2018 Armenia

18.10.18 London Heathrow 

Unusually, I write on a plane – a shiny new Aeroflot A331.  Not like the previous Aeroflot plane – an old banger to Samarkand. But I'm on my way to another equally suggestive city: Yerevan.  I'm flying to Moscow where I change.  Still no direct flights from London to Armenia.  Appalling.

And so I realise a long-held desire to visit the land of (almost) Ararat.  In fact, I nearly went with the old Aeroflot, when Intourist offered incredibly cheap flights to get hard currencies.  As well as Uzbekistan, I went to Moscow and Leningrad as was.  On offer was Armenia and Georgia, and at the time I regretted not going.  But my two recent trips to Georgia were probably far better, since I wouldn't have seen much with Intourist…

My path to this plane has been long and contested.  Originally, I was going back to Georgia, but for various reasons that didn't happen.  Just as well: on the day I was due to be in Georgia, I developed the first and thus worst toothache of my life – quite hard to eat, and needing constant painkillers.  Would have ruined Georgia.  I eventually got the tooth fixed by a new dentist – who, by chance, was of Armenian origin.  She's good, and solved the pain, so here I am, surrounded by authentic-looking Russians – tractor-driver ladies (large), mafia-type men (sinister) and waif-like stewardesses (pretty).

Getting to Yerevan is fairly epic: four hours to Moscow, two-hour wait, then two to three hours to Yerevan, arriving at 6am.  At the airport I need to get a SIM for my phone, and then a Rideways taxi should take me to Yerevan Ibis.  This is very central, and very cheap – about £40 a night. Now waiting in Sheremetyevo.  Huge place, quite lively for midnight – quite a few flights going out.  Mine leaves at 2am.  Striking that signs are in Russian and Chinese…

19.10.18 Yerevan 

So here I am at last.  In the Ibis hotel, eating a slight expensive (5000 dram) breakfast.  But here.  Managed to sleep for almost all of the three-hour flight down here – hard, but managed.  Sadly, no vision of Ararat, even though I'd chosen my seat for this – still pitch black.  Lots of stars though.  Very long queue at passport control, but they let me through in 20 minutes.  Case arrived, and then I bought a SIM – 2800 dram for 5 Gbytes – pretty cheap…

In retrospect, using Moscow as a hub for central Asia is obvious – can't think why I didn't use it before.  Perhaps thinking back to the old Aeroflot planes… For example, they have flights to Almaty, Astana, Ulaanbaatar… lots of appealing places.  Must check prices…

Driving in from the airport, the Armenian script looked wonderfully exotic – must learn the capital letters, which stump me too often.  Lots of oriental-looking people here.  Can't tell if they are central Asian, Koreans, Chinese...haven't heard speech yet.  Sounds Japanese...makes sense, Armenia relatively close to Japan.  Big party of them here.

After I had shaved, I felt vaguely human, and went out wandering in the glorious autumn sunshine.  It was cold – 5°C – when I got off the plane, but the sun was moving the temperature up.  First problem: the SIM I bought wouldn't work with my venerable mobile phone.

Down to Republic Square.  Really impressive; spacious with towering buildings forming it.  The use of stone here is really good.  Lots of minivans offering trips to Lake Sevan et al. - but no prices.  Time to haggle… Then up Northern Avenue.  Swanky and culminating in the Armenian Opera Theatre, and Freedom Square.  Along the way I went in to the main mobile company – U.com.  It took two of them 20 minutes, but they eventually got my SIM working.

Now in the restaurant Lavash, on Tumanian Street.  Eaten fried pork and potatoes: not bad – and very cheap (about £4).  Opposite me in the Tumanian Sharwa – might try it another day.  Back to the hotel for a quick kip, then out again, down to the river valley.  And there it is, looming majestically in the afternoon haze – Mount Ararat.  Great view from the church of St. Sargis – amazing stones that look almost edible in their variations of honey hue.  Very characteristic Armenian style – shallow carving on the facade, tall narrow windows, tiny bell towers on the corners.    Afterwards I took one of Yerevan's long, straight boulevards – Mashtots Paghota – aligned with Ararat.

Passed colourful market, and was able to change euros at a good rate.  Then on for over a kilometre, past the opera house, and Khachaturian's statue, up beyond the ring road, almost to the Matenadaran, where I'll go tomorrow.  Then right, back to Abovian Paghats.  The contrast of Yerevan with Tbilisi is interesting.  Yerevan is more sophisticated, but Tbilisi is more atmospheric.  I think it goes back to the fact that Yerevan is a planned city, but Tbilisi is just layer upon layer. (Yerevan may be older, but little remains of that except Erebuni.)   People seem better-off here, strolling along Northern Avenue, just as in Italy or Spain.  Lots of top-end shops.  Yerevan seems to have more money than Tbilisi, but I think Georgia's economy is doing better than Armenia's, probably because it is not isolated by war as Armenia is.

I'm really lucky (of course, in many ways) because Yerevan is celebrating its 2800th anniversary on Sunday.  Lots of banners around.  Be interesting to see what they do.  Now out at supper.  The good news: it's so mild I'm eating outside.  The bad news: people smoke a lot, and in the restaurants.  In Terian Street, in a small restaurant that looks quite original.  Very popular, a good sign.  Sadly, food was slow in coming and unbalanced – ah well.  Tun Lahika – will give it a miss in future.  But hard to believe I only arrived early this morning.  Up to the top of the Cascades...reminds me of the weird Hoxha building in Tirana.  Still hazy…

20.10.18 Yerevan 

I sit at the feet of Mashtots, looking out at Ararat.  Nice building – the Armenians are rather good at monuments.  Fine manuscripts inside, including Middle Georgian manuscripts.  Sunny, but hazy – pity about Ararat, but good for walking.  To give my knee a rest, in to The Green Bean for Armenian coffee.  Good stuff, and cheap at 500 dram. To the Museum of Russian Art.  Amazing exhibition on Vrubel's "Demon and angel battling for Tamar's soul" – Lermontov's Georgian poem, of course.  Amazing because of the restoration carried out on the torn, stolen art work.  "Demon" read in the background – lovely atmosphere.  

Into the crazy Cafesian Gallery.  Sitting in front of the huge Battle of Vardanank by Grigor Khanjian.  Central battle scene rather effective.  Not wild about all the lifts here… Now in front of Sasuntsi Davit, by Artashes Hovsepian. Beautiful stone relief – something Armenians excel at.  Interesting exhibition of Shadi Ghadinian – Iranian female photographer.  Striking images under difficult conditions.

Back to Tumanian Street – lots of restaurants here; chose Lebanese for kebab.  To the History Museum.  Incredible wealth for such old stuff – hearthstones, huge vessels – all four to five thousand years old.  Armenia clearly a hearth of humanity.  Stunning funereal cart with four huge wheels… To the Urartu section.  Incredible to see the inscription of Erebun – 782 BCE.  Out of the museum into nearby Jazzve cafe for surch… I was exhausted after only one floor of the place – so much quality stuff to see.

Out early for dinner, as I expected things to be busy...and they are, even at this time.  To Lavash, where I barely got a table upstairs.  After the museum, to Vernissage.  Huge – much bigger than Temple Street in Hong Kong.  Lots of interesting stuff – and lots of tat, like £10 duduks, of which there are hundreds… T-shirts, jewels, carpets, chess sets, silverware, rings, scarfs, books (in Russian and in Armenian), kitchenware etc.  And not a price in sight – haggling is order of the day here. I took a break from this by going to the city's cathedral.  Which looks like a prison – big and blocky, with little that is graceful or spiritual.  Such a contrast to the Holy Trinity church in Tbilisi, also new, so it shows it can be done.  Then back to the market.  Found a stall selling music, and haggled for two books for learning the duduk from 13,000 dram to 10,000 dram, so not bad.

Then, from the market, took a taxi back to the hotel – my knee is still complaining about the Cascades…  Rather angry driver listening to Russian pop music, got me back for 1000 dram – about £1.30, so pretty cheap.  Will probably take them again.

Just had a good soup with yoghurt and buckwheat.  Took a glass of Armenian wine - £2.  Waiting for beef now.  Which turned out to be beef and beans cooked inside a pumpkin – absolutely wonderful.  Red wine not bad, not quite as punchy as Georgian wine.

21.10.18 Yerevan 

An unusual morning.  Now in Artbridge Bookstore Cafe – seems the Yerevan equivalent of Prospero's Bookshop in Tbilisi. I had originally planned to go to the National Gallery this morning.  But the weather today is sunny, while tomorrow will be cloudy, so I decided to go to Khov Virap in the hope of seeing Ararat.  The question then: how to get there, and how to pay.  There were to taxis outside Ibis hotel.  I spoke to the driver of one, a typical young Armenian.  We agreed after haggling on 10,000 dram – about £7.  I got in the back.  Seat belts stuck behind the seats.  This was a big problem, because he drove like a maniac.  After we established Russian as our best mode of communication, I asked him to stop, and sat in the front seat, which had a seat belt.  He didn't wear his.  Then we stopped for gas – not petrol, but LPG (I assume).  This is held in a large tank in the boot.  The man filling it up told me to stand back – "опасно".  Great.  Then we hared off to the site.

The journey interesting, if hardly attractive.  Dry, dusty, sere landscape – like Tbilisi/Turkey, only poorer.  Lots of old Soviet infrastructure, struggling to work.  Everywhere those strange pipes – the same I saw in Stepantsminda – gas supplies.  Thanks to his speeding – at about 120 km/hour – we soon reached our destination.  Still rather hazy, alas, although at least I was closer to Ararat.  Must be stunning on a clear day.  Didn't bother going to the church, which is no match to many others.  Saw a sheep with a red ribbon – not a good sign, I fear – I think it means a sacrifice.  Then back to Yerevan.  But given we were in the right part of the city, I decided to go to Erebun.  After all, today is being celebrated as the 2800th anniversary of its founding.  In fact, I saw the inscription in cuneiform yesterday.  Zipped around museum (free today), then climbed hundreds of steps (aaargh) to the top.

Very impressive – huge, well-preserved walls.  Lots of rooms visible.  Reminded me of Knossos, but even better preserved.  Roughly contemporary, too, I think. In fact the remains of the walls so high and steep I found it impossible to get down, except at the main entrance.  Lovely views of the city, too, although not exactly beautiful.  Amazing the history of this place – prehistoric and Urartan. I was there about 40 minutes, so taxi driver not very pleased.  I'd agreed 14,000 dram, but ended up giving 15,000 dram to keep him happy.  He wasn't.

To the National Gallery, which confusingly is in the same building as the National Museum.  As usual, you begin at the top, which means a ride in a very ricketty Soviet lift.  Not much special here, except Hakob Hovnatanian (1806-1881).  Born and worked in Tbilisi.  Lots of fine portraits, if a little repetitive.  A room full of Hovhannes Aivazovsky (1817-1900), including "The Darial gorge"...wonder if he went there.  Probably. Also "Noah descending from Ararat" by the same artist. Majestic painting of Ararat by Gevorg Bashinjaghian (1857-1925).  Simple, but effective.  Also of Kazbeg and Daryal gorge. Nice view of Ararat by Yegishe Tadevosian (1870-1936) viewed from Echmiadzin. "Old Tiflis" by Panos Terlemezian (1865-1941).

After the gallery I went to the Republic Square, saw the marching bands.  Sat in the garden by Italy Street, had a coffee. And then I had a problem: most of the square was closed off by the police – I assume some bigwig was coming (the mayor?).  Luckily, I saw an Armenian man arguing with the police, who finally let him through – so I and several others joined the group to cut across the blockade.  Later, I sat nearby Vernissage, reading emails.  

Heavy beats filled the air – Yerevan2018 celebrations in full swing.  I decided to eat early to avoid the crowds gathering for the celebration that night.  In Mamoor, which has good reviews, very near.  Nice pumpkin soup..slight spoiled by people smoking here, which is common… One striking thing about the National Gallery: every room had at least one attendant, but there were only four of us looking at the pix…

22.10.18 Yerevan 

Back in the Lebanese for lunch – it's slightly damp outside, and I didn't want to wander.  Since most museums are closed today – à la France – out to Geghard monastery.  First, find a taxi and haggle.  Went with an old geezer for 10,000 dram.  No seat belts in back, so I moved to the front again.  Old, gas-powered car.  Interesting bloke.  Born in Tbilisi, Russian teacher by profession (we spoke in Russian), but now driving taxis to support his daughter and grandson, who bore his name – Yura.  Life obviously hard, since was about my age.

Lovely drive to Geghard monastery – climbing, looked like Georgia (no surprise).  No traffic about, although a few coaches at the site – Russians mostly, plus a group of French.  Impressive church, gleaming and unusual – inside, a cave.  On the outside of the main church, graffiti from the 1840s – reminds me of Egypt…

Then back via Garni.  Temple fab, but rebuilt.  Interesting it exists here, of course.  But for main thing was the fantastic views of Garni valley.  I only heard about this place a few months ago, when I watched a YouTube video of this crazy Russian bloke recording his drive to Garni through Georgia – which is how I came across it.

Drive back into Yerevan a bit hair raising – driver moved across junction as cars from right stormed away – narrowly avoided impact.  But otherwise a great trip.  Gave him 10,000 dram plus 2,000 for his grandson…  Forgot to mention: Yura has travelled everywhere in ex-Soviet Union – Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Russia.  Big advantage of a common market.

Sitting in Khachaturian's house.  Not much to see – lots of concert programmes, a few scores.  Best bit is the part he lived in – had that old person's smell.  Beautiful portrait of him conducting in London (Abbey Road Studios?). But overall impression is one of sadness…

Back in the Green Bean – has a nice vibe, and I need coffee and pud.  Everyone's smoking – no wonder: I saw packets cost just £1 for 20 cigarettes.  Then to Vernissage again.  On to see poor Griboyedov's statue.  Never heard of him six months ago, but now I feel I've known him for ages.  Poor chap.  Nearby, huge concrete monstrosity – reminded me of Albania… On the metro.  Had to see what it was like.  Small, undistinguished, not deep like Tbilisi.  Back to Republic Square, then walked down Italy Street across to supermarket.  Need to buy some Ararat cognac and good wines.  Got them, then grabbed a taxi for 1000 dram.

For dinner, thought to try Tumanyan Shaurma.  Disappointing – food not very appetising.  Hope it doesn't do anything serious to my guts.

23.10.18 Yerevan 

Sitting at the Marriott in Republic Square.  Lovely warm autumn morning.  Alas, still hazy, so the view of Ararat still tantalisingly partial. Took a taxi to the Genocide Memorial.  Very fine – that Armenian monumentality again.  The huge slabs of rock serving the architects well.  No one else there, as it should be for the best appreciation.  The flickering flame down in the well, the flowers - carnations – laid around its border.  Very simple, very effective.

It is very strange.  I have been longing to come to Armenia for 40 years – I regretted not taking the Intourist Armenia and Georgia package.  But in the end, better thus.  Then, they were poor and oppressed.  Now, both are free and happy places.  I feel at home in both.  Almost more here, because the language is easier.  I think I know why Yerevan feels so different from Tbilisi: it is a very compact, homogeneous city.  Tbilisi is spread out, with different parts that don't hang together.  That said, Tbilisi's old quarter is not matched by anything here in Yerevan.  And Georgia's scenery is more majestic.  However, Yerevan's museums are much better…

Took taxi back to Republic Square for coffee in Marriott café – what a shrewd move to buy this building – location, location, location.  Lovely sunshine.  Then walked to Museum of Modern Art.  Hard to find – hidden on a side street in nondescript building.  Quite interesting.  Overall tone: rather sad and depressing… Then to Artbridge Bookstore Café.  Empty.  To hotel for a quick kip – tonight is going to be long and tiring.  Managed to book window seats.

Where to finish?  Went to the museum dedicated to Spendiarian – not a name I'd come across before.  No one else there.  Now sitting in Republic Square, the only place to end the day.  Dark storm clouds looming to the south, a few drops of rain.

After last night's disappointing food, only one place possible: Lavash, where I reserved a table to make sure.  Will eat a fair amount to keep going during the night since Aeroflot food is not great… Eating aveluk soup and ghapama erzurum – which I had before.  So good, I want it again...plus wine (I will have two glasses tonight...)

More destinations:

1993 Istanbul

2015 Tbilisi

2017 Georgia

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

2022 Stavanger

Over the North Sea 14.10.22

The good news: I'm flying to Norway.  The bad news: judging by the safety leaflet, it might be in the B737 MAX – the one that is so unstable if fell out of the sky twice. [Actually, Flightradar24 tells me later that it was the older, safer B737-800.]

On the way to Stavanger.  Why?  It seems very small – not even Norway's second city – shops seem to close almost as soon as they open, and the weather forecast for the next four days is rain, rain, heavy rain, rain, thunderstorms, and then showers when we leave.  But in all those respects, it's interesting.

Truth to tell, I was going to fly to Georgia – I've not been for three years thanks to Covid.  But as I was just about to book hotels and buy flights, that nice Mr Putin began his "partial" mobilisation, and tens of thousands of young Russians fled the country – strangely unwilling to get killed to salve Putin's pride.  In particular, flights to Tbilisi went up from $300 to $600, and hotels were sold out as Russians piled in.  So Georgia not the happiest of places – and probably a little too close to Russia in the circumstances [turbulence…].  Admittedly, Norway also has a border with Russia, but a long way from Stavanger.  Also, I don't think Putin would attack NATO country.  Little, helpless Georgia (population three million, two great chunks already missing thanks to Russia) on the other hand…

So, Stavanger is a kind of anti-Georgia.  Very expensive, very clean, very orderly.  Interesting for those reasons, although not much else to do.  It would have been nice to climb to the Preikestolen – the main image I have of Stavanger – but the torrential rain that is threatened is not really ideal for this.  Even fjord cruises are likely to be compromised somewhat.  But hej – at least we have the Oil Museum… In fact, since everything else in terms of museums and art galleries seems closed on Monday, the Oil Museum may be our only hope of getting out of the rain…

Flying Norwegian for the first time – I've often seen their planes.  Efficient Web site, expensive (around 500 euros for two), pity about the Boeings those chose [they do have some B737 MAX, and are buying more, it seems…].  Turns out that UK school half-term is upon us: result – Gatwick South Terminal awash with young families.  Not a problem, but made everything feel rather crowded, which I had not expected.  

Sitting in Fisketorget – pretty expensive, but then everything is here.  Fab view of the harbour, a big powered catamaran berthed nearby – seems the only one offering tours of the fjords.  

An easy trip from the airport on the bus to hour hotel, Darby's Inn, greeted by Mr Darby, I think.  A fine Victorian-era building.  Out into the rain, through the backstreets with their characteristic white houses, all similar, but all different.  The electric cars swish by, the only sound the wheels cutting through the rainy road.  The house number have a very pleasing typeface.

Down to the harbour, where a huge tug (?) looms.  Around the harbour, along to the old town.  Everything so far has been very restrained – reminds me of the Outer Hebrides, Cornwall, Iceland.  The gently sloping lanes remind me of the similar but completely different hill streets of Tbilisi.  The old part of the town an explosion of colour after the uniform white.  Rather gaudy and excessive – looks like something created with a digital painting program.  A bit more lively.  Reminds me again of Tbilisi, but also of Bucharest.  We take coffee in the Bacchus café – decent coffee, tea and apple cake.  This reminds me of a restaurant I visited in Copenhagen – relaxed, nice atmosphere.  Then through the streets full of female navy ratings (Stavanger is a NATO centre – our hotel has people from it staying) out on the town.  Then to here, lucky to find a table, especially by the window overlooking the harbour and sea.

Back in Darby's.  Harbour very attractive by night, especially after rain (lots of it), with the lights reflected on the wet pavement.  As well as the electric cars – and the absence of places to park, for example in hotels – there are electric scooters everywhere – being used, or left all over the shop.

Still raining…

Stavanger 15.10.22

A famously good breakfast at Darby's in the splendid dining room upstairs.  A mirrored ceiling, lots of chinoiserie.  Turns out Mr Darby was in the oil industry – Singapore, Houston, London, Paris, Stavanger.  Awkward.  His Norwegian wife extolled the virtues of the Oil Museum, understandably, perhaps.

To the city, absolutely devoid of people – looked like a film set for some post-apocalyptic movie.  Around the old part, bought some lunch – having failed to do in the nearby Extra supermarket – seems Norwegians don't eat sandwiches…

Bought tickets for the only cruise to the fjords at this time of year – 650 Kr, reasonably, unlike the £100 Booking.com site was quoting for exactly the same trip.  Reminder to self: don't use Booking.com for offers… Now on the super-modern boat (catamaran).  Fair number of people, but far fewer than the 297 the boat can hold.  Rather fresh this morning, so sitting inside, not on the open top.  Views would be better there, but I think we'd freeze.  Strangely, not raining, even a hint of sun.  But rain promised later, and for all Sunday.

The endless parade of hills and mountains woven together, reminds me – perversely – of the train ride from Samarkand to Tashkent.  That sense of consonance among opposites. Almost impossible to stay outside – wind so strong, you'd lose a camera so easily.  The neat houses and cabins perched on patches of grass remind me this time of the buildings high in the Alps as we drove from Italy to France.  So many clearly expensive places owned by so many rich people, about which most of us know nothing…  The walls of the fjord vertical, with lines that make them look like perpendicular style architecture – truly natural cathedrals.

Half way into the fjord, to the waterfall, a majestic force of nature.  In close, with water spraying everywhere (not me, though – I stayed inside).  The boat turns, stops at Preikestolen.  I realise I have misjudged the height of these walls: on the Preikestolen itself I can just make out tiny, tiny dots – people.  The top is gobsmackingly high.  Then we stop at the Vagabond's Cave – basically a huge cleft in the cliff.  Beautiful rock formations, sculptural.

The bridge at the entrance to Lysefjord reminds me of the multiple bridges and viaducts on the road leading to the Mont Blanc tunnel – an amazing drive.  There, the mood was refulgent summer; here, mellow autumn.  Sailing back the way we came, but with a different feeling.  You depart full of expectations, energy.  You return full of experience, tired but content.  The rain held off for this, and we are grateful.

Another echo, but a distant one: when I went down other fjords, as far from here as possible, in New Zealand.  Slight smaller and tamer, as I recall, but beautiful nonetheless.

Another contrast.  Norway is confirmed for me as an efficient, functioning society, as I saw in Oslo all those years ago.  Its huge North Sea oil fund means that it is well placed for whatever the future holds.  The UK, of course, is the complete contrast to that, especially now.  A government so dysfunctional that is already a global byword; chaos politically, financially, economically, ecologically.  I love it.  "May you live in interesting times" may be meant as a curse, but for me is a blessing.  I love wondering what new disaster will unfold each day, hanging on Twitter so as to be among the first to know.  I love it – the buzz, the madness, the sense of living on the edge.  It's so exciting.  Stavanger, by contrast, opens at 10am and closes at 4pm.  Restaurants shut early, museums are closed on Mondays.  It's efficient, smooth – and rather dull.  Give me bonkers mayhem every time.

After the boat trip, a walk around the town, which is finally a little lively.  Then along to the bus station, which is also next to the train station.  The latter small, as might be expected.  We're here to buy buy tickets for tomorrow's visit to a slightly distant museum.  I buy a 24-hour ticket, not realising it is for the next 24 hours.  Ah, well, at least we can take the bus back.  Both stations sit next to the Byparken, Stavanger's main city park.  Seagulls and swans dominate its lake, which is striking pastoral given the presence of archetypal urban features such as bus and train stations.  Back to the room.  It starts raining heavily, but at least we had no rain during the fjord trip.

Out for supper to the nearby Matsmagasinet.  No room in the restaurant – it's Saturday evening after all – so we sit in the bar, and choose from its small but inventive menu.  Tables full of young women laughing raucously and explosively set the tone.  Just one man there, sitting on his own, absolutely immobile for minutes on end.  We eat, pay and leave to avoid any acts of mass murder he may be about to commit…

A day that went far better than feared, with most of it rainless.  Tomorrow still threatens to be thoroughly wet.  We shall see – the weather system here seems to be even more unstable and less predictable than London's…

16.10.22

In the café of the Archaeological Museum.  Bright and modern, very few people.  Exhibits well displayed, with explanations in Norwegian and English.  After a while, Norwegian becomes vaguely comprehensible, close enough to German.

Raining mostly today, but odd spells of dry weather – enough for us to take the bus to the Kunstmuseum by the park.  Typical small city art gallery: modern building, very clean and tidy, with a couple of temporary exhibitions, plus a few older Norwegian paintings – some very good landscapes.  Park largely empty, as everywhere.  Then on the bus to the Archaeological Museum.  Again, the space very modern, the exhibits well laid out.  Lots of gold and other jewellery, posts, a huge cauldron, broken swords, a section meditating on the universality of Yggdrasil, the tree of life.

But for me, the highlight without doubt was the pair of lurs – ancient Germanic horns.  These were found in a bog, and were intact.  Not only were there two of them, they were a matching pair: tuned to the same note, and each forming a serpentine coil with different chiralities.  Amazing sophistication, and also shows how important music was to ancient tribes.

After lunch in the museum, it was still early, so we walked along to the Stavanger Museum.  Full of kids, and kid-suitable exhibits, with one notable and striking exception.  A propos of nothing, one room contained an installation called "Cranium Music".  It consisted of a dozen or so suspended animal skulls onto which were projected the faces of singers such that the animal jaws coincided with the singers' mouths.  In the background, the music that the singers – and thus the skulls – were performing.  Pretty disconcerting, and hardly consonant with the rest of the museum.

There was still a little while before every museum in the city shut, so we decided to fit in one more – the Maritime Museum down by the harbour.  A nice old building, ceilings showing lovely beams, perilously low for me.  An eclectic mix of exhibitions, plus recreations of merchants' rooms.  Nothing spectacular, but interesting enough.

Just as museums close at 4pm, so are many restaurants shut on Sunday.  Even supermarkets are closed.  We managed to find one, Bunnpris, which a few bits and pieces we will eat tonight, since the forecasts are awful – not the weather for wanderings.

17.10.22

As the saying has it: "as quiet as Stavanger on a Monday" – well, almost.  All the museums are shut, bar one – the Oil Museum.  Pretty much the last thing I'd want to visit, but needs must when the devil drives.  And there is a certain timeliness in the topic, when a European war is being fought over, and waged with, oil.  The museum itself is rather splendid, architecturally speaking.  It looks as if made out of leftover oil pipes and rigs.  As usual, very clean and neat inside, with jolly exhibits about the origin of oil, the history of drilling.  One thing I already knew but still find amazing is that the modern oil industry is so young: it more or less began in Azerbaijan at the end of the nineteenth century, when people noticed that his black stuff bubbling out of the ground burnt rather well.  (Reminds me, I really want to go to Baku – I do wish Armenia and Azerbaijan would sort out a peace deal…). 

The exhibits have a certain abstract charm: the rigs looked like enormous metal artworks.  My favourite bit was the, er, bits – various kinds displayed in a row.  A photo showed them arranged like exotic sea animals, or viruses.  Also interesting was a control room of some kind, an ecstasy of analogue dials and switches.  But overall, like all museums in Stavanger, rather small – not worth the £25 it cost us to get in…  Then out around the barely stirring town, people going quietly about their quiet business, mostly in quiet electric vehicles, which seems appropriate as well as laudable.

Stavanger airport.  Like the museums here, modern, clean, efficient – and quite small.  Just three days ago, this city was completely unknown to me.  Now, I've seen the main sights and walked its streets in myriad ways.  Certainly, I don't claim to know the place, but I have an mental image and a plan of it.

More destinations:

1989 Oslo

1996 Helsinki, Tallinn

2014 Riga 

2019 Reykjavik

Moody's Black Notebook Travels

2024 Georgia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 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

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

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

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

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 

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

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

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 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.  

More destinations:

2015 Tbilisi

2017 Georgia

2018 Armenia

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