Chronicle of Georgia
For some reason, the Chronicle of Georgia isn’t one of Tbilisi’s better-known attractions. That’s a shame.
I suspect one of the reasons it’s not on many people’s radars is the monument’s location away from the city’s Old Town district and the hub of Tbilisi’s tourist life. But it’s awe-inspiring architecture and views of the city make the Chronicle a place to see in Tbilisi, and is now one of my favorite places.
Corie and I first ventured out to the Chronicle a couple weeks ago on a pleasant, not-too-hot afternoon. It was one of those days where the blue sky made for a perfect day outside, but not a great day photo wise. (Those of you familiar with my newsletters know by now that I like skies with a bit of emotion in them).
We took two subways to get close to the Chronicle and had an option to take a bus the rest of the way. The weather inspired us to walk the rest of the way. Uphill.
The website we consulted advised against walking from the subway because it “might be a little dangerous.”
“What does ‘dangerous’ mean?” I asked Corie as images of being chased through streets by desperate bands of bandits crossed my mind. Does the area house large bears that eat tourists?
The answer was considerably more banal than my worst-case scenarios. The way up is steep. After winding through an attractive residential neighborhood, we followed a dirt road leading us to the top of the hill. No bandits, no bears.
It was easy to imagine we were wandering into the wilderness, escaping the city’s din, the higher we walked. A fairly busy road at the top of the hill quickly dashed any thoughts that we had escaped civilization.
Seen from a short distance, the Chronicle of Georgia’s true sense of scale is hidden. It stands on the crest of a hill overlooking the city, but the 16 pillars comprising the monument seem oddly small. Unimpressive even. It’s not until one starts to ascend the stone staircase leading up to the Chronicle that the thought hits: this is a special place. Each of the pillars, designed by Georgian sculptor Zurab Tsereteli, stands around 90 feet tall. (Tsereteli also designed the Sept. 11 memorial, Tear of Grief, erected in New Jersey.)
Standing between the pillars, one feels insignificant, surrounded by scenes of Georgia’s political, cultural and religious past.
I knew I had to come back when the sky was more emotional to take some photos. That day happened this past Monday. The sky wasn’t just emotional, it was full-on temper tantrum as a strong thunderstorm passed overhead. I waited in the rain for about a half hour, huddled in the driest spot I could find away from any trees. The thunderstorm eventually passed, but the rain continued.
I had the place to myself. Who else but a silly photographer would take great joy in standing in the rain, getting soaked. Even the street dogs that live around the monument looked at me like I was a crazy human. (I took the bus up this time; even this crazy human isn’t crazy about the idea of trudging up a steep hill in a thunderstorm.)
While the monument is something to experience, I was more interested in the small chapel behind the monument, the Church of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. I fell in love with the little church when Corie and I first saw it, and my affection for the structure increased as I photographed it. I have seldom come across a building that has a different personality depending on the angle from which its viewed.
A longtime friend just returned from a trip to Ireland. Seeing his posts brought back some great memories of the Emerald Isle, so please join me for next week’s newsletter when I share a few of my favorite images from my rambles though that country.
