2016 Caucasus & Central Asia 1

The Caucasus & Central Asia 1

A journal kept by Susan Hanes during a trip through the Caucasuses and Central Asia from September 4-October 16, 2016.

Volume 1. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, c. 2016 Cover: Khachkar detail, Na3onal Museum of Armenia, Yerevan

The Caucasus & Central Asia September 4-September 16, 2016 There is probably no region on earth that encompasses more diverse cultural and linguisJc socieJes or has a history of greater poliJcal rivalry and instability than the ďŹ ve countries that we visited in the Caucasus and Central Asia. The six weeks of our trip actually consisted of two phases. For three weeks, we traveled in the South Caucasus countries of Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Armenia. APer transiJng through Istanbul, we spent three weeks in Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. All of these former Soviet Republics gained independence in 1991 and all are Jed historically to the legendary Silk Road. At the same Jme, each has a unique character, culture, and history; with ex-Communist strongman in control and Russia rebuilding its sphere of inuence, each is moving towards an uncertain future.

Central Asia was the site of the Great Game, and today, that Game is revving up once again, as geopoliJcal compeJJon expands between Russia and the West. This is a complicated, unstable region, as it has been throughout its long history. It is also a fascinaJng one to explore. We visited historic sites and experienced the diverse culture and geography of the region. And as always, we met warm and hospitable people who reminded us again that we are all one world.

Volume 1 The Cascasus

September 4 - 5

En Route to Baku

Our doorman, Ron, hailed a taxi for us at 5:00 pm to take us to the Thompson Center for the Blue Line to O’Hare. The driver was a real philosopher, who moved to Chicago from Nigeria and raised five children in the US, insuring that all graduated from college. Two were serving in the US military, again belying the generalizaKons about Muslims “infiltraKng” the US so staunchly avowed by Donald J. Trump. We had Kme for my customary glass of Pinot Grigio before we boarded Turkish Airlines flight 6 for Istanbul. Although our seat selecKon seemed acceptable online, they were the last ones in the middle secKon that did not fully recline. We felt quite cramped although our plane was a 777. Our seatmate was Ibrahim Mohamed Zain from Indianapolis, who was headed back to his home in Khartoum for a couple of months. He was very friendly but when he was ready to go to sleep, he covered himself enKrely in the blanket provided. Thinking that we were clever to order special meals, I was not so sure when my mushy vegetarian dinner was delivered, along with several unrecognizable sides. When breakfast was served six hours later, I had the feeling that my le\overs had been sKrred up and returned to me. Our landing in Istanbul was a li]le dicey, made more so by the availability of both a map and a camera view of the lower front of the plane on the screens in front of us. A\er the map displayed three or four loop-de-loops, wheels descended and we came in low over the runway. But then, up we went again. The pilot came over the intercom, saying that he was sorry for the “mistak…”, quickly correcKng himself and simply reporKng that we would be circling around again. The second Kme was fine and we landed 15 minutes behind schedule, giving us just moments to get to the nearby gate and board TK 334 for Baku. Although the flight was less than three hours, we were served a meal and enjoyed the company of our companion, Jürgen, a German engineer with Siemens who comes o\en to Baku on business. We landed at 9:00 pm at Heydar Aliyev InternaKonal Airport, the busiest in the Caucasus, and were pleased that our bags made the transit with us. Soon we were speeding along the twelve-lane divided highway, passing a number of dramaKcally lighted modern structures. We arrived at the Four Seasons; although only open four years, it exhibited old world elegance and courtesy. Our room is the picture of luxury and we slept well.

Tuesday, September 6

Baku, Azerbaijan

We were pleased that we almost slept through the night and so adjust to a new Kme zone, nine hours ahead of Chicago. The luxury and comfort of our room certainly helped. When we came down to the lobby, we noKced several groups of women sihng together, wearing abaya and headscarves, and sporKng sneakers. [This was true for the enKrety of our stay; in the a\ernoons, most returned to the hotel carrying Gucci, Fendi, or Balenciaga shopping bags.] We walked over to the heart of Baku, the UNESCO-listed Walled City of enclosed balconies, narrow alleys, and decorated stonework. Ancient caravanserais had been converted to atmospheric small restaurants. Many of their lower levels were carpet shops, with samples displayed beside the steep steps. We strolled past the Maiden’s Tower, Baku’s historic icon, surrounded by colorful flowering trees at the height of their bloom. Walking around the cobbled streets and along the aging walls, we eventually asked direcKons to the Restaurant Tandir from a friendly fellow on the corner. He waved us up the street to an unassuming li]le place famous for its bread. As we entered through the worn wooden door, the first thing we saw was a round Tandir oven in the middle of the floor. A smiling woman was slapping loaves of moist dough against its sides.

A\er being shown to a cozy table covered by a red and black woven cloth, we ordered yoghurt, an omelet, a pot of tea, and of course, a loaf of bread. What a treat it was, hot and crisp from the oven. The omelet was wonderful too, filled with a bi]er green of some kind.

Maiden’s Tower

Baku’s walled City UNESCO

A\er breakfast, Jake waited for me while I ran back down the hill to look into a shop I’d noKced on the way up. It turned out that the owner was the same man who had given us direcKons. Introducing himself as Haçi or “Haj”, he tempted me with an old metal sKrrup that he told me was once owned by a king and would be worth $1500 in the US. But for me, it would be only 300 manat. When I told him I was from Chicago, he confided that he had once sold Obama a rug. All pre]y impressive, but no sale.

We conKnued up the hill to the Palace of the Shirvanshahs, a sandstone complex that was the seat of northeastern Azerbaijan’s ruling dynasty during the Middle Ages. At the entrance, a sign near a series of bullet holes in the side of the building explained that they were shots ďŹ red by Armenian Dashnaks during the Azerbaijan genocide of 1918. It seems that there is no single guilty party when it comes to the killing of civilians.

I visited the Museum of Miniature Books, a Guinness Record-winning collecKon of over 6500 books from 64 countries, amassed by Zarifa Salahova over the course of 30 years. I even found a Kny treasure created by my friend and fellow Caxtonian, book arKst Miriam Schaer.

At Vahid Gardens we admired the imaginaKve sculpture of Azeri poet Aliagha Vahid (1894-1965), carved with many of his characters integrated into the lines of his hair.

By 12:30, we had made the circuit and were back in our room, feeling hot and jet-lagged.

But there was li]le Kme to rest, for we needed to buy Kckets for our trip to Tbilisi on Thursday. We took a taxi to the majesKc 1884 Baku Rail StaKon. Unfortunately, the staKon is in the midst of a major renovaKon and we had quite a Kme locaKng the Kcket office. The taxi dropped us off on the wrong side of the building and a\er finding a temporary stairway to the new level, we were in the process of trying to quesKon several people when Nadia Nielsen appeared. She asked if she could help us, and led us to the Kcket office where she negoKated the price for our two-berth compartment, carefully spelling out our names in Russian for the a]endant. With Kckets in hand, we accepted her offer to take us wherever we wanted, since she did not have to pick up her small children for another couple of hours. The kindness of strangers is never more appreciated than when one is traveling in a country with no shared language.

Nadia dropped us off at the magnificent Heydar Aliyev Center. Designed by Iraqi-born BriKsh architect Zaha Hadid in 2013, the structure almost defies descripKon. Abstract waves and peaks seem to melt together; Wikipedia describes Hadid’s work as “sweeping fluid forms of mulKple perspecKve points and fragmented geometry that evoke the chaos and flux of modern life.” Sadly, Ms. Hadid died this year at the age of 65. Her work, however, conKnues to amaze. We walked around the massive structure, taking photos at every angle.

Heydar Aliyev Center

Although thoroughly worn out by this Kme, we stalwartly hailed a London-type taxi to take us to the Carpet Museum. The ďŹ ve-story building was designed in 2014 by Austrian architect Franz Janz and resembles a rolled carpet. The collecKon of carpets is a]racKvely displayed along the museum’s curving walls; it has been proclaimed "a Masterpiece of Intangible Heritage" by UNESCO.

On the way back to the hotel, we were relieved to discover an underpass that made our dashing across ten lanes of speeding traďŹƒc unnecessary. We had planned to go to the Ali & Nino CafĂŠ for dinner, but when a taxi brought us to Fountains Square, we discovered that the restaurant was permanently closed. Instead, we went to Firuza, a pleasant spot in a stone basement, a]racKvely decorated with ethnographic saddlebags and small rugs, where we enjoyed local dishes and Azeri white wine.

Wednesday, September 7

Baku

Promptly at 9:00 am, the driver we had engaged picked us up at the hotel.

Emil introduced himself and packed us into a Mercedes S-class automobile, stocked with water, candies, newspapers, and moist towels.

We had planned for him to take us south to the UNESCO Qobustan NaKonal Park and then out on the Absheron Peninsula. We began our day trip by taking a limited access expressway along the Caspian Sea, where we saw evidence of the oil drilling that has enabled Azerbaijan to become a wealthy state and Baku a cosmopolitan city of world-class architecture.

Offshore rigs do]ed the horizon. Socor, Halliburton, and other major

petroleum producers and servicers were ensconced behind the walls of large industrial parks. However, most of the equipment we saw was now idle: the plummeKng price of oil has curtailed not only producKon, but associated construcKon projects. Unfinished residenKal developments lined both sides of the road; shiny new shopping centers stood empty.

Emil pointed out Khazar Islands Project, a $100 billion planned development for a million residents, once due for compleKon in 2016 but now on hold indefinitely. He remained confident, however, that the project would eventually be completed.

Right here, in the middle of a fantas3c landscape of rugged mountains, in the area of “the sea of rocks,” amid an amazing accumula3on of big boulders of stone, one of the most interes3ng complexes of prehistoric monuments— petroglyphs—is preserved.

I. Jakarzade (1973)

Sixty kilometers south of Baku, we turned off on the dusty road leading to Qobustan. A\er an introducKon at the small museum, we drove up to an area rich with archaeological monuments. There are more than 6,000 rock engravings that date back between 5,000 and 40,000 years. The site also features the remains of inhabited caves, se]lements, and burial sites. We climbed up through the rocks and caves, delighted to find remarkably clear petroglyphs. We also saw rock holes that had been carved out to collect rainwater.

The day seemed warm to us, but Emil told us that we were fortunate, as the temperature there gets well up into the 110s in the summer months.

Qobustan National Park UNESCO

Due to a miscommunicaKon, Emil began to drive back towards the city, but when we realized that the mud volcanoes that we wanted to see were behind us, he found a place to make a U-turn and returned to Qobustan. By the Kme that we reached the entrance again, a driver in an old Russian Lada was there to meet us. Azat was a good-looking tanned fellow with a broad smile of gold teeth. He loaded the three of us and o we went, careening over the ru]ed road for about 10 kilometers. We noted that Azat talked incessantly to Emil the enKre way. When the car stopped at the top of a hill, we picked our way across cracked, oil-soaked mud. Watching where we stepped, we climbed up the sides of two volcanoes and watched in fascinaKon as the viscous gas and mud bubbled to the top. There are more of these intriguing geological formaKons in Azerbaijan than anywhere else on earth.

It was 1:00 when we headed back toward the city and conKnued out the Absheron Peninsula. Extending 60 km into the Caspian Sea, the peninsula is technically the easternmost extension of the Caucasus Mountains. We drove to the suburb of Surakhani to see the Ateshgah or “Fire Temple” of Baku, a heavily-restored castlelike temple that sounded a lot more interesKng than it was. Determined from Persian and Indian inscripKons at the site, the temple was used for both Hindu and Zoroastrian worship. The complex was built in the 17th century but abandoned in the late 19th when oil and gas plants were established in the vicinity, ending the flow of natural gas to the temple and exKnguishing the holy fire.

Our visit to the Ethnographic Museum Complex at Qala was somewhat disappoinKng too. The garden featured reconstructed foundaKons and fragments of carvings from around the peninsula.

The museum was dark and dusty and the collecKon consisted mainly of Russian samovars and copper plates and bowls.

On the way back to the city, we stopped at Ramana Tower. The man with the key was at the top when we drove up; he tossed it down to a woman below who opened the gate for us. DaKng from the 12th century, the castle tower is ringed with crenellated outer walls that oer views over the polluted oil wasteland for those daring to negoKate the crumbling stone steps to the top. While Jake cringed, I climbed up, using hands and feet on the narrow steps. Once I was at the top, the woman waved for me to take a photo of her with her arm around Jake. I gingerly descended, this Kme down the interior steps that were dark and steep. Back in the car, Emil stopped so that I could take a picture of the polluKon that I had seen from the tower; however, a policeman immediately approached us and told me that I was not allowed to take pictures in that area.

Baku Oil Fields 1911

While Jake made dinner arrangements, I returned to the Ichari Shahar to do a li]le shopping before we leave Azerbaijan tomorrow evening. in a shop down some steep steps, I found an old copper pot from the town of Lahic. A\er picking up some postcards, I was back in the room fi\een minutes before our agreed meeKng Kme. At seven, we went by taxi to Shirvanshah Museum Restaurant, recommended by the concierge—museum, dinner, and a show, all rolled into one.

Six smiling faces greeted us at the door. Two women wearing tradiKonal Azeri costumes led us through several rooms, down corridors, and up wooden stairs to a large room that was filled with rugs, pots, and copper trays. A\er deciding which table to choose—we were the only guests in the room—we enjoyed a typical Azerbaijani meal and local wine while numerous costumed waiters looked a\er us.

Eventually, the room filled with other diners, all of whom were foreign: German businessmen at one table, a large Saudi family at another. We watched as one group was served a whole lamb, serenaded by three musicians playing tradiKonal instruments. Although unquesKonably touristy, the place was a lot of fun and a memorable way to spend our last night in Baku.

Baku Flame Towers

Thursday, September 8

Baku

This morning we took a long walk to see the beauKful late nineteenth century oil baron mansions and classical municipal buildings of this lovely city, which has been described as “the architectural love child of Paris and Dubai—with Soviet genes half hidden in the background.” Leaving the hotel, we walked up Niyazi Street, pausing to enjoy Governor’s Park in the shade of the old city walls. We had tea and bread at a small restaurant inside the Inner City, and conKnued up Niyazi, passing the venerable SOCAR (State Oil Company of Azerbaijan) Building, built as the home of one of Azerbaijan’s most famous folk singers. The NaKonal Art Museum is a handsome building that was once a Catholic girls’ school. We especially enjoyed going through the current exhibiKon, Azerbaijan Art through the Millennia. Crossing to IsKqlaliyyat Street, we noted the detailing of the President’s Office Building, the Western University Building, Baku City Hall, and the Manuscripts InsKtute, built by Oil Baron Zeynalabdin Taghiyev as a Muslim girl’s boarding school. Nearby, the stunning Academy of Sciences stands out, resembling a

Gothic palace. Built in 1913 by Aghamusa Naghiyev, it was gu]ed and looted

by Armenian Dashnaks with support of the Bolsheviks in 1918 in their a]empt to take over the city. Along the way, I delighted in seeing several buildings featured in Ali & Nino, including Nino’s school and Ali’s school, as well as Oil Baron Zeynalabdin Taghiyev’s incredible residence, which was the scene of the graduaKon party in the novel. Today this Italian Renaissancestyle mansion houses the NaKonal History Museum. Back on Ne\chilar Avenue, we stopped for a break at Paris Bistro, located in a small park. As we sat outside on a glorious day, we enjoyed the broad elegance of Seaside Boulevard and Ne\chilar, which parallel Baku Bay for several kilometers. Bike paths, children’s play areas, and tennis courts are on one side, and on the other, oil baron mansions complemented by newly-built limestone buildings that replicate the architectural style of the 1890s. High-end shops from RollsRoyce to Tiffany line the street while upscale apartments above gaze out over the Caspian.

Residence of Oil Baron Zeynalabdin Taghiyev (1838-1924)

Eventually it was Kme to return to the Four Seasons, collect our bags, and head to the train staKon. This Kme, the hotel sta instructed our London taxi driver to take us to the correct plazorm and help us with our bags. We were allowed to board at 7:30, but our two-berth compartment was sweltering, so I went out and took pictures of our aging Russian coach. Just before we le\, a smiling Russian woman brought us each a bag of clean linen, and we made up our own beds. The train pulled out at precisely 8:31 for the 15-hour trip to Tbilisi.

Friday, September 9

to Tbilisi, Georgia

We were awakened just a\er sunrise when a female a]endant knocked on our door. I say, awakened, but I am not sure how fully asleep I had been. The train rocked and shook all night, as we lay like boards in our narrow beds; I was pleased that a\er a period of sleeplessness, I managed to doze off. At 7:15 am, the train stopped and an Azerbaijani official came through, collecKng our customs declaraKons and giving no more than a cursory glance at the contents of our bags. A soldier in camouflage followed, waving a kind of wand in our compartment; we determined that he must have been checking for contraband. A\er a few minutes, another uniformed official collected our passports; eventually we were each called individually while a customs official photographed us, stamped our passports, and handed them back to us. All this took about an hour. As we conKnued into Georgia, we saw ramshackle houses along the train tracks and Soviet-style block housing in varying stages of construcKon. Customs on the Georgian side consisted primarily of a review of our pharmaceuKcals; last night on the train, I noKced

the lengthy posted list of prohibited items. Three officials went through our bags and I was glad that I had included the pharmacy label on my prescripKons and thought to take a picture of the bo]les of my supplements before I le\ home. Again, our passports were collected, stamped, and returned. By 10:00 am, we were on our way for what we thought would be a couple more hours and we both lay down for a nap. Forty minutes later, the a]endant opened our door, surprising all three of us. We had arrived in Tbilisi. Jake and I were the last off the train, and watched as our fellow passengers lugged their suitcases up two flights of steps to get to the other side of the plazorm. Fortunately, I snagged a wizened, toothless old man with a derelict cart who agreed to take our bags for some of our remaining manats. He led us at least 300 meters over broken pavement, across the tracks, and down a spiral drive to the taxi stand below. A\er giving us a big smile, he turned us over to the taxi driver who delivered us to the Marrio] Hotel.

Our room was not ready, so Michael, the concierge, assisted Jake in making dinner reservaKons and gehng some Georgian Lari from the ATM while I cha]ed with Noni, the desk clerk. Once in our room, we showered and changed. A taxi brought us to the Radisson Blu where Jake made arrangements at the Hertz oďŹƒce to pick up our rental car on Monday. From there, we walked back down Shota Rustaveli Avenue towards our hotel. With its governmental, public, cultural, and business buildings, this street is considered the main thoroughfare of Tbilisi. We took our Kme, stopping to admire several beauKful buildings, including the Georgian NaKonal Opera and Ballet Theater of Tbilisi, a Moorish Revival building completed in 1851; the Baroque-styled Rustaveli NaKonal Theatre, built in 1887; and the KashveK Church of St. George, built in 1910 and renovated a\er sustaining heavy damage by the Bolsheviks in the 1920s. George noKced a silver icon of St. George for sale at the entrance, and bought it when he learned how reasonable the price was.

Georgian NaJonal Opera Theater

KashveK Church of St. George

At the Georgia NaKonal Museum, we went through the dark and sobering Museum of Soviet OccupaKon, and the Archeological Treasury where we saw an incredible collecKon of Georgian gold jewelry and objects from the 3rd millennium BC to the 4th century AD.

Archeological Treasury Georgia National Museum

We taxied to dinner at Black Lion [Shavi Lomi], recommended by Darra Goldstein in The Georgian Feast.

Located in a brick-arched basement on narrow Amaghleba Street, the restaurant serves up hearty Georgian fusion fare. The pumpkin soup was amazing, and the chacha at the end of our meal didn’t hurt either. We returned to the hotel by taxi; taxis in Tbilisi are very inexpensive, and although they are not metered, the fare is determined in advance, avoiding any confrontaKon at the end of the drive.

While Jake went to bed, I checked out the bouKque o the hotel lobby. I enjoyed meeKng a couple from Al QaKf, Saudi Arabia: FaKma and her husband, Sa’id. They were shopping for souvenirs and I was buying Christmas ornaments. The shopkeeper enKced me into looking at a 19th century Georgian ring that was set with red stones and carved with hearts. I learned that her name was Nino, and a\er that, there was no way that I was leaving Georgia without that beauKful ring.

Saturday, September 10

Tbilisi

Saturday is market day in Tbilisi and we walked down to the Dry Bridge Flea Market [Suhoy Most]. We saw a lot of graffiK along the way; I found myself looking out for hearts and found a great one spray painted on the side of a building. StarKng out at 10:00, we thought that the market would be in full swing by the Kme we got there; we were somewhat surprised to see that many vendors were just sehng up, mostly on blankets lined up along the sidewalk: crockery and glassware, piles of tarnished silver tea glass holders, Soviet-era pins and belt buckles and flasks embellished with “CCCP” in raised gold le]ers; boxes of electrical parts and a stand of old telephones.

A woman was hanging up worn cloth portraits of Lenin and Stalin; another smilingly encouraged me to take a closer look at her carpets. A fellow in a captain’s hat gave me a salute and permission to take his picture.

Reaching a main road, we hailed a taxi to take us to the base of the Tbilisi funicular. A\er sharing a Coke and an apple crepe at the nearby cafĂŠ, we rode up Mt. Mtatsminda on the recently reconstructed funicular for views high over the city. The Djorbenadzets Wedding Palace dominates the summit, and it was easy to see why it is such a popular venue.

A\er descending, we taxied to the Sameba Cathedral, set on a hill overlooking the river. Consecrated in 2004 a\er a decade of construcKon, the huge cathedral commemorates 1500 years of the Georgian Orthodox Church. It was interesKng to see that work is sKll in progress as the decoraKng conKnues. Over the altar, the outline depicKng Christ Pantocrator gives a hint of the magniďŹ cent mural that is to come. It was somewhat disconcerKng to see the priest conducKng a ceremony in one area, surrounded by parishioners, while in another, tourists posed provocaKvely in front of precious icons that worshippers had just kissed.

A\er we le\ the church, we found a shady bench under rustling Russian olive trees in the adjacent park and enjoyed the cool breeze.

We found another taxi (they are cheap!) to take us down the hill to the aerial tramway at Europe Square. Completed in 2012, the tramway swings from the south end of Rike Park high over the Mtkvari River and Old Town up to Narikala Fortress. We arrived to find a large, disorganized crowd, further complicated by several tour groups massed together.

Only a certain number of people were allowed on the plazorm at a Kme, and a guard held back the others with a movable metal gate. Each Kme he would open the gate, the masses surged forward, with people on the sides trying to cut their way into the front. As we neared the front of the so-called “line,” things started to get ugly, as people shoved their way forward, while the guard tried to push people back. It was actually quite scary, as images of the Kumbh Mela and UK football hooligans came to mind. Once we made it through the gate, we bought our Kckets and order returned. The ride up was magnificent and the views of Tbilisi from the Fortress were be]er than we’d seen from Mt. Mtatsminda.

Yet another taxi zipped us up a one-way street (going the wrong way) to the Metekhi Temple, daKng from the 12th century and located on an elevated cli that overlooks the Mtkvari River. Ascending the cobblestone steps to the church, we saw several weddings in progress. We stood inside and witnessed one service and then found a place to sit on a wall by the steps, watching as the members of the bridal parKes negoKated the steps in sKle]o heels. We both commented on the stunning beauty of the brides and their a]endants.

A driver with a surprising command of English asked us about the Chicago Bulls as he drove us to Shavteli Street, where we walked down to the Gabriadze Puppet Theater with its clock tower. Every hour an angel appears at the small balcony at the top and rings the bell. CafĂŠ Gabriadze, next to the theatre, was a perfect place to stop for a cool drink under an awning entwined with rose vines (that had thorns).

ConKnuing down Shavteli Street, we stopped to see AnchiskhaK, the oldest basilica in Tbilisi. It was ďŹ rst built in the 6th century but has been destroyed and rebuilt many Kmes. There was a collecKon box for future restoraKon work, but I hope that it is done subtly, as the church exudes a quiet serenity when one enters the dark interior. As we conKnued to the end of the street, we passed the residence of the Patriarch of the Georgian Orthodox Church.

At 7:00, we went for dinner at Azarphesha, a wine-centric restaurant located near Freedom Square. Owned by cultural preservaKonist Luarsab Togonidze, and John Wurdeman, the American co-owner of Pheasant’s Tears winery, the restaurant specializes in local and seasonal ingredients.

We shared a green salad with ďŹ gs in a divine dressing, brusche]a with aioli and steamed trout, wild mushrooms in an almond and plum sauce, and Megrelian Chicken. Our choices provided an interesKng backdrop to an evening of Georgian wine tasKng, provided by the sommelier, Brian Stapleton, an American who has been studying Georgian wines for the past year or so. His passion for the subject and the knowledge he has already gleaned made for a pleasant and informaKve evening, as we tasted wine made using tradiKonal qvevri vessels, in much the same way as it has been made in Georgia for 8,000 years.

Sunday, September 11

Tbilisi

This morning, we walked through Pushkin Park to the Georgian NaKonal Museum’s Shalva Amiranashvili Museum of Fine Arts. The dilapidated building belies the true treasures locked away inside. While we waited for the required English-speaking guide to take us into the Treasury (one may not enter the vault without one), we climbed the uneven stairs to two upstairs galleries showing Avant-Garde and Georgian Art. (As a librarian, I cringed when I saw several 19th century arKsts’ books in cases, their pages held open with metal paper clips). We parKcularly liked the painKngs by Niko Pirosmani (1862-1918), a self-taught Tbilisi arKst whose themes include peasant portraits and tavern signboards. When we came back downstairs, our guide led us along a hallway to an unobtrusive metal door. It swung open to reveal a vast wealth of icons, crosses, religious vessels, and jewelry from throughout Georgia daKng from the 3rd millennium BC to the 19th century. The skill exhibited in the creaKon of these objects, made of gold and precious gems, was incredible. Cloisonné, in a detail so fine that it was hard to even see it; beading with pearls hardly bigger than grains of sand; gold and silver carving that revealed every crease and expression in each Kny face … it was enchanKng. The collecKon includes the only known relic of the great 12th century Queen Tamar: her personal pectoral cross, made of emeralds, rubies, and pearls.

We explored narrow back streets unKl we reached the Peace Bridge and found ourselves back on Shavteli Street. When we saw an outside table under the awning at CafĂŠ Gabriadze, we stopped for a drink. Taxiing back to the hotel at around 3:00, we found that Rustaveli Street was closed for the Tbilisi Marathon; it was strange to see that wide boulevard devoid of traďŹƒc. People were out strolling in the middle of the street unKl the police cleared everyone away.

The Peace Bridge

As Jake and I were passing through the lobby, we saw FaKma and Sa’id. We stopped to talk, and introduced our husbands. Then FaKma said that she wanted to give me something. Taking a small gold bracelet from her wrist, she fastened it around mine, saying that she would always remember me. In the short Kme that we had known each other, a connecKon had somehow been made between us that we both understood. Her gi\ will always remind me of that. That evening, our dinner reservaKons were at Barbarestan, small family-owned restaurant on Agmashenebeli Avenue near the Kura River that offers variety of dishes based on classical recipes from the 1894 cookbook of Duchess Barbare Jorjadze. Brian Stapleton, the sommelier from last night, had suggested it. Stepping into the doorway felt like entering a Georgian home. We were warmly welcomed and seated at a small table. So\ lighKng and candles and colorful decoraKons set the mood; the chairs, tables and even the utensils were mismatched, giving the place a cozy, family feel. Our waiter was a]enKve and eagerly helped us with our selecKons and wine. A\er sharing four starters served with crispy thin bread, Jake ordered duck filet with stewed pears and I ordered a pork roll with plum sauce. Our waiter helped us decide on a dry amber Rkatsiteli wine from Lekso’s Marani. When we first arrived, most of the other diners were English-speaking, but by 8:30, the atmosphere changed dramaKcally. Local people started showing up and the place quickly filled up. Live music began, and as we sipped our espresso, we enjoyed tradiKonal songs sung by two women accompanied by a guitarist. We learned that the present owner, André, is the son of the original owner; a family portrait, including his ten children, was hanging above our table. André pointed himself out in the picture, and let me take a picture of him standing beside it. He was a charming host—indeed, we felt like we were visiKng his home.

Monday, September 12

to Dilijan, Armenia

We arrived promptly at the Hertz office for our 9:00 rental car pickup. The process took almost an hour—gehng permission documentaKon to take the car to Armenia, signing papers, checking the car for previous damage— before we were handed the keys to a 2014 Renault Duster with 4-wheel drive. Thinking that gehng our local Sim card acKvated would only take a few minutes, we were sadly deluded. The process involved two money machines and three clerks at a market adjacent to the hotel. At 11:15, we were finally on our way. With the help of my Maps.me app, we did pre]y well, leaving town on the M6 and reaching the Armenian border at Bagratashen by 12:40.

We cleared customs around a half hour later. Heading out into the Armenian

countryside, we immediately noKced the poor condiKon of the roads. Even the main highways were heavily potholed and ru]ed, with no lane markings.

Cars made do by swerving back and forth, o\en driving long stretches on the opposite side of the road. The drive took us though a hazy valley surrounded by hills that got higher the further we traveled. Roadside stands were set up every 500 feet or so, alternaKng buckets of cherries and bags of onions with piles of king-sized cleaning supplies and toilet paper. We could not imagine who would be buying all of this stuff along the highway. Simple houses with corrugated Kn roofs were clustered in the villages we passed. In the fields, we saw corn and small orchards; greenhouses popped up every so o\en.

Driving south in the direcKon of Alaverdi, we let the GPS guide us to Haghpat Monastery, the first of two UNESCO sites that we wanted to visit today. We should have known be]er when we saw that the turnoff was an unmarked and unpaved path. Once we had gone about 150 meters, we realized two things: that we had made a mistake, and that there was no turning back. The way was a trail at best: ru]ed, with protruding sharp rocks, narrow, curving, and in some places, nonexistent. It was only about three kilometers, but that shortcut took us almost 45 minutes. Haghpat, meaning “huge wall” sits high on the hillside, with a commanding view of the Debed Gorge below. The main church was completed in the year 991, and was a notable architectural achievement.

Haghpat Monastery UNESCO

Debed Gorge

Sanahin Monastery UNESCO

Sanahin Monastery, the older of the two, was completed in 966. A few clouds swept overhead when we arrived, casKng an ominous look to the place. Several rusted steel structures erected around the church unfortunately detracted from the beauty of the complex.

We were making pre]y good Kme as we drove through the large town of Vanadzor, heading southeast to Dilijan, when we came upon several tenuouslooking road construcKon sites. We saw huge Caterpillar dozers digging overhead, precariously close to the edge of the cli, sending large boulders crashing down to the roadbed below. Then we became part of a jam up with giant semi-trailer trucks that were trying to get though a narrow, potholed tunnel. We watched in fascinaKon as some of the more experienced truckers managed to untangle the mess and get everyone going again.

When we reached Dilijan, it took some asking and backtracking to ďŹ nd the Tufenkian Old Dilijan Complex, a restored 19th century guesthouse, where we are staying in the older wooden annex. Our suite is quirky collecKon of mafrashes (hand woven covers) and Tufenkian carpets, and the balcony fences are intricately carved. We were the only diners at the restaurant, enjoying local specialKes from the Tavoush Region: pumpkin borani with chickpeas and apricots, and lamb stew with green beans and black plums.

Tuesday, September 13

to Yerevan

A\er a breakfast of melon, bread with local honey and yoghurt, and Armenian coffee, we drove northeast on the M4 through Idjevan to the monastery of Makaravank. DaKng from the 10th century, the complex is located on the slope of Mt. Paitatap, up a difficult road. The last three kilometers were reminiscent of our harrowing drive up to Haghpat yesterday, but nothing will beat that ride.

An old fellow chopping branches stood conveniently next to a fork in the road, and his gestures saved us from going off in the wrong direcKon. It was misty and overcast when we reached the gate of the monastery. The complex is

surrounded by crumbling walls, most of which are gone now. There was a lock on the large gate, but fortunately, it was not latched; we opened it and stepped inside. There was no one around. There is something wonderful about being totally alone in a place like that; all my fairy tale childhood fantasies came flooding back. We explored the gavit, or narthex, as well as the buildings grouped around the main church. The carvings, both on the buildings and the khachkars—Armenian cross-stones—were extraordinary. It really was a magical place.

Makaravank Monastery

Picking our way back down the ru]ed road, we descended to the Aghstev Valley again and proceeded to Goshavank, a 12th-13th century monastery complex located in the village of Gosh. Since it is relaKvely easy to reach, we encountered tour busses and groups of daytrippers from Yerevan, many of whom were posing in front of the statue of Mkhitar Gosh (1130-1213), Armenian scholar, writer, public ďŹ gure, thinker, and priest. The monastery is parKcularly noted for its khachkar, created by the carver Pavgos in 1291, which I read is one of the most intricate examples in existence.

Goshavank Monastery

It was nearly 2:00 as we neared Yerevan. The roadside vendors displayed corn-roasKng operaKons along the way; their li]le ovens were smoking only short distances from each other. We entered a long tunnel, and exited to a cloudless sky and an arid landscape. The road was excellent and our GPS successfully got us to the Tufenkian Historic Yerevan Hotel. Parking was a hassle, and a member of the hotel staff found a place for us to leave the car unKl the closing of the adjacent Vernissaj Market freed up space. We were shown to our room, a corner suite in modern contrast to our Tufenkian lodgings in Dilijan.

Although it was near the end of market hours, we wandered over for a quick look.

Rugs and souvenirs and the ubiquitous Russian insignia were offered, but I found a feather-light scarf, hand kni]ed with so\ goat hair, for about $12. When the vendor discovered that the mirror I used to admire myself with the scarf was broken, I pantomimed that it was my face that had broken it, resulKng in a shared laugh without a word being said. Later, we determined that the restaurant where we had hoped to have dinner had closed, and kept things simple by eaKng at the hotel’s Kharpert Restaurant. We ordered such Armenian specialKes as Karnee Yarik (fried eggplant and ground beef), Lamb Khashlama in Pomegranate Juice, and Chicken Khokhob. A\er dinner, we sat at the hotel bar over Akhtamar 10-year-old Armenian “cognac,” part of the Ararat Brandy brand.

Wednesday, September 14

Yerevan

We set out on foot this morning, walking a short distance through one of Yerevan’s many parks to the History Museum of Armenia, located in an imposing building on sprawling Republic Square (during Soviet Kmes, it was called Lenin Square). A\er purchasing Kckets, we trudged to the third floor, as the elevators are reserved for staff only. The Archaeological CollecKon includes objects daKng from the Paleolithic period through the 3rd century AD. The Bronze Age collecKon is the largest and most diverse and includes beauKfully detailed sculptures of animals and human figures, ritual utensils and ornaments, and weapons and armor of all sorts. Many of the items were only excavated in the 1950s. The Ethnographic CollecKon includes examples of decoraKve and applied arts from all regions in Armenia. As soon as I

walked into the gallery, I recognized the twin to the Goshavank khachkar. I hadn’t found the one at the monastery yesterday, but Pavgos had carved two, in honor of his mother and his father. It was amazing: like lace carved of rock. The carving on a wooden door from Sevanavank Monastery was incredible too. Walls covered with Armenian carpets and flat weave rugs were stunning. I loved examining the detailed embroidery on 18th and 19th Armenian costumes and household items, and the delicate lace runners and tablecloths. A third gallery is devoted to the Armenian Genocide, but had no English capKons, other than a quote from Hovhannes Toumanian, who said in 1915, “You can torture an Armenian’s body, but what will you do with his spirit?”

Republic Square

We crossed the square, catching a taxi to the Mesrop Mashtots Matenadaran CollecKon of Ancient Manuscripts. Actually, the taxi dropped us off at the bo]om of the hill and we walked up an inclined sidewalk, a flight of stairs, and another ramp to the entrance. A\er purchasing our Kckets, we negoKated several more flights of stairs. The Matenadaran, named a\er the creator of the

Armenian alphabet in the year 405, is one of the world's richest depositories of medieval manuscripts and books in Armenian as well as other languages. A special exhibiKon enKtled Survived Manuscripts commemorated the 100th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide. The books and manuscripts displayed were saved by Armenian refugees, and each had its own story.

CollecKng Jake’s stowed backpack, we descended to Mashtots Street and walked several blocks to the Cafesjian Center for the Arts, situated within Yerevan’s Cascade Complex and along its adjacent gardens. The project, started in 1971, consists of a massive staircase on both sides with fountains in between. The museum opened in 2009 and is considered one of the most ambiKous works of contemporary architecture undertaken in any of the former Soviet republics. ConstrucKon conKnues on the next phases of the cascade project. A taxi returned us to the Tufenkian at around 4:00. A\er supper at the hotel, we turned in to plan for tomorrow and catch up on some sleep.

Thursday, September 15

Yerevan

Today we made a day-trip 40 km out of the city to visit two sites quite close to each other: Geghard Monastery and Garni Temple. Geghard, a UNESCO site, lies in a beauKful gorge and is partly carved into the living rock. The ďŹ rst monastery at this site was founded as early as the 4th century; the earliest surviving part dates from 1164. There are more than 20 buildings and chapels associated with Geghard; a number are rock-hewn and most have carvings on every wall.

A clear spring runs through one of the subterranean chapels. Birds, animals, and oral and geometric carvings delight at every turn. Khachkars are carved on the rock faces and a number are set amongst the clis above. Just as we entered one of the chapels, four women dressed in simple ca\an-like dresses began to chant; their beauKful voices seemed to come from the throats of angels.

Geghard Monastery UNESCO

It was less than 10 km to Garni Temple, Armenia’s only HellenisKc building, constructed of basalt. It was probably built as a tomb for a Romanized ruler, in which case it would have dated from about 175 AD. However, the present structure was rebuilt between 1969 and 1975. It lies amidst an extensive archeological site that juts out into a bend of the Azat River far below. I did not get the word that it was not worth negoKaKng the steep steps, and indeed it was not. I will admit that I was very careful descending them again. However, the views down into the gorge made the visit more than worthwhile.

Garni Temple

The trip back to Yerevan was easy and we were lucky to find a convenient—if not easy—place to park. While Jake worked on some emails, I decided to return to Vernissaj Market. I walked the wide aisles again, looking for vendors who had old things for sale. When I came across a stand offering what looked like actual anKquiKes, I stopped to take a closer look. The young man behind the table said that many of the items were from Armenian Syria. We started a conversaKon and I learned that his name was Razmid, and that he was a refugee from Aleppo and had been in Yerevan for about two years. He was trying to make ends meet by holding down two jobs: selling these ancient items from the Middle East for a friend (and a few of his own) and working as a security guard for Gucci. When I commented on the two conspicuous ta]oos on his forearm, he told me that one was his mother’s name in Arabic, and the other was his father’s name. The ancient items that he had for sale

were very reasonable and were very tempKng; I did buy a Kny goat’s bell from a Syria of long ago. He agreed to let me take his photo as he displayed his ta]ooed arm; I promised to send the photo to him through Facebook. As I was leaving, he pointed to a selecKon of ancient rings and asked me to pick out one as a gi\ from him. I did, and as I wear it, I am once again reminded of the connecKons that I am conKnuing to find on our journey in the Caucasus.

This evening, Jake and I had dinner at Dolmama, a cozy restaurant about ten minutes’ walk from our hotel. We chose to have the tasKng menu with wine pairings. Other than the fact that we could not keep up with the generous pours at every course, it was a wonderful evening. The restaurant was packed: some diners were visitors like ourselves, but most were local families.

A central table was occupied by a group of Armenians from the US who were obviously connecKng with their relaKves in Yerevan.

Friday, September 16

Yerevan

It was starKng to sprinkle as we drove out of Yerevan for the second of our day trips. We headed north towards Lake Sevan. At over 6,200 feet above sea level, it is one of the highest freshwater lakes in the world. We drove along the coast to the turn-off for the small farming town of Noratus, where its cemetery contains one of Armenia’s most memorable sights—a field of khachkars. Under a dark sky, we wandered among hundreds of cross-stone carvings that date from medieval Kmes. Some were standing alone and others were leaning over age-worn tombs. Most were overgrown with orange lichen that added to their mystery.

Noratus Cemetery

We followed the road from the lake’s southern edge, heading south over the Vardenyats Mountain Pass, 2,410 meters above sea level. Just beyond the pass, we found Orbelian's Caravanserai, built in 1332. It is the best-preserved caravanserai in Armenia, and perhaps, in the world. Its site was so remote, sihng high on the pass, that it was never quarried for building materials; hence, much of it remains intact today. The diused interior light of the main hall came from small openings in the roof and revealed seven pairs of pillars that created a series of smaller naves for vendors and their wares and a larger area to accommodate their animals. Standing there, one could easily imagine the life of those 14th century traveling merchants.

Noravank Monastery

The decent from the pass was far more dramaKc than the ascent from Lake Sevan. Since the lake is already at a high alKtude, we did not have far to go. Turning off the M2 highway just south of Arpi, we drove through a narrow gorge, ascending to Noravank Monastery, daKng most recently from the 13th century and set high on a cliff face of rosy stone that glowed in the bright a\ernoon sun.

Jake and I could not agree as to whether it was the sehng of this magnificent monastery or its remarkable carvings, most of which were made by Momik, a 13th century painter, calligrapher, sculptor, and architect, that made it one of our favorite places in Armenia.

We conKnued west on the M2, just skirKng the border with the enclave of Azerbaijan at Sädäräk. We stopped to admire a view of Khor Virap Monastery, located near the closed border with Turkey and set against cloud-shrouded Mount Ararat in the distance. There was an obvious military presence in the area, with uniformed men and vehicles amongst the fruit stands selling apples and melons. We reached the outskirts of Yerevan at about 5:00, and immediately became entangled in heavy traffic. Road closures for an Armenian Independence Day rehearsal resulted in traffic re-rouKng and crazy driving. Somehow, we managed to get back to the Tufenkian and wedge into an impossible parking spot. Then when we tried to insert our key cards into the elevator, we realized that they had been deacKvated; the hotel did not have a reservaKon for us for a fourth night. Jake wisely keeps copies of his reservaKons, so the problem was quickly resolved. By then, the weather had turned really nasty and we decided to simplify our evening and just have dinner at the hotel again.

A journal kept by Susan Hanes during a trip through the Caucasuses and Central Asia from September 4-October 16, 2016.

Volume 1. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, c 2016