All that changed when the Muckers were moved here a couple of years ago. Vince is being a military diplomat (a contradiction, surely!) and this is one of his postings for a while, together with Christine and the kids. They survived Berkeley - could anything be more crazy than that?
Well, yes. The first thing that struck me as Vince drove us home from the airport was the "innovative" approach Georgians have to their highway code. Things like road signs and traffic lights are taken as vague suggestions rather than rules. It seems that car owners have a choice: drive a massive, military-style truck and everyone stays out of your way, or opt for a cheap, tinfoil Lada, accept you're going to be hit, and be thankful that you're not losing much money per collision. Most car panels are a tasteful bodyfiller grey.
Tbilisi, where V&C live, is the capital, and at first glance is stuffed full of Byzantine churches. Seriously - they're everywhere. I've been asking which one holds Anglican services. The city is a very stark mix between European and Russian influence - there's architecture that looks classically French next to concrete behemoths that scream Soviet. There's a lot of modern building too. After the end of the USSR the new president wanted to show how open and uncorrupt everything was by constructing all government and police buildings out of glass. It's a nice sentiment that almost works.
But pre-dating all that, Stalin was born here! He's still a favourite son, and in the city of Gori they've preserved the house of his birth and built a big museum next to it. Vince took me, telling me it's Georgia's #1 tourist attraction. Perhaps that's true, but the three guides sitting around the solitary heater didn't seem to be expecting hoards. After twenty minutes wandering about Siberian-temperature galleries, trying to decipher Georgian and Russian to equal ineffect, an English-speaking guide turned up. She showed us and several Polish tourists around, although Vince has been here almost as many times as I've been to the Jelly Belly factory; he could probably have led the tour himself and with slightly less political spin. We were shown Stalin's early romantic poems and details of his time training to be a priest, the times he was unfairly arrested and his subsequent glorious revolutionary activities. Less was made of the 50-odd million killed under his rule, though there was some commentary about the fact Lenin didn't actually want him as his successor.
We drove back to Tbilisi, passing a road sign to Tehran on the way (1270 kms). Vince pointed out a green road sign stuck awkwardly in the middle of a field. This was the border of South Ossetia, and over the hill were several massive Russian "guard posts". Russia is currently working on peace agreements with several countries - they take a piece of this country, they take a piece of that one...
Back in Tbilisi, Vince had to go to work. It turns out that an arriving three-star General outranks me, even though he booked after me, so I was handed off to Christine. We drove to pick up Claire from her friend's house. Though Christine claims to have several heart attacks every time she negotiates Tbilisi roads, I think she secretly loves the rule-free approach to transport. I pointed this out to her, and she did confess to unconsciously pulling some "Georgian moves" on a recent trip to Washington DC. I remembered how she enjoyed offering vocal suggestions to other drivers in the Bay Area - Tbilisi presents her with unlimited opportunities to continue this humanitarian mission abroad.
Back home we left the kids with a babysitter, went out to a bar, and ended up in a fantastic Indian restaurant with even more people she knew until Vince arrived from work and drank beer with us. Georgian beer is very nice! Georgian wine is terrible, although we still drained the bottle. Soon we were the only people left gossiping in the restaurant, and the manager propped the door open for freezing air to whip around us. We took the hint and called it a night.
The taxi we hailed didn't know the way home, but of course didn't admit that, so stopped to ask a parked colleague. Unfortunately he forgot to put the hand brake on and, as he walked away, we rolled out into the traffic. It took him several attempts to reenter his moving vehicle, but I like to think the three screaming passengers in the back gave him extra incentive. My life flashed before my eyes, and it included several other drunken escapades with the Muckers that always involved similar scrapes. You can travel half-way across the world but some things will always remain the same.
Back home we left the kids with a babysitter, went out to a bar, and ended up in a fantastic Indian restaurant with even more people she knew until Vince arrived from work and drank beer with us. Georgian beer is very nice! Georgian wine is terrible, although we still drained the bottle. Soon we were the only people left gossiping in the restaurant, and the manager propped the door open for freezing air to whip around us. We took the hint and called it a night.
The taxi we hailed didn't know the way home, but of course didn't admit that, so stopped to ask a parked colleague. Unfortunately he forgot to put the hand brake on and, as he walked away, we rolled out into the traffic. It took him several attempts to reenter his moving vehicle, but I like to think the three screaming passengers in the back gave him extra incentive. My life flashed before my eyes, and it included several other drunken escapades with the Muckers that always involved similar scrapes. You can travel half-way across the world but some things will always remain the same.
My original babies!
A nice road heading out of Tbilisi...towards Ukraine.
Uncle Joe.
Also available as a snowglobe.
It was like walking around a fridge full of artifacts.
Stalin's suitcase, which went with him into exile several times, so has probably endured lower temperatures.
I recognise that guy on the left. Crazy, as Vince pointed out, that three men could carve up the world and define the future we're still living in.
Stalin's accordion(?)
The actual house where he was born and lived.
The hammer and sickle. This symbol is now banned in Georgia, for obvious reasons, but they're allowed to keep it in the museum.
Stalin's private coach, which was fitted out to be bullet and bomb proof. He liked it a lot, and used it and his car far more than aircraft.
This is Vince's favourite part of the museum. "He got all his best ideas here."
Back home and time for a quick beer...
...which Christine told me to bring with me to pick up Claire. One of the benefits of a lawless country, she claims.
Stopping at Claire's favourite ice cream place in Tbilisi on the way home.
Yum.
The ice cream is great, but they do coffee a bit differently.
OK, on the way to the pub Christine got me to try some traditional Georgian street food. This is churchkhela - a string of walnut halves that have been dipped in grape juice thickened with flour and dried in the sun, with no added sugar.
Yep, tastes pretty much as described.
Well, there can't be much wrong with this country.
Christine took me to an Irish bar. An "Oirish" bar would be a more appropriate description, given the amount of actual Irishness involved. Like pretty much every other Irish bar in the world.
How do you decorate an Irish bar? With pictures of English football teams, of course! And beer taps at your own table! An amazing idea, but sadly not functioning. I might unfairly say: a metaphor for the country...
