Tbilisi - If you’re looking to be spa-pampered or force-fed foie gras on your next holiday, forget going to Georgia. If, however, you’re willing to forsake luxury and extravagance in favour of unbelievable scenery, delicious down-home food and the feeling of tweaking Vladimir Putin’s nose, then this East European state is a great choice for a rollicking, cost-effective adventure.
A self-drive holiday is not an option, though: cows have de facto right of way on just about all roads (even so-called highways) and Georgian drivers are so manic they’d frighten the hell out of the most hardened Soshanguve taxi-driver.
Then again, that’s half of the fun.
The saying goes that you haven’t lived till you’ve nearly died … and if you’ve sat in the front seat of a labouring Mercedes Sprinter when your driver overtakes a convoy of pantechnicons on a blind rise with a kilometre-deep chasm on one side of the road, then life has a sweetness the uninitiated will never know.
It seems to work and on a 10-day visit during which our group traversed the country back and forth from one border to another, we came across remarkably few wrecks other than those that seem to have been left beside the road the last time the Russians invaded.
That was in 2008, by the way and two provinces, South Ossetia and Abkhazia, are out of bounds for tourists (and most Georgians).
The Georgian countryside, nonetheless, is littered with scrapyards, though I think this is testament to Soviet-era automotive engineering incompetence rather than suicidal driving practices.
That just about deals with the negatives of the country, with the exception of the architecture which is a real mixed bag: everything before the Soviets started exercising their influence is gorgeous and everything since is hideous.
Even the building that has taken place since the Soviets finally pulled out of the country and independence was realised on Christmas Day 1991 is best described as Post-Apocalyptic East German.
Once more it’s largely irrelevant because the monstrousness of the highrise apartment buildings is more than compensated for by the myriad stone chapels, churches, cathedrals, monasteries and castles that dot the landscape.
There’s also an interesting post-Soviet architectural anachronism – all Georgian police stations are constructed largely of glass to ensure citizens need not fear what goes on inside. It’s transparency in a real sense.
Mosques and synagogues stand alongside Christian – Georgia was one of the first countries in the world to officially adopt Christianity – edifices as testament to the religious tolerance upon which Georgians pride themselves.
This is partly due to the fact that Georgia is pretty sparsely populated. It has a total population of just under 5 million people, a third of whom live in the capital Tbilisi, founded by king Vakhtang “The Wolf’s Head” Gorgasali in the fifth century AD.
There is one historical fact that has direct relevance to the present: the country has one of the oldest wine-making cultures in the world, dating back over 8 000 years.
Some fine brandies are produced as is a particularly lethal witblits-like spirit called chacha. Local beers are very good, too.
Georgians drink like fish, a trait they share with their Russian neighbours (just about the only thing they have in common). There is little love lost between Russians and Georgians despite their geographical proximity and about 70 years of shared history.
For one thing, one of Georgia’s most infamous sons, Joseph Stalin, thrust his countrymen (despite their relatively small population) into the forefront of the fight against Nazi Germany in World War II, with the result that half of the 700 000 men who went off to fight did not return.
Another Georgian, Lavrentiy Beria, was the head of Stalin’s secret police. Despite Stalin’s brutality, he maintains a peculiar popularity among some of the older sectors of the population. I found coffee mugs bearing his likeness outside Svetitskhoveli Cathedral at Mtskheta (one of Georgia’s holiest spots), pinned to the wall where he could oversee the work of a tinsmith in Sighnaghi and splodged on canvas at the open-air art and crafts market in Tbilisi.
Bouts of Russian-inspired “ethnic cleansing” as well as the virtual annexation of South Ossetia and Abkhazia have done nothing to bolster relations with Moscow and, consequently, Georgians display considerable sympathy for their Ukrainian cousins.
Astoundingly, the Georgians don’t seem over-perturbed about the situation and are concentrating on converting from a largely agrarian economy to one that is more tourism and service-orientated. The people are accordingly friendly and helpful, though only the younger generation is really capable of conducting a conversation in English.
Nowhere is this more apparent than in Tbilisi and the Black Sea resort city of Batumi.
Though Tbilisi has its own identity, there are elements of the capital that recall other, more glamorous, Western European cities. Like Edinburgh, there is a castle that dominates the skyline. The Mtkvari River, like the Seine in Paris or Berlin’s Spree, meanders through the historic part of the city – known as the Old Town – giving it charm and context.
A river cruise highlights the contrasts between ancient and modern Georgia. One minute you’re looking at the glitzy neo-classical parliament and the gold-topped Sameba Cathedral nearby, the next you’re sailing through the shadows cast on the water by the Metekhi Church and a statue of Vakhtang on horseback.
On the opposite bank is a heroes’ memorial inscribed with the names of more than 4 000 soldiers who died resisting repeated Russian incursions into Georgian territory between 1921 and as recently as 2008.
It isn’t nearly as grim as it sounds. In fact, it’s all rather thrilling since it explains, graphically, how Georgia’s history (perhaps like that of South Africa) is in the process of being written by those who will reap its fruits and consequences.
Georgians might be stoical, but they are far from being dour. Bucket-loads of booze and a superb local cuisine preclude that absolutely.
Georgians eat food with which most South Africans can identify: loads of meat… grilled over an open fire, fried, braised or plonked in pastry. Mutton, pork, goat and chicken are the staples, because good beef is horrendously expensive.
Then there is khachapuri, a leavened cheese bread without which no Georgian meal can be complete. There are a number of varieties that are served with entrees or main courses but the Adzharian version – a boat-shaped cholesterol bomb that’s topped with a nearly raw egg and huge dollop of butter – is a meal in itself.
The summer days in Tbilisi are damned hot, consequently, people come out after dark. Like the Spanish, they dine and carouse late into the night. Very few urban Georgians do early mornings.
There’s not much to keep one in Tbilisi for more than a few days and a good thing that is, too. The countryside is just too spectacularly beautiful to be missed, even though it means braving the roads.
Our intense schedule resulted in sensory overload but a number of places lodged in my memory: the Vardzia cave city, Lake Kvareli with its watersports and forest surroundings, beer and brandy in a rocking pub at Rabathi Castle, the tranquility of Ananuri Fortress, belting around quaint Sighnaghi in a battered motorcycle-sidecar driven by the town fireman, gagging on rotgut at an otherwise-respectable wine estate…
Two experiences stand out: The first was being one of the first people on the streets – fresh and clean after a pre-dawn shower – of the coastal city of Batumi and marvelling how all the chic restaurants in the central square could leave their chairs and tables outside overnight without their being stolen.
Batumi reminded me a lot of Namibia’s Swakopmund, except there were a lot more cats (a good thing) and the beaches were pebbled rather than sandy (not a good thing).
The undoubted highlight, however, was standing on a plain high in the Caucasus Mountains, looking down on the exposed Gergeti Trinity Church while a bitterly cold wind swept down from the permanently snow-shrouded slopes of Mount Kazbegi. At over 5 000m above sea level, it’s the third highest peak in Georgia and the place where, legend has it, Zeus chained Prometheus to a rock for eternity for stealing fire from the gods and giving it to mankind.
It was the day Malaysian Airlines flight MH17 was shot down over Ukraine, allegedly by Russian-supported rebels. The Russian border was just 10km away.
l Jim Freeman visited Georgia as a guest of the Global Georgia tourism and investment promotion agency. For more information, go to www.globalgeorgia.co.za
Saturday Star