Keeps Georgia on My Mind: 1 Week in Georgia (Republic of) Part II

View of the confluence of the rivers, and Mtskheta from the high church.

The church on top of the mountain, in Mtskheta. This was my favorite of the three.

The second, and least impressive, church in Mtskheta

Third church in Mtskheta

The third, and grandest, church in Mtskheta.

President George W. Bush Street: AWESOME!

Walking through Signaghi.

The wall encompassing Signaghi. Wine country.

At the cafe in Signaghi, probably about to provide a witty retort, or make a comment that identifies a deep understanding of the intricacies of our current topic of discussion (just speculating).

These ladies are preparing to send the wine to Ukraine. I'm hoping I come in contact with the fruits of their labor.

Preparing for our wine tasting.

At the table for our feast. The man standing gave the tour of the wine factory, and was our toastmaster.

Stalin Museum in Gori.

Statue of Stalin outside of his museum in Gori. The museum forgets to mention that Stalin was, to use the scientific term, an asshole.

Prayer rags outside of hilltop church in Borjomi (it was a tough climb).

Hiking in Borjomi Natural Park.

Me trying to be artsy with a Tbilisi by night picture. The golden glow is a church, and the white glow is the Avlabari Palace.

Peace Bridge at night. This is a pedestrian bridge crossing the river, it looks pretty cool in person.

Illegal picture of the Avlabari Palace in Tbilisi.

*For more photos, I have posted a plethora on facebook. Follow this link http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2104638&id=17600435&l=39f419e4b2 if you are interested in the remainder. You do not need to have a facebook account to view these photos.*

Welcome back. I hope you’re energized for a bit more rambling, and the last few days of the trip. Away we go:

As I mentioned, the ride back from the mountains was pretty painless. We arrived in Tbilisi around 1:00 PM, negotiated the metro system and made our way to our new hostel. The new hostel was not the Tbilisi Party Hostel; it was a quieter, low key place called Irina’s Guesthouse. We dropped our bags off and decided to make our plan of attack for the rest of the afternoon. We decided to head up to a town called Mtskheta, a quick trip.

Mtskheta has been a spiritual center in Georgia for thousands of years; a center, even, for pagan worship. Churches, of the Georgian Orthodox persuasion, are now the important drawing point for the town. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site (at least the three churches are), was once the official seat of the Georgian Orthodox Church and was the home of the royal family many moons ago. My favorite of the churches was the rather small church on top of a mountain presiding over the town and the confluence of two rivers. The churches we visited in Georgia were a welcome reprieve for me from the ornate Orthodox churches all over Ukraine. I much prefer the simplistic style that the Georgian churches use. After a while, I think, gilded shiny iconostases become a distraction, and there seems to be icon worship, but that is not something I’ll get into here. I should say, though, that while the churches were simple they were not Spartan.

We spent the afternoon visiting the three churches in town. The church on the mountain, as I mentioned, was one of my favorites. There were a few trees near the church, and on the trees prayer rags had been tied. Prayer rags are little strips of fabric tied around the branches of a tree in supplication for some sort of assistance. From what I have read frequently this supplication is for fertility. The same type of prayer rags are used near the mosques in Turkmenistan, so I guess this was one step towards that failed objective. Similar to the Islam in Turkmenistan, in Georgia the Christianity is still splashed with hints of the prior paganism which was once so common in the region. This was evident in Mtskheta, but it more evident in the truly isolated mountain villages. I wonder if certain colors are more successful in getting the prayers answered. Perhaps that can be some anthropology student’s Ph.D. dissertation, but I digress.

We made our way back to Tbilisi. We decided that it was imperative to capture photographic evidence (which I have shared above) of President George W. Bush Street, complete with a picture of the firmly unsmiling ex-Commander in Chief. The trip to the billboard brought us back across the city via the metro. It also involved a bit of meandering, and hopeful turns, which is a nice way to get a feeling for a city. Once the photographic evidence was obtained (more difficult than you’d expect because there were many cars zooming passed obstructing the camera view), it was time to get back to the ranch. When I say getting back to the ranch I truly mean going down to Rustaveli and having a delicious blue raspberry slushie.

We decided to walk back to the hostel from the slushie store. We were ultimately successful, despite a wrong turn bringing us to a park overlooking the bridge we needed to cross with no way to reach the bridge. After backtracking, and crossing the river we stopped for some dinner at a little café. I, optimist that I am, ordered the pizza. I should have learned after being in Ukraine for almost a year now that pizza should not be ordered anywhere that used to be a Soviet Socialist Republic, I’ll try not to make that mistake again, but I’m ever the optimist with pizza, the fries were good, though. Trying to redeem my pizza fiasco we bought a watermelon for desert. The man at the convenience store decided he would get us a nice, fresh, small watermelon. There were only two of us, after all. He grabs a small watermelon from the cooler and hands it to me, all 10lbs. of it. Now I can eat almost anything. And I can eat almost anything voraciously, and quickly. But, after a few bites, my system went into watermelon overload. I’m not sure what is worse: the watermelon overload, or “come on, Meegan, man up.” That phrase has mysterious powers over me. So, I stayed at the table trying to finish my colossal piece of watermelon. I had to face my defeat. Lessons in humility are a good thing, of course. They help us mature, and if it is from a watermelon that we learn our failings and shortcomings, then so be it. To be honest, I didn’t finish the full piece of watermelon. There was still a thin layer of pink over the rind, when I finally gave my unconditional surrender, and tossed the remains. In my defense, I did try to conceal all evidence of my failure. It was a quiet night, though, and we were able to rest up for our day-trip into wine country.

Our excursion into wine country was probably the highlight of the trip. At least it was for me. We were picked up about 9:00AM outside of our hostel. The contingent consisted of me, the esteemed Sara (my translator), a Turkish couple, a Latvian businessman now living in Tbilisi, our Georgian guide, and a driver. Our journey to Kakheti took us to a part of the country we had not yet seen, which we would not have seen otherwise. The first stop came after about two hours. This stop was a small tourist town called Signaghi. We walked through the town which looked a bit nouveau-rustic, with some hotels, and cafes, and an ancient (looking) wall around the town. After walking through the cobblestone streets we stopped at a café. I had my first experience with Turkish coffee, and I was quite happy with it. It was thick and packed a punch. The café looked out from a hill over fields and over to the border with Azerbaijan, only 12 kilometers from where we were. After awhile we got back in the truck and continued on our way. The trip went on for another hour and a half or so. Finally we made arrived at the wine factory. The factory is the factory of the Joint-Stock Corporation Kindzmarauli in the city Kvareli. If you can find any of the wine they produce it is worth a try. They had the best wine I have drank in a long time (not much of an accomplishment based on what I can afford in town).

Once we arrived at the factory we were given a tour of the grounds. Before the tour we were given a primer on why this region on Kakheti was special, what type of grapes were most popular here, and what type of wines we would be trying. We were also told about the history of the factory, its start, its relocation during Soviet times, the destruction of some of the less common types of grapes and the general knowledge of viniculture (doesn’t that word make me look smart?).

We were first brought to the area where grapes are mashed and processed for the wine. I liked how they had both the new equipment and the old Soviet equipment standing next to each other in juxtaposition. The next aspect was the tanks in which the wine is held. Again, both old and new were standing under the same roof. The brand new ones were made of shiny stainless steel, and had cold, cold water streaming down the outside. Next we saw where the wine is bottled, and where the old bottles are stored. There was a large barrel of wine in the basement reserved for the American Embassy. That, among some other things, made me envious of the embassy personnel in Tbilisi.

The highlight of our time at the factory was far and away the tasting. The tasting included a quick explanation of proper degustation of the wines, and how there are different strategies depending on whether the wine in question was white or red. Remember to swirl the wine, check the scent, check the coloring, fill your mouth and swish the wine around and hold it long enough to get the proper taste. I was very good at determining the major characteristics of the wine: whether it was white or red. The glasses of wine were washed down by a combination of walnuts, cheese, bread and there were even black olives on the table, but we all know my anathema for olives of any shade. Also involved in our tasting was a glass of chacha, the Georgian liquor akin to grappa, or fire. The tasting wrapped up with a bit of Georgian brandy. The chacha and brandy were not great, but the wine certainly was. This wrapped up our agenda for the factory. There was a store front at the factory that acted as their main wine shop. We waited a bit while our group shopped around. During this time we met a few Peace Corps Volunteers from Georgia. It was funny how perfect we found their country, and while we talked they had many of the same complaints that we do about Ukraine. We decided, that they were incorrect, however, and that Georgia is by the far the best country for a Peace Corps stint. While talking, the factory tour guide, and one of the factory owners began speaking with us as well. He was excited when he found out we were Peace Corps Volunteers, because a few years ago, at the factory he had worked with a business development volunteer. I think a job thinking of the best way to promote a wine factory must be among greatest site placements ever. After our group had wrapped up their purchases we made our way to the next stop: a Georgian feast.

We drove to a village not very far from the factory. We pulled up at a house and unloaded. The house had been turned, basically, into a museum of folk culture, and viniculture. There were traditional instruments, and traditional ways of producing wine, the usual museum-ish stuff. We were given the full tour, and then we were able look around outside. This was a strategy for biding time for the table to be set. This was the table of my dreams. It was full of some of the most delicious food I have had since October 15, 2009. There were fresh vegetables of all kinds, meat including beef, there was not one beet on the table! Our glasses were kept full, and the toasts were more sincere than any I have ever heard. It was interesting, for me, being at the table with Turks, and Georgians. They have very long memories. One toast began speaking of the history of bad blood between Turks and Georgians and the former bellicose relationship between the two nations (nations as in ethnic groups not the political entities we currently have), but these antagonisms ended maybe as many as three or four hundred years ago. But, eating and talking, and getting lubricated made for a tremendously enjoyable day for me. The toasting, as I mentioned, was formal. Not super formal, like at a traditional Georgian feast, but more formal than we’re used to. At a traditional Georgian table, only the toastmaster is allowed to make the toasts. These toasts are not the simple obligatory two or three sentences, but they are long, thought out, sometimes ramble and are delivered with solemnity. There is a picture above of our feast, and instead of trying to further elaborate you can see how delicious it looked. After the feast and the wine, the ride home was perfect for a phenomenal nap.

We passed President George W. Bush Street coming back into Tbilisi. It was slightly different this time, though. The sign had been spray painted and the words “NO WAR” and “WALT WHITMAN” were now the prominent features of the sign. Coincidentally I had recently asked Sara her thoughts on Walt Whitman, and expressed my complete disdain for the man. In the immortal words of Homer Simpson “Leaves of Grass my ass.” I wanted to get a picture of the newly defaced sign but Tbilisi has a very efficient public works department; after two days the sign had been restored to its original glory. The decider had returned. I still have no idea who in Georgia knows anything about Walt Whitman and why that would have been spray painted on a sign, but that is neither here nor there, and we’ll roll on to Sunday.

On Sunday we rented a cab and had it take us to the national park Borjomi about two hours west of Tbilisi. We went to Borjomi by way of Gori, the birthplace, and childhood home of Stalin. We dripped into his museum. The museum was interesting, but it failed to mention some key facts about Stalin: he was an asshole; he murdered millions of people; he enjoyed forced deportations. Then again, when they make a Pete Meegan Museum I hope they only concentrate on the good things: my rugged good looks and rocking biceps.

The museum also included Stalin’s private train car. I was impressed with the simplicity of the car. It was not grandiose, or elaborate. It had very simple sleeping quarters, a kitchen, and large bathroom with a bathtub and a conference room. Such a powerful man could have easily had a far more lavish personal train car. So I’ll say fair play to him on that front. But that is the only thing I’ll give him. Stalin also looked like a hipster when he was young, and I’m not a big fan of hipsters, so he’s got a few strikes against him in my book. As an aside, I recently spoke with a friend that went to the museum, also. He had a tour guide when he was there, and the tour guide did allow that “Stalin possibly was a mass murderer.”

Gori was just a quick stop. The small home, train car, and cases of gifts for Stalin could not stop us from getting to Borjomi. Perhaps, in retrospect, it was a bad idea. We didn’t allow ourselves enough time to really see and do a lot of things, but we did take a little hike there, and also stopped for a very tasty meal of traditional Georgian food. Borjomi is a place famous throughout the former Soviet Union. From this town comes one of the USSR’s favorite mineral waters. I still cannot drink it, but it is definitely popular. It has a slightly salty flavor, and is just not as refreshing as I want my water to be, but those that imbibe regularly sing its praises. So, while I do not enjoy the mineral water, the place itself was impressive. It reminded me a bit of Maine, and Sara a bit of West Virginia. So, we spent a couple of hours here, in Borjomi, before heading back to the home base. One regret I have: there was a highway sign we passed, and I wish I had gotten a picture of it. On the sign the cities Tbilisi, Baku (capital of Azerbaijan), Yerevan (capital of Armenia), and Tehran were listed with the distances in kilometers. It was pretty crazy to see how close we were to all these places.

Monday was the day we wound down our trip. We stayed in Tbilisi on Monday, and bumbled about before heading the airport around 11:00PM. While bumbling around I lobbied to spend some time at a café called Caliban’s Coffeehouse, part of Prospero’s Books, an English-language book store in Tbilisi. This is a place I wish they had in Kyiv. We spent much of the afternoon here, I drinking coffee out of a French Press reading my book. The coffee was a bit expensive, but completely worth it. I really wanted to buy some more books while I was here, some on the history, and politics of Georgia, particularly the 2008 war with Russia, but all the interesting books were far more than I could afford. Sitting, drinking coffee, reading a book, and hearing alt-country playing lowly in a corner, I felt like I could have been sitting in a café, or Updike’s Newtowne, back home; it was hard to peel myself off my chair, to get on to walking the city.

As we continued we walked further around the city. We went down some streets we had not yet been down, by the river, and away from it. A great way to see a city is to wander aimlessly. Going in and out of different streets and hollows, you get a much better idea of what you’re dealing with, more so than if you remain on the main streets. This went on for a while, until we made our way to lunch. The place looked a bit tacky, with the menu on the door, but we were pleasantly surprised. It was good food, and a nice interior, it reminded me a bit of the Pagoda Inn, back in North Kingstown, only serving Georgian food, and Mom and Dad weren’t paying. I am currently trying to find where I can get Georgian food in Kyiv, it was phenomenal. I could live a very satiated life in that country.

Biding time until our flight we prolonged the wandering. Even going so far as to climb a really, really, really tall hill that overlooked the city. At first, I thought it was a joke, “let’s go climb the funicular route.” I didn’t imagine we would make our way that high above the city. It looked so close from the bottom, though. It’s just that the hill wouldn’t stop. Eventually decided we would have to make our way to the airport, and back to the land of kholodets and salo.

Arriving back in Ukraine, the land of no smiling, was difficult. We knew we were back as soon as we landed, and were thrown into a bus packed as tight as Rush Limbaugh in a suit. Sara must have seen my face because she just started laughing at me as soon as I saw the bus we had to ride into the terminal. Alas, we made it back safe and sound, ready to finish up the last two weeks of our summer break. I didn’t make it back to site for another 2 days, but I managed, and here I am.

Sorry for the length, but I hope you enjoy the pictures. Mark October 12^th on your calendars, it is the date of my glorious ten-day return. Hope all is well in the Home of the Brave, and I’m glad Earl was all tuckered out by the time he reached your shores.

Be well and be good,

Pete