"Why travel overseas? There is no need to visit other countries. New Zealand has the most beautiful scenery in the world and it is all close at hand."
When I am in New Zealand, people often make these remarks to me.
True. New Zealand is a beautiful country but travel is much more than seeing different places. Beauty alone does not define a country. There is so much more to see and understand about places you visit.
It is the people, who make a city or country. Beauty in natural or man-made things, places of historical or current interest, the weather or your feelings on the day all add to your perception of a place but it is the people and their culture that are the most important element.
Last night I came back to the hotel after a few hours wandering round some of the sites in central Tbilisi, in Georgia. I tried to analyse why I felt so good and realised that it was the contact with the people I met on the way that made me feel different. People, whose language I did not understand. People, making the town alive and vibrant.
My first stop was at a war memorial. It was simple but impressive.
At the back were slabs of marble with the names engraved of the soldiers killed in action. In front were standing two soldiers on guard. The central object, an urn with a burning flame, was on a raised platform between the guards.
I approached one of the guards who indicated he was happy to talk but the language barrier, especially when he had to stand at attention and could not use gesture, proved too great a handicap to understanding what he was trying to tell me.
However, nearby were two young boys, possibly about thirteen years old. They were not fooling around, as young boys are prone to do. They were standing in contemplation, paying respect to men who had died for their country. They spoke a little English and with their interpretation of what the guard was saying in Georgian, I was able to understand the importance and reverence they placed on the memorial.
The flame never went out. Soldiers were on duty for two hours each, every day from 9am in the morn until 6pm at night.
I asked the boys, "When you are older would you be prepared to fight for Georgia?"
Without a moment's hesitation, they both answered a simple "yes". One lad continued, "We, are proud to be Georgians, if Russia invades again we will fight for our country".
I wandered on in contemplative mood. It was good to see young people who had such strong feelings of patriotism.
I passed a cake shop with a window display so tempting that I went in to buy a cake that was all cream and meringue. My speech was intriguing to the two women in the shop. When I said I was from New Zealand that brought forth a torrent of chatter and laughter. I am sure they had no idea where New Zealand was. One of the women indicated to me a person standing in the shop.
"He from Zeeland" she said, "He take you see Tbilisi", and they burst into hilarious laughter again.
I laughed with them and said "No. No!" The poor man, who certainly was not from New Zealand, hastily made his escape from the shop.
From time to time along the pavement, I passed stalls, some with tiny stands displaying a few basic food products or fruit probably from their garden. Most of the stallholders were very old women with few older men. It was near the end of the day and they looked tired and weary. They probably came there day after day trying to make some extra money selling goods that were of trifling value.
At one square, were second hand bookstalls, which usually would temp me to linger. Fortunately, for my luggage, books lose their appeal when you cannot even read the title! I watched one fellow as he packed away his books in banana cartons, then, as if by magic, from some hidden place he produced a bag trolley, which he loaded with his boxes, and wheeled away down the street. He was finished for the day.
At one stall I passed an old woman who looked at me and smiled, I greeted her "gamordjoba". I tried to talk to her a little about the wooden beads she was selling but we didn't get much past the fact that the beads were wooden, and her smile which lit up a pair of twinkling eyes. I bought a necklace of beads with a wooden cross. I will remember her lovely smile, because by the end of the day, most of the stallholders look too tired and careworn to think of smiling at a stranger.
I felt sorry for the people that sold flowers by the wayside. They set their flowers on a stone fence or similar. By the end of the day, their remaining flowers were wilted and not even saleable. Next day when it was raining I noticed they still tried to sell little bunches of bedraggled flowers.
My destination that evening was the statue of 'Kartlis Deda, (Mother Georgia) a huge statue on a hill. Presumably, she is watching over the city from her high elevation.
Near the dead-end of a street where steps led up to the statue children were playing, some skipping in two's or three's, others playing ball. It took me back a few years to my skipping days. They were delightful children and an older girl who appeared to be looking after them joined in the skipping for a photo. I remarked on one little girl's hair that was plaited quite elaborately with four little plaits. The older girl was able to reply in stumbling English and was proud to take the praise as she said she did the plaiting. They loved having their photos taken and then looking at them on the camera screen.
I continued up steps past the Church of Bethlehem, to the top of the hill and the monument. I took photos on the way up looking out over the town and at some of the churches. One young couple going up the steps laughed at me lying on the footpath trying to get wild red poppies in the foreground of a photo. The views over the town are marvellous. The statue itself is 20 meter high and more attractive close up than from a distance. She welcomes guests to Tbilisi with a giant goblet of wine while brandishing a sword at potential enemies.
Coming back past the Bethlehem Church I heard music, the soft music of voices in harmony. The sound was not coming from the church but from a half-hidden corner at the back. Here I found a group of six people who were practicing singing in harmony. In the setting of cobbled streets and an old stone church it added to the magic of the evening. Beauty in sound, as well as atmosphere.
I had wandered far and if I wanted to get back before dark, it was time to change direction and make tracks for my hotel.
Almost back, I was able to go to a high spot that overlooked the river and town so I could see the lights of the city as it came alive with sparkling brilliance. On the way, I had stopped at a fast food cafe to satisfy my inner being. I had a big chicken roll and some mashed potatoes, that looked a bit like yellow stewed apples, but did have the faint taste of a of spud! They were filling and chicken roll was delicious.
The lights were truly beautiful. I could look out right over towards the TV tower, Sameba and other churches that are most impressive when lit up at night. My night photography is not very good and as I was puzzling over my camera settings, a Russian security person asked if he could help. He was rather nice but I could not understand much of what he was saying.
It seems strange that at the start of my walk I saw the war memorial for the Georgians killed when fighting the Russians and at the end, I met a kind Russian who was in the city as part of a security force.
These are trifling incidents by themselves but together they make up a different pattern of life and help me to understand Georgians of today.
Our hotel was quite glamorous for us budget travellers.
Once again, I had a room to myself. I am an early riser so a separate room is a bonus and allows me to get up without disturbing other sleepers. I had a monstrous double bed all to myself but best of all was the linen. Embroidered, fine cotton, frilled, scented sheets. I felt like a queen!
I also had another specialty by courtesy of one of the staff, called Inga. I have a peculiar taste in liquids. I like to drink plain boiled water! It is hard to convey that fact to someone who does not understand English so most times I manage with cold. However, Inga 'cottoned on' quickly. Whenever I approached her, she would disappear to return with a big smile and a small thermos jug full of boiling water. She was a lifesaver for me.
Georgian people are friendly and cheerful. They return your greeting with a smile of genuine warmth, however most are very poor but proud.
On the streets are some beggars that are pitifully thin and need help. One evening walking home one woman, who I think was desperate, and probably did not have enough to buy something to eat that night, grabbed me while pleading her cause.
We also stayed a couple of nights in another small town in Georgia called Sheiki.
Sheiki was typical of a small Georgian town. Nobody was in a hurry and under the trees at the town square were restaurant tables with bright checked clothes. It was alive with chatter and laughter.
They had little of spectacular interest except the castle. After visiting a few castles, they no longer intrigue you. However, this one was special. It was a reception building for political visitors.
While invasions had destroyed some of the castle, restoration is now finished. It is a small six-roomed building. Inside, completely covering the walls and ceilings, are paintings that represent the surrounding countryside. Except for one room, where one artist alone was responsible for the paintings, a number of artists had been responsible for the rest of the castle. Originally it took a couple of years to complete, and the paintings are so similar you would think the same artist was responsible for the work. However, there was one grizzly bit of information we were told. Originally, if the overseer did not like the work of one of the artists there was a simple remedy. There was no chance to change it. He, (they did not mention a woman) was killed. I am glad I did not live in those days!
Restoration of the flooring was a major work but the most expensive restoration was the stained glass windows. They had taken particular interest to make sure they matched the original windows. The fact that the coloured glass was set in wooden frames not lead, as is usual, was fascinating. It was certainly worth a visit.
It was a beautiful day and the hills behind the town beckoned me. I found a track that wound its way up the hill, mostly a gentle upward slope through the bush but in places there were steep rocky patches.
At one stage, I heard what sounded like falling rocks and around the corner appeared this donkey and an old man. The donkey was carrying a huge load of oak branches about twenty feet long and six to eight inches in diameter. He was pulling about a dozen logs on each side of him.
At first, I felt sorry for the donkey but then realised that he was used to carrying a load so was probably happy in his work. Later, I met the donkey carrying his master up the hill on his back ready for the next day's logging. The donkey was happy to let me pat him so he was content with his life. The old man got off the donkey and indicated that we sit together on a rock ledge. I knew I would offend him if I did not oblige. Together we talked not understanding a word the other person said yet able to enjoy a sense of harmony and comradeship.
After my lunch, I had time to go further and went up above the tree line on a wider track that disappeared round the side of a hill. When you love walking, it is always compulsive to see round the next corner. This time my reward was a scene of almost unbelievable beauty. I gazed in absolute amazement at the most beautiful snow covered mountains in front of me.
The handiwork of a great creator.
A marvellous farewell picture to treasure and remember Georgia and the wonderful people of that country.
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