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lupestripeThe train to Gori was astonishingly slow, even by Eastern European standards. A journey of around 140km took four hours, double the amount of time I had budgeted and effectively meaning we had to write off the whole day. However it wasn't all bad as we did get to see a great deal of the Georgian countryside slip past, at least until the sun got so blinding that we had to close the plastic curtains in our carriage. We were sharing the coupe with an elderly lady, a friend of hers and a man who spent most of the time wandering up and down the corridor. We largely kept ourselves to ourselves, largely as the language barrier prevented us from really speaking, so Wolfie just read and I updated my journal. One of the reasons for the delay was the intense pissing about we did about a quarter of the way in, with the engine going between ends of the coach as more coaches were added. Indeed when embarking at Kutaisi, our train was just one carriage labeled wagon 5, which only made more sense when we saw the length of the train once we had arrived in Gori. There was no restaurant car and the security man told us we weren't allowed to drink beer, which was just as well as the one and only toilet wasn't working, meaning I had to hold it in for the duration of the trip.
The train station in Gori is in a rather rundown area but one which is being renovated so the smell of tar was percolating through the air. We had to get to the other side of the railway tracks so ended up walking the long way around to reach a bridge we could have climbed up from the railway platform as there was a stairwell right there. Anyway, still with a full bladder we headed into the city up Stalin Avenue, noticing the number of barber shops again and the distinct lack of bars before going to a bank to try and get some money. The cash machine in the first bank was playing silly buggers so we went to a second, where we could swiftly withdraw far more than we could the previous day. We then made our way over to the Sports Cafe, one of only two recommended bars/eateries in the guidebook. It didn't show sports but it did have a toilet, as well as some beer, which we partook in. The table I chose initially was missing a leg, but we did get a better one and soon were enjoying our beverage. Opposite all this was a rather imposing gothic building with a glass dome, which is the city hall. In front of this stood a statue of Stalin, the city's revered son, but it was removed in 2010 under darkness to prevent protest by the authorities. A lit green patch of land is all that stands there today, with the statue of Stalin now standing behind the house of his childhood which is now framed inside a cage of neoclassical Doric columns.
After this, we went searching for the guest house, which is basically someone's private residence so it was quite hard to find. However, we did find it pretty quickly even though next door is an automotive centre and shielded the address of the guesthouse. We were going to be staying with Tamari, a lady recommended to me by my Russian colleague's friend, who knows the owner very well. Indeed they seem to be very close friends as we got discounts for just mentioning her, even though we have never actually met. She had actually been waiting for us for a while as I anticipated the journey from Kutaisi being slightly shorter than it actually was, but she was charming nonetheless. She showed us to our room and we got settled in before she asked whether we had yet eaten. Answering in the negative, she asked her husband to drive us to the Cafe Nikala (with the afe of Cafe not lit by the neon sign), which he promptly did before frogmarching us downstairs and introducing us to the four members of staff working. It was a bit eerie as there were no other customers in the bar, which made us feel a little on edge, but we were told to sit down as our driver disappeared off. A couple of minutes later and we ordered some standard Georgian beer as well as some local delicacies including potato and meat khinkalis, a bit like Polish pierogi but eaten by hand. They have a hard nexus at the top, which is discarded at the end, but first you need to pierce a hole beneath it with your teeth and then suck out the juice. You then eat around the nexus, devouring the meat/potato/cheese along with the dumpling coating. With our meal we also had skhmeruli, chicken in a creamy garlic sauce which was perhaps a little too unctuous for me. It was quite tasty though, and as the restaurant started to fill up with people (typically groups of teenage girls who hid themselves in one of the booths masked by Wild West style swing wooden doors) our initial fears proved to be unfounded. Indeed walking around Gori afterwards, we quickly claim to the conclusion that there were very few options in the town outside of this, with the number of bars and restaurants at a distinct premium. Banks and betting shops, along with convenience stores with deceptive beer signs outside are plentiful but actual drinking places are scarce.
After our food, we decided to walk around for a bit, enjoying the relatively warm night. As we travailed up Stalin Avenue, we spotted a children's ride playing The Battle Hymn of the Republic as it rocked a child back and forth. This was in front of the imposing temple-like building that houses the Stalin Museum, in front of which stands the simple brick building in which the former Soviet leader was born in 1889 and lived for the first four years of his life. This is enclosed in a brick sarcophagus and is framed by Doric columns supporting a roof with stars upon it. In the dark it was quite imposing, and with plans to visit the museum proper on Wednesday, coupled by the fact we were some of the only people there, we decided to head off quickly in search of a bar. Alas, as I've said, options were rather scarce. One place we went to was completely desolate while another had blacked out windows and looked a little dodgy. The highly related Champs-Elysees seemed to be more of a restaurant, as did Hunter's with its stuffed taxidermy wolf outside in growly pose, which made me feel a little nauseous in all honesty. As we walked we also spotted some odd signs such as one for 'Fruits and Wegetables' from a convenience store. In the end, we settled on the Read Cafe, only because we caught the owner's eye as we were peering in. This was a rather odd place, with books hanging on string from the ceiling and a miscellany of odd furniture cobbled together in one room but which never really should have met. The lady in her Sixties who served us was pleasant enough, although my Russian was intermittent, leaving me regretting I hadn't studied more before coming here (a common feeling throughout this trip in all honesty, but some of my knowledge has been slowly returning). We were the only people in the place, but as she put on some music and a blue light just for us, we did feel more relaxed, particularly when the lounge version of Billie Jean came on. The Argo beer was one of the main brands and was pleasant enough while the blue seats which were incredibly low set were relaxing enough. The next day we realized that the place was quite popular as we returned early evening, again as there were few other options, and the lady greeted me as a long lost friend, which was nice. The Georgian hospitality has been fantastic, as we were about to find out, but on Tuesday night we decided just to have one drink in the Read Cafe before heading back to Tamari's, not wanting to keep her up too late (it was 10pm) as this is actually her house. So this is what we did although on the way we did wander around the charming few streets which make up the old town in a desperate attempt to find another bar. Alas we couldn't, with a rather loud one seeming more like a restaurant so we headed back, with me staying up chatting to Tamari for an hour and a half in reasonable English, although at times I did not understand what our host was saying. Meanwhile Wolfie went back to the bedroom to read and I followed him later for a reasonably early night ahead of a rather busy day to follow.
The train station in Gori is in a rather rundown area but one which is being renovated so the smell of tar was percolating through the air. We had to get to the other side of the railway tracks so ended up walking the long way around to reach a bridge we could have climbed up from the railway platform as there was a stairwell right there. Anyway, still with a full bladder we headed into the city up Stalin Avenue, noticing the number of barber shops again and the distinct lack of bars before going to a bank to try and get some money. The cash machine in the first bank was playing silly buggers so we went to a second, where we could swiftly withdraw far more than we could the previous day. We then made our way over to the Sports Cafe, one of only two recommended bars/eateries in the guidebook. It didn't show sports but it did have a toilet, as well as some beer, which we partook in. The table I chose initially was missing a leg, but we did get a better one and soon were enjoying our beverage. Opposite all this was a rather imposing gothic building with a glass dome, which is the city hall. In front of this stood a statue of Stalin, the city's revered son, but it was removed in 2010 under darkness to prevent protest by the authorities. A lit green patch of land is all that stands there today, with the statue of Stalin now standing behind the house of his childhood which is now framed inside a cage of neoclassical Doric columns.
After this, we went searching for the guest house, which is basically someone's private residence so it was quite hard to find. However, we did find it pretty quickly even though next door is an automotive centre and shielded the address of the guesthouse. We were going to be staying with Tamari, a lady recommended to me by my Russian colleague's friend, who knows the owner very well. Indeed they seem to be very close friends as we got discounts for just mentioning her, even though we have never actually met. She had actually been waiting for us for a while as I anticipated the journey from Kutaisi being slightly shorter than it actually was, but she was charming nonetheless. She showed us to our room and we got settled in before she asked whether we had yet eaten. Answering in the negative, she asked her husband to drive us to the Cafe Nikala (with the afe of Cafe not lit by the neon sign), which he promptly did before frogmarching us downstairs and introducing us to the four members of staff working. It was a bit eerie as there were no other customers in the bar, which made us feel a little on edge, but we were told to sit down as our driver disappeared off. A couple of minutes later and we ordered some standard Georgian beer as well as some local delicacies including potato and meat khinkalis, a bit like Polish pierogi but eaten by hand. They have a hard nexus at the top, which is discarded at the end, but first you need to pierce a hole beneath it with your teeth and then suck out the juice. You then eat around the nexus, devouring the meat/potato/cheese along with the dumpling coating. With our meal we also had skhmeruli, chicken in a creamy garlic sauce which was perhaps a little too unctuous for me. It was quite tasty though, and as the restaurant started to fill up with people (typically groups of teenage girls who hid themselves in one of the booths masked by Wild West style swing wooden doors) our initial fears proved to be unfounded. Indeed walking around Gori afterwards, we quickly claim to the conclusion that there were very few options in the town outside of this, with the number of bars and restaurants at a distinct premium. Banks and betting shops, along with convenience stores with deceptive beer signs outside are plentiful but actual drinking places are scarce.
After our food, we decided to walk around for a bit, enjoying the relatively warm night. As we travailed up Stalin Avenue, we spotted a children's ride playing The Battle Hymn of the Republic as it rocked a child back and forth. This was in front of the imposing temple-like building that houses the Stalin Museum, in front of which stands the simple brick building in which the former Soviet leader was born in 1889 and lived for the first four years of his life. This is enclosed in a brick sarcophagus and is framed by Doric columns supporting a roof with stars upon it. In the dark it was quite imposing, and with plans to visit the museum proper on Wednesday, coupled by the fact we were some of the only people there, we decided to head off quickly in search of a bar. Alas, as I've said, options were rather scarce. One place we went to was completely desolate while another had blacked out windows and looked a little dodgy. The highly related Champs-Elysees seemed to be more of a restaurant, as did Hunter's with its stuffed taxidermy wolf outside in growly pose, which made me feel a little nauseous in all honesty. As we walked we also spotted some odd signs such as one for 'Fruits and Wegetables' from a convenience store. In the end, we settled on the Read Cafe, only because we caught the owner's eye as we were peering in. This was a rather odd place, with books hanging on string from the ceiling and a miscellany of odd furniture cobbled together in one room but which never really should have met. The lady in her Sixties who served us was pleasant enough, although my Russian was intermittent, leaving me regretting I hadn't studied more before coming here (a common feeling throughout this trip in all honesty, but some of my knowledge has been slowly returning). We were the only people in the place, but as she put on some music and a blue light just for us, we did feel more relaxed, particularly when the lounge version of Billie Jean came on. The Argo beer was one of the main brands and was pleasant enough while the blue seats which were incredibly low set were relaxing enough. The next day we realized that the place was quite popular as we returned early evening, again as there were few other options, and the lady greeted me as a long lost friend, which was nice. The Georgian hospitality has been fantastic, as we were about to find out, but on Tuesday night we decided just to have one drink in the Read Cafe before heading back to Tamari's, not wanting to keep her up too late (it was 10pm) as this is actually her house. So this is what we did although on the way we did wander around the charming few streets which make up the old town in a desperate attempt to find another bar. Alas we couldn't, with a rather loud one seeming more like a restaurant so we headed back, with me staying up chatting to Tamari for an hour and a half in reasonable English, although at times I did not understand what our host was saying. Meanwhile Wolfie went back to the bedroom to read and I followed him later for a reasonably early night ahead of a rather busy day to follow.
