Georgian Folk Costumes

By Edith McClintock

Below are historical drawings of Georgian folk costumes (with hats) grouped by ethnicity, region and class, followed by current versions of folk costumes from a Georgian youth dance festival I attended a few years ago. Can you sort out what region the Georgian youth folk dancers are from based on their costumes? There is one male costume that is similar to all three regions. Do you see it?

It dates from the Middle Ages and is called a chokha. It's calf-length with a tapered waist and bandoliers (shoulder-belts with loops or pockets for cartridges) sewn across the breast. Accessories typically include a hat (which can be felt or shaggy--see my friend wearing a shaggy tourist version at the very end), tall leather boots, and a belt that holds a dagger called a khanjali.

East Georgians: Kartlian peasant, townsman-craftsman, townsman-merchant, upper class Kartl-Kakhetians and Ingilos

Ethnographic Drawings by Nino Brailashvili, 1930s-1980s

West Georgians: Megrel-Gurians, Imeretians and Acharians

Ethnographic Drawings by Nino Brailashvili, 1930s-1980s

Georgian Highlanders: Tush, Khevsurs, Svans and Rachians

Ethnographic Drawings by Nino Brailashvili, 1930s-1980s

Georgian youth folk dancers:

Tourist versions of headgear from the Georgian Highlands:

Dance version of chokha with shaggy fur hat:

For more, visit my author website and/or personal blog, A Wandering Tale. Even better, order a copy of Monkey Love & Murder on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or the Book Depository (free shipping nearly anywhere in the world).

Sacrifice and Solidarity for Spinster Aunts Worldwide

By Edith McClintock

In honor of the best cooking I've had abroad, I'm reposting a January 2011 post from my personal blog about dining at my host-family's house in Georgia while I was working on a Peace Corps Response project. It wasn't a real restaurant, of course. It was better. They did not let me touch anything or do anything. I was to sit and be served. If I tried to take my empty plate to the sink they waved me away. If I tried to open the refrigerator for water there was great consternation and drama that I would attempt such a task myself. And so I walked-in, sat, and waited for the food and drinks to arrive in front of me and then be whisked away when I was done. If I made the mistake of sitting too long, usually a matter of seconds, a new clean plate would appear before me and more food would be pulled from nooks and crannies—pastries and chocolates and homemade jams and fruits. Anything my heart desired.

I should add that I did not speak Georgian and my host-family (a Georgian family from Abkhazia) did not speak English. We lived together quite happily for three months.

Khachapuri

My host auntie and I have a basic point of disagreement. She feels my visit to Georgia, or more particularly my stay in her sister’s home will not be a success unless I’ve gained at least 10 pounds—or kilograms if you will, since she doesn’t compute in pounds. But regardless of terminology, I feel quite the opposite. And unfortunately, at least according to my bedroom mirror, I’m on the losing end of this disagreement.

Of course the food situation’s always been bad. And I mean bad only in the sense that I’m a glutton. I like food, so of course when food—worse, good fresh food is forced on me every day there’s bound to me a problem. Namely I’m going to eat it and then I’m going to have to roll myself out of this country called Georgia. And then I’ll have to lose it–or hope for a parasite while traveling. But either way the options aren’t pleasant.

Khinkali

I didn’t fully understand the situation until a few weeks ago—right around the beginning of the holidays here. School was out and everyone was waking up a little later. I got up and found myself alone in an empty, dark kitchen. Exciting! So I made myself breakfast. My first. But Auntie caught me just as I was finishing. She was very apologetic that she’d overslept and I explained no worries, I’d made myself breakfast and everything was fine—all through gestures of course.

She began to make me more breakfast anyway, even when I told her again, “No, no, I’ve eaten, I’m good.” In response, she walked over patted my stomach and pointed to the stove, indicating I hadn’t gained nearly enough weight in her house, was destroying her reputation, and god forbid her sister might fire her as the in-house cook/maid/nanny. Did I really want to be responsible for a spinster aunt living in her sister’s house being fired? (Having spent the previous year living in my own sister’s house in similar servant-like conditions I was somewhat sympathetic to this situation.)

So obviously I had to eat. A second breakfast. A very large second breakfast.

But the real showdown didn’t happen until last weekend when I told the women I wasn’t extending after all. I had to have this conversation (also called the dictionary/charade game) because I was once again hearing a common refrain, which consists of, “Why isn’t Editi learning Georgian?” In the past it’s always been the grandma or aunt or maid who asked this, but this time it was my host mother (the Queen Bee). And she actually named checked the 17-year old Rotary Club dude who lived with them for a year and learned Georgian. “So why not Editi?” she asked. “Is she lazy?” Probably.

I grew suspicious and reminded them I was leaving in a few weeks and sure enough they said they thought I was staying another three months, which had admittedly been a possibility. But it turned out I had to leave, which I explained to them. At which point Auntie pointed at my stomach again and pointed at the stove. Game on.

But the truth is I’ve already lost this war. The fight’s not in me. They’ve been rolling out the high stakes this past week, the food more abundant and more delicious than ever: khinkali, khachapuri, ajapsandali, lobiani, cakes and soups, honey and butter and bread. Even an occasional glass of family wine for breakfast. And I’ve been drinking and eating and eating—for my host auntie, of course. In solidarity.

For more, visit my website: www.edithmcclintock.com

Georgian Icons

Modern Georgian Icons for sale.

By Edith McClintock

Icons are representations, most commonly paintings, used for prayer and teaching moral and spiritual lessons. They’re widely used in Eastern Orthodox religions and are extremely popular within the Georgian Orthodox Church. Most homes in Georgia display icons in a prayer area—often twenty or thirty devotional images of Jesus, Mary, St. Nino and the Georgian Orthodox Patriarch covering multiple walls.

Icons are important in Georgian history and the country’s most beautiful and rare cloisonné enamel icons, many previously lost or stolen from Orthodox churches in Georgia and Turkey and dispersed to museums and private collections throughout the world, are now exhibited at the Shalva Amiranashvili Museum of Fine Arts in Tbilisi. The 8^th-12^th century icons are both great works of art as well as religious relics imbued with nationalistic and religious symbolism and special powers of healing and miraculous events.

On the artistic side, cloisonné is an ancient technique first developed in the Middle East and Ancient Egypt for decorating metalwork such as jewelry. Geometric decorations were formed by soldering silver or gold strips to metal objects to create compartments of enamel or gems in a variety of beautiful colors (see the pectoral jewels of Tutankhamun on left).

In the Byzantine Empire, thinner wires were developed which allowed more detailed representations commonly found in icons. Byzantium icons became a highly developed art form that spread to Italy and Ethiopia and Georgia and beyond. In Georgia, Byzantine techniques were adapted and became a distinctive school, but both Byzantine and Georgian icon styles are represented in the museum.

When a Georgian friend invited me to see the icon exhibit (as she referred to it, although there were plenty of crosses and jewelry too) at the museum, it wasn’t for artistic reasons. Her interest was religious, which is why she thought the church rather than the national government should own and house the icons. She expressed her opinion at great length and volume to our tour guide while I studied the pretty jewelry, sure we’d soon be tossed out of the museum.

Khakhuli triptych,
Georgian & Byzantine cloisonné enamel, 8th-12th Century

We weren’t, and eventually we moved on to the history and symbolism of each icon (usually told with miraculous and nationalistic elements) followed by prayers, although given it was a museum we didn’t light and leave a candle in front of each icon as is the tradition in Georgian churches.

According to the Western Christian cannon, icons in early Christianity were considered graven images and therefore forbidden by the Ten Commandments. However, they also became a tool for teaching illiterate populations and their popularity spread. It wasn’t until the Reformation and Counter-Reformation of the 16^th and 17^th centuries that the popularity of icons in the West declined, although less so within Catholicism.

In contrast, Eastern Orthodoxy teaches that icons have been an important and unchanging part of the church since the beginning and continue to have deep religious significance. Veneration of an icon passes to the original so that kissing an icon of Jesus demonstrates love directly to Jesus himself, not just to the representational gold and cloisonné enamel or paint and woodwork. 

But whether you visit the Museum of Fine Arts in Tbilisi for religious, artistic, or nationalist reasons, you won't be disappointed.

Detail of Khakhuli triptych,
8th-12th Century

Detail of Khakhuli triptych,
8th-12th Century

Ancha Icon of the Savior triptych,
medieval Georgian encaustic (made with hot wax painting)
6th-7th Century

For more, visit my personal website or blog.

Off The Beaten Track: Teaching in Georgia

TaChalla Ferris served in Georgia from 2009 to 2011 where she taught English to primary and secondary school students as a team teacher with Georgian counterpart (CP) teachers. Currently, she works in a public library in DC and is studying to get her master’s in library science.

When I was on the soccer team in high school, I wasn’t the MVP. I was picked to be on the team because I never stopped trying. I can be very persistent, which can be a weakness as much as a strength.

In Peace Corps, one mistake I made was comparing my school with the schools of other volunteers. Big mistake, I know. But when I listened to the other volunteers’ experiences, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was doing all that I should and could do as a Peace Corps volunteer.

So I tried some of the activities other volunteers were doing, and one (but not just one) failed completely. I thought it would be great if I bought the seniors notebooks and once a week they would get a writing topic (some I made up, some chosen from the national exam they have to take) and we would spend class time correcting their essays (if you can call one paragraph an essay).

With students in Georgia

It worked in the beginning, but after a while they just did not like it. Attendance was very low because as seniors they were spending a lot of their time with their tutors during and after school hours. This was frustrating for me because here I was (a volunteer) willing to stay after school to help them, but they chose a different path. I was a little hurt. I thought there must be something wrong with me.

Later on, I learned that some of their tutors were also their teachers during school. So the students would play during the day, but in the afternoon they would go to their teacher’s house for private lessons (lessons they should have been learning during school, not after). Also, I think there was an issue of loyalty. The students were comfortable and familiar with their teachers.

So, it could have been me or it could have been a question of respect and loyalty. I suppose I will never know. However, I did not let this stop me! I still gave writing topics to my seniors every week because even if they weren’t doing the work at least they were giving the topic some consideration. The topics I chose were topics that demanded the use of their critical thinking skills. Maybe they didn’t think about it that day or the next, but the idea was planted in the back of their minds. Or at least I like to think so….

With students and counterpart teacher in Georgia

About 85% of my time in Peace Corps, I felt like a failure. I couldn’t get my students or my counterpart (CP) teachers motivated. Even my host siblings did not seem to care. Many times, I just wanted to fling my arms up in the air, call it quits, and go home. But I didn’t. I stuck it out. During those moments of frustration I wondered why I stayed, but deep down, I knew the answer. I couldn’t quit. I was afraid to. In the villages, the schools were in poor condition with outdated resources. Teachers were poorly paid, often with little training. If there was a chance I could help even one person, I was going to take it. 

And not every day was a bad day. There were many wonderful, rewarding moments as well. Such as a getting my class of 25 fourth graders to pay attention in class and do their homework (thanks to great teamwork with my CP), convincing one of my CPs to attend a teachers’ training conference in the capital by herself (she was really glad she went, in the end), and taking the female seniors to the Peace Corps office to meet the female staff for a chance to get advice on going to a university and choosing a career (they really enjoyed it). 

In short, school drove me crazy, but it never failed to do what a school always does: educate. I learned a lot! I hope the students and teachers did too.

The Reigning Saints of Georgia

By Edith McClintock

In Georgia, every other person seems to be Nino or Giorgi, which did make it easy for me to remember names. They are named in honor of St. Nino and St. George, both adored saints within the Georgian Orthodox Church, which governs much of Georgian life. 

Saint Nino

Saint Nino brought Christianity to the ancient Georgian Kingdom of Iberia in the early 4th century, and within Eastern Orthodoxy she is considered “Equal to the Apostles”, a designation given to saints who spread Christianity as much as the original apostles.

The Georgian Orthodox tradition places Nino as the daughter of a Roman general from the region of Cappadocia in present day Turkey and even a relative of St. George. Interestingly, in the Western Catholic tradition, St. Nino is a slave, although not nearly as well known—I, admittedly, had never heard of her before traveling to Georgia.

According to legend (and there are many, not all in agreement, nor historically accurate), Nino received a visit from the Virgin Mary who gave her a cross made from a grapevine branch and told her to take Christianity to Iberia. The grapevine cross, with its downward arms, is now a symbol of the Georgian Orthodox Church and has many legends of its own.

Saint Nino's
grapevine cross

Nino is said to have traveled to Iberia first by way of Constantinople and then Armenia, where she was nearly beheaded by the Armenian King Tiridates III. She arrived in Iberia around 320, when the Georgian Kingdom was heavily influenced by the Persian empire and had a mix of pagan religious practices. Nino performed a miraculous healing of the Georgian Queen, Nana, who in turn became a convert to Christianity.

Later, Nana’s husband, King Mirian III, became lost in darkness on a hunting trip but after praying to Nino’s god regained sight and found his way. Around 326, King Mirian asked Emperor Constantine for missionaries and priests and declared Christianity the official religion of Iberia. Today, St. Nino’s tomb is still shown at the Bodbe Monastery in the Kakheti region of Georgia.

Saint George

Georgian coat of arms

Although Georgia (called Sakartvelo in Georgian) is not named after St. George, its English name is considered by some to have been derived from the saint’s prominence in Georgian history. St. George is, however, the patron saint of Georgia and is displayed killing his dragon on its coat of arms and on its flag in the form of a red cross on a white background.

George (Giorgi) is not only a popular name in Georgia, but also a favorite church name. There are 365 Orthodox churches named after St. George based on a rather gruesome story that he was cut into 365 pieces after he fell in battle with each piece buried in a different corner of Georgia (or the Kingdom of Iberia as it would have been at the time). This is notwithstanding the likelihood that the historical George, if he existed, was from Lydda (now Lod, Israel) and a soldier under the Roman Emperor Diocletian.

Georgian flag

The most popular legend of St. George around the world is, of course, the slaying of the dragon. Despite many versions, at its most basic it is the same as St. Nino’s story—the conversion of pagans to Christianity. In fact, St. Nino is credited with bringing the legends of St. George to Georgia. And his veneration in Georgia is ancient—the earliest eastern texts and images of St. George are eleventh-century Georgian.

But back to the dragon—George uses his cross (or the sign of the cross) to protect himself and slay a dragon that is blocking a village water source (possibly in Libya) and demanding maiden sacrifices. In thanks—or awe, or demand from St. George for his heroism—the townspeople convert from paganism to Christianity.

Saint George slaying the dragon
in Freedom Square, Tbilisi

St. George is also said to have descended from heaven to lead the Georgian army on a white horse through many battles and therefore represents national liberation. Today, a golden statue of George slaying the dragon rises above Tbilisi’s Freedom Square—the site of mass demonstrations during Georgia’s Rose Revolution and independence from the Soviet Union. (Strangely, while I was in Tbilisi last year the metro began announcing stops in English in addition to Georgian, but called it Liberty Square rather than Freedom Square, although I think it was just a translation glitch rather than an official English name change).

Georgia commemorates St. George not once but twice a year in May and November, celebrating both his birth and death. But it is November 23 that is the national holiday, with schools and businesses closing. It is a day for church (likely a St. George church), a variety of regional traditions, and of course a Georgian supra with hours of toasts offered to the family's many Giorgis. 

A Walk in the Woods

By Edith McClintock

Normally I associate a great summer read with the word trashy. Preferably a sprawling family saga with sex, power, money, international intrigue, and of course a nice love story. But the Pacific Northwest is paradise this time of year, and I’ve been outdoors this past week celebrating my coming birthday with friends and family and wasting my free time watching the Olympics, so I’m going to recommend a different kind of great summer read.

Today is my birthday and I am hiking somewhere in the North Cascades of Washington, two days out on a hopefully grizzly-free, five-day trip. Last year on my birthday I was hiking in Borjomi-Kharagauli National Park in the Republic of Georgia—an over-night trip that unfortunately included too many rounds of birthday cheers and vodka shots with a group of Georgian, German, Estonian, French, and American hikers. Drinking and hiking is an experience I will NEVER repeat, but in honor of out-of-shape, alcoholic hikers, unfathomable gear, and the pleasures and pains of meandering mountain passes, I’d like to recommend one of my favorite books: A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson.

The book chronicles Bill Bryson’s return to the United States after twenty years living in Britain and his trek along the 2,100-mile Appalachian Trail, which stretches from the other Georgia to Maine. Bryson offers plenty of ecological and historical perspectives on the trail, but the best parts are his hilarious descriptions of his hiking buddy, a recovering alcoholic childhood friend from Iowa, their shopping excursions for gear, and their general ineptitude along the trail. It's a classic, and if you haven't read it yet, there's no better time than summer.

Here are a few excepts:

“So I decided to do it [hike the Appalachian Trail]. More rashly, I announced my intention - told friends and neighbors, confidently informed my publisher, made it common knowledge among those who knew me. Then I bought some books... It required only a little light reading in adventure books and almost no imagination to envision circumstances in which I would find myself caught in a tightening circle of hunger-emboldened wolves, staggering and shredding clothes under an onslaught of pincered fire ants, or dumbly transfixed by the sight of enlivened undergrowth advancing towards me, like a torpedo through water, before being bowled backwards by a sofa-sized boar with cold beady eyes, a piercing squeal, and slaverous, chopping appetite for pink, plump, city-softened flesh.”

“Nearly everyone I talked to had some gruesome story involving a guileless acquaintance who had gone off hiking the trail with high hopes and new boots and come stumbling back two days later with a bobcat attached to his head or dripping blood from an armless sleeve and whispering in a hoarse voice, "Bear!" before sinking into a troubled unconsciousness.”

“Finally with a weary puff, you roll over, unhook yourself from your pack, struggle to your feet, and realize—again in a remote, light-headed, curiously not-there way—that the view is sensational: a homeless vista of wooded mountains, unmarked by human hand, marching off in every direction. This really could be heaven. It's splendid, no question, but the thought you cannot escape is that you have to walk this view, and this is the barest fraction of what you will traverse before you've finished.”

“But I got a great deal else from the experience. I learned to pitch a tent and sleep beneath the stars. For a brief, proud period I was slender and fit. I gained a profound respect for the wilderness and nature and the benign dark power of woods. I understand now, in a way I never did before, the colossal scale of the world. I found patience and fortitude that I didn't know I had. I discovered an America that millions of people scarcely know exists. I made a friend. I came home.”

Dolls That Come Alive

By Edith McClintock

It’s strictly fun creepy, I promise.

I visited the Tbilisi Doll and Children’s Art Museum mostly because its colorful balconies caught my eye every day on my way to work while I lived in Georgia. But I also thought it might be silly and unique—kitschy.

Based on a previous visit to the natural history museum in Borjormi (a much smaller town in the mountains), I didn’t expect much—maybe a damp, slightly creepy space overcrowded with Chucky dolls—white eyes rolling and pink cheeks curved in evil grins. But the doll museum is actually fascinating (and only a little Victorianish creepy), although best experienced if you speak Russian or Georgian. Later visits to Tbilisi museums proved that most are also quite modern and interesting (I especially loved the icon museum).

The doll museum was created in 1937 by a Georgian children’s author and teacher who donated much of the original collection. Over the years, the museum fell into decline, with theft, flooding and financial problems. But in recent years, many of the exhibits have been restored.

The first level of the museum houses a collection of antique puppets and dolls from around the world, several of them reminding me of flamenco dancers and folk dolls my grandmother used to bring us back from her word travels—long since tossed in the trash due to my mom’s overzealous decluttering (my sister and I are still working on forgiveness).

The best toys in this exhibit are the ones that come alive—the mechanical and musical dolls that dance, sing, blow bubbles and play instruments. Today they seem a curiosity, but intricately constructed mechanical toys built in the 18^th and 19^th centuries presaged modern day robotics, and some of the greatest inventors of that era built mechanical toys.

Up the colorfully decorated stairs on the second floor is the Children’s Art Museum with an ongoing exhibit of children’s artwork created in the museum’s own studios. When I visited, there was also an exhibit of student paintings and sculptures around environmental themes.

My favorite exhibit was on the top floor—beautiful modern dolls, puppets and toys created by Georgia artists, most of them for sale. I wanted to buy pretty much everything in the room, and controlled myself only because I was in Georgia on a Peace Corps salary. The other room on the top floor had a collection of Georgian folk dolls from the 1960s and 1970s, with a great space for doll-making parties. But like many Georgian museums, the rooms were closed and we had to ask staff to open them. 

We weren't allowed to take photos of the mechanical dolls on the first floor, but below is a video with some of the best (dolls start at 00:18).

For more, visit my author website and/or personal blog, A Wandering Tale. Even better, order a copy of Monkey Love & Murder on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or the Book Depository (free shipping nearly anywhere in the world).

Architecture of Tusheti, Georgia

By Edith McClintock

Tower fortress in Upper Omalo

It’s not hard to guess that Tusheti, like most of Georgia, was subject to constant invasion over most of its history. Or that Christianity and paganism happily coexist. Its architecture paints a clear story, from the ancient fortress towers that blend harmoniously with the mountain landscape, to the mix of Christian churches and pagan stone structures. Add in the biodiversity and unique mountain culture and it’s a truly enchanted place to visit, although not easy to reach.

Located on the northern slopes of the Greater Caucasus Mountains, bordered by Chechnya and Dagestan, Tusheti is today a complex of protected areas and villages inhabited by the Tush people. Traditionally, the Tush are sheepherders and nomads, spending the summer months in the highlands and moving to lowland villages in winter.

Dartlo village. During Soviet times many of
the fortresses were ruined, with some rebuilt in 2003,
including the towers pictured here. 

I arrived in Tusheti last summer by way of the Alvano pass from the Kakheti region (which you might remember from my blog on Georgian wines). It’s the highest drivable pass in the Caucasus and although there were a few terrifying moments careening around mountain roads with nothing below us but open air, it was most memorable for its spectacular views of craggy green mountains, pine and beech forests, and plunging, watery ravines.

I stayed for nearly a week, visiting some friends working with the park for the summer in the Lower Omalo village. Nestled in a valley surrounded by snowcapped mountains and a few minefields (which unbeknownst to me were being removed while I wandered the hills, worried only about the vicious sheep dogs), the village is only a short hike to Upper Omalo and its dramatic tower fortresses that form much of the mystery and unique beauty of Tusheti.

Historical Tower Fortresses

A  sheep herding/cheese making hut.

Most of the tower fortresses of Tusheti were constructed between the 1500s up until the 1800s, usually on high, rocky hills with fortress walls. The towers are usually between three and six stories, with an entrance door on the first floor and an opening at the top. During a raid on a Tush village, the people abandoned their villages and used the towers as temporary shelters.

The Tushetians also built fortress houses that could shelter large, extended families. The fortress houses had a ground floor for cattle and women’s activities, a middle area for families, and a top area for men’s bedrooms and a watchtower for shooting guns. In the center of the rooms was a hearth, which divided the room into male and female sections. Most of the towers were built without mortar, using shale, and have a pitched roof made out of float slates.

Balconies in Shenako village.

There are nearly fifty villages in Tusheti, some occupied and many not, but not all of them have fortresses or are accessible by car. The best way, in my view, to experience the full impact of the landscape is to take day or even overnight hikes between the villages. And if you’re lucky, like we were, you may even be invited in for a supra (feast) and some chacha (their grape moonshine) along the way. In which case you might want to hitchhike back, which is safe and easy in Tusheti. A local police chief even gave us a ride one day.

Ancient Tushetian Villages

Villages in Tusheti were usually settled on the southern slope of the mountain, with a suitable vantage point for defense, near drinking water and arable land, and protected from landslides and avalanches. When deciding on a place to live, Tushetians would dig a hole in the selected spot and spend the night waiting for a dream to give them a sign. Late in autumn when the snow began to fall and the danger of enemy attack lessened, the Tush people moved to lower grounds to spend the winter. In spring, the Tush returned to fortified villages to protect their lands from invasion. Each settlement had its own unique fortifications and character and even today, the Tushetians differentiate these two types of settlements.

Farming area near Shenako village

Villages Today

At the end of the 19th century, a cash economy was introduced to Tusheti, ending the traditional tribal and family system, and with it the tower architecture of the region. Instead, lowland style home construction became popular for individual families, dominated by houses with open, wooden balconies. The village of Shenako (see photo) is a great example.

In the early 1930s, Tushetians began migrating even lower, to the Kakheti region of Georgia during the winter months when the roads were impassable, forming two large villages, Zemo Alvani and Kvemo Alvani. Forced migration in the 1950s during Soviet rule also caused many villages in Tusheti to be abandoned completely. Although only a few villages are still populated, most Tushetians return each summer, often to attend religious celebrations. The summer of 2011, when I was there, the park held a celebration in mid-summer, with horse racing, and games, and traditional dance.

Christianity and Paganism

Church in Shenako village

Religious buildings connecting Christianity and paganism are also an inseparable part of Tusheti villages. Each village in Tusheti has an area for rituals called a Khati. The whole complex is often made up of several buildings, including a church, pilgrims’ huts, and even an alehouse. Some Khatis, such as the one in Shenako, are adorned with deer and Caucasian goat horns and white stones.

The religious areas are also separated by sex, with separate spaces for male and female worship and rituals. In Upper Omalo, there is a sign warning women not to enter one area, which I nearly did accidentally when taking an “alternative” path down the hill from the fortress (I think I’ll remind myself of those unknown minefields when tempted to stray off designated paths in the future).

Khati stone shrine

Another day, while hiking through the picturesque village of Shenako on our way to its church, I was asked to take a different path than my friends, who were both male—because I was still of childbearing age (otherwise known as menstruating age and therefore unclean—a near universal taboo, from what little I’ve seen of the world, but that is a discussion for a future blog).

Hopefully I’ve convinced you to visit the beautiful and magical Tusheti. And if so, you can visit the park website here for lodging and transportation information. Just stay clear of the sheep dogs, but no worries about the minefields—they’re gone, thanks to a lovely NGO called the Halo Trust.

For more, visit my author website and/or personal blog, A Wandering Tale. Even better, order a copy of Monkey Love & Murder on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or the Book Depository (free shipping nearly anywhere in the world).

Georgian National Ballet Sukhishvili

By Edith McClintock

I fell in love with Georgian folk dance by accident. I’d just arrived in the country during my first visit, and was invited to attend a kids' dance recital. The day turned epic, culminating in an eleven hour supra (feast), but that’s a different story. Before the supra, we attended what turned out to be a national youth festival of Georgian folk dance, with kids from all over the country demonstrating their regional traditions. Despite the age and variable talent, the show was mesmerizing, partly because of the costumes and music with hints of so many cultures, but also because of the sheer athleticism.

Since I loved the youth dance festival, my new friends recommended I see the Georgian National Ballet Sukhishvili, the first professional state dance company in Georgia. They said the ballet toured frequently, but often came back to Georgia around Christmas. I kept mentioning my interest and a few weeks later an American friend who lived outside Tbilisi called and asked if I wanted to see Sukhishvili, and could I also buy tickets for her and another friend. I happily agreed, despite barely speaking Georgian, or even knowing how to get around the city very well.

I walked to the theater during a lunch break, managing to get lost several hundred times, but eventually I found the hordes of people waiting in line. I even had the wherewithal to ask someone who I thought might speak English (based on his blond hair and general scruffy appearance) if he would help me if I had any problems with translation. Sure enough, the tickets were sold out for the date I wanted, but my translator told me they had tickets for the day after Christmas. So I bought the tickets and wandered on my merry way.

Before the dance, I met up with the friends, all American and mostly new to the country. We entered the theater, which, surprisingly, wasn’t full, given the popularity of Sukhishvili in Georgia. The show started, with no dimming of the lights, only a man on stage talking for a very long time—we didn’t know why—followed by another man singing a tortuously long Georgian ballad (they sound similar, no matter the language). I began to suspect I’d made a mistake. Several songs later, we left, asked around, and confirmed I’d purchased tickets to the wrong show.

So while I can’t provide you with a live review of Sukhishvili, as I’d really like to do since they are one of the few Georgian dance troops that tour frequently, I can say with authority, as I’ve seen other performances of Georgian folk dance and watched several Sukhishvili performances on TV, that if they ever come to your town, you must go to a show.

To wet your appetite, below are some videos and a bit of history.

Georgian folk dances reflect the country’s history as a crossroads of trade and war between Eastern Europe and Western Asia. The music and also many of the costumes, particularly for the women, have a strong Middle Eastern influence, while the men often dance on their toes, or actually the knuckles of their toes, or fall to their knees, which seems influenced by Russian and Central Asian cultures (or the other way around). The dances also seem heavily influenced by the medieval reign of King David IV and Queen Tamar in the 11th–12th centuries, the peak of Georgia’s political and economic strength.

Here’s an introduction to Sukhishvili:

Georgia is an ancient land and many regional differences date back to between 2100 and 750 BC, a period of numerous invasions. It also heralds the formation of the Georgian language and the beginnings of the first two Georgian states, the Kingdom of Colchis in the west and in the east the Kingdom of Iberia. These regional divides are still reflected in modern culture and statehood, as well as some regional traditions in dance. 

Georgia is also a country still very defined by gender. Reflected in their folk dances, the men and women do not touch. The women's dances are smooth, elegant, often with rippling silk costumes, and based on traditional women’s roles such as the Samaya, or dance of the bride's attendants, or the Tzkarostan, a dance of water carriers. The male roles, by contrast, are athletic. The men are competitors and warriors. The Mkhedruli (see below), for instance, is a dance of cavalrymen; the Khandjluri, a fight dance with swords and knives.

Below is (I believe) the Georgian National Ballet performing the Acharuli dance that originated in the Adjara region, an autonomous republic located in the southwestern corner of Georgia, bordered by Turkey to the south and the Black Sea to the west. Adjara is a home to the Adjar ethnic subgroup of Georgians and about 63% are Georgian Orthodox Christians and 30% Muslim. Acharuli is distinguished from other dances by the costumes and music that have a definite Middle Eastern influence.

Want more? Visit Sukhishvili TV on the internet.

Or visit my author website and/or personal blog, A Wandering Tale. Even better, order a copy of Monkey Love & Murder on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or the Book Depository (free shipping nearly anywhere in the world).