1. What is your mission?
I’ve written a list of 20 main objectives for the year and expanded on some of them, others will come throughout the year when I’m able to add to them.
2.Can people change?
Yes, they can make conscious decisions to change their habits and sometimes they are forced to deal with a situation that forces change.
3. What are you reading right now?
I’m halfway through Political Psychology, a third done with What Would Great Economists Do, and a fifth of the way through the Origin of Species on Kindle.
4. The best part of today?
Running a mile and getting an email from Caleb less than 24 hours of him being underway, especially not knowing if I’d be able to hear from him.
5. What was the last restaurant you went to?
Dome yesterday to get a croissant that I put in my plastic bag I carry in my purse for its foldability, otherwise, I’d use one of the canvas ones from the States.
6. Today was tough because…
It wasn’t. All I had to do was pack my bag for Georgia, pick up my lens from the shop, do dishes and take out the trash, and have dinner with friends.
7. You are lucky; how so or not so?
I got to keep my carry-on bag with me, got a free lunch, a cheaper room, and service enough to find it.
8. What song is stuck in your head?
Mostly Christmas jingles from today but the guys in the lobby were listening to YMCA.
9. Was today typical? Why or why not?
Not, I saw 3 religious buildings in Mtskheta and got to search for a place to sleep in Gori.
10. Write down something that inspired you today.
Driving through the snow-touched trees and seeing them covered in snow on the mountains.
11. Today you lost…
Maybe some time driving with Dima but gained views I wouldn’t have seen otherwise.
12. What’s your favorite accessory?
My camera to capture the awesome, my phone to guide me there, and my coat to keep me warm and dry.
13. Where do you want to travel next?
Sharm el-Sheikh for diving and Morocco for hiking and South Africa with Justin.
14. Are you a leader or a follower?
I followed today, behind the local drivers and the guys to their fancy hotel for free dinner and secondhand smoke.
15. On a scale of 1-10, how was your lunch today?
7, I tried a new tea that I’m saving half of for Caleb and a layered nut cake that I ate out of the bag.
16. Do you owe someone money? Does someone owe you?
Nope, just lessons learned in how to travel better next time.
17. What’s the oldest thing you’re wearing today?
My promise ring from 2007 before my wedding ring in 2008… and my favorite bird, the owl, necklace from our 11-year anniversary.
18. What was peaceful about today?
Making a moisturizing serum and some resin with rose petals, lavender bulbs, and dried lemon as lids/coasters and posting pictures of the candles Justin made yesterday, that I labeled.
19. List three foods you ate today.
Al Abraaj bread with hummus, tortellini, bowtie pasta, fried rice, and sugar cookies.
20. Are you holding a grudge? About?
No, humans will make their choices and it’s not on me to make them change but to make decisions that fit my goals.
21. What are you looking forward to?
The week I will be spending in east South Africa with Justin and Wendy whom I met Jan 3 and today, respectively.
22. Are you seeking security or adventure?
A bit of both as I plan my trip to South Africa, which is on the Top Ten list of crime countries, with Justin and Wendy.
23. Do you need a break? From what?
I actually need to get to blogging about Georgia before I go to South Africa, but I should have time to write about both before my trip to the States in April.
24. If you were going to start your own company, what would it be?
I’m actually becoming a hidden partner in Designed by Snow which creates candles, soaps, serums, and other relaxing bath-inspired products.
25. What makes “you” you?
My ability to seem to connect with people only to never really keep in touch with them.
26. Today you needed more…
I slept till 2pm after going to bed early because I’m dealing with being sick while I should be packing for my trip to South Africa in two days.
27. Which art movement best describes you today?
Realism, as the reality of my trip to South Africa settles in and I leave jewelry and electronics behind.
28. How do you describe home?
Wherever I happen to be sleeping at the moment, but more so where I can be myself.
29. What was the last TV show you watched?
“The Story of God with Morgan Freeman: Heaven and Hell” on the flight to South Africa.
30. What do you want to forget?
The little unhappy moments of this trip.
31. Who do you want to be?
Exactly who I am, regardless of how others treat me.
I pull up to the gate of The Ethnographers House (aka Tbilisi Open Air Museum of Ethnography) just as it opens at 10 a.m. The employees are getting keys to unlock the different buildings on the grounds. This museum was opened in 1976 as a mini model of Georgia (the country) to showcase the houses on mountain slopes, the ryegrass front yards of the west, and the darbazis (a partially underground dwelling with an elaborate roof structure) of the east.
Darbazi is also the name of a Toronto-based band, founded in 1995, that has studied traditional vocal music and polyphonic singing, including work songs, lullabies, elegiac table songs (of mourning), krimanchuli yodeling, and sacred chants. I pay the 5 lira entry fee and am given a tour by an (or the) artist of the park who talked about the Vagina Stonehenge, a phallic stone with a hermit to impregnate women, a widow who had sexual relations with her village in Africa, and a circle jerk in India to reach a God via a guru. I seem to have that effect on people to have these types of conversations.
The Sajalabo house from Ontopho village has an exposed porch and attic displaying rugs and baskets. Inside are placed a variety of wine jugs along with a few instruments and tools. The Oda house from the same village has more porch beams and windows. There is a lit fireplace inside and more detailed tapestries on the walls. There are elegant wooden furnishings, a few mirrors of varying sizes, and vertical split doors. Another house has more stairs than a porch, a cup the size of a small table, a gun hanging over the wall-length bench, and a cauldron in the center of the room.
Art Palace
In a larger house, there is a sample of wedding clothes that would’ve been worn by nobility. That explains the silk and velvet with gold embroidery and precious jewels on the bride’s dress and the groom’s chokha (a woolen high-necked coat, this one white) with golden-headed silver bullets on his chest and a leather sheathed dagger at his waist. There is a house from the Tskhami village and the Teliani village, and what stands out is how well they were built for their location and residents’ occupation.
Into the trees seems to be a graveyard of wine jugs, some big enough to hold me, and a megalithic tomb (dolmen) that’s mainly found in Britain and France. Inside a large Darbazi, I’m shown a wax seal stamp and then taken back outside, past a picnic area and the resident goat, to the end of the tour. The guide’s kind eagerness can only be met in the States by a park ranger who is fresh in the field, at a newly established monument, or at a preserve with a small visitor count (best if it’s all three). I’m grateful to those who can find what they’re good at and share that joy with others.
I backtrack my morning route, cross the Kura River, and park at the Museum of Theatre, Cinema and Music (aka Art Palace). Entry is 5 lira with no guide. The first thing I noticed is a plaque from the US Embassy Tbilisi for their funding in 2013-14, which helped restore eight historic rooms so they could be opened to the public for the first time. It states that the Palace of Arts is a symbol of the friendship between the American and Georgian people.
There are paintings (one by Paul von Franken 1818-1884) mostly of landscapes and portraits, movie costumes decorated with Ok’romkedi embroidery (braid of gold and silk threads on velvet and satin), and brooches, chalices, and other golden objects. The clothes are adorned with vine leaves and wheat, and the gold with people and jewels. There is a large doll collection from Keti Gogilashvili, and I wouldn’t mind having one or two of them keep an eye on me versus a mischievous elf or three dolls with blonde hair and blue eyes because we have the same name.
The Art Palace was built in 1895 by the best-known European architect in Tbilisi, Paul Stern. It was originally built for a Georgian woman by the order of a German man. In 1900, the building was expanded to the south, and later, the Soviets built a three-floor addition on the side with an arch connecting the historical with the new. The building was almost destroyed during the Bolshevik regime, and the organizations inside changed their room designs. The museum was founded by Arsenishvili in 1989, and it evolved into the current palace.
State Silk Museum
The museum administration was changed in 2009 and went through a much-needed restoration process to remove rubbish, repair the windows and doors, and reveal the walls buried in paint and paper. Historical details were discovered in the Greek, Golden, and Iris halls. There are pictures of sculptures collecting dust, furniture missing legs and shelves, and manuscripts open to rain damage, bright light, and poor ventilation. It seems the reconditioning could’ve happened sooner, but now these items are safely on display.
In a glass case is the first fully staged Georgian opera, “Kristine,” written by Revaz Gogniashvili, which was presented in June of 1918. Its debut was in the Tbilisi Opera House, which comes with a history starting in the 18th century when it was paid for by the Russians. In 1847, Count Vorontsov hoped to better integrate the two cultures by dominating the theater with Russian operas and ballet. The place was burned severely in 1874 and set ablaze again in 1973. Tolstoy once sat in the 800-seat theater, which has grown to hold 265 more patrons of the arts.
In another case is the first professional music score by Aloiz Mizandari, “Tiflis Polka” (1867). The percentage of people who can read music is about 25%, and those who can hear perfect pitch is about 0.01%. Those who can write their own lyrics (as it seems to take 5-11 writers in the 21st century to create a hit song) are dwindling. This man (along with the greats of times past) was able to create masterpieces involving multiple instruments, and I’ve only dabbled in the soprano recorder, upright piano, baritone tuba, and Bb clarinet up into high school.
I finished this part of the museum by seeing more ornate furniture, an artist painting a mural, and a painting of Berikaoba. This improvised masquerade folk theater reflects the spirit of human freedom and is also considered a political satire and social protest. The men wear animal hides, feathers, ribbons, and bells and proceed door-to-door with the accompanying bagpipes to collect honey, wine, flour, and meat served by the hosts. The painting depicting this is from 1938, and this ancient festival (some 8,000 years old) continues today thanks to the persistence of a history teacher in a small village.
This Pagan tradition welcomes the spring with a connection to present prosperity and the blessings of their ancestors and was almost wiped out with the spread of Christianity. It has also been added to Georgia’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage in 2013. A little more than a kilometer up the road is the State Silk Museum, which gives off a schoolhouse in the summer vibe or a graduate returning to their elementary building and feeling out of place. It’s oddly quiet in the hall on a Thursday when adults are at work, but in the States, there would be screaming kids on field trips to break the silence.
This silk museum is one of the world’s oldest, being established in 1887, and was part of the Caucasian Sericulture Station. There were 23 buildings (two survive) for scientific labs, silkworm houses, and educational areas. It is now part of the UNESCO Silk Roads Program and contains exhibits from 61 countries that cover mulberry trees, cocoons, dyes, textiles, silkworms, and photographs. The museum has its own library of natural sciences in seventeen languages and some works by station staff members from the 19th century. Downstairs is a room with a shell collection spanning from the California Gulf to the Philippines.
Upstairs has a more relic museum vibe with large wood and glass cases along the walls and standing in the middle of the rooms. There was definitely some experimentation going on as scientists hybridized wild and domesticated moths for better-quality silk and created new mulberry species to protect against tree diseases. The white mulberry (one of three worldwide species) is endemic to the region and the sole food of silkworms. For this reason, it’s believed that sericulture started in Georgia earlier than history shows (5th century).
Chronicle of Georgia
There are some dark vials labeled in Georgian and a container labeled ashes with the quote, “Ashes to ashes, funk to funky” – David Bowie written amongst them. That song was released in 1980, and the video definitely has VHS quality that would be expected from that period. I’m not sure if this was a translation issue or just a curator who likes pop music, just like I enjoy looking at equipment for studying silkworm biology and photographs without being able to read most of the exhibit information.
There are perforated containers for transporting silkworm eggs with inscriptions about trade and economic relations between countries on them. The lab would classify the healthy and diseased eggs and stamp the boxes “pebrine free” from a parasite that infects the next generation. There’s a thread-spinning machine model from the 1950s. The pupas would be suffocated in special ovens to maintain the surface of the cocoon, and then the silk unwinded from boiling soapy water to remove the natural glue before being spun with the thread of 8-10 cocoons for a length of 800-2,000 meters that would be ready for dyeing.
There is a collection of textiles and wallpapers woven on a jacquard loom, named after a weaver and merchant who invented it in 1801. He discovered automatic weaving with the help of pasteboard cards and led the way to programmable machines. The samples are satin, broché, glacé, damask, crêpe, moiré, popline, serge, sateen, faille, frieze, and foulard to name a few (most I’ve not heard of). Back downstairs, there is an exhibit by Levan Manjavidze called The Other Face, an allegory representing the edge of changes and expectations, reality and fantasy, as seen from the artist’s daily life.
The artist stayed at the museum for ten days to engage visitors in the exhibit-planning process in December. I’m here near the end of the exhibition from January 10th – 18th. There are digital prints of his paintings for $450 and mixed media for $200 of children’s faces, family portraits, and lovers’ embraces. Back outside into the gray sky day, I’ll head north again to the Chronicle of Georgia (aka History Memorial, aka Stonehenge of Tbilisi). The monument was created in 1985 but never finished. The top two-thirds of the 30-meter-high pillars (16 total) depict kings, queens, and heroes, and the bottom third shows the life of Christ.
Tbilisi Reservoir
The memorial can be seen upon approach above the trees. I walk up the wet stairs to the glossy platform with a stone scroll plaque about a third of the way up. I’m greeted by a few dogs, all with yellow pins in their ears, that look just as soaked as their surroundings. They will race me to the top and easily win, as I’m not trying to slip and fall down at least one hundred slick stairs. I’m sure the view of the city below is more spectacular on a sunny day, but the pillars are always imposing. I walk around each one before visiting the medium-sized church onsite commemorating St. Nino.
Inside is the juxtaposition of colorful art, white arches, and plain wood construction. From here, I’m going to return the rental car and exchange lari for dollars that I use to pay for a checked bag so I can get all my liquids home. We are boarding the flight to Istanbul forty minutes late, but I’m able to pass the time talking with two guys from Lebanon, Michel Attieh (@doc.macro) and his friend George. We land, and I walk two floors down to the gate to catch the bus, only to get another flight delay, this one double that of the last. On my flight to Bahrain, I’ll sit next to a cute couple. The husband translates our conversation to his wife, who is returning after having gone to Georgia in the summer.
I got seven hours of sleep, and after looking at my options (limited by snow closures), we (myself and the guys I met last night) decided that I would backtrack through the Valley (aka the East-West Highway). The E60 is the second-longest road in the International E-road network and runs for roughly 390 km through the country of Georgia, as a portion of the total length of 8,200 km through thirteen countries. Many road projects, some currently in progress, require bridges and tunnels to shorten travel time and increase access to villages.
I got my parking validated and then went to Hotel N16 for their 10-lari breakfast. I’ll drive north to Poti, passing cars and cows on the way, before turning east for the drive back to Tbilisi. The coastal drive has me looking out under a grey cloud cover to blue skies that are just out of reach, perhaps because they’re over the ocean to the west and the mountains to the east. I see a dog and can’t discern whether he is trying to mourn or fornicate with his friend on the street corner.
Outside the city of Senaki, I got pulled over for not signaling that I was following the road as it split into two directions. My thought was that I would signal if I were not staying on the main route, now I know. Of course, I had mixed emotions about getting a ticket in a foreign country, but the experience (for what it was) was pleasant. I took a piece of paper with only a website that I could read on it and exchanged it at a Bank of Georgia for a receipt with my name and birthday legible to me. I paid my 51 lari ($17) fine in cash.
I use their toilet, and upon coming out, a lady tries to give me a speech. I let her finish before replying with the word English. I stop for a snack after 2 pm, green tea with feijoa (a guava-pineapple-like fruit in taste) and a layered cake. There are a lot more dogs lying on the side of the highway, perhaps this is their passage route from this world to the next. A tunnel provides respite in the middle of the muddy highway. I stop again when I see the sunshine, hoping for added warmth on this 37°F day. The guys in charge of gas also have the key to the outhouse, as the lady inside would only tell me no.
I notice a lady getting dropped off via taxi on the side of the highway so she can presumably walk to her house in the woods or beyond the trees from my view. The road narrows to one lane temporarily, so the construction crews have room to build more highways. Coming up on a bend, each lane has its posted speed limit of 90 km/h on the outer curve and 70 on the inner one. Once I’m back in the administrative region of Tbilisi, I find a (not my) hand car wash to vacuum, power spray, soap, and rinse the slushy mud from my ride for under $5.
After half an hour, possibly at Greenwash, the power hose keeps shutting off in the middle of rinsing. If I lived here, I would find a better place to pass the time, but since I don’t, I watch the guys work for a bit and then look at a yellow bus packed with people to the extent that one guy is sitting on the handrail for the steps. Luckily, the Guest House Zemeli (where I first stayed in Georgia) isn’t far from here as I’m starting to get hungry.
The man at the desk recognized me, and I got my room upgraded since he was able to find my prepaid reservation. I walk to Cellar on Rustaveli (as posted inside) past the Georgian National Museum on my left, but I have trouble finding it now on maps. Their last Facebook post was from 2015, so hopefully, it remains a hidden gem of a restaurant. I fill up on eggplant and walnuts, mushroom dumplings, and a glass of family wine. I eat less and less of the dumpling skin as the meal progresses.
The walk back to the room doesn’t take as long as I thought it would, so I’m still bursting at the gastral seams as I sit in the chair to remove my boots. I will debate between sleeping in the small and soft bed or the big and firm one. My room comes with a candle and matches, so I light it and wind down by placing it on the beds and table for a photo shoot. I will not be sharing those pictures as I’m not sure if I was going for shadows, mood, reflection, or safe sleeping darkness when I blew the fire out.
If only I had known, I could’ve made an effort to celebrate. I learned about New Year on the 7th (Christmas market for me) but didn’t know about the Old New Year that would be sending fireworks into the Batumi sky (of the country of Georgia) around midnight with bells that I missed recording on the 14th. Perhaps I should add holidays to my pre-travel list. I heard a cannon sound while trying to fall asleep, and that shook me.
I leave Hotel N 16 under the cover of darkness but with the glow of yellow street lights to guide me to the lit-up Batumi Piazza. I always enjoy exploring a city before the day starts, just me, the facade lights, and the guy I thought had turned around to follow me. It’s a good thing I feel safe here and continue walking to see murals, shop windows, and a dog posing on the sidewalk. I heard a knock on the guard shack (not sure which one), but I went to the door, and it was one guy waking his friend.
The sky starts to lighten by the time I reach the Summer Theater after passing a large first-aid kit display. It explains that 4 out of 5 people can’t save a life, so 1,000 volunteers went 60 km away to be trained in Adjara (a place, not a technique), and with the 30 first-aid boxes along Batumi Boulevard, they will offer qualified assistance. I pass three cans, seemingly welded together, for tossing polyethylene, paper, and glass.
I walk through the Japanese Garden and up to the Octopus (aka Café Fantasy), which was completed in 1975. During the Soviet Era (until 1991), it used to offer coffee and ice cream but has been abandoned since 2000, and the mosaic surfaces were starting to deteriorate. The cafe was renovated in 2017-19 and granted monument status in 2020 by the Cultural Heritage Preservation Agency. I pull out my phone, to capture a photo that will only be lost later, and this guy lets me know that he speaks six languages to my one. Perhaps we would’ve talked longer, but I was now on my return trip to the hotel for breakfast.
The architecture is very pleasing to look at. There are many words to describe eye-catching. I pass a telephone box, a gift from the Admiral Hotel to the city with the support of the British Embassy. I should’ve attempted to use it, having used payphones in my childhood, but I wasn’t sure who I could call. There is a large astronomical clock and a sign below it with descriptions of moon phases and solar time in Georgian, English, Russian, and Turkish.
I fill up on two (small) plates at the buffet and check out of room 2. I drive to the Ethnographic Museum “Borjgalo” (a Georgian symbol of the Sun and eternity) and wait seven minutes past opening time (not a complaint) to pay my ten lira entry fee, with a tour of the open-air exhibits. Most of the posted rules are similar to anywhere with things that you shouldn’t touch or destroy, but one stands out: During the guided tour, the tone of voice must not disturb other visitors. It’s a good thing I get the tour to myself, though I think my picture habit is more disruptive to a group pace than my usual inquisitive nature.
I’m shown some exquisite church models under a protective pavilion and the Borjgalo on some coins. Girls were taught to embroider or perform other needlework starting at six years old to make dowry. Rich families learned Georgian under Ottoman rule, and men listened to music as there were songs for each job. Girls received dolls with rockers, while boys got sleds, bird traps, and trucks. Hunting now requires an expensive license.
A middle-class man is shown cutting tobacco while a child helps their grandmother cook. The baby’s crib comes with a hole in the bottom for a pipe-and-jar potty system while they’re strapped in so the mom can work (making sour cream, butter, rope cheese, and cottage cheese) with less distraction. There are saddles for men and women and round wood atop the bottom floor posts to keep rats out of grain storage on the top floor.
There are bee-keeping huts to keep the honey away from bears. There is a popular candy (churchkhela) made from concentrated grape juice, 25 walnuts on a string, and flour that will be dipped twice and dried before being ready to eat. There is petrified wood in the Anjara region, a tiki-torch-looking fruit grabber and a coned fruit carrier that won’t get stuck in the tree, and horseshoes for cattle. Georgians use old grape skins to make chacha, a brandy that can contain 85% alcohol.
There are more models, these ones showing the different housing options: a large one that holds three generations with stones on the bottom by the river, a wooden working house, and a dwelling one with animals on the bottom floor and toilets on the side, for the release into 3-4 meters of snow below. I realize I’m trying to write down everything the tour guide says. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel the need to mention the holy spoon (perforated ladle) for boiled dumplings.
We finish the tour by looking at wool socks with leather strapped to the bottom to make a shoe, a single piece of wood that resembles metal, and an old wooden door lock with a key. Then I get to meet the man behind 38 years of work, from when the owner was 20 in 1986, of making a hundred years of Georgian history by hand, chisel, and paintbrush. On weekends, guests are invited to try the traditional methods of smithy, pottery, woodcarving, embroidering, and carpet and sock weaving.
I will get some more diesel at half a tank before taking on a day of driving zigzag roads (my favorite in any country) in the mountains with even better views. The station attendant must scan their badge and enter a code for the diesel to pump. I get 75.40 L. There are so many roadside waterfalls, and some are worth the half-hour drive detour. I stop to see the Small Makhuntseti Waterfall, and there are stairs to the top where you can look down on the snow-covered road. There is candy for sale at the bottom. One of the shops has a waterfall on its inside wall, and a wine shop has waterfall steps.
Back on the road, the one with guardrails and only a few stopping places, I admire the snow, the river, and the mountains. I marvel at the size of the potholes that could be dioramas full of brown water with shards of ice imitating melting glaciers. There are picnic tables with wind blocks that seem to keep the snow at a distance too. I approach the Church of St. George, with a car parked and a dog sitting outside, and though it seems small in size with no pews inside, there is an amazing view outside through the sun-soaked windows.
With the lack of traffic, I’m able to take a picture of myself standing on a one-lane bridge before driving across and then stopping again to set foot on the Dandalo bridge, which is curved and slippery, covered in melting snow and smooth rocks. It is a feat of medieval engineering, being dated between the 9th and 10th centuries. It spans about 20 meters (65.5 ft) over the river and is roughly 3.5 meters in width. There are several bridges of similar design still in use today.
Back at the Dandalo Waterfall, there is a picnic area where the adults are drinking vodka while a boy practices throwing snowballs. The men are busy standing in the street like their cows. I follow the other footsteps in the middle of the bridge and get some pictures of the Acharistskali River. There is virgin snow on the next bridge, so I’m able to continue. Just watching the snow evaporate is so relaxing. The roads are a mix of dry, wet, ice, snow, and slush, whether they’re paved or not.
The snow makes the small roads into a single lane that has been cleared, and I have to reverse to let a truck pass in a turn on a hill. I reverse again later while cars wait on my crap skills (which are improving as I learn to go backward into snow banks), so further down the road, I will challenge the next vehicle, and they were out of the way in a hurry (they’ve done this a season or two). I see some guys parked in the snow making a BBQ.
I approach the Goderdzi Ski Resort and am taken aback by the crowd as this is the most cars and people I’ve seen since leaving Tbilisi. I was unaware at this point of what awaited me, even though there was a sign posted about 150 km back that said the pass was closed. I thought that if I just kept moving, I wouldn’t end up stuck in the snow like the other cars that started to surround me. A group of guys offered to help get me turned around, the same group that I unknowingly took a picture of half an hour ago pushing their van out of the snow.
I decided to hang out with them for a bit, figuring I might get the go-ahead if I waited for the colder darkness to ease my travel issue. Oday introduces himself and orders some chacha (of which I will bring the Fanta bottle full of home for Caleb) and the smallest glintwine with an orange slice for 5 lari. He shares half his king-size Snickers, and we people-watch until dark. Oday offered to drive my car back to Batumi, where the guys were staying, but one of his friends volunteered instead. I was just glad it wasn’t me dealing with other stuck cars along the route and ice on the short part that is paved.
It takes us over three hours to get back, which equates to a fox an hour, though I’m sure they were closer together than that. When the other car stopped on the road for a pee and a cigarette, my driver ditched his wet socks and this smoke-free rental and gave someone else the wheel. We pass a bridge where a boy is throwing snowballs, the same bridge I drove by seven hours ago. I’m glad I didn’t abide by the closed sign, or I would’ve missed out on part of what this road has to offer.
The driver, with more of a language barrier, points out anything with light near it so that I can get a blurry picture of it. He’s sweet, but he’s slammed on the brakes twice now, which isn’t. I will learn that a blinker means you want to pass someone and then flash your lights while doing so. The driving gets crazy in town as the lead car wants to pass everyone. We arrive at the Euphoria Hotel around 10 pm, and I end up in a room for $50 for the night vs. the half-price accommodations just 5 km away that I enjoyed the night before.
I blame it on the language barrier with the hotel clerk, a misunderstanding of which currency we were discussing, and the fact that the guys had plans to stay up all night and enjoy the other hotel features. We go to dinner at Castello, and I notice a lot of crosses lit up on road corners, too. It’s a good thing I’m not a strict vegetarian. The salad and rice are brought to the table before the main course, a whole lamb, stuffed with rice, without its head. All the guys are so happy to be sharing this meal with me, but even more so to be putting their fingers in this slaughtered animal while the steam escapes from its ribs.
They make sure that I’ve had plenty to eat and pour me some tea while they smoke at the end of the meal. We get back to our rooms just before 1 am. The guys are preparing to shower and go drinking before making a party in their room with girls dancing in dresses. The guys have fancy outside shoes and going-out shoes. I brought hiking boots. I get a call to my room, write down his number, and unplug the landline phone.
This morning started out with a treat. I was making my way out of the hotel as I normally would until I noticed the old guy, in all black, next to a space heater, with his shoes off, passed out between the Christmas tree and the door. Perhaps he’s the live version of Ask Jeeves (founded in 1996 and shortened to ask.com in 2006) but I left him in his sedated seat to his admirable dreams and stepped outside to a black sky illuminated on the ground by blue, white, and gold lights.
I turned right and this guy put his arms up to form an X across his chest to signal that I was going the wrong way on a one-way road. The white Christmas stars faded to yellow street lights as I drove west. As the sky began to brighten I noticed how wet the road still was and that the few cars were on there way to work. I saw some men in construction-orange coats and wanted to join them in standing on the church corner discussing weather, traffic patterns, homemade wine, etc.
I arrived in Poti and figured the direction the sea was straight forward but my first attempt led me into port territory and my lost driving delivered me to a wealthier cemetery. It’s a good thing there are more pedestrians than drivers as I slowly maneuver the car around potholes, like witches’ cauldrons of deep gravel soup, something children would make for their siblings to try. I have a friend from high school who still lives at the end of a street like these, but the holes of destruction are shallow and of the countable variety.
In the lighthouse parking lot is a playground, one that looks like the zombie apocalypse wiped out all the kids in mid-play on the plastic jungle gym and other makeshift entertainment ideas. I believe this belongs to the ‘Monastery named after the Iberin Holy Mother icon.’ Next to that looks like a homeless dog shelter built from a broken desk covered in pieces of concrete wall and a tarp. I’m in no rush to get inside when I can hear the seagulls fishing and the white capped waves; which based on the Beaufort Wind Scale, developed in 1805, suggests the gentle breeze is traveling at 7-10 knots.
All this weather is enticing me closer to the jumping water and cluster of clouds. I’m always more eager, when I travel, to experience the elements of nature vs feeling cold in a manmade space, as if both aren’t events to be appreciated for what they are and what those moments fully contain. With this aura of appreciation around me, I walk up to the lighthouse, the oldest navigational facility on the Black Sea Coast of Georgia, having been completed by British engineers on the River Rioni in 1864.
The red and white striped building is now run by the State Hydrographic Service and consists of 128 tons of cast iron to include 160 steps for a 36 meter climb that gives the light a range of 17 nautical miles. An older man came from one of the surrounding buildings to unlock the lighthouse, just for me, and though he climbed to the top to ensure I saw the expansive view, I was left to interpret the artifacts by myself — some in Georgian and English and others in Georgian and Russian.
Kobuleti Nature Reserve
I enjoyed his quiet company and the feeling of not being rushed, but left to appreciate a modern working piece of history and taking as many photos as I wanted without waiting on others (selfish me leaking out as I’m used to public buildings with a spiral staircase being full of bodies). I wonder if they keep track of visitors and if the man enjoyed the break from whatever he’d been doing before my arrival. He locks up behind me and I’m on my way.
Stopped at a market for a bag of a baked variety and noticed that the street lights, both red and green, have countdowns so there’s no confusion as to how much time you have left. I appreciate Georgia loving their drivers enough to help reduce traffic incidents, especially when there’s some form of water on their roads for a majority of the year. I realize that the police always ride with their lights on (if not it’s a speed trap).
view from Castle of Kajeti
I pass the Poti St. Virgin Cathedral in the middle of a large roundabout in the center of town that reminds me of the Hagia Sophia, mostly just the windows contrasting under the shiny dome. I park in front of the gate to Kolkheti National Park and let myself into the courtyard. The sign tells me that the lowlands have been inhabited for 15,000 years. The park was established in 1835 and internationally recognized in 1996 to protect the flora and fauna of some 43,000 hectares (106,200+ acres).
There’s a mention of the Greeks building a village that connects the area with the mythology of the Golden Fleece, a story of gods, jealousy, and ram sex (Jason and the Argonauts) which is believed to come from using wool to mine for gold and then hanging the stretched hides to dry before shaking or combing them out. It’s said that the winged ram, god of war and one of the Twelve Olympians, became the constellation Aries, which is a porpoise in the Marshall Islands and twin inspectors in China.
I feel like I’m entering a hotel but once inside I notice the large wall covered in pictures, jars, and cases of creatures with fins, fur, and feathers that resembles a museum. I’m told from here I would usually be taken on a two-hour boat tour of the Paliastomi Lake to include a picnic near a giant bird-watching tower but the rain has changed those plans. I’m given a brochure in Georgian that shows a speedboat and a kayak and told to call when I’m able to come back.
The next national park, Kobuleti Nature Reserve, shall meet a similar fate. I drove to the entrance without knowing it (because it’s hidden behind a residential area, like driving into someone’s backyard) and had driven back to the street where I saw the arrow pointing to the park, so I reversed until I noticed the sign over the mud pit. I drove towards it, but with all the rain these wetlands seemed too treacherous and precious to explore and destroy with my curiosity.
Batumi Botanical Gardens
I had added this place to my itinerary for the white sphagnum moss (that’s great for orchids and bonsai plants for its water retention abilities — holding 16 to 26 times their dry weight in water) and the Caspian turtle (striped-neck terrapin that lives around the Black Sea, Meditteranean Sea, and the Persian Gulf) and marsh terrapin (African helmeted turtle that is known to hibernate in drought and very cold conditions) that were to be seen from a suspended bridge.
The GPS system I’m using seems to have been tested by a crow or someone who drives these curvy roads by skipping some of the turns and definitely not stopping to look at anything. I can’t fault the street scientists though as they gave me the data to do the research and realize I’d need more time as a traveler and double that in weather conditions that make driving either more fun or more dangerous depending on your personality type; and definitely more engaging.
I get to Petra Fortress (its Byzantine name; Castle of Kajeti, Georgian name) in Tsikhisdziri to find a deserted and seemingly modern forgotten castle in the midst of construction to perhaps cover the muddy pathways to encourage tourists to visit without feeling like they’re destroying history with their feet. It was precisely the precarious wall-walks (more like a wraparound balcony on the southeast sides) in a Secret Garden setting that encouraged me to find the entrance five floors up.
The salty wind and summer rains have aged this beauty and if I could look this good after being built in 535 then I would drink from the fountain of youth or be made by the Greeks to withstand the history these stones have endured, especially with their view of the beach below. I see the sky falling in the distance and leave the castle. I pass a roadside bench next to a hammock then some closed farm stands before stopping to admire the Chakviststali River and the seemingly homemade suspended bridges.
I’m grateful for the handrail as I walk on planks that remind me of a giant Jenga game, a five-piece puzzle for toddlers, or someone not fortunate enough to afford a dentist. I figured if a grandfather trusted the workmanship with his granddaughter in-hand than I should be up for the experience on more than one of these water crossings, whether over a serene or white-water portion, I was kept dry. I park near what looks like the entrance to Batumi Botanical Gardens and think I’ll wait for the rain to lessen.
I get out of the car and watch the short train go by. The security guard comes out of his station to walk me to the ticket booth. I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I went along with him, past the guy who offered me juice from his cafe, until I realized I’d left my purse in the car and I’d need that to pay the 15 lari entrance fee to see the park that covers one square kilometer. This place used to be called Green Cape in 1892 and has collected some 1800 plants, of which 90 are of Caucasian origin.
I’m told when I purchase my ticket, with my camera under my jacket, that the bus is a 300 meters walk, but that’s where the other woman sits to collect more money for a one-way ride. I didn’t want to be soaking wet but I also didn’t want to pay 5 lari for a handful of nuts (pecans in-shell), a hand on my knee, and an offer for a free ride back outside of the park in the driver’s friends’ Mercedes. I’d had to turn around on my walk to catch the eight-passenger covered golf-cart.
I thought the bus made four stops but this one only made two and luckily the heavy rain has gone for now and I can enjoy the walk back amongst wet green trees and their soaked brown leaves. Perhaps going to a garden, when most plants are in their sleep phase is like going to a museum that’s under construction — there’s still stuff to see but it’s probably not what you came for. I’m ok with that. I don’t need to travel to places only when flowers are in bloom and crowds are in masses. I get my creativity from experience but I’m better able to express it in solitude.
The “Oregon Ravine” may have representatives of Blue spruce, Coast redwood, cypress, and juniper trees but it doesn’t have the same familiar breeze. The nice part about Japanese and New Zealand gardens in the States is that I haven’t been to their local counterparts for comparison. Having these trees out of place is like seeing a polar bear in San Diego or a Moai, the heads of Easter Island, in a London museum; though I appreciate their ability to inspire people to learn, to travel, and to care about parts of the world they may never see and give them a sense of home overseas.
Normally, I’d be more exploratory but I seem to be the only one in the park, so if I forget how to walk or where I’m going, I could be lost when the next downpour comes. These gardens had a lot of work put into their layout and the use of sticks and stones to add to the peacefulness that nature seems to demand of man, unless he’s in the wild like the plants and animals that are in a constant mode of fight, flight, or freeze. Amongst the floral and beach views is a sticker that stands out. If you like cats, tattoos, and murals you can check out Sakvo @skvgknrs.
My socks are wet. I will need to change them at the car… maybe back into the old pair… shit. I book a room at Hotel N 16, for 60 lari, with breakfast and it’s only a block from the water. Batumi is beautiful, even through the rain. I find some parking nearby and pass by the piazza and St. Nicolas Church before I check-in and pick up my room key. I stop at Restaurant Classic on the corner as they advertise Georgian food on their a-frame sign, so I get my favorite eggplant with walnuts and try the mushroom chashushuli that comes steaming in a cast-iron dish with onions.
With a renewed energy source, I’ll be able to enjoy the seaside attractions without my hunger being a distraction as I want to make the most of this momentary dry before the sun sets. The port is a magical place — a mix of people walking and ducks swimming, boats floating and birds flying, houses sitting and snow falling, skyscrapers reaching and wind blowing, and clouds gathering and art showing. I make my way to the Ali and Nino statue based on the love story in the 1937 novel of the same name that inspired the 2016 film about an Azerbaijani man and a Georgian woman in a time of war.
It starts to sprinkle again so I walk back to the hotel to drop off my purse and camera and borrow a hotel umbrella (if I’d have known about them sooner) and pick up my bag from the car. I finally take off my wet socks and elevate my tired feet for a bit before putting them in a steamy shower. I unwind by trying to photograph the tiniest moth creature on the glass wall in the bathroom and looking at my route for tomorrow.
I’m woken at midnight to the sound of fireworks as Georgia celebrates their Old New Year as the Orthodox Church still uses the Julian calendar. When the clock strikes the citizens are allowed to bite into a gozinaki — caramelized walnuts, fried in boiled honey, sometimes with pepper and vinegar, and cut into a rhombus shape. There’s also basila, a human-shaped cake named after the Christian saint Basil, that comes from a pagan cult in eastern Georgia to bring fertility into the new year.
The New Years day on January 1st is extended into Bedoba, “a day of luck”, where it’s believed that what happens on this day will set the trend for the year, so it’s feasting and cheer for everyone here. Then there’s Christmas on the 7th with a street parade, Alilo, in costumes and lots of carol singing and special khachapuri eating. Their Christmas tree is made from shaved hazelnut branches, decorated with dried fruits and flowers and burned after the holidays to keep the misfortunes of last year in the past. Tonight would’ve been great for couchsurfing or a family adoption, but then I’d have missed the view from my balcony of a cloudy moon and yellow-lit street.
TheJessicaness 