Georgian Hospitality

I first heard of Georgia in my 7th grade current events class, vigorously trying to draw a map of this complex Caucasus region at the intersection of Europe and Asia. I now realize that was 1991, the year this country declared independence from Russia and fell into a 4-year civil war. Yesterday, our tour guide Alex, a local university student born here in ‘97, gave us a walking tour of Tbilisi’s streets, sharing stories of centuries of transformation, destruction and rebirth, including that which he’s seen with his own eyes. He remembers the 2003 Rose Revolution, a peaceful protest when demonstrators carried red roses and ousted a corrupt government. He graciously answered my questions about his family’s memories of the Soviet days. He talked about the poets, musicians and writers who shaped these city streets, walked us straight into the front yard of Stalin’s doctor’s home, one of the few never destroyed and still owned by the same family, and reached through dark doorways to literally unlock doors into pitch black hallways that revealed hidden frescoes and traditional Georgian courtyards that remain communal neighborhood spaces. He also jumped in the crunchy leaves with B, called her Butterfly, and bought her a pistachio ice cream.

Indeed, these travel days before Christmas have been a gift because Tbilisi is a true original. The history and creativity in the air is palpable. There’s just nothing generic about it — the food, the wine, the spaces, the color palettes are joyfully unexpected. This is a place you’ll want to hole away to write, to draw, to make music... to sketch out those grand plans in whatever medium feels right.

December 22, 2019