Learning the Georgian Alphabet

Many years ago, in an English-language bookshop in Tokyo, I bought a book called Writing Systems of the World. It’s still one of my favourite books. It has a two-page spread for every writing system still in significant use. One that struck me most was the Georgian script. It looks like nothing else - it is completely unrelated to the Latin alphabet, or to the Cyrillic alphabet used for Russian, or indeed to anything else. Neighbouring Armenia also has a unique script, but the two are unrelated.

The Georgian script is particularly beautiful, with complicated, elegantly shaped letters like ლ. It has intrigued me ever since I discovered it, but it is a lot of work to learn an alphabet for which you have no use, so I never got round to it.

Getting Started

Georgia is an interesting country for many reasons. It has managed to retain a unique language and culture despite having been invaded repeatedly over the centuries, from all sides. It is one of the oldest civilizations in the world, and it is the birthplace of winemaking. It still has a unique technique for making wine, resulting in wines different from anything else in the world, in Europe or elsewhere. For all these reasons, I have been tempted to visit for several years. Finally, now that the Covid crisis is over, we were able to organise a trip there, which I’ve described here.

This at last gave me a reason to learn the Georgian alphabet. I find it really unpleasant if I can’t decipher signs and so on, even if they don’t mean anything to me.

The Georgian Mkhedruli Alphabet

The alphabet contains 33 letters. Faced with just a list of letters, it’s very hard to know where to start. Fortunately I found an excellent website which presents them in groups of 3 or 4, with exercises for each group. Using this, and working through each group three or four times, it took just a couple of days to memorise the letters to the point of being able to decipher and to write Georgian text.

The word “decipher” is important. A fluent reader, in any language, reads a whole sentence at a single glance. At the other extreme, when you first learn an alphabet, you go through letter by letter, decoding them individually. It’s slow and very frustrating, especially when you’re in a car or bus and you only manage the first few letters before you can no longer see what you are trying to read. It takes lots of practice, and knowledge of the language, to read faster than that.

One nice thing about Georgian is that the writing system is completely phonetic. Every letter is pronounced, and pronounced as written. Conversely, if you hear a word, you know exactly how to write it. This is very different from English, whose spelling is notoriously and horribly irregular, or French, where you never know how many letters at the end of a word not to pronounce.

On the other hand, several of the letters have variant shapes, some of which are not well documented. More on that later.

A lot of the letters are confusingly similar. For example კ and პ (/k’/ and /p’/ respectively) differ only in the presence of the tiny top bar of პ. This is true of the Latin alphabet too, but we get completely used to it and don’t notice for example the similarity between ’h’ and ‘b’ or ‘O’ and ‘Q’.

It's wrong to talk about the Georgian alphabet, because actually there are three of them. Here I've only talked about Mkhedruli. which is universal for everything written nowadays. There are also two historical alphabets, Asomtavruli and Nuskhuri. The former now appears only in inscriptions in churches, and the latter nowhere at all. There is little visual resemblance between the three. If you wanted to learn the two historical alphabets, it would be starting over. But there's little point anyway.

Phonetics

Most of the sounds in Georgian exist in English also. Those sounds are easy. Some are not so easy for an English speaker:

• ხ /χ/ - like the ‘ch’ in ‘loch’
• ღ /ɣ/ or /ʁ/ - similar to the Parisian French pronunciation of ‘r’ or Spanish ‘ll’
• ყ /q/ - like Arabic ‘q’, similar to a ‘k’ but pronounced at the very back of the mouth

Then there are the so-called glottalized consonants. Many of the plosives have this variant. In the list below, each of the second letter is “glottalized” and the first one isn’t. 

Unglottalized	Glottalized	Sound
ქ	კ	/k/
ფ	პ	/p/
თ	ტ	/t/
ჱ	წ	/ts/
ჩ	ჭ	/ʧ/ (ch)

It’s very hard for a non-native to figure out the difference. I asked a few people to say the two letters, and in isolation they sound very different. The glottalized variant is forced out much harder, and the un-glottalized version sounds softer. In theory, to pronounce the glottalized form you make a glottal stop which you release forcefully as you articulate the plosive - hence the name. But it’s very hard to do this in connected speech, as opposed to a single isolated consonant. Listening carefully to people speaking - even though I didn’t understand anything - I couldn’t hear any distinction. I suspect that for a foreigner, unless you really want to try to sound like a native, you can just ignore the distinction completely.

The letter ვ is glossed as /v/, but I read somewhere that it often degenerates to /β/, the bilabial fricative - similar to /v/ but made by pressing your lips gently together rather than your top teeth and bottom lip. At one place we visited I heard the ვ in qvevri pronounced more like /w/, making it sound like “kwewri”.

When transcribing other languages into Georgian, there is no exact match for the /f/ sound. The letter ფ (/p/) is used in this case. That makes sense because there is very little difference between /p/ and /ɸ/, the voiceless bilabial fricative, which in turn is almost indistinguishable, audibly, from /f/.

Variations

A complication of the Georgian alphabet is that several of the letters have different variant forms. That’s not unique to Georgian - for example in the Latin script, ‘g’ can also be written as ‘g’, and ‘a’ can also be written as ‘ɑ’. We’re so used to this that we don’t even notice it, but to a foreigner learning the Latin alphabet for the first time, these appear as completely different symbols. We also have upper and lower case, meaning that there are actually 52 symbols to learn, not 26. And we have fonts with and without serifs - it’s not at all obvious to our foreigner that ‘I’ and ‘I’ are the same symbol.

Georgian takes variations a bit further, though. First, there are three letters that are generally simplified, and in print do not resemble the characters shown in the picture at the top. These are among the most spectacularly squiggly letters, and in normal type and handwriting are always simplified.

Next, there are letters that are routinely simplified, though not in most fonts. For example ლ (/l/) can be simplified to a single loop, carefully skipping the double-loop ღ which is a completely different letter. 

(These are hand-drawn because it's impossible to be sure of getting the right glyphs otherwise. There is only a single Unicode code-point for each character - which glyph you get depends entirely on the font).

There is no true upper case in Georgian - for example, sentences begin with normal letters. But there is an alphabet variation called Mtavruli that has been proposed as such in the past, and is still widely used in signs, adverts and the like. Mostly, the only difference is that the letters have a constant height, with no ascenders or descenders. Some letters, though, can be greatly simplified, as shown in the sketch above.

Just opposite our hotel was a shop with this sign. The first letter, and the last but two and last but one, don’t look anything like any “official” Georgian letter. In fact they are greatly-simplified versions of ლ რ დ respectively. So the whole name is ლომბარდი, “lombardi” (meaning pawnbroker). These characters very often appear on signs and such, but I’ve yet to find anything that describes them. I did find a font that shows them, below.

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Conclusion

It was a pleasure to be able to read signs - and especially bus destinations - while we were in Georgia. The next step would be to learn something of the language, but that would be a huge investment for very little reward. I'd like to return there some time, but it will only be for another short visit. So the language will have to be for another lifetime.

A Visit to Georgia - Part 2

 

This is the second part of my blog about our trip to Georgia. For the first part, see here . 

Mtskheta

Mtskheta, viewed from Jvari Monastery

Samtvaro Monastery, with
Wine Ice Cream

Bas-relief on the Samtvaro Monastery,
with inscription in Georgian

The next day saw us leave Tbilisi in the opposite direction, westwards to the town of Mtskheta. This was the capital of the region (confusingly called Iberia) around the second century AD. It had already been established as a town for a couple of thousand years - it claims to be the oldest continuously-inhabited town in the world, and is certainly way older than Tbilisi. It was the centre of the Christianisation of the country in the fourth century, so inevitably it has no shortage of monasteries and churches.

The most prominent is the Jvari Monastery, on a hilltop dominating the town and the confluence of the Aragvi and Mtkvari rivers, the latter continuing through Tbilisi and eventually draining into the Caspian Sea in Azerbaijan. The view is stunning. The monastery was built in the fourth century but soon proved to be too small. The current building dates from the 7th century. It was badly damaged by invaders - inevitable in Georgia - but survived with major repairs.

After Jvari we descended into town to admire the churches and monasteries to be found in the plain. The Samtvaro Monastery's associated church is huge. One of the striking features of Georgian churches is their bell towers. Unlike European ones, invisible from the interior, these rise high above the main part of the church, at the intersection of the nave and transept, supported by huge pillars integrated into the walls. They are very obvious from the outside, and truly awe-inspiring from the inside, as you gaze up into their heights. This church, being one of the biggest, has one of the most impressive.

As everywhere, this major tourist attraction is surrounded by gift-shops, cafés and so on. Everywhere sells something called wine ice-cream. I really meant to try it before we left, but never quite did.

Between monasteries we visited a very charming and interesting winery, in a private house a few kilometres from the town. We sat on a terrace overlooking the Mktvari river as we sampled the wines. The owner was a very interesting guy, a professor at the Technical University in Tbilisi who, very typically for Georgians, made small amounts of wine at his “country home”, where we were. He spoke good English although since we were supposed to be francophone, the conversation was a mixture of Georgian/French translation and just English.

This was our first taste of wine made using the Kisi grape, another unique Georgian varietal - in a qvevri, of course. The qvevri gives body to any white-grape wine, but Kisi takes it a step further. It has masses of body and mouthfeel, and will stand up cheerfully even to red meat, as we discovered later. Then it was time for the cha-cha. He gave a rather poetic speech about how drinking it daily kept men young, and then it was time to drink. It was 60% alcohol, so the only way to drink it was to pour it down your throat without letting it touch the sides. Even so it was pretty potent.

He asked us to guess his age. I replied 65, and he looked disappointed. So I added, “But if I didn’t know about the cha-cha, I would have said 50”. That got a smile, a big laugh and we were friends again.

There was one more church to go before we returned to Tbilisi. All of the churches were awe-inspiring but it’s impossible to go into the details of each of them, even if they hadn’t all got jumbled up in my head.

Tbilisi Solo

Tbilisi street scene, with
alarming enclosed terrace

It was only mid-afternoon when we got back to Tbilisi, so we had some free time to explore the town alone before dinner. Our hotel was too far from the town to walk, and even the metro station was quite a long way. But I had noticed the constant stream of modern green buses in front of our hotel, and had spent some time studying how they worked. We were dropped off at the central metro station, where we could buy “Metro-Mani” cards to access all public transport. This was also home to Tbilisi’s most upmarket shopping mall, imaginatively called the Tbilisi Mall. It had all the same up-market brands that you would find anywhere in Europe, full of well-dressed Tbilisi natives doing their shopping. It was impressive to see but of limited interest to us.

We walked back to what had become the “Edsel Place” and from there explored the old town. Soon we found ourselves back at the lemonade café, with a couple of glasses to quench our thirst. Then I put my knowledge of the bus system to good use, taking us to the National Gallery. There was an exhibition by Pirosmani, Georgia’s most famous artist. He lived in the late 1800s, completely unheard of - he only became famous, or even known, posthumously. His style was very naive yet captivating in the way it depicts every day scenes. My own personal favourite is a very simple profile of a boar.

Boar, by Pirosmani

Tbilisi street scene by Machavariani

Cat eating our cake at Prospero's bookshop

There were works by other Georgian artists too, some better than others. There was a big display of works by Machavariani, a late-20th century artist with some very vivid pictures of crumbling Tbilisi as it must have been under the Soviet Union. The museum isn’t very big, it just has four large exhibition rooms across two floors. We arrived less than an hour before closing, yet had time to enjoy everything and go back for a second look at our favourites. It’s a lot less overwhelming than the Louvre or London’s art museums.

Somehow I’d discovered that Tbilisi has an English-language bookshop, and that was only a short walk along Rustaveli Avenue, Tbilisi’s version of the Champs Elyses. It was a delightful place, arranged around a courtyard where you could sit and enjoy tea, coffee and pastries from the shop’s café. Inevitably I came out with a bag full of books, including a Georgian language primer which realistically I will never do anything with. But it seemed like a good idea at the time - it’s impossible to resist a language when you are constantly surrounded by it.

The tea was good but the pastry, advertised as a “milk scone”, was dry and unappetizing. Which was just as well because the cat which had been marauding around the courtyard suddenly leapt onto the table and stole it. He didn’t find it unappetizing at all, and steadily munched his way through about half of it before abandoning the resulting pile of crumbs. We supposed it must have really contained milk.

After that another short bus ride took us back to our hotel, and to that evening’s dinner. It was at a restaurant which we were assured was excellent - it was certainly very good - but which strangely was completely deserted when we arrived, and only had a couple of tables occupied when we left an hour later.

Troglodytes

Another westbound departure took us to the world-famous troglodyte village of Ouplistsikhe (just take my word for it and don’t try to pronounce it). But on the way we had to pass through the town of Gori. Gori is famous for exactly one thing: it was Stalin’s birthplace. His real name was Dzhugashvili, an unmistakably Georgian name. In Soviet times a museum to his life was established in the town square, and surprisingly it is still open and quite popular. It shouldn’t be thought that just because he was Georgian, he went out of his way to be nice to his native territory. Over 600,000 Georgians were killed uner his regime, between the war and various purges, getting on for half of the male population.

Georgia can be thoughts of as a rather montainous plain, sandwiched between two mountain ranges. To the north is the Great Caucausus reaching up to 5000 metres with Russian Chechnia on the other side. On the south, the mountains form the border with Armenia. They sound like the perfect natural boundaries, but that is reckoning without the Russians and their love for stirring up messes. Soon after Georgia became independent, the Russians funded separatists in Ossetia on the other side of the Caucasus, who somehow managed to take over a big chunk of Georgia, calling it South Ossetia. Our route to Gori took us within a kilometre or so of the invisible boundary, but it is out of the question to cross it. The only way from Georgia proper into South Ossetia is via Russia, North Ossetia and then across the mountains. The Russians pulled a similar stunt with Abkhazia, on the north-western side of the country, so now a fifth of Georgia’s area is inaccessible and practically speaking, under Russian control.

Huge rooms at Ouplistsikhe hewn from sandstone

Chapel at Ouplistsikhe, with rooms under

Apothecary, with storage shelves

Rooms at Ouplistsikhe

We didn’t stop there, though we did see his armoured railway carriage sitting outside the museum building. We went straight on to Ouplistsikhe. The story is simple enough: about two millennia before Christ, the locals discovered caves in the soft sandstone that overlooks the Mktvari river. Better, they discovered that it was soft enough to excavate with the limited tools available at the time. And excavate they did. At its height, around 0 AD, it had hundreds of rooms, a palace and a theatre, all hewn out of the sandstone. Some of the rooms are truly huge, ten metres or more on each side with correspondingly high ceilings. It must have taken decades to create each of them.

Of the theatre, all that is left now is the stage and the dressing rooms behind it. Originally there was a large tiered auditorium. For once it wasn’t invaders who wrought the destruction, but nature in the form of two serious earthquakes, the worst in 1920 which sent the whole auditorium crashing in to the valley below.

Invaders had played a part in the history of the town, inevitably. It resisted the Muslim attacks in the 8-10th centuries, but was finally abandoned during the Mongol invasions of the 14th century. Since then it has been uninhabited. While much of the sandstone remains, you just have to imagine everything that wasn’t made of stone. You can still the big holes in the cavern walls which supported huge roof beams. Archaeologists have done their best to understand the functions of what remains. For example there is a pharmacy, with little shelves for the potions and medications hewn out of the rock at the back.

To get to it from the car park and visitor centre is a long climb up some modern steel steps, with the original, heavily-worn sandstone steps underneath. The return down into the valley is through a rather daunting tunnel, built in antiquity as an emergency escape route, whose exit is right by the river.

That day we had a “proper” lunch, in a restaurant by the visitor centre. It was completely predictable: salad followed by khachapuri, vegetable stew and fruit. I also has a beef stew, which had the toughest beef I have ever tried to eat in my life. The knife made no impact on it, and neither did chewing, except to flatten it a bit. Truly a dish to remember, but not for the right reasons.

From there we drove into a long, mostly empty mountain valley, to the settlement of Ateni. Now it is a small and very scattered village, but in medieval times it was an important city, surrounded by fortresses. It is still worth visiting because of the church that remains from that time, the Ateni Sioni. Built in the 7th century, it has amazingly remained unchanged ever since. Like all the churches we visited, its exterior is covered in interesting bas-reliefs. The one that caught my attention is a saint who became a curer of animals, extracting a tooth from a lion. I wonder how much he paid for professional insurance? It makes even deep-sea fishing seem safe.

Our final stop was at the most unusual winery of all that we visited. It started with a kilometre hike along the valley from the church, crossing the river on a rickety timber bridge just wide enough to walk across. Cars have to use a ford, a manouevre which would have been tricky in our much-missed Toyota FJ, never mind a normal car.

Ateni Sioni church

Fresco at Ateni Sioni

Lion-healer extracting a tooth, bas-relief
at Ateni Sioni

Wines at Nika Vacheishvili's Marani

 Despite the difficult access, you can go and stay there, at Nika Vacheishvili’s Guest House. In addition to the main house, guests are accomodated in a modern building, with eight rooms on two floors. Our tasting took place in a terrace overlooking the river, with fantastic views into the mountains. The wine came in unlabelled bottles, with just some markings in white ink. The first one, an amber kvevri wine, was extraordinary. Unfortunately we didn’t note the grape varieties, but they weren’t the usual Georgian ones. It was full of body, with masses of fruit yet not “fruity”. The second wine was the same grapes, but a different year. It was good, but not as good as the first.

Once the owner realised we were interested and taking his wines seriously, they came without stopping. We stayed at least an hour longer than we were supposed to, including an interesting chat with a German couple who were staying there for a couple of nights. We bought a bottle of the first wine to bring back with us. Then as we were hiking back to the car, the owner passed us in his car and insisted on giving us another bottle because, he said, he had got the year wrong. We gave the “wrong” bottle to our guide, keeping the one we were supposed to have all along.

Since we had lingered so long, there was no time to go back to our hotel. We went straight to that evening’s dinner, which also included a demonstration of traditional Georgian folk dancing. This was entertaining, as these things go, in a restaurant which evidently did nothing but these “folklore evenings”. Naturally all the guests were foreign, I noticed American, English, Chinese and Russian. We were most impressed by the master of ceremonies, who looked exactly like a bouncer and no doubt doubled as such should it ever be necessary.

Second Tbilisi Solo

On Saturday we were on our own all day. The tour proper had finished on Friday, but we stayed an extra day so we could catch the Air France flight home. We decided to spend the day exploring Tbilisi, which really meant just wandering around. As soon as you get even a few metres from the main tourist streets, it’s a fascinating and delightful place. Buildings are in varying states of disrepair, but mostly evidently in use. One striking feature is the balconies. Nearly every building has several balconies, some of them already collapsing, others that you certainly wouldn’t walk on, and others furnished and in daily use.

We found a quiet place, Gudiashvili Square, with just a few locals walking their dogs or sitting chatting. In the centre is a fountain made from a charming statue of two lovers under an umbrella.

From there our random walkabout led us to the Jvaris Mamas church. Unlike all th eother churches we visited, this one has had its frescoes restored, meaning that they are complete and in vivid colours, covering nearly all of the interior walls.

From there we returned to the baths district, which we’d seen with Lali on our first day. The baths are all fed from a hot spring which also feeds into a stream running down a steep and picturesque valley. In the end we decided just to sit and drink tea watching the valley and the people in it, rather than trying to take a bath. Thanks to the online bus map and guide, I was able to find a bus which took us from there straight back to our hotel.

One very striking thing everywhere in Georgia is the presence of vending machines in the street, selling beer, soft drinks, snacks and so on. The only other place we’ve seen this is in famously crime-free Japan. In France, Britain or the US they would be vandalised and robbed within hours. It tells you a lot about Georgia. During our strolls around Tbilisi, sometimes in narrow, deserted streets, we never felt in any danger.

As we walked the short distance from the bus to our hotel, we passed what seemed to be a combined hotel and up-market shopping mall. We went in to explore, and found a huge courtyard full of people, mostly students. Following the example of someone emerging from a side door, we found a wine bar run, improbably, by a Dane. We spent a very pleasant half hour sitting on the terraced staircase in the cool evening air. Apparently the place used to be a huge printing works, in Soviet times, which has now become a hotel, and art gallery, and some wine bars and restaurants.

For our last dinner we wanted something a bit different from the standard classic Georgian food we’d eaten all week. But we still wanted something with a Georgian touch - it seems silly to visit Georgia to eat pizza or sushi, even though these were readily available. We found a highly-rated restaurant called Shavi Lomi, billed as Georgian/European fusion. Our first impression was not great. We took a Bolt to get there, since the bus ride, though possible, looked a bit adventurous. At first we went along busy streets lined with shops and restaurants, on the north side of the river. But then we turned into a series of deserted back alleys, and in the middle of one the car stopped and the driver made it clear we were there. We saw the sign for the restaurant, but a heavy steel door was firmly closed and locked. Just as we were wondering what to do next, the door opened and a very apologetic woman beckoned us inside. The transition from the deserted, dirty street to the busy, well-lit courtyard was a bit Tardis-like.

The food was excellent. I had a beef stew and Isabelle had a lamb dish. We decided to drink a “white” wine with this, an amber Kisi qvevri wine. It sounds improbable, but they went perfectly together. It made a pleasant complement to all the classic food we had eaten.

Tbilisi Street Scenes

The Romantic Fountain, Gudiashvili Square Restored Frescoes, Jvaris Mamas

Return

The next morning, it was time to return. Many years ago we boarded an Air France flight in St Petersburg, with great of relief that we had survived and even enjoyed our week in Russia. We had no such feeling this time. I would happily go back to Georgia any time, and there is still a lot we have to discover - the high mountains of the Caucasus, the Black Sea coast at Batumi, and no doubt others too.

Air France did nothing to make us feel welcome. The crew was interested only in hiding in the galley, and the food was truly awful - such a shame when you consider what Georgia is capable of producing.

A Visit to Georgia - Part 1

Many years ago I discovered the beautiful and unique Georgian script. Since then I’ve been intrigued by this small Caucasian country. More recently, pre-Covid, we talked to some friends about going there together. Thanks to Covid that never happened, but we did buy the Lonely Planet guide-book which got me a lot more interested. It’s one of the oldest surviving civilizations in the world, despite the best efforts of all of its neighbours to invade and destroy it, packed with ancient monasteries and churches going back to the 4th century AD. It is also the birthplace of winemaking, with its own grape varieties and a unique technique that makes especially well-flavoured wines.

We found a company that organizes wine-oriented tours there, and at short notice booked a one-week trip. We were very lucky to be the only two people on the tour - we could have been in a larger group, which would have made the most interesting parts of our trip impossible. Air France flies to Tbilisi (the capital) a few times a week, so we organised things around that. We had little idea what to expect. I used the intervening time to learn the Georgian alphabet, since I hate going somewhere and being unable to read anything at all.

This blog is in two parts. The story of the second part of our trip is here.

Arrival

Our flight managed to leave over two hours late from Paris, so with the two-hour time difference we arrived at about 1.30 am. We were met by our guide, Lali, and our driver for the week, Misho. The streets were still quite full as we drove into town. Our hotel could have been anywhere in the world, with a decent-sized room and all the usual amenities. So far, so good.

Gold jewelry at the National Museum

The next morning, a bit sleepy, we were taken on a walking tour of the city. Our first stop was the National Museum. In the time available all we saw was the collection of ancient gold jewelry. Georgians were amazing goldsmiths when Europe was still in the stone age, using techniques which cannot be reproduced even today.

We saw the first of many thousand-plus year old churches. It wasn’t as hot as we’d feared, but it was still very hot and tiring in the sun. The church interiors make a very welcome relief. Our guide had an extraordinary depth of knowledge about the history of the churches and monasteries, which impressed us throughout the trip.

Tbilisi is built in a narrow valley, surmounted by hills either side. We took a modern cable car to the top, with spectacular views, though the monastery which is the real target of the cable car is closed for restoration. After that we had our first meal in Georgia. When we lived in the US, there was a Georgian restaurant nearby which left us fairly underwhelmed. We hoped that the real thing would be better. One of the universal staples of Georgian food is khinkali, a large dumpling generally filled with minced meat, and liquid broth. Done properly, as we discovered later, they are delicious. But at the tourist-trap by the river that we visited this time, they were a disappointment, dry and tasteless.

Tbilisi's baths with their characteristic
domed roofs

The afternoon took us on the classic tourist trail through Tbilisi. We started at the hot sulphur baths, which were discovered by king Vakhtang Gorgasali around 500 AD. According to legend, he decided on the spot to move the capital there, thus creating Tbilisi. From there we walked along a café-lined street to the Sioni Cathedral, another ancient church. By then we were exhausted from the heat, and delighted when Lali steered us into a beautifully decorated café and ordered a jug of home-made lemonade, augmented with finely chopped mint that gave it an extra delicious tang as we savoured it in the air-conditioned cool.

At the end of the tourist street, where we waited for our driver to collect us, was a very unusual car - a 1959 Edsel, in perfect condition. The name has become a synonym for huge commercial failure - very few were sold even in the US, and to find one in Georgia is just so improbable. I discovered later that Georgia is a busy marketplace for cars making their way from Europe and the US to central Asia - our driver’s car was a US-model Ford Fusion, its speedometer calibrated in MPH. We also saw a 1950s Ford Falcon and a 1960s Cadillac, both being used as wedding cars.

A 1959 Edsel parked in central Tbilisi

After a rest at the hotel, we went for our first dinner in Georgia. The meal was bracketed by a tomato-and-cucumber salad, and a huge platter of fresh fruit. Nearly every meal had some variant of the other Georgian staple, khachapuri. This is a bit like an enclosed pizza, two very thin layers of dough filled with cheesy stuff of some kind. The best are delicious, and even mediocre ones are pleasantly filling. The rest of the meal set a pattern which was repeated, with minor variations, throughout the trip - a vegetable stew, tasty little walnut-based dumpling things called pkhali, often some barbecued meat. And always the brackets of salad and fruit.

We had our first Georgian wine of the trip, a qvevri saperavi - more on the wines later. This one was the least good of all we had, but luckily they improved after that.

Travels, and Wine

Our first wine-tasting, in Sighnaghi

Making Kakheti-style bread

The following morning we left for Kakheti, the eastern part of the country where most of the wine is made. After a long drive we arrived in the hilltop town of Sighnaghi (if you speak standard French, it’s pronounced as if it was written Sirnari, though most foreigners say Signagi), and to our first wine tasting. This was a private house, adapted as a small tourist restaurant. We went down several floors into the tasting room, where our hostess explained everything. She was about 30 and spoke reverently about her grandfather and his traditions, from whom she was evidently taking over as winemaker. Later we saw her making traditional Kakheti bread. It looks a bit like a squashed baguette, and it is absolutely delicious. It’s made from unleavened (no yeast) dough, which is wrapped around the inside of a cylinder about 80 cm across. Then wood is placed in the middle and ignited. When the wood has burned out, the bread is cooked to perfection, crunchy on the outside and soft and chewy in the middle.

We were constantly surprised on our trip by how good people’s English was. Our tour was in French and our guide spoke fluent, almost unaccented French. But at Sighnaghi, and elsewhere, it was simpler to let the local person talk to us in English. Our host there was completely fluent, even though she had only visited the US a few times.

Traditional Georgian winemaking uses a qvevri. This is a large clay vessel, which can hold anything from a few hundred litres up to 2000, or even more. They are roughly the shape of a rugby ball, pointed at the bottom and open at the top, and buried in the ground so all you can see is the hole at the top. The grapes are crushed, traditionally by foot but nowadays by machine, and then everything is poured into the qvevri - juice, skins, pulp, and even sometimes the stems - and left to ferment for a few days. Being buried in the ground keeps the temperature under control, an important concern since the fermentation produces a lot of heat.

Traditionally, once the fermentation has stopped, the qvevri would be sealed and the wine stored there until required. The wines were for home consumption, so not kept for very long. Nowadays the liquid is removed and placed into another qvevri, which is topped up and sealed. The wine-soaked solids at the bottom of the qvevri, called cha-cha, are retrieved and distilled to make a strong alcohol also called cha-cha.

Qvevri, before they are buried

Especially for white wines, this is very different from Western methods, where the juice is separated from the skins and pulp almost immediately. It makes the characteristic “amber wine”, strongly coloured and with a taste and mouth-feel intermediate between red and white wine - though nothing like a rosé. On our last night we drank a qvevri white wine with beef and lamb, which it accompanied perfectly.

Georgia has its own grape varieties, which are unknown in Europe and the US. The most common (by far) red grape is Saperavi, which can make a delicious, full-bodied, well-rounded red. My description is that it is what Merlot really wants to be. The most common white grape is Rkatskeli (the natives almost omit the initial R, and you can too). There are 102 others, carefully preserved at the Alaverdi monastery, of which maybe 30 are commonly used to some extent. There have also been attempts at growing classic western grapes, in particular Cabernet Sauvignon and Chardonnay. This is probably more about name recognition in western markets than it is about improving the wines - which they don’t need.

For a long time the principal market for Georgian wine was (the rest of) the Soviet Union, which wanted sweet-ish red wines, and most of all lots and lots of it. Since its collapse, Georgia has turned to other markets and to improved quality. Even so, Russia still takes about 50% of wine exports, with the rest going mainly to Eastern Europe and to a fast-growing market in China.

Sighnaghi, with one of its signature towers

After the tasting we strolled around the town, built mainly in the 18th century so practically brand new by Georgian standards. The old town is surrounded by a wall, with over 30 watchtowers along its length. We bought a big bag of delicious fresh figs from a black-clad old lady sitting beside the road, for next to nothing - 5 Georgian Lari (GEL or ₾), or about €1.50. The town sits and the end of a ridge between the two principal valleys of eastern Georgia, with spectacular views over both of them.

Monasteries and Invaders

Georgia converted to Christianity in the 4th century AD. There followed a spate of building monasteries and associated churches. Lali, our guide, has an encyclopedic knowledge not just of individual sites but of the history of the architecture, and how the construction of the churches evolved over time. This was fascinating to listen to, though sometimes a bit overwhelming.

To understand Georgia (even a little), you have to start with geography. It’s a small and very rich country, agriculturally, surrounded on all sides by other countries that would like to own or control it: Russia to north, Turkey to the west, Iran/Persia to the south, and the Mongol hordes to the East. Over the centuries they, and others, have all invaded, with the usual genocide, pillaging and general destruction. The Russians and later the Soviet Union were the most recent, starting in 1806, but by no means the worst. Amazingly, the Georgians managed to retain their language and culture through all of this.

Despite this repeated destruction, and the passing of a couple of millennia, many of the monasteries and churches survive. Our first was at Bodbe, close to Sighnaghi. It’s still an active convent, in addition to the church. It’s one of “the” go-to places, so it was very crowded, with a lot of Russians. Georgia is one of the few countries they can still visit readily, so they show up everywhere. Which is ironic, because this church, like all of the others we saw, had been vandalized under the Soviet Union. All of the frescoes, which had survived for centuries, were smothered in whitewash or concrete. It’s practically impossible to remove without destroying the fresco underneath, so the churches just have a few patches here and there which have either been restored, or which the Russians missed. It’s incomprehensible really - my theory is that the Russians are so inherently miserable that they deliberately wreck anything that might give anyone any kind of pleasure.

Bodbe is famous as the resting place of St Nino, the person behind the country’s transformation to Christianity. It seems incredible that one woman can have had so much influence.

Telavi's famous 900-year-old plane tree

Telavi fort, and statue of King Erekle II

The Monastery at Alaverdi

Qvevri installed in the ground at Chubini

From there we went to our night-stop at Telavi, the major town in the Kakheti region. It’s a sleepy little town, which we explored completely on foot. Its main attraction is a 900-year old plane tree, which is absolutely enormous as you could imagine. It’s surprising that the Russians didn’t chop it down, I guess they couldn’t get their chainsaws to work for long enough. Dinner followed the familiar pattern, outdoors with great views over the countryside at a very pleasant restaurant. It was right next to our hotel, which surprisingly was a Holiday Inn, just like any other Holiday Inn anywhere in the world.

Our morning started with the Alaverdi Monastery. It was built in the 6th century, though the current buildings are from the 11th century. It is considered one of the four great monasteries of the Georgian Orthodox church. Unfortunately it had been hit by a very localized tornado just a few weeks before, badly damaging all the roofs, so it was covered in scaffolding and plastic sheeting.

The monastery is still home to the bishop - the modern air-conditioner attached to the 11th century walls is a dead give-away. It is still active as a monastery as well, though there are only three resident monks.

Alaverdi has a long tradition of winemaking and is the most famous winery in the country. At the monastery is a tiny vineyard with every one of Georgia’s 104 grape varieties. We’d read about the winery in a book about the history of wine and winemaking, which dedicated a whole chapter to a visit there. Normally it is not accessible, but we asked Lali if there was any chance of a tour. She made a few phone calls and to our amazement, we were all set for a visit the next morning - more on that later.

Our next stop was at a winery that is also a museum. It was the first time we saw how qvevri are actually used, with only their top visible. While the fermentation is in progress, they are left open, and pushed down every three hours or so. The carbon dioxide from the fermentation protects the wine from the air. Once the fermentation is complete, the liquid wine is usually moved to another qvevri, which is then sealed completely using wax, and covered in gravel until they decide to remove it for bottling.

Next came the fortress at Gremi. This used to be a major town, the capital of the Kakheti region. But the Persians had wanted to take control of Kakheti for a long time, and finally in 1615 Shah Abbas succeeded. The town was completely razed, only the hilltop fortress remaining together with a modern museum showing the history of the region. He also forced everyone to convert from Christianity to Islam, except the Queen, Ketevan. She was tortured horribly to death, but never renounced her religion.

The next winery was very different. Called Chubini, it was all the work of one young couple, mostly with their own bare hands. They started with a maize field, a few years ago, and built themselves a tiny house in one corner. They planted grapes, a mixture of mainly saperavi and rkatskeli, and built a very impressive winery, with a dozen or so qvevri at one end and a tasting room at the other. To make some extra cash, they built half a dozen holiday chalets. It was a very personal experience, learning about their experience and their wine from the young woman of the couple - who incidentally spoke near-perfect English.

Dinner that night at first site appeared to be at an abandoned house, but it turned out to be an excellent restaurant with a very pleasant garden. They served the best khachapuri of our trip.

More Travels in Khaketi

The next morning saw us back at Alaverdi, but this time for a tour of the winery that Lali miraculously managed to organise for us. The monastery has been making wine for ten centuries, using the traditional qvervi method. Nowadays it belongs to the Bagadoni company, who produce a stunning total of 33 million bottles of wine per year. Alaverdi is just their very exclusive top end. The cellars were the most impressive that we visited. Apart from the qvevri where the wine is made, there were many, many barrels of French oak for developing the wine, and large storage areas full of bottled wine. There were also a couple of special barrels on display, one of them being kept for - and labelled for - Viktor Orban, the unpleasant far-right prime minister of Hungary.

Alaverdi Wines

After the winery tour we crossed the road to the tasting room. This works differently from most of them. You pay an eye-watering upfront fee - ₾300 or about €100 for two people - but for that you get two whole bottles of wine, a red saperavi and a white rkatsiteli. We weren’t quite sure what we’d do with two opened bottles, but we solved the problem for the saperavi by finishing it between the three of us before we left. It was excellent, saperavi at its best, rounded, full-bodied, smooth and generally delicious. The rkatsiteli was excellent too, amber rather than white from the qvevri method. We took it back to the hotel with us and finished it off over three evenings sitting on our minimal terrace.

If I haven’t mentioned lunch so far, it’s because we never got round to having any. Every tasting was accompanied by delicious Georgian flat bread, and the excellent, salty Georgian cheese. Walnuts were another universal feature. They grow all over the country, the trees constantly visible as we drove around. These snacks were enough for us and saved wasting time as well as calories.

Qvevri under construction

After Alaverdi we visited a qvevri “factory”. I put the word in quotes because it was just a shed behind somebody’s house, containing eight enormous qvevri under construction. They were each about 3 metres tall, and nearly finished. They are made completely by hand, starting with the base which is turned on a potters’ wheel. After that, the shell is added about 10 cm at a time, rolled out from clay and attached to what is already there. It’s amazing that such a perfect and symmetrical shape can be created in such a simple way.

Finally, when the shape is complete, it has to be fired, just like any other pottery. But it’s enormous, much too big to fit in any conventional oven. They’re moved, very carefully, to another building, made of stone. And that is the oven. They set a large fire, seal it up apart from a small opening in the roof, and leave it to burn. Firing clay requires a temperature of over 1000°C, and I really don’t know how they get this in such a large space, but they do.

The completed qvevri still have to be moved to their final site, and buried in the ground with only the top showing. The whole process is very laborious, and even more so before you could just hire a back-hoe to dig the hole. It’s not surprising that most Georgian wine these days is made in stainless steel tanks, just like anywhere else.

The Mansion at Tsinandale

Our final call of the day was something different again. The Tsinandale Estate is a European-style mansion originally built in 1812 by Chavchavadze, a Russian nobleman. After that things get complicated. In 1854 the North Caucasians burned it down and took Chavchavadze’s family hostage. He borrowed a lot of money from the Russian throne to get them back, and to rebuild the house, but he never paid it back and eventually the Tsar claimed the house, which slowly fell into dereliction.

Whatever the history, it is a spectacular house and garden which seems completely out of place in Georgia. In fact it reminded us a lot of the Villa Arnaga in Cambo-les-Bains, in the French Basque country. It is furnished with authentic antiques and full of paintings of the family. It looks as though they have just popped out for a couple of days. 

Return to Tbilisi

Our route back to Tbilisi took us over the Gombori Pass, a spectacular mountain road which crosses the mountains at 1600m. It also cuts 60km and 40 minutes off the journey, though it turned out to be in the middle of major reconstruction. From there we returned to the same hotel in Tbilisi, where we stayed for the rest of our journey.

The next day we travelled west to Mtskheta. But for that you will have to read Part 2.

Return to Australia

Sydney Sunrise

In September, my company was acquired from our existing Australian investor by another Australian company. It seemed like a good idea to meet the people there, and since even the Cote d'Azur does have a winter, we decided to make a winter vacation out of it. So shortly after Christmas we set off on an Air France flight to Sydney via Singapore for a two week trip

Sydney

Our arrival in Sydney coincided with some terrible weather. Coming out of the Harbour Tunnel it was raining so hard that we couldn't see through the taxi's windscreen. Over the next few days we had a mixture of rain and patchy sunshine.

We've both been to Sydney several times before, including our honeymoon in 1990. But this was the first time we've stayed outside the centre, in North Sydney - albeit only a stone's throw from the bridge. We stayed at the Meriton Suites, which once a few initial problems were resolved turned out to be an excellent choice. We had what amounts to a two-room apartment, with a fully equipped kitchen and a separate living-room. That's very handy when you're jetlagged and one of you wakes up in the small hours and wants to sit and read without disturbing the other. The kitchen meant we could make our own breakfast every morning rather than looking for cafes, and on the first night we even made our own dinner thanks to the large Coles supermarket just round the corner. The hotel was also just a couple of minutes' walk from the new company's office.

Sydney Icons

I worked during the day while we were there, making the acquaintance of our acquiring company for the first time. Isabelle spent the days with her long-time friend Effie, who she met on a skiing holiday in France over 40 years ago. We all had dinner together, with her English husband Tony, on two of the nights. That was very pleasant.

Being outside the centre meant we got to experience the Sydney ferry system. Our hotel room looked out over the bay, always with at least a couple of ferries in sight. A 15 minute walk took us to a ferry stop with a half-hourly service to Sydney Harbour. I also used the ferry for our work "day out" at Manly, including getting off at the wrong stop on the way home and a two kilometre walk in the dark. It's really an amazing system, which makes travelling round the eastern side of the city much easier. And it is so pleasant sitting on a boat as it gently crosses the bay.

Adelaide

Our vacation proper started on the Friday after we arrived, with a flight to Adelaide. Our plan was to drive slowly from there to Melbourne, with a stop on Kangaroo Island and finishing with the famous Great Ocean Road into Melbourne. We rented a car from a local outfit (East Coast Rentals) who were inexpensive and, once we figured out how to contact them, very efficient. The car itself was my first experience driving a Chinese car, an MG ZS. Verdict: fine as a rental for a few days, but I certainly wouldn't buy one. MG used to be the sporty part of long-defunct BMC, Britain's leading car firm in the 60s and 70s. It's a sorry end to be sold off as just a name. The only thing the Chinese company retained was the octagonal logo, including the way you press it to open the boot which I dimly remembered from my youth.

On our first day we made it to the Central Market before it closed. It's an amazing place with stalls selling every kind of food. Our favourite was The Smelly Cheese Co, staffed by a young French woman whose sales technique was extremely effective. We intended to buy a box of crackers, and ended up with half a dozen cheeses and a fancy bag to put them in.

Our first night's dinner was a big disappointment. Right under the hotel was a French restaurant, which we discovered by speaking French as we walked past and having the entire staff start chatting with us. The menu looked good, but the food and especially the wine was mediocre.

The next day we drove out to the Barossa Valley, home to some of the finest wines in Australia. We ended up stopping at Penfold's, the best-known name. We were very lucky that our randomly-assigned server turned out to be the head of the tasting room - or "cellar door" as they're called in Australia. We spent about an hour there, tasting several wines that were outside the regular tasting menu once she understood that we knew quite a bit about the subject. Their most expensive wine is Penfold's Grange, at AUS$1000 per bottle. We did taste it - even that cost $50. I can't honestly say that it was that much better than their general run of Shiraz, which go for $50-100 per bottle. It was a very interesting afternoon.

Then on our way back to Adelaide, completely by chance, we ran into a Hot-Rod event in a little town. The main street was full of classic cars, mostly American though a few Australian, and some actual hot-rods. There was a gorgeous original Corvette and many other very nice cars.

Dinner the second evening was more successful. Isabelle had found an alleyway full of restaurants, and there she found a place that served a really excellent meal. She had garfish, a long thin fish with a pointy snout which I remember well under its Japanese name, sanma, from when my friend Ole in Tokyo had a sanma party at the start of its season.

Kangaroo Island

The next morning we were up at 5, to catch the 9 o'clock ferry to Kangaroo Island. Australia is huge, and while the ferry port looks like it is in suburban Adelaide it's actually a 90 minute drive away. The ride takes about 45 minutes across the so-called Backstairs Passage between the island and the mainland.

We visited the only real town on the island, Kingscote. The drive was not especially interesting, along roads lined with eucalyptus trees, and we wondered if we'd done the right thing planning to spend two nights there. There's not much at Kingscote. From there we continued out to the North Cape, and got our first real taste of the island. We arrived at a huge beach spanning a wide bay. There were a couple of other cars and just one person in sight along a couple of kilometres of sand. It was beautiful.

North Cape Beach

Finally we set off for our hotel, which was accessible only along several kilometres of dirt road, in good condition. It is completely isolated on the south-eastern tip of the island. The nearest settlement is the ferry terminal at Penneshaw, a half-hour drive away. The hotel, the Sea Dragon, is more of a resort. It provides breakfast and dinner, and even wine with dinner, all included in the price - which is pretty expensive. Our room was in a cabin a few hundred metres from the main part of the hotel.

The owner and manager was a very pleasant German lady. She offered to drive us down to the beach - it can be walked but it involves a descent, and more important a climb, of about 300 feet. A very rough 4x4 trail leads down to it, and she took us in her vehicle. It was another paradisiacal spot. For a while we were the only occupants of the beach and the whole cove. Isabelle even went for a swim, but the water has come non-stop for Antarctica and is freezing cold. I stayed on the beach.

Cape Willoughby Lighthouse

The only other sign of civilization out there on Cape Willoughby is the lighthouse and the cottages that were built for the keepers. It's impossible to imagine what their life must have been like, totally isolated and visited just once every few months by a supply ship. It would certainly be as well to be on good terms with your colleagues. Now the cottages are let to tourists.

The grounds of the resort are full of kangaroos. From our cabin we could see a mother and her child hopping around nibbling the grass. To move quickly, they hop on just their hind legs. But to move slowly, when they are grazing, they have a very strange form of locomotion. They use their tails as a fifth leg, and move their forelegs and hind legs simultaneously in pairs. In effect they have three legs, two of them with very wide feet.

Dinner was excellent, accompanied by a wine grown on the island itself. For the following day, we'd arranged to go on a nature tour organized by the resort. Generally we prefer to do things on our own, but we figured we'd end up missing a lot of things if we tried. And it's a long way - the island is 155 km from one end to the other. It's about half the size of the Death Valley National Park, which makes it a quarter the size of Belgium.

There was just one other couple in the SUV, plus the driver/guide called Brigitte. She had led a very interesting life: born in Britain, then raised in Australia, then sent back to England for boarding school. Then she served in the Belgian army for 30 years as a meteorologist, before deciding to return to Australia where, she says, she came to Kangaroo Island for a weekend, and stayed for 15 years. The island population is small and everyone knows everyone else. She works as a guide and a firefighter, among other thing. After the disastrous fire which burned nearly half the island in 2019, and killed 80% of the koalas, she was heavily involved in all the recovery.

A sealion walking on land

Our first stop was a beach which is inhabited by sealions. The difference between a seal and a sealion has always been a mystery to me, but thanks to the exhibition there I now understand. Sealions are amphibious rather than marine. They can walk effectively, if inelegantly, on land, as well as swimming. We watched one climb up on rocks just as well as any land animal would have. They have very powerful forelimbs which serve as feet and hands as well as flippers. Seals, by contrast, are uniquely marine animals. They can squirm along a beach on their flippers, but that's about it.

After a lunch stop, Brigitte took us to a little clearing where she promised us koalas. We did find some, but they spend the daytime lodged in a fork near the top of a eucalyptus, not moving. This makes them hard to find and almost impossible to photograph. Koalas are a very odd example of evolution gone wrong. They eat only eucalytpus leaves, because they are extremely easy to catch. But not only are they very poorly nutritious, they are actually toxic. So they spend 20 hours a day sleeping as their overworked livers deal with the constant influx of poison.

The next stop was another lighthouse, at the western extremity of the island, at Cape du Couedic. Kangaroo Island was discovered simultaneously by French and English explorers, so the place names are a mixture of the two languages, with some Breton thrown in (as in this case). This one is even more isolated than Cape Willoughby. There's no access to the sea, so supplies had to arrive via a horse-driven
funicular that lifted goods - and sometimes animals and people - 100 metres up the side of a sheer cliff.

Remarkable Rocks

A short drive took us to Remarkable Rocks which are, well, remarkable. They're the result of the erosion over 200 million years of a granite dome, which has left some extraordinary shapes. Granite domes are common enough, but this can only happen if they are close to the sea and exposed to salt water. It's amazing to think that this dome was in its pristine state when dinosaurs hadn't even shown up, never mind mammals.

After that it was a two hour drive back to the resort, so we had plenty of time to get to know our companions. They are a pretty exceptional couple - she is a professional opera singer in Dallas, and he is the now-retired CEO of a medium-sized oil company. They were both very unpretentious and a pleasure to spend time with. We only discovered their professional side when we asked them explicitly.

Dinner was again excellent, as was breakfast. The best part was a home-made granola with mango yoghurt, which was the best granola I've ever eaten. The recipe was invented by our guide Brigitte, during the time when she was also the cook for the resort.

Ferry to Kangaroo Island

Next morning we drove to the ferry. Packing cars onto it is an art-form. On the way over they packed everything in so tight that it was impossible to get into the car until its neighbour had left. The driver next to me very creatively climbed in through the window.

The Limestone Coast

Today was just spent driving. Australia is a big country, and the distance from the ferry terminal to our next overnight stop, at Robe, was 455 km, all on rural two-lane roads. We stopped for lunch at the Flying Fish restaurant in Port Elliott, a little beach town which is only a couple of hours drive from Adelaide, and quite popular. I had excellent fish and chips (unlike the chewy apology that I'd eaten at the beach bar in Manly the previous week), so the guide book's recommendation was definitely justified.

Our drive would take us along the coast, but first we had to detour around Lake Alexandrina, which despite the name is actually a lagoon. The coast is almost continuous, with a tiny gap which could easily be bridged, but I guess the authorities see little point since this is not a journey that many people make. I could see the obvious route, but Google insisted on trying to send us a further 20 km inland onto the motorway. We ignored it, and it was only once we were committed to our apparently shorter route that we realised why. We would have to take a ferry to cross the Murray River along the way. We decided to just go ahead anyway - in the worst case we would just have to make the 40 km "trombone" to cross at the bridge.

The Murray River, with tiny ferry on the
opposite shore

The ferry turned out to be delightful. It's tiny, with room for only about three cars. There is no schedule, it just shuttles the couple of hundred metres back and forth across the river as long as there is any traffic. We waited less than five minutes. After that, it was just the long drive down the coast. If we had had more time we could have diverted inland to the famous Coonawarra wine region, but there are only so many wineries you can visit before they all blur together.

This stretch of country has been named the Limestone Coast by some enthusiastic marketing type. But limestone is about all there is. After the ferry we passed one tiny settlement, Meningie. After that, there was stretch of 150 km where there was absolutely nothing at all. No towns, no villages, no houses, no gas stations. Nothing. There was very little traffic either. We passed one car or truck maybe every five minutes. Even though we were only a short distance from the sea or the lagoon, we never saw the water. It was a really boring drive. We did make one small detour, recommended by the guide book, to take a close look at a salt lagoon. It was, well, salty. And it involved 10 km or so on a horribly washboarded dirt road. Verdict: definitely not worth the detour.

Approaching our destination, there were lots of very modern houses on the waterfront. It's a mystery who lives in them or uses them - there is no industry, and Adelaide is a four-hour drive away.

Robe was the most disappointing of all our stops. There was nothing interesting about the motel, although it was comfortable enough for one night. We ate at supposedly the best restaurant in town, but the food was disappointing and the first bottle of wine was corked. That happens, but it's always a bit awkward especially when, as here, the waiter says there's nothing wrong with it, although he changed it without protest.

Victoria at Last

Our next day's drive was long, too, at 290 km, though it passed through somewhat populated countryside. We would finally cross the border from South Australia into Victoria.

A Koala high up in its Eucalytpus tree

Our first stop, after a few kilometres, was at a nature park. The walk around the wetlands was pleasant but nothing special, until the group in front of us spotted a koala in one of the eucalyptus trees. Then it turned into a game of
"spot the koala". We found a few more, but the best place turned out to be the car park where, high in the trees, were several of them. I even managed to get a decent picture of one, using my telephoto pocket camera. It's surprisingly hard. Not only are they a long way up, but their fur is very dark and if you just let the camera do its own thing, all you get is a black splodge, barely visible against the tree. With some exposure bracketing I managed to get a shot where you can see the koala's face clearly.

Like most of our route, we were close to the sea but rarely saw it. We were just approaching the turn-off to Beachport, wondering whether we should go and say hello to the sea, when we saw a sign to a"Giant Kite Festival". So off we went. It was very impressive. All along the beach were indeed giant kits, most of them inflatable and drifting about in the wind. There was Snoopy, Batman, sharks, lobsters, and many more. The town itself was tiny and there was nothing else going on, but we enjoyed the detour.

Beachport's Giant Kite Festival

Somewhere along the way we stopped at a cheese factory which was lauded by the guide book, but which was a complete disappointment. It sold a wide variety of tasteless factory cheeses, very similar to what you would find in Wisconsin and with exactly the same interest. Though they did have an interesting museum of old farm equipment and engines, which I quite enjoyed.

We passed through the town of Mount Gambier, which is an important local economic centre but of very little touristic interest. It has an extraordinary lake, which fills a crater and turns bright blue for a few months of the year. This isn't pollution, it's due to some kind of chemical process affecting the natural salts in the water. But honestly, once you've seen it, you've seen it.

Our destination was the oddly named Port Fairy, supposedly named after the boat of the first white man to discover it. Our hotel, or at least our room of the hotel, was in an old building dating from the early days of the town in the 1850s. We arrived late but even so we figured we had time to explore the one interesting feature, Griffiths Island. Supposedly you can see the shearwater, otherwise known as the mutton bird because the meat is like mutton. Like the California killdeer, it makes its nest on the ground, making it easy to catch.

We walked all around the island, which was very pleasant, but we didn't see any shearwaters, nor any of the other promised wildlife. By the time we finished, many of the possible dinner places were closed, but luckily we found an authentic Italian restaurant where we ate very well.

The two days of driving hadn't shown us anything very touristy, but they certainly gave us an idea of just how big Australia is. If you look at the map of the whole country, it looks as though Adelaide and Melbourne are neighbours. If you really need to drive just to get from one to the other, it can be done in a single day of hard driving. But nobody would drive it unless they had a good reason - say, to move a carload of stuff. It had struck us when we arrived at Adelaide airport just how big it is compared to the size and population of the city and the region. Now we knew why. Although the country is completely contiguous, practically speaking it's a bunch of islands connected by barely-inhabited agricultural land - at best. Most of the country is just desert. The only sensible way to travel between the cities is by air, even in the relatively densely populated south east.

The Great Ocean Road

The London Arch (missing part to the left)

"Our" Echidna

The Twelve Apostles, or some of them

The official "Great Ocean Road" starts at Warrnambool, a little way past Port Fairy. This, finally, was the objective of our drive. Due to some unique geology, every few kilometres the coast has some unique and strange feature. The first of these is the Bay of Islands. Erosion of the limestone has left several tiny islands just off the coast. Next is London Bridge. Or rather was. Now it is the London Arch. This isn't some politically correct renaming. Originally there were two rock arches, connected to the mainland. Then in 1990 the closest one suddenly collapsed without warning, leaving only a single isolated arch. I joked that it was lucky nobody was out there when this happened. But it turns out that there were indeed two people who were stranded. They were rescued uneventfully by a police helicopter, but it must have been quite a shock.

So far we had seen quite a few people at these famous sites, but they weren't crowded. This all changed at the next one, the Loch Ard Gorge. This is a deep gorge cut into the coastline. The name comes from a ship, the Loch Ard, that was shipwrecked after three months at sea, sailing from England, just hours before it should have docked at Melbourne. They were lost in the fog that is common along this coastline, and the captain hadn't realised how close he was to the shore. When the fog lifted they saw they were inside the long, deep gorge, with no possibility of getting out before they hit a reef. There were only three survivors. The story certainly makes you appreciate Qantas.

Nearly as impressive as the terrain was the sheer volume of people. All of the walkways were thronged, mostly with foreign tourists from China, Korea and India. The car park was full of tourist buses, which must do a one-day Great Ocean Road tour from Melbourne - still a four hour drive away. Every few minutes a helicopter buzzed by.

Walking back to the car we were very lucky to see an echidna, also known as the spiny anteater. They're about the size of a large hedgehog, which they generally resemble. They have a very ungainly walk, wobbling comically from side to side. They're generally nocturnal, and rarely seen during daylight

The next stop was the Twelve Apostles. This was even more crowded. There's a huge car park some distance from the coast, and behind it is a helipad where four helicopters, 2 R44s and two Eurocopters, were constantly landing and taking off. The R44s were never in the air for more than five minutes. The Apostles themselves are reached by a tunnel under the road and then a long walkway, thronged with mainly Chinese and Indian tourists. Finally we got to the viewing platforms at the end, where you can indeed see several limestone pillars, and the remains of others. It's spectacular, but my lasting memory will be of the crowds, not the geology.

Momma Kangaroo, with overgrown baby

From there, our next overnight stop was at Lorne. There's a direct road, or you can continue on the Great Ocean Road around Cape Otway, which we chose. A long, twisty side road leads to the lighthouse at the tip of the cape. Along the way we passed a wildlife sanctuary, where several kangaroos had evidently set up home. We saw kangaroos in several places, but this was the closest we got to them. One of them was a mother, with a young kangaroo planted inelegantly in her pouch. All we could see of him was a forest of legs. I could imagine her complaining to her fellow momma kangaroos that children just won't move out these days.

The final stretch of the journey, from Apollo Bay to Lorne, was very spectacular. The road is literally carved out of the side of the mountain. It was very reminiscent of California Route 1 along the Big Sur, and has a similar history. It was built during the 1920s to provide work for unemployed soldiers returning from the Great War. Like Route 1, it twists and turns and climbs and descends trying to find the best route around the mountains that fall directly into the see. It also reminded us of the lonely coast road we drove several years ago in southern Hokkaido, towards Erimo Misaki.

Lorne

Sculpture in the QDOS park

The road was spectacular but we had been driving all day and we were very glad to arrive at our final overnight stop at Lorne. This is a very chic beach resort, within easy driving distance of Melbourne. It has the a long, perfect beach, lined with the usual hotels and fancy restaurants. Our hotel though was a couple of kilometres back into the forest, to our surprise. Once there, you could be miles and miles from the sea. It's called QDOS, and it is primarily an art gallery and sculpture garden. The owner has been there for forty years, and at some point has added half a dozen Japanese-themed cabins. Ours was called tsuki, meaning moon. We were astounded to discover a tatami floor, just like every ryokan we've been to in Japan. However it did have a luxurious king-size bed, not a futon rolled out by the chambermaid in the evening and rolled back up again at first light.

Despite the holiday crowds - the next day was Australia day, so lots of people had taken a few extra days off work - the hotel managed to get us a reservation at the best restaurant in town, Ipsos. We had an excellent meal, with equally excellent Australian shiraz.

In the morning we explored the grounds, filled with spectacular modern sculptures. They're all available for sale, but we didn't think Air France would agree.

Cape Otway is famous for its spectacular waterfalls. We'd driven past several the previous afternoon, but we didn't have time to make the detour and hike to take a look. So the following morning we went to see Erskine Falls, following a road deeper into the forest behind the hotel. It was indeed spectacular when seen from the top. It was probably even better when seen from the bottom, via a trail with hundreds of steps, but we decided to skip that. On the way to the falls we went to Teddy's Lookout, high above the town and the coast with great views that show up quite often in tourist guides and so on.

After an impromptu lunch at a postage-stamp sized space at the top of a cliff, we set off for our final stop at Melbourne.

Melbourne

I've been to Melbourne a couple of times before. The investors in my company, the one which had just been acquired, were based in Melbourne, and later the CEO and the sales team were there as well. By coincidence a couple of my friends from Cisco live there too, so there were plenty of people to see. We arrived in time for dinner with my friend J, who used to be CEO of our company. It's hard to believe that it has been five years since we last met, the last time I was in Melbourne in January 2019. As I expected, several bottles of excellent Australian wine were consumed, so it was just as well that we took an Uber.

Our hotel was in the very heart of central Melbourne, a few minutes' walk from Flinders Street station. In the morning we explored Melbourne a bit, and then found a very pleasant cafe for our breakfast. Suddenly we saw our friends from the Kangaroo Island tour! They are big tennis fans and were in town for the Australia Open, whose final was that weekend. It was an amazing coincidence to run into them again.

Our next stop was Yarra Valley. We wanted to visit the nearby wildlife sanctuary (which seems to be a fancy name for a zoo). When we got there the ticket line was huge, and the place was packed. We made do with a visit to the gift shop - we'd seen plenty of kangaroos, koala and wallabies in their natural habitat, and even an echidna.

Five years ago I visited the Yarra Yering winery with J. In my memory it was all very informal, and we left with a couple of bottles of their "No 2" Shiraz. But this time it was very formal. A tasting was $50 and was evidently a very serious affair, more than we wanted to do. Which was just as well, because they were fully booked anyway. They did let us taste the No 2, and we went away with a couple of bottles. The lady there was nice enough, and suggested the nearby Medford winery for lunch. That was a great recommendation. We sat eating a light lunch accompanied by a glass each of their Shiraz and Cabernet Sauvignon, with a magnificent view over the Yarra Valley countryside. The Shiraz was good but the Cab was really special, very lightly oaked and almost fruity. We left with two bottles of it.

Downtown Melbourne, from 1500 feet

Yarra Valley, from 1500 feet

Dinner was with a group of ex-Cisco friends in a very good Japanese restaurant. It was only a short walk from the hotel, but we took the tram to try out our shiny new fare cards. Melbourne has the densest tram system in the world - practically every road in the city center and every major road in the suburbs has tram lines down the middle. The previous time I was in Melbourne I stayed out of the town and used the trams extensively (and fell off the platform, quite seriously injuring myself, but that's another story).

Next day the plan was for my ex-Cisco and pilot friend to take us for a flight over the city and the surrounding area. Sadly, Isabelle wasn't well, so I went on my own - probably just as well since the flight was quite bumpy. This was my first ever small plane flight in Australia. His plane is based at Moorabbin, to the south of the city. The airport is huge, with five physical runways (so 10 numbered runways) and many planes. It's home to two large flying schools and several smaller outfits. There is another small-plane airport to the north, at Essendon, and quite a few small airports out in the suburbs. The comparison with the Nice area, having much the same population, is interesting. Here we have just one small-plane airport, Cannes Mandelieu, with maybe a quarter as many planes as Moorabbin.

The flight was superb. We took off towards the city, flying a gentle 270 degree arc around it with fantastic views of the city center. Then we set off towards Yarra Valley - from the flight track afterwards I could see that we flew directly over Yarra Yering. From there we returned to the coast, flying over the barely habited French Island then over the Mornington Peninsula and so back to Moorabbin. The flight lasted about an hour, giving (as always) a totally different perception of the geography.

Return

Broken Hill, NSW,
from 31000 feet

And that was that. With regret but many happy memories, we headed to the big airport on Monday morning for our long return flight to Nice. We would have happily stayed for another week or two.

Australia is so big that even flying up at airliner altitudes is still a form of tourism. It isn't long before all the agriculture has disappeared and you're flying over desert. We saw Broken Hill, one of these big (20,000 people) mining towns in the middle of nowhere. It would be interesting to visit - except that it's a serious day of driving from Adelaide, the nearest big city, and two from Sydney, even though they're both in the same state, New South Wales. It's a country that is really made for flying, in planes large or small. Maybe next time.