Rustavi: Rustavi Kalakhoba, Part 4: A Square Complete, Almost

Back here, a renovation began on Rustavi's main square, called locally "the may-ree-ah." "May-ree-ah" is, basically, the city hall.

The renovation prompted a seismic shift in the marshrutka and bus traffic, as the vehicles had to detour around the square, finding new routes for points A to B, sometimes to the passengers' consternation.

Workers labored day and night, as they had a deadline - the Rustavi Kalakhoba - to meet to achieve a certain completion benchmark, else the contractor would be fined.

Rustavi, Georgia

The buildings overlooking the plaza received new coats of paint, refurbished metal balconies, stylish awnings, attractive lighting.

Rustavi, Georgia

A pretty, shell-shaped, cobblestone pattern on the plaza floor emerged.

Rustavi, Georgia

Huge street lights, looking gas-lightish, rose up to tower over the square. The stately city hall got some cosmetic make-up, also, and looked fine.

Though work remains, here is the "after" thus far:

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Next: Rustavi: Rustavi Kalakhoba, Part 5: Wrap Up

Rustavi: Rustavi Kalakhoba, Part 3: A Theater Transformed

A few weeks back, I checked out the innards of the theater on Pirosmani Street. It was undergoing a complete renovation and looked like this:

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Here's how it looked just in time for Rustavi Kalakhoba:

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Impressive.

Rustavi: Rustavi Kalakhoba, Part 2: Pork and Ruins

Rustavi, Georgia

After being herded away from the Metallurgical Factory, Sandy and I walked by the adjacent, crumbling hospital that used to serve factory workers, then through some residential neighborhoods, to Old Rustavi's Youth Park.

Youth Park is a huge park that lies on Rustavi's edge. There's a man-made lake and the River Mtkvari runs by. The skeletal remains of a zoo, amusement park, and a theater tell a story of the park's grand past.

Rustavi, Georgia

We headed to the Arishi Fortress via a path through the woods. We spoke loudly along the way to alert frolicking couples wildlife that might otherwise be startled by our sudden appearance near their rutting grounds habitats. We saw many of these furtive shy woodland creatures.

Rustavi, Georgia

Presently we arrived at the ruins, which date circa 1050, give or take 600 years. To tell the truth, they're rather unprepossessing, but when viewed alongside the lake, with a view of the foothills on the left and the river up ahead and the trees on the right-side walkway ... everything together looks striking.

Someday the smug folks in Tbilisi and the apologetic Rustavians are going to wake up to Rustavi's latent beauty, even now undergoing a quiet, steady restoration to a city of note.

That night, we selected one of the svardi booths at the festival to have our dinner. Svardi is meat skewered and barbecued on a wood fire.

Our host:

Rustavi, Georgia

                                                                 

Rustavi: Rustavi Kalakhoba, Part 1: Metallurgical Factory

Colleague Sandy came to Rustavi to stay with me at my hostess' house for Rustavi's kalakhoba, or fall festival. Or founding festival. Actually, it was for the entire region of Kvemo Kartli.

We took a hike within Rustavi. I wanted to show Sandy the ancient ruins (circa 1050) and to explore parts of Rustavi I hadn't seen yet.

We walked down Kostava Street, away from the direction of Tbilisi. Kostava Street is the same long, long, long boulevard that runs the course of Rustavi, but which has three different names, depending on location: Shatava (New Rustavi), Megobroba (New Rustavi), and Kostava (Old Rustavi).

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

We walked by what at first appeared to be new construction. Or maybe reconstruction of a really old place or .... we kept walking ... and discovered it was an expansion of an existing restaurant complex called Kikabidze. Gorgeous place. Statues. Fountains. Hide-and-seek patios. Private rooms (dining) off the patios. Castle-like large banquet rooms. Definitely must go back here to eat or drink.

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Then we found ourselves at the end of Kostava, which is capped by the grand Rustavi Metallurgical Factory.

The Metallurgical Factory was what reincarnated Rustavi from its old, dead ashes. Stalin brought in workers from all over the Soviet Union to work the factory and to build houses, hospitals, and government buildings in what is now called Old Rustavi. The street I live on is named, in fact, for workers from a particular town in the Ukraine.

Russians came to Rustavi with their families and in its day, Rustavi was more of a Russian city than a Georgian one.

My hostess' husband was, for many years, the chief economist at the Metallurgical Factory. At one point, 10,000 - 15,000 workers labored at the factory, which produced steel.  Materials were brought in from all over the Soviet Union to produce the steel.    

The factory shut down after the Rose Revolution in 2003, when Georgia and Russia broke off relations.

The factory has had a spotty history since then, being sold and bought and sold and bought. Sandy and I approached the building - which is immense and grand.

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

Rustavi, Georgia

My hostess told me that the factory within was so large, there was a trolley inside to carry worker from one point to another.

Just as I snapped the photo immediately above, and Sandy and I approached the steps to see if we could get inside, a man emerged from the building and walked toward us. We continued our approach and all of a sudden realized this guy was right in front of us. For a moment, I thought he was about to greet us smilingly. Then it hit me that he was blocking our path. Oh.

No photos. "Sure," we said, knowing we'd already taken them. Some dickering commenced, designed to get us in the building on the basis of we're tourists and, well, come on, please? A higher-up was consulted, the answer was no, and time to move on ladies.

So we did.

Next: Part 2, Pork and Ruins

Georgia: The Prostitute Flowers

Rustavi, Georgia.

On a walk, Nely, my hostess and cultural informant, pointed out to me Georgia's "prostitute flowers"  - or bozi flowers.

They are called such because they only come out in the evening, all dressed up and ready to party. In the morning, they close up shop for a much-needed rest.

Bad girls (tsudi gogos).

In America, of course, we call them 4 o'clocks.

Rustavi, Georgia

Tbilisi: Erisioni

Erisioni, Tbilisi, Georgia

Tonight I did something I wanted to do before I even left for Georgia.

I saw one of the three most famous dance troupes live. Tonight it was Erisioni.

Got my ticket yesterday. Not many left by the time I did so, and the concert subsequently sold out.

The night of the concert, I met a Tasmanian artist who bought a ticket from a scalper. Gay is a sculptor and furniture-maker, fashioning furniture from surrounding nature. She's been in Georgia for a number of weeks as an artist-in-residence, and returns home next Friday. We had a glass of wine before the performance and swapped stories about ourselves.

We separated to our respective seats, and I discovered a few seats down from mine was a retired teacher from California on a three-month tour of friends in Georgia and other European countries. We talked about the TLG program and I gave him some contact info.

I'd been worried about my seat location, but it turned out just fine. The only complaint I have about the production is the lighting sucked. For some performances, a stage light shined directly into my eyes (and Gay reported the identical problem in her seat, which was well below and to the side of mine). And sometimes the lighting was too dark in some dances, including my favorite, Khorumi. This was a criminal offense, truly.

The polyphonic singing was very intense - it reverberated into one's being.

The audience - so thunderously, enthusiastically appreciative. Georgians cherish their folk music and dance.

I'm posting my video of Erisioni's encore performane below, but check out here for gorgeous videos of their work.

Oh, why should I make you work so hard? Below is Erisioni's Acharuli:

Tbilisi: Tbilisoba 2011

This weekend was Tbilisoba 2011. A festival marking the city's founding. Or the vintage. Or the fall harvest in general. Something.

Shhhh. Don't tell anyone, but between you and me, it was kind of a ...... yawn. Oh, there were a few almost-great heights here and there, like the two different renditions of Lady Marmalade we heard sung by two different groups. Or the .... umm, I've already forgotten.

Fortunately, I was in pleasant company with Eberle and Jennifer, so we still had a good time. Later, we caught up with Marie, another colleague, and saw various other TLGers we hadn't seen in awhile. That was nice. Yes, it was all very nice. 

My photos are nice, too. But I think it would be much more interesting to insert the original Lady Marmalade here instead.

 

Georgia: On the Menu 1

Menu, Tbilisi, Georgia

The tongue - no problem.

But gristle?

Georgia: Snails, Part 2

Snail in Rustavi, Georgia

"Do Catholics eat snails during Lent?" I asked my hostess.

"I don't know. But I have a Catholic neighbor." she replied.

"Will you ask her?" I said.

Hours passed.

My cultural informant reported in: "Catholics eat snails during Lent," she said.

"They only eat snails in spring. They dig them up from the ground. This is because when snails go underground in the winter, they 'clean themselves out' so there is no excrement in their systems. If you wait until the snails re-emerge from the earth, they will have already begun to eat and have waste in their systems, and the Catholics don't have a way to cleanse their systems."

A loose end tied.

Georgia: Snails

Snails, Georgia

I said to my hostess, "There are a lot of snails in Georgia."

"Yes," she said.

Then added, "The Catholics eat them."

Racha, Part 5: Return Home

Sunday morning, we were ready to leave for home by the appointed time.

Oh, then .... groan. The inevitable group shot. I hate them. What is it that Queen Victoria allegedly advised her daughter prior to her wedding night? Oh yes: "Close your eyes and think of England."

That being done, we climbed into our marshrutka with a promise of a panoramic view, a surprise, a lunch stop, and then home.

Racha, Georgia

First stop ... a new footbridge with a satisfying sway when you walked on it. We then began to climb up the side of a mountain, me assuming our destination was the panoramic view. When I was within sight of the summit, but tired, I encountered Mariami, where I learned the destination was that blue gazebo up there that housed a mineral spring. She gave me a small bunch of wild mint, which I pocketed to bring back to my hostess.

Racha, Georgia

And I began the descent back to the footbridge because I already had a bottle of healing sulphurous mineral water back on the marshrutka. Yet another lesson on the importance of asking one's destination before blindly following the herd.

We drove through other Racha towns that I'd like to explore further some day, if I have the opportunity. There's some really interesting Soviet-era artwork. The colorful "comrades unite" mural sorts of work - not like the anti-beautiful works such as the collection of sticks wrapped in cellophane structures on a roundabout in Tbilisi. Or the rusty, about-to-tip-over mangled shapes of metal in Rustavi next to the big Vejini supermarket on Chatava Boulevard.    

The marshrutka made a turn onto a gravel road and we began a climb that taxed both the marshrutka and our driver's skills. Finally, Tengo had to give it up because of boulders in the road, so we couldn't make it to the end of the road as he'd wished. So we popped out and walked up the road, through a tunnel and to the edge of a bluff. There, we saw for many miles - and if the day had been clear, we would have seen all the way to the Black Sea. It was very cold.

Racha, Georgia

We walked back to the marshrutka and saw that Tengo had successfully turned it around in what must have been a series of difficult maneuvers. He is a talented man.

Drove on we did, with the goal of a restaurant with the best khachapuri in the region. It was a roadside diner of the sort I usually like very much. Too bad the latrine, which one accessed by walking down rusting-through metal steps to a two-stall, but open door structure where one did one's business, was disgusting. Worst latrine I've seen in Georgia so far. You don't want to think too carefully about what the cooks and servers do after they use this toilet.

We dropped Sandy off in Gori, and delivered others near their homes in Tbilisi, and I was dropped off at a marshrutka station that brought me to Rustavi.

Racha isn't Svaneti. But it is very pretty. I was glad to have made friends with the strong Mariami, to have seen that ghostly mountain border, and experienced some of the charms of Racha. I hope Mariami's vision for a prosperous Racha comes to pass.

Racha, Part 4: To the Border

Special ham on board, we began our upward journey in earnest.

Georgia, the home of the oldest humanoids outside of Africa, has millennia of experience in territorial expansion and contraction, sometimes acting as conquerors and sometimes as the vanquished. Currently, Georgia feels vulnerable with the de facto loss of former national jewels, Abkhazia and Ossetia, to Russia or its proxies. Georgians also have mixed feelings about the growth of the Azerbaijan-Georgian, Armenian-Georgian, and Turkish-Georgian populations in the country.

Russia, that hungry bear, rumbles 24/7 outside Georgia's fence, wanting nothing less than to gobble it up.

Borders are important to Georgia. 

Racha, Georgia

Up we went on a paved road that changed into a gravel road. Clouds stubbornly obscured the highest snow-capped (rumored) mountains.

Racha, Georgia

Eventually, we arrived at a border post, signified by a pole hut wrapped with a blue tarp.


 

Racha, Georgia

Several dogs did their sentry duty as they have done for thousands of years - barking to alert the police to oncomers. The sun burned through the cloud cover temporarily, revealing a heartening blue sky.

 

We looked through some majorly serious binoculars, tried to suss out exactly where the border was, only to learn we were in the border "zone," and relished the sun and blue for a bit. And then it was time to continue our upward journey, so we piled back into our police vehicles.

Racha, Georgia

We passed beautiful yellow foliage framed by mountain hollows.














The heavy cloud cover had returned, crowding the road.

Racha, Georgia

Our driver/escort was Gia (pseudonym), a border police commander who checks on his men regularly up on the pass. He doesn't speak English, so Mariami served as our translator. I asked what kinds of things the border police looked for on their patrols, other than seeing Russians sauntering down the road. Mariami, that proud woman of the Caucasus, replied immediately, "Of course, they look at everything they should look at and take appropriate action. They know what they are doing." I proclaimed my utmost confidence in the patrol's abilities, and asked the question in a different way - were there particular signs the men looked for that suggested suspicious activities?  And, would she mind asking Gia this question? Mariami asked Gia something, and he replied, and Mariami said, "Of course, they look at everything they should look at and take appropriate action. They know what they are doing."

Taylor and I could not help but make up our own response between ourselves: "We look for spoor on the road, examine it, and determine if it is Russian spoor. We sniff it to check for signs of vodka and if there is such a sign, we know when the Russians drank it, from which factory it was produced, and in what village the Russian drank it. We know when the Russian last had intercourse and with whom. All this we determine from the Russian spoor."

While we giggled in appreciation at our own wit, Mariami looked over and glared a little. "I know what you are saying. I want you to know that we, as Georgians, have suffered many centuries of battles and we don't find what you say humorous at all. We have moved past such immaturity." Or something along those lines.

Feeling only slightly dashed, Taylor and I sought to tell Mariami that in the U.S., along the Mexican border especially, there are special border-patrol trackers who look at all kinds of things as evidence of illegal border crossings, including the most minute trace of someone's passage on the earth. And that it was this kind of thing we wondered about in the question. "Yes, yes, of course we know of such things!"

Taylor and I continued to chuckle at ourselves, but more quietly.

We continued upward. ..... and wow.

Racha, Georgia

Racha, Georgia

Racha, Georgia

Racha, Georgia

Racha, Georgia

It was a cold, quiet world. The cloud wrap was so low and thick at times, I could see how one could get lost in a whiteout. The little bit of sun that pierced the cover spotlighted the snow on the nearby mountains.

On our return below, we passed this:

Racha, Georgia

It was getting nigh on time for lunch, and we had same at another abandoned resort in Racha. We picnicked there and weirdly enough, found it chillier at the resort than up in the mountain pass. One of the police escorts shot this bird.

Racha, Georgia

I thought it was something mildly exotic, but when I showed the photo to my hostess, she said it was a chicken. I wonder what it tastes like.

On the way back to the guesthouse, Mariami turned to me and asked, "Have you been to Svaneti yet?" I could only smile, and reply, "Why, no, I haven't, but I hope to go some day."

We returned to the guesthouse satisfied with our day in the mountains. Mariami was so relieved that the sun came out, at least for awhile, so we could appreciate - as she does - the beauty of her beloved Racha. 

In the evening, neighbors came by with accordian, guitar, and drum. They sang and played traditional Georgian songs, our guesthouse hostess and our marshrutka driver danced (very well!), and some of my colleagues joined in. We drank hot coffee or tea to warm ourselves. It was a nice end to the day.

Next: Racha, Part 5: Return Home

Racha, Part 3: Resorts, Cousin's House, and the Best-Designed Turkish Toilet in Georgia

Mariami had told us we'd leave for the mountain pass at 10:00 a.m. Saturday.  We'd be accompanied by border police.

Plenty of time, yes? Uh, oh. By the time we got downstairs to the kitchen for warmth and coffee, then eating and talking over a farmer's breakfast, we suddenly ran out of minutes. At precisely 10:00, the police arrived. Such punctuality is decidedly un-Georgian, so I can only imagine what Mariami must have said for this to happen.

Mariami gave us 10 minutes to get our shit together and be in the vehicles. I asked her if these were 10 Georgian minutes (which would translate to about 20 clock minutes), and she replied very firmly, "No! Ten minutes!"

 (Mariami and I were already on delicate ground after a .... vivacious .... discussion at dinner the day before regarding the sale of souvenir items in the guesthouse and in town. She argued .... passionately .... that it was not the right time for souvenirs and that rural tourists were not interested in items such as home-made jams or traditional crafts, while I argued ..... ardently .... that tourists were almost always susceptible to impulse buys and that the guesthouse, for instance, could easily have wares sitting passively on shelves to catch the eyes of tourists.)  

Somehow we 15 or so people crashed down to the waiting police vehicles. The marshrutka was not up to our intended route, so one group of us crowded into an enclosed truck onto wooden benches and stools, while another group of us had the luxury of being in an SUV.  I was in the latter group.  Mariami was one of my seatmates.

Our first stop was at a resort, now defunct, but once very popular with tourists seeking the healing properties of Racha's mineral waters, in addition to beautiful scenery. Mariami comes from Racha, and she has a vision of Racha's restoration as a booming tourist destination. If anyone can make this happen, I think Mariami can.

Below are photos of Mariami and Tengo, our marshrutka driver. The white building is an old resort lodge. The gorgeous gigantic tree, the white statue, the stone building with bells - these are all at the defunct resort. The blue outbuildings are places to get spring water. The house and rainy street are in the village of Oni. 




Affixed to the lodge, we noticed a loudspeaker, which we learned used to issue a morning wake-up call to guests, to prepare them for the day of healthful activities.

Mariami gathered us cats and herded us back into the police vehicles. Our next stop: Mariami's cousin's house, where we'd pick up some ham that Mariami had asked her cousin to prepare in traditional Racha-style for our lunch later in the day.

At first the plan was for us SUV passengers to just wait in the vehicle while Mariami ran in to get the ham, but another seatmate (Taylor) felt a little under the weather, and Mariami offered her some mineral water; then offered me and Marie, our other seatmate, bathroom facilities .... and I'd learned one never turns down an opportunity to go to the bathroom, so I piled out along with Taylor, then Marie joined us later.

Mariami's cousin's farm was an agricultural gem -  giant splashes of color from farm-garden flowers; autumn squashes; a pretty path from house to outhouse; tidy outbuildings - set amidst forested mountains. I entered the traditional Georgian farm house through the enclosed, window-walled front porch, directly into a large living room-kitchen with a big wood-burning stove.

Taylor had in her hands a two-liter, brown plastic beer bottle filled with mineral water to soothe her complaining innards. Mariami looked into a plastic bag filled with specially-prepared ham goodness, provided by her cousin. She and her cousin then contemplated a large ham bone with some affection. 




I walked down the pretty path to the outhouse. A Turkish toilet. But, oh, what a beautiful design! Instead of requiring the squatter to face toward or against the door, which irrationally pisses me off every time because it forces a woman into an attitude of submission for even the most trivial of purposes while a man can stand and do his business, this toilet was set up so the squatter's side faces the door. Such an aspect is more dignified than the usual orientation.

And --> The sideways orientation allowed for a bar to be placed on the wall in front of the user! Listen. If all you're going to do is take a leak, then it's no big deal to crouch down and then get up. But if you're going to be there for awhile, contemplating the universe or whatever, sometimes it's awkward to rise again. Gracefully, anyway. A bar - such a simple and humane touch. The toilet paper sat prettily on a little shelf built for the purpose.

Variously replenished and relieved, we left Mariami's cousin's house and headed up to the mountain pass.

Next: Racha, Part 4: The Mountain Border

Racha, Part 2: We're Going to Need Another Turkish Toilet

Proprietor's mother and Tengo, our marshrutka driver

About 5:50 p.m., we arrived at the guesthouse in Oni, whereupon Mariami informed us that dinner would be ready at 6:00, and we must be there promptly.

Just prior to our arrival, we passed an old farmhouse that Stalin may or may not have slept in.

The guesthouse is large. The dining room is out on the enclosed front porch (unheated). There are three bedrooms on the main floor, a central living room, and a kitchen in the rear. The kitchen is small, but it is both literally and figuratively the "hearth" of the home, as this is where the wood-burning stove is. After dinner, we all crowded in there along with family members, which seemed to include Shorena and her husband (the proprietors), the husband's mother (presumably), a couple of children in late adolescence or early adulthood, and maybe a neighbor or sibling.   


Upstairs are two wide and long corridors, walled on one side by windows; three bedrooms, and a central living room - a parlor, really. A pair of twin metal beds in each bedroom, pushed together in traditional Georgian style. Duvets atop each. Each room was cold.

In the corridors were tidy rectangles of drying corn still on the cob. 

There was one Turkish toilet to meet the needs of some 15 guests. It is outside in a neat building at the other end of a muddy, slippery path between the house and same. I discovered later there is an older outhouse on the opposite side of the house, presumably for family members.

After dinner, as I said, we crowded into the kitchen for warmth. But eventually, we had to make our ways to bed. After some scrounging around, we found blankets to supplement the duvets. I wore my hat to bed. Sandy, in the bed next to mine, wore not only her hat, but her jacket to bed
 
We laughed so hard before we fell asleep as we recounted to each other the differences between our trip expectations and the cold, cloudy, cold, wet, cold realities!
 



Next: Racha, Part 3: Resorts, Cousin's House, and the Best-Designed Turkish Toilet in Georgia