Crossing the Turkish-Georgian border near Batumi feels like entering a forgotten part of Europe. Or better yet, one that we vaguely knew. Paradoxically, the contrast between modern Turkey, which feels pretty European, and Adjara, this autonomous republic in the southwestern part of Georgia, is rather big. Turkey is well organized, Georgia feels more chaotic. Where Turkey appears like a composition that sometimes allows for improvisation, Georgia leaves the impression of a jam session, gathering ideas for what may well become a composition. In accordance, Turks drive in a rather disciplined, feed-forward sense. Georgians, I would say, just drive. And, then see what happens. Which is an approach in its own right.
Having said that, I’m not a fan of simplifications, especially in a patchy region like the Caucasus. This is nothing more than a first impression. We’re curious as to what is in store for us on Georgia’s winding roads, and open to change our mind.
The wet western part of the road Batumi-Akhaltsikhe
The journey from Batumi to Akhaltsikhe looks inviting on the map. With the promise of beautiful mountain scenery of the Lesser Caucasus. A rehearsal before tackling the much higher region of the northern mountain range. The road, which is what you might call it at the beginning, takes us many hours to navigate. About halfway, it changes into a bumpy mud track. One that requires constant attention to avoid the potholes and road ponds that, because of the rain and melting water, don’t reveal their depth until one of the wheels falls deeply into them. So, we like it, keeping in mind that we have a comfortable shelter on the back just in case the weather takes a turn for the worse.
We climb to a height of 2025 meters, where, at the end of April, we find ourselves driving between 4m high walls of snow. Before that, we pass through an area with substantial landslides. One wonders what it might feel like to live in a house that, maybe, one day will just slip off the hill. The mud is everywhere, and, although there is plenty of habitation along the track, the area feels rather remote.
Room with a view from the sunny eastern part of the road Batumi-Akhaltsikhe
Anyway, we arrived in the Caucasus, and – at least on this trip along the Silk Road – in the first of a series of countries that we have never set foot in before. Georgia, country of mountains, of folk polyphony, of wine. Even claiming the origins of wine. Could there be a connection between the invention of wine and the emergence of song? Probably not, as it is clear that singing is much older than making wine. Then, could there be a causal relationship between drunkenness and the roots of Georgian polyphony? I certainly do not want to claim that Georgian polyphony sounds like a bunch of drunken people. But, even for me as a musician, it is somewhat difficult to put a finger on how this polyphonic singing really works. In the weeks to come, we’ll make ourselves acquainted with Georgian wine and even learn to appreciate it. Alas, our singing doesn’t get any better. So, I admit, my theory about this possible wine-polyphony connection is but a loose hypothesis.
The rather over-restored fortress of Akhaltsikhe
We visit Svetitschoveli Cathedral in Mtskheta, the old capital of Georgia near Tbilisi, beautifully situated at the confluence of the Kuri and Aragvi rivers. A mass is taking place, and the space is completely full of local churchgoers and tourists. We manage to find a spot close to a choir of some 12 men. They practice a religious type of polyphony in regular antiphony with the priest. A beautiful, immersive experience. The polyphony emerges on the spot, sung by heart or from a score that contains only one line of song. The result is an overwhelming feeling of togetherness that radiates throughout the nave. An experience in sharp contrast with a second priest who assiduously swings between the audience. Regularly he catches a tourist who is secretly photographing or filming the scene in spite of the ban, and sends them straight out of the church. A tourist priest who’s filming stealthily with his smartphone only gets slightly reprimanded. As soon as the patrolling priest has turned his back, the tourist priest continues his personal cinematographic project.
Old school religion.
Mtskheta at the confluence of the rivers Kuri and Aragni
Overlander’s tip: The road from Batumi to Akhaltsikhe
A nice ride to get into the mood. Or should I say, in the mud… This 163km trip will take you at least a 5 hours drive if you don’t take any breaks. In wet and/or snowy conditions: 4×4 or at least high ground clearance is recommended, if not required.
Just before Akahltsikhe, the map shows an inviting road (SH14) north through the Borjomi-Kharagauli National Park. In April 2019 this road was closed to car traffic shortly after Abastumani.