Georgia

As we bade goodbye to our friendly Turkish taxi driver, who had shared his naartjies with us, we took a breath and walked into the border crossing. One is never sure what to expect in on-foot border crossings, but we certainly weren’t prepared for the middle-aged women cigarette smugglers who were pushing a hard game to get cigarettes over the border, bypassing customs. You had to forcibly close your pockets and bags to make sure nothing was stuffed in anywhere – willing/clueless mules had their photos taken and then Whatsapp’ed to a counterpart on the Georgian side. Clearly cigarettes were more expensive in Georgia! Arriving at the passport counter, the official was not so sure about us and our legitimacy to cross over – we’d checked and double-checked that we didn’t need visas, but he had to call the authorities to verify that we could enter. We got the feeling that not too many South African passports cross his desk. Very glad that we had no contraband in our pockets that could jeopardize our position even further, we sat on our cases for twenty minutes while others streamed past us. Finally, reluctantly, he was given the go ahead and grunted us into the country. 

Like magnets, taxi drivers clumped around us, offering over-priced rides in Georgian, Russian and broken English. We settled too high (we found out later) and were given a hair-raising introduction to Georgian driving as we careered full tilt into oncoming traffic, veered hard, braked harder, and white-knuckled our seatbelts as we blazed our way into Batumi. (In addition to the going rates of taxis, we also learnt a common phrase to pick up in Georgia is “slow down, please!”) 

After some big travel days in Turkey, we all needed a rest. For 2 days it bucketed down with rain, which was an absolute blessing. It gave us real permission to do nothing, and go nowhere. We slept, read, we played charades, did a bit of school work and managed a walk to the café down the road for essentials. It was just what we needed, and by the time the sun came out on our third day, we were feeling ready to do a bit of exploring.

Batumi is a strange city. Known as the ‘Faded Jewel of the Black Sea’, it was a popular gambling and summer vacation destination, especially for Russian tourists. There is an old town area, with cobbled streets, lined by gently-worn two- and three-storey 19th century European style buildings. There are rows and rows of dilapidated Soviet style blocks, decked with peeling paint, bare concrete and flapping washing. Around these flows a peri-urban sprawl of partially-completed, double-story houses, many without paint, some without windows, most occupied, some abandoned. And then, like alien ships on a strange planet, huge, ultra-modern glass edifices in weird shapes rise up in odd places, peering over the city in a totally disconnected way. It just doesn’t hang together somehow.      

It’s not without its charm though. The botanical garden is huge and interesting, and you can pick and eat citrus from the trees, which was fun. (You can also camp in the Botanical Garden – we’ve camped on a golf course, but never in a botanical garden, so that would be a cool first …). The beachfront boulevard was full of locals, stretching their legs and getting some fresh air, and despite the uninviting looking water, the dark pebbles strewn with plastic, and bizarre collection of buildings, we enjoyed wandering along it. We touched the Black Sea, and skimmed some pebbles on the waves, but it is really not much to write home about. At the end of the boulevard we found one of Batumi’s most famous sights – the Ali and Nino statue, from the novel by Kurban Said about an Azerbaijani boy and a Georgian girl whose love would never last. The stainless steel disc statues slide towards and through each other over a 10 minute period – it’s quite beautiful. Nick, Carys and I had all been reading the book and learning a lot about the Caucasus – it’s a great read if you’re looking for a glimpse into the region. 

For dinner we found an extremely low-key local gem, next door to the far more pricey tourist restaurant. With linoleum floors and bright lighting, it was run by two grannies, neither of whom spoke English so there was a lot of pointing to the Georgian specialties that we had heard so much about and were dying to try.  We sampled our first kharcho (meat soup), lobiani (bean-filled bread) and adjaruli khachapuri (a boat of bread filled with hot melted cheese into which you stir a raw egg so it cooks – it really has to be seen and tasted to be believed!). This was the start of a taste bud education and was so good we decided to go again the next night. Our Air-BnB hostess, who had appeared very brusque at first, kept bringing food gifts to our window – bean soup, then home-made pickles, then quince jam, then delicious rice pudding with raisins and honey.

After our rest in Batumi we were happy to hop on a bus eastward but didn’t really have a plan. A major factor in our planning was needing to get a Kazakhstan visa in the Green Mamba (SA passport) in Tbilisi, but given that the embassy would not be open on the weekend, we decided to head to Kutaisi. This call was based largely on the recommendation of Emily Lush of Wanderlush (by far the best travel blog and resource on the Caucasus). On the bus to Kutaisi we heard a voice from behind us: “So what part of South Africa are you from?”. Our Team K-Way jackets had given us away to the travelling musician from Cape Town sitting behind us (also sporting a K-Way jacket!). Small world. We passed through the rural landscape of Georgia, with one of the curiosities being that the small-holder houses uniformly have corrugated roof sheeting on one side of the house. Hectic prevailing winds and rain maybe?

Because we knew almost nothing about Kutaisi, we booked a walking tour and met Giorgi the Giorgian at the designated spot. At first he started rattling off random facts at pace, but as he got used to us he relaxed and became most interesting. We stopped for coffee and engaged him over life in Georgia, his feelings on Russia, and why so many young Georgians are emigrating. He took us over the White and Red Bridges crossing the Rioni River and showed us the only Soviet-era scultures remaining after the post-Soviet purge.

Giorgi educated us about St Nino, a desert mother who had walked from Cappadocia over the Caucasus Mountains bringing Christianity with her. She managed to cure the Queen from a serious illness and in doing so, converted the King and country. Having traveled the distance on train-bus and taxi, we were admiring of her grit and persistence. Her signature ‘bent cross’ which she made from vine branches – symbolizes both her offering of Christianity, and pride in the fact that Georgia invented wine (– as did Bulgaria and, we would learn, Azerbaijan). Another celebrated woman in Georgian history is Tamar, a wonderful leader, who earned herself the title ‘’King of Kings’’ through her wise rule – love that their best king was a woman! The Georgian orthodox church is a big deal in Georgia and we saw a lot of locals crossing themselves every time they saw a church (and there are a lot of them!). We even had the privilege of visiting an orthodox ceremony in the middle of a service. Nobody seemed to mind and there was plenty of chatting going on at the back while the congregation stood and chanted reciprocally with the priest in the front, resplendent in his golden robes and holding his golden cross. 

Wandering around the town, we were struck by the number of playful and deeply human sculptures. We noticed this in Batumi and Tbilisi as well, and wondered if it was a reaction against the more brutalist style of the soviet era statues that were pulled down as the regime tumbled, and the country began to reinvent its identity and self-expression. 

Kutaisi has a flourishing Green Market, where we picked up some traditional churchkhela - walnuts threaded on a string, coated over and over with grape juice that forms a sweet layer around the nuts . They look like lumpy candles but are delicious sliced into rounds. Apparently they last for ages, so are popular on long journeys and were used by soldiers on campaigns. It's fascinating watching what locals buy, and the interactions that people have as they go about their business. From meat to fruit to books and pastries, there's always something interesting going on.

That afternoon we took a taxi to Tskaltubo. (Say that three times fast…) What a bizarre place! In its heyday, it was a thriving collection of residential thermal spas, catering to the Soviet belief that thermal spa treatments were good for the body and mind, and made you strong and resilient. Each year, hundreds of thousands of people took their mandated 2 weeks’ spa leave in Tskaltubo, soaking up the healing minerals in their class/professional designated spa centre. As the Soviet era crumbled, so did Tskaltubo, resulting in a weird space of abandoned, dilapidated buildings – some hugely grand, others very utilitarian (all thermal baths are created equal, just some thermal baths are more equal than others.)

Wandering inside and between the dilapidated buildings, most of which have been stripped and graffitied, you can imagine the days of grandeur. Fascinatingly, many of the buildings are now inhabited by refugees – especially people fleeing the conflict in the Russian-occupied zone of Abkhazia. As we walked through the few buildings we visited (you could spend days exploring them all), we saw grandmothers playing with grandchildren, men lugging huge bottles of water up to their families in the unserviced units, and people chatting in the falling apart corridors. They were tolerant and even friendly towards us, although it felt very strange being there to gawk at the buildings and yet be respectful of their new inhabitants who were living life as best as they could in pretty rough conditions. Carys, sensitive to her environment, felt particularly uncomfortable and quite tearful at the strangeness of the place. Daniel, less context sensitive, just loved clambering through the buildings and making derelict discoveries.  It was quite a lot to process as we sat at the bus stop later that afternoon. What did it mean? How did we feel? How might the people living there feel? How would this translate at home? Why do things (cities, empires, ideas) rise and fall like this place? How might things in this place play out in the next few years?

Emily Lush describes Tbilisi as the sort of city that charms you on arrival, and then just creeps under your skin. In our time there, we felt what she means. It is a surprising and charming city. Unlike its sister, Batumi, which feels like an incoherent mash-up of styles, Tbilisi manages to mix old and modern styles in a delightful, coherent blend. Its such a likable place! 

We stayed in a little AirBnB spot in one of the many blocks that surround an ‘Italian courtyard’. Inspired by the traditional caravansaray style of the Caucasus, where there is always a central area for socializing and deal-making, each courtyard area has its own look, personality and rhythm. With the Soviet mass movement of rural people into cities, the apartments were adapted to house the influx by closing in verandahs, building extra steps, and subdividing – resulting in an eclectic, needs-must, lived-in feel. Our courtyard had a pair of brassy red-headed grannies who sat on their patio chairs near the entrance smoking, and keeping a sharp eye on the comings and goings in the block. Best security system around.

We did a good deal of aimless wandering, soaking up sights and sounds. Crossing the Peace Bridge over the Mtkvari river, a talented busker’s Johnny Cash melodies were amplified in the glass domed space, while a man strolled around with a peacock perched on each arm for ‘photo-rental’ – it felt peaceful and surreal, and was a moment to savour. (It also made us realise again how much buskers add to travel experiences, and we committed to not just passing by without offering something back.)  

We followed our noses to the Dry Bridge Market, a daily flea market with the most amazing array of goods on display – from traditional horn cups (he who holds the horn cup at a meal is the master of the table), traditional swords, daggers and knives, Soviet era cameras, KGB identity documents, war medals, old coins, traditional enamel work and second hand silverware. 

It was such an unfamiliar range of goods, we walked the same strip four times, and kept seeing new things. When the hungle-monster struck, we were hard pressed to find food there though, so had to search further afield for something edible. Just before hypoglycaemic meltdown, we found a tiny hole-in-the-wall bread shop that sold one thing – delicious, salty oil bread. We bought two, found an equally tiny green grocer who sold us cheese and oranges, and devoured our picnic in a large park, while young city workers meditated on benches during their lunchtime, and older grounds people raked and planted.  

In the afternoon we discovered Georgia’s penchant for cable cars – Emily Lush describes it as the cable-car capital of the world with 75 in the country! Having skipped the ones in Batumi and Kutaisi, we hopped onto one in Tbilisi (there were six in Tbilisi in the 1990’s!) that lifted us up over the old city and towards the giant ‘Mother of Georgia’ statue that guards the city, beside the old fort. On the other side of the hill, the modest Botanical Gardens surrounding the city’s beloved waterfall will be remembered by the kids mostly as the spot where a highly enthusiastic visitor broke loudly into ‘Dream the Impossible Dream’ while his friend devotedly followed him around, video-ing the show as it progressed along the walkway. Our kids (and some local teen girls) just about climbed under the benches they were so embarrassed by his dramatic arms and echoing voice – we applauded loudly when he finished, and then had to applaud again because his friend missed this in his recording. Turns out other people can be more embarrassing than your parents…

Winding our way past vendors of pomegranate juice and wine ice-cream (“Why would you do that?!” asked Carys,) we made our way to one of the thermal sulfur baths. There are about 12 in the city, and the name Tbilisi means ‘warm water’ as the springs were enticing enough to sprout a settlement around. Apparently going to a sulfur bath is as ‘Tbilisi’ as eating khachapuri. There are two options – public baths, gender-separated, with large scale nakedness, or private rooms, where the space is yours for an hour or so. Some of the team was less enthusiastic than others of us, so we tipped in favour of going, by selecting a private room. We were ushered into a lounge-like changing room, beyond which was a surprisingly large, domed, mosaiced room with a marble pool with gorgeously hot water bubbling up, a pool with icy water, a rock-heated sauna room and a series of showers, with just the slightest hint of sulphur in the running water. We had been warned that protocol is quite specific in the baths. After about 15 minutes of soaking, we saw a man enter the changing area, strip into his baggies and sandals and come into our room. He motioned gruffly for Nick to lie face down on one of the two marble slabs. Nervously he complied. Mr Baggies then proceeded to whack him, scrub him with a rough mitt, stretch out is arms and legs and generally take a layer off him. Not a gentle massage at all! He then squirted liquid soap into the bottom of what looked like a wet pillow case, filled it with air, and then squashed the air out creating the most amazingly luxurious mountain of bubbles, which he spread over him and then bucketed off him. Mr Baggies grunted that he was done, and with that turned and left. We were all left looking at each other!

A few minutes later, a gentler looking woman came in and indicated for me to lie on the slab, and went through the same process – at least I had an idea of what to expect. It was definitely a less rough procedure – although at the end she did tip a bucket of icy water over my head! The kids weren’t sure but decided to give the experience a go, and both were glad they did. After an hour of hot water, cold water, sauna, shower, hot water, etc, we were ready to get out and get dressed, were served sweet black tea in glass cups, and stepped into the night, fully invigorated. We realised it was the last day of winter, and having shed a layer of ourselves in the baths, we would all symbolically step into spring in our new skins!   

On our last day in Tbilisi, we headed out of the old town towards the Fabrika – an old Soviet sewing factory that has been reinvented as a hipster hostel / hot-desking spot / café courtyard / artists and makers’ space. It’s very creative and cool, and reminded us of a Salt River/Woodstock up-cycled vibe. For a few hours we just hung out in the courtyard, sipping coffees, lemonades and ligadze water (a local sparkling fruit-flavoured drink), playing a board game we had rented from the coffee place, and watching the cool cats of Tbilisi do their thing. We cruised the streets a bit, dipping into some unusual shops – like an underground spot that sells vintage Soviet propaganda posters and books – and watching life happen around us.  We also came up with the unofficial ‘underpass rating’ for countries, i.e. that you can tell the level of a country’s development by the state of its underpasses. This was prompted by Georgia’s underpasses being wall-to-wall shops – everything from fast food to curios to clothes and cellphones – and they smell amazing! This is a far cry from the Jeyes fluid/urine and graffiti of Cape Town’s underpasses. There was even an underpass that was completely clogged with clothes shops, so much so that we had to fight through the clothes to find our way to the other side!

As we packed our things, and bid a fond farewell to Georgia, we were struck by a few things:

• The country has a strong culture and identity, with distinctive traditions and food, but also has a modern face that is full of life and vibrancy

• The initial reservedness of people belies the friendliness and generosity that lies right beneath it

• The sympathy towards Ukraine was the most visible and vocal – with whole ranges of merchandise showing support (e.g. the Georgian flag in Ukrainian colours and slogans of “We are one!” and lots of support stickers and T-shirts)

• The Georgian script is impenetrable! It looks like spaghetti. We managed to pick up a few useful phrases but were nowhere with making sense of Georgian writing.

• Georgia is a wonderful destination – after 10 days we felt we could have stayed longer to see more of this varied country.