Rustavi: Cheesecake and Spit

Yes, it's true.

At the new Madagoni in Rustavi.

If you try it, let me know how it is.

Kutaisi, Part 1: Promete Cave

Promete Cave, Kutaisi, Georgia.

This was the weekend to see the caves in Kutaisi!

Sandy and I  made an abortive attempt to see them in March, only to find out they wouldn't be open til April. Then May. Then the end of May.

There are at least three caves near Kutaisi open to the public. Our plan was to see all three: Sataplia, Promete, and Navenakhevi.

We'd received a lead on a new hostel, Hostel Kutaisi, which we planned to use.

Colleagues Marie and Kathy joined us for the weekend.

Promete Cave, Kutaisi, Georgia.

Getting to Kutaisi

Sandy picked up a marshrutka in Gori. Marie, Kathy, and I got one at Didube in Tbilisi. In the process, I discovered a new-to-me WC around the corner of the short strip mall adjacent to the metro entrance. CLEAN! Turkish style, but clean! 20 tetri that one popped into an automated turnstile. I also noticed a cafe that was in the last or second-to-last storefront of the strip.

We left Didube about 9:00 a.m. and arrived in Kutaisi about 12:30. We disembarked across from the McDonald's, Sandy joined us about 10 minutes later, and we enjoyed a bite to eat 'n drink. We hopped on the #1 bus to the old city center. We walked to Hostel Kutaisi, which is about 1 km from the big city-center fountain.

We selected the room with four beds, then agreed to George's request of 20 lari per cave (for our group) to ferry us and wait while we did the tours. We felt this was very worthwhile.

Promete Cave, Kutaisi, Georgia.

Promete Cave

Promete Cave, named after Prometheus, is a long cave - 1 kilometer. It's also got some really kick-ass formations. Ribbons, waterfalls, jellyfish, monsters ...

I regretted that the cave managers opted for multi-colored lights and music inside the cave. Caves are quiet except for the drip of water or the fluttering of bats' wings. That would have been so nice to hear. The almost nothing.

Unfortunately, recent rains had raised the water level inside the cave too high for the boat ride, so we didn't get to do that.

Promete Cave, Kutaisi, Georgia.

Notwithstanding these quibbles, Promete Cave was very cool. In fact, I think it may have the most diverse formations I've ever seen.

Cost was 6 lari. (The boat ride would have been an additional 7 lari.) This cave, I believe, is closed on Tuesdays, while Sataplia Cave is closed on Mondays. Or the reverse. The upshot is that if someone wants to see both caves in one day, it'll have to happen Wednesday through Sunday.

The slide show:

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:




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.

Georgia: The Tutebi are Here

Rustavi, Georgia. White tuta (mulberry)

There are black tutas and white tutas. In the plural, they are tutebi.

Mulberries! Beloved here. They do taste good.


The black tutas have peaked, I think, and all that I found at one tree were those which had fallen onto the ground.

Rustavi, Georgia. Black tuta (mulberry)

I had a mulberry tree in Missouri, but never saw any fruit. Evidently, it was a male, therefore fruitless.

Rustavi, Georgia. White tuta (mulberry)

Rustavi: A Deluge

In the marshrutka, en route to Tbilisi, we could see a deluge holding siege over by Nely's childhood village, Tsalaskuri.

It was damned impressive. It was over on the other side of the vehicle, so I asked a girl by the window to take the photos for me. She kindly obliged.

From Rustavi-Tbilisi road.

From Rustavi-Tbilisi road.

Colors of Rustavi

Colors of Rustavi, Red 1. Georgia.

This series is a work in progress.

Rustavi is a city of color. Old Rustavi in watercolors, New Rustavi in acrylic.

The slide show below.

Letters From Matt, #9: Haramachi, Japan: Fire 'n Ice

Letters From Matt are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at intervals, in no particular order. 

December 1990

Haramachi (now part of Minamisoma), Japan

Dear Family, 

 

 

…. There are many paradoxes in Japan. One of which I am experiencing this moment. The Japanese are more efficient than Americans when it comes to cars, hot water, and home heating. For instance, the average home does not have a gigantic hot water heater that is constantly keeping large amounts of water at 160 degrees. Rather, they have a very small gas-powered water heater that turns on only when you need the water for a bath. I must heat water on the stove to clean my dishes. Nobody I know ever uses hot water for washing clothes. And it is not unusual to see a solar water heater on top of the house. 

The winter is cold here and yet very few houses have a furnace. Most houses are very cold inside, but they have something called a "kotatsu." It's an electric heater that fits under the dinner table. A blanket is fit between the table top and the kotatsu so that it drapes on the floor trapping all the heat under the table. I am sitting on the straw mat floor this instant with the blanket over my lap and my feet toasty warm under the table. The rest of the apt. is cold. This is the Japanese way. 

Not only does it save tons of energy, but it undoubtedly keeps the family closer together. 

Here's the paradox. 

THERE'S NO INSULATION. NONE. IN THE WHOLE DAMN HOUSE!

So on one hand they are very miserly with generating heat but on the other hand, none of it stays inside the house. 

SO I'M FREEZING! except for my feet, which are burning hot. 

Oh well, I guess every culture has its idiosyncrasies, certainly including our own. 

Matt

 

Georgia: Classic Pose

These Georgian boys will stand in one of these three postures for the next 60 years. I like it.

Tbilisi, Georgia

Rustavi: Life and Death

Rustavi, Georgia. Electric shock warning.

Rustavi, Georgia. My hostess' flower on her porch.

Svaneti, Part 7: Back Home, Not Without Drama

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

Old plan

So remember what I said about planning?

Yeah.

"Zara," our guesthouse hostess, happened to visit with her neighbor on Sunday morning while we had breakfast. She returned with a report that the neighbor had planned to fly to Tbilisi that afternoon, but that the flight had been cancelled. Yup, that meant us, too.

So what would have been a fine day for exploring more Svaneti territory and then a one-hour afternoon flight to Tbilisi, turned into a new plan: Arranging for a way back down to Zugdidi in a chartered marshrutka (2.5 hours) and then a five-hour marshrutka ride from Zugdidi to Tbilisi.

Oh, and did I mention that Kate's flight back to the U.S. left at 5:00 the next morning?

So we had to leave, like, now.


New plan

Zara helped us negotiate a marshrutka price of 150 lari for the ride to Zugdidi (sometimes costs up to 200 lari) while I called Pegasus Airlines and ensured we could get an immediate refund at the Mestia airport.

So who turned out to be the marshrutka driver? Yup, the same guy who brought us up to Mestia.

Airport

First stop: Mestia airport terminal. Which reminded me of a caterpillar.

Caterpillar

Mestia airport terminal, Georgia.

The inside is modern.

Mestia airport, Georgia.

Mestia airport, Georgia.

I will say that Pegasus Airlines gave a prompt refund in cash. However, the airline takes no responsibility for facilitating return travel for stranded travelers. If flight cancellations were a rare event, I could understand that, but it's my understanding that such cancellations happen frequently. Excellent customer service would dictate that they'd have an arrangement for expedited transport to Tbilisi in such circumstances instead of forcing their customers to fend for themselves at the last minute.

View of Mestia from airport.

Marshrutka from Mestia to Zugdidi

Our driver did his best to get us down the mountain to Zugdidi in good time, which we appreciated.

On the way, he stopped so we could capture this view of a thundering stream. You can't tell the scale from the video, but the log and boulder in the middle of this stream are immense.

Marshrutka from Zugdidi to Tbilisi


Sparrow had already reported to us that her marshrutka hadn't actuallly left Mestia til 6:30 and that it had taken a slow three hours to get to Zugdidi.

Her man-on-the-ground intel told us that the afternoon Zugdidi-to-Tbilisi marshrutkas left at 3:00 and 4:30. There had to be at least 7 passengers on a marshrutka for it to leave, and Kate, Sandy, and I agreed that if we had to make up the cost difference for missing passengers, we'd do so. Thanks to our Mestia driver, we made it to Zugdidi about 2:30 and then .... proceeded to wait .... until .... 4:goddamn:thirty for it to leave. And it was hot. And we knew we wouldn't get to Tbilisi before 9:30 p.m. That seven-passenger minimum business? Don't know about that - the marshrutka evidently wasn't gonna move til every last seat was filled, but we didn't know that then.

My observation of Georgians is that they are not averse to a little drama. So at about 3:30, I went inside to the ticket office and asked, in mangled Georgian-English when this 3:00 marshrutka was going to leave, to which the ticket agent said, in Georgian, something like 4:30, to which I expressed my frustration in English and to which she replied with equal fervor, in Georgian, something unintelligible. We had a little more back and forth in our respective languages, both confident in our righteous high dudgeon, and then separated.

I went back outside and threw some desultory verbal chops at the marshrutka driver, who was standing in the shade with some of his comrades, smoking a cigarette, and he just kind of laughed at me, at which point I called the Pegasus airline person at the Mestia airport, chewed on her ear a little bit, and then handed the phone to the marshrutka driver so she could box him around on my behalf.  He took things a little more seriously then, and subsequently kept me up to date as to the passenger count and his estimate of how many minutes it was going to be before we departed. My fellow marshrutka inhabitants, some of whom had suffered stolidly for nigh on an hour and a half by now, observed the theater in silence.

So nothing really changed, but the performances provided some tele-novelaic relief.

Eventually, we did depart. On the way out of Zugdidi, I took this video. The Zugdidi area is pretty. I especially like the attitudes of the cows. Unlike in other parts of Georgia, where cows have a lie-down alongside the road, the Zugdidi area cows plop themselves smack in the middle of the road, stretch out comfortably, and take it as a given that vehicles will go around them.

At a pit stop before Gori, there was a busload of boys who'd been or were on their way to a singing engagement. They'd chosen this spot as a place for an on-the-road supra, and they sang some polyphonic pieces before eating. I was so glad Kate had a chance to hear this right before she left.

I also saw a couple of  young boys, maybe age 10 or so, buying a bottle of some hard liquor from one of the vendors. Something for the road, don't you know.

Sandy got off the marshrutka along the highway by Gori.

Kate and I arrived in Tbilisi about 9:30 p..m. or so - we said our goodbyes at Station Square, where she got on the metro to return to her guesthouse and a few hours of sleep before her plane left early the next morning, and I hopped onto a marshrutka to Rustavi.

Svaneti, Part 6: Mestia, Subpart B

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

The yin

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

Along our walk, Sandy was attracted to a pretty heifer grazing on an incline above the river that goes through town. The heifer was attracted to us, too, ambling up to the fence for a meet and greet. While Sandy, Sparrow, and I attempted to get some good photos of the cow and the river below her, a woman emerged from the shack at the edge of this tilted pasture. She gestured for us to come over by the shack, where I assumed she was inviting us to a spot with a better perspective (because Georgians do such nice things). But no, she gestured us into the shack and .... damn ..... there was a room out back of the shack with one wall exposed to the river vista. There was a table and chairs. The shack was actually a tiny cafe.

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

We immediately ordered coffee or tea and just enjoyed the heck out of a stupendous view from our hidden perch.




 

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

The yang

Trash.

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

Outhouse over the mountain spring. Efficient. 

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

Daily life stuff

It's spring and farmers use cattle to prepare their gardens. 

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

A boy sits in a truck.

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia.

Towers

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia. Tower undergoing restoration.

 Mestia is known for its towers. Families built them as protection against marauding enemies, who were sometimes neighbors. Svans have a reputation similar to that of the mountain folk in the U.S., a la Hatfields and McCoys.
 

Mestia, Svanet, Georgia. Towers.

Eventually, I spun back to the guesthouse to see what Kate was up to, while Sandy and Sparrow proceeded to check out the towers at closer view. They were supremely fortunate to run into the daughter of a tower family, who gave them a personal tower of her family's tower. Sandy and Sparrow reported it was pretty damn scary at times climbing up ladders that had seen much better days. They felt triumphant when they emerged onto the tower roof.  With permission, here are some of their photos:

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia. Tower climb. Courtesy of Sandy and Sparrow.

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia. Tower climb. Courtesy of Sandy and Sparrow.

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia. Tower climb. Courtesy of Sandy and Sparrow.

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia. Tower climb. Courtesy of Sandy and Sparrow.

Mestia, Svaneti, Georgia. Tower climb. Courtesy of Sandy and Sparrow.

  

Sandy and Sparrow found it hilarious that while they were feeling nervous about the climb up, the family daughter was practically sprinting up the ladders with one hand while texting in the other.

Night time walk

Eventually we all reconvened, had dinner, then went out for a night-time walk. We'd hoped for a glimpse of the full moon as it was to be the largest for the year. Unfortunately, clouds obscured the view.

For the next day

For Sunday, we planned a hike somewhere before Sandy, Kate, and I had to be at the Mestia airport for our return to Tbilisi.

Poor Sparrow's plan was to get up super-early to get the only public marshrutka from Mestia to Zugdidi - at 5:30 in the morning, for God's sake. Cost for this marshrutka was something like 15 lari - versus 10x that amount for a chartered marshrutka. Crazy, but that's how it works there.

... to be continued

The Next Book

Just made a dentist appointment for when I return to Missouri in July.


A sign that I'm finishing up one book and flipping the pages of the next.

Georgian Decor

I came across an old family photo the other day.


The photo is of my paternal grandparents and relatives circa 1940. Their grandparents or parents immigrated to Ohio from Switzerland.

It hit me that the decor showing in this family photo is very much like the decor I've seen in many Georgian homes.

Note the family is gathered around a dinner table, also evocative of a Georgian milieu.

But you may also note the absence of wine or chacha, hence the rather sedate atmosphere. 

Svaneti, Part 5: Mestia, Subpart A

Mestia, Svaneti.

Kate, Sandy, Sparrow, and I arrived in Mestia around 10ish a.m.

First impressions

A bit cloudy. Noise from construction. Muddy, gravelly roads from construction and maybe snowmelt. Buildings in various stages of completion. Brand-new hostel on the main square, adjacent to a brand-new tourist office. Small park in the square. Mountains surrounding.

Lodgings

The marshrutka driver who'd brought us up from Zugdidi had attempted to steer us to his (or his employer's) guesthouse, but we weren't in love with its curb appeal and we had him turn around and return us to the town square.

We walked into the government tourist office and asked about a list of guesthouses, to which the rep responded, "Go to the guesthouse your driver suggested. It is a good one."

We explained that we'd already considered and rejected it, thanks. We sought a place with a view and that wasn't too far out of town. We boiled our options to two choices - the new Hostel Seti next door or a guesthouse (I'll call it Zara's) that was in town and had a view. Two of us looked at Seti and then two of us looked at Zara's.

I didn't go inside, but Sparrow and Kate reported that Seti had a nice view, plentiful bathrooms, and everything was very clean and new. Kate and Sandy then walked up to Zara's, about 1/4 mile from the town center, and reported that it had a nice view, spacious rooms with a homey feel, but only one bathroom.

Seti had no meal plan and it was 20 lari per person. The four of us would share a room.

Zara's did have a meal plan and it was 40 lari total per person, 20 for the bed and 10 for each of two meals. We'd sleep two people to a room.

We agreed to go with Zara's and walked to her place.

Mestia, Svaneti. View from guesthouse.

Beautiful view from both an open balcony and an enclosed one. In a country that is still mad for wallpaper, I loved the painted walls, one bedroom in a pristine white, the other in a spring-fresh pink. Sparrow's and my bedroom was huge, with a large dining room table. A couch and two upholstered chairs were grouped around a coffee table.** The windows looked out onto splendid mountain views. Sandy and Kate shared the pink bedroom, which they entered from the open balcony. 

Mestia, Svaneti. One of our guesthouse rooms.

Turned out the food was only so-so. The only bathroom seemed to be shared also with the family, which meant 8 or so people used the same facility. That was a bit of a bummer at times. Plus the water was shut off twice, something that apparently never happens. Who knows.

Mestia, Svaneti. View from guesthouse.

"Zara" was quite pleasant and helpful in sharing information, especially when we needed her assistance in tracking down Kate's camera after our return to Tbilisi. But the reason I'm not sharing her guesthouse name is because of the weirdness that occurred just before we checked out. "Zara" had explained that Svans are proud of the fact that they are "pure," as they don't mix (i.e. marry) with other groups like the rest of the Georgians, as such practices are "bad." Svans are admired, for example, for their white skin and fair hair and eyes.

This was off-putting.

Mestia, Svaneti. View from guesthouse.

A walk around town

Shortly after we arrived at Zara's, it began to rain, and the four of us took it as a sign that we were supposed to just relax, drink some coffee, consume some munchies, and enjoy the view. No feeling guilty for thinking we should go out and explore, hike up a mountain right away, or otherwise do something.

Sometimes we need such reminders.

Kate doesn't need any such reminders. She contentedly opened up a book, stretched out on her bed (which faced a beautiful view through the window), and commenced to reading, fully aware that a nap might ensue.

When the rain stopped, Sandy, Sparrow, and I set to scoping out Mestia.

We ran into a self-proclaimed vagabond from - where? Maybe it was the U.S. Or Mexico. Or Poland. It was all a bit vague. But his intent is to be the best photo-journalist in the world, as soon as he bought a really good camera. Or maybe he already has one. And he was on his way to meet someone - a stranger - with whom he'd hike up a mountain from Mestia. At 5:00 p.m. But in the near future, he had an appointment to get smuggled into Syria. And somewhere else, maybe Afghanistan for a chat with the Taliban, I don't remember. But by the way, he'd been robbed just the night before. Or two nights before. And all of his money was stolen and all he had left was 10 lari. He guessed it was because he'd fallen asleep on a park bench in Tbilisi after he got so wasted drinking. But he'd be OK; he always was.

.... So anyway, we continued our walk.


**Wait!!! Look at the photo of that bedroom. There was no coffee table. Just goes to show the unreliablity of memory or so-called eyewitness reports. There would have been a coffee table between the couch and the two chairs in an American setting, so obviously my brain "auto-corrected" my memory. Sheesh.