Ten days ago I wrote the first post on my stay in Borjomi, Georgia. A small former resort town in the mountains just beneath Russia. A little more to the west is Gori, the town of Stalin's birth. A little more to the east is a series of resort locations famous for being where he'd often stay. Borjomi is also home to many of these old, abandoned buildings in which their pasts speak of a peaceful getaway from the chaos of cities, where the Soviet elites would once bath in the natural sulphur springs that ran through the mountains and down the rivers. Our first day in Borjomi was one of settling in and getting something to eat after arriving late at night. Getting a quick feel for the environment around while catching up on a bit of rest. The sun was still strong during these days, though a strong breeze was felt around Borjomi given the power of the river that split the small town into two. That breeze would give the surrounding town a more fresh feel to it, removing some of that harsher sunlight that would punch down beneath the trees and over the mountains. With a bit of walking around, it would still feel swampy, a heat that had plenty of moisture in the air that would inevitably lead to discomfort.
We walked through the town's small central park which had a few people here and there. It was evident that any life still present in the town since the fall of the Soviet Union was still very much reliant on any tourism it could get. Fruit stalls here and there, stalls that sold drinks and various little items of merchandise that were a mixture of Georgian culture and tradition as well as just fun. A little more up ahead along the river, leading to the botanical garden of Borjomi, the street was coated in hostels, hotels, and a long row of similar stalls each displaying their own similar goods. Some of which had some interest, others gave the question as to whether anyone would ever purchase something here. We had arrived a few days prior to an event in the town, and the life was still thin. You'd see tourists walking around here and there, though it was clear that people came to Borjomi for weekend stays to check it out shortly before leaving. Borjomi was clearly of interest to mostly Russians, those of the former Soviet Republics, and a few from the middle east. In my last post I mentioned that with all of the housing in the area, so little of it felt authentic still. Either abandoned or repurposed for short stays to milk the remaining tourist industry in the area.
Most of these stalls were clearly family owned. Small shops set up by the side of the road leading to where most of the food traffic would be in the town. And it was clear from the small chairs that would be found by the stalls, sat at them would be older looking women. Exhausted expressions upon their faces and a clear struggle with life over the years. I wondered how the remaining people survived here. The attempts to make a living within a town that one could walk through within an hour and see much of what it had to offer. At the same time, I admired the town for its ability to remain something quiet, still authentic to how its past once was, though not to the same level of attention of course. Borjomi felt stuck, like it was forgotten by the rest of the world, but remained a town that the few curious adventuring few would stumble across if not by accident. It had this atmosphere to it that spoke of a different era. A poor present. But a kind nature. Though this isn't to fail to mention that later on, that very night, we witnessed criminals in the small town hiding from the police beneath our very own balcony.
Split off from the town centre, our old Soviet Khrushchevka (this is the term for old apartment buildings from around the 1960s, built as a low-cost housing solution) had a road that connected to our large building. In the dead of night the police patrolled the area with their cars, their lights flickering a series of red and blue tones into the darkness, bouncing off the nearby walls. We looked down from the apartment and saw two individuals, at first it seemed ordinary, just two people in the night talking before heading off home. Though it became clear they were keeping an eye out for those patrols, slightly tilting their bodies to the side to catch a glimpse around the corner to the main road. No police cars came down this street, which seemed a bit odd to us. Given it was a clear location for such criminals to hide down. They stayed in this area for a few minutes as the patrol car drove around clearly in search of them. One would look to the road while the other, who seemed more of interest to the police based on the distance he kept from all of this. It felt strange to witness such events. A small town like Borjomi, home to some sort of crime beneath the surface, while operating very much above that surface.
We had spent so much time in Armenia, witnessing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary; not a single arrest nor a single discussion anywhere on anything crime related that witnessing something like this almost felt alien. From my little knowledge of Georgia, I knew that at one point it was considered the crime capital of the Soviet Union. And I think I can understand that now, and I certainly still feel the lack of care for the law and order here in Tbilisi. Anyway, witnessing such an event had us a little more on edge over the idea of going outside after dark, where the streets had emptied up and silence would take over the streets. The odd truck would pass through the streets carrying something of interest to some industry somewhere. But that was it. Not even the madness of stray dogs barking into the abyss. When night entered Borjomi, it was almost as if it became a ghost town, that all that life witnessed during daytime was nothing but a facade. The wind would slightly pick up a little more, and the clouds would come in low through the trees.
Such an odd atmosphere for such a quiet town. Elements of crime witnessed almost upon arrival, but that emptiness of the night. The lack of noise in the distance. The gentle breeze of low passing winds through the mountains. Sometimes the river itself could be heard with that gushing of water through the landscape. The town was still so new to us on the second day, but this is what ended up becoming the highlight.
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