Georgia: Jewel of the Caucasus

Tbilisi: Georgia's capital and cultural heart. A timeless city that bears remnants of the numerous cultures that have passed through it's gates.

Batumi: Beaches and sun on the Black Sea coast.

Davit Gareja: Mythical monastery high up in the mountains on the Azeri border.

Gori: Stalin's birthplace and home to the surreal Stalin Museum.

Quick Tips:

While Tbilisi and the coast remain temperate all year round, the mountains are only really passable during late spring and summer. So if you want to see some of the fantastic sights deep in the heart of the Caucasus, you might not want to go in February, like I did, lest you find yourself blocked by 2 feet of snow.

Visas are available for (30 days) at the airport and border crossings.

Best Way To Get Around:

Inside Tbilisi, the Metro is quite handy, but the best is just to walk. Taxis inside the city are only for out-of-reach destinations.Outside of the city you have four main choices:

Buses are reliable and cheap, but not good for long distance.

Marshrutkas are minibuses and are the best emans of travel. More expensive than buses, but faster and good for long distances (like going into Armenia).

Trains are most useful for going to Batumi and into Azerbaijan. The Baku-Tbilisi line is nice.

Taxis are the most reliable for extremely out-of-the-way places but are extremely cheap and very useful.

If you are traveling through Georgia on the cheap, there is almost a 95% chance that you will end up staying at the house of the (in)famous Nasi. Nasi is an old, rotund Georgian lady who, in the Soviet days, used to be a German language teacher but now has decided to rent her place out to weary travelers. All throughout Georgia and Armenia, you will find that the "homestay" is the best option for the budget traveler, and often, in the smaller towns, it is the only option, as the tourist infrastructure in the Caucasus still has a long way to go. And as homestays go, Nasi is Queen.

Her home, located about 100 yards away from the Marjanishvili Metro stop in Tbilisi, may be a bit hard to find, but when you find the pale green house tucked into the back of an alleyway, you will be greeted by the stern smile of Nasi. Because of her years as a German teacher, Nasi speaks perfect German, as well as Georgian and Russian, but her English leaves something to be desired, making communication a bit difficult. Linguistic difficulties, however, will not cloud the warm welcome you will undoubtedly receive from the voluptuous proprietor. Upon entry, she will give you the short tour of her place, an oddly laid-out house, piled to the ceiling with the oddest assortment of books, trinkets, and old pictures, some of them assumedly of Nasi as a young temptress. There are about six beds and a bath, and if it is like when I was there, you may be the only one staying and therefore get your pick of beds.

After getting settled in and paying the $7/night charge, Nasi will most likely shove a large index card with English on it in your face. This is the moment when you realize that Nasi’s house is house of rules. The card is a list of rules that she had someone write down in English for her and consists of the obvious ones, such as "Gate closes at 11pm. Ask for key if you will be out later," followed by, "Be home by midnight." The alleyway on which Nasi’s house resides has an outside gate that is locked every night at 11pm. Nasi then locks her door at midnight. She will gladly give you the key to the gate, but she will not give you the key to her door. Thus, you had better be home by midnight or incur the wrath of Nasi, as I did when I showed up at 5am after a night of supra. The rules on the card aren’t the only ones. You will soon discover other, odder, rules such as, "Don’t sit on the beds." Apparently the beds are for sleeping only, and if you are to sit, use a chair.

Despite the drawbacks, Nasi’s is a great place to stay merely for the contacts. She can set you up with homestays all over Georgia, so just enjoy it.

Of all the monasteries in Georgia, Davit Gareja may be my favorite. It is located way in the south of the country, along the border with Azerbaijan. The monastery itself affords fantastic views, and its completely out-of-the-way location makes it a bit difficult to visit, meaning that if you make it, you very likely will be alone.

A visit to the site can be made as a long day trip from Tbilisi, but it is plenty worth it. To get there my friend and I hopped a marshrutka (minibus) from Tbilisi’s main station to Gardabani, a small outpost of a town on the Azeri border. The trip was long, about two hours along mostly dirt roads past old broken down Soviet factories, but at just over $2, it was hard to complain. When we arrived in Gardabani, my friend and I were at a complete loss at how to get to the monastery from there. We were working without a guidebook, and just winging it, so we began to ask around. My friend knew a small bit of Russian, so he tried that, and it was working, but I soon realized that the locals were all speaking Azeri to each other. I could speak Turkish, and Azeri is extremely close, so I thought I would try my luck. It worked, and I thanked God that for the first time in my whole month in Georgia, I was not linguistically impotent. A local taxi driver said that the monastery was 25km away and that he would take us there for $40. I immediately didn’t trust him and asked if we could walk. They laughed. So we bartered, and he eventually got us there for $20. It was a good thing, because it really was 25km away, and along an even worse road than before. Along the way, the taxi driver showed us the construction of the fabled Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan pipeline. The pipeline, he said, was destined to boost to fortunes of the already neglected Azeri minority in Georgia.

Eventually we reached the monastery, a small complex dating back to the 6th century, inexplicably carved into the side of a mountain. The original monastery had been founded by Syrian monks but was now run by Georgians. The gatekeeper showed us in and let us wander around the grounds. The monastery is surrounded by walls, and all the buildings face an internal courtyard.

After seeing the monastery, the monk told us to walk up the mountain, where we would find some old cave churches. We complied, and after about a half-hour hike, we reached the top and were greeted with fantastic views over the barren plains of Azerbaijan. The frescoes in the church were nice as well, but nothing compared to the views. Fantastic--a complete contrast to the lush valleys around Tbilisi. On the way back, the Azeri cabbie told us that at some point we should go to Azerbaijan. I told him I would.

When most people think of the Black Sea, they think of a dark and icy sea surrounded by snow-capped mountains, a merciless sea that pounds away at the gigantic oil tankers bringing oil to the Mediterranean. What they do not expect is the lush, semi-tropical environment of Batumi and the coast of Adjara.

The modern state of Georgia is a federation of smaller states, loosely held together by a central government in Tbilisi. Since independence, however, some of these states have tried to break away. The most famous, Abkhazia, tried to do it violently, resulting in a full-scale war. Adjara, on the other hand, tried to do it peacefully, and the result was the establishment of the Autonomous Administrative Region of Adjara, headed by the eccentric Aslan Abashidze.

Adjara has its own government, own laws, and own taxes. It is united with Georgia in only the loosest of manners (you need no special visa). Adjarans themselves are ethnically Georgian and speak Georgian, and the only difference is that somewhere along the line, they converted to Islam, but even that has disappeared (only one mosque exists in Batumi today). It is an odd place, but one of supreme natural beauty, and worth a visit.

Batumi is its capital, and it is a city that seems like it belongs more as the capital of some small Caribbean isle than a Caucasian republic. Its buildings are designed in a manner that seems to be a half-finished copy of the British colonial style. The Black Sea looks as blue as the Caribbean. In February it was T-shirt weather, and if it weren’t for the lack of palm trees and the snow-covered mountains, you really might forget where you were.

The trip to Batumi is a long (8-hour) and tedious train ride from Tbilisi or a much more bearable and shorter minibus ride. I decided to take the train out and nearly froze to death huddled under my jacket. I hardly slept at all. By all means, you should take the minibus.

There are not many reasons per se to go to Batumi, other than to experience its distinct style and take in some refreshing sea air and sunshine. There is a small Stalin Museum commemorating the year he spent there (1901-1902), as well as the infinitely more interesting Adjara Museum, a strange testament to the Abashidze family and the autonomy of Adjara. About 12km to the south, you will find the Byzantine fortress of Gonio, the most interesting sight in the region. Beyond that, just walk around, sit at the beachside cafés, or maybe take a dip in the sea if it is warm enough. There are even a few bars that get lively at night for a good time. Admittedly, I was there in February, and I imagine that the summer months are more exciting.

In terms of places to stay, there are plenty of homestays available, as well as regular hotels. I stayed at the Hotel Bebo, a small and friendly homestay, for $5.

A trip to Gori, the birthplace of Stalin, is like a trip back in time to the old days of the USSR, when the cold bronze stare of of Gori’s favorite son kept a watchful eye over public squares all over the Soviet Union. Gori is perhaps the only place in the former USSR where statues of Josef Dzhugashvili, later Josef Vissarionovich Stalin, (he tried to hid his non-Slavic Georgian descent) still stand. And although Stalin was not particularly nice to his homeland, or at least no nicer than he was to the rest of the USSR, the residents of Gori still love him, he is their native son and the only one they’ve got.

The highlight of Gori, about an hour and a half to the north of Tbilisi, is without a doubt the Stalin museum. The Stalin museum is a temple dedicated to the former dictator and perhaps one of the most unique sights you will ever find. When approaching the museum, you will first see a smaller building, a small house made from wood and stucco--this is the house where Stalin was born and grew up. They moved it from its original location in Gori to here, in front of the museum. You can go inside, but you will have to find someone to unlock it. In addition to the house, on the grounds of the museum you will also find Stalin’s train car that he used to travel to the Potsdam conference in 1945. Again, you will have to find someone to unlock it.

Upon entry to the museum, you will be greeted by a spacious, cold, and poorly lit foyer where you will most likely find one of the few old ladies who are the museum’s caretakers. They will sell you an entrance ticket ($0.50, $1 for picture permission) as well as a guide in English, postcards of Stalin, and maps of Gori, all except the ticket are optional. It is very likely that you will be in the museum alone, and if it is winter, it will be very cold. One of the old ladies will follow you around, directing you and unlocking the doors for you. Inside the exhibits, you will find various pictures, documents, and old copies of Pravda detailing Stalin’s rise to power and then his reign. It is all in Russian and Georgian, and the English guide doesn’t help, so you may just have to guess. You will also find copies of Stalin’s various literary works, but what you will not find is any sort of criticism or evidence of his brutal seizure of power and the exile of Trotsky.
The final exhibit details WWII and his relationship with the U.S. and U.K. There is even a letter from Roosevelt commending the courage of Soviet troops. After that, you will be greeted by the oddest sight--Stalin’s death mask, an addition that just makes the museum all too surreal.

If you are up in Gori visiting the Stalin Museum, a good way to detox from the binge of Soviet-style propaganda is by heading out to the cave city of Uplistsikhe--that is, if you can pronounce it. The site is about 10 miles outside of town, along an extremely bumpy dirt track, and the best way to reach it is to hire a cab in Gori. For about $10, you can get a cab to take you out there, wait, and then take you back.

If you have seen the cave cities of Cappadoccia in Turkey, Uplitsikhe may not seem to impressive at first, being that it is nowhere near as large or well-preserved, but it is still worth a visit, if not for the spectacular views it affords of the Caucasus Mountains. While initial settlements date back to the Bronze Age, what you will mostly see here comes from around the Middle Ages. The most impressive way to enter the site is to follow the river around the bend. You may have guys with horses offering to let you rent one. Then enter through the "Tunnel," a long stairway that climes up the inside of the rock face to the top of the hill and used to be used to provide the city with water. When you pop out of the tunnel, you will be greeted with the whole cave city in front of you and the Caucasus behind you.

From there, you can wander around the site at your leisure. The gatekeeper will have provided you with a map, but it may not be of much help. I sometimes had trouble deciding what was what. The site consists mainly of churches carved into the rock and a few nondescript buildings that may have been houses or storage facilities. You will notice olive and gape presses, as well as collections of amphoraea and a few baptismal pools. Some of the most impressive sights are the theater and Tamaris Darbazi, a large hall with two towering columns carved into the rock.

At the top of the hill, you will notice the 10th-century Prince’s Church, which you can wander inside to see some beautiful candlelit frescos. From the church, you can continue farther along to the precipices beyond where you will find a fantastic bird’s eye view of some more of the ruins as well as a view over the Mtkvari River and the Caucasus.

A standard tour of the place (you can get guides if you wish) will take about an hour and half, which means that you can easily couple it with Gori as a day trip from Tbilisi. It is well worth it.

One thing you will notice about Georgia as soon as you arrive is that it is a deeply religious country. It is the second-oldest Christian nation in the world, having been converted by St. Nino in 337, and they take their Christianity seriously, creating their own unique brand of Christianity with a distinctly Eastern feel. You will notice in the street or on buses, people crossing themselves three times every time they pass a church, and upon entering any church in Georgia, it is hard not to be moved by the pure spirituality that prevails. Women cover their heads in scarves, light candles, and kiss pictures of Jesus, Mary, and various saints, all while the sweet smell of incense hangs in the air. Georgians are the most deeply Christian people I have ever experienced, but they have always been a place of tolerance, where mosques and synagogues coexist with churches, adding to the thick religious air. The cold secular fist of Communism did its best to stamp out religion (as it did in Azerbaijan), but it obviously failed, because Georgians show an extreme dedication to their church today. This is what you must keep in mind when you travel 30 minutes to the north of Tbilisi to visit Mtskheta, the ancient capital of Georgia and the former seat of the Georgian church.

Hoping on a minibus at Tbilisi’s station to head to Mtskheta, you will be joined most likely by numerous Georgians all heading to the town for a dose of spirituality and prayer. For them, this is the equivalent of a Catholic heading to St. Peter’s or a Muslim to Mecca. In the bus, there may be a priest or two, and you can watch with quiet awe as everyone on the bus crosses themselves in unison as it passes any church along the way. The bus ride will undoubtedly be a somber one full of reflection.

The town of Mtskheta itself is a UNESCO World Heritage site located in a valley at the intersection of the Mtkvari and Aragvi rivers, and even if it weren’t the center of Georgian spirituality, its fabulous location would be enough reason to visit. The center of the town, where you will find the largest concentration of churches, is located right at the intersection of the rivers, and is a small area filled with cobblestone streets, slightly crumbling houses, and magnificent churches, the most important of them being the 11th-century Sveti-Tskhoveli Cathedral, the largest cathedral in Georgia. This is the spiritual heart of Mtskheta, the supposed burial place of Jesus’ robe and the sight of one of St. Nino’s miracles (restoring a tree that had been cut in two). Outside the entrance to the compound, you will find various vendors selling trinkets, bracelets, and beautifully carved icons, but when you enter the grounds of the church, you will come through a large gate in the defensive wall surrounding the compound (Mtskheta was military capital, as well as religious one).

Upon entry, the tone becomes immediately somber and spiritual. The church itself is really an impressive building from the outside, but the inside is downright amazing. When I entered, a man’s choir was standing near the alter chanting, and their deep voices echoing off the cold stone walls of the cathedral literally sent shivers down my spine it was so beautiful. It turned out there was a communion going on. A priest stood at the front of the church holding a challis of wine, and a long line of Georgians stretched out in front of him down the center aisle of the church. One by one, the worshippers would approach the priest, kiss one of the icons, take a wafer, put it in their mouths, drink from the challis, and then kiss the elbow of the priest. I stood on the side and watched for a while, taking in the aural delights of the chanting, and then examined the rest of the icons in the church. About a half an hour later, the service ended and a bride in a flowing white dress and a groom wandered in - it was time for a wedding. This cathedral, like all churches in Georgia, had no pews, so everyone stood in a semicircle behind the bride and groom, listening intently. The service itself only took a few minutes, and then the bride and groom stood at the front of the church while each visitor approached to give them blessings. Talk about a fantastic place to get married.

Sveti-Tskhoveli is the highlight of Mtskheta, but there are still plenty of other sights to see. There is a fortress, the Mtskheta Museum, but one of my favorites may be the tiny little church of Antioki set on the banks of the river. The church itself is ridiculously small, fitting no more than three people, but the inside is lovely. From Antioki Church, you will be able to see a large church on a hill across the river; this is Jvari Church, perhaps the most spectacular Georgian church and one of the most religiously important. If you haven’t already had your fill of Georgian spirituality, you should head up to this church, built on the sight where St. Nino first laid her cross. It will not disappoint.

Many people may not agree, but in my mind, Mtskheta is one of Georgia’s must-sees. While there are more historically interesting places and places with better scenery in Georgia, I love Mtskheta because it gives you an invaluable insight into the deep veins of spirituality that run through Georgian culture. Georgians are forever connected with their church, and in order to get a full picture of Georgia, seeing Mtskheta is a must. Plus, it’s hard not have a bit of a spiritual experience yourself, no matter what religion you are, seeing the absolute love and devotion of the worshippers at Mtskheta.

Tbilisi is easily my most favorite city in Caucasus. It is an ancient city, nestled in a valley along the banks of the majestic, but impossible-to-pronounce, Mtkvari River. The city, although surrounded by towering mountains, manages to maintain a temperate climate that keeps it relatively warm, even in February, when the mountains roads are blocked by snow. It is perhaps because of its temperate climate that Tbilisi has long attracted the envy of the numerous empires that have passed through its wall. From Persians, to Turks, to Russians, and even the brief Georgian Empire, numerous cultures have left their mark and turned Tbilisi into a melting pot of culture and learning, something even 70 years of monolithic Soviet rule couldn’t stamp out.

During the Soviet era, Georgia was one of the USSR’s hottest travel destinations (both in temperature and popularity), and Tbilisi was its center. Sadly, the civil wars, poverty, and other internal strife that tore apart the country not only ruined Tbilisi’s travel business, but left many of its most precious sights in ruins. Since the Rose Revolution just a few years ago, however, Georgia has seemed to be on its way to peace and prosperity, leaving behind corrupt post-Soviet politics and reinvesting in tourism. What that means for the traveler is that you will find a city that has just started to realize its tourism potential, a city full of magnificent sights and wonderful people who will make it their duty to ensure you leave Tbilisi loving it as much as I did.

Your first impressions of Tbilisi may depend on what the weather is like. If the sun is shining (as it usually is), the city’s red roofs will glimmer and the stone bridges over the Mtkvari will sparkle, but if it is grey and cloudy, then some of the city’s more depressing aspects may appear. There is no other way of saying it, Tbilisi has a decrepit feel to it. A stroll through the Old Town will reveal buildings with crumpling foundations and holes in the roofs, buildings that are barely shadows of their former glory, but to me, it is that slight decrepit nature that gives the city such a distinct charm. The greatest joy of Tbilisi is just wandering around the cobblestone streets of the Old City, admiring the tangled network of buildings and stairs. The buildings may look as if they would fall over with the slightest breeze, but the people still live in them, and they seem to be in no rush to renovate.

The old city is no doubt where you will spend much of your time while in Tbilisi, for it is the most interesting section and houses the best sights. The center of the Old City is bathhouse district, a string of bathhouses built over sulphur springs where you can get a bath for $2 (see separate entry). Moving beyond that, you will find a series of streets just waiting to be explored, streets that house numerous churches and fantastic architectural pieces. Or you can stop by the synagogue, in front of which you will always find three or four old Jewish ladies commenting on the goings on of the day. The synagogue is a testament to Tbilisi’s multicultural past, when over 9,000 Jews lived in the city. The numbers today are closer to 3,000, but the community is still vibrant and the caretakers of the synagogue will be happy to show you the building and their adjoining matzah factory, which was pumping out loads of wafers for Passover during my visit.

From the Old City, you can take the short hike up to the omnipresent Narikale, the old fortress that keeps watch over Tbilisi. While nothing but the walls remain, the fortress still affords the best views of the city and the surrounding mountains, especially on a sunny day.
From the fortress, you can continue on to the statue of Mother Georgia, a large silver statue of a woman holding a wine cup in one hand (to represent Georgian hospitality) and a sword in the other (to represent Georgia’s fighting spirit), a perfect reminder that Georgians, while some of the most hospitable on Earth, are not ones to be crossed.
Marching back down the hill, you can swing by the one mosque in Tbilisi, a nondescript brick building that, from the outside, looks less than impressive, but on the inside, is painted in wonderful light blues and greens. The gruff-looking men hanging around the entrance may look intimidating, but with just a quick hello, you will find them incredibly excited to greet tourists. The clientele is mostly Azeris, an oft-forgotten minority in Georgia, so they appreciate the attention.

Outside the Old City, Tbilisi still houses numerous museums that will delight, my favorite being the Money Museum, which houses a collection of old and new coinage and bills from Alexander, to the Persians, to Soviet days. Tbilisi also is home to an opera house and a couple of art museums showcasing Georgian artists.

For shoppers, Tbilisi will not disappoint. Despite a number of higher-end boutiques, Tbilisi has numerous stores featuring local crafts, but the shopping highlight is no doubt the weekend market that appears on the city’s bridges. Here you will find everything from antiques, to records, to crafts and artwork, and maybe even a few Soviet relics.

Once night falls, Tbilisi showcases perhaps the best nightlife in the Caucasus. With a large ex-pat community, Tbilisi has no shortage of lovely bars and cafés, but the highlight is the cuisine. Numerous Georgian restaurants are available to introduce you to the delicious local cuisine, but if you want to do it right, make friends with a Georgian, and without a doubt, you will be soon invited to a supra, the traditional Georgian feast at which the wine flows, the toasts are long, and the company is spectacular (see separate entry). Georgians will find any reason to celebrate, and no doubt having a foreign visitor will be excuse enough to throw an elaborate dinner where you will be the guest of honor.
So that is Tbilisi, city once plagued by daytime robberies and kidnappings, which has put its recent dark past behind it and is eager to welcome willing visitors with open arms. Enjoy it.

If you are going to be in Georgia for any length of time, it would be a crime to miss out on the most quintessential Georgian experience, the supra. The Georgians take their eating seriously, and they take their celebrating even more seriously. They will find any reason to celebrate, and when they do, you had better be prepared for a long night full of drink, food, and endless toasts. It is guaranteed to be the most rewarding experience of your whole Georgia trip.

Now, there are two main ways to experience a supra. The first is the easy way, by going to one of the "traditional" Georgian restaurants set up for tourists, and the hosts will organize a supra for you, complete with all the necessary toasts. This way will undoubtedly be a good time and a good introduction to Georgian culture, but it won’t be anything compared to the real thing, and that is why I recommend the second way--to befriend a Georgian.

Now, every country in the world always talks about how hospitable their people are, but the Georgians really mean it. Just as the statue of Mother Georgia holds out a challis of wine to welcome visitors, so do Georgians go out of their way to give you the best time you can possibly imagine. Befriending a local is something you hardly even have to try at. Sitting at a café, on the bus, or in a restaurant, you are sure to eventually be approached by someone willing to make friends, and when you do, be prepared, because your whole Georgian experience will change. I, on the other hand, had a connection in Georgia--a friend of a friend in Tbilisi who I met up with a few days after I got to Georgia. His name was Roini, and this was our supra:

After a dinner at which Alexo the electrician bought us vodka and insisted we call him the case of an electrical emergency, my travel buddy and I were on our way to Republic Square when my phone rang, and it was Roini, my Georgian contact. Without explaining, he told me to find a taxi and to give the phone to the cabbie--we were going to meet him, he insisted. I watched as the cabbie nodded his head, recalling direction, and soon the taxi was wending its way through the streets of Tbilisi until we ended up on the highway out of town. My friend and I watched as the city of Tbilisi disappeared behind us. We had absolutely no idea where we were going and just put our faith in Roi and the cabbie. Eventually we pulled into a large banquet hall complex. The cabbie motioned that this was it. We paid and went in.

Entering into the hall, we found a good 10 tables full of Georgians, all there to celebrate different events. The tables were piled with food and jugs of wine, and a band was playing selections of Georgian music. Roi soon found us and dragged us over to his table, a long banquet table packed with Georgian twenty-somethings like himself. He proceeded to explain our presence to his friends and then introduced us one by one. Everyone let up a cheer and invited us to sit down.

Within minutes of sitting down, we had piles of food shoved in front of us, and our highball glasses were filled with a brown liquid about the color of apple juice that we discovered was some Georgian wine. We tried to explain that we had just eaten, but that excuse didn’t fly, so my friend and I were forced to comply. The food was, of course, fantastic, but when I went to grab some wine, Roi stopped me. "You can’t drink until a toast is made!"

Roi soon explained that everyone was here to celebrate his friend’s birthday and that we were about to experience the traditional supra. The way a supra works, Roi explained, is that at each supra, there is what the Georgians call a tamada. The tamada--in this case, the birthday girl’s brother--is the toastmaster. He is the one in charge of controlling the pace of the meal and, by proxy, the pace of everyone’s drinking. Georgian toasts are not like the ones you will find at weddings in the U.S. Pulling out a prepared speech and reading off a piece of paper would be an unforgivable crime. In Georgia, toasts must be spontaneous and from the heart. A few minutes after our arrival, the tamada stood up and toasted to us. He went on for a couple of minutes about the value of friendship, making new friends, and the importance of meeting people from other places. When he finished, everyone cheered, and I got prepared to drink my large glass of wine, but Roi stopped me.

In addition to the tamada, Georgian supras feature what the Georgians call an alaverdi. The alaverdi (in this case, Roi) has the responsibility of elaborating on whatever toast the tamada has just made. The alaverdi is named after Georgia’s second holiest church, Alaverdi (meaning "God gave" in Turkish), and in this case, Roi elaborated for a few minutes on the value of cultural exchange. When he finished, everyone cheered again, and then he gave a nod, indicating it was time to drink. As I lifted the glass to my lips, Roi looked at me and said, smiling, "Make sure to drink it all!" And I did, to the delight of all.

The supra continued in that fashion--a toast by the tamada, elaborated by the alavedi, and then a glass of wine. The toasts ranged from toasts about God to toasts blessing grandparents. Eventually it came time for the guests to toast, which I did to the best of my ability, with Roi translating. My toast about the joys of birthdays seemed to be a hit, and after a few more glasses of wine, the music picked up, and Roi looked at me and said, "It’s time to dance!"

Dancing is another integral part of the supra. The way it works is that the men get up and ask whomever they want to dance, and the women don’t refuse. You can ask whomever you want, even if they are married, because the dance is considered something of friendship only. It’s a celebration. So getting over my initial trepidations with a few more gulps of liquid courage, I walked up to one of Roi’s friends and asked for a dance. "Don’t ask her!" Roi shouted, "She’s pregnant!" Embarrassed, I moved on to another girl, the birthday girl, and had my dance. Eventually the number of dance partners increased, and soon we were over at neighboring tables, asking complete strangers to dance, and each time, we were received with sincere warmth and love. The people at the new tables would toast to us, drink, and then we would toast to them. And on and on it went. Dance, toast, drink, eat until 3am, when the band started to pack up, signaling the night had ended. We thanked Roi and the others for a fantastic time and shared one last toast, completing perhaps one of the greatest nights in all my years of travel.

And that is the supra. You can’t say you have seen Georgia until you experience one.

Sadly, the event was so spontaneous that I didn't have a camera handy, so no pictures are available. Sorry.

Tbilisi has long been famous for the piping-hot sulphur water that bubbles out of the ground along the banks of the Mtkvari River; in fact, that’s where the city gets it name. So, not surprisingly, Tbilisi has its fair share of bathhouses, all centered around the same district, Abanotubani. The famous bathhouses of Tbilisi have been written about by such famous authors as Pushkin and Dumas, so there was no doubt that I had to give them a try. Plus, I am a veteran of numerous voyages through the Middle East, and therefore I am well equipped to handle the bathhouse experience.

Tbilisi in February can be fairly temperate, but still chilly and with a lot of rain. So I picked a grey, cloudy day full of rain and biting cold to make my way to Abanotubani to give the bathhouses a try. Having no guidebook or anybody telling me what to expect, I packed a backpack with sandals, a bathing suit, some mint-olive soap I had bought in Aleppo, and a towel and hoped on the metro.

As you walk into the old city to find the baths, all you have to do is follow your nose; the pungent smell of sulphur will lead you right to them. Once in Abanotubani, you will have a large selection of bathhouses to choose from, most of them partially underground. Since I had no tips otherwise, I decided on the Orbeliani Baths, a large complex with elaborate façade of blue tile reminiscent of Central Asia. Upon entry, I was immediately lost. There were women drying their hair in the lobby and various men milling about. I noticed a cash register and went up to try and figure things out. Through pantomime, I established that one go in the baths was $2. I paid got a receipt and then looked around, confused as to where to go. Eventually, the cash-register lady pointed me upstairs to the men’s section

At the top of the stairs was a locker room where a worker took my receipt and then unlocked a locker for me. He motioned for me to put my stuff in there. I did, and then looked around. All the rest of the men were getting naked and heading into the baths. The nudity was a bit of a surprise, because I am used to Middle Eastern baths, where you wrap a towel around your waist and DO NOT let it drop. But this is Georgia, and people get naked. So I followed suit (or without suit rather).

The actual bath was a tiled complex with two tiers. There was a row of showers and then a large pool full of hot water. On the second floor there was a place to sit and take in the steam, as well as a cold-water pool. Not really sure of what order to do things in, I started in the showers and scrubbed myself clean with a loofah and my mint-olive soap. For a sulphur bath, the smell really isn’t that overpowering. After the shower, I decided to take a dip in the hot tub, which was plenty hot. From there it was off to the steam room, combined with intermittent dips in the cold-water pool.

Eventually I noticed some benches where some workers were giving massages. One of them asked if I would like one, and recalling the wonderful massages I had had in Syria and Turkey, I agreed. He then threw me onto the tile bench, doused me with water, and then went to work, kneading every ounce of tension out of my muscles. After about 5 minutes, he motioned that it was over, and I retreated to the hot tub for a final dip.

All in all, I spent a good hour and a half in the baths, and it was the most relaxing experience of the whole trip. Drying off back in the locker room, I could only think about the bitter cold and rain that awaited me outside, but the bath had left me rejuvenated and with an extra bounce in my step, so I was ready to face the wind.