably sweltering. I couldn't stay here. I called reception again. Unfortunately, their tech service had gone home for the night and they couldn't do anything about it. Great. But I wouldn't sleep in a sauna. I logged onto booking.com. Five minutes later, I had a room at another hotel. Anyone who could have helped me with my luggage seemed to have retired for the night too. Smashing. I dragged my suitcase up two flights of narrow stairs and checked out. A pity really, because Kopala Hotel actually got very good ratings on booking and the rooms looked large and airy in the pictures. I had probably just been unlucky.

 

Knowing that I wouldn't have wifi in the car, I had precautiously zoomed into Google Maps and taken meticulous notes on where to drive. It was only a few kilometers. I would be alright. I backed the car out of the parking lot, made a right turn down a narrow lane, and then another right turn. This was supposed to lead me to the main thoroughfare. Instead, I ended up in a dead-end. Help! I had to somehow back up. In a pitchdark alley, with another car parked to the side, taking up more than half of the street. I looked around for a viable option. It materialized in the form of two young men standing in a doorway chatting. I rolled down the window. "Excuse me?" They approached, astonished, but eager to help. I explained where I wanted to go and they agreed to guide me. Their English was not overwhelming and they didn't speak any Russian either, but we managed to understand each other. They were in their mid twenties, studying history at Tbilisi university. When we arrived at British House Boutique Hotel after a short ten-minute drive, one of the boys had agreed to skip his classes and accompany me into the mountains. So I had a guide for the next days. And this hotel looked promising too. The receptionist was young, friendly, and spoke perfect English. He immediately offered tea and coffee and showed me into a beautiful large room. Life was good again.

 

By now it was after nine o'clock and I got ready for my night out in Tbilisi. George had offered to meet me just after midnight. In Luxembourg I usually go out around ten on a weekend, but he explained that in Tbilisi people mostly work from 10 am to 7 pm, and meet again around midnight. Bars and clubs supposedly stay open until the early morning hours. I was happy to go along with this. I didn't have anything planned for tomorrow, so what the heck, let's meet a total stranger in the middle of the night.

 

 

 

I wanted to see Tbilisi nightlife. For some reason, George didn't think there was such a thing. We had found a decent cocktail bar in Gori, so I refused to believe that the Georgian capital didn't have a lot more on offer. I would have gone for Shardeni Street in Old Tbilisi, but George proposed the more quiet Marjanishvili Street, a pedestrian area to the north of the old town with lots of newly opened cafés and restaurants. I had a vague suspicion that he simply might not be of the clubbing kind.

 

Shortly after midnight, he came to pick me up at the hotel. He had a nice sportscar, and, to my utter amazement, he offered to let me drive it. Kudos to Georgian guys - they know what a woman wants. I declined however and let him do the honours. We hit it off right away. He told me about his former job for UNESCO, looking after the World Heritage sites in Georgia, and his plans for the future. He loves his home country and wants to help build a better future with citizens' cafés nurturing a culture of open discussion and pro-active ideas. Having studied politics, he had well thought-out and interesting plans about how to advance his country. His English was really good, too, so we had no trouble communicating.

 

Marjanishvili turned out to be a really pleasant street, the buildings all restored in splendid 19th century urban style, now housing modern gentrified cafés and stylish little restaurants. We opted for a cosy little wine place where we could talk quietly. He told me about his travels to Poland and I reminisced about my trips to Kiev, Murmansk and Saint Petersburg. This area was indeed a better choice than Shardeni Street, which I imagined much more noisy and geared towards clubbing twentysomethings.

 

Walking along the street back to the car, I suddenly noticed a large inscription over a door. The words were in Russian, and stated, in translation: "Luxembourgish kolkhoz Anfent". A Luxembourgish collective farm in downtown Tbilisi? How odd is that? I asked George, he agreed that it said the same in Georgian next to it, but he didn't know anything more about the place. Also the word Anfent was strange. Was it the name of the kolkhoz? The place looked boarded up and unused. Of course I had to take a picture of it. I would post it on Facebook tomorrow, maybe someone had heard of this place. But for now, the puzzle would have to wait.