It was only a short ride - half an hour or so to where Mtskheta lies cradled amongst the hills, which traditionally provided natural vantage points for fortresses and lookouts. On arriving on the edge of town we were met by a couple of grazing pigs, who failed to show any interest in our arrival and barely raised their heads from the more gripping joys of verge bounty.
Georgia's largest operational cathedral, Sveti-Tskhoveli in Mtskheta was also the site of the country's first Christian church about 1700 years ago. We chose a good day to visit and a procession of wedding parties were bustling through. It was a lot of fun. Geoergian weddings are quite odd - remember that the Orthodox churches have no pews and the congregation doesn't even stand in orderly rows. They just huddle around the alter in a horseshoe shape, with their noses glued to cameras and camcorders. Meanwhile the church remains open and anyone can wander in and out.
We watched as a bride and groom were led up to the alter, each with a friend holding a glittering crown over their head. The priest launched into a cascade of garbled divinities and a handful of men to one side chimed in with a rendition of a short hymn. On the other side of the church two more wedding couples waited for a turn at the alter. I was quite enchanted by the scene and stood quietly watching, unaware that I might be causing any kind of obstruction. My peace was broken when I was knocked nearly to the floor by a very hairy, burly and quite ungodly looking priest, who was making a dash for one of the knaves. He had either lost his prayer book, or forgotten his whisky. I tried to make eye contact to offer an apology, but couldn't see through the screen of ginger facial hair. I half expected to see a knobbled club in his right hand and a spell book under his arm, but he'd probably left them under a bridge somewhere. Muttering to himself he vanished into one of the darker corners of the church and I didn't see him again.
Food options in Mtskheta are virtually nil and we ended up taking a bus back to Tbilisi. His Royal Hungriness wanted to eat straight away, but Ellen had a better plan and we spent another half hour crossing the city to where her friend Igor lives.
Igor's home had a great view of the gorge and river that slice their way through the city. but the house itself wasn't quite so spectacular. We walked through a tiny garden to a side door which led into a small lean-to extension which looked like a tool shed. The lean-to tool shed turned out to be Igor's combination kitchen, dining room and living room, with a sink, a table, a firestool, a cassette player and a menacing clump of electrics dangling from the end of a mains cable to power the whole setup.
Igor emerged from his sleep. It was 6pm, but working as a barman his sleep pattern runs a more nocturnal course. Keen to make us feel at home and to demonstate some classic Georgian hospitality, he made coffe. I watched as he heated the coffee pot in sand, then poured some into each cup, adding shots of benedictine, vodka and honey to each one. He called it an experiment. I tasted the resulting concoction, smiled, applauded his creativity and nearly vomited in Vincent's lap... This was going to be one hell of an evening and this was our chance to test our wit againsed the alco-etiquette of a Georgian supra. Having poured the coffees, Igor excitedly looked around the room and asked what we would like to drink, (oh my brothers), then the electric failed.
Thankfully the girls had the forsight to buy some food and with the lights back in operation, they disappeared to the shop, leaving us men to discuss the strengths of our various coctails. When the girls came back I had three drinks lined up in front of me. They emptied the shopping onto the table, producing potatos, eggs, bread and a bottle of fine Russian Vodka. My three drinks suddenly became four and the toasting began. My last night of alcoholic excess had been with an expiditer (whatever that is) from Chechnya and an FSB (revamped KGB) agent. That was back in Siberia and what a fool I had been thinking that leaving Russia would mean and end to those long nights on the pisski and those longer mornings with a headachechka. BANG! another glass of vodka bit the dust and my head was beginning to swim..
By 8pm I was ready to go home. We'd had a great day and I was more than happy to have met Ellen's friends, but my liver was rapidly becoming the object of some major concern and I was fast loosing my taste for gin, Stron and vod! The day was finally saved by Igor's wife (lucky girl) who suggested that it was time to eat and started cooking up eggs and potatos on the firestool. Together with our evasionary cigarette breaks and drawn out conversation the spread was sufficient to put the brakes on Igor's toasting and by 10pm the night had lapsed into a much more tolerable celebration of his music collection.
By midnight we were wiped out and it didn't seem unreasonable to blow the whistle on the fun and games. As it happened somebody beat me to it and the room was shaken by four successive gunshots from the street outside. That warm mixture of beverages turned in my stomach. The sound of gunfire was so close and so unexpected that for a moment I wasn't sure whether to pretend everything was normal, or to dive under the table screaming Get down, get down!! The former seemed more sensible and Ellen quickly diffused the nervous silence by giggling and insisting that it's quite normal for Georgian men to fire guns in the air - especially when they are celebrating something. I reminded myself that Abkhazia, Ossetia and Chechnya were well out of range and satisfied with Ellen's explaination, we thanked Igor for his hospitality and stepped outside.
Despite our feeble refusals, Ellen and Den insisted on accompanying us back to our homestay - six metro stops and a 10 minute walk through the unlit suburbs of Tbilisi. We were less than one block away when more guns appeared. Three ununiformed men clutching their rifles introduced themselves by shouting through the darkness and flashing torches in our faces. Our Georgian escorts acted as interpreters, answering a barrage of questions about our identity and our movements over the last 24 hours. The questioning only lasted 5 minutes and the rifles remaind untouched as we retired for some much needed shuteye in our stable.
After just 10 days in Georgia, we moved south to Armenia - And ended up staying for the entire 3 weeks of our visa allowance... But that's another story.
As a footnote to travellers visiting Georgia: anti-government demonstrations are being held in central Tbilisi, but remain peaceful. Conflict continues in the Abkhazia region and many hotels in Tbilisi are now filled with refugees - check before you arrive. Border regions with Ossetia, Chechnya and Dagestan are still unstable too. Also note that whilst crime rates are far lower than in many Western cities, unemployment is high throughout the region and theft has risen as a result. Vigilence is required on the Metro, where we have encountered pickpockets over the past weeks and poorly lit suburban districts around the train station and Mardzhnishvili can be unsafe after dark. Georgia is a beautiful land with disarmingly hospitable people and a captivating capital, but common sense and some vigilence are a must.