Georgian Soul, part I

• Lraleigh's Profile
• About this blog
• Entry from Tbilisi

Trip Start Mar 21, 2005 Previous
Entry Trip End Ongoing Next
Entry

  Tbilisi, Georgia
Saturday, February 2, 2008

You only need a short time to realize that Georgia is a country torn asunder that still sings and smiles and enjoys life, at least most of the time. Of course, this is a broad blanket statement, but it reflects only what I experienced: people singing in harmony in the streets, beggars and refugees, devotees kissing paintings of Jesus and Mary in church, political instability, gracious hospitality, and a strong sense of being Georgian.

What does it mean to be Georgian? Was the big question.

"We're not Russian," a woman said, when I tried to speak to her in Russian (sorry, it's hard to learn a new language all the time, though you are right). Elsewhere in the former Soviet Republics, they had either kept the Cyrillic or adopted a Latin alphabet

Holy Reflection, Samtavro Church

. But in Georgia, most Russian writing had been removed from bus signs, marshrutkas, and restaurants, adding a challenge to getting around for non-Georgian speakers. Their ancient alphabet was possibly created to bring scriptures to Georgia, the second state in the world (330 AD) to adopt Christianity as the official religion, which became loosely tied to the Eastern Orthodox Church.

St. George the Dragon Slayer is seen as the root of the country's name. George was likely part of pagan mythology before becoming a saint, then and now seen as a destroyer of evil, like Padmasambhava in Tibet, but also as a masculine fertility symbol linked with spring. His paintings are everywhere.

Everywhere are also Georgian Flags, which are St. George's cross (England's flag) with four other small crosses in the white. The flag dates back to the beginning of the Christian state.

On my first day in Tbilisi, after finding a home at Nasi Gvetadze's homestay and taking the Midnight Train to Georgia, I entered an old church on a side cobble street, near the Mtkvari River. Inside people were singing in harmonies familiar to my soul yet previously unheard: a different tuning system, many parts, with men and women singing ın their ancient polyphonic style. Georgia was perhaps and arguable the birthplace of choral harmony. It wasn't Sunday and this wasn't choir practice. These were people who loved to sing.

Outside the church, two young men practiced their harmonies together as they walked

Jesus Above Church Door

.

Also on the icy streets were a few families huddled together near a small fire, surviving the winter by begging or dumpster diving next to the Marriot.

EU flags, with their gold stars on blue, were next to many Georgian flags. Another sign said: "Georgia is part of Europe." Geographically, experts see Europe as ending at the divide of the Caucasus, where Prometheus was chained in punishment for giving man fire. At the same time, Caucasians get their name--for better or worse--from this region. But what defines Europe or the EU these days anyway? Although it's a complex issue, clearly Georgia was trying to enter the country club, though now beyond the pale looking West.

Walking from the train station, I passed a street newly named after President George Bush--another George in Georgia--who visited here and is popular, for all his help. Many Peace Corps people are here teaching English, aid is in abundance, and people call Americans "friends." Much of this has roots in the Cold War, when Moscow repressed Georgians--including Stalin who was Georgian--and when Georgia was a leader in revolting against centralized power.

Today, Russia has helped break Georgia into thirds, with two separate regions who consider themselves not a part of Georgia (but it's okay for Russia to denounce Kosovo's independence)

Jvari at Sunset

. Thousands of Georgians fled and are now housed in many of the city hotels.  And only a couple of months ago, Georgia was in a state of emergency.

I felt for all these people, and the suffering was apparent.

But at the same time the joy of song was still there, as was the Georgian spirit and many signs of vitality were in the air.

On the second day, my destination was Davit Gareja, a Coptic Syrian monastery from the sixth century and a day trip from Tbilisi. I took a marshrutka to Rustavi through wine country and arid steppes. In Rustavi, I bargained with some taxi drivers to reach Davit Gareja, as no public transport reached it:

"Seventy lari," one said (about forty-two dollars; the trip was about 60 kilometers).

"No, no, ten lari. Not far," I laughed in reply.

Another driver laughed at that and took out a pen and wrote fifty lari: "petrol, mountains," he waved his hands as if the mountains were big

Jvari Church

.

"No, they're small," I replied in Russian and with my hands, asking for twenty lari.

Finally, we agreed on 35 lari, all laughing at a good bargaining session.

An hour later, we going up and over grassy hills on a dirt road, but the snow drifts had accumulated in the tracks up higher. We were stuck. For one hour, I pushed and we dug snow from around the taxi. Finally we were freed, but returned back to Rustavi, as the road was impassable, węth 10 kilometers to go and late afternoon approaching. Winter travel has its obvious pitfalls including impassable roads. Several times more in Georgia, my "schedule" changed, simply because of snow. Svaneti was snowed-in. Kazbegi was a no-go. So basically, I needed to stay in the lower reaches of Georgia.

The taxi driver was thankful for my help getting unstuck and I gave him some money for gas and more, because he made a good effort and in reality it was a good day out in the dry hills of Georgia.

On Sunday, my third day in Georgia, I took a marshrutka to Mtskheta, the holy headquarters for the Georgian Apostolic Church

Jvari Church Doorway Detail

. Having lost track of the days of the week, I entered the eleventh century Sveti-Tskhoveli Cathedral, surprised by the Sunday services. A bearded monk greeted me at the cathedral gate. Inside, the choirs sang--first the men, then the women--with their mystical harmonies. The priest, using a long brush, whisked holy water on everyone, while altar boys gave unleavened bread to people. Sunlight beamed into the cathedral from the windows above, lighting the choir, the frescoes, and paintings of saints and holy ones, with their gold and silver clothing plated in relief.

Nearby, I ate lobio stew--thick, kidney beans, hearty, tasty--with bread, fueling myself for the hike to Jvari, a couple hours on foot. Jvari beckoned across the river, where White Pelicans rested. I crossed over a dam after getting permission from the guards--it was okay since I was on a pilgrimage to Jvari, that was clear. After crossing the highway, the sixth century church was within reach, though a steep climb up a ridge. This was where St. Nino, who recieved a vision from the Virgin Mary, first struck her cross into the ground, beginning the conversion of Georgian pagans. At the top, a man selling flowers and I nodded to each other.

Inside the small simple church was a wedding party walking clockwise around a large cross

Mtskheta at Sunset

. The priest gave them his blessing with another wedding party driving up the hillside.

Walking back, I crossed the highway again and found a good place to flag the marshrutka back to Tbilisi. But they didn't come. Instead, a man and his daughter, enjoying the quaint and holy town of Mtskheta together, gave me a ride. Thank you!

On the fourth day, I took a marshrutka to Armenia, but would return eight days later. Armenia is essentially a one-way trip, as borders with Azerbaijan and Turkey are closed and hostile.

to be continued in eight days...

Post your own travel photos for friends and family More Pictures

Mtskheta from Jvari	Mtskheta Reflection	Samtavro Church, Mtskheta	Sveti-Tskhoveli Cathedral
Sveti-Tskhoveli Cathedral on Sunday	Sveti-Tskhoveli Cathedral Reflection	Sveti-Tskhoveli Cathedral Sunday Women's Choir	Tibilisi Church
View to Jvari from Samtavro Church

Slideshow Print this entry Share Tbilisi hotels

Previous Entry Next Entry