I haven't been to Georgia in forever. But I have several scholars coming from Tbilisi to a symposium I've organized at Ohio State, and one of my favorite former students has been living there for some time, so it's on my mind. The symposium, because of a variety of complicated scheduling factors, is actually set for November 7 and 8. November 7, for those of you living in a truly post-Soviet world, is the anniversary of the October (Bolshevik) Revolution of 1917.
We are thinking of another anniversary these days: this autumn marks 25 years since the fall of the Berlin Wall. A quarter of a century since the sphere of Soviet influence began to disintegrate. But in November 1988, 26 years ago, it was not self-evident that the Soviet system was failing. I was studying in Moscow at the Pushkin Institute of Language and Culture, on the south-west side of the city, and the group of Americans at our institute--under the leadership of our American professor--headed to Georgia in early November. For vacation.
In Tbilisi, we stayed at a big Soviet hotel right on what was then Lenin Square, and we explored the city as best we could. There was a Soviet-American production of Duke Ellington's Sophisticated Ladies touring the Soviet Union that fall, and we had missed it when it opened in Moscow on October 1. We somehow talked our way into the Tbilisi theater without tickets and managed to experience this amazing Broadway show while sitting on the steps between the seats of actual ticket holders. Other than that, I remember learning about Pirosmani at the art museum, and going to the ancient baths to have a real Georgian sauna experience, and eating khachapuri, of course, and seeing the many possible mineral waters available for quaffing, all in the name of improving our health. Instead, we drank Georgian wine -- Tsinandali, and Kvanchkara, and Kinzmarauli. We did not have the true Georgian experience of drinking under the guidance of a tamada--a toastmaster--but that didn't prevent over-consumption, of this I am sure.
Most importantly, about the 5th or 6th of November, that huge square outside our building began to fill with Soviet military equipment: tanks, and missiles, and armored vehicles. The anniversary of the October Revolution (on November 7) loomed, and it became clear that this year the Soviet Army intended a big show in what very soon would be a "break-away republic." Just five months later, this square would see the "April 9 tragedy," an anti-Soviet demonstration dispersed by the Soviet Army and leading to the deaths of 20 people and many more injuries. We watched the military display out our hotel windows and wondered what might transpire.
Perhaps our professor / leader was prescient, or just nervous. We pulled out, and went to a smaller town called Telavi for the rest of our vacation. There we remained utterly safe from any Soviet military actions: and we hiked a mountain, went to an abandoned monastery, wandered about this friendly, small town, where as Americans we felt quite welcomed. November 7 passed without any serious demonstrations or even parades.
I suppose in those days I would have known enough not to try and take pictures of the Soviet hardware. But I wish I had used a camera anyway, at least to document the surroundings both in Tbilisi and Telavi. My former student recently pointed me to this web project where George Gogua is chronicling the beauty of Soviet architecture in and around Tbilisi. The photos on his site take me back to another era. For me as a foreigner, the Soviet Union meant in part that I saw all kinds of amazing places and experienced different languages and cultures under the aegis of our student travel visas. But of course these cultures--while surely Soviet in the years I visited--were on their way to reclaiming their heritages, to becoming (though no one predicted it then) post-Soviet.
Georgia had been part of the Russian empire for many years. From 1918 to 1921, it enjoyed three short years of independence, and Tbilisi was the capital of the so-called Democratic Republic of Georgia, but in 1921, the Red Army entered Tbilisi and the city -- and surrounding country -- were again subjected to imperial rule, this time becoming Soviet space.
I am grateful that I experienced this beautiful city in a relatively calm time; only weeks later the first anti-Soviet disturbances would begin. I cannot find an image of our hotel from back in the day, but I have an inkling that it is now a Courtyard by Marriott. A change for the better, I assume.
We are thinking of another anniversary these days: this autumn marks 25 years since the fall of the Berlin Wall. A quarter of a century since the sphere of Soviet influence began to disintegrate. But in November 1988, 26 years ago, it was not self-evident that the Soviet system was failing. I was studying in Moscow at the Pushkin Institute of Language and Culture, on the south-west side of the city, and the group of Americans at our institute--under the leadership of our American professor--headed to Georgia in early November. For vacation.
In Tbilisi, we stayed at a big Soviet hotel right on what was then Lenin Square, and we explored the city as best we could. There was a Soviet-American production of Duke Ellington's Sophisticated Ladies touring the Soviet Union that fall, and we had missed it when it opened in Moscow on October 1. We somehow talked our way into the Tbilisi theater without tickets and managed to experience this amazing Broadway show while sitting on the steps between the seats of actual ticket holders. Other than that, I remember learning about Pirosmani at the art museum, and going to the ancient baths to have a real Georgian sauna experience, and eating khachapuri, of course, and seeing the many possible mineral waters available for quaffing, all in the name of improving our health. Instead, we drank Georgian wine -- Tsinandali, and Kvanchkara, and Kinzmarauli. We did not have the true Georgian experience of drinking under the guidance of a tamada--a toastmaster--but that didn't prevent over-consumption, of this I am sure. |
| Gogua comments: "Buildings in Tbilisi, always dark and Gloomy." |
Perhaps our professor / leader was prescient, or just nervous. We pulled out, and went to a smaller town called Telavi for the rest of our vacation. There we remained utterly safe from any Soviet military actions: and we hiked a mountain, went to an abandoned monastery, wandered about this friendly, small town, where as Americans we felt quite welcomed. November 7 passed without any serious demonstrations or even parades.
I suppose in those days I would have known enough not to try and take pictures of the Soviet hardware. But I wish I had used a camera anyway, at least to document the surroundings both in Tbilisi and Telavi. My former student recently pointed me to this web project where George Gogua is chronicling the beauty of Soviet architecture in and around Tbilisi. The photos on his site take me back to another era. For me as a foreigner, the Soviet Union meant in part that I saw all kinds of amazing places and experienced different languages and cultures under the aegis of our student travel visas. But of course these cultures--while surely Soviet in the years I visited--were on their way to reclaiming their heritages, to becoming (though no one predicted it then) post-Soviet.
 |
| 25 February, 1921: Red Army enters Tbilisi |
I am grateful that I experienced this beautiful city in a relatively calm time; only weeks later the first anti-Soviet disturbances would begin. I cannot find an image of our hotel from back in the day, but I have an inkling that it is now a Courtyard by Marriott. A change for the better, I assume.
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