Mtskheta was the capital of an old Georgian kingdom a couple thousand years ago. It's only about half an hour from Tbilisi by marshrutka.
Sandy, Eberle, and I checked it out on Saturday, which also happened to be Georgia's version of All Souls Day, when one prays for those who have died. (Nely and Ketino had prepared several dishes, and a bottle of wine, to take to a church in Rustavi.)
First we visited the Samtavro "monastery," as it's called in Georgia, but many of us would refer to it as a convent, as it houses sisters. There are two churches on the grounds.
St. Nino's chapel on right, Samtavro convent, Mtskheta, Georgia
One is a small stone church where St. Nino allegedly worshipped. St. Nino is the woman who brought Christianity to Georgia, so this church was built in the 4th century. The first Christian king and queen are buried here. The other church is quite large. In the photo on left, you can see an old fortress in the distance.
Mtskheta, Georgia
I wish I could have photographed the inside of the large church. And had a recorder with me. And had a fragrance recorder (which must be invented some day). Because walking in, we were immersed in a sensory bath. Women's voices, a capella, wafted about us. The fragrance of incense. The tiny fires of hundreds of diminutive candles illuminating the shadowy interior. Light, filtered through candle smoke, gleamed from the windows on high. Many loaves of bread lay on one table; wine jugs on another. A priest gave communion, using the bread and the wine. A large table was weighted with food and drink brought by worshippers in honor of All Souls Day, and which would later be shared with the needy.
Worshippers visited the grave of a holy man outside. They scooped up blessed soil from his grave, deposited it in small plastic bags, and carried it away. Sandy, Eberle, and I did the same; I gave mine to Nely. Eberle made hers part of an assortment of holy items to give to her hostess' mother-in-law for her birthday. I must ask Sandy what she did with hers.
After leaving the church, we had lunch at Cafe Guga. The proprietress was making fresh kinkhali as we stepped up to the order window. She had a kindly smile.
Chilly day, but sunny, so we sat outside on upended cut-log seats.
We shared dishes of kinkhali (made with minced pork), svardi (barbecued pork), roast beef and potatoes, and bread. Eberle and I each had a beer; Sandy had hot tea. As we finished, the proprietor brought us a plate of persimmons and pomegranates from the trees in the courtyard.
Mtskheta, Georgia
Museum description, Mtskheta, Georgia
Eberle had to cut out early, so we saw her off on a return marshrutka, then visited the archeological local museum. Sandy and I saw some ceremonial things at the museum.
Ceremonial thing, Mtskheta, Georgia
While there, we thought to use the lavatory. I was pleased to see that the tear-off toilet paper had a crossword puzzle motif.
Mtskheta, Georgia
Then off we went, via taxi, the five or so kilometers up to the Jvari Monastery, built in the 6th century. Like so many other buildings, this is undergoing major restoration. I wasn't all that taken with the monastery itself, but the mountaintop location afforded a spectacular view of Mtshkheta and its surroundings.
Jvari Monastery, Mtskheta, Georgia
View of Mtskheta from Jvari Monastery, Georgia
View of Jvari Monastery from Svetitskheoveli Cathedral complex, Mtskheta
When we returned to Mtskheta, Sandy and I walked over to the Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, built in 1010. The robe of Christ is purportedly buried beneath a pillar in the church.
Svetitskheoveli is quite imposing by itself, and in concert with its fortress-like surround. Massive building. A high stone wall protects it from attack.
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
It's considered one of the holiest places in the country, yet it has a rather commercial vibe. Maybe that's because of the wedding parties going in and out, followed by pilot-fish photographers and family and friends. I even saw a monk, participating in a wedding ceremony, step aside to talk on his cell phone.
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
Even so, I must admit the interior is magnificent. I hope all of the flashes popping off don't ruin the paintings.
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
Mtskheta, Georgia
The compound is also center stage to a part of Mtskheta that has been .... er ... Disneyfied, the epitome of An Authentic Picturesque Georgian Village. And that's a bit of a problem I have with some of the restorations I've seen in Georgia. Reminds me of the time awhile back in the U.S. when people had their wood antiques "dipped" in paint or varnish remover, and then they "restored" the hell out of the piece so it looked brand new, but with all of the lovely patina gone. Scroll back up to that 4th century chapel of St. Nino's. It could have been built last year.
Mtskheta, Georgia
Sandy and I caught a marshrutka back to Tbilisi's Didube station, where I departed for Rustavi and she for Gori.
There is one primary thoroughfare that goes through Rustavi, both Old and New. It has three names, in turn. Upon entering New Rustavi, it is Chatava Street. At Rustaveli Square (by Hotel Rustavi), the name changes to Megobroba Street (Friendship Street). Then at the river that separates New Rustavi from Old Rustavi, the street names changes to Kostava, where it ends at the Metallurgical Factory.
Sandy and I went to Dmanisi to spend the weekend with Jennifer. Plan: Check out the birthplace of the so-called first Europeans.
But damn it was cold and rainy. Cold rain. Brrr.
Upon our arrival, we saw a pig follow a cow down the road. If we lived in a fairy tale, both would have been princes, cursed by a bad fairy they'd offended.
Dmanisi, Georgia
Jennifer has a gorgeous view from her bedroom balcony.
Dmanisi, Georgia
The rumor was that a woman died in Jennifer's flat. A teacher. In Jennifer's bedroom? Or the second bedroom, where Sandy and I slept?
Dmanisi, Georgia
I don't know. But when I pulled back my duvet and lifted the pillow, I found a woman's nightgown under there. Wah!!! I tossed it across the room as if it were a snake.
So I said Dmanisi was cold and rainy, yes?
We spent the weekend in Jennifer's cold flat, sometimes in the kitchen and sometimes in Jennifer's room, but always with the lone space heater cranked by us, drinking a bottle of pretty good wine, nail polish remover cheap vodka, and chacha. We ate khinkali, crackers, cheese, sausage, and cookies. We experimented with adding cherry jam to the vodka and the chacha to see if we could offset the paint stripper effect, and learned that this was fairly effective with the vodka, but did nothing to dampen the chacha's exuberance.
Dmanisi, Georgia
Jennifer made some excellent Turkish coffee on Sunday morning.
Incredibly, we sat in the kitchen and talked from the time we arose in the morning til about 3:00 p.m.
Then we piled on all of our cold-weather gear and hied off for the marshrutka back to Tbilisi.
Whereupon we stumbled on an interesting cultural something-or-another.
Sidebar: It happens that I have a fondness for small acts of insurrection. I believe an empire can be toppled by a sufficient number of micro-rebellions.
We arrived at the bottom of Jennifer's side street and crossed the main drag to await the marshrutka on the other side. Ah, there is a private student of Jennifer's, also waiting in the cold, holding a bag.
We engage in a little chitchat, then note there is a marshrutka up the street about 500 feet. Ah, maybe that's ours. We wait for it to continue its way toward us, after what we thought was a pause to drop off or pick up a passenger. But no. It just sat. Ah, but here comes another one! Maybe that's our marshrutka. But no. It stops in front of the first marshrutka.
This was all quite puzzling. I ventured a guess that perhaps new marshrutkas will continue to come, and each will stop in front of the previous one until eventually there will be one in front of us and we can get on it and it will go to Tbilisi.
Oh, and by the way, I asked Jennifer's private student, where are you going? Tbilisi? "No," she replied, "I'm going to give this bag to my sister."
"Oh?" I asked. "Where is she?"
"She's on the marshrutka up the street."
"You mean the one right up there? That we're looking at? Your sister is in there right now?"
"Yes."
"OK, wait. Are you telling me your sister is in that marshrutka right up there, right this minute, in the marshrutka, that we are looking at right now?"
"Yes."
This turn of events was so fascinating to me that I completely forgot my prior fascination as to why these marshrutkas were just sitting up there to begin with, not to mention why we continued to stand and wait where we waited while they sat where they sat.
".... mmm, so have you considered walking up to the marshrutka that your sister is in and giving her the bag?"
"No."
I pondered all this while we stood, shivering, in the cold rain while those marshrutkas up the street idled, no doubt with the heaters on.
I said, "Let's do it. Let's walk to those marshrutkas and see what happens."
And we did.
The student gave her sister the bag. Sandy and I got on the marshrutka. And we went to Tbilisi.
Note: There was another story about the marshrutka that has to do with a television (where? we don't see a television) and Sandy being told to sit on the pull-down seat and us not understanding why when there were regular seats still available, but later we did understand, but .... I'm tired now.
A few days after the Rustavi Kalakhoba, workmen added a new feature to City Hall Square, still undergoing its renovation.
It is a sculptured orchestra, organized in the shape of a billiards game set-up, with a conductor and musicians. There is a delicious green-blue patina on each figure.
Rustavi, City Hall Square, Old Rustavi
The figures rest on large bronze globes.
Would the installation be a fountain? A light show? Too soon to tell.
Rustavi, City Hall Square, Old Rustavi
.... and days later, as I walked through the square one evening, I experienced a transcendent moment. Because just when I arrived at the bronze orchestra, I heard, through the air, Pachelbel's Canon in D Major. Beautiful.
This glorious sound came from two loudspeakers mounted on two of the light posts, which bookended the orchestra.
Rustavi, City Hall Square, Old Rustavi
I love when human beings create something for the pleasure of other humans. Doesn't matter if it's sublimely beautiful, like this was, or if it's thousands of people dancing in unison to Michael Jackson's Thriller, or the guy who dances around the world. Or a corn maze.
Rustavi, City Hall Square, Old Rustavi
Note: I have since learned the installation will be a fountain with a 3-D display within.
When my hostess and cultural informant, Nely, introduced me to her marital village, Kardanakhi, she gave me some background:
Traditionally, the village houses were built close together (they are still close). Each homestead had its yard compound for growing and raising fruit, vegetables, and livestock. Each had its vineyard down on the plain.
The physical closeness was for neighborly protection from the enemy. Swords hung on a wall in the houses, and when the enemy alert went out, men grabbed their swords to meet their invaders in battle.
Losing a battle had savage consequences: vineyards burned, young boys slaughtered, and girls carried away.
Fortresses dotted the Kakheti territory. When sentries spotted enemies encroaching, they built signal fires to alert the other fortresses down the line, which, in turn, did the same.
Villagers sometimes fled up the mountain slopes to hide out.
But the day-to-day, real-life anthem is Patara Qalo (little woman). I hear it almost every day.
You'd think I'd get tired of it, but I don't. This is because Georgians love it and they never tire of it. You never know when someone will break out into this song.
