Travel Journal (21)--At the Monasteries

After 21 posts, I am becoming anxious to bring this travel narrative to a close, so pardon me if I begin to abbreviate the account somewhat. But as this journey was billed as a "Monastery Tour," I feel compelled to comment on the monasteries we visited. In Tbilisi we visited 4 churches (of which more in subsequent post). Beyond this, however, we visited at least 17 churches and monasteries in the Kakheti and Mtskheti Regions.

A few general observations are in order:

1. Georgian churches are thriving. Services are packed--primarily by young people.

2. Monastic communities are alive and flourishing. Largely closed during the 70 years of Communism, most are now reopened, growing and becoming an integral part of Georgian life once more.

3. Without sounding triumphalist to the non-Orthodox, I must say that the timelessness and resiliency of the Orthodox faith is a wonder to behold--and not just to me. On our last night together, one of our Minnesota Lutherans toasted the Georgian church. He said he was "plotzed" (to use an old Midwestern term), meaning he was just floored, so to speak, by what was happening in the Georgian Orthodox Church. The only explanation he could see was that it was the work of the Holy Spirit in the Georgian church. I agree.

















Luarsab, a nun, Maia & Frederica at Ninotsminda Monastery

John and Luarsab set out to teach us just a bit of Georgian chant. They chose "O Holy God" (Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, Have Mercy on Us) The words, roughly transliterated:

cmi da o ymer - to
cmi da o zli e ro
cmi da o uku da
o se gvi cqa len cuen

We chanted this hymn in at least 8 of the churches we visited. The acoustics were absolutely incredible. These old Georgian churches--with their concave ceilings, and height, width and length in just the right proportions--indicate to me that the architects of old knew a thing or two that the modern world has forgotten. To chant this, in these old churches, never failed to send chills down my spine.

We visited with numerous priests, monks (even a Bishop or two), and nuns. Photographing them is generally discouraged, and I respected that wish. Consequently, I have few pictures of the monastics themselves. I was sorely tempted though, when I saw the nun pushing a lawnmower.

Ninotsminda Monastery, built by King Vakhtang Gorgasali in the 5th-century, honors St. Nino, who established Christianity in Georgia in the 4th-century. St. Nino is "big" in Georgia, and remains the most popular names by far for Georgian girls. This was the first attempt at a domed church here. It has been been destroyed many times, mainly by the Persians. It was rebuilt badly in the 17th-century and subsequently fell in an 19th-century earthquake. The fresco of the Theotokos, which survived, was damaged either by Soviet soldiers or Dhagastani bandits. Nine nuns are currently in residence and there plans to rebuilt the church yet again.

















Monastery of St. Stephan of Kirsa

Our new stop was Khirsa Monastery, or the Church of St. Stephen. The church was established in the 6th-century by Stephen, one of the Syrian Fathers. These were 13 monks who came from Syria to Georgia in the 6th century. Each one established at least one monastery throughout the country. They left an indelible and continuing influence on Georgian culture. St. Stephen's tomb is to the left of the altar. During the 19th-century, the Russians white-washed over the frescoes. And of course, the church was closed throughout the Communist era. Monks returned to Khirsa only 3 years ago. Repairs and improvements are being made and some frescoes have been salvaged, though the work is just beginning. But Georgians are a patient people.

















Bodbe Monastery

Bodbe Monastery is my favorite. It is a simple basilica, with no dome. But the perfectly-proportioned church is just exquisite. If I could build an Orthodox church in the US, it would be on this model. Bodbe is one of the major pilgrimage sites in Georgia, due to its association with St. Nino. In fact, she is buried within the church, to the right of the altar. We joined the line of faithful waiting to venerate her at her tomb. The monastic compound is in the process of being restored and modernized within. There may be as many as 45 nuns at this convent. I particularly enjoyed observing the iconographer in her studio.

















Iconographer at Bodbe Monastery

Davit Gareji is another of the most important monasteries in Georgia. Located in the remote and wild country along the southeastern border with Azerbaijan, the monastic complex here was founded in the 6th century by the Syrian Fathers. It had long been a center of learning and the arts. In the 17th-century, Shah Abbas of Persia, swept through here on his way into Kakheti. He murdered 6,000 monks on the this hilltop where I am standing. This is a somber and Holy spot for Georgia, as it should be for all Christians. Bishop David of Alaverdi was at the Lavra Monastery at Davit Gareji for a number of years.

















Davit Gareji

















Alaverdi Cathedral

Until the recent construction of the Holy Trinity Cathedral in Tbilisi, Alaverdi Cathedral was the largest in the country. We were running a little late, but were able to be there for the last of the Divine Liturgy. There was a nice-sized crowd in attendance, even though Aleverdi is out in the country, away from any town. John Wurdeman was standing next to me and translated the Bishop David's homily. He spoke of the centurion who asked Jesus to heal his servant, and how this was a lesson of humility for us. Bishop David spoke of humility and faith as two sides of the double-edged sword of spiritual discernment. After the Liturgy, as the Bishop was leaving, the congregants formed 2 long rows. As he walked between, he would place his hand on our heads, giving a blessing to all.






















New Shuamta Church

The new Shuamta Church dates to only the 16th-century. Queen Tinatin, who built Shuamta, later became a nun and is buried within the church. Many of the Chavchavadze family (Georgia's equivalent of the Washington/Lee families, the Roosevelts and the Kennedys--all rolled into one) are buried there as well. Shuamta was reactivated as a convent in 1995. The Russians whitewashed the walls, but what frescoes remain are stunning. Old Shuamta, nearby, is a much older basilica church.

















Old Shuamta Church

Ikalto Church was one of my favorites. The church was the center of a once-thriving community. A noted college, the Ikalto Academy, was established here in the 9th-10th century. Shoto Rustaveli, Georgia's most famous writer, studied here in the 12th-century. His epic narrative, The Man in the Panther Skin, is known to all Georgians. The institution was open to all Georgians of talent, regardless of money or social position. Alas, it fell to Shah Abbas in the 17th-century, as did most everything else. The earliest church is the tiny 6th-century basilica of the Holy Trinity Church, which sits behind the main church, built in the 11th-century or so. Again, the interior had been largely whitewashed by the Russians. Ikalto is the burial place of St. Zenon, one of the Syrian Fathers.

















Ruins of the Ikalto Institute

The caretaker, the proverbial "little old man," was a poet at heart. Years earlier, he had published a book of poetry, entitled "My Fireplace." He sang us a song, and also recited a few lines from a poem:

The sun rises
and the sun sets
the wind blows
but the doors of Ikalto creak forever.























Ikalto Church

Gremi Church lies on the other side of the valley, close up against the Caucasus. This church, dedicated to the Dormition of Mary, is relatively new, dating only to the 15th century. For some inexplicable reason, the Russians did not whitewash the frescoes during the 19th-century. We chanted our hymn inside, which moved the little old lady manning the candle and icon booth to tears. She asked Luarsab and John to sing another version with her, which moved the rest of us to tears. King Levon is buried within Gremi.




















Gremi Church

On the spur of the moment, we all decided to visit Kvelatsminda Monastery before returning to Tbilisi. This 8th-century church was well hidden, and very hard to find. It is unique in that it has 2 domes, a transitional phase between basilicas and domed churches. There are 8 monks in resident, one of whom was Fr. Josiah, who hailed from Luarsab's native village in Racha.

















Kvelatsminda
























Ananuri Church

Ananuri Church is on the Georgia Military Highway as one begins to ascend into the Caucasus. It setting, overlooking a mountain resevoir on the Aragvi River, is storybook perfect. The church dates only to the 17th century. When we sang our hymn in the church, a group of young Georgians joined in with us. Some frescoes have survived the Russian whitewashing. The Christ Pantocrator is magnificent, but I stood transfixed by the depiction of the Last Judgment. Christ and the host of Heaven are above. Christ is connected to an altar, and beneath the altar a hand descends, holding a scale. On the right side, demons are bringing scrolls containing the records of the sins of man. On the left, angels are carrying scrolls containing the good deeds of mankind. Below, the graves are opening with the souls of man--some in Hell, some that have been eaten by wild beasts, etc. are awaiting the Judgment. Incredible.

















Gergeti Trinity Church

This is probably the most photographed site in Georgia. In the shadow of Mt. Kazbeg, overlooking Stephanstminda, near the Russian border, Gergeti Trinity Church just takes your breath away. The most famous icon in the church is a large, silver icon of the Theotokos. The Communists burned this icon. But miraculously, while the faces burned, her hand did not. This icon is considered by many to be a wonder-working icon.






















Church of the Archangel Michael

This is the church in the village of Stephanstminda. Notice the carved, chained lions above the portal of the church. This is a popular motif on Georgian churches. The lions represent our passions, and obviously, our struggles to rein them in.

















Jvari Church

Jvari Church is the perhaps the most sacred spot in Georgia. On this summit overlooking Mskheta, is where St. Nino planted her cross when she began evangelizing the country. The church dates to the mid 6th-century, and is thought to be the earliest example of a domed church in Georgia. My friend Jay had visited Georgia and Jvari back in the Communist era. At that time, Jvari was a ruin. Today it is alive with worshippers--a Holy place.

















Svetitskhoveli Cathedral

A church has been on this spot in Mskheta since the 5th century, though replaced by the present structure in the 11th century. The church was built over the grave of a local Jew, Sidonia, who was said to be buried holding the robe of Christ. Svetitskhoveli has always played an important role in the life of the nation. Georgian monarchs were crowned here and buried here. The floor of the nave is covered with the tombs of the Bagrationi.

















Samtavro Church

Samtavro is located nearby in Mskheta. About 35 nuns are in residence. The most noted icon in the church is a copy of the famous Iberian icon of the Theotokos that was donated by the Georgian monks on Mt. Athos. Remarkably, Samtavro Monastery was never closed during the years of Communism. That miracle is attributed to this icon. Another icon of St. Nino has a reliquary containing 22 relics of the saints--a treasure donated by the grandson of Irakli II, one the last rulers of an independent Georgian kingdom. Large frescoes of King Mirian and Queen Nona, who accepted Christianity under St. Nino, dominate the north wall. The royal couple is buried here. Outside, there is a small chapel next to a blackberry bush, where it is believed St. Nino lived for 3 years. The shrine at the grave of monk Gabriel is a popular pilgrimage site. Gabriel died in the 1990s. Among other things, the eccentric monk set fire to a large billboard of Lenin back in the bad old days.

















Antiochian Church (Church of St. Stephen)

This was the last church we visited in Mskheta. It is actually only 1/3 of what was once a 3 nave basilica church. 3 nuns stay in residence here. The inside held a glorious surprise--new frescoes have recently been painted. Scenes from the life of St. Nino are in the narthex, and scenes from the life of Christ in the nave and apse. A nuns was sitting in the narthex, knotting a komboskini. She gave us all souvenir photos of the church. Inside the beautiful little chapel, we chanted our hymn. She told us that we were a "gift from God." We thanked her, but in our eyes, she and this Holy place were the real gifts.

Travel Journal (20)--When in Sighnaghi, Eat at Pancho Villa's!

Pancho Villa's Restaurant has the best Mexican food in Sighnaghi. Let me re-phrase that. Pancho Villa's has the best Mexican food in Georgia. Let me re-phrase that again. Pancho Villa's has the only Mexican food in Georgia. On this tour, it sometimes seemed as though we went from one feast to the next. Even so, this meal stands out.

















I can't exactly explain what a Mexican food cafe is doing in this remote, mountaintop village, with a view of Dhagistan in one direction, and Azerbaijan in the other. All I can say is that Shalva Mindorashvili, the owner, must be a man of rare genius. He teaches languages, works with liturgical renewal at Bodbe Monastery, is a co-founder of the Zedashe Ensemble, and is John Wurdeman's brother-in-law. And in his spare time, he opens a Mexican food cafe.

As a Texan, I am pretty serious about my Mexican cuisine. I had certainly enjoyed the food of Turkey and Georgia. But by this time, I was 18 days into my trip, and to see a table laden with Mexican-style dishes, chips, hot sauce, and pitchers of real Sangria...well, it brought tears of joy to my eyes!






















Shalva Mindorashvili

A purist might quibble about whether this was true Mexican food or not. The "chips" were chewy rather than crispy and what looked like guacamole wasn't, but was a close approximation. But the salsa was spot on--as good as any in Texas. And a good hot sauce will cover a multitude of sins, you might say. A Mexican food cafe might be a tad ahead of the curve here, but my hat is off to Shalve, and I wish him all the success in the world.

Travel Journal (19)--Sighnaghi

All set for the day, with homemade wine in water bottles!

















Chances are you have never heard of Sighnaghi. In coming years, chances are you just might. More than a village, but something less than a sizable town, Sighnaghi contains a 1,000 or so families, and has been traditionally noted for its craftsmen and artisans. Something of a tumbledown place, it is a jumble of traditional Georgian architecture with hanging balconies, interspersed and marred here and there by the occasional ill-conceived Communist-era building.

















But even the Soviets couldn't detract much from the dramatic setting of Sighnaghi. The 18th-century city walls with their 23 towers, built by King Irakli II, snake along the ridges and vales of the summit. The town itself perches atop the mountain, clustered more outside the defensive walls than within. The Alazani Valley stretches out far below. The best vineyards of Georgia are found here and on the surrounding hillsides. Thirty miles away, on the north side of the valley, rise the Caucasus Mountains, their summits always hidden in the clouds. Looking out from Sighnaghi over the wonder of God's creation, one is easily moved to tears. How can a place really be considered poor whose citizens awaken to this view every morning?

















John Wurdeman at his studio, Sighnaghi

But things are changing quickly in Sighnaghi, right before our eyes. The tale cannot be told, however, without introducing a young artist by the name of John Wurdeman. He is an American, the son of a well-known art dealer in Virginia. John studied under Vyacheslav Zabelin at the Surikov Institute in Moscow. After graduation, he found his way to Georgia, somehow, where he fell in love with the country, and more particularly Sighnaghi. John had a vision of what the town and region could be. So, he settled in there and has become a successful artist. (86 of his works are listed online, here). His art studio is on the main street in Sighnaghi, and is also a showplace for rug-weaving artisans and woodcarvers.

















Before long, John converted to the Orthodox faith. In fact, he is an acolyte to Bishop David at the Alaverdi Cathedral. He soon married a young woman who was deeply involved in the revival of traditional Georgian chant. Thus, he is intimately connected with the activities of the Zedashe Ensemble. He and his wife, Ketevan, are raising their 2 children in Sighnaghi. In a few years, John has positioned himself to be, if not Sighnaghi's leading citizen, then certainly its most well-known.

















Several years ago, officials from the World Bank toured Georgia, to investigate the country's needs and what they could do to help. As was explained to me, the governor of the province asked John to show an official around Sighnaghi. The World Bank bureaucrat inquired as to what he thought the bank could do for Sighnaghi. John suggested that the traditional Georgian architecture be restored to existing buildings, that wherever possible the Soviet architecture be adapted to Georgian styles, that new utlitity lines be installed underground, that the asphalt streets be replaced with cobblestone, and that the artisans be encouraged to establish their shops in Sighaghi.

















Well, that was that, and nothing more was heard from the World Bank. Then 3 years after the visit, Georgia learned that 60 million euros had been allocated to Sighnaghi. That's euros, not dollars. 60 million euros will go a long, long ways in Georgia. All I can say is that young John Wurdeman must have been a convincing advocate for his town!

















Sighnaghi is now one big construction site. It is much like a movie set, as the restored city rises before your eyes. 500 workers are laboring day and night to transform Sighnaghi. The Communist buildings have been stripped to their ugly concrete core. They will be receive new facings of traditional Georgian bricks, complete with wooden hanging balconies. Those that can't be adapted, are coming down. All of the old buildings are receiving face lifts, and new balconies where needed. The streets are being cobble stoned. Fountains are being installed. And this is all going on at once. Part of the rush was that John McCain was paying a visit to Georgia in early July, and he and the President were helicoptering in for a quick visit. But beyond that, Sighnaghi is supposed to be finished by October. The rumor is that one of the large buildings being redone will actually be NATO's headquarters in Georgia, once they come on board. (Whether or not NATO has any business extending itself to Georgia is another question altogether.)






















Georgian tourism is just in its infancy. The country is just not yet equipped for any large scale tourism. But, it is coming along--and particularly as more and more people discover its charms. Sighnaghi is poised to become the jewel of Georgia tourism--described by some as a "little Dubrovnik"--and an example to other cities there.

If you are considering getting in on the Sighnaghi real estate boom, then you are probably too late already. Two years ago my friend John bought a 6-room house. From the deeply shaded gallery across the length of the upper floor, he has stunning views of Sighnaghi and the Alavani Valley. His garden contains mature fig, cherry and mulberry trees. The garden vineyard produced 22 liters of wine this year. He paid $5,000 for the house. Today, it will bring $30,000 to $50,000. Vacant lots are being listed for $30,000.

















My friend Jay fears that Sighnaghi is in danger of becoming some kind of Disneyfied "Georgia Land." His fears are legitimate. But I tend to disagree. While these tumbledown places are picturesque and all, they eventually tumble all the way down, if nothing is done. And Sighnaghi is still very remote. It takes a bit of doing to get there, even from Tbilisi. Its a fascinating experiment, nonetheless. I can't wait to return in a few years and see what they've done with the place.

Travel Journal (18)--New Friends

With Luarsab and Ioana at the New Taste Restaurant

This trip to Georgia opened new doors for me, for I joined up with a tour group. I was a little apprehensive about it, as I have always traveled alone. Traveling solo never bothered me, and in fact, I have always enjoyed the flexibility and spontaneity. And somehow, people you meet are more inclined to talk with you if you are not part of a herd. I ascribed to the common characterization of tour groups: herds of people in shorts, sneakers and name tags, being led around by an ill-informed guide, completely insulated from whatever it was they were supposed to be experiencing. But then I met this group.

















With Nadezdha and John G. at the "House of Beans" Restaurant

The tour proposed to visit remote Orthodox monasteries in eastern Georgia, particularly in the Kakheti region. Along the way, we were to learn about Georgian liturgical chant, as well as folk music. We would visit with priests and monastic communities, attend liturgies, as well as spend time with Bishop David, the Metropolitan of Alaverdi. Two days were to be spent in the high Caucasus, near the Russian border. At night, the tour was to take part in the quintessential Georgian experience, the supra. This is certainly new territory, travel-wise. There would be no danger of bumping into other tour groups anywhere along the way.

















With Pamela and Patrick at Prospero's

Our two guides are particularly well-suited to pull this off. First, there is our exuberant and enthusiastic Georgian, Luarsab. He is a historical consultant to the Patriarchate in Tbilisi, the author of numerous articles, as well as a contributor to the recent Lives of the Georgian Saints. He is an expert on Georgian chant, and sings in 2 or 3 ensembles himself. Luarsab teaches classes to young people at the Cathedral in Tbilisi. He is a master tamada of the supra. His family is in the restaurant business, so he knows where to find the best of Georgian cuisine. Finally, everyone seems to know Luarsab--wherever you go, whether in the city, or the most remote monastery, being with Luarsab is an open door to whatever is happening. John G. is the other host, and the actual organizer of the tour. He is an American, but a Georgian-in-the-making. John is quiet and soft-spoken, with a slow and easy manner--the perfect counterpoint to Luarsab's exuberance. A doctoral student at Princeton, he has made Georgian chant his particular area of study. His fascination with and love for the culture is evident. A couple of years ago, he even bought a home in Sighnaghi. Along the journey, he became Orthodox. John speaks the language and sings Georgian beautifully. He is a most remarkable young man. Together, John and Luarsab made an exceptional team. In addition, Maia, a lovely Georgian musicologist at the Conservatory in Tbilisi assisted for much of the trip. I may or may not travel with a group in the future. But I do know that these three have set the bar very high if I do.

















With John H. and Andrew at the New Taste Restaurant

The rest of us made for a pretty diverse group. There were 11 Americans, 2 Australians, 2 Romanians and 1 Bulgarian. The shakedown by religion was 8 Orthodox, 5 Lutherans, 1 Quaker and 2 others. We ranged in age from 72 down to 22 years old. We came from Delaware, Minnesota, D.C., New York, Vermont and Texas. I was something of a novelty, being the only one from a "red state." I realized early on, that my blue state friends tended more towards cobalt than robin's egg blue. No problem here, as I was largely in sympathy.

















With Michael and Patricia at the New Taste Restaurant

Pamela and Patrick were our Aussies, though he an Irishman by way of London. They live in Perth, where Patrick, now retired, practiced as an attorney. These two are simply delightful--gracious representatives of the very best in our Anglo-Irish culture. I found myself listening carefully when either of them spoke. You just know that whatever they said was worth hearing. Patrick has a rare talent, that quickly emerged at our supras. Everyone is encouraged to make a toast during the course of the feast. The subject matter is set by the tamada of the supra, and all (in theory) are expected to confine their toasts to the specified theme. Patrick turned out to be a toastmaster par excellence. We came to eagerly anticipate the next recitation. It might be "How St. Patrick Drove the Snakes out of Ireland," or it might be about a play where the dead man sits up at his wake and says "The bells of hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling, for you and not for me," or "Rafferty's Pig," or some recitation from Lord Byron. Towards the end of trip, Patrick had a nasty spell with his heart, and spent a couple of days in the hospital. But this did not keep him down. Our last supra was capped with his rousing rendition of "Transplant Calypso." Patrick had a remarkable ability to deftly twist the subject matter a bit, so that his oration seemed to naturally flow from the specified subject. I suspect he was one gifted attorney!






















With the Minnesotans--Lila, Gary and Celia

John H. and Andrew were our 2 young cousins. John is a purposeful young man. A Marine Corps veteran, he served in both Afghanistan and Iraq. He didn't have to go--he was on the college track, but felt compelled to serve. And he is exceeding bright, having recently been accepted at Brown University. John simply has incredible credibility for a young man his age. Whenever we would stop, John would often launch off in a different direction, exploring on his own, at his own pace. He is very much his own man. At the end of the tour, he was to return home for a few days, then fly off to South American to hike to Machu Picchu and visit Lake Titicaca. Expect to hear about this young man in the future. I predict he will go far. Andrew, John G.'s brother, is a student at the University of Vermont. He is a talented, engaging young man. Those of us of a certain age, shall we say, are flattered when young people take an interest in us, and are at ease in conversing with us. Andrew is a such a young man. Right after the above picture of him was taken, he stood up and sang all the verses to "The City of New Orleans." And well done, I might add. From Georgia, Andrew was going on to Istanbul, then Sofia, then Belgrade, and finally Switzerland, I believe.

















With Frederica at Jvari Church, Mskheta

Michael and Patricia were our newlyweds. In fact, this tour was actually their honeymoon. Like Patrick and Pamela, he is Orthodox and she is in the process of converting. They were enthusiastic about all things Orthodox, and were enthralled with what Georgia had to offer.

















With Dmitru and Nadeszdha at the New Taste Restaurant

Dmitru and Ioana were our representatives from Romania. He was a professor at the University of Bucharest, who later became connected with UNESCO in that country. This association allowed him to leave Romania in 1989, a few months before the fall of Communism. He worked for UNESCO in Paris for a number of years, and still resides there, working as a consultant. Dmitru has a deep love of nature, and is a most intrepid hiker--usually well in front of those of us much younger. The quiet and lovely Ioana is Dmitru's daughter. From Paris, she went to the US for college and has remained in the country. She is currently a Professor of Linguistics at Dartmouth College in New Hampshire. She speaks seven languages herself, I believe. Like John H., Ioana would often drift off from the crowd to get her own perspective on things. She is astute and gracious, a joy to travel with.

















With Jay and Richard at Prospero's

Frederica is John G.'s and Andrew's mother. In the context of this trip, she was something of a nurturing, earth mother figure for all of us. She is as proud of her sons as they are devoted to her. Frederica teaches at a Waldorf School in Vermont, but she had previously taught in both Japan and Greece. We had some great talks while on the bus. Frederica realizes that the first rule of being a good conversationalist is to be a good listener.

What can I say about our New Yorkers, Richard and Jay? I really bonded with these guys. Richard is an audio bibliographer at Columbia University. Jay is the long-time pastor of a ECLU church in Queens. And then Jay, despite his long years in Manhattan, has Texas roots. So, we had lots to talk and laugh about. Richard's abiding passion is horticulture. He maintains a hidden garden on the Upper West Side. He could identify any flower, along any trail in Georgia. Jay, as befits a preacher, is glib and quick on his feet, so to speak, in any conversation. I soon learned to appreciate their dry, dry sense of humor. We quickly detected in the other a kindred sarcastic spirit.

It is true what they say about Minnesotans. (No, not the accent!) They are simply the nicest, most decent people anywhere. Gary and Lila are husband and wife. Celia is their best friend--all from Minneapolis. Gary is a professional musicologist, the editor of a scholarly journal of music history. Gary and Lila have been simply everywhere. You name it, they've been there. They are the best kind of travelers: interested in everything, ready for anything, unfazed by any minor disruption. They are true citizens of the world. Celia is in the same category. More so than anyone else on the trip, Celia and I were on the same wavelength, so to speak, in our perceptions, observations, and humor. I enjoyed my conversations with my new Minnesotan friends--whether it be religion, politics or our distinctive regional peculiarities. They were intrigued by my unique method of washing clothes on long travels. I pack lightly--everything I carry must fit in my backpack--so I carry fewer clothes than most. Simply toss some clothes into the bottom of the shower stall and stomp around on them while showering. Apply a bar of soap to the underarms if needed. When you finish showering, simply ring out and drape over whatever is available. When you come back in that night, voila, the clothes should just about be dry. Before long, they were old hands at this.

And then there is Nadezdha, our effusive, free-spirited Bulgarian. Tall and elegant, usually with flowing scarf, Nadezdha was given to the dramatic gesture or pose. Someone later said that wherever we were, she always "found the light." Nadezdha searched for the essence of a particular place. And I think she usually found it. She is a doctoral student in Anthropology at Princeton. Her studies have taken her all over the world--from a Berber camp in the Moroccan desert, to Central America, where of all things, she taught women how to draw Coptic icons of the Virgin Mary. In addition to Bulgarian, she speaks English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian and German.--and, she was picking up on Georgian. Nadezdha is devoutly Orthodox, and interested in my own connection with her native Bulgaria and its significance to me. After Georgia, she was returning home to Bulgaria for a few days, and then off to Cuba.

I learned so much from all of them. I hope our paths cross again.

Travel Journal (17)--On the Ground in Georgia

St. George--Tavispubleba Square

What a difference a year makes. I vividly recall last year's first impression of Georgia: a midnight flight out of Istanbul; a hard, bumpy, 2:30 AM landing on a darkened Tbilisi airport runway; no gates, we exited the plane onto the tarmac and walked across to a drab block building; we crushed together trying to reach one of the 2 drowsy customs agents; once processed, we ran the gauntlet of taxi drivers clamoring for our business; a ride into the city in a sputtering Lada, circa 1975; past old men manning makeshift sidewalk cigarette stands beneath a single light bulb...

It was so atmospheric that I was actually looking forward to the experience again this year. I was to be disappointed. A sleek, modern, well-lit, state-of-the-art terminal, complete with 4 gates, has replaced the old block building. Going through customs was a snap, and I entered onto a spacious, airy lobby, complete with shops. A new Volkswagen Passat served as my taxi into the city.

















The new Presidential Palace taking shape

Tbilisi itself, in the morning light, offered even more surprises. New construction was going up all over the place. As I would learn, the city was undergoing a genuine estate boom. The monument I observed under construction last year in the center of Tavispubleba Square is now complete: a golden statue of St. George is now in place in the very spot once occupied by the obligatory statue of Lenin. It is satisfying to note that Lenin is but a flash in the historical pan, while the Faith of St. George is alive and flourishing some 1700 years after his death.

On the other side of the river, a grand Presidential Palace is rising above the bluff. The jury is still out on this one--we'll just have to wait and see--but by and large, new architecture seems rooted in tradition, and offers a sharp repudiation the garishness and monumentality of the Soviet era. Historic Georgian-style buildings are being restored and reconditioned. Communist-era eyesores are coming down. Former churches that were closed by the Soviets and put to other uses are being painstaking restored to the former condition.

















Bolnisi Sioni Church

But beyond that, I noticed improvements in the little things, as well. Tbilisi is noticeably cleaner than before. Regular garbage pick-up seems to be underway, the streets seem much less littered, and new green sidewalk trash receptacles dot the downtown area. Where my son and I had hiked along twisting and overgrown trails below the walls of the old fortress, there are now paved pathways, with observation platforms, lights and trash cans. Don't get me wrong, Tbilisi is in no danger of becoming another Prague--there's enough scruffiness to last for decades--but it does seem to be a city becoming really alive once more.


I was not to join my tour group until the next day, so I decided to put my free day to good use. I hired a car and driver and we set out for Bolnisi. I particularly wanted to visit the churches at Bolnisi Sioni and Dmanisi. I have found the Georgian style perhaps the most beautiful and awe-inspiring of the various Orthodox traditions. They are particularly noted for their soaring conical domes. But these churches--among Georgia's very oldest--are without domes. The early churches were simple basilicas. In later centuries, these domes would often be added to existing basilicas. I was eager to see these earliest churches, a subtle reminder that a dome does not necessarily an Orthodox church make.






















St. Nino--Bolnisi Sioni Church

My driver was a young man named George. We set out for Bolsini in his late model Volvo station wagon. Our conversation was limited--his English was halting, my Georgian began and ended at "hello." Like most Georgians, he was a big fan of the U.S. and George Bush; Russia, not so much. George exclaimed "Russia...still Communist...crazy!", as he hit his head with the palm of his hand in exasperation. He was proud father, showing me a picture of his 2 year old son, whom he named Levon, after his own father.






















Bolnisi Sioni Church

The town of Bolnisi was a pleasant surprise: wide streets lined with plane trees, attractive, colorful houses and shops, and no litter. The potato harvest was underway on the surrounding farmland. Horses pulling plows were turning up the potatoes, and then men and women were bent over piling the potatoes into long rows for loading. Some were resting and eating in the shade of the plane trees along the road. Old men or young boys drove horse-drawn carts filled with produce. In fact, these carts outnumbered automobiles along the road. All of this is picturesque and would have made an ideal tour-book type photograph to illustrate how "quaint" things are in lesser developed countries. I determined to take no such pictures. For these Georgians, in the timeless rhythm of their lives, often have more dignity than those of us in the advanced West. I would not demean them by using them as backdrops for a quaint photo-op.

Bolnisi Sioni Church dates back to the 5th Century, with the oldest religious inscriptions intact in Georgia. Sioni Church is on the outskirts of town, in a separate village, actually. From the outside it appears to be just a big barn of a building. The inside of the 3 nave basilica, however, was simply glorious. It was late morning, on a Thursday, and the church was active. Candles were flickering everywhere (to which I added my own), a priest was in and out and talking to members of his flock, young people were coming in to light candles and pray before the icons. I was reminded afresh of the stark difference between the Protestant and Orthodox mindset of "church." And to me, this is perhaps the greatest hurdle we face as Orthodoxy attempts to take root in American culture. For despite our intellectual agreement with the premise that church = people, our behavior often betrays our belief that "church" is something you do on Sunday, and the church building is seen in a utilitarian context almost--a place you go on Sunday. For Orthodox, churches are holy places, always open for business, so to speak. A closed church, waiting to be opened for Sunday services, is a foreign concept in Georgia. As someone--perhaps Fr. Stephen Freeman--said, Orthodox worship is like getting on a train that never stops. Churches are open, day in, day out, the cycles of prayer and worship continue on, as worshippers perform their devotions throughout the week, and at all hours.

















Dmanisi Church

The church at Dmanisi was much more remote, not far from the Armenian border. Dmanisi was once the site of a substantial city, though now only the church remains. At least one priest was in residence, and there was a certain amount of activity here. The church's barn-like appearance was deceptive--I continued to be amazed at the height of the vaulted ceilings within.

Between Bolnisi and Dmanisi, George suggested that we visit the Tsugrugasheni Church. Occupying a rocky hilltop, Tsugrugasheni is a fine example of Georgian church-building during the height of the kingdom. The church has suffered mightily through the years, and is currently undergoing some much-needed restorative work. A service was going on when we arrived, and a number of people were crowded within the small nave. I had no idea as to what service it was exactly, or what was being chanted, until he got to the "alleuia, alleuia, alleuia." That, I know. I was moved by the incredibly beautiful silver icon of St. George. A woman came in and seemed near collapse from the walk up the hill. The priest sat next to her, offered her some water and ministered to her. She seemed better, so we eased out of the church and slowly made our way back to the modern world.























Tsugrugasheni Church

Travel Journal (16)--And Now for Something Completely Different...

Near Dmanisi

Georgia, that is. What a remarkable little place this is. Not much larger than West Virginia, with a population of only 5 1/2 million, Georgia is not exactly a major player on the world stage. A visit by George Bush in recent years, the NATO question, and disputes with Russia occasionally put the little nation in the headlines. But despite this, Georgia remains relatively unknown to the West.

I doubt that this worries the Georgians terribly. One remarkable aspect of their history is that they are not particularly warlike, having never been bent on conquest and expansion outside of Georgia. Throughout the centuries they have been content, seeking little more than to be left alone in their lush valleys, to raise their crops, drink the best wine in the world, worship according to their Orthodox faith, occasionally squabble among themselves, and sing and toast one another until the wee hours of the morning.

The 10th through the 13th centuries saw the glory days of the kingdom. Leaders like King David the Builder and "King" Tamar earned respect at home and abroad. The royal patronage of the Church and the arts made Georgia a beacon of civilisation. It was Georgia that salvaged the eastern part of the empire for the Byzantines after the Latin invasion of 1204. And their princesses provided brides for the Grand Comneni of Trebizond. But this golden era passed, as Georgia lay in a tough, tough neighborhood--the hinge where the expansive Persian, Turkic and Russian empires met (and clashed). From the 14th-century on, the Georgians have struggled to merely survive as a culture, in the light of successive waves of invasion from the Turks, from the Mongols, from the Persians, and from the Russians. And truth be told, the Georgians were not above fighting among themselves, and did not always present a united front in their struggle to survive.



























Queen Tamar

And survive and persevere they have. The long years of Persian and Russian domination have left their mark (more so, probably than they would like to admit). But the Georgians have clung fiercely to their rich culture and traditions, their Faith, the unique Georgian language, and their alphabet (one of only 14 in the world, and one that puts you in mind of Tolkein's Elvish script). The Georgian Orthodox churches are packed--with young people, no less--and the liturgical life of the Church is rich and flourishing. The economy--while struggling--is improving. I was impressed with the sleek, new airport terminal. Tbilisi is enjoying a real estate and building boom. Things were simply cleaner than last year. There is hope for the future.

Despite their remote location, Georgians consider themselves proud Europeans, and are quite insistent on being considered as an integral part of Europe (hence the push for NATO membership). And they are European, but with an exotic twist. Their cuisine is much more akin to Turkey and Persia than Russia. Their Orthodoxy is rooted in Syria and Jerusalem, rather than Constantinople or Moscow. Their language and alphabet are totally unique. And their singing...well, Georgian polyphony is simply other-worldly, and unlike anything found in Europe. So, in short, Georgians are their own thing. They have no doubts about themselves. They know who they are, they know their God, and how they fit into the cosmic nature of things. European? Well...yes, but a European style tempered by long exposure to the Near East.

I like to step back and take a long, historical view of things. And I tend to fret about our culture. While we have certainly hogged the spotlight for the last 200 years or so, I wonder if our mongrel nation has what it takes, culturally, to survive for the long haul? Of course, as a Christian, our prayer must always be "Lord, come quickly." We hope not for a long haul, but for a rather short haul, actually. But, that being said, I still wonder about our staying power and the strength of a culture that is terribly broad, but often somewhat shallow. I don't worry about the Georgians. I'm sure they haven't seen their last invasion, but with what they've been through, I am convinced that there will always be a Georgia.

View from Sighnaghi