Tbilisi: Orbeliani Baths

by Alex Robertson Textor on

Some cities have an isolated public bathhouse here or there, in a remote corner; others, like Budapest, have public baths strewn throughout. Tbilisi has its own bathhouse district called Abanotubani, with several bathing venues on offer. I’d been looking forward to experiencing one of these baths for weeks. I went with the bathhouse with the most beautiful exterior, Orbeliani Baths, both because it’s fun to judge a book by its cover and because I’d been told that it was particularly worthwhile.

The ornate blue-tiled exterior mosaic of the Orbeliani Baths (see above) is hard to miss. As I approached, a group of backpackers were exiting. “Well, maybe tonight we’ll come back,” one said, something just shy of anxiety behind his careful intonations. Coward, I thought. You won’t be back. You’ll do it now or you won’t ever do it. I handed over a measly three lari ($1.80) to the cashier and walked upstairs to the men’s baths.

What follows is a description of the men’s side of the bathhouse. I can’t speak with authority as to what transpires on the women’s side. I’ve heard rumors, though, and I think it’s safe to say that the female masseurs, like their male counterparts, don’t believe in coddling their charges. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Visitors first enter a locker room. The three lari covers admission plus a sheet-like towel. Your possessions go in a locker, which the attendant shuts with a key. You’ll be naked except for a pair of flip-flops and your towel. (Some guests also brought in little scraping devices and razors for skin care.)

Entering the enormous bathing room, a masseur will approach and ask if you’d like to book a bath (5 lari; $3) and/or massage (also 5 lari). The masseurs are built like tanks, something I found reassuring. At least I’ll get clean, I thought. I opted for both a bath and a massage. My masseur gestured toward the showers, two different pools, and a sauna. I was off.

Twenty minutes of bathing bliss followed. I showered, sweated in the sauna, cooled off in a pool, and repeated. Just as I was starting to feel clean and incredibly relaxed, my masseur bellowed my way. I’d almost forgotten. Almost.The washing and massaging session started off pleasantly enough. My attendant dragged me to the edge of a slippery tiled surface and began to wash me. Then came a massage, firm and intense. At first, his method was unobjectionable. Then he upped the intensity level with broad and very firm strokes, his hands moving outward from my spine to the edges of my back. Still fine, though I felt fear for the first time.

He motioned for me to turn around. He repeated the action on my chest and belly, long horizontal movements. Um, ouch. Were there knives attached to his hands? Was he reaching into my torso and rearranging my organs?

Christ on a tricycle it hurt.

The pressure was unlike any other I’ve experienced in my many years of receiving massages. I began to reason with myself. On the one hand, this sort of thing had to be good for my lymphatic system; on the other, it was easy to suspect that I was in the process of being murdered. Still, I was loathe to request a lighter touch, thinking that the pressure was simply part of the experience. Then, suddenly, he deposited an enormous bubble of soap in my lap and gestured toward the showers. It was over, and I was alive. Was it worth it? Actually yes, absolutely, even with the shockingly intense pain.

I was later told by a Georgian friend that masseurs offer massages in a range of intensities and that what happened to me was not typical. I could have just asked the masseur to modulate the pressure; that’s what my friend would have done. But I didn’t, and huge bruises materialized two days later. But at least I hadn’t been a coward.

Beware of a requoting of massage and bathing combination price at the exit. You should pay no more than 10 lari ($6) for both.

Be sure to check out previous installments of Far Europe and Beyond.

Winery in France mixes art with nature

by Jessica Festa on

The first thing you will notice when driving by Château la Coste winery in Provence, France, is a bright flash of light. At first, you may think you’ve encountered a UFO. Relax and catch your breath, because what you’re really seeing is winery owner Patrick McKillen’s artistic and cultural visions coming to life.

According to Lanie Goodman of the New York Time’s Style Magazine, some of the biggest names in architecture have helped to bring McKillen’s vision to life, including Jean Nouvel, Tadao Ando, and Frank Gehry. Not only are they working as architects at Château la Coste, they’re working as artists. Some of the sites on the 600 acre, woodsy vineyard include:

  • a music pavilion
  • an art center
  • an ancient chapel surrounded by steel and glass
  • a reflective pool that is guarded by an enormous spider that is even bigger than the vineyard’s bookstore
  • a polished, aluminum winery
  • an array of outdoor sculptures, such as “Origami Benches” and “Four Cubes to Contemplate Our Environment”

And, much, much more. Click here to see a map of the entire art and architecture walk, which allows you to fully experience the culture of the land. And, there is still more to come, with more than 20 new projects currently being developed.

The winery is located at 2750 Route de la Cride, 13610 Le Puy Sainte Rèparade. You can e-mail them at contact@ chateau-la-coste.com.

Tourism push threatens Turkey’s ancient sites

by Melanie Renzulli on

The age-old battle pitting historical preservation against tourism infrastructure development is coming to a fever pitch in Turkey. In an effort to increase tourism, which is set to earn Turkey $21 billion in 2011, the Turkish government recently transferred some archeological excavation permits from non-Turkish to Turkish universities. This unprecedented move, according to The Art Newspaper, is “a cracking of the whip over foreign scholars regarded as not working fast enough to transform the country’s extensive array of antiquities into tourist attractions.”

Turkey lays claim to an impressive catalog of antiquities, ranging from Greek and Roman ruins to the remains of ancient Hittite settlements to Byzantine and medieval Arab treasures. Its most famous archeological attraction is Ephesus, an ancient Greek and Roman city and the home of the Library of Celsus, one of the most iconic ruins of ancient Rome. Ephesus attracts more than two million visitors each year making it the perfect example for both sides of the preservation vs. tourism debate.

Infrastructure development to handle both the influx of tourists and the increased urbanization of Turkey’s populacealso threatens Turkey’s cultural heritage. For example, seven years ago, workers building a new station for the Istanbul metro system uncovered a Byzantine harbor which included the ruins of 32 buried ships. While a work stoppage was ordered to preserve these artifacts, Turkish officials, particularly Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan who complained that “bits of old potsherds” were getting in the way of development, have grown weary with the slow progress of infrastructure projects. Other antiquities, such as the ancient Roman spa town of Allianoi, have already become victims to Turkey’s efforts to modernize. Allianoi now lies buried beneath the Ilya River as part of the Yortanlı Dam project.

In recent years, Turkey has emerged as one of the world’s fastest growing economies as well as an increasingly popular destination for tourists. It shall be interesting to see how Turkey’s antiquities fare as these two factors force the country towards more development.

Photo © Melanie Renzulli

Cider: Spain’s other great alcoholic beverage

by Sean McLachlan on

While Spain is justly famous for its fine wines, the country also produces an amazing amount and variety of alcoholic cider. It’s made almost exclusively in the northern four regions that make up Green Spain.

From west to east these regions are Galicia, Asturias, Cantabria, and the Basque Country, which isn’t actually a country but that’s another story. This region gets a lot of rain and is much more temperate than the rest of Spain, so it’s a good place to grow apples.

Asturias makes the most cider, called sidra in Spanish. It tends to be sweet, crisp, and a bit cloudy. You pour it from way up high like I’m doing here. This puts bubbles into the cider that makes it a bit like drinking champagne, assuming you get it in the glass and not on your kitchen floor.

I’ve seen Bedouin doing this with coffee and they said it both cooled the coffee and added to the taste. Hmmm. . .perhaps aerating liquid adds to the flavor?

Galicia produces some fine cider as well, as does the Basque Country, where in the Basque language it’s called sagardoa. The region that produces the least in Green Spain is Cantabria, where I’m living. So little is produced that I’ve met Cantabrians who said I couldn’t find any here! Well, find it I did, at a little farmers’ market downtown. It’s pretty good, but I have to say that Asturian cider is better.

Northern cuisine uses cider in lots of recipes, including my favorite chorizo a la sidra, a wonderfully rich and flavorful way to harden your arteries. You can see some below in this Wikimedia Commons photo. So if you’re headed to Spain, keep an eye out for restaurants serving northern cuisine and try out the sidra or sagardoa. It makes a nice change from wine.

Yes, Food Week was last week here at Gadling, but we’ll still be bringing you tips about what to eat and drink around the world!

Far Europe and Beyond: Introducing Tbilisi

by Alex Robertson Textor on

“The Soviets always had a difficult time with Georgia. They were never able to turn Tbilisi into a Soviet city,” says Revi. I’ve just met Revi, the cousin of a friend, and he’s introducing me to Tbilisi. He’s just picked me up at the airport and is giving an impromptu nighttime tour. We’re driving down the major artery of Shota Rustaveli Avenue in central Tbilisi. The city is sparkling. Revi points to the national Parliament, to hotels, theaters, and cafes. The street is bright and shiny and looks terribly prosperous. For a second I think I could be in any European city.

Over the next several days, Revi’s words would ring in my ears. The knots of unruly, twisting streets in Tbilisi’s Old Town are enchanting, and unlike Shota Rustaveli Avenue, they are delightfully hardscrabble. There’s no Soviet triumphalism there; nor is there much modern Soviet architectural bombast in the center of the city. Granted, there are plenty of large anonymous apartment blocks in Tbilisi, and a smattering of Soviet architectural masterpieces as well–the Roads Ministry Building is perhaps the most obvious example–but Tbilisi is a city that has resisted bulldozing and reprogramming.

I came into Tbilisi with a huge advantage: I knew some Georgians. For the last several months, I’d had the good fortune to be exposed to Georgian food and culture at Little Georgia, a restaurant in my London neighborhood. I’d enjoyed Georgian food previously, but Little Georgia’s inexpensive lunches and dinners made me a fan.

And when it came time to take off for Tbilisi, the staff of Little Georgia kindly provided direction. Tiko Tuskadze, the owner of Little Georgia, gave me the phone numbers of her friends. A waiter at Little Georgia, the increasingly well-known photographer Beso Uznadze, overlapped with me in Tbilisi. His friends really extended themselves to me. One rescued me from a grubby hostel by offering me his reasonably priced, beautiful apartment. Two gave me informal tours of various parts of Tbilisi. I was invited to drinks, dinner, and get-togethers. And I was toasted over vodka by people I’d just met–and perceptively and kindly, I might add.

As lovely as these overtures were, it’s not at all clear to me that I wouldn’t have made friends along the way on my own. Tourism may be picking up in Tbilisi but outsiders are not all that common and are consequently of genuine interest. At Shavi Lomi, a delightful restaurant in the neighborhood of Sololaki–don’t worry, I’ll return to Shavi Lomi later this week–the waitress told me she was very happy to see me return. People asked questions: taxi drivers, waitresses, shopkeepers. Given language barriers, communication was often quite superficial and partial, but it was always a pleasure.

Georgia is developing at breakneck speed. Among the major recent improvements mentioned by locals are road quality and police behavior: The roads in and around Tbilisi are quite good, and corrupt cops no longer pull cars over to shake down drivers for a few lari. More evidence: Many cafes and restaurants offer free wi-fi to their customers; this feature is considerably more prevalent than it is in most big cities across Europe.

The tourism infrastructure is also improving rapidly, and costs are generally low. Restaurants, public transportation and taxis are all very reasonable. On the downside, hotels in Tbilisi are overpriced for the quality on offer. This is a legacy in part, no doubt, of the fact that previous visitors have come from the worlds of business and NGOs.

Tbilisi is a default base for people traveling around Georgia, but it’s also a place that should justify a visit by itself. Culinary pursuits alone could form the basis of a week’s stay. Beyond the range of restaurants on offer, highlights include the Old Town’s gravity-defying old houses and narrow streets, museums, churches that date to the 6th Century, striking Neoclassical buildings, public baths, parks, and grand neighborhoods like Vere, Sololaki, and Vake. My bet is that Tbilisi, atmospheric and enchanting at so many turns, will develop far more deeply as a tourist destinations in the coming years.