Wednesday, 20 August 2014

Uplistsikhe and Gori, Cave Dwellings and Stalin: Part 10 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

A Cave System Still in Use in the Middle Ages and the Birthplace of Josef Stalin


Georgia
In the morning we retraced our steps southwards down the Aragvi Valley. We were leaving the mountains, but only temporarily - in two days’ time we would return - but on the other side of South Ossetia. We were going round this mountainous and sparsely populated region partly because there are no good roads across it, but more importantly because it is no longer de facto part of Georgia. Prompted by Russia, it seceded in 1990 and now considers itself an independent country.

Our Journey so far

Uplistsikhe, City of Caves

Reaching the southern end of South Ossetia we turned west, followed the valley of the River Mtkvari and soon reached Uplistsikhe. On a rocky bluff across the river from the rather down-at-heal modern village is an ancient cave city.

Uplistsikhe across the Tiver Mtkvari

Established in the sixth century BC Uplistsikhe became the major pre-Christian religious centre of Kartli (Eastern Georgia), but lost importance when Christianity arrived in the 4th century. When Tbilisi was taken by the Arabs in 645 and became the capital of an Islamic Caliphate, Uplistkhe returned to prominence as the stronghold of the Christian kings of Kartli.

Uplistsikhe

At its peak the cave city had a population of 20,000 but after King David the Builder took Tbilisi and united most of Georgia under a Christian monarchy it went into decline. The end came when Timur (Tamburlaine) and his Mongol hordes paid a visit in the fourteenth century.

Wildlife, Uplistsikhe

The dwellings, palaces and temples were deserted and over the centuries seismic activity caused many of the roofs to fall in and the walls to crumble. When archaeologists arrived in the 1950s only the tops of a few caves were visible among the rubble.

Uplistsikhe

As we clambered over the rocks and visited the various caves labelled as halls, palaces or temples I found myself struggling to recreate the city in my mind's eye. The labels all seemed quite definite, though they are of course speculative. Evidence exists to suggest certain caves were temples or palaces, there are marks of burning on the roofs to show where hearths once were, and in some halls it was clear that the stone roof had been carefully decorated....

A temple (possibly) with a decorated roof, Uplistsikhe

...or laboriously carved and polished to look like wooden beams.

Hall with stone roof carved to look like beams, Uplistsikhe

The Blackberry Hall was well enough named, a large bramble hung from the remains of the roof, but the ‘Apothecary' seems a stab in the dark.

Apothecary, Uplistsikhe

The most modern building, indeed the only real ‘building,’ is the tenth century Prince's Church which was built over an earlier pagan religious site at the highest point of the city.

The Prince's Church, Uplistsike

We finished by descending a tunnel that took us from the defensive heights down to the riverside. It was unlit though easy enough to descend by the modern stairs; how the original inhabitants coped I have no idea.

Tunnel down to the riverside, Uplistsikhe

Back at the entrance we had a look round the museum, which we would have done first had it not opened late. A brief film showed how the city might have been, but despite the computer graphics the place stubbornly refused to come alive for me. Lynne did not have this problem, so it must be my failure of imagination.

Uplistsikhe overlooks the Mtkvari River and much arid countryside

From Uplistsikhe we drove 10km to Gori, the birthplace and childhood home of Josef Stalin. Our route almost touched the South Ossetian border and we could see the hills, fields and Russian communication systems of this make-believe country.

The South Ossetia Problem

Beyond the Caucasus, North Ossetia had been part of the Russian Federation since 1806. There were a few Osset settlements south of the mountains in the 17th century, but many South Ossetians migrated from the north during the 19th and 20th centuries. According to Dinara they were well integrated into Georgian society and several generations of intermarriage had weakened the Osset identity. The Georgian view is that the Russians stirred up their dormant nationalism and then used that as an excuse to move in 'to protect the Ossets from Georgian oppression.' They did the same in Abkhazia, Georgia's northwest province along the Black Sea. It is the same tactic, Dinara observed, that Vladimir Putin has recently used in Crimea and eastern Ukraine, and indeed that Hitler used to annex the Sudetenland in 1938.

Map of Georgia showing South Ossetia and Abkhazia

In 2008 Georgia started a misguided war to get South Ossetia back; a Russian-Georgian war could only ever have one winner. Gori was shelled, cluster bombs were dropped (the Russians deny this but unexploded bomblets are still regularly found)* and it was occupied for ten days. As a teenager Dinara had travelled from the Black Sea coast to be with her family in Tbilisi and had seen Gori burning as she passed on the main road.

Lynne and I were born in 1950 and like most of our generation were brought up by parents who talked (sometimes incessantly) about their wartime experiences, but we have been blessed by having no direct experience of warfare. Dinara told us calmly about what she had seen and although she did not believe she had been in any imminent danger, it was unnerving to hear experiences of a war that was so recent and from one who was still so young.

The population of South Ossetia, 100,000 in 1989, has halved and left Georgia with a refugee problem - added to by similar events in Abkazia. The road into Gori was lined with houses reminiscent of our post-war prefabs which I remember surviving into the seventies and even eighties. These were the dwellings of Ossetian refugees.

Refugees' houses, Gori

Gori, Stalin's Birthplace

Gori

Our first brush with Gori was brief – we no sooner arrived than we drove five kilometres out of town to Dinara's restaurant of choice. We sat in the shade in a large courtyard, watched fish swim round a pond and ordered a veal kebab. The spreads laid on when food is pre-ordered are memorable, but we had eaten two such feasts yesterday and were glad to be in control of the menu and able to order a light meal. Even the greatest trencherman needs an occasional rest and another feast was promised at our guesthouse that evening.

Back in Gori we drove past Stalin Square and down Stalin Avenue to the Stalin museum.

Central Gori - modern(ish) and a bit dull

Stalin is a problematic figure to the whole of the former Soviet Union, not just Georgia. Born Josif Dzhugashvili in 1878, the son of a Gori cobbler, he ruled the world's largest country for a quarter of a century, turning the USSR from a rural backwater into an economic powerhouse - as Churchill said 'taking it with the plough and leaving it with nuclear weapons'. Even those of us who prefer the idea of beating swords into plough shares have to acknowledge that under his leadership the Soviet Union played arguably the most important role in the defeat of fascism (though they had that role forced upon them when Hitler’s invasion unilaterally brought the Molotov-Ribentrop non-aggression pact to its end.)

And, of course, Stalin was a psychopathic mass murderer. He imprisoned his opponents, real and imaginary, in a vast archipelago of gulags and in Yekaterinburg we saw a mass grave of some 30,000 victims of Stalin's purges. 7 million more died in the 1932 Ukraine famine, for which he bears the main responsibility, and his secret police terrorised large parts of the population.

Lynne in Russia at the memorial to 30,000 murdered on Stalin's orders,
Yekaterinburg 2007

Although Khrushchev denounced Stalin and Stalinism in the 1950s it is not difficult to find devotees of Stalin among older people in Russia today. In Georgia the situation is even more complex. They resent the Russian denomination that Stalin and the Soviet Union brought, and most Georgians are only too aware of his faults, but still he was a native son of Georgia.

The last statue of Stalin in the whole of the former USSR stood outside the Gori museum and stayed there long after independence and long after Georgia had abandoned everything that Stalin stood for. It was removed in 2010, but even then the authorities thought it best to do the deed at night.

Stalin Museum, Gori

We were shown round the museum (along with a lone German student) by a woman in her late sixties - it is impossible to visit any museum in Georgia without being given a guided tour. She might (Dinara suggested) have been of Russian origin, but she was certainly an unreconstructed Stalin fan. It was a swift tour and she seemed to be reciting a script as we whizzed through Stalin's early life in Gori and later in Tbilisi where he trained for the priesthood but was expelled from the seminary for political activity.

And that was where the history stopped. We saw an exhibition of some of the gifts he received, shades of North Korea, some of them with less than compelling connections to the despot. A musician’s organisation presented him with an accordion but, as our guide told us, Stalin did not play the accordion so he passed it straight on to the museum where it is labelled 'Stalin's Accordion' though he may only have looked at it from a distance.

Lynne and Uncle Joe, at least we were not expected to bow!

She mentioned nothing that might bring discredit to the great man's name. We were not shown Lenin’s letter warning the politburo that after his death they should under no circumstances let this psychopath get his hands on the levers of power. Near the end there were some much more recent colour photos of destruction and rubble. ‘What is that?’ asked the German student. ‘2008,’ said the guide without elaborating and moving swiftly on. Dinara contained her amazement at the whole show, but did some serious head shaking later.

In the square opposite we saw the simple nineteenth century worker’s cottage where Stalin was born.

The house where Stalin was born, Gori

It stands alone, all the neighbouring properties, like most of Gori's buildings from that period, having been demolished as the town has modernised. It was reminiscent of Kim Il Sun's house, though without the parkland setting.

Inside the house where Stalin was born

Again like, Kim, we saw Stalin's private train,...

Lynne boards Stalin's private train, Gori

.....but unlike in North Korea we were able to get on it and walk the length of the carriage.

Stalin's private train, Gori

There was childish glee in the way Lynne photographed his private toilet.

Stalin's private bathroom on his private train, Gori

Honey Bread on the way to Kutaisi

Leaving Gori we drove on to Kutaisi, Georgia's second city. The drive was scary, the two lane road was busy and Alex's overtaking was aggressive to say the least. The big BMW had immense acceleration which he relied upon to keep out of trouble. Unfortunately other drivers seemed equally aggressive but few were as well equipped. Back in Azerbaijan our driver Togrul had merely raised his eyebrows when discussing Georgian driving standards. I was beginning to understand his meaning.

Honey bread on sale by the roadside, Kutaisi

Nearing Kutaisi the road was lined with stalls selling something we did not recognise. 'Honey bread,' Dinara told us. We stopped to look at one of the stall-holder’s ovens and bought a loaf. It was delicious.

Honey bread production near Kutaisi
Kutaisi

Kutaisi

Kutaisi does not present its best face to those arriving from the east. We entered the city through an area of post-industrial dereliction. We had seen the same in Armenia ten years earlier and for the same reason - the Soviet Union deliberately placed parts of complex industrial processes in outlying republics, but never the whole process, so at independence they found they had either lost their suppliers or their market.

We found our guesthouse in the old part of the city which sits on a hill, the large balcony giving a good view over the newer parts that have colonised the valley below. At dinner, as expected, every inch of the table was covered in goodies and despite serious work, ably assisted by Dinara and Alex, we were able to see off only a small proportion of what was on offer. We ate cucumber and tomato salad, rice and vegetables, aubergine purée with walnuts, mushrooms with dill, vegetable soup, chicken pieces, pork with a walnut and garlic sauce, homemade burgers and finally, watermelon. We also enjoyed a litre of 'homemade' white wine – as brown and oxidized as always.

Kutaisi

We shared the guesthouse with a group from Dragoman Travel whose leader gave them careful instructions for their arrival in Turkey the next day. I spoke to him the next morning, he had picked up what he called 'the truck' (and it was much more of a truck than a coach) in Malaysia and driven it to Beijing where the tour started. Some of his clients had travelled the whole length of the Silk Road with him and would stay until the end in Istanbul while others had joined for just a section of the journey.

*Appalling as this is, it is a drop in the ocean compared with the American cluster bombing of Laos in the 1960s and 70s which has left tens of millions of unexploded bomblets that are still killing peasant farmers (and their children) today. See Phonsavon, The Plain of Jars and Unexploded Ordnance.

Tuesday, 19 August 2014

Stepantsminda (Kazbegi) and Tsminda Sameba: Part 9 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

Over the Jvari Pass into the High Caucasus

The Jvari Pass and Soviet Decorations

Georgia

In the morning we left Gudauri and joined the trucks grinding their way up the Jvari (Holy Cross) Pass, named after the cross placed at the top by King David the Builder, the 12th century king who united Georgia and did so much to build a national consciousness.

Morning in Gudauri

On the way we stopped at a semi-circular cod historic painting.

Semi-circular cod historic painting, southern side of Jvari Pass

A regrettable relic of Soviet times, it does little to enhance the natural panorama of the deep valley of the Aragvi. We had been following the Aragvi since Mtskheta but now the pass was taking us into valley of the River Tergi. We were crossing a watershed of sorts, because although both rivers eventually flow into the Caspian Sea, the Aragvi flows south from the Caucasus through Georgia and Azerbaijan, while the Tergi flows north into Russia (where it is called the Terek) and passes through Ingushetia and Chechnya on its way to the sea.

The Aragvi Valley

The top of the pass is interesting, but we had a busy morning ahead and left that for later.

Stepantsminda

In the next hour and a half we saw two or three villages where rare areas of flat land had allowed settlements to develop. Eventually we dropped down to the small town of Stepantsminda which sits at 1750m (5710ft) in the Tergi valley 15km south of the Russian border. It is undoubtedly a beautiful spot, but it is so isolated you wonder why enough people to fill a small town chose to live here .

Our Journey through Azerbaijan and Georgia

Mount Kazbek

Stepantsminda (St Stephens) was called Kazbegi from 1925-2006 after a feudal chief who sided with the Russians during Georgian revolts in the early 19th century. Presumably it was his loyalty to Russia rather than to the Tsar that influenced the Soviet decision to rename the town. The name ‘Kazbegi’ is still in general use, not I suspect out of respect for the Soviet Union or nostalgia for a clan of long-vanished warlords, but because of Mt Kazbek, the snow-capped rocky giant, whose 5047m (16,516ft) bulk towers above the town and is quite difficult to ignore. Often in mist, the summit was, briefly, visible from the square.

Mt Kazbek from the main square, Stepantsminda

Mt Kazbek was the mountain to which the Titan Prometheus was chained as a punishment for stealing fire from the gods and giving the secret to mortal men. Various hermits and holy men have added to the mountain’s legend. If you know which cave to look in you can find Christ's manger and Abraham's tent (perhaps it should be reunited with his cooking pot which we saw in the Topkapı Palace in Istanbul).

Reaching the summit is (I read) an arduous though not technically difficult three day climb. Dinara has been there - it involved crampons and ropes - so I made a note to do that next time we were here, and in the meantime we psyched ourselves up for a gentler challenge.

Climbing to Tsminda Sameba

The 14th century Tsminda Sameba (Holy Trinity) Church was built on a bare hilltop 430m above Stepantsminda in the shadow of Mt Kazbek. The church and its bell tower can be seen in the picture of Mt Kazbek above, on top of the ridge above the town. Building a church up there requires determination and bloody-mindedness, which along with hospitality make up the three most obvious traits in the Georgian national character. In times of trouble the treasures of Mskheta Cathedral and even St Nino's Cross found their way to Tsminda Sameba.

Gergeti

In Soviet times a cable car was built to take tourists from Stepantsminda to the church. This was unpopular with the locals – it is not the Georgian way of doing things. The cable car no longer exists - had it been running we might not have had the determination to walk there, and that would have been a shame.

We set off through Gergeti

Alex drove us to Gergeti, which could be called a suburb of Kazbegi, or an adjacent village, at the foot of the hill. From there Dinara led the way on paths between the fields. There are two routes to Tsminda Sameba, one goes straight up the side of the hill, the other zigzags along a rough road. After a look at the steep path we chose the road, a longer but easier route, the 430m climb being accomplished in 5km of walking.

Lynne toils upwards from Gergeti to the road...

The road is passable by four-wheel-drive vehicles. Locals operate taxis and the drivers have vehemently opposed upgrading the road - if any car could drive up there they would have no business. As we plodded upwards a couple of taxis stopped to see if there was any trade, one driver being unnecessarily rude about our determination to walk. A few tourist vehicles went past and a kind local offered a lift.

...and then up the road to Tsminda Sameba

The path was not steep, but it did go relentlessly upwards. The temperature was in the high twenties, but we were shaded by trees through which we caught occasional glimpses of Mt Kazbek, though the summit had speared a patch of cloud and had no intention of releasing it.

Mt Kazbek disappears into the clouds

I asked Dinara how far Tsiminda Sameba was about the tree line, I did not fancy climbing in the full glare of the sun. ‘The trees go almost to the end,’ she said reassuringly.

Lynne and Dinara pause for breath on the road to Tsminda Sameba

After an hour and twenty minutes Lynne was looking at her watch and deciding she could take another twenty minutes but no more. I was expecting to emerge from the woods and see the church perched high above us for the sort of sting in the tail so beloved of some of my walking companions at home (I mean you, Francis).

Tsminda Sameba

Suddenly we popped out of the trees and there, four hundred metres away across a grassy meadow, and a little below us, was Tsminda Sameba. Lynne was elated, I felt slightly cheated of the sting in the tail (and if I also felt a little relieved I said nothing). The cloud on top of Mt Kazbek had now gathered some friends and we finished the first half of the walk in cool and overcast conditions. There were even a few spots of rain, though not enough to make us break out our waterproofs.

Lynne is elated, Tsminda Sameba (the dismantled cable car station is below the bell tower)

The church stands on a knoll, so in the end there was a stinglet in the tail.

The stinglet in the tale, Tsminda Sameba

Lynne and Dinara picked up the headscarves and wrap-around skirts that can be found at the entrance of all Georgian churches. I was wearing shorts so I put a skirt around my waist, which is the usual procedure. 'Not good enough,' said the young man guarding the church. Dinara asked him nicely and gave him a big smile. Few young men could withstand her precisely calibrated blend of charm and determination; the guardian crumbled immediately. 'Alright,' he said, 'just for a minute or two.' Then he turned away so as not to see my transgression.

The most remarkable thing about Tsminda Sameba is that it is where it is; the contents of the church, a couple of icons and a lot of stone walls, can be more than adequately perused in 'a minute or two.'

Stepantsminda and Gergeti - all the building material had to be hauled up from down there

The carvings on the outside are more interesting, incorporating pagan motifs resembling Celtic or Viking designs....

Carvings Tsimnda Sameba

The trouble with a walk where the whole outward journey is upwards is that you think you have done all the hard work when you get to the top. Going down was certainly easier, but it still had to be done, required an hour's solid effort and some pain in the knees. I was glad to get back to Gergeti and see Alex parked beside the road.

Dinara leads us back down into Gergeti

Lunch in Stepantsminda

He drove us back into Stepanstminda. We had no idea that this tiny mountain town could be hiding an area of post-Soviet industrial dereliction, but leaving the tarmac road at the north end of town that was what we drove through until we reached a large house hemmed in by empty and rusting factories.

The 'house restaurant' was busy - we arrived at the same time as a couple of full minibuses. Everyone else disappeared into a large room while we sat round a small table in the family's living room. Over the next five minutes it was loaded and then overloaded with goodies. There was bread and cheese, salad, aubergine with garlic and walnut paste, aubergine purée, khachapuri and dumplings (rural dumplings, Dinara told us, as the meat was mixed with herbs, unlike yesterday’s urban dumplings). There was far more than four people could eat. Lynne and I made sure we tasted everything, but it would have been a superhuman task to have finished anything. It had to be this way; a table any less laden would have contravened the Georgian rules of hospitality.

A table disappearing under a mountain of food, 'home restaurant' Stepantsminda, Alex (driver) Lynne and Dinara

Up the Tergi Valley to the Russian Border

After lunch we drove north to the Russian border following the spectacular valley of the Tergi which, even in the dry season, is a considerable torrent. In Tsarist times ambitious young Georgians migrating to St Petersburg to be at the heart of Russian intellectual life were said to 'cross the Tergi'. Many of them came home, re-crossed the Tergi and worked for Georgian independence.

The Valley of the Tergi near the Russian border

Limestone Sheets on the Hillside

As we made our way back we stopped at a remarkable piece of geology we had unaccountably missed on the way up. A sheet of pearly limestone covered a slab of mountainside fifty metres wide and stretching up as far as we could see. The whole surface is covered with running water less than a centimetre deep, continuously depositing more limestone.

A sheet of limestone covered with running water, near Stepantsminda

It looked like wet ice and I expected it to be slippery, but it actually provided a very firm grip for the soles of my trainers. Once I got my head round this distinctly counter-intuitive fact I found I could walk up even the steepest sections without difficulty.

A sheet of limestone covered with running water, near Stepantsminda
Once I had convinced myself it was not slippery, walking up it was easy

Over the road is a spring which, it was suggested, was the water forming the limestone, but the limestone was cream and the stones around the spring were stained red. The water tasted strongly of iron, so I suspect that, unlikely as it may have looked, this water was from a different source.

The Top of the Jvari Pass

We stopped at the top of the Jvari Pass where a more recent, and rather small, cross has replaced David the Builder’s original.

The top of the Jvari Pass

Nearby are the graves of a group of German soldiers, prisoners of war who died here while working in the Georgian military highway. The inscription (in German, so we could do our own translating) suggested they had been kept working here after the Second World War had finished and after they should have been sent home; the Soviet Union did not always observe the niceties of the Geneva convention.

The graves of German soldiers, Jvari Pass

Back at Gudauri we really did have the hotel to ourselves this time, and they laid on the usual overlarge meal and another litre of 'homemade wine'. We spent an hour or more chatting with Dinara who is formidably well informed and not just about the things a guide should know. Capable of talking with confidence about subjects as diverse as mountaineering and James Joyce, she was one of the youngest and least experienced guides we have ever had but she was one of the best. She had an excellent command of English and was very quick at picking up on what we wanted. Having graduated from Tbilisi's most elite university with a degree in international relations, she was working as a guide while looking for the right master’s degree course. She wanted to study abroad and had looked at English universities but had been put off by the extraordinary high cost. I could go on at length here about British education policy, the current bout of xenophobia and the growing fantasy that foreigners exist only to take advantage of us. Dinara is the sort of very bright young woman that British universities should be offering scholarships not putting off with exorbitant fees and paranoid bureaucracy.

Our Hotel, the 'Gudauri Hut', Gudauri



Monday, 18 August 2014

North on the Georgian Military Highway: Part 8 of From the Caspian to the Black Sea

From Tbilisi to the Caucasus via the 'Canterbury of Georgia'

Georgia

Jvari Church, near Mtskheta

Driving north through Tbilisi we were soon free of the city. For a few kilometres we followed the dual carriageway heading west to Batumi and the Black Sea but soon turned off to follow a small road climbing the bare hillside to our right.

Jvari Church sitting on a bald hillside above Mtskheta

At the top is the little Jvari (Holy Cross) Church. It was upon this spot high above the confluence of Tbilisi's Mtkvari River and its tributary, the rather more pronounceable Aragvi, that King Mirion erected a wooden cross after his conversion by St Nino in the fourth century. Four hundred years later Stepanoz I, duke of Kartli (this region of Georgia is still known as Kartli) built a church on the spot. The church is an early example of the Georgian ‘tetraconch’ design, being cross shaped with four equal arms, the angles between them filled in with corner rooms.

Perhaps not King Mirion's original cross, Jvari Church near Mtskheta

The interior is relatively bare, but King Mirion's cross, or at least a descendant of it, is still there, and there are some icons. The painting of St Nicholas is hardly Santa Claus with the wrong white beard and no red robe.

St Nicholas, Jvari Church near Mtskheti

It is an interesting place to put a church, highly visible yet easily defensible. Georgia has spent most of its existence at the meeting point of empires, but the Ottomans did not yet exist and Russian power was centuries away, so presumably Stepanoz was concerned about more localised strife.

Mtskheta

From Jvari there is a magnificent view over the small city of Mtskheta sitting in the confluence of the two rivers. The first three of that daunting clump of consonants are supposed to be sounded separately followed by the 'kh' which resembles the 'ch' in 'loch'. In practice, when said quickly, my ignorant ear heard just 'Sketa'.

Mtskheta at the confluence of the Aragvi and Mtkvari Rivers

Mtskheta is dominated by the enormous (by eleventh century standards) bulk of Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, and that was where we went next though by a circuitous route; first we had to find our way to the other side of the duel carriageway and then navigate country roads to cross the Mtkvari - twice.

Svetitskhoveli Cathedral

As the see of the Catholicos-Patriarch, Mtskheta is the Canterbury of Georgia. The streets of the small town were quiet as we walked up to the fortified wall that surrounds the church. The present Svetitskhoveli Cathedral was built in the 11th century but there has been a church on the site since the 4th century.

Quiet streets and the Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, Mtskheta

Sidonia and Christ's Seemless Robe

Inside the most important object is the grave of Sidonia containing (in addition to Sid) Christ's seamless robe for which the soldiers played dice at the foot of the cross. According to Hollywood, after Richard Burton had supervised the crucifixion he won the Robe and it led him, via various tribulations and plot twists, to true love, Christianity and martyrdom. Georgian legend differs. The Robe was won by a soldier who, not being Richard Burton, immediately sold it on to a Georgian Jewish merchant named Elias. Elias brought the Robe home to Mtskheta and gave to his sister Sidonia who promptly died in a fit of pious ecstasy. Fortunately not all holiday gifts have this effect.

The Robe is down there somewhere (alegedly),Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, Mtskheta

Unable to prise the Robe from her cold, dead hand, they buried it with her and a cedar tree grew over the grave. When St Nino persuaded King Mirion to build the original cathedral the cedar was hewn into seven pillars. Six were used in construction while the seventh refused to co-operate and instead hung in the air the way planks don’t (as Douglas Adams almost observed). After St Nino spent a night in prayer the spar deigned to locate itself over the grave where it gave off a sacred liquid that cured all diseases, hence the name Svetitskhoveli (Life-giving Pillar) Cathedral. It is still there to this day, inside a sort of kiosk.

I find this story less believable than the Hollywood version - and that was based on a novel. Regardless of what I think, people arrive at the kiosk to pray in a steady stream.

Praying beside the tomb of the Robe, Svetitskhoveli Cathedral

The man crossing himself in the photo below is wearing a skirt. A strict dress code is applied in Georgian churches. Women must cover their heads and wear long skirts and men must wear long trousers. Head scarves and wrap around skirts are always available in the porch, and unless the authorities are very fussy it is acceptable for men in shorts to wrap a skirt around themselves. It is unusual for a conservative institution to find cross-dressing more acceptable than knees, but who am I to comment?

Cross-dressing in Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, Mtskheta

The sound of singing was coming from a small side chapel, an unaccompanied choir of such musicality, complexity and power it made the hairs stand up on the backs of our necks. Poking our heads into the chapel we found to our amazement that all this sound was being produced by one priest and two middle aged women. We stood and listened open mouthed until their rehearsal came to an end.

Svetitskhoveli Cathedral, Mtskheta

Beyond the church the town was busier; there were stalls and cafes and a couple of busloads of Israeli tourists for them to work with. We stopped and drank some coffee before continuing northwards.

Following the Georgian Military Highway into the Caucasus

We drove along what is slightly ominously known as the Georgian Military Highway which follows the route used since antiquity by merchants and invaders travelling or rampaging between Vladikavkaz in Dagestan and Tbilisi. In 1799 Georgia sought help from Russia to free itself from a hundred years of Persian domination. Two years later Georgians duly found themselves free from Persia - but annexed by Russia. Tsar Alexander I instructed General Yermolov to construct a road across the Caucasus. A major feat of engineering, the road was not finished until 1863, but by then the Georgian Military Highway was, by some distance, the best road in Russia.

Nearby, to our west, was South Ossetia which, along with Abkhazia, had with Russian encouragement, declared itself independent of Georgia in 1991, a situation confirmed by the Russia-Georgia War of 2008. Now de facto independent states, South Ossetia and Abkhazia are recognised only by Russia, a couple of Russian cronies, each other and their fellow post-Soviet breakaways, Nagorno Karabakh and Transnistria. (There will be more about this conflict when we reach Gori and Kutaisi in two days’ time.)

The road began to rise into the mountains, following the Aragvi River to the Zhinvali hydroelectric dam, then clinging to the lakeside above the dam.

Zemo Avchala hydroelectric dam

We stopped for lunch in the foothills at a large roadside restaurant obviously popular with tourists – today, as in Mtskheta, dominated by several large groups of Israelis.

Dinara and Lynne have lunch beside the Georgian Military Highway
Khachapuri, tomato salad with walnut & garlic dressing, lobio in its clay pot and khinkali

We found a table on a quiet balcony and, on Dinara's advice, ordered lobio, khinkali and a couple of glasses of very brown Georgian white wine. Lobio is a stew of beans in a clay pot, not unlike ful, which we have eaten in Sudan and Egypt where it is the national breakfast food, but made from haricot rather than broad beans. Khinkali are meat filled dumplings, bigger than Chinese jiaozi and more like Mongolian buuz, but filled with beef rather than pork or mutton. They also contain a quantity of cooking liquid so they must be eaten with care. The approved method is to nip a hole in the side and suck out the liquid, a technique which Lynne is demonstrating in the photo below. Note her elegant and ladylike daintiness.

How to eat khinkali

Ananuri Fortress

Ananuri Fortress now sits beside the lake, but when it was built by the Dukes of Aragvi, who ruled here from the 13th to the 18th century, it would have been an imposing sight, perched high on the side of a deep valley. It is now picturesque rather than forbidding, so much so that it appears on the cover of the Lonely Planet ‘Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan’ guidebook. My picture is taken from the same spot, though in summer - theirs was in spring.

Ananuri Fortress

Inside the wall there are not one but two churches – well, this is Georgia - both dating from the 17th century. Between 1811 and 1917 the Georgian Orthodox Church was absorbed into the Russian Orthodox Church. Russian churches typically have an iconostasis separating the nave from the sanctuary and whitewashed walls. The Georgian tradition had been to cover the walls with frescoes which the Russians whitewashed over. The larger church retains its iconostasis…..

Iconostasis, Ananuri Fortress

….but much of the whitewash has been removed to reveal the old frescoes including an impressive 'last judgement.' Dinara’s parents, artists both, have been heavily involved in the work of uncovering and conserving Georgia’s frescoes.

Last Judgement, Ananuri Fortress

Outside there are some wonderful stone-carvings….

Ananuri Fortress

…and climbing the tower of the surrounding battlements gives a good view over both churches.

Churches, Ananuri Fortress

On to Gudauri

We wound higher and higher into the mountains. The Georgian Military Highway may not look as impressive to us as to the 19th century eye, but it is still a skilfully engineered and well-maintained road.

Gudauri, our destination for the evening, is a ski resort. It consists of a couple of houses, a petrol station with a large, modern self-service shop attached and a number of hotels scattered around the bare green hillside where the road starts the serious climb up the 2379m (7,800 feet) Jvari Pass.

There is little going on in summer apart from the ceaseless grind of lorries heading up the pass towards Russia, and those making the easier trip downwards.

Gudauri

Lynne, Dinara, Alex and I appeared to be our small hotel’s only guests, but when we assembled for dinner we found a huge buffet laid out. I requested a bottle of red wine, but paused when I was asked for 21 lari, about £7, not a big sum at home, but it seemed excessive in Georgia. What I had forgotten was that very little, and then only the best, Georgian wine gets into bottles. The waitress asked if I wanted 'home made wine', though whose home it was made in she did not specify – and as Gudauri is almost 2000m up a mountain, it was certainly not a local home. The wine, poured into a jug from a plastic bottle, cost 15 Lari for the litre, and was as brown and tannic as any 'white' wine ever made in a qvervi. It may not be subtle, it may not be refined, but it accompanies Georgian food like it was made for the job (which, actually, it was).

Half way through the meal a busload of Russians arrived. It spoilt our peaceful dinner, but at least it justified the size of the buffet.

From the Caspian to the Black Sea