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GREAT JOURNEYS: TOUCHDOWN IN TBILISI
Maxton Walker
guardian.co.uk
Monday 8 June 2009 11.31 BST
In the first part of his journey across Georgia, Max Walker arrives
in Tblisi to find fellow tourists are few and far between - an effect
of last year's war with Russia
I'm stark naked and lying face down while a man in shorts attacks me in
a manner that, under normal circumstances, I would regard as outright
physical assault. But, just before I scream in pain, the masseur stops
to dump a huge bucket of hot water over me on my marble slap. It's my
first evening in Tblisi, the capital of the former Soviet republic
of Georgia, and I'm finding out how the local guys like to relax -
in the beautiful tiled surroundings of one of the city's ancient bath
houses, wreathed in the smell of sulphur from one of the hot springs
beneath the city.
I had struggled to find other tourists on the flight from London
earlier that day. The country's brief war with Russia over South
Ossetia last August has done enormous damage to its tourist industry,
and I was keen to find out who was still prepared to come here in
its wake.
On my flight the only tourists I find are a party of 13 pensioners
on a nature tour in the Caucasus with independent operator,
Greentours. "The Foreign Office website said Georgia was fine so,
as far as I'm concerned, it's fine," says one of them, John. I also
meet Jennifer,=2 0a retired Brit living in America, who is spending
three weeks at archaeological sites in Armenia, Georgia and Azerbaijan
(and whose no-nonsense demeanour suggests she is not going to let a
trifling war put her off).
But they are the exceptions. According to the Georgian government,
before the conflict with Russia, tourism from Europe was growing at
nearly 25% a year. Provisional figures for the first quarter of this
year show a 6% drop.
But the country is determined to convince us to come back. According to
one senior Georgian tourism official: "The first thing is to convince
people Georgia is safe. After that, we have to create a high level of
hospitality, and market it as a quality destination." Luke Harding,
the Guardian's Moscow correspondent, meanwhile, says that, although
the government is fairly stable, another conflict with Russia cannot
be completely ruled out.
Entry to Georgia, however, is an absolute breeze (no visa required;
not even an immigration form) and I'm met at arrivals in the gleaming
new metal-and-glass airport by Nini, a diminutive former painter in
her late 20s, now a full-time tourist guide, who, with the help of
enigmatic and taciturn driver Roma, has a week to convince me that
her country is very much open for tourism.
As we head into Tblisi on a modern busy highway, jostling for position
on the packed roads with a mixture of gleaming BMWs, Toyota 4x4s and
decrepit Soviet-e ra Zhigulis, I ask her a question that has been on
my mind: "Are we in Europe or Asia?"
"I don't know," she says. "We're stuck in the middle. This is a
strange place."
Opposition protests in Tblisi, Georgia Photograph: Maxton Walker Tblisi
is built across the river Mtkvari. On the left bank, the picturesque
old town (the ugly Stalinist high-rises are tucked away on the
other side) is home to ancient churches, mosques, synagogues. But
as we drive around some of the sights - the vast main cathedral
(the orthodox church is still huge in Georgia), St Nino's church
outside the city and the flea market - I am, I have to confess, not
instantly overwhelmed by what Tblisi has to offer; it feels as much
a functional city as a tourist destination.
The strangeness, however, doesn't take long to manifest. Opposition
protesters against the charismatic young president, Mikheil
Saakashvili, have closed off three of Tblisi's main streets by
filling them up with dozens of polythene covered "cells" in which they
have been living for about the last six weeks. (They are, they say,
symbolically imprisoned by the government); it is a surreal experience,
walking slowly amongst the grumpy middle-aged men sitting smoking
quietly in their cells; like walking through a colossal avant garde
art installation. It is also by far the most memorable event of my
first day.
"I don't see what's anti-democratic about keeping the streets clear,"
I tell Nini later. "In Britain, the police would just drag them away."
"We're a young democracy," she says. "The opposition has to be seen
to be respected. People are watching."
And so to dinner, at a restaurant near the river. Georgian meals
are about celebrating the fact that this has always been a land of
plenty, and we tuck into a vast table of Mediterranean-style food
(the country is on the same latitude as Italy): freshly baked and
delicious local bread, tomato salad, shashliks, sausages, nuts, cheese
and aubergines. The doesn't stop coming, with the plates ending up
piled on top of each other.
And, of course, there's the local wine; most Georgians have a taste
for the country's distinctive slightly sweet variety; although there
is plenty that is familiar to European palates. As I set off to the
bath-house for my after-dinner massage, I reflect that, whatever else,
nobody is ever going to starve here.
Maxton Walker
guardian.co.uk
Monday 8 June 2009 11.31 BST
In the first part of his journey across Georgia, Max Walker arrives
in Tblisi to find fellow tourists are few and far between - an effect
of last year's war with Russia
I'm stark naked and lying face down while a man in shorts attacks me in
a manner that, under normal circumstances, I would regard as outright
physical assault. But, just before I scream in pain, the masseur stops
to dump a huge bucket of hot water over me on my marble slap. It's my
first evening in Tblisi, the capital of the former Soviet republic
of Georgia, and I'm finding out how the local guys like to relax -
in the beautiful tiled surroundings of one of the city's ancient bath
houses, wreathed in the smell of sulphur from one of the hot springs
beneath the city.
I had struggled to find other tourists on the flight from London
earlier that day. The country's brief war with Russia over South
Ossetia last August has done enormous damage to its tourist industry,
and I was keen to find out who was still prepared to come here in
its wake.
On my flight the only tourists I find are a party of 13 pensioners
on a nature tour in the Caucasus with independent operator,
Greentours. "The Foreign Office website said Georgia was fine so,
as far as I'm concerned, it's fine," says one of them, John. I also
meet Jennifer,=2 0a retired Brit living in America, who is spending
three weeks at archaeological sites in Armenia, Georgia and Azerbaijan
(and whose no-nonsense demeanour suggests she is not going to let a
trifling war put her off).
But they are the exceptions. According to the Georgian government,
before the conflict with Russia, tourism from Europe was growing at
nearly 25% a year. Provisional figures for the first quarter of this
year show a 6% drop.
But the country is determined to convince us to come back. According to
one senior Georgian tourism official: "The first thing is to convince
people Georgia is safe. After that, we have to create a high level of
hospitality, and market it as a quality destination." Luke Harding,
the Guardian's Moscow correspondent, meanwhile, says that, although
the government is fairly stable, another conflict with Russia cannot
be completely ruled out.
Entry to Georgia, however, is an absolute breeze (no visa required;
not even an immigration form) and I'm met at arrivals in the gleaming
new metal-and-glass airport by Nini, a diminutive former painter in
her late 20s, now a full-time tourist guide, who, with the help of
enigmatic and taciturn driver Roma, has a week to convince me that
her country is very much open for tourism.
As we head into Tblisi on a modern busy highway, jostling for position
on the packed roads with a mixture of gleaming BMWs, Toyota 4x4s and
decrepit Soviet-e ra Zhigulis, I ask her a question that has been on
my mind: "Are we in Europe or Asia?"
"I don't know," she says. "We're stuck in the middle. This is a
strange place."
Opposition protests in Tblisi, Georgia Photograph: Maxton Walker Tblisi
is built across the river Mtkvari. On the left bank, the picturesque
old town (the ugly Stalinist high-rises are tucked away on the
other side) is home to ancient churches, mosques, synagogues. But
as we drive around some of the sights - the vast main cathedral
(the orthodox church is still huge in Georgia), St Nino's church
outside the city and the flea market - I am, I have to confess, not
instantly overwhelmed by what Tblisi has to offer; it feels as much
a functional city as a tourist destination.
The strangeness, however, doesn't take long to manifest. Opposition
protesters against the charismatic young president, Mikheil
Saakashvili, have closed off three of Tblisi's main streets by
filling them up with dozens of polythene covered "cells" in which they
have been living for about the last six weeks. (They are, they say,
symbolically imprisoned by the government); it is a surreal experience,
walking slowly amongst the grumpy middle-aged men sitting smoking
quietly in their cells; like walking through a colossal avant garde
art installation. It is also by far the most memorable event of my
first day.
"I don't see what's anti-democratic about keeping the streets clear,"
I tell Nini later. "In Britain, the police would just drag them away."
"We're a young democracy," she says. "The opposition has to be seen
to be respected. People are watching."
And so to dinner, at a restaurant near the river. Georgian meals
are about celebrating the fact that this has always been a land of
plenty, and we tuck into a vast table of Mediterranean-style food
(the country is on the same latitude as Italy): freshly baked and
delicious local bread, tomato salad, shashliks, sausages, nuts, cheese
and aubergines. The doesn't stop coming, with the plates ending up
piled on top of each other.
And, of course, there's the local wine; most Georgians have a taste
for the country's distinctive slightly sweet variety; although there
is plenty that is familiar to European palates. As I set off to the
bath-house for my after-dinner massage, I reflect that, whatever else,
nobody is ever going to starve here.