Georgia:  Ancient Sakartvelo -

Who doesn’t want to celebrate a birthday in an exotic location? In 2013, mine was going to be somewhere in Georgia, that land where the Caucasus Mountains form the border between Europe and Asia, where great wine is made and where, in my childhood days as a member of the Argonauts Club, my club name, Dragon’s Tooth Bithynia 10, suggested mysteries of ancient places.

I have skirted around the area in the recent past. Some years ago, I took a boat trip from Kiev to Odessa and onwards to Crimea along the western Black Sea coast. Peering down into the depths of the water, I assured myself that the water indeed looked black. According to submersibles that have investigated the waters, the depths are sulfurous, creating black, toxic slurry by reaction with minerals. In Istanbul, I took a boat ride on the Sea of Marmara, awash with waters breaking from the narrow gap made there by the Black Sea. Then, on a visit to Bulgaria, I looked out from the shore at one of the seaside resorts near Varna, under a full moon making the pale sea opalescent. Plenty of tales, myths, ancient history and modern wars aroused my interest. Now my exploration was going to start from the eastern, opposite shore, at Batumi, Georgia.

Georgia’s boundaries are Turkey and Armenia to the south, Azerbaijan to the east and Russia with its satellites, Chechnya, North Ossetia, and Abkhazia to the north, with the Black Sea to the west. The word Caucasus is derived from Kaz-kaz, the Hittite name for people from the southern Black Sea area.

Our tour group would travel from the coastal resort city of Batumi to the centre of Georgia, the Kartli region with destinations of Kutaisi, Imereti, Borjomi, Bakuriani and Tbilisi. Then, south east to Rustavi, northwards to Mskheta and Mt Kazbegi, and back through Uplistsikhe and Gori to Batumi. We would experience climate zones from warm maritime to high mountains and snow, and see sub-tropical palms, deciduous forests, fir and pine forests and alpine vegetation.

Sakartvelo is the ancient name for Georgia, formed from the word Kartli, for the central region. During the years 600-150 BC two states on the northern Black Sea, ‘Colchis’ and ‘Iberia’, were said to be where Jason came to collect the Golden Fleece. A sheepskin was used to filter gold particles from mountain streams, giving rise to the myth of the Golden Fleece, which Jason came to take for himself in my childhood Argonaut's story. The molten metal was obtained by burning the fleece. Colchis was also known in the 6th century for its minted silver coins, a sign of the considerable trade in this part.

King Aeetes of Colchis welcomed Jason and the Argonauts but when he learned of their purpose, he gave them a condition to fulfill beforehand:  Jason would have to plough a field with a pair of bullocks, seed the field with dragon’s teeth and win a battle against the force of adversaries that would grow from the teeth. Medea was the daughter of King Aeetes, known to us as the enchantress who aided Jason in the myth. She put the dragon, known never to sleep, into deep slumber with a potion and so Jason was able to steal the fleece. This story is the basis of opera and a play by Euripides.

Another local legend is associated with Prometheus, who stole fire from the Gods to give to man and was chained to a high cliff somewhere here, to be perpetually tormented by having his liver pecked by eagles. This legend is also told about a small island near Korfu. Noah’s Ark was said to have grounded on Mt Ararat in Turkey, just south of here. While passing over the Caucasus, the ark grazed the top of Mt Elbrus, the highest in the Caucasus chain, creating two peaks.

The Greeks, Turks, Genoese and Venetians all traded with the people in the Caucasus and thus also with the Silk Road caravans which passed just to the north. The Caucasus regions became Roman colonial states known as ‘Iberia’. They were Roman allies from around 66 BC for nearly 400 years, and only unified when Christianity became the state religion.

Recent archaeological excavations unearthed a human skull said to be 1.7 million years old. The skull was found beneath the ruins of a medieval town called Dmanisi, and is the oldest evidence of human habitation in Europe. Its facial features have puzzled scientists and opened many new questions about early homo sapiens. Finds from the 12th century BC indicate that political organization and metallurgy were established by at least the 7th century BC.

Uplistsikhe lies on the eastern trade route and we expect to see this amazing cave town later in the trip. Grape vines have been grown here for 8000 years, with 500 varieties endemic to Georgia. The Georgian word for wine is gvino. Although the wine itself has not survived, tests on 8000 year old ceramic storage jars with wine residues confirm the age. Origins of the attractive, curly Georgian writing have a close bearing on the highly developed culture from ancient times, as does its early Christian heritage. We would learn more about this ancient culture as we visited the many monasteries along the way.

While waiting for our departure at Tallinn airport, we could not help witnessing a prayer meeting held in a corner of the waiting lounge; a priest led a group of Orthodox nuns in earnest prayer. One elderly nun had a long walking stick bearing many tree knots, obviously a pilgrim's staff. A portable icon was in the corner. We learned later they were making a pilgrimage to one of the monasteries. The pilgrim staff came into the cabin too, carried by the elderly nun. We hoped they prayed for our forthcoming enlightenment too.

The passport control was strict at Batumi airport, with a camera ID. Then it was off at 7pm to the hotel. Along the route, modern architecture loomed in the highly lit city centre: an upside down house; another like the acropolis; others that needed inspection in daylight. This was a modern, post-Soviet resort town and it looked flamboyant.

The hotel was being renovated and the reception area was up two levels of a half-finished stairway, then a lift to the 5th floor. The room had a view of the inner courtyard and houses opposite with open verandahs, hitched on with various materials. Rooftops of various colours and materials, pitch and height rose to meet high-rise apartments in the distance. From the street, our pink hotel looked attractive, with balconies onto the street.

We took a walk and looked for a money exchange. There were several nearby, small booths lit by a single lamp and attached to a shop. Our hotel was in an old part of the city, between new sections and near the sea. Nearby were uninteresting old apartment blocks and all kinds of little shops where local people chatted, all surrounded by the sweet smell of tobacco.

In daylight, a walk to the sea revealed a shore of large pebbles with a giant playground elephant still waiting to be rescued before winter set in, and concrete slab seating along the way. A promenade of concrete poured in the 1960s indicated this section had long been a summer resort. A large, pale green palatial building was the only remaining example of the late 19th century resort hotels. A walk a little further along revealed recent architecture and a major building boom to attract holidaymakers. There was one modern structure after another, all marvels of design. Others were being built. We saw a cycle track, palm trees and gardens, a snail shaped building, a dome with the Georgian alphabet scrolled up the side and a former lighthouse which was now a brewery.

In the other direction was a park with a giant tiled octopus playground and behind it, a dolphinarium.  Nearby, the Rustaveli University building still had a flow of summer students. A tower for the Sheraton Hotel took the form of ancient Egypt’s Alexandra lighthouse. Opposite was a Parisian style apartment block, with a restaurant below. Along the way were manicured gardens and attractive sculptures, including a silhouette of a heart and another of a kneeling girl and boy. As Georgians dine late, we found the restaurants deserted when we went in search of dinner at about 7 p.m.

Next day the harbour was busy with cargo boats and a large oil depot was evident from the pervading smell as we drove by. Since the late 19th century the Nobel, Rothschild and Mantaschev families have developed technologies for port facilities, making Batumi a major port for oil from Baku near the Caspian Sea. Now the large number of cranes indicated cargo shipping was also increasing as Georgia seeks to replace the trade lost with Russia since independence, with trade with the West.

We were on our way along the coast to Batumi’s Botanic Gardens. A large variety of pines and deciduous trees, flowering plants, mosses and ferns grew on steep hillsides with the railway line and a deep drop to the sea on one side and a valley of former tea plantations and private farms and houses on the other, all scattered among dense, lush greenery. The gardens were the lifetime project of one man. Some 104 species of plants native to the Caucasus and others from the Himalaya, South America and Siberia grew here. The mild climate gave rise to the thriving tropical vegetation; it was beautiful and lush in all directions, with many varieties unknown to me.

After leaving the gardens with their cliff view of the sea, we continued down into the valley over a washed out road or two until we reached a tea plantation that had re-started production. Georgia had produced vast quantities of tea in Soviet times but the industry had lapsed and the nearby tea bushes were now home for snakes. It was encouraging to see production in full swing. Most unusual was the saddlebag tea, which looked like pressed mowed grass, made into A4 size briquettes about 3cm thick. Just as in the times of herdsmen of old, pieces were broken off and boiled up in horse milk.

The tea was grown organically and was low in tannins. Other varieties of packaged black and green tea were also available for purchase. Outside, a number of old Soviet trucks were rusting away. In this enterprise, the bushes needed to be trimmed to size again to make the farm productive. Along the roadside, various vans sold local produce: tomatoes, melons, vegetables and pumpkins.

On the way back to our hotel we saw new buildings in all styles in parts of the inner city: classical, art nouveau, modern steel and glass, and then Soviet style. These apartments had grills meant for decoration but they were most unattractive, like cages or a gaol.

The walk along the promenade at night was another atmosphere altogether, with coloured lighting along the walkway and the coloured lighting of buildings enhancing their exotic appearance. There were police about so we felt secure. We passed a summer theatre with a deep red, almost eastern open arch, and displays of moving light up the towers of buildings. Glittering diamond-shaped fountain displays played and changed form to music. Further along a main avenue, there was a series of fountains and water sculptures. We gazed and listened in wonder.

Next day we headed for Kutaisi over the mountains of the Guria region, inland to Imereti past rich grain fields. The country changed again as we passed through a tunnel 1000m above sea level, where the road was narrow but passable. We stopped by the road where women were selling sweet bread baked on site, still hot and tasty. Vendors selling pots and artefacts in various sizes were on the roadside too.

Kutaisi was the capital of Colchis at about 2000 BC and in more recent times, AD 978-1122; it became the capital of the Imereti kingdom, and thus the capital of Georgia. Today the houses of parliament are located here. It is also the second largest city. Nearby was the Sataplia National Park where a pleasant walk among autumn coloured trees led us to a set of caves where we came upon an exhibit of footprints of prehistoric vegetarian dinosaurs, unearthed in 1925. A walk through the cave complex revealed interesting formations of stalactites and stalagmites, colourfully lit. Most impressive was the huge dome canopy of the largest cave.

Outside again, we walked back along a red sandstone track where traces of two species of mountain bees had collected their honey in the cracks over millennia, thus giving their name to the park. Fibreglass and concrete figures of the prehistoric dinosaurs appeared through the misty, now rainy, park, giving us an impression of their size. A panoramic view of Kutaisi was invisible, somewhere below us in the rain.

We descended into the city and passed a large, classical parliament building with the flag flying. We were glad to find a pleasant restaurant to have lunch and dry off. Lunch was a light meal of typical Georgian kasha, soup with coriander.

We decided to visit the market opposite, defined by a distinctive reddish mural and a set of low, hangar-like buildings. We dodged cars, as there was no right of way for pedestrians, and almost didn’t make it across the road. The market sold everything. Apart from not speaking the language, we couldn't find anything of interest and as we looked distinctly conspicuous and foreign, we decided to leave by the side door, taking a look in at some seamstresses’ workshops. We hurried back across the road to take photographs of the river and bridge.

Next day it was raining again and we negotiated a washed away path uphill, trying not to slip among the pebbles rolling with the running water, to visit Bagrati Cathedral, built by King Bagrat III in the 11th century. The Ottomans almost destroyed it in the 17th century when they occupied the area. It was set to be UNESCO listed but our guide told us this had been rejected since the restoration works exceeded the original construction limits. The high walls were decorated with frescoes. Outside we were met by four Georgian men dressed in black, wearing cartridges in a row across their chest and a knife in a pouch at their side, as warriors do. They gave us a concert of holy and traditional songs. Their fine, powerful voices echoed in the pigeon stained alcove where we huddled and made a collection to pay for the impromptu concert.

Nearby was the Gelati monastery, its walls covered with art and frames of icons. The murals and manuscripts date back to the 12th and 17th centuries. The altar mosaic was treasured. It was obviously a pilgrimage site, for several nuns ascended the way and others collected money for the restoration work. We also met a few wandering cows that had come to graze nearby.

Behind the church was the ruin of the Academy where in ancient times Georgian men of learning had been active. They were well-travelled themselves and received visiting scholars from as far away as Constantinople. Nearby was the burial site for Georgian kings, including King David the Builder who ruled from AD 1089-1125. He was named after the Biblical David, and was said to be his 78th descendent. Thus there are Jews who seek their heritage today in this part of the world. David the Builder succeeded in driving out the Seljuk Turks, who had won territory in a major war against David’s father, King George II. King David was a young, wise ruler, uniting the regions of Georgia and encouraging education, the learning of languages, sciences and philosophy and establishing the Academy at Gelati amongst others. King David was buried, according to his wishes, under the stone inside the main gatehouse of the Gelati Monastery. People have to step on him first on entering; such was his humility. He was highly religious and composed several hymns of the Georgian Orthodox Church. His great granddaughter, Queen Tamar, was a powerful, respected ruler too, even called King, and we shall hear about her later. This site was very much in ruins and though under UNESCO protection, the buildings urgently needed restoration.

We travelled on towards Tbilisi, the capital since the 6th century and now a thriving metropolis of many language groups making up 1.5 million inhabitants. Its name comes from an old Georgian word meaning ‘warm’. Hot sulfur springs are located here, including a famous bath. Archaeological finds from 4000 BC suggest Tbilisi was already inhabited as a human settlement. Because it was in a strategic location between Europe and Asia it has been influenced by many cultures: Roman, Persian, Arab, Byzantine and the Seljuk Turks. Persians ruled from AD 570-580, then Byzantine-Khazar armies from AD 736-738. The Georgian language has a number of words from the Persian language and several kings and historical figures were of Persian descent, especially in the east.

The evolution of the Georgian written language is a consequence of the conversion of the people to Christianity in the 4th century. It was based on the Aramaic, the literary language of pagan Georgia. Old Georgian gave rise to Middle Georgian in the 11th century with the national epic poem, The Hero in the Lion Skin written by Shota Rustaveli, after whom the university in Batumi was named. In 1629, with the advent of mechanical printing, an Iberian or Georgian Alphabet with Prayers was evolved, and the first books were printed in Modern Georgian. The name ‘Georgian’ comes from Persian-Georgian, gurg, which means ‘land of wolves’. The name Sakartvelo consists of the root- kartvel, the region of Kartli, or Iberia, as it was called by the Eastern Roman Empire.  Ethnic Georgians call their homeland, ‘land of Kartvelians’.

Tbilisi has a modern highway leading in to the city centre with many modern buildings such as the police headquarters of steel and glass, said to be purpose built to be transparent to emphasise the visibility of its actions. The modern architecture, private houses and apartment buildings gave an impression of a mix of styles.  A tunnel bridge for pedestrians ran over the highway. Attractive villas and apartment buildings in an older, local style with lace timberwork verandahs and painted in pastel shades, existed in the different quarters. Some even had a Byzantine air while directly behind them stood modern, high rise apartment blocks.

Our hotel was in the Armenian quarter, with a church and school nearby, and small shops doing a busy trade. It was on a hillside and gave us a fine view over the city when the fireworks celebrating independence lit the sky that night. The hotel had an inner courtyard. We reached our room by a bridge that traversed a garden of pomegranate trees bearing fruit. On our floor there was a stuffed wolf in the foyer. I later learned that King Vahktang, who fought and won a battle against the invading Persians, wore a helmet with a wolf head on top, and that wolf skins were often worn. The hotel was run as a family business and the small breakfast room couldn’t cope with all the guests from several bus groups, including ours. The poor women were run off their feet while the men sat in the office area; at least that was the impression.

Our first stop was a park and café overlooking the city. It was a pleasant location by a river, with autumn-coloured trees. Then it was off to an open-air museum of houses from three eras of habitation, located on a hillside of walnut trees. Some local people had come to harvest the walnuts, doubly encased in a green outer shell. We observed with curiosity as a group of men with a mule and a cart hauled a large ceramic amphora that sat sideways on the cart; I think the men were also curious, but about us.

At the open-air museum, the chestnut timber log house dating from the 19th century with a shingle roof was carpeted with colourful patterned rugs. There were rooms for various activities and the furniture was made of carved chestnut. Carpets also lined the walls and covered the sofa-type guest or family seating. A log house from an earlier time period contained a central fireplace with an open living area. There were many curious artefacts and implements here; we saw how a baby would be wrapped up and an opening left for a pipe to be placed for peeing. A symbol of the sun with many rays etched into the timber over the door was apparently a Zoroastrian custom. Zoroastrian was the religion of the Persians, with links to ancient Egypt.

 The earliest and most impressive dwelling was a beehive home made of timbers locked into a high dome with two internal pillars, one called 'The Truth' for the man, the other 'Life' for the woman of the house. It was the tradition for the man and woman of the house to receive visitors while seated by their pillars. The sun symbol was carved into the chestnut timber of the pillars. Along the side were shelves and beds and it certainly seemed very secure from raids. Outside there was a stone with another sun symbol. The visit gave an interesting insight to how people had lived and defended their homes.

The Georgian Orthodox Church is one of the oldest Christian churches, due to the ministry of a woman, St Nino, a relative of St Andrew, early in the 4th century. She came from Cappadocia in Turkey, where some early Christians, including Mary and John the Baptist, were said to have lived after fleeing the Romans in Jerusalem. St Nino came preaching with a cross of grapevines. The relic was a drooping cross of twigs given by St Nino herself to the church; it was encased in a frame of this shape in the Sion Cathedral.

Being the chief Georgian Orthodox Church, the Sion Cathedral was in the centre of Tbilisi among some original old houses. They bore wrought iron verandah decorations and elaborate iron gates, which we had also seen in the countryside. Gates were painted in bright blues and greens. There were a few modern villas too; one was especially attractive, with a winding external staircase, surrounding verandahs and an inner courtyard. Through a gap in the view and looking uphill, we saw the parliament or ‘Whitehouse’, with classical pillars and flying the Georgian flag, white with a red cross, The flag was seen frequently in both public and private places.

Water from the spring at the side of the church was said to be healing and we saw people wash their faces and drink from a flowing tap. Inside the church there was a central, carved wooden seat set on an elaborately carved piece of wood and many beautifully painted and jewelled icons. The entrance doors were intricately carved.

The church was near the Mtkvari River and almost next door were the impressive, blue mosaic hot spring baths. The brick domed underground baths were built in the 17th century. Our group was keen to try out the baths, as sauna goers might be expected to be, so a visit was organized for those interested. We heard later that there was a smell of sulfur about but the experience was private and enjoyable. Although I enjoy a sauna, a public one in another country is another thing. I still recall my experience in Turkey in the former King Midas hammam. Thus I missed seeing the magnificent blue tiled Tbilisi baths.

Many beautiful carpets were spread out and offered for sale by women in the narrow streets. A variety of cafés and restaurants catering for tourists who sought atmosphere from Turkish to British Pub lined the streets in this part. We looked for souvenirs but came away empty handed, not buying a carpet. Next it was a climb up the hill, or cliff top, overlooking the river Mtkvari, to see the figure of a king on horseback greeting the town with the Metekhi church on the cliff behind him. Dodging the very dangerous traffic over many lanes, we reached the other side of the road, climbed to the top of the hill and found the view spectacular. In the distance was the walk bridge, called the Bridge of Peace, lying like a turtle with its blue shell roof; there were other tunnels and a dome shining in the distance.

The Metekhi church was in an old part of Tbilisi. In the 12th century, King Vakhtang I Gorgasali or Vakhtang the Wolf Head was king of Iberia in the 5th-6th centuries; he built a church and lived in the surrounding fort. This King was the equestrian figure. Wolves are to be found in the hills and are a threat to the sheep being herded there. King Vakhtang I lost an ill-fated alliance with the Byzantine Empire against the Iranians and was killed with a poisoned arrow. The loss led to a large number of the Georgian population being forced to leave their land and settle in Iran. However his greatest contribution was the founding of Tbilisi as the capital and for enabling the Georgian Orthodox Church to become recognized. The central belief of the Georgian Orthodox Church is that apostles Andrew, the First–Called, and Simon the Zealot are said to have preached in Georgia. Others, Bartholomew and Thaddeus, are said to have come from Armenia. The Georgian King, St Demetrius, built the present church in 1278–1284; damaged by wars and rebuilt, it was used as a gaol in Soviet times. Beria wanted to destroy it altogether.

Finding our way up another hill back to our hotel proved a challenge. There was the roundabout with fountain, the church and school and shops we had seen in the morning; now, after a full day of sights, which turn do we take next to find something familiar? Finally we saw the hotel from a distance, looking rather different from the aspect we remember. It was just a set of steps off the sloping street side. People didn’t speak English so we were left totally to our own skills of orientation.

That evening we were off to experience a tamada, a toastmaster’s dinner and feast (supra) of Georgian food. We travelled some distance to a garden restaurant lit up in the velvety darkness. This was a visual and typically Georgian experience of hospitality; as Estonians, we were very welcome in a kind of kinship fashion. The evening began with appetisers of delicious vegetables: eggplant, walnut and pomegranate, spinach and eggplant dips, roasted capsicum, mushrooms and broad beans followed by pork barbecued over grapevines, prepared and served with cheese pita breads and red wine. The food was brought to the table on huge and beautifully decorated trays, to be shared. A platter of fruits followed.

As we did not speak Russian, the language they used for communicating with our group, a relic of Soviet Estonian times, my friend and I missed the innuendos of the truisms and philosophy, but observed the enthusiasm and spirit with which the toastmaster’s delivery was made. The toastmaster was thanked and applauded, with a toast, of course. The first toast was to peace and other themes followed. Return acknowledgements required the permission of the toastmaster. Indeed all proceedings were carried out with the permission of the toastmaster, who was in charge of food and drink and toasts for the several hours' duration of the feast. Our toastmaster was a champion, as it was a competitive procedure to reach a high standard. Tamada is not after dinner speeches and jokes in the English tradition, nor is it a debate. It is a presentation embracing the ideas and philosophies acquired over a lifetime or through some significant experiences. I felt some nostalgia as my father, born in1898, also had a habit of delivering long dinner speeches, the gift of a past generation.

Then dancers appeared; a boy and a girl performed an energetic, beautifully elegant courtship dance, the girl just sliding along in her long gown. Her hands gracefully rising and dipping, she glided across the floor to the clapping of hands and the accordion’s music. The man stamped his feet, thrust out his chest and arms as he shepherded his partner, head thrown back. Then a rival appeared; the girl glided out of the way and a spectacular sword dance between the rivals followed. The metal flashed and clashed and sparks flew. Finally, the hero won, the rival departed and the couple danced away. The dances projected tradition and power. Then we were invited to join and dance a story; one of the women in our tour group held her own with an emotional dance featuring a white handkerchief, replaced by a red one if she accepted her new admirer. All of us joined in a ring and danced to end the night. Chacha or a local brandy had also found its way to those who wished to sample it. It was 11.30 p.m. when we arrived back at the hotel after a long but exhilarating day, experiencing a little Georgian culture and history.

Next day was sunny and as we left the centre of the city we saw some men on horseback preceding a coach where a bride and groom were travelling. It was a Georgian wedding procession. The bride wore white, the groom wore black and riders with cartridges on their chests, metal swords flashing at their sides, called out as they galloped and soon disappeared.

The wedding reminded me of a Georgian film I had seen; even in post Soviet times, a bride was ‘kidnapped’ in a flurry of cars, perhaps accompanied by gun fire into the air, and driven away to the groom’s family home. There she was kept safe from the groom while permission was sought from her parents for the marriage. There was no surprise element for those involved as this ‘kidnapping’ was traditional. As the groom’s interest had been known for some time, permission was usually granted. When the wedding took place, there were celebration dances with stories performed by men and women dancing alone or together.

We travelled on to Ananuri, altitude 2360 m and the temperature 11°C. Apple orchards and sheep dotted the roadside and stalls sold fine quality fruit and vegetables. There were apples, figs, quinces, broad beans, citrus and cherries, grapes, walnuts, hazelnuts and pears; the local apple trees were still laden. One enterprising merchant had made smoking ovens with a variety of chimney orientations; they stood in a row outside his shop. Meat was sold in a stall and a couple of dogs were eyeing the opportunities of handouts. They looked satisfied.

Ananuri Church and fort sat high on the banks of the Aragvi River with Chechnya and Russia on the other side. We were now in the mountains, an extension of the Himalayas and a major ancient war route. Byzantines came from the south, Persians from the east and tribes from the north. The Aragvi dukes built the fort for their clan but many peasants' revolts and fires brought new occupiers since the 1700s. The upper tower of the fort was intact but the lower one was in ruins. There were also stone beehive rooftops on the round towers. The larger of the two churches, the Church of the Assumption, was built in 1689. It had a central dome and richly decorated stonework outside, including an impressive and immense carved grapevine cross. The altar was richly decorated with holy paintings and there were old frescoes on the walls, including the favourite, St George and the dragon. On the outside stonework there were inscriptions in old Georgian script.  The river at this point had been dammed so there was a wide expanse of water that could be defended from this position.

Nearby we became distracted by vendors selling huge sheep skin hats, almost bushy wigs in size, long shaggy sheep cloaks called nabadi and colourful knitted long socks; I was tempted to buy a pair.  There was also a large selection of silver and gemstone jewellery from the east. The trees on the mountainsides were changing into autumn tones and the air was crisp.

The tour continued along the mountain road, passing several areas where washouts from the rush of waters had brought down mountains of gravel and rock, almost burying a village. Though the water level in the stony river beds was now low, the work of the water could be seen on the wide cut-away banks. The mountains now had no trees and were steep. The view from the bus to the drop below was sobering; much work was underway to direct water flow below the roads.

Our lunch stop was in a pleasant local restaurant where hinkaali, a mincemeat-filled dumpling boiled in stock, was the specialty. The kitchen was nearby and we saw them being made. The pastry was rolled out into small disks, filling added, pinched deftly into little pockets, boiled and then served hot. One was expected to pop them in the mouth and let the juices flow. About 4-6 hinkaali were enough.

The scenery became stark and treeless as we climbed, the road narrowing as well. This was the trans-Caucasus highway traversing Georgia from west to east. Extensive work was being done, with avalanche tunnels being built and the roads widened. Along one section of the roadside, a reddish, caked foamy rock appeared due to a spring bringing up underground iron salts; another was white, presumably limestone. There were obvious areas where landslip had occurred and now snow could be seen on the mountain tops. The road was narrow enough but we had to negotiate a herd of cattle as well. We saw a church perched high above a village in the valley and then it became misty as we descended into the town of Gidauri.

Our real adventure began when we organized our group into 4-wheel drive vehicles. They were new and looked like they could handle the snow country. We headed off on a stony windy road through the town of Stepantsminda, negotiating gullies and washouts, a thrill a minute as the driver pushed the car to the limit, uphill. The stone houses had a plot of ground for vegetables, sometimes a cow being tended, as we tore through their quiet space. I recognized silver grey leaved bushes with yellow berries, the sea buckthorn, growing wild. A rocky cemetery was off to one side in a field.

Finally we were truly high in the Caucasus. We climbed a grassy slope to a church, Gergeti Trinity, to take in the view of Mount Kazberg, 5033m above sea level. I pitied the village church goers who had to climb this way. In the past it was a sanctuary sought by monks from raiders; they certainly had an unassailable position, with a 360° degree view. Later, this road became the route taken by warring armies. The view was spectacular, the air crisp. Not a tree in sight, just steep slopes and snow-covered peaks. It was snowing on Mt Kazberg and its cone shaped peak was left to the imagination, though it gave a sneak peek through the clouds. Back-packers set out for the long walk, presumably to the glacier below the peak.

An inaccessible sacred cave, Bethlehem, sits high on a vertical cliff on the way to Mt Kazberg. A hunter discovered the opening about 60 years ago. Although stories about its existence had been known for a long time, they had been forgotten since no-one had been able to reach it. Inside was an altar covered with sacred objects and a church flag from the 7th century. We were told that the objects are on view in the village museum. The mountain itself is named after the Georgian writer A. Kazberg (1848-1893) who had lived in the village. The guide told us that the writers Pushkin, Lermontov and Tolstoy all came to visit the region in the 19th century.

From this height the town itself was but a scattering of specks far below. Then it was the trip downhill in the 4-wheel drive, very fast, through ditches and over exposed slabs of alpine rock. A car bearing Russian plates tore past on the inside, half its wheels on the bushy terrain, half in the gutter. Our driver hung sternly onto the wheel; he was a good driver, a true mountain man, when all the jolts were done. There were times when we held our breath.

We took the road back to Tbilisi, negotiating shepherds with their flocks and a large Georgian sheepdog for company, and to keep the wolves away at night. We were told that the shepherds milk the sheep in the fields and store the milk in a sheepskin bag, hanging it on a tree for about a month; the next shepherd collects it and makes a kind of Gouda cheese.

Next day as we headed out, we passed a used car sales yard stretching for acres and acres. After the fall of the Soviet Union second-hand cars were a valued commodity in all former Soviet states. Some were trade-ins from the West and others were said to be stolen property. Another roadside challenge was stalls selling fruit pastes as long, sausage-like strands, hung in the air. They may have tasted fine but I couldn’t help thinking of the flies, though I didn’t see any; perhaps it is an Australian fear. I had seen children go for these as a treat in the towns. Domestic gas lines were unique too; they bent up over a drive making an upside-down U and ran along the fence line, all painted yellow. Corn or kukkuroos was plentiful here.

This time we were heading for the Kakhetia region, famous for vineyards for several thousand years. About 40 kinds of grapes are used in viticulture. We visited the Alaverdi Monastery and observed the remnants of a large wine jar half submerged among the ruins, signifying this old tradition of wine making. Alaverdi wines were available in Estonia and we enjoyed the red a number of times with our meals. There was a pleasant aroma about the vineyard as we were taken for a tour along part of an 8 km long tunnel among the vats. During Soviet times the tunnel was used as a bomb shelter; today this part of the vineyard was highly commercialized and well presented. Wine was traditionally drunk from a cleaned and polished horn. Horns came in different sizes; it had to be emptied in one gulp, as it cannot be laid down on the table without spilling.

At another vineyard, the grapevines were growing vertically as 2 m stalks laden with bunches of red grapes. We were given a basket and invited to pick. Then the grapes, stalks and all, were pressed by volunteers from our group wearing high rubber boots.  The juice flowed straight into a huge earthenware vessel, sealed internally with beeswax and buried in the ground. A timber lid was sealed on top.

In our lunch area we stepped over these large buried lids. The must was left in until the final separation; this was the traditional method for which Georgian wines are famous. The makers were seeking to have the Georgian method given an appellation so it could be marketed in the EU. Again we were treated to some Georgian singing, a feast of wonderful vegetable dishes and wine, of course.

It was raining as we took a short trip to the ancient royal residence of Rustavi to visit a museum and art gallery. This was a pleasant, quiet town; people were leaving church to buy cakes. Various castles of the early Georgian kings were situated among the surrounding hills. Some writings suggest that Alexander the Great passed through here though no records say he ever invaded Georgia. During the time of King Vakhtang I Gorasali (Georgian) in the 5th century, Rustavi, close to Tbilisi, was an important political centre. Archeological finds of important ancient buildings have been uncovered and we saw a number of the artefacts in the museum, along with jewellery and interesting art work of famous Georgian artists. The Crusaders brought depictions of St George and the Dragon, visible in the artwork of various churches, from Cappadocia via the iconography of the Byzantine church. It actually has nothing to do with Georgia. Georgians tell the following legend: When God apportioned the earth to all its peoples, the Georgians arrived late. The Lord asked them to explain their lateness. Their reply was they had stopped on the way to drink and raise a glass in praise of Him. God was pleased with this reply and so gave them the part He was reserving for himself.

Next day was bright and sunny as we visited the Jvari Monastery on top of a rocky outcrop where the Mtkvari and Aragvi Rivers meet, overlooking the town of Mtskheta, believed to be one of the oldest towns of continuous habitation. Mtskheta became the capital after Colchis in ancient times. A pleasant quiet street led up to the visitors’ sites; inner courtyards had a cool grapevine shelter where grapes were grown as a canopy. The monastery’s significance was related to St Nino, who converted the pagan king to Christianity in the early 4th century. The Jvari Monastery was built in the late 500s on the site where the original wooden cross was erected over a pagan temple when the conversion took place. Pilgrims visit this site and since Georgia’s independence, it is in active religious use. There was a huge cross in the middle of the church and many iconic frescoes. It was in need of restoration. From the mountain top there was a spectacular view of the town and river below; we were very high up and the slope was very steep. The separate Svetitskhoveli Cathedral was built in the 11th century and of special interest were inscriptions in the early Georgian alphabet. A defensive wall of brick and stone with military positions was built later (1787) as well as towers.

According to the traditional story a Georgian Jew, Elias, bought Jesus’ crucifixion robe from the Roman soldier at Golgotha and returned to Georgia. He gave it to his sister, Sidonia, who touched it and was so overcome with emotion that she died. The robe remained in her grasp, unable to be removed and Sidonia was buried with it. When a cedar tree grew from the grave, it was chopped down and St Nino had seven pillars made from it for the church built on the spot. The seventh pillar rose by itself into the air, as if by magic, returning only after St Nino prayed all night. It was also said to have produced a healing liquid. An icon portraying this event was on one of the pillars, with an angel lifting the pillar. St Nino was in the foreground and King Mirian and Queen Nana were to the right and left. The royals adopted Christianity as the state religion in the year 317. St Nino’s grave site was inside the church.

As we descended back into the valley we saw streets of modern villas/apartments and then came upon an area of small individual houses, which, we were told, were the settlements of several hundred thousand refugees from Ossetia, the result of the war with Russia. As we neared Gori, the forest areas were scarred and bare of trees as a result of fire fights during the 2008 war. Georgia does not recognize the Russian occupation of South Ossetia and Abkhazia. The road signs pointed to Sukhum, now in Russia. Large trucks on the road from Sukhum, heading south, were laden with new cars and trucks, presumably to the ports in Georgia.

Sukhum has an Estonian connection; Estonian farmers settled near this town towards the end of the 19th century. They sought land to farm and travelled for more than 3 months across Russia. The undertaking was not easy and on arrival they had to build their own houses and establish farms. It was not a peaceful time to relocate, as the Crimean War had just ended with Russia's defeat.  Tribal skirmishes occurred in these parts for some time. Indeed, Russia had been keen to re-populate this territory after the war.

There were difficulties in obtaining seeds for crops, farming tools and even suitable land. Some Estonians went to Abhkasia, where they established Salme and Sulev villages. Wild mulberries, black grapes, pear and bay trees grew on the hillsides. Near Sukhum they settled in Upper and Lower Linda (est 1884) villages, growing tea and tobacco. There were some 200 - 250 inhabitants in these settlements at the end of the 19th century. They continued with their Estonian culture, including choirs, and built Estonian language schools. Since the period of Sovietisation, the language has been lost to a large extent. Now this area was within Russian borders and since the recent war, it was not considered safe for tourists.

 Our bus pulled up at Stalin’s museum in Gori. We were shown the room in the rented house where he was born, and the cobbler’s shop in the basement where his father apparently worked. Peering through the dirty glass window, we saw a few memorabilia of a sparse existence. The museum had an extensive display of Stalin's life history, photographs of the various guises he adopted, his private train and railway carriage. I was amused to see he had a WC whereas even now, when one travels in Russia, most toilet facilities are extraordinarily primitive. I also recalled the word pabeross, the cigarettes that had a hollow pasteboard filter and the tobacco tucked in at the other end. Stalin’s leftover smokes were on his desk. The souvenir shop sold all kinds of bottle openers, playing cards, even wine with Stalin’s name on it.  ‘Kitsch’ could only describe it. The museum talk by the local guide was given in Russian, so my friend and I missed out again, though our own guide did some quick translating. ‘Sensitive’ was relevant here because in 1944, Estonia was occupied by the Red Army and became part of the Soviet Union so most of tour group had lived under Stalin’s regime. The posters told a thorough story of the terror he had created; it was very familiar to our tour group.

Our next challenge was a visit to a cave settlement/town, Uplistsikhe, high on a mountain on the banks of the Mtkvari River, on the route of the Silk Road just out of Gori. Here, former trade came from the Byzantine and Persia via the Caspian Sea. Rooms, channels for wastewater and shelving had been cut out of the bare rock of the monolith. Traces of habitation date from the Iron Age to the Middle Ages. It lost its importance after Christianisation but was again a strategic outpost in the Muslim conquest of Tbilisi in the 8th and 9th centuries. It was abandoned after Mongol raids in the 14th century.

We climbed an iron ladder to view part of the 8 hectares of caves with their vaulted ceilings and carved imitation logs in the rock. Some were used for ceremonial purposes; one was an apothecary with shelves for bottles. Food was cooked and brought to the refectory by the people living below the cave complex. Though now quite bare, there were designated areas for workshops, a wine cellar, storerooms, teaching rooms, a sauna, a place to care for the sick, a treasury, a sewerage system of drains and a large cistern dug into a tunnel to store water. It was hard to visualise that several thousand people once had lived here. Queen Tamar, who also stayed here, was a powerful Queen, even called King, who ruled from 1184-1213. This was Georgia’s Golden Age; Queen Tamar consolidated the empire with her armies. It lasted until the arrival of the Mongols a couple of decades after her death. She married the Rus’ prince Yuri, divorced and expelled him, defeating his several coup attempts. With her second consort, she had two children who continued the dynasty. Queen Tamar encouraged the arts and was a popular and wise ruler, canonised by the Georgian Orthodox Church as the Holy Righteous King Tamar. During her reign, eight Georgian Orthodox monasteries were established in Jerusalem. Her burial site is unknown, according to her wishes, as she did not want her grave desecrated.

Although the treasures from this site have been removed, they are to be found in national museums along with finds from Vardzia, another cave town site, originally dug out in 1156.

Parts of the climb were quite steep and challenging as the rock surface had worn smooth, requiring a helping hand for me, at least, to take some of the thrill out of the adventure. The site was understandably out of bounds in wet weather. We could identify narrow pathways or ‘streets’, stairs and staircases. A severe earthquake damaged parts of the area in 1920. Nearby was a 9th-10th century brick and stone church/monastery. It was clear at every turn in Georgia that we were in a Christian country, though minorities of other religions were well accepted. We descended the complex, Uplsitsikhe, which means, ‘God’s fort’, via a tunnel and stairs to the street. I was very grateful when someone shone their smart phone torchlight on the steps as it was pitch black for a great part of the way.

Considering the thousands of years of wars, conquests and people who traversed this area, it was the most unusual historic site I have ever visited. It immediately reminded me of the caves in Cappadocia, once used by early Christians. In some ways it also reminded me of the Native Americans who built their homes high up in the mesas in New Mexico and Arizona.

A mountainous drive took us through autumn coloured forests, then conifers and snow sprinkled spruce to a ski resort in a picturesque hollow, Bakuriani, for the night. I woke to a sunny morning and a snow-peaked view of the Caucasus on my birthday. Quite exhilarating! There were many chalets to accommodate patrons of the snow season. Even in summer, the weather here was mild and pleasant. Our guide told us brown bears, lynxes, leopards, wolves, jackals and antelope lived in the woods of Georgia. And that the true Georgian has red hair and blue eyes! In recent human genome studies, it appears that the introduction of these traits to Europe came from this general geographic location.

Bakuriani, at an altitude of 1700m together with the resort of Borjomi, made an unsuccessful bid for the 2014 Winter Olympics. The Caucasus mountain range extends for 1200 km from the Black Sea to the Caspian Sea, forming a natural boundary between Europe and Asia. After breakfast we enjoyed a walk in the brisk fresh air. The slopes were created by volcanic lava flow from a nearby volcano. Not far away was the main gas pipeline from Baku, which reminded us how close we were now to the eastern border with Azerbaijan and the Caspian Sea. It ran to the Black Sea port of Batumi where we had seen the oil terminals; a second gas line ran further south.

 Down the road again, we enjoyed the sunlight on the coloured leafy forest as we neared the spa town of Borjomi. Bottled Borjomi mineral water is well-known. A large national park lies in the centre of Georgia, occupying about 1% of the country.  Borjomi is a curative spa retreat with a number of palaces, villas and hotels in 19th century architecture, with lacework verandahs in pastel colours. The Romanovs even had a palace here and a small gauge railway line connected it to the ski fields at Bakuriani. It became known as 'the pearl of the Caucasus’ with many fine timber buildings, stone work near the river and several attractive pedestrian bridges. We had to dodge excavations in the main street as we headed towards the spring outlet. Water poured down the rocky escarpment alongside the river that ran through the town. The main spring produced a rusty coloured trace on the works under view. The water was pumped to the mineral water works nearby to remove some of the minerals and make it palatable. A large swimming complex was nearby and the grounds were well maintained.

In the Middle Ages, Borjomi was at a major crossroads and many forts were erected in the hills for defence. During Soviet occupation the aristocratic properties were confiscated and turned into spas for the Soviet elite. Many were now being restored to attract modern tourists.

It was a long drive back to Batumi and our flight home. We stopped for pottery by the roadside, as well as sweet bread to snack on. Some of the pots were like the casserole dishes we had seen being used to serve meat and vegetable dishes. Others were decorative, for the garden and of course, small and large jars.

Our bus parked by the sea in Batumi and we found a restaurant where we were served a delicious casserole, some wine, and drank a toast to our adventure. After a stroll along the promenade to see the changing water fountain displays once again, it was goodbye to Georgia.