Showing posts with label caucasus georgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label caucasus georgia. Show all posts

Monday, August 29, 2016

Flashback: Supra in a Fiat near Gori, Caucasus Georgia


As I write this, my smile is so big. What a day this was! First posted here on August 14, 2011.

Sunday, August 14, 2011


Gori: Supra in a Fiat


Gorijvari, outside Gori, in Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

I've had some great days in Georgia, but this may have been one of the best.

I joined TLGer Sandy in "her" town of Gori, which, I may as well get out of the way now ... is the birthplace of Stalin. Yeah, that Stalin.

Two of Sandy's police students, Mariami and Sofi, had invited her to go with them up to Gorijvari today, which is a church atop a mountain in Gori. They welcomed me along.

To get to Gori, I took a marshurtka from Rustavi to Didube Station in Tbilisi, then a taxi to Gori. The marshurtka between Rustavi and Tbilisi costs 1.30 lari, which is less than a dollar USD. The taxi from Tbilisi to Gori costs five lari, which is about 3 dollars USD. The thing with the taxi is that you don't leave til the taxi is full. In the case of "my" taxi, this meant waiting for four passengers. This was accomplished in about half an hour. 


Gori is a little less than an hour from Tbilisi.





Upon my arrival in Gori, Sandy gave me a short walking tour of the town center, then we sat on a really pleasant, shady bench in front of the university and passed the time chatting about our experiences in Georgia thus far while waiting for Mariami and Sofi to pick us up.

Main square in Gori
 
While we talked, I looked up and damned if I didn't see my teaching assistant for my English classes in Rustavi, Gio! Gori is his hometown, and he was walking down the sidewalk with his mother.


Gori city hall in main square


We did introductions, talked for awhile, and Gio and his mom moved on.

Eventually, Mariami and Sofi, Sandy's police students, arrived in a tiny Fiat. Cute little thing - looked terribly small from the outside, but was surprisingly roomy inside. We headed  off for Gorijvari with the plan to drive up part way, then walk the rest of the hill. Mountain. Lucky us, we parked the car, began walking up the steep mountain, when a man and his daughter, happened by in a 4x4, and offered us a ride. Hell, yes.

The road was seriously rutted. Truly, I'm surprised we made it at all. But we did, and wow, the view of Gori from this mountaintop church was fantastic. What a change from Rustavi! Two rivers converged below us. Green forests. Rolling hills. Mountains in the distance.





The current church itself is relatively new. It is a replacement (and not the first) of the original old one. The current iteration replaces that destroyed during a earthquake in 1920. 

Mariami told us that if you walk around the church three times, your wish will come true. She and Sofi proceeded to do just that, pausing to kiss the church at each of its facets.






It began to rain a bit as we left the church to walk downhill. The rain did not deter us from the next stage of our adventure, which was to have a picnic.

In the little Fiat, Sofi drove us through a postcard-beautiful town called Ateni - rich because of its good wine. Garden vineyards everywhere. There were even pergolas over the road heavy with grape vines and grapes. The metal gates and wood fences to the family compounds were all spring green. A winding blacktop road led us between the mountains.

It had begun to rain in earnest, but nevertheless, we pulled into a picnic spot by the River Tana. Mariami jumped out of the Fiat, and pulled dish after dish from the Fiat's trunk, along with the small china plates Georgians use for eating, plus utensils. Sofi sliced farm-fresh white cheese and Mariami, now back inside the Fiat, made a tomato and cucumber salad in the front seat. Sofi laid a flat "loaf" of Georgian bread on the Fiat's dash. Mariami produced several one-liter Fanta and Coke bottles filled with local red wine. She said several times, "Now, let's begin!" Since we'd already begun eating the fabulous dishes she'd made - pastry filled with boiled potatoes, beet salad, a decadent and salty griled onion dish, a warm carrot salad, a bean dish - she meant, "let's get started with the drinking of wine!"








Mariami poured wine for all of us (though not poor Sofi, our designated driver), made a toast, and said, "Complete!" as in "Drink the whole thing!" She repeated this again. And again.

By the second cup, Sandy and I, both infrequent drinkers, were already giggling at stupid things (such as how our English skills have plummeted since living in Georgia, as our English has picked up a Georgian accent, and we have regressed to caveman English such as "we go now."). But presently, even Mariami was laughing tipsily. Poor Sofi, the designated driver, stolidly stuck with mineral water.

By the time we finished this fantastic supra, the rain had stopped. We got out of the car, and Sofi sliced watermelon by the river.




 

We finished our feast and then went to the "Mother's Church" in Ateni. Unlike Gorijvari, which had been rebuilt in the last century, the Mother's Church is very old (though I don't know age).

My hostess, Nino, feeling anxious for my whereabouts (Georgians are very solicitous hosts), called me while we were at the church. For efficiency, I handed the phone to Mariami, who assured her I was well.


Mariami reassures my hostess
We wended our way back through the picturesque Ateni (damned if I neglected to push the 'on' button for the otherwise terrific video I took of the trip through), listening to dance rap and waving to passersby.

Mariami and Sofi gave Sandy and me wine, dropped me off at a taxi to Tbilisi, and then took Sandy home.

A great day.


Thursday, June 7, 2012

Kazbegi

Road to Kazbegi. Georgia.

TLG offered an excursion (free!) to Kazbegi, and Sandy and I jumped on that offer.

We and 20 or so other TLGers met at the Radisson Blu in Tbilisi and we took off in the TLG minibus. It was nice to reconnect with some interesting colleagues I'd only met once or twice before and also to meet some new folks. It was another opportunity to appreciate the originality of the people who come to Georgia to teach.

I'll skip over the side trip to a certain historic church (zzzzzz) and go to the road to Kazbegi, now reverted to its original name Stepantsminda, which means St. Stephen's Mountain.

There is a village named Kazbegi and a mountain named Kazbegi (well, Stepantsminda). But what many souls climb is the mountain that has the church on top, which is what our little group did.

Kazbegi, Georgia.


Well, I climbed halfway up.

The good thing was that at my slower pace, I had the pleasure of a solo hike walking as fast or as slow as I wished. It was nice.

Kazbegi, Georgia.


At one point, I was reminded of my hike in the Bale Mountains, Ethiopia  - not because the scenery was all that similar, but there was something about the lay of the land. Made me think of that battle of the bulls in a pasture far below.


Kazbegi, Georgia.


There were fairly long stretches where I was entirely alone. Other times, I intersected with other hikers coming at the mountain from different angles.

Kazbegi, Georgia.


On my way back down, I spied a shepherd and his flock in the woods.


Kazbegi, Georgia.


I attempted a wilderpee in a pretty forest copse, only to be foiled by oncoming hikers. So I scrambled myself together and took a photo instead.

Kazbegi, Georgia.


 My favorite part of coming back down - the dancing Georgian!




And full slide show of Kazbegi photos here:


Kazbegi, Caucasus Georgia

So I eventually made my way back to the village, in search of a toilet. Walked across the main drag to a cafe, and through the window, I saw a movement. It was Walter and Tom, two of the excursion mates, waving to me. Wah!? How was this possible? I knew from Sandy's telephone report that the rest of the group were still atop the church mountain, so ... did these guys not do the climb or what?

No! They had slid/run down the mountain, via one of the straight-shot paths, in about 15 minutes! Incredible. They were each drinking a beer and awaiting their order of khinkali.

The rest of the group didn't arrive til about 45 minutes later.

Sleepy ride home.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Georgia: Georgians Are Not Afraid of Electricity

Georgians are not afraid of electricity like we Americans are.

Men and women regularly fix electrical things with pliers, tape, and I don't know what else.

My host, Irakli, opened up a power strip, fiddled with its guts, applied some tape on its cord, put it all back together again, and plugged in a radio.

Rustavi: Irakli fixes a powerstrip

Rustavi: Irakli fixes a powerstrip


Speaking of guts, my hostess, Neli, cleaned up a dead chicken while Irakli worked above. Did I know unlaid eggs were in a hen when it was butchered? I guess if I'd thought about it, I'd have maybe said yes. But I didn't, so I was morbidly scientifically interested in seeing this.

It's the damndest thing.

Rustavi: Eggs in hen


Rustavi: Eggs in hen


Rustavi: Eggs in hen


I didn't know this, but Neli uses these unlaid eggs in a special soup she makes of chicken broth, flour, milk and herbs. The soup I ate earlier today, from a different chicken.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Sighnaghi: City of Love 'n Crunch

"Oh, whoops, budishi! Are you, like, getting married right now? I'll just take this little snap and be on my way, then." Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
 
Mission: Visit Georgia's City of Love and eat Mexican food. If necessary, look at a church.

Sandy came in to Rustavi from Gori yesterday to spend the night so we could get an early start from Tbilisi to Sighnaghi. We were to meet Marie and Eberle at the Samgori metro/marshrutka station, where we'd take the 9:00 a.m. marshrutka to Sighnaghi. This was a 1.5 hour trip. Six lari.

I'd learned already that there's a marshrutka from Rustavi to the Samgori station in Tbilisi, and Nely had cautioned me, when we flagged down a driver, to ask, "Tbilisi metro Samgori?" and not just "Samgori?" because there is also a village named Samgori.

So in the dark and rainy dawn of our departure, Sandy and I pulled out some lari from the ATM on the square, then walked toward Rustavi Bazari for the right marshrutka. There's one! It has #15 on it.

We hailed it to a stop, and opened the door. "Tbilisi metro Samgori?" I asked the driver.

"Ki, ki." was the reply. "Yes, yes."

As we got on, I asked again, "Tbilisi metro Samgori?"

"Ki, ki!" was the reply from both the driver and a passenger.

Sandy wondered aloud at my purpose in repeating my question when the answer was so obviously answered affirmatively the first time.

Sidebar: It is a blessing/curse that my brain is a factoid-attractant. Some of my family members, both nuclear and extended, enjoy/suffer the same gift/affliction. (And, as you can see, there is also a need to be precise in one's language.  I happen to think the two are connected as part of a syndrome, perhaps Asperger's Lite.) 

I replied that it had been my observation in life that people's brains operate similarly to the auto-complete computer application. (Which has been confirmed by research.) That is, we think we hear what we expect to hear. So if the driver hears my accented voice, his brain is going to struggle a bit, but catch up in time to hear the last word I say, "Samgori," and maybe conclude, erroneously, that we're looking for the village and not the metro station in Tbilisi. So I just ask twice to give him time to process the entire phrase. And save myself stress.

Sidebar: Another blessing/curse that runs in my family is to give tediously detailed thorough explanations in response to questions. Sometimes, though, based on prior negative thoughtful feedback from more normal people, we catch ourselves in time, and just say, "Umm, I dunno." Which creates other problems, but ... 

So while I'm responding to Sandy's question, I'm not noticing where our marshrutka is heading until I realize, "Hmm, this is a different route than usual through Rustavi .... uh, oh, .....this is feeling like a ride on Marshrutka #22 or, God forbid, #4. ... why are we turning here ... and wait ... are we going over that bridge there?"

And out of my mouth to the driver: "Budishi [excuse me], Tbilisi metro Samgori, yes?"

"Ki, ki." [Yes, yes.] said the driver and two passengers.

OK, then. And I see that we're back on familiar territory, albeit a new route for me via marshrutka. ... and then, we take a turn, heading for not-Tbilisi and not-Rustavi .... whoa. And then we go by the cemetery ... now I'm really getting tense ... and now we've passed the cemetery into new lands that are decidedly rural and going-to-the-village-and-not-Tbilisi-metro-Sambori-like, and....

"Budishi," I say to the driver, "Tbilisi metro Samgori?"

"Ki, ki!," responded the driver and several passengers.

And then we turned left and entered the Azebaijani-Georgian village, whereupon the mashrutka slowed to granny gear to pick up villagers. By this time, I've resigned myself to accept wherever the marshrutka takes us.

I tamped down my concern about getting to Tbilisi by 8:30, using Sandy as my cue. After all, she was calm and apparently unconcerned. .. and then she asked, "What time is it?"

When we looked at the time, we saw we only had 15-20 minutes to not only get to Tbilisi, but get to the metro station. No way was that going to happen; we were still out in the hinterland. And I told Marie that very thing when she called a second later.

But miraculously, the universe tilted in a certain way and we spilled out from the village onto this highway and into Tbilisi and into the metro station only 5 minutes late. Wow.

Fast forward ... Sandy, Marie, Eberle and I are on the marshrutka to Signhaghi. Six lari one way. The Signaghi marshrutka leaves Samgori station every two hours on the odd hour.

En route to Sighnaghi, we whizzed past the monument to the First Tractor in Kakheti, which I only knew about because Nely had pointed it out to me when we went to Kardanakhi a few weeks before. The monument is the actual tractor, ensconced upon a pedestal.

We also, thank God, whipped briefly down and to Bodbe Monastery where St. Nino is buried, thereby technically speaking, complying with Nely's wish that we visit that sacred site. My protestations to her of church overload had fallen on deaf ears.

A hot chocolade

Yes, -lade. Hot, thick, chocolate-y to the max. A pudding, really. A demitasse-sized, sensory experience for the delicious warmth of the cup and the intense chocolate taste. We consumed this in a restaurant/hotel in a courtyard adjacent to Signaghi's cultural museum.

Mexican food

Homemade chips, maybe even fried with lard. In a country with very good food, but a shocking lack of crunch, this was the highlight of the meal. Crunch.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.


Wait, the second highlight was the spiced coffee - cinnamon, cloves, orange peel. Fabulous.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.


Beautiful view of the mountainside and faraway valley, framed by a happy orangey wall.

The museum

The museum was nice. I wish I could be more descriptive, but I'm just not a museum person. You'd think I'd learn that by now, and just go have a cup of coffee while companions take all the time they wish looking at important historical stuff in glass cases. Yes, I know this is sacrilegious, but I'm not getting any younger, and I think from now on, I'm going to take a pass on such things. I can count on one hand the museums that made an impression on me.

Terrific, postcard views from one of the windows, though.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.

 

The church

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.


Even though all of us were pretty done with churches, Signaghi's old church was compelling. So much so, we walked up the stone steps to check it out. And then, damn, we heard singing emanating from within.
 
And walked into a wedding.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.




As we left the church, another wedding party was arriving.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.


The wall

One of the things Sighnaghi is known for is the remains of the 8th century wall that originally surrounded it completely. The photo below is poor quality, but you can make out the wall.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.


Pheasant's Tears

I'm not going to talk about the taxi ride that ultimately was for a distance about 500 feet but which cost 4 lari. I've released that incident. Pretty much.

Pheasant's Tears winery is brimming with the ambiance of living a good life. Good food, good wine, good friends and family. Traditions held dear. Fire in the fireplace. Brick and stone work. Lovely blue baticky (but not) tablecloths.

Menu read beautifully on the chalkboard on the wall. Still sated from our Mexican (chip) feast, we had coffee and tea. It was a great way to enjoy the pleasing environment without putting too much of a dent in our wallets.

I was hoping to get a photo of the co-founder, John Wurdeman, to take back to Nely, but he was not in town.  

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Pheasant's tears kitchen. Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Pheasant's Tears pantry. Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.

Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.



So, summarizing Signaghi. Certainly it's a tourist town, and one could argue that it's been a town Disneyfied. It's also an expensive place to visit, with most eateries and lodging being upscale. Overall, though, I was pleasantly surprised at how much I saw that still felt "authentic," whatever the heck that means.  It was definitely worth a day.


Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.
Sighnaghi, Georgia. November 2011.



Sunday, November 6, 2011

Gori: School Excursion!

Nino at Uplistsikhe

Two geography teachers, mother and daughter, invited me to join student government members (8th through 10th grade) on an excursion to Kareli. The weather turned ugly, so when I walked up to the chartered marshrutka in front of the school, at a chilly, rainy 8:00 a.m., I learned we'd go instead to Gori. Specifically, to Uplistsikhe (cave city), the Stalin Museum, and to some nearby historic churches, the Ateni Sioni and "Dedas' Monastery" (a convent).

Sustenance for the trip


On the way to Gori, we stopped at a market so the boys could pick up some chacha and beer. Yes, it's a different world in Georgia. More on this later.


Ateni Sioni and the Dedas' Monastery

Georgians are very clear about the historical, religious, cultural, architectural, and artistic differences between their many (many) churches and monasteries. For me, I must admit, after the first 10 or so, they all pretty much look the same. Neli, my hostess, felt a little put off at my sheepish admission in this regard recently, exclaiming, with finger raised, "But this is our history!"

Budishi. I am sorry, but ....

The lively yellow foliage near the convent and church was really pretty.

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia

Dedas' Monastery (convent), Ateni, Georgia
Ateni Sioni, Georgia

Uplistsikhe

The cave city outside of Gori reminded me of the cliff dwellings in the American Southwest. The city was built B.C. The church dates from the 9th or 10th century.

I was amused by Geography Teacher the Elder. A strong Georgian woman, she seemed to delight in leading the charge, invariably identifying the path most likely to break someone's neck. While she scrabbled happily up and down rocky surfaces, I learned quickly to note her plan of attack, and then to chart my own, more timid way. I have health insurance through TLG, but it doesn't cover medical evacuation to the states or the cost of shipping my body.



Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia

Uplistsikhe, near Gori, Georgia


Lunch


Time for lunch; afterward, time to break out the chacha and beer the boys had bought. All shared among students and teachers. Most of the girls were sitting in the back of the marshrutka (where we dined), so I don't know if they also drank.

The lead teacher gave a toast (urging me at the end to drink it all! drink it all! all being half a glassful of chacha).

So what do I think about the kids not only drinking alcohol, but drinking alcohol on a school excursion, and being joined by the teachers?
  • Alcohol is not intrinsically unhealthy.
  • In the U.S., a goodly number of school kids ingest prescription drugs that are mind-altering. I'm not talking about drug abuse. I'm talking about drugs being prescribed to address ADD, ADHD, and other syndromes.
  • It was a bit shocking to be part of this drinking scenario. 
  • It's part of the Georgian culture and there are boundaries in place to address good taste, behavior, and safety as defined by Georgian society.

Stalin Museum


After lunch, we went to Gori center and toured the Stalin Museum. Stalin was born in Gori. Here's what I want to say about Stalin and his museum:

Stalin's toilet, Gori, Georgia

Picnic dinner


Just as I thought we were well on our way home, we stopped at dusk at a park between Tbilisi and Rustavi. Out came leftovers from lunch (with some refreshments of supplies): roast chicken, seasoned burgers, khachapuri, grapes, cheese, and wine. We ate standing, shivering a little, as the dark descended.

Georgians don't let a little bad weather or night get in the way of a picnic. Gotta love that.