Javakheti Part 1: Axalkalaki and the drive to Mir a Shkhani

Many apologies for such a late post about something that happened 3+ weeks ago! I returned from the Black Sea late Wednesday and have been busy getting ready for my trip home (Tuesday morning!) since.

Javakheti is a province of Georgia southwest of Tbilisi. It borders Turkey to the southwest and Armenia to the southeast, and not so coincidentally, it is the home to a significant Armenian population—in fact, they make up the majority of the population. There is much tension between the ethnic Armenians and Georgians in Javakheti and there is even a movement to break away from Georgia. Like Abkhazia, a region of Georgia which successfully broke away in the early 90s (though it is not recognized by any country in the world except Russia), the separatist feelings are supported by Russia. A large Russian military base in the province’s capital Axalkalaki until recently employed ~40,000 Armenians—one can see why the Armenians like the Russians. Now that the base is closing, who knows what will transpire.

Javakheti is also home to some of the most beautiful, untouched terrain in Georgia. It is mountainous, with some peaks above 10,000 feet, in some parts and in others it is steppe. For the most part, Javakheti is treeless, but it was not always so. Several centuries ago, the whole area was heavily forested until one of Georgia’s many invaders set fire to the forest. It burned for seven years and hasn’t grown back since. See my pictures (link in side bar) for a better idea of what Javakheti looks like.

The bishop of Javakheti is Metropolitan Nikoloz, Fr. Theodore’s friend and whom he serves liturgy with, and he is also partly responsible for bringing Derek and me to Georgia. For the past several years now, Metropolitan Nikoloz has organized youth camps in Javakheti. At first they were aimed at university students but have been expanded to include even younger children. Derek and I were to join the university-aged camp which was located in a small village called Mir a Shkhani more than an hour away from Axalkalaki.

We departed from Tbilisi for the Axalkalaki on Tuesday, July 31st, our party consisting of Fr. Theodore, myself, Derek, Loyal (the photographer), and Nino (the film-history student). The drive up was relatively uneventful—we were stopped a couple of times by herds of cattle meandering across the road, an event which Loyal photographed by precariously leaning out the window—and gave me a chance to appreciate the changing scenery. We stopped to eat near Borjomi, a town famous for its healing waters (Stalin, a Georgian and a hypochondriac, made trips there when he could), before continuing on to Axalkalaki.

We arrived after nightfall at Metropolitan Nikoloz’s to find the mid-teens’ camp watching a Finnish film in the bishop’s backyard. Once the film was over, we were briefly introduced before being given a tour of the bishop’s house. It is more a museum than a house, which is exactly what the bishop wants—he has been collecting artifacts, fossils, stuffed animals, paintings, etc… for the past couple of years and has sought advice from museum curators on how to best display his collection. It being late in addition to our being exhausted from the drive up, we didn’t stay long. Derek and I spent the night in a hotel as the Residence (a house next to the cathedral where all the kids were staying) was full.

The next day was the last day for the mid-teens and they left for Tbilisi in the early afternoon. Two of them, Keti and Nestan, stayed behind as they would be joining the university camp with Derek and me and would be traveling with us to the camp. Keti is a 15 year-old girl who has been living in Paris for the past few years and comes home to Georgia as often as she can. Nestan, or “Nes,” has lived in Tbilisi all her life and just graduated from high school. Both girls know a decent amount of English, and Nes, noticing that I was eager to learn more Georgian, was my teacher for the time she was at the camp (only 5 days).

The drive to Mir a Shkhani is a beautiful one rich with history. We first stopped at an ancient castle several centuries old. There, Loyal had a little photo-shoot. Since meeting Loyal and seeing him at work, I have gained a greater interest in photography. As I followed him around in the ruins, I learned some of the basics of photography. I also saw the lengths to which a photographer will go to get a perfect shot, which in this case meant Loyal lying on his back in cow dung to photograph the opening in the tower above.

Next stop was a stop to drink spring water near Vardzia, the ancient cave-city founded in the 12th century by Queen Tamar. At its height, over 700 people (mostly monks) lived in this city which had over 6,000 rooms. In the 13th century, a large earthquake sheered more than 2/3 of the city away from the mountain side. Today, we can see the rooms exposed by the earthquake, but before the earthquake, one would have had to look hard to see any sign of a cave complex.

Just a few miles away is the village of Mir a Shkhani where we headed next… more about my time there in part 2.

Off to the Black Sea

I apologize for not posting about my time in Javakheti. Now, I'm off to the coastal town of Kobuleti with some of my friends from the trip to Javakheti. Keep your fingers crossed for easy internet access there...

I'm Back

I've just returned from Javakheti and am exhausted (had to get up at 5), so I won't give a lengthy post just yet. But I'll tell you that my time there was the best part of my trip so far.

Wrapping up, Bodbe take 2

On Monday I leave Tbilisi, where I've been since my arrival in Georgia, for the province of Javakheti. While I've greatly enjoyed living in Tbilisi, I'm looking forward to a change of pace. Instead of crowds of people, I'll be met with herds of sheep shepherded by Azeris. I'll also not have access to the internet, so this may be my last post for a while.

The end of our stay at Gudushauri ended uneventfully and it was clear that we left at the right time as there seemed to be less to do. August is the vacation month in Georgia, so by the end of July, most all of the doctors had left except for those required to attend to emergencies. Besides emergency operations, there have been few surgeries in the general surgery department for us to observe this last week. Wanting to see as many operations as possible, we observed surgeries from other departments. The most interesting case was a neurosurgery operation involving a patient who had suffered massive trauma to his head 3 years ago causing part of his skull to go missing and which didn't grow back. The operation was an attempt to "plug the hole" so to speak. After removing pieces of broken skull from the original accident, the neurosurgeon molded what looked like pink silly putty over the hole and let it dry. Once dry, the "silly putty" was white and hard as bone. Finally, the scalp was carefully stitched back together over the patching.

I'll miss Ghudushauri--all its doctors, nurses, and patients, and even the security guards. I'll miss the surprise parties where we found ourselves drinking to the health of a nurse, the half-Georgian, half-English conversations I had with the doctors about everything from Russian literature to soccer, the nights spent on duty with the medical students... the list goes on. I'll especially miss the patients that stayed for several weeks (they had serious problems), for we really brightened their days with our simple conversations and cheerful attitudes. We said good-bye and promised that we would come back one day (a real possibility...).

Friday was also the last day of our language lessons. I've really enjoyed learning Georgian and both my teachers, Inga and Nana, really pushed me hard to learn as much as I could in 4 weeks time. What we covered (i.e. Beginning Georgian) in 4 weeks is usually taught over several months. As a treat (?), Nana showed us the first lesson of the Intermediate Georgian program. It was a bit humbling, to say the least: we were introduced to a new verb system, one completely opposite from the one we had just learned, and infinitely more complicated.

Today (Saturday), our teacher Nana again took Derek and me out for a day trip with her friends. This time, we went to Bodbe monastery and springs. Derek and I had already been to the springs during our first week in Georgia, but not the monastery as we arrived too early then. Thankfully, fewer people went on this trip, so instead of 18 people crammed into the van, we had only 13. We were joined by some new faces this time, too, including a very pleasant woman by the name of Maia. Maia speaks excellent English, the reason for which we soon discovered: she has been living in London for the past 14 years. Maia is quite animated and she made the 1.5 hour marshrutka ride enjoyable with her lively songs and conversations.

Bodbe monastery is a pilgrimage site for St. Nino's tomb resides in one of the churches. I hope to upload pictures of the church soon, which will give you a better idea of what the place looks like. St. Nino's body lies beneath a marble slab (Georgians don't exhume their saints) next to the altar.

Next, we went to the springs. The last time Derek and I were there, it was early in the morning and no one was there. This time, the early afternoon, there were dozens. As we had come like everyone else to the springs to plunge ourselves into the cold water, we had to wait for over an hour before our turn. It was cold as I expected, but very refreshing, especially on such a hot day.

As with our last trip with Nana's party, we stopped at a restaurant on our way back. While waiting for the food to be served, I wandered about to take some pictures. On my way back to the table, however, I was beckoned by three men at another table. Not wishing to refuse Georgian hospitality (though I probably should have...), I joined them and was immediately handed a glass of wine. My Georgian being good enough to make out basic sentences, I answered their questions and explained to them who I was, where I was from, and what I was doing in Georgia. The first toast they made was to the good Americans, and the friendship between the two peoples. They mentioned the fact that Georgia has troops in Iraq as part of the coalition. The second toast (not 2 minutes after the first) was to the hope for good politics between Georgia and America. The third toast (again, not 2 minutes after the second) was to me, for expressing a love for Georgia and for being able to speak the language (as poorly as I did). I thought I was safe because we had drained the pitcher of wine with the third toast, but I should have known better when the ordered another one. Fortunately, Maia realized my absence and came to my rescue just before the next toast. After much sweet-talking, she pulled me away.

I finished dinner with my group, though I passed on more wine. On my way back to the Marshrutka, I was pulled aside by one of the three men I had drank with. He was very proud (and very drunk) of his battered jeep and had me take a picture of him with it and then me with it. We continued to talk and he invited me to come to his village for a supra (Georgian feast), writing his address on a scrap of paper. He said he had a 16 year old son who I would make good friends with. The marshrutka pulling away, I hastily said goodbye, promising to visit him if I ever came to his town...

We made it back to Tbilisi in record time, thanks to our speedy and skilled driver, stopping only to buy some delicious local cheese.

Mtskheta

Just 15 miles outside of Tbilisi lies Georgia’s ancient capital, Mtskheta. We had been meaning to go there for the longest time, yet we kept putting it off because of its proximity to Tbilisi. But as we are leaving Tbilisi this coming Monday, we finally made the trip on Wednesday.

In addition to our usual crew of Fr. Theodore, Derek, and me, we were joined by Loyal and Nino. Nino is a film history student in Moscow and had returned to Tbilisi for summer vacation. She speaks very good English and is an invaluable source of knowledge of Georgian history. Loyal is a photography grad student from Missouri State University who met Fr. Theodore at a photo exhibition a couple of years ago, and they have been good friends ever since. Almost on a whim, Fr. Theodore a few weeks ago invited Loyal, who’s never been to Georgia, to come to Georgia for two weeks. The purpose of his visit is to help Fr. Theodore set up his dark room and digital light room and also, of course, to photograph Georgia.

The first day I met Loyal he was still very jetlagged (he had quite a rough time getting here; you can read more about it on his blog) and kept dozing off during our brief meeting. But since that first meeting, Loyal has proved himself to be quite active and alive, especially when a camera is in his hands. I’ve never spent time with a photographer before, and I guess what struck me the most was just the sheer number of photographs he takes.

Our first destination was Jvari Monastery (and Church) set upon a hill overlooking the town of Mtskheta. Jvari means “cross” in Georgian, and it is so named because St. Nino, the Enlightener of Georgia, is believed to have planted a cross there in the 4^th century. The current structure was erected in the 6^th century and encloses the foundation of the original cross planted by St. Nino. For a better description of what the church looks like both inside and out, see my photos. Fr. Theodore showed us a monk’s cell carved into the hillside beneath the church. Carefully, lest we fall off the hillside, we crawled into the dark, cool chamber which measured no more than 10 feet by 4 feet by 4 feet high.

Next, we visited Sveti-Tskhoveli (Church of the life-giving pillar) Cathedral in Mtskheta. The current structure was completed in the early 11^th century, but the history of the site dates back to the 1^st century. A Georgian Jew from Mtskheta named Elias was in Jerusalem at the time of Jesus’ crucifixion and was converted. He bought Jesus’ robe from a Roman soldier and brought it back to Mtskheta. When his sister Sidonia touched the robe, she instantly died, but the robe could not be removed from her grasp so she was buried with it. From her grave grew a magnificent Lebanese Cedar. In the 4^th century, this cedar was chopped down to construct the first Christian church in Georgia. Seven pillars were fashioned from the tree, but the seventh pillar magically rose into the air and it was only by St. Nino’s incessant praying that it was brought back to the ground. Since then, this pillar, its site still marked within the cathedral, has been known to work miracles—thus the name “Church of the Life-Giving Pillar.”

Our third stop was at yet another ancient church: Samtavro monastery. Like Sveti-Tskhoveli, Samtavro holds great importance in the Georgian Church. It was here that St. Nino, by praying fervently underneath a bush that flourishes today, converted the pagan King and Queen of Georgia, and in doing so, all of Georgia. A cemetery for monastics forms part of the monastery complex. Most of the graves are only marked by a slab of stone, but one stands out. It is tended to constantly by the nuns who till the black, fertile soil above the grave so often that it’s almost like sand. The grave is that of a simple priest who died in the mid-90s. Fr. Theodore describes him as a “fool for Christ,” who once burned the ominous portrait of Lenin in Tbilisi’s main square, laughing the whole time. Many cases of miraculous healings have been attributed to him since his death, and visitors to his grave can ask to be anointed by oil from the lamp that burns constantly over his grave.

We finished the day with a dinner at a restaurant by the Mtkvari river. In addition to our typical Georgian meal, we were treated with barbecued sturgeon and sturgeon caviar. A delicacy, to the least, as it’s illegal to fish sturgeon out of the Caspian Sea, where our fish most likely came from…

Next post coming soon about wrapping up in Tbilisi.

Mtskheta--coming soon.

No, I haven't forgotten about this blog. On Monday, I leave Tbilisi for a couple of weeks, so things are wrapping up here. Yesterday, we went to the ancient capital of Georgia, Mtskheta, just a few miles outside of Tbilisi. I took many photos which I hope to post sometime soon. Keep checking in the next few days for a new post.

Gergeti

For the past couple of weeks, Derek and I have been following a pretty routine schedule spending time at the hospital, having language lessons, spending time with friends, and going to church on the weekends. While I don't mind being busy, our schedule has required us to stay in Tbilisi. So, when Nana, one of our Georgian teachers, asked if we would be interested in leaving the city with her on a trip she was organizing with her friends, we replied in the affirmative.

The trip was to be a pilgrimage to Gergeti Sameba Church (Translation: Gergeti (name of nearby town) Trinity Church), a church built in the 14th century high up in the Caucasus, near Mt. Kazbegi, at an elevation of 2,400 meters (7,850 ft). The feast is known as Gergetoba, or the "Day of Gergeti," a sort of homecoming. As it would be the feast day and draw hundreds, if not thousands, of people to the church, Nana personally hired a Marshrutka (van) to leave at around 5 am on Monday to make the 3 hour drive and still give us time to get to the church before the crowds would.

I woke up to my alarm at 4:45 and quickly got dressed and ready, waiting for Nana's call to tell us to wait outside for the marshrutka. She did call us, but it was to tell us that the driver hadn't shown up and that he wasn't answering his phone. She apologized and said that it looked like the trip would have to be canceled. Disappointed, Derek and I began to explore other options of getting to Gergeti, but at 5:45, Nana called again with good news: the driver was here, having apparently overslept. 5 minutes later, the marshrutka stopped in front of our apartment and we climbed aboard. Shortly thereafter, we picked up the rest of our group, for a total of 18 people including the driver crammed into a van that had seats (after modification) for 16.

Tired, I slept for most of the drive until we reached the mountains. What awoke me was the cold. Tbilisi had been quite hot, with highs well into the 80s, yet here we were, less than 100 miles away and it was in the 40s. Snowpacks near the road were melting and feeding roaring creeks. At times the driver had to slow to a crawl because the road had disintegrated or because a herd of cattle was crossing the road (or being driven down the road by an old lady with a switch, in some cases). We briefly stopped in a small town before beginning our final ascent (by marshrutka, anyway) so that the driver could check his engine, and while waiting, I saw a sow roaming the street with one of her piglets.

The marshrutka driver parked at a point where the road became to steep for him to continue driving confidently. From the marshrutka, I could see Gergeti Sameba way up at the top of the ridge--it was going to be a long hike. And it had started to rain. After trekking for an hour up muddy, steep hills and trying to avoid being run over by people who though that their cars could make it up the hill, I finally reached the top of the ridge. I felt as though I had been transported to another world. Up here, I was surrounded by a mist so thick that I could not see where I had come from. In the distance I could see Gergeti Sameba, it too, fading in and out of visibility. As I made my final ascent, I heard the church bells ringing, signaling the beginning of Liturgy.

The church is surrounded by a wall, not that it really needed any defenses being high up in the mountains, which can only be entered through the bell tower. I ducked under the low stone archway and was greeted by a mob of people crowded near the entrance to the church. I'd experienced Georgian mobs before and I knew I was about to experience some uncomfortable squeezing (had the marshrutka driver woken up when he should have...). The flow of people in and out of the church was being controlled by three stocky altar boys who basically played the role of bouncers. We pushed to get in, and they pushed with all their might back, straining against the stone door frame. Whenever a few people left the church, they let a few people in. So, even though I was within 10 feet of the entrance, it took me more than an hour (!!!) to get into the church; the last 10 feet took longer than the hike up the mountain. My Georgian teacher, Nana, despite reaching the church after I did, wedged her way into the church in fewer than 30 minutes--she wasn't afraid to push people out of her way and her smaller size helped.

I was physically drained from both the hike and the pushing by the time I made it into the church. It was no less crowded inside the church than outside, but now we were indoors and the body heat from the hundreds of people made it quite stifling. I admired the frescos as best as I could from the rear of the church and under poor lighting (see pictures). Patriarch Ilia was serving liturgy which meant that the service would last at least 4 hours. After an hour had passed, I began to feel queasy from the heat, exhaustion from the hike and little sleep, and from fasting (I was planning to take communion). Knowing it wiser to leave than risk fainting, or worse, vomiting over all the people crowded around me, I left. Fortunately, getting out is much easier than getting in and soon I was breathing fresh air. It had started to sleet. I found some of Nana's friends and we descended the mountain together.

We shared food (khachapuri, corn bread, cucumber, fruit, cheese, chicken...) while we waited for the rest of the party to make the descent. By the time they arrived, I was already quite full yet our first stop on our way back was a khinkali (dumpling) restaurant. Nana had brought 5 liters of wine and someone else in the group had brought another 2. We sat down at a long table already occupied by 2 men from Hungary who were well on their way to getting drunk with bottles of vodka and beer before them. They asked me if I was from Tajikistan (I've heard many guesses before, but never Tajikistan!), which was probably a good guess considering our location. Our khinkali arrived, but we were seriously disappointed: this region of Georgia is considered the birthplace of khinkali yet what we were served was awful. We said goodbye to the Hungarians, by now almost oblivious to their surroundings, packed our wine, and headed off to a restaurant an hour away that was sure to serve us good khinkali.

And we weren't disappointed this time. We ate and ate and drank and drank for the longest time until I began to feel sick again. But before I did, we had finished the wine (all 7 liters), and with no more wine, there was no more reason to hang about. We all piled back into the marshrutka and merrily continued on our way. We made one stop at a castle and church on the banks of the Ananuri Reservoir. The reservoir was created during the Soviet period to generate electricity and provide a source of drinking water for Tbilisi. Unfortunately, a village was drowned to make this reservoir, and if the water level were at maximum, the castle and church would also have been drowned. You can see pictures of the castle and church as well as all the pictures from this trip at my flickr site (link in side bar).