Georgian Fairy Tales: Sunrise and sunset

It was close to 5AM and we were speeding down a surprisingly deserted highway. The sun – always magnificent in this part of the world – had just begun its ascent, gradually illuminating the darkness that hovered at the edge of dawn.

Where exactly is Georgia again? he asked.

South of the Russian border. Near Azerbaijan.

He gave me a look. Near Azerbaijan. Well, that’s helpful. 

The horrendous Eid airport queue I had been paranoid about did not materialize – Aren’t you glad you didn’t wake up at 2? he commented. Overjoyed, I said – so we made our way through immigration without fuss and had just enough time for a companionable stroll to the gates.

Not that we were going on holiday together; one flight was leaving half an hour after the other, heading in the same general direction, that was all. Made me happy anyway.

*****

Woke up with a jolt as we touched down in Baku. A pity we were not to deplane; instead I watched with interest as several passengers left, among them a group of white-robed men with falcons perched on their arms. After the novelty had departed, I peered through the window, straining to make out anything remotely Azerbaijani.

Near Azerbaijan. Well, that’s helpful. I smiled to myself.

The moment we were airborne again Mendelssohn lulled me back to sleep and when my eyes fluttered open we were landing in Tbilisi.

Dutifully went through all the arrival rituals, including a visit to the forex counter to change my euros left over from Croatia to laris – my mother will be thrilled with these and the kuna I saved for her, it’s been a year of interesting currency – and the customary negotiation with a taxi to take me to town.

I had chosen to stay in a very residential area within walking distance of the historical district. I say very because the guest house was located in a warren of steeply narrow pebbled lanes, impossible to find for the first-timer.

It was a place that was charming in its slightly decrepit, Soviet-era way; tall houses jostling for space with the trees, graffiti in the ebulliently curly Georgian script on the walls, small cars parked precariously along both sides, hand brakes reinforced by bricks and stones, the everyday hum of a normal, lived-in, un-gentrified neighborhood.

The guest house itself was run by a lovely Georgian couple, had a rooftop terrace with unobstructed views of the city (a main selling point) and the room I was shown to was clean and neat, with its own fridge and bathroom, linen, toiletries and hot water included. What more does a single traveler need, really. Wi-Fi? Of course.

After a quick nap, I went off to get lost.

*****

Found a little convenience store at the corner and promptly learned to say vlada (or was it voda). Spasiba, I said to the lady behind the counter after, wishing I’d thought to learn a few more Russian phrases.

Perambulation brought me to the Holy Trinity Cathedral, the third-largest Eastern Orthodox church in the world.  The imposing structure was a truly spectacular vision, symmetry and proportion rising into the sky to reflect the golden light.

I bought a 2-lari khachapuri (the ubiquitous Georgian cheese bread) from the stall outside and sat down on a wrought-iron bench to enjoy it as a large white dog, the first of many canine friends I would make on this trip, settled at my feet to wait for handouts, my thoughts wandering a thousand miles north to where the sun would be setting over the vivid, elaborate domes of another famous cathedral.

It’s an odd sensation to be physically in one strange place but have your mind someplace else you’ve not been to yet.

Sameba, the main cathedral of the Georgian Orthodox Church