Lusaka, Zambia and Tbilisi, Georgia II: Humid and hospitable

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Took ages to clear security customs at Tbilisi International Airport, but finally emerged to find the driver from our hotel waiting to collect us. It was warm, too warm. In fact I was astonished find the weather even hotter than Zambia on account of the humidity. This was not going to be good. We arrived at our residence for the next three nights, Hotel City, on a side street off Freedom Square. My room was a disaster; right at the top floor where there was no lift access, it was tiny and u-shaped (to fit around the bathroom) with windows on three sides and curtains that didn’t keep out the light, an uneven floor and air conditioning above the door that didn’t reach the bed at the other end of the “U”. I complained to the manager, who was profusely sorry, but the hotel was full and she wouldn’t be able to move me until my last night. And having already paid for the room, I couldn’t move out to somewhere else. I was just going to have to make the best of it for now. Once the repairman got the air-con working properly and installed a socket extension so I could charge devices, it wasn’t too bad. So I finally posted the travel blog from Zambia, then went out to explore.

The last time I visited Tbilisi was in 2003. Since then, there has been a revolution and Georgia is now a completely different country. Freedom Square for instance, was previously nothing more than a vacant glorified roundabout. Now it has widened pavements and is surrounded by high end shops and hotels. Western commercialism has come to Tbilisi in a big way and the locals have embraced it with open arms. One thing that hasn’t changed was that drivers still don’t stop for pedestrians, not even at zebra crossings. So getting to the other side entailed taking a literal leap of faith on to the road, looking the driver straight in the eye and boldly stepping forth. A formula for fatalities, but amazingly it works.

Went to a Georgian restaurant and had a one of those big khachapuri (boat shaped piping hot pastry with a cheese and runny fried egg filling in the middle) for dinner washed down with a local beer (sadly no longer 15% proof, as they were 14 years ago). A stroll through the Old Town area conclusively showed the extent to which Georgia has opened up. There are now entire streets full of bars and clubs catering to every kind of clientele, redolent of Tbilisi’s burgeoning tourist industry. Inevitably, The Hangar and MacLaren’s, Tbilisi’s two Irish pubs could be found there, and the outriders of the expected thousand-strong travelling Irish support were safely ensconced here, holding court. Didn’t recognise too many faces and having not slept for nearly two days, decided to forego watching France vs. Holland and headed back to my hotel to rest.

For all my misgivings about the room, the bed was comfortable enough and I slept a solid nine hours. Descending into the dining room for breakfast, I saw I was the only non-Indian person staying there. Apparently a Punjabi tour party had booked out the whole hotel until Friday. Afterwards, went on a mini nostalgia trip with a stroll down Rustaveli Avenue. 14 years ago this was the tree-lined main drag of Tbilisi, with crumbling Soviet-style buildings and open markets. The trees are still there, as are the markets (though less chaotic), but gleaming buildings of glass and steel modernity now permeate the boulevard. Many of the old government buildings still stand, but they noticeably have EU flags flying outside them. Georgia aspires to EU membership, believing it will bring greater opportunities and prosperity. Unlike some countries…

At three in the afternoon there was a walking tour of Tbilisi organised by the You Boys in Green forum. Meeting up outside the Burberry store on Freedom Square, there were so many of us that we had to be split into groups and lead by two separate guides. I set off with two dozen others on a three and a half hour stroll through Tbilisi in the company of Ruben, a Basque who has been living here for two years and was able to regale us tales of Tbilisi and with nuggets of city life. For instance, if you are drunk, you can actually ring the police to take you home for free, an idea that made many an Irish eye light up. However this service is seldom used, because no self-respecting Tbilisian will ever admit to being unable to hold their drink. The walk on this sweltering day was all encompassing, from the various churches in Dzvelitbilisi (Old Town), across the gaudy Freedom Bridge over the Mtkvari river to Rike Park, to a cable car ride up to Narikala Fortress – featuring the most spectacular panoramic views this side of Hong Kong – to a descent into the valley off Abano Street (source of the hot springs that power the nearby bath houses) and ending with a wine tasting. I’m hardly the biggest vino aficionado, but the local wines were delicious. Several bottles were decanted and devoured by the double dozen on the tour. It ended with a sampling of Chacha, the deadly local brandy, 50% proof and impossible to down in one. Even short sips proved hard going for me. We thanked Ruben for showing us around. There was no fee for the walking tour, guides are paid only in tips. So in addition to 15 Lari (about £5), I also gave him an Ireland shirt which he was delighted with.

It was all timed perfectly; as I went back into the Old Town for a swift half, it starting drizzling down. It had been a really humid day so I didn’t mind one bit. But by the time I met up with Davy for dinner, it turned into a torrential downpour that ended just as we finished and went bar hopping with everyone. Somewhere amongst the melee of MacLaren’s, I lost them all but found Hannah and Des next door in The German Bar (its only German connection was having a photo of Angela Merkel on the wall, it didn’t even serve German beer). We stayed there drinking expensively until half past midnight, when we shuffled back to MacLaren’s for the start of the midnight karaoke, you can guess the rest. Unsurprisingly I needed little persuading to go do a number, what I wasn’t expecting was to be the very first up. Since when were the Irish shy about singing in public? Anyways, my rendition of How Deep Is Your Love? (the Bee Gees one) went down brilliantly, though I fear footage captured on mobiles may prove otherwise. From here on, the rest was a blur of mass singalongs, overflowing drink and a 3am Kubdari (Svaneti meat pie) down Kote Abkhazi Street, the main thoroughfare the runs through Tbilisi Old Town.

I was still cognisant enough to be up at 10:00 for breakfast and to move into new, far far better hotel room. There was just time for a bit of wine shopping before returning down to the Old Town for a photo session. I previously met photographer Denis Vahey in Moldova, where he was shooting his ongoing series of portraits of Irish supporters. I encountered him again on the walking tour of Tbilisi and, even though I’m hardly a photo-fit for a typical Ireland fan, was persuaded to pose for a portrait. And so beneath the midday sun (hot, but at least the overnight rains have taken away much of the humidity) I was snapped by the foot of the hills in the sulphur baths district. I’m simultaneously looking forward to and dreading the results…

In the afternoon, took the Funicular that runs up the Mtatsminda Mountain to the west of Tbilisi, a five minute tramway ride rising 700m to the top. Lunched at the lovely Chela Funicular restaurant atop the tram stop, all terracotta and blue interior with marvellous views from the terrace. The menu was a tad pork-centric though. From there, it was on to the Mtatsminda Park with its carousels, water slides, a roller-coaster, and a big Ferris wheel at the edge of the mountain, offering a splendid view over the city. A popular spot with local families, though not so much today as the searing heat takes a toll on the numbers. The shooting galleries seem strangely busy though.

In the evening it was match time, we went to the ground via the Tbilisi metro. Foreboding and unwelcoming to foreigners in 2003, it has since modernised with newer trains (oddly reminiscent of 80’s Central Line tubes) and English signage, but still keeping the Soviet-era stark décor and high ceilinged stations. Georgia vs. Ireland was played at the Dinamo Arena in the north of the city. A generic concrete bowl with an athletics track of a modern stadium. A cooling breeze started blowing in as the match kicked off at 8pm. Shane Duffy clattered into Georgian keeper Giorgi Makaridze to head Ireland into a third minute lead. This should have been the prelude to Ireland dominating the game and recording their ninth consecutive win over Georgia. But the Irish sat back, letting their hosts dominate and pass the ball at will. Though the 55,000 capacity stadium was half empty for the occasion, Valeri Kazaishvili’s inevitable 34^th minute equaliser generated enough noise to raise the roof. Ireland were fortunate to escape with a 1-1 draw and such a poor performance, completing just 152 passes to Georgia’s 568. There was no escaping Ireland’s limitations and their chances of qualifying for the 2018 World Cup are now thrown into serious doubt.

There was no segregating of fans after the match and we were on the metro and back into town in time see the start of the Spain vs. Italy clash at the Bernardo Bar off Freedom Square. Over another beer and Kubdari dinner, we watched an exhibition of football that so contrasted with the Irish performance, and discussed the many permutations of how Ireland might yet still make it to next year’s finals. As midnight approached, it was only now that ten days of travel started to take its toll on me. Rather than heading into the Old Town with everyone and drinking into the small hours, I returned to my hotel for a comparatively early night.

Instead of doing a last minute dash of the sights, for my last day in Tbilisi I took a more relaxed approach, decided to go native and visit the sulphur baths. So much for Georgia being a religious country, it was the bath houses rather than the churches that were packed out on a Sunday morning. But eventually I did find one with an available private room (I could have gone to one of the public baths, and I’m hardly prudish, but going full dangle in front of strangers for a few hours would have been a bit much. For them as well as me) stripped off and plunged in. The waters, straight for the nearby springs, were invitingly warm and said to have great health and healing benefits. I can only say that soaking in the sulphur waters was strangely both relaxing and exhausting, like I had done an hour in the gym.

After 30 minutes, there’s a knock on the door, it was my masseuse. An elderly, burly but professional Russian chap here to do my exfoliating scrub massage. I laid starkers on the marbled table as he scraped layers of skin off my everywhere and gave me a good pummelling. Again, a strenuous experience despite me not having to do anything but lie down or sit up. The upshot of all this was that at the end of my hour in the bath house, I felt astonishingly clean and refreshed. The total cost was less than £20.00, and that includes the two beers I had sitting in reception afterwards, chilling, recovering and mustering the strength to get up and leave. There was just time for one last Khachapuri at Café Kala before the Irish who were still in town woke from their slumbers to gather at MacLaren’s for the All-Ireland hurling final. This was my cue to return to the hotel, gather my luggage and go to the airport to begin the long journey home.

So there you have it. The 2017 grand trip was one of the best ever. Though perhaps my advancing years have finally caught up with me and I was feeling the effects of so much travel towards the end. I don’t think I will ever visit the Zambian orphanage and do an Ireland away match on the same trip again. Or at least not an away game at somewhere as difficult to reach as Tbilisi. That said, direct flights to Georgia from London have just started and I can see Tbilisi potentially rivalling Dubai as a middle-haul destination; warm weather, great food and drink, plenty of sights to see, cheap shopping, hospitable people. Don’t be shy of taking in the baths thoug

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