Thursday, 3 October 2024

Moody: the works

A list of links to all my non-tech writings:

Essays

Glanglish - all with audio versions

Travel writings

Novels
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Introduction to Moody's Black Notebook Travels

I have two great regrets in my life.  One is eating a chicken sandwich in Varanasi, shortly before flying to Kathmandu.  This gave me the worst food poisoning I have ever experienced, nearly killed me, and meant that I missed a unique opportunity to visit Lhasa before it was turned into a Chinese Disneyland.  The other regret involves three Inter-rail trips that I made in 1979, 1980 and 1981.  They were extraordinarily rich in sights and experiences.  Stupidly, though, I did not keep a travel diary at that time, so all I have are vague, if important, memories of what I saw, thought and felt.

At least I was able to learn from these two huge blunders.  Afterwards, I no longer ate chicken sandwiches in exotic lands, and I kept travel diaries for all my major trips.  The latter took the form of black notebooks, bought from Ryman's, in two formats: one small enough to fit in a pocket, and another, slightly larger, that I kept in the travel bag I used for longer journeys. 

I now have dozens of these notebooks sitting behind me, filled with my illegible scrawl.  I have been meaning to turn them into digital texts for some years, and to bring them into the 21st century, but have never got around to it until now.  I am not transcribing them in any set order, but will place links to them below, as they go online, ordered chronologically.  There is no overall plan, no overall significance.  They are just what they are: quick thoughts jotted down in black notebooks, captured moments of a specific time and place.

1986 India I: Delhi, Agra, Fatehpur Sikri
1986 India II: Kashmir
1986 India III: Jaipur, Udaipur
1987 Italy
2023 Bilbao - with photos
2023 Shetland - with photos
2024 Ravenna - with photos
2024 Georgia - with photos new post 
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2024 Georgia

Old Tbilisi
Old Tbilisi

19.9.24 Tbilisi

In Prospero’s Books, of course.  After a fairly extreme journey here.  Went down to Gatwick in the evening for a late flight.  In fact, it was the last on the board – 22.30.  The usual stopover in Istanbul, where my onward gate turned out to be the one I arrived on.  Not a comfortable journey to Istanbul.  Only four hours, so I couldn’t settle down.  The second leg better, and I managed to sleep, waking up for breakfast – not very good – and the descent over Georgia.  Alas, as generally seems to be the case, it started raining when I got here in Tbilisi.  Not heavily, but enough to make the overall tone one of dampness.

Trying to save some money, I am staying in the Imperial [sic] House hotel – 3-star, very cheap, about £86 for two nights.  Clean enough, but completely done out in that depressing Hotel Brown colour.  Hides the stains and dirt, I suppose.  Life made much easier by my eSIM, which is working well.  I first used this in Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan.  It’s a great solution, not least because you can buy an eSIM that covers all of the countries of Central Asia – perfect for cross-border movements.

I have also acquired a სამგვავრო ბარათი – a travel card – that lets me use the metro, buses and other urban transport options.  About £6 for a week.  Means I can (a) get the hang of buses here, which are more useful than the metro, whose stations are too few and too spread out, and (b) visit some new parts of Tbilisi that were hitherto hard for me to reach by public transport (and too far to walk – Tbilisi is very spread out).

My luggage came through very quickly – impressive it wasn't lost given it had to be transferred in Istanbul – but I wasted time looking for my taxi driver.  He’d put a big sign with my name by the door out of customs, but was nowhere to be seen.  Giorgi was a typical Georgian man: dark, balding, paunchy.  The road he took was of particular interest since I will be driving along it tomorrow in the opposite direction out to Telavi.  The main roads are pretty good, but Tbilisi must be the worst-designed city in the world – or one of them.  Giorgi knew his way around, backtracking weird ways because of all the one-way streets.  A nightmare that I am not looking forward to tangling with again.  I’ve driven here a couple of times before, and I think things have got worse, not least because of the huge influx of Russians fleeing the war in Ukraine and possible call-up to fight in it.  So far, the Russkies are not hugely in evidence – a bloke in the metro speaking in Russian when he bought a Metrocard (the older, less useful kind), a few stickers on things telling the Russians to go home.

Pirosmani in the Georgian National Gallery
Pirosmani in the Georgian National Gallery

To the Georgian National Gallery.  At 25 Lari (about £7) it’s expensive, but worth it to see quintessential Georgian painter Pirosmani.  Sad life – born into a peasant family in Mirzaani, orphaned, became a railway conductor, owned a dairy shop, and then wandered around Georgia painting tavern and other shop signs.  Died alone in 1918, burial place a mystery.  Only one known portrait of him.  And now, like van Gogh, his paintings are valuable and sought after.  Alarm keeps going off here, loudly, as people get too close to the paintings… My favourites are definitely the landscapes, especially the big one of a celebration.

Gudiashvili Square
Gudiashvili Square

Past the big new Paragraph Freedom Square hotel.  Pushkin gazes at it with scepticism.  Partway down Kote Apkhazi Street, where I will pick up my car tomorrow.  Then off to the west, through characteristically decaying old quarters, with lots of perilous covered balconies, to here, Gudiashvili Square.  I was completely unaware of this gem.  It’s notable not just for its calm and tranquillity, but also as a glimpse of the gentrified future that awaits Old Tbilisi – if it isn’t pulled down wholesale, which would be a tragedy.  Apparently Lermontov stayed in one of these buildings, and I can see why he chose this oasis.  A few of the Tbilisi stray dogs here, minding their own business.  There seem fewer than before – I hope the city hasn’t been culling them, as Turkey is threatening to do…  Still lots of people smoking here – going to take a while to turn the tide on this…

Afterwards, a walk down Kote Apkhazi – always one of my favourite streets, despite its dirt and chaos.  So many car hire companies – a nightmare parking there.  Back to the room to rest for a while, then to here, Chashnagiri restaurant.  Interesting use of scanned menu – QR code brings up the options, in Georgian or English.  Clever way of dealing with foreigners.  I’ve gone for aubergine with walnuts to start, Adjaruli khachapuri (of course) and Borjomi water.  Good buzz here.  Food good, but khachapuri slightly lacking in full flavour.  Ironically, perhaps the best Adjaruli khachapuri I ever ate was in Almaty…

Vakhtang Gorgasali Square at night
Vakhtang Gorgasali Square at night

Down to Vakhtang Gorgasali Square.  Everything illuminated now at night – not just in the square, but on the hill under the Narikala fortress too – far more than when I was last here.  It’s very effective, and creates a really vibrant, joyous atmosphere.  Lots of people out, eating, walking, talking.  Tbilisi always had this potential as a night city, and it looks that it is realising it more fully now.

The cable car gondolas going up to the fortress zoom over us like gentle UFOs.  The dogs are noticeably more active now – big dogs, too.  And they are not so docile: dogs bark and others answer as aggressively.  One dog took against a horse-drawn carriage, as if to say: this is my time, go away.  Despite their greater vocalising, they don’t seem to pose a threat to humans.

Anchiskhati Basilica
Anchiskhati Basilica

To the Bridge of Peace – never very elegant, now utterly ruined by the “Shangri-La” casino just by it on the bank.  Past the Anchiskhati Basilica, and the bonkers clock tower.  Lots of people here too, eating, strolling, chatting.  Also, a very, very large sleeping dog.  No quick fox, though…

Then on further, to the uncrossable Vakhtang Gorgasali Street, to the flower market at Orbeliani Square.  I think they were still renovating this area the last time I came.  The packed ranks of brightly-coloured flowers remind me of a similar market in Chișinău.  Then back to the hotel, through yet more little backstreets that I’ve never seen before, but which are the very heart of Old Tbilisi.  Lots of restaurants, cafés, bars and music clubs now.  Feels like an incipient Soho.  Nice.

20.9.24 Tbilisi

Interesting that at breakfast here in my hotel, most of the other guests were older Russians.  The ladies in the kitchen were also Russian-speaking, and presumably Russian.  Last night, as I wandered the backstreets and mingled with the evening crowds, there was definitely a lot of Russian being spoken…

Palace of Erekle II in Telavi
Palace of Erekle II in Telavi

I am now sitting in the throne room of Erekle II, in his palace in Telavi.  More of the epic journey to reach here later.  More important is this place.  It has a Persian/Uzbek feel to it, with its grilles and stained glass.  All recently restored, but presumably based on historical records.  The room in which the king was born and died feels suitably rich, even with its ruined walls.  From the outside, the palace almost looks Palladian, with its (wooden) columns, though without the classic pedimental top bits.  Very serene setting with mature trees around.  Two things striking in the palace: how cool it is inside, and how low all the lintels are.  They were shorter then, even the kings...

Before the palace, to Telavi Historical Museum with the usual swords and costumes.  One unusual exhibit, a terracotta coffin from the 5th century.  Also a small collection of pix, donated by a local benefactor – a lady.  A very striking view of Istanbul at sunset, and another of an aul – a Caucasian village – being stormed by (Russian?) soldiers.  Must have happened many a time.  Telavi is as I hoped, a bustling real town, not just for tourists.  I look forward to exploring it a little over next few days.  

Looking across the Kakheti valley to Chechnya
Looking across the Kakheti valley to Chechnya

By the giant plane tree, allegedly around 1000 years old.  Next to it, the view across the Kakheti valley is gorgeous: the air has cleared, and the sun strikes the folds of the Caucasus mountains.  Behind them lies Chechnya…  Climbing up to the north-west tower of Vakhvakhishvili's castle wall – currently under renovation – the view is even better, albeit not so wide. 

Back to the room to upload pix, then out to Mala’s Garden, a local restaurant by the statue of Erekle, has mostly very good reviews.  Another QR code to order chakapuli and Borjomi, just to remain loyal to a place I visited in 2019. Pretty quiet here, only a couple of tables occupied.

So, the journey to Telavi.  I picked up the car without problems.  Left Tbilisi about 12.15.  Drove up to Freedom Square, then turned right and crossed the river Mtkvari/Kura.  Then right again.  Hit traffic.  Was stuck in the right-most lane, thinking that would still allow me to veer to the left by Avlabari metro.  Nope.  I could only go forwards.  To my left, solid traffic.  So I signalled left, to that lane, and waited.  But the traffic wasn’t moving.  Alas my lane’s traffic light went green, but I couldn’t move out of the way to the left.  There followed the inevitable chorus of horns as people behind me right got upset.  But I played Georgian, didn’t budge.  Eventually, the left filter traffic light went green, I nipped in, and everyone was happy.  More or less.  

Then I took the route I had mapped out, no problem.  Onto the main road out to the airport and beyond.  More traffic, moving very slowly.  We crawled along, quite why there was a problem was not clear.  It was drizzling, an external correlate of both how I felt and the utterly grey and dismal urban landscape I was moving through..  No road signs anywhere, of course.  

Until finally one appears, telling me that I was heading to either Yerevan (Armenia) or Batumi (on the Black Sea).  I certainly wasn’t planning to go to either today (another time, sure), so began to panic.  I pulled off the road, and tried to use Google Maps.  No signal on my phone, of course (maybe the eSIM wasn’t as good as I thought).   I decided to move on, hoping to find a town where the signal would be better.  

And then – miracle – a sign indicated that the road ahead would take me to Telavi, precisely where I wanted to go.  Even better, the road turned into a motorway.  Which then ended after a few kilometres.  The road forced all the traffic to the right, to a roundabout.  So I took a road off it that seemed to be heading in the right direction, to the mountains.  But alas, this just bent around and took me on to the motorway again.  Heading back to Tbilisi.  No way to do a U-turn, obviously, no roundabouts.  So I proceeded back to the hell-hole I thought I had escaped from.  The motorway stopped, and I pulled over where I could.  I contemplated a U-turn there but the traffic was too intense.  Back on the road to Tbilisi.  Still no roundabouts or turn offs.  And now the traffic ahead had stopped.  I noticed someone in front swoop around in the other direction – the other lane was clear.  I decided to do the same.  

Half expecting a Georgian police car to pursue me, I drove back to the motorway, back to the roundabout, and took another exit.  Miraculously this was the road that I had planned to take.  A little way ahead was the left turn I was looking for to Telavi over the Gombori pass.  As I came up to the turning, I noticed a police car sitting in the wrong lane there.  Summoning up my courage, I took the turn anyway, but as I passed the car the policeman signalled that I should stop.  “Telavi?” he asked.  “Closed”, he explained, and helpfully signalled I should do a U-turn behind him to take the road to Sighnaghi instead.  I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to get to my hotel in Telavi…

The road was good, if busy.  It passed through undulating landscapes, quite green.  As compensation for my trials so far, the rain had stopped, and the sun was trying to come out.  The road finally reach Bakurtsikhe, where I turned on to the road to Telavi.  I was surprised we were in the valley, not above it, but with the sun shining it was fine.  That was just as well as the traffic was not very fluid, but for a particular reason.  There were several large, slow-moving lorries that were hard to overtake.  They were piled high with something.  I wasn’t sure what it was until vine leaves blew off a lorry onto my windscreen.  These big lorries were carrying tons of black grapes to be made into wine.  Well, Kakheti is the heart of Georgia’s winemaking region, and it is time to gather grapes, apparently.

Some other things I saw along the way.  Men selling huge raw fish, strung up by the side of the road.  Lots of middle-aged ladies selling small piles of vegetables, or strings of churchkhela.  I wonder who buys the latter here, and why there are so many on offer.  One woman sitting next to her wares was staring straight ahead in a rather catatonic fashion.  Another had a small cage with a piglet in it.  Lots of big dogs along the road.  And at one spot, six or seven tiny black puppies.  I realised that there may be a sad reason why I have only seen big strong dogs here: maybe they are the only ones to survive.  Life must be tough for them.

Because I took a road I hadn’t planned, I didn’t recognise the way into Telavi.  Fortunately, my sense of direction was good enough to get me to the centre of the town, which I did recognise.  Of course, no names visible for the streets, but I knew vaguely where my hotel was and took a chance on a turning that was right, luckily.

Telavi at dusk
Telavi towards dusk

My hotel – Telavi Mia – is rather stylish downstairs, although the room itself is a bit bare.  Why don’t they put some pictures in hotel rooms to cheer them up?  The man at the desk asked if I spoke German – perhaps I looked that nationality – so we spoke in it, although I did add a few “да”s in Russian, because that’s what I do reflexively at the moment when I have to talk in a foreign language.  Later, he kindly gave me a glass of "orange" or "amber" wine, on the house.  Quite unusual, but not unpleasant.

A Georgian chap has just come up to me here in the restaurant and asked very politely (and in good English) if he could take a chair from my table for his party.  He is sitting some way off, but voice is so strong, and his Georgian so clear, I can understand odd snippets of it.  He looks rather like a benign Steven Seagal.  Big bloke, but smiling and jolly.

21.9.24 Telavi 

Up early for a walk around the silent, sleeping city.  That wasn’t my plan, but a misunderstanding over the time of breakfast – I am sure the German-speaking man said “halb acht” (7.30am) – but he insisted that it was “halb neun” (8.30am).  So out into the fresh but dry morning.  Clouds broken, with odd patches of blue.  A few dozing dogs watched me as I walked by.  As did a few local down and outs/drunks – the first I’ve seen in Georgia.

Local government office in Telavi
Local government office in Telavi

Past the local government office, and the modern theatre, to the town hall by the huge crossroads.  There is also the Telasvisrike river, sort of.  A very sad trickle running along a concrete channel.  Up to the main church here, Georgian in style, but built of brick.  Then back here for breakfast.  Interesting cosmopolitan bunch.  A French couple – Parisian, by the sound of it.  A German couple, and an Asian couple, older.  Not sure if Chinese or Japanese – I couldn’t hear them talk.  I think the latter.  Interestingly, they used a translator app to communicate. [Just heard the woman speak Japanese.]

Dzveli Shuamta monastery
Dzveli Shuamta monastery

I am sitting inside the main church of the Dzveli Shuamta monastery.  It’s one of three small buildings, all constructed from rough stone.  A beautiful ensemble.  It is set amidst green fields and trees at an altitude of 1000 metres in the foothills of the Caucasus mountains – the epitome of tranquillity.  A steep winding road leads here, just a few kilometres outside Telavi (no signposts, of course).  Interesting to see even young people in jeans quite devout – kissing icons (and doorposts), crossing themselves repeatedly.  I am of course lucky that there are few people here, even on a Saturday.  And that the weather is not just dry, but trying to turn sunny.

Sighnaghi with its view over the valley
Sighnaghi with its view over the valley

Eating in ChikChiki Café in Sighnaghi – open air with a bloke noodling on an old out-of-tune upright.  Not just noodling – he is playing now one of Liszt’s Liebesträume.  Food filling, not the absolute best I’ve had, but a great setting, friendly waiters.  Nice to sit under tall trees, even if this means the odd wasp – and cat.  Off in a minute to see Sighnaghi’s walls, and check out my next road.  Unfortunately when I came, there seemed to be a big event – political? - that caused a traffic jam where I needed to go.  I hope it’s finished…

I finally made it to this crazy but moving World War II memorial here in Dedoplis Tskaro.  The question is, why this dramatic form?  Why here?  And why did I spend two hours taking wrong roads, carrying out emergency stops to avoid a goat and its kid on the road, to see it….?  More on this below.

I must admit today was a long day, full of diversions.  First mistake was heading off to Kvareli – where I will go tomorrow.  I realised I was on the wrong road when I crossed the Alazani, the main river of this valley.  Pretty road, though.  I managed to get to Sighnaghi after that without problems.  

Before I left the town, I went to look at the walls.  Big mistake.  To get there, you have to run the gauntlet of the tackiest stalls imaginable.  On the wall itself, there was a group of middle-aged Chinese women – no men that I could see.  They stopped every two metres to take a photo of each other, and of the scenery.  Interestingly, they mostly used flash cameras, not mobile phones like the rest of us.  But their presence is a clear sign that Sighnaghi is done.  I doubt I’ll come back – too artificial, too touristy - despite it undoubted beauties, not least its setting and views.

The route down to Tsnori looked clear now – no event – but foolishly, I decided to take what seemed the quicker road via Nukriani.  It probably would have been quicker, had I not got lost.  A kindly old Georgian gentleman gave me directions – that were completely wrong, and caused me to waste 20 minutes as I had to come back the same way, avoiding multiple cows standing in the middle of the road, as well as driving over lethal metal drainage channels – bent and sharp.  When I did get on the road through Iliatsminda, Kvemo Magharo, Kvemo Bodbe and Gamardjveba, it was good quality.  But surprisingly long.  At the end, it passed through open countryside, that was attractive but looked quite un-Georgian.

Dedoplis Tskaro railway station
Dedoplis Tskaro railway station

Then on to Dedoplis Tskaro – another seemingly long and endless journey.  Of course, I couldn’t spot the World War II monument from the road.  I drove on, and stopped by what seemed a sad ruin of a building, but which turns out to be the town’s railway station (still).  Amazingly, I had mobile Internet here, and was able to work out where my goal was.  I returned the way I came, took an unmarked road by a children’s playground, and found what I was looking for.  I can’t think many would spend so much time and effort to do so.  And yet the monument itself is deeply powerful.  The central grieving figure – a mother, presumably – looks not so much sad as angry at all the pointless loss of war.  The two felines in front of her are savage, and are perhaps war and its consequences (they are also hollow, I found by tapping them).  Such a powerful ensemble, and yet put here at the ends of the (Georgian) earth.  Why here?

Dedoplis Tskaro's World War II monument
Dedoplis Tskaro's World War II monument 

Along the way, there were always dogs (big ones, as usual).  Some were were lying down, curled up in a doughnut, but many were sitting, watching intently the sparse traffic.  They always seem to have a profoundly melancholy air.  Perhaps they watch each car hoping that it will be the one to stop and take them in, to take them back to a lost paradise.  Because what is particularly tragic is that they are all so obviously domestic breeds, many quite beautiful, in a canine way.  Most were presumably abandoned by their fickle, heartless owners.  And the dogs’ beseeching looks of longing seem to reflect that deep betrayal.  It breaks my heart to see them watch me so hopefully, as I become yet another car that passes without stopping.  I must be getting sentimental in my old age…

The drive back, like all such returns, easier because known.  The sun was shining, which was nice, except that I was now driving vaguely westwards, and so I had the sinking sun directly in my eyes.  But it was a small price to pay for the fine weather.  And nearer to Telavi, there were the huge lorries bearing their precious cargoes of grapes yet again.  Less romantically, there were also three huge lorries with tanks for bitumen, belching fumes from their vertical exhaust pipes.  But oddly, their number plates were Iranian, a reminder that Iran is close by, to the south, just as Dagestan and Chechnya lie nearby to the north east.

When I went out earlier this evening, I saw hundreds of smartly-dressed people – ladies mostly in elegant black – heading to the nearby Telavi theatre.  Today is the start of the Telavi music festival.  My hotel is full of concertgoers, apparently.  Which means no parking space for me today…

22.9.24 Telavi

Up early to Nadikvari Park.  No one around – except lots of dogs (yes, big ones).  Some of which came bounding up to me, jumping on me.  But I think they just wanted to play.  They are domestic animals, after all.  The view form the platforms in the park rather hazy.  The sun already up, breaking through the clouds.  After that brief encounter with a few friendly doggoes, I do have more sympathy for the Turks who have to deal with large packs of less friendly ones…

Ikalto monastery and its kvevri
Ikalto monastery and its kvevri

To Ikalto monastery.  A majestic church from the outside, but inside a huge metallic frame is holding the whole thing up.  To the right, hundreds of kvevri lying on the ground.  Unusually, there is a small room over the porch.  Lovely setting, sad state.

Kvetera fortress church
Kvetera fortress church

Sitting inside the Kvetera fortress church.  What an astonishing masterpiece.  Its form, with the four main apses linked by smaller infills.  The shocking blue of the tiled roof.  And inside, the porous, almost edible stone makes the whole surface alive.  

The stone of Kvetera fortress church
The stone of Kvetera fortress church


The columns have wonderful capitals – with square elements in the upper corners, and semicircles in the lower parts.  Amazingly original, you wonder what the architect/stonemason was thinking when they came up with it…

Inside Kvetera fortress church
Inside Kvetera fortress church

Outside, a few remnants of the fortress.  Cows and goats feed on the rich grass.  Birds sing distantly.  We’re quite high up, and there was a fantastic view over a valley on the way up.  Bless the Georgian government for building a good road for at least half way – the second part, which I covered on foot, is steep and horrendous, and my little hire car would not have made it.  And not seeing this wonder would have been a terrible loss for me.  This is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful and perfect churches I have seen.  I would give 1000 Sagrada Familias for it…  I find it hard to leave.

To Alaverdi monastery, which is wrapped in green sheets like some modern Christo artwork.  I almost didn’t bother going in.  Mistake.  Inside is incredible – the central nave soars – it was the highest in Georgia until Sameba was built.  Delightfully spare inside – Georgian sacred polyphony playing.  Very little light here – just slits in the drum, and in the apses.  Large party of Germans here – first such organised group I have met.  No pix allowed inside, which is a shame, but they can’t stop me writing about it…

Very faded frescoes – hard to see what is there – sundry saints.  Massive pillars holding up the drum – best to be on the safe side.  Interestingly, brick ribs supporting the vault of the nave.  A high gallery over the entrance.  More ruined frescoes around the door.  Capitals very simple – great contrast with the creative flourishes in Kvetera church.  For a moment, I have this vast space to myself...such a privilege.

Sitting now in the Nekresi Estate restaurant, very flash, rather expensive, but also about the only place open.  I drove along the road from Alaverdi to Gremi, partly see the castle – very dramatic location, but not much else – and to try out a highly recommended (by the 2018 Bradt guide) Café Gremino.  I went to Chateau Gremio (not really a chateau), but couldn’t see any café.  I went to Gremi, and asked a policeman.  He sent me back to the chateau.  I asked for the café, much phoning and running around ensured.  Along comes the man himself, mentioned in the guide. “Sorry, too busy with wine making…”

Luckily here is open.  The bread is very good, and they have two tqemali – sauces – for my potatoes: a red, traditional one, and a new, green one.  Very heavily dill-based, but good.  Food excellent here, portions huge.  80 Lari – about £25, fair price for good food, good service.

Now waiting for the shuttle (3 Lari) to Nekrisi monastery…  Sitting in a spluttering old Mercedes-Benz coach.  Not exactly convinced it’s the best for the job given the extremely steep road up to the site, but  hey…  Up at the monastery. First gear all the way, the open (broken?) door letting in the noxious diesel fumes.  The gear box covering broken; icons stuck to the dirty windscreen did not inspire confidence.

The view from Nekrisi monastery over the valley
The view from Nekrisi monastery over the valley

Really quite high, with splendid views over the Alazani valley, albeit with haze today – better than rain.  The road where the restaurant sits clearly visible, as is the main road I came along from Gremi.  The other side of the valley looks remarkably close.  Patchwork of fields – green, brown, purple – lots of vineyards evident by their regular rows of vines.  On the way up here, a huge red bird flew nearby – beautiful, some kind of raptor I’d guess.  Incredibly quiet, aside from some birds, and the growl of another Mercedes-Benz struggling to rise…

Fresco showing the Dormition
Fresco showing the Dormition

The design of the monastery buildings rather simple, but the interior of the main church has well-preserved old frescoes. The one over the door, showing the Dormition, with lots Roman soldiers milling around, particularly fine.  In the apse, Madonna with child, an interesting attempt at representing 3-D buildings.  All 16th century, Bradt says.  Also notes inscriptions from first to third centuries found here are the earliest examples of the Georgian alphabet, it seems.

Chavchavadze Museum in Kvareli
Chavchavadze Museum in Kvareli

To Kvareli to see the Chavchavadze Museum.  It’s closed, but the main thing is the building, a curious light lime green concoction, with lots of cylinders and slabs.  Quite effective.  As ever, finding it was a challenge: I thought multiple times I had missed it, but no, in Georgia everything is much further than it looks…

Then the journey back to the hotel began.  I went back along what was nominally the main road in Kvareli.  It was certainly broad, but the northern half was punctuated with enormous potholes that threatened to take out my tyres.  After I escaped from this motoring hell, I took the road across the valley.  As it came to the bridge across the river Alazani, I recognised it as my wrong turn from yesterday.  Seems like weeks ago.  The Alazani is a wide, gravelly river, that had a fair amount of water in it. An obvious statement, you might think, but all the other rivers that I crossed in Kakheti were equally gravelly, but generally completely devoid of water.  They too were quite wide, which leads me to suppose that in spring, when the snow and ice in the mountains melts, they must be pretty powerful in full spate.  But they present a desolate picture now in autumn.

I reached the other side of the valley and took the road up to Telavi, which I was getting to know all-too well.  Amazingly, even though today is Sunday, there were yet more massive old lorries filled to the brim with black or green grapes.  Which meant plenty of overtaking.  I was in a bit of a hurry because I wanted to add one final item to the day’s already rich collection of experiences.

The summer residence of Chavchavadze
The summer residence of Chavchavadze

In Tsinandali, not far from Telavi, is the summer residence of the important poet Alexander Chavchavadze, the “father of Georgian romanticism” (winter was spent in Tbilisi).  There’s a particularly tragic story associated with his daughter, Nino.  At the age of 16, she married Alexander Griboyedev.  He was a notorious philanderer, allegedly, so may have seduced the very young Nino – views differ.  He was also an important Russian writer – his verse comedy “Woe from Wit” is a famous early modern Russian play.  

He was also a diplomat, and shortly after the marriage he was sent to Tehran.  When he tried to defend some Armenians there, the mob broke into the Russian mission, and hacked him and everyone else to pieces.  His headless body was in such a state that he was only identifiable by a duelling scar on a hand.  Pushkin was a friend, and there is a famous passage in his prose piece “Journey to Erzurum” where Pushkin is travelling through the southern Caucasus and comes across the body of Griboyedev being brought back on an ox cart.  The latter's young wife, a widow at 17, never married again, and became a symbol of constancy.

But the dramatic stories concerning this house and its family don’t end there. In 1854, much of the then larger house was burnt to the ground by Chechens – not so far away from here.  What remains of the house is only a shadow of its former glory.  At the time of its burning, the Chechen leader Shamil kidnapped the Chavchavadze princesses and their children, allegedly lashing them to horses saddles to carry them off.  Shamil wanted to use them to obtain the return of his own son, handed over to the Russians as a child to be brought up in “civilised” ways.  Eventually the deal was done, although Shamil’s son did not flourish in Chechnya, and died a few months later.

The piano given by Griboyedev to Nino Chavchavadze
The piano given by Griboyedev to Nino Chavchavadze

In the home I was shown the upright piano that Griboyedev gave to Nino.  There was also what is supposed to be the first grand piano in Georgia.  I had to rush through the rooms, but the place is undoubtedly soaked in Georgian and Caucasian history.

Back in the hotel, to compensate for my lunchtime extravagances, I kept it simple.  Based on what I could find in the local Magnit store (only 100 metres away), I feasted on a tin of tuna, crackers, yoghurt and apple.

23.9.24 Tbilisi 

View of Tbilisi to the north east
View of Tbilisi to the north east

Sitting on the balcony of Café 38, which has one of the best views in Tbilisi, certainly from a restaurant.  On the extreme left, the new hotel in Freedom Square.  Further to the right, a few churches/the cathedral.  Then the domes of the National Bank of Georgia.  The unhappy Bridge of Peace, the even more unhappy design of the Rike Music and Exhibition Centre.  Then the over-the-top Sameba cathedral, which I nonetheless rather like.  Then Metekhi bridge, Vakhtang Gorgasali's statue (what a name), the Metekhi church, and next to it the first hotel I stayed in here, with superb views over the river Mtkvari.  To the extreme right the Armenian church, where the great Armenian poet Sayat-Nova is buried.  Amazing this place isn’t better known.

It took me four hours to drive here this morning.  I had hoped to take the road via the Gomboni pass.  But a number of factors argued against it.  It might be closed, as it was when I went to Telavi, which would have meant driving back the way I came.  It would anyway have rough patches because of the continuing roadworks that probably closed it then.  Finally, it was raining, with low cloud cover, so I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed the fine views it potentially offered.  So I took the alternative, much longer route via Bakuntsikhe.  One advantage was that I knew the road backwards.  And moving south, I left behind the rain and clouds, and enjoyed a very pleasant drive in the sun, with the Alazani valley stretched out before me to the left.

I then turned to the west, through green landscapes that were improved greatly by the sunshine suffusing it.  My plan was to return to Tbilisi via Rustavi.  There were various reasons for this.  First, I wanted to avoid the road I had taken out – too depressing.  I also wanted to see Rustavi, which I knew was the industrial heartland of Georgia, and one that had fallen on hard times.

So I took the S5 “motorway”, and then turned off to the left.  This led through a weird landscape, full of articulated lorries parked along the road.  A rare sign appeared, informing me that I was on the way to Baku.  [Now eating kharcho for lunch – wonderfully spicy, with fresh spongy Georgian bread.]  I harbour hopes of visiting Baku soon, but I didn’t want to drive there today.  There was a small turn off marked “Rustavi”, which required a characteristic U-turn to reach.  Driving down it was equally melancholy, and it seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.  I could see huge chimney stacks ahead of me, and later, to my right, derelict, rusting factories. But no sign, of course, on how to get to Rustavi centre, assuming it had one.  

I drove on, and the road became progressively worse: huge potholes, abandoned rail tracks, all lethal for my car’s tyres.  Eventually, I admitted defeat, and did something I have only done once before, and that was in Tbilisi: I turned on GPS on my phone.  It’s generally against my religion to use it, or satnav, since I feel you only really travel through a place if you are navigating personally, viscerally, not just robotically following digital instructions.

As I feared, the GPS showed I was miles from the main part of Rustavi.  There was one, small unmarked turning that I had missed.  Time was getting short, since I had to have the hire car back by 12 noon.  I cheated, and used GPS to get me out of one of the most depressing places I’ve visited.  The crumbling industrial wasteland is like the dark soul hiding behind the pleasant facades of the central part of the town.

I got back into Tbilisi, my least favourite city for driving.  As usual, there were weird tricks you had to know to arrive at your destination.  For example, a sign pointed left for Freedom Square, the direction I wanted.  So I went in the leftmost lane, which turned out to be one of those curious, official U-turns.  The road bent round, so I was forced back the wrong way.  Fortunately, there was another U-turn option which I took to try again.  And right at the end, near Vakhtang Gorgasali Square, Google Maps told me to take a left across the oncoming traffic, plainly impossible, or at least suicidal, and probably illegal. Fortunately, I had spotted another official U-turn option further on over Mekheti bridge, which let me reverse and then turn right on to Kote Apkhazi Street.  

The car drop-off was behind this, which meant taking a tiny road to the left and hoping for the best when it came to one-way streets.  I got it right and handed back the car.  When I asked about getting my $300 deposit back, the helpful lady warned me that if the police told Thrifty (the car hire company I used this time) about any traffic fines I owed, it would come out of that.  Given that every Georgian driver breaks the law dozens of times a day, it’s inevitable I did too just to keep moving with the traffic (like overtaking grape-filled lorries).  Also worth noting that Georgia is stuffed with road cameras.  I think this proliferation has taken place thanks to 4G that makes connectivity trivial these days.  The important thing is, I survived, and no accidents – although it was pretty close with that goat…

Vake park in Tbilisi
Vake park in Tbilisi

On the 301 bus to Vake Park using my new travel card.  Bus modern, aircon, USB ports.  In Vake Park, which shows a very different side of Tbilisi.  Bit like parks of London – some posh locations around it.  Unusual geography, because the south side of the park is a pretty big hill, which cuts it off from the rest of the city.  [A red dragonfly just flitted past, which reminds me that yesterday in Chavchavadze’s garden, I saw a soot-black squirrel.  Very striking.]  

War memorial in Vake park
War memorial in Vake park

Another war memorial here, rather less inspired than the one in  Dedoplis Tskaro.  Also decaying, marble slabs missing, concrete crumbling, muddy trails, rubbish everywhere.  Up to the main feminine figure – quite effective in its way.  Fab view of Vake and its swish blocks of flats.  The monument is in a sad state.  But more hopeful was the number of men – mostly old – picking up litter along the sides of the roads I drove along today.  They were clearly paid for by someone, the government I presume.

Contemporary architecture on Chavchavadze Avenue
Contemporary architecture on Chavchavadze Avenue

Noticeably more electric scooters here – and dogs on leads, not just wandering freely.  Walk down Ilia Chavchavadze Avenue (that name is following me).  On some benches kindly provided for old geezers like me, to rest awhile.  Some quite pleasing modern architecture – twisting towers and contrapuntal buildings.  This is definitely the flash bit of Tbilisi, where the money is.  Pleasantly tree lined, broad pavements.  Pity about the scooters.

Down to Mziuri park
Down to Mziuri park

Just east of Ilia Chavchavadze monument, a weird new construction is rising.  It’s big, and has elements of the Colosseum plus Moorish ones.  Google Maps shows an old block of flats, presumably knocked down now.  Weird.  Three quarters of the way along the street, there are steps down to a tunnel that leads to Mziuri park, at a lower level.  Very striking effect, born of Tbilisi’s mountainous topography.

After the pleasant stroll along the shopping avenue, I decided to hop on a bus again.  Even though it was rush hour, there were seats, and the bus moved along quite briskly.  When my stop approached, I waited, then rang the bell to ask the driver to stop.  He didn’t.  Not only that, but in time-honoured fashion for this trip, he did a gyration around St George and the dragon on their column, and proceeded to drive back up Rustaveli Avenue – away from my stop and hotel.  I’ve no idea what happened, because he kept going, then turned right and continued.  

I got off when he did eventually halt, nowhere near where I wanted.  But by chance, he did stop near to the big Carrefour supermarket that I always use when I am in Tbilisi. So I decided to make the best of a bad job, and head there. But the experience did confirm my long-standing view that buses, unlike trains, cannot be trusted.

In Carrefour I bought some food for myself, but my main purchase was gifts.  As well as the indispensable and popular churchkela, there was of course wine.  I decided to buy wines whose vineyards I had passed close by to.  They are, in no particular order:

Mukuzani 2021 (dry red)
Badagoni 2022 (dry red)
Kondali 2019 (white)
Tbilvino 2023 (dry white)

Carrying them all the way back to my hotel was an effort, made worse by me tripping over as I went up the stairs near the car hire agency.  Luckily, the sleeping dog and glass shards that I saw last week were both gone.

24.9.24 Tbilisi 

The staircase of the Georgian Museum of Fine Arts
The staircase of the Georgian Museum of Fine Arts

In the Georgian Museum of Fine Arts.  It’s new, and quite expensive at 30 Lari.  Apparently it holds over 3500 artworks by 100 Georgian artists.  It also has a glass staircase that is most disconcerting: (a) because you can’t see the steps (b) because you can see down a long way, and (c) the glass vibrates as you step on it…

The central problem of all modern artists is to find a unique style.  Already I’ve seen paintings that look like more well-known Western artists.  Ana Shalikashvili is exceptional in finding her own way, with a very dark palette, angular lines, and thick black strokes.  The trouble is, her paintings are uniformly depressing: there doesn’t seem to be any joy in them, or even the possibility of happiness.  Maybe that is what the Soviet system did to her: she was born in 1919, and died in 2004, spending most of her life under Communism.  

"Oil painting symphony" by Jemal Kikhalashvili

Jemal Kukhalashvili is more successful in forging a personal style that is flexible enough to encompass a broad gamut of subjects and feelings.  His “Oil painting symphony” is representative.  An extraordinary orgy of colours, mixed together, overlapping, contradicting.  Visual elements applied densely, some – like the harp and the accordion – clearly comprehensible.  Others less clear, faces popping out of nowhere.  Great stuff.

Interesting nine-panel work by Oleg Timchenko, showing heads screaming or in extreme pain.  Of course, reminds me of Messerschmidt’s heads…  He also did a portrait of Vaso Godziashvili, which is instantly recognisable as the actor in the role of Shakespeare's Richard III.  

Paintings by Edmond Gabriel Kalandadze
Paintings by Edmond Gabriel Kalandadze

Another painter with an extreme chromatic range is Edmond Gabriel Kalandadze.  Lots of bright oranges, yellows, greens, blues – but it all works really well.  Givi Vashakidze takes the opposite approach, with pale, flat colours and faceless bodies for people.  But very striking and original.  Nice one of Shatili struck by lightning, complete with eagle.  Apolon Kulateladze is one of the few that tries epic, such as his “King Tamar’s campaign”.  Striking representation of the Knight and the Tiger by Levan Tsutskiridze – quite Blakeian.

"Knight and the Tiger" by Levan Tsutskiridze
"Knight and the Tiger" by Levan Tsutskiridze

Seems an appropriate one to finish on.  I have walked past 1000s of modern pix – and I am utterly exhausted.  The best for me are Kalandadze – among whose works I sit now – and Kukhalashvili, where I shall go now for a final glance before leaving the gallery.  As a reward for my aesthetic endurance, I permitted myself a cappuccino and cheesecake.  Both surprisingly good.  Very arty café – “Publica”  on the ground floor of the gallery.  Pretty quiet – just me – as was the gallery.  I was the only visitor for the first half hour or so.  It is rather daunting, but it’s great that money has been spent creating this unique compendium of modern Georgian art.

Tbilisi under a cloudscape
Tbilisi under a cloudscape

After a quick kip – this art stuff takes it out of you – back to Café 38.  It's a great place to take in Tbilisi in all its varied beauty, especially on a day like this, with clear blue sky above, and huge fluffy clouds on the horizon.  

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