Peace and space at the Alaverdi Monastery

 

Travelling to Georgia - something I've dreamt of and even semi-planned for years - and not going hiking in the high Caucasus is a bit like going to Switzerland and not walking in the Alps. Let me say that I was very fortunate to go at all this September, courtesy of the amazing Tsinandali Festival, and grateful that I could look out on those mountains, albeit in varying conditions, always grey, from my superb hotel room above the concert halls and the English park beyond, which Alexandre Dumas the Elder, visiting Prince Chavchavadze here in his summer mansion, described as 'the garden of Eden'.

Better still was the chance to swim, come rain or - no rain, in the pool on the roof terrace. No wild dipping to be had on this trip - the rivers were mostly dry anyway - but this was a splendid indulgence.

Concert and workshop schedules, plus work most hours for the first two days in between on some programme notes I needed to complete, were such that there was no chance to leave our oasis, but I was determined to get to the Alaverdi Monastery, some 25 km away on the Kakheti plain and just that bit closer to the mountains. The only way to do it was to ask if the driver taking me back to Tbilisi could make a detour, and amen, that was possible.

From the modern facilities opposite the monastery, I guess coachloads must come here. But my only companions were a very quiet group of Russian pilgrims and their driver, here talking to the watchman. It's a fully functioning monastery, so no fees but also very strict rules about decorum. Founded by Assyrian Father St Joseph, the present mighty Cathedral of St George, built from local travertine stone, dates back to the early 11th century, but has been much rebuilt following invasions and earthquakes. For over three centuries the 50 metre high dome was the highest in Georgia, and it's still awe-inspiring.

The defensive walls were added in the 18th century, the gateway in the next century; the most recent restoration of the complex was made in 2010. Some of the hives producing the celebrated Alaverdi honey under the Taplikatsi label are placed around the orchard-moat

and seem to be thriving.

The display vineyard within the walls has over 100 varieties of grape.

There's a solitary old olive tree, handsomely offset by the travertine south wall

and gravestones in front of the west entrance.

Whitewashed over by the Russians, some of the old frescoes have come to light, especially around the west door.

Above is the patron saint

and to the right St Peter - note also the bunch of grapes. Winemaking in Kakheti is ancient, and some of the kvevri or large terracotta pots used in  the process were discovered in a cellar here.

Within, all is peace - so much so that I got a bit teary, even though I know that the Georgian Orthodox Church is rigidly conservative and an impediment to civil liberties. Obviously no photos allowed, so just this one from the doorway gives a glimpse of the magnificent dome inside (alas, there are no postcards or a guidebook to show illustrations of the interior).

Further time spent lingering along the south wall

and out past the stream

where I was delighted to see the exquisitely coloured Eryngium I've tried - and failed - to grow in the back yard. I thought it was a marine plant, but the title of this hermaphroditic species tells the truth: Eryngium caucasicum.

The complimentary butterfly is, I think, only a Common blue (Polyomattus icarus), but still good to see in this context.

And the sun came out after many shades of grey and wet. I wish I'd engaged my very benign driver, who only spoke a few words of English, earlier in asking him to play some semi-traditional music he liked; we had a splendid selection for the last 45 minutes of the journey. Before that, he kindly offered to stop at the top of the Gombori Pass - yes, it looks like Box Hill in Surrey but 1620m is still something -

which is approached by splendid woods on the Kakheti side and remains fairly lush on the summit.

Hives were plentiful here, too, guarded by the honeysellers who would seem to be camping up here for the peak gathering season.

My alternative to Alaverdi would have been to spend more time in Tbilisi, but I hope I'll be coming back, and I had three hours on the Sunday morning before leaving for Tsinandali. After a Saturday flying via Istanbul, I was too knackered to get up early as friend Cally had suggested to go out and catch the church singing, and it was bucketing with rain, which, once glimpsed, sent me back to bed until 10am. Even so, I had a good expedition. I'd hoped to get to the botanical gardens where swallowtail butterflies were promised, but that proved too far once I'd made an unintended detour below the Kashveti Church

where people were pouring out after the big service. Eventually I found my way inside the old town, which deserved much more time than I had. Disused churches falling apart, but in a very picturesque way,

and green-clad buildings in various stages of decrepitude

including this one, beyond the gate of which - before I snapped this photo - an old lady feeding a kitten was pure Dutch genre painting,

run parallel to other streets fully restored for the tourist route, though it's lovely to see the stray dogs, all tagged with yellow discs to show they've had their injections etc, very much tended to by the locals.

Most suggestive of the churches is surely the Anchiskhati - I was told I should have caught the choir here, Tbilisi's best

while the Sioni Cathedral is well looked after

with a replica of the highly-venerated St Nino's Cross (I think) in the courtyard

and the neoclassical edifice over the way where Griboyedov married Prince Chavchavadze's daughter Nino (I've written briefly about the link on the Tsinandali piece).

Tbilisi is an exhilarating mix of old and new - the latter mostly tacky, as this seems like Potterville Central with its abundance of casinos -

but still I can't wait to return, and then head up to Svaneti. Very regretfully, I had to turn down an offer of a trip to Armenia this month, simply because the death of the great Kancheli meant I would have felt duty bound to attend the event celebrating him in a contemporary festival on the Sunday, and couldn't have got back in time for my Monday opera class. And anyway, GOT to stop flying everywhere.

Summer bathing places 2: three Scottish rivers

Given the extraordinary circumstances which delivered two separate bouts of hot sunny weather in Scotland, I managed to hit cold natural waters inland on three occasions: the Tweed where it's joined by Biggar Water,

the Tay at Newburgh

and the the Lemahamish Pool where the waters of the Forth between Gartmore and Aberfoyle become temporarily more tranquil.

The first two river plunges happened on visits to friends in Broughton (between Peebles and Biggar)

and Abernethy (near Perth)

after a short bout of Edinburgh Festival going. On the day before the plunge I walked part of the Buchan Way with old university friend Christopher, partner Ruth accompanied by dog Lily, and C's son (my godson) Alexander. Leaving behind a very lively hillrunning event, we headed up between the heather-clad hills - Wales is losing its heather, Scotland could be threatened by global warming too anon -

and down another valley before branching off the main route towards the reservoir at the Stobo Estate

where we stopped for a picnic lunch

before heading down to the water gardens. The next morning Alexander drove us over to Biggar to see his first home with girlfriend Kirsty, and we saw yellow-dyed prize sheep in a field, ready for the big show the following week,

before heading out to near Ruth's for the bathing place. She has a wonderful view over the broad valley of the Tweed between Peebles and Biggar

and it doesn't become any the less beautiful the closer you get to the water.

Ruth was first in, keenly watched by Lily and a quickly-made pal in the form of a passing pet.

Negotiating a muddy start, we were quickly in, accustomed ourselves to the cold and sat in the sun for a bit on the pebble bank opposite before swimming back. I was the last out, and Lily decided to come and join me for a second splashabout before beating me to the shore, as you can see from the photo up top.

Next to the idyllic home of Caroline and Alan near Abernethy, itself not far from a river - the Earn - along which the Fife Coast Path should continue to Perth, but an old farmer who now has dementia wouldn't allow it on his land. So we drove to St Andrew's alongside the Tay, which the Earn quickly joins, and stopped at Newburgh for a walk through the reedbeds - the largest in Europe, it's said, a fine reserve for many birds -

to a small beach used for launching boats. The current looked strong not far out, but I ventured it, found it all pleasant, and came back after a good few minutes.

We spent rather too long wandering round St Andrew's in the heat, looking for a good place to take Caroline to lunch to thank her for her hospitality. As we were about to cave in to an unpromising hotel restaurant, a chance venture down the dip towards the beach revealed The Seafood Ristorante, its big glass windows overlooking the bay. As we were late by lunch standards, a table wasn't a problem - and it was worth it: top marks for both starter and main course.

Lingering meant a brisk walk back to the car, where time was just up on the metre.

We were also eating well Chez Caroline each night, when it was warm enough to sit in the pavilion at the end of the pond. Alas, I never did see the hares which frequent the area behind it - one of the babies was killed by a buzzard after we left - but early morning and sunset walks around the garden rooms were such a joy.

The Lemahamish Pool of the Forth I only discovered on the last of my full days holding 13 sessions on Die Walküre over the weekend for the Wagner Society of Scotland. More on those anon, but in my two hours free each afternoon I never got as far as Abernethy. But I did manage to hit the cycle path, which turned out to be on the wrong side of the river to access bathing (here, the views both ways from the bridge). 

So I went to the HQ of the campsite on the other side, and they told me it was fine to walk through the site and then take a path past a small waterfall

to the very pleasant green and beach beyond. Wasn't sure that was it when I saw it,

but a couple out walking their dog assured me it was, that the water level was very low but still deep enough to swim - as their dog was doing. So in the break between the rains of that last day I took the coldest dip of the year to date. 

I wasn't submerged for long, but I did it. And then, after the few rays of sun, it started to rain again. The route from grand Gartmore House where we Wagnerites were all lodged was an especially lovely one - down the drive to the (privately owned) pool near the bottom of the hill, glorious in both the hot sunny weather of the first two days

and the onset of autumn that Sunday,

and along Butler's Path, one of the loveliest woodland walks I know. 

Last year was especially rich in fungi, because it had rained a lot and continued to do so while I was there, but at least this year the tree with mushrooms rather than bracket fungi springing from it looked good in the dappled shade. With a bit of help, I've been able to identify the species as porcelain fungus, Oudemansiella mucida.

The only loss that rainy Sunday was the chain of cobwebs which had looked so lovely in the sun on the Saturday.

I never did get as far as the hills, but at least I could see them. Next September I must take some extra days around Siegfried to explore the area.

More hermetically sealed than Gartmore House was the oasis of Tsinandali in the wine-growing Kakheti region of Georgia, where as the rivers in the valley were all dry my dip happened to be in an exquisite rooftop pool of the Radisson Blu Hotel, connected to the two concert halls - indoor and open - where the festival events I was attending took place. On those, and a wonderful monastery not far from the grounds, more anon here and on The Arts Desk.