Our man in Tbilisi

Georgia.  The country, not the state.  What happens there?  Apart from the times that South Ossetia got into the news, I never heard much about this Eurasian ex-Soviet province nestled below the Caucasus mountains.

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.

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...

Turkish delight

Our tour of England has been extended to include a small jaunt to Eastern Europe (or Western Russia, depending on your political affiliations).  This is where the Muckers are now living, posted to Georgia to make the world a safer place through diplomacy.

Unfortunately, like certain militaries in this area, we had to divide and conquer to make this happen, which means that I'm travelling here alone while Hannah and Pete head to the Hammonds in Weymouth.  Travelling alone having recently done so with a toddler...wow.  The answer to "would you like something to drink?" suddenly becomes positive and alcoholic, and hand luggage is all I carried.

There aren't any direct flights to Tbilisi (can you believe?) so I had to connect through Istanbul.  I could have got a cheaper flight on Air Ukraine through Kiev but Hannah vetoed that - apparently she isn't yet ready for this to become a war correspondent's blog.  But that was the right choice, because I am only ever flying Turkish Airlines from now on.  The aforementioned booze is free, the seats are huge, and they never stop feeding you!  I also got to visit Istanbul.

Ah, Istanbul.  Ancient seat of the Ottoman Empire, home of the Blue Mosque, the Topkapi Palace, the sixth-century Byzantine masterpiece that is Aya Sofya...none of which I got to see during my one-hour connection through Sabiha Gökçen International Airport.  It did have some lovely duty free shops.

The airport didn't seem to do announcements, but I found the gate and waited with everyone else while the gate attendants kept shouting something.  It turns out they were saying "Tbilisi" in Turkish, and only when they switched to English with "last call for Tbilisi" did anyone in the departure lounge understand what was happening, get up, and rush the departure gate.  I suppose I should be more worried about journeying to countries where I can understand no one, but I spent five years in the USA so I'm kind of used to it...

 

 

Istanbul airport.  Not bad!

 

 

Turkish coffee.

 

 

It's possible to find civilisation wherever you travel.

 

And I made it to Tbilisi!  But more on that later.

Kissing cousins

Pete hasn't met many people his own age on this trip, so he was overjoyed to stay for a couple of days with cousin Isobel.  She was due to be older than him but he popped out first, so we'll call it a tie.  They are amazingly similar, most notably sharing a passionate love of the trains that can be seen from the back of the house.

There have been moments of friction, of course.  Isobel was not entirely pleased to find Pete sharing a bath with her, and there's been a bit of shoving and pushing when it comes to the more popular toys.  But overall, they're two family members who enjoy each other's company - a rare occurrence that should be celebrated!

Shared bathroom.

Hannah hosts the hallway tea party.

Meeting one of the residents at Church Farm.

Biker chick.

Thanksgiving.



Aaaaaahhh...

Northern southerners

Once again the dominant theme of our trip to England reveals itself: trying to drive on every single road of this island while spending short, precious hours with as many people as possible.

Before we began our mammoth car-based circuit (sponsored by Chevron) we had a very wonderful day in London; thank you grandparents and aunt for providing childcare.  In the city we met ex-Walnut-Creeker Lois then had lunch with Hanno and Ellen at Marcus Wareing's rather plush restaurant.  We met Hanno when he was three, which makes it very difficult to watch him conduct orchestras and stuff.  We met Ellen at the same time, and she and Hannah have birthdays very close together.  It's rude to discuss ages, but it's nice having all known each other for twenty years...

Then it was northward!  We stopped in to see Miles and Rachel in Herefordshire before rolling up on Hannah's youngest sister Rachel's doorstep.  She and Chris make their home in Manchester, a city that terrifies me almost as much as London, but under their expert guidance we had a wonderful day there that included a proper British pub lunch, complete with beer.  North Americans are very reticent about drinking at lunch time - I'm going to have to become more evangelical about it, leading by example.

Then we went to Durham via Castle Douglas in Scotland.  Castle Douglas is nowhere near Durham, so it was like doing two sides of a triangle, and then another two sides.  But it was worth it to see (Great) Aunt Sarah and Uncle Colin.  Hannah's family all share the gift of being chefs, and Sarah served up a stupendous pear and lemon curd tart.  It's a Mary Berry recipe, of course; try it, you won't regret it, but it may not turn out as good as Aunt Sarah's.

It's very comforting to return to Durham and see that little has changed, certainly little since we were students in the 90s, and not much since 995AD when it was founded.  We caught up with Alana (and her dirty martinis), the Wilczeks with new baby Julia, Mat, and the entire Weeks clan.  Another one of our original children, Harry is now in a band that plays 'beatdown' (I feel very very old), Goddaughter Charity is fencing every moment and is currently 5th best in Britain (she'll always be #1 in her Godparents' eyes) and David continues his development as a genius - good or evil, it could go either way.

And now we're in Stevenage.  I think.  I remember a long drive down the A1.  Anyway, thank you to everyone who hosted us at breakneck speed, and apologies to everyone we didn't manage to see.  We'll stay for longer next time, and then even more people can have the opportunity to get sick of the sight of us...

Catching up on Californian gossip with Lois, on a surprisingly warm London day.

I was going to do a selfie with every course but I think you get thrown out of nice restaurants if you do that.  But I couldn't resist a pic of the chocolate ganache cake that Marcus Wareing himself (maybe) sent to Hannah and Ellen.

Back in Frome, where Pete eyes the choppy waters of Cheap Street.  You're not a genuine Fromer until you've taken the plunge!

Why is Britain Great?  Because it's understood that gin is a basic commodity of life.

Then in Manchester, where Hannah and Pete ventured up the wheel.

Taking in the view.

Pete is not convinced about the mechanical integrity.

Rachel gets the beers in - good girl.



Checking out Manchester Museum of Science and Industry.

Not entirely convinced about this either.

Colour Mummy Beautiful.

New favourite UK service station: Tebay.

Sarah and Colin in Castle Douglas.

Up in Durham, where Frances does her excellent housewife baking routine.

Our new baby, Julia.

Pete: worried.

More worry when seated next to Charity.

Happier with Godfather Mat.

There's a Krispy Kreme in Durham?!  Had this been here when I was a student, much malnutrition could have been avoided.

In Durham cathedral they're building a scale replica out of Lego.  £1 to add a brick of your own - I'll pass the idea onto Vancouver cathedral...which would have a much simpler set of instructions.

Adding a stone to the grey/beige towers.

The real thing.