I was grateful that Gloria’s pick up time from Tbilisi Airport was at an ungodly 04:30 am. Driving on empty streets made it a lot easier – there isn’t much joy in driving in Georgia – much too erratic and indisciplined where there is room, much too joy-riderish and cavalier with signalling on highways. The guidebooks advise “defensive driving”.

Gloria had booked us into an Airbnb at the very centre of Tbilisi – right by Freedom Square, so the town was easy to access and we walked almost everywhere (it was good to have a look at their Metro – very deep, but not elaborately decorated as some in Russia). The main drag was only one of several extravagantly lit up areas – there were Christmas markets, squares done up, live music and gluchwein (or ‘glintwine’ as they call it here).

I managed to get us a couple of tickets for the Nutcracker at the Tbilisi Opera House on Christmas Eve. The seats were very good and we enjoyed the performance (there were some funny moments, such as a prop being kicked towards the side by an elegant ballerina and an arm stretching out to pick it). Despite the request not to video or take pictures, plenty of phones were up, not discretely.

We did an organised tour of the Kakheti wine region with a couple of wine tastings, a puri (bread) making demonstration and the one of Khachahpuri making – the cheese filled dough, shaped and baked like a pizza, but with a higher calorie content. There were also monasteries (St Nino, a female saint who was instrumental in having Christianity made a state religion in Georgia) and a Silk Road fort and city walls… The Georgians still make some of the wine in their traditional manner, putting the crushed grape pulp into giant earthenware amphorae in the ground, without adding anything to the mush (Qvevre method), though most of the wine for sale is made using the European method.

We did our own tour of the Jvari monastery, “the holy of holies” for Georgians, looking beautiful on its high promontory above the confluence of two different coloured rivers by the old capital, Mtskheta, and its cathedral Svetitskhoveli. The drooping cross is special to St Nino (there’s a story, of course, of how Nino was presented with two pieces of wood in a dream and the next day she tied them together with her hair…)   It was a bitterly cold and windy day, and we were grateful for the warmth of the car.

Gori, Stalin’s birthplace, honours its one and only famous son by having a stately museum which includes the house he was born in and lived in till he was 4 – we are told Beria had the house moved to the place and the cover built over it. There is also Stalin’s railway carriage – he was afraid of flying and travelled everywhere by train. The central pedestal in the garden is empty – the 17m statue is in some back garden. But there are still a couple of smaller statues and busts and the whole display describes his revolutionary rise and various roles he played, deftly ignoring the millions whose death he caused. Not until you are about to leave – and I would have missed it had it not been for Gloria pointing to another room at the ground level – that there is some information about the murdered millions and what happened after he died in 1953 and how things played out after Khruschev’s denunciation of Stalin.

Uplistsikhe is a cave city not far from Gori. Built between 6ct BC and 1ct AD, in a lovely spot above the Mtkvari river, at its height was a home to some 20000 people. There are temples and theatres, a throne room and wineries, a pharmacy. The ice, snow and water made it difficult to access some areas, but it was clear that it had been an impressive place.

We had a very nice meal in a posh restaurant on Christmas day – definitely not a traditional one – not a turkey in sight! 

As is always the case, time went far too quickly and packing and good byes came too soon. It was lovely to share those few days together. Gloria headed back to London and work the next day, and I headed to Gudauri, a ski resort in the Greater Caucasus.

Gudauri is a fairly new resort (just over 30 years old) and it is obvious that there has been a major investment in infrastructure – various lifts and gondolas – and there are plenty of places on the mountain to eat and drink (with inevitable techno/dance blasting from enormous loudspeakers), though most are with outdoor seating only. The runs, including the two blacks, are groomed, and there’s plenty of room. Besides the Georgians and the Russians, it attracts people from Dubai and other Arab countries and I even met two Austrians – they like the low cost here (a 6 day pass is 300 lari, c £90).

There are a number of things that could be done better – access to the turnstiles is not cleared, steps are covered in snow, toilets are all on the level but an obstacle course to reach, there are few big maps of the ski area up (have seen only one), the names of chairlifts and gondolas are not displayed on them, so where there are several, it’s a guess which is which. One learns quickly.

And there is no village of Gudauri. It is all hotels and rental apartments, restaurants and a few kiosks, a police station, a petrol station and a couple of food shops. No pavements, of course. Walking on the road is like dicing with death – the drivers think they own the road…If the weather is inclement and there is no skiing, there is little to do. But if you want to learn to ride a snowmobile, or maybe heliski, that can be done.

But at the moment, skiing is good and the weather fine. My champagne is chilling on the balcony… :)) The middle pic is me fraternising with the locals, Jagermeister and all. :))

Happy New Year.