Fit for a queen.
Tbilisi, Day 3.
The textured ochre caves of Vardzia appear as we round the bend, an interesting study in contrasts against the brilliant skies and dark-green hills and the silvery river wending its way through the valley.
The view is worth the sweaty climb, of course — every day of this holiday has been an unanticipated, intensive cardio workout.
Standing atop the ledge underneath the church bells, open to the endless heavens, my head could only offer up a We’re in The Eyrie, and these are the Mountains of the Moon observation.
We had lunch right by the river, which called to us so merrily that I and a few others absolutely could not help ourselves, going gingerly down the muddy bank and splashing into the limpid, icy water. Maybe I was a fish in a past life; the water, as it always does, restored my sangfroid.
It was a lovely meal; sunshine, the river’s quiet burble, pleasant conversations, khinkali, and a trio of great shaggy dogs patiently waiting for handouts. One even went so far as to put her nose on my knee, and she was welcome to it.
The Rabati Fortress had withstood the rise and fall of two empires: Ottoman and Russian. You could wander through a classically symmetrical garden surrounded by turrets and see the distinctive domes of the mosque and the ruins of a madrassa within the same sprawling hilltop citadel, just strange enough to keep the casual visitor a bit off-balance.
The last stop of the day was beautiful, refreshing Borjomi, where a Romanov prince built a grand summer estate around Ekaterina Spring, known even then as a source of extraordinary curative powers.
Naturally we did the tourist thing and went to fill up whatever we had on hand with the spring water. I used my empty lemonade glass bottle — a decision that later put me in a bit of a spot, as you will see.
Strolled around the park (that bracing pine-scented air is amazing and I wished I could’ve bottled that up) with my new friends until it turned dark and we had to drive back to Tbilisi.
Reached the capital at 10 PM. Any sensible person would head home to pack and get a good night’s rest before flying out, but when did I ever make a sensible decision while on holiday anyway, and right then my impulsive nature was not so subtly shoving me into looking for the famous sulfur bathhouses. Why the hell not?
Sulfur springs, after all, are why Tbilisi exists; tbili means “warm” and the bathhouses are the kind of thing that makes it onto every single top-ten list of places to visit. When in Georgia….
Eventually a blond lady showed up and I booked myself an hour in a private room – too late for the public baths, anyway.
I spent maybe ten minutes letting the sulfur water wash over me, and then a smiling granny came in for my 20-lari scrub. Which was very interesting. I felt like a piece of meat on the marble slab, being mercilessly scrubbed with something evil-smelling underneath the orange bulbs that hid nothing.
Damp, smelling like hell but feeling absolutely heavenly (having one’s epidermis sloughed off does wonders), I made my way home and promptly fell asleep, utterly content with my glorious day in the great outdoors.
Bathhouse No. 5
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