The Republic of Georgia

Enchanting, magical, sacred. Bohemian, rustic, vintage alive and well. These words describe what I saw and felt when I first arrived in Tbilisi. In this land of churches, monasteries, sacred spaces and misty mountains, of grape vines, pomegranates and persimmons. Such a place beckons to me, with its chanting, its polyphonic music, the babushkas. Why? At first I did not even know, I could not even explain. There was simply a strong pull and enchantment. Visually, I could sense a place that is hauntingly beautiful. The design is whimsical, colorful and bright even along with the old and dim. My first thought was also of Malta. I also wasn't sure as to why, at first, but then I realized, even though I'd never been to Malta, I had been exposed to its history and pictures. Similarly, Georgia was a land that the Crusaders passed through, full of stories and thousands of years of invaders and different cultures layered on top of each other, so much architecture of different styles and eras, resulting in a dilapidated beauty with thousands of years behind it. Tbilisi was also a guardian of the great Silk Road. As a romantic thinker, no wonder it all mesmerized me. I was standing in the middle of a place that was still real, not all plastic. From a pesticide free native food supply to every neighbor playing their piano and sounding like a concert, this is a place where the arts are still practiced and continue to thrive. Do we really need to call it "the new Berlin?" Referring to every artistic and creative enclave as the new Berlin or Brooklyn is tiring. It gives context, yes, but the constant comparisons get old. What everyone really means is the spirit of the creative atmosphere. The design and fashion scenes are getting major notice worldwide and for good reason. This land of the Caucasus Mountains is one of wine and cheese and bread, all home made and delicious. You can taste and feel the difference in handmade products, as they are full of soul and full of love. There is still a huge Russian influence left over from the soviet days, but also due to the Russian speaking tourists that come. The feminine influence is immediately apparent - in a land and history full of lineages of Queens, where the masculine and feminine identities retain their distinctions and place in society, so there is no confusion. I only saw the capital and a few parts outside of the city. I long to return and experience the different seasons - the summer time, and the seaside port of Batumi, to hike through the mountains and share the joy of the people there. One of the most hospitable countries and cultures I have ever known - along with Turkey. They are neighbors, so no surprise. I am always in love with cultures that have histories full of cross mixed geographies - from the Persians to the Indians to the entire mix of East and West. Although it is a mix and feels close to Europe, not to mention the boom in construction and modernity there, I still felt far away from the West, and in a good way. In a safe way. Perhaps their fighting days are not long behind, with the region South Ossetia being taken over by the Russians just a few years ago, yet I felt at peace. The environment felt electric - alive and thriving. From the rural representatives at the farmers' markets to the modern types dressed in head to toe black to the Balkan looking leather jacketed thug types, everyone moved along in their current and the pace was brisk. That was the city; however, when you entered the countryside, time stopped. It felt like we entered another era that had been preserved, along with the good aspects of hospitality and open friendliness of villagers who all knew each other. We immersed ourselves in the music from this dazzling array of repertoire. It is impossible to come away without feeling like you have entered a magical place and, perhaps, unsure of what happened entirely, and not on account of overindulging in their wine and cha cha, but due to the experience of place - one like no other. Which is why I must return, and chase that feeling, to know it again, and maybe even, if possible, give it a name.