Armenia and Georgia

Introduction

I am once again about to leave for another tour; this time the destination is Armenia and Georgia, two countries that are in Asia, not very far from Italy.

The itinerary involves touring Armenia first, then Georgia, pushing as far as the border with Iran and then with Russia, an itinerary aimed at discovering that historical period which was the Middle Ages, characterised by its monasteries/fortresses where the art of writing, illumination and sculpture developed. A route that is fascinating from a historical point of view.

Following my traveller's list, I prepare the inevitable "accessories" for the tour: the digital reflex camera (Nikon DX40, a compact camera (Nikon Coolpix S570) with three spare cards, my inseparable Moleskine® (the notepad), some pens, my passport, the travel programme, the guidebooks and not least the indispensable plane tickets.

For the trip I have chosen the guidebooks: • Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan published by Lonely Planet-EDT – 3rd Italian edition – November 2008; • Armenia published by Polaris – May 2010.

I consider both guidebooks interesting for the list of places to visit, as well as providing much "useful information" for the trip. In the diary I will refer to the places I visit, indicating the page of the Lonely Planet guidebook. Example: Yerevan (LP p.), so that anyone wishing to do further research can find the necessary references.

The departure

Here I am again about to leave; this time the destination is at the edge of Europe, or rather in Asia, in a world that will prove to me completely unknown and full of incredible, fascinating and wonderful surprises. Having loaded the suitcases into Laura's car, together with Ambrogina and Luigia, we head to Malpensa airport where in the early afternoon the group gathers at the flight boarding; I meet with extreme pleasure old travel companions: Luigi, Vanna, Francesca, Augusto, Mariella, Sandro, Luisella and not least Don Maurizio. We begin checking in the suitcases; the operations are slow, as if the airport computer did not want to let us board; the hostesses have to enter all the data manually, boarding takes over an hour and in the meantime we chat and say goodbye to those who, having come to see us off, return home. Finally they hand me the ticket: seat no.

17, today is August 17, surely this number will bring luck! The time of departure approaches; having boarded the aircraft we take our seats and shortly we take off; flying over the Alps we head towards Vienna, where we have the connection to the plane for Yerevan, the capital of Armenia. We land in Austria late in the evening; the airport is half-deserted, the shops are closed and only a few bars are open. Sleep begins to make its appearance and tiredness is visible on our faces, but the cool evening air brings relief after the heat of the day; then we take off towards our destination, which we reach in the dead of night.

Having arrived at our destination, before collecting the suitcases we pass through customs for the visa on our passports, but to pay for the visa it is necessary to change money; queue at the exchange counter, queue at the visa counter and the customs officer does not have change, then another queue to change the banknotes for smaller denominations, then another queue for the visa and finally I reach the last queue to pass through airport customs. While I wait a question arises: but what happened to the suitcase? Given the time that has passed I begin to fear I will not see the luggage again.

But after a few steps I find the conveyor belt with all the group's suitcases and I think: "No one has taken them? How respectful they are here." Shortly afterwards the answer arrives: two customs guards, with serious and stern expressions, stop everyone passing towards the exit asking for the plane ticket and only after checking that the suitcase number matches the ticket do a smile appear on their faces and you are kindly directed towards the exit. In the airport hall we find our guide, a girl whose name is Irenia Arsen. Having loaded the suitcases onto the coach, in the middle of the night, we set off towards the city, which lies a short distance away. We travel along a road lined with nightclubs and casinos; although it is five in the morning the venues are open and modern, elegant cars are parked outside.

As we approach the city I notice that many streets are dark and only some buildings or monuments are illuminated. The buildings I glimpse appear massive and imposing: Soviet style welcomes us. We arrive at Republic Square (LP 102); according to Irenia one of the ten most beautiful squares in the world. It is 6.20, it is still dark and I have no way of verifying the beauty announced by Irenia; sleep is making itself felt and having unloaded the suitcases we go to our room for a nap before facing the day. We fall asleep as the sun is rising, the light held back by the dark, heavy curtains of the window.

Part one

The alarm goes off at 9.00; despite the sleep, I prepare my traveller's equipment; the Moleskine, the biro, the camera. Breakfast, accompanied by a strong coffee, serves to start the day, then we begin the tour of Yerevan, the capital of Armenia. The city, built on hills, is dominated by the imposingly massive Mount Ararat, the mountain sacred to Armenians, but the haze prevents the mountain from being seen and the gaze is lost in the grey/brown of the city's heat. Walking along the city's avenues I notice Soviet-style buildings, which with their greyness and age show their years, while recent modern buildings with their splendour create a strong contrast. Crossing the city we head towards the outskirts, arriving at the top of a hill where the imposing bronze statue of Mother Armenia stands (LP 164), which, built by the Soviets, dominates the city.

Arriving at the square, while we park, we are greeted by police officers who invite us to move away from the area. We do not understand why and only after Irenia asks for explanations do we understand that it is for security reasons: the President of the Republic is arriving for a ceremony, so visiting the statue and the museums of the place is forbidden. We take advantage of the few minutes at our disposal to take a tour of the square, dotted with Russian military relics from the Second World War; well-kept vehicles, repainted like new as a constant display of the power of the former Soviet empire.

The edges of the square are delimited by a balustrade from where we can admire the city in all its extent; I notice the splendour of the old part and the sadness of the modern one: in fact the city was initially built in pink tuff which gave a pleasant colour to the homes, then in the last decades of the last century, pink tuff was replaced with white and black tuff which, according to the intention of its designers, was meant to give more an impression of grandeur and immensity. But today, seen from above with this polluted sky, the city shows a sad landscape that blends with the greyness of atmospheric pollution. We leave the statue and, descending a few dozen metres, on the side of the hill, we arrive at the Matenadaran, the museum of manuscripts and illuminated codices (LP 161).

On the front of the museum, just below the entrance, there is the statue of Mesrop Mashtots (a monk, theologian and linguist, inventor of the Armenian alphabet) and of one of his disciples. On the facade of the museum are placed six statues of Armenian scholars, among which stands out that of Mkhitar Gosh, the monk who invented the first Armenian penal code. While Irenia is explaining the figures of the statues we hear a dull and loud noise; an imposing helicopter is approaching at low altitude, lands on the square of the Mother Armenia statue and a few minutes later takes off again, continuing to circle in the sky: the President has arrived at the ceremony. We enter the immense museum, where the disproportionate dimensions of Soviet art appear decorated, but weighed down, by marbles, columns and porphyry cladding in red or black.

On the walls an immense mosaic depicts the historic Armenian battle of the 4th century. Entering the rooms I can admire some manuscripts; the structure preserves tens of thousands of them. Those on display are kept in cabinets with simple glass display cases, with a label beside them showing the country of origin and the period of creation. I admire enchanted manuscripts ranging from the 8th century to the 14th century, from various parts of the world. There are texts in Armenian, Latin, Italian, Hebrew, musical scores. The themes covered are the most varied: religion, poetry, mathematics, philosophy, herbal medicine, medicine. One display case contains a collection of gospel covers, made of hand-chiselled silver and embellished with precious stones, created between 1200 and 1700.

I can admire medical books written between 1200 and 1600, a treatise on polygonal numbers from 1129, a geographical map and a cosmological map from 1500, a mathematics treatise from 1200, a manuscript from Ethiopia from 1600 and dozens of perfectly preserved scrolls. The visit to the museum is a great window onto a past that saw Armenia as the cultural centre of the entire geographical area, but due to invasions and wars this cultural and religious movement stopped for centuries; a concept I will have the opportunity to explore further in the coming days. I take the opportunity to make a leap in time, to quickly retrace the fascinating history of that tool which today we sometimes use excessively, so common is it: paper.

Scholars place its invention in 2nd-century China: the inner part of the mulberry bark was macerated and beaten until it became a pasty pulp of fibres which, diluted in water, spread on a sieve, was left to dry; covered with a film of rice starch that waterproofs it, the paper was thus ready for use. The secret of its manufacture in the 8th century leaked as far as Samarkand and then to the Arab world. In Europe it was precisely the Arabs who in the 10th century introduced it first to Spain and then to Italy, where it found the wide diffusion that we know. In the 12th century Italy became the largest producer of paper; it was exported to many European countries. To make the paper less absorbent the Arabs used glues of vegetable origin, but it was attacked by moulds and degraded rapidly.

Using glues of animal origin, the Italians greatly improved the quality of paper and its durability reached many centuries. An important Italian centre for papermaking was Fabriano, where the watermark was invented. In about three centuries, from Italy the technique of papermaking spread throughout Europe and then to the Americas. At first, Arabs and Europeans made paper from rags. As time passed, the demand for paper increased rapidly, so much so that at a certain point rags were no longer enough. In the search for a substitute for rags, only in the 16th century, a Frenchman, who had observed wasps while they built their nest, wanted to try using wood to make paper. The tests that were carried out proved successful and since then wood has become the main raw material for papermaking.

But let us not forget another historically interesting medium for manuscripts: parchment (membrane or vellum in Latin). It takes its name from the city of Pergamon (in Asia Minor) where, according to the tradition reported by Pliny the Elder, it would have been invented around the 2nd century BC, as a replacement for papyrus. Pergamon had a great library that rivalled the famous library of Alexandria. When Egypt stopped exporting papyrus, due to the cultural rivalry between the Egyptian ruler Ptolemy V and the king of Pergamon Eumenes II (196-158 BC), Pergamon reacted by inventing parchment. In the ancient world parchment nevertheless did not have great diffusion, due to the competition of papyrus, a much more abundant and less expensive product.

Only from the 5th century did the diffusion of parchment seem to increase until it became the main writing medium during the Middle Ages, before being definitively replaced by paper. Parchment can be produced from sheep, goat or calf skins suitably dehaired and dried under tension. The animal's skin, after a "liming" phase, is immersed in a lime pit (a solution of water and lime) in order to dehair it. The parchment maker, using a non-cutting blade, removes

Part two

During this phase the removal of the residual flesh from the flesh side is also carried out using a half-moon knife. Once dry, the parchment can be detached from the frame to be used or refined using pumice stone (to make it smoother and reduce the differences between the "hair side" and the "flesh side", which is smoother and softer). Now in the museum, observing these masterpieces, I ask myself another question: how were manuscripts created inside the monasteries? Since I find no information on the matter, I can refer to what happened in European monasteries given the period, thinking that the technique is not very different. At the head of the scriptorium was the armarius, the elder monk who organised the division of labour. He dealt with supplies, checked the times and methods of execution, perhaps a predecessor of the modern industrial Taylorism and Fordism.

He also served as librarian. The scribe copied or wrote from dictation, resting a booklet of parchment sheets or a sheet of paper folded in four on a slanted lectern, a position that allowed him to hold the pen, usually a goose quill, suitably slanted. Then the various written sheets were bound together, cut and the text illustrated by an illuminator. The pigments were chemical such as minium or white lead, vegetable such as indigo, animal such as purple, or mineral such as vermilion and lapis lazuli and were bound with egg yolk and egg white, gum arabic, animal glues so that they would adhere to the prepared surface of the parchment.

But let us return to our visit to the museum; as we wander through the rooms, given the many flags on display, Irenia explains the symbol of the Armenian flag, made of three colours arranged horizontally: • Red is the colour of blood • Blue is the colour of the sky, of freedom • Orange is the colour of the apricot, represents work in the fields. Leaving the manuscript museum we retrace the city's avenues and in a short time we arrive at a hill: I do not understand what we are going there to see; no construction, no building appears; only a retaining wall delimits the parking area. I leave the bus and curiously walk up the staircase which, climbing, leads us to the top of the hill at the edge of a small grove of pine trees with plaques: they are the "trees of the righteous".

That is, the pines donated by countries or international figures who, having recognised the Armenian genocide, have expressed compassion: we have arrived at the Genocide Memorial (LP 165). Once past the pines, a granite-paved avenue begins that ends in a square where a pyramidal tower and a monument stand, while near the grove of the righteous the museum is located; a structure made of black and grey granite that develops underground beneath the hill and contains an ethnographic part and a photographic part. In the large rooms arranged in a circle, at the beginning there are photographs from the early 1900s of the individual regions of Armenia before the genocide showing customs and traditions; then the images change radically and the abuses, the violence, the misery, the carnage that caused the death of thousands of Armenians between 1915 and 1922 appear.

The images are truly shocking and are not second to what one can see in the sad but more famous concentration camps of the Second World War. Stunned, we leave the museum; I did not expect to see so much brutality, but above all I was struck by the lack of knowledge of the history of the Armenian people and of the genocide suffered first by the Turks and then by the Russians. Equally I was struck by the silence of Europe and Italy both at the time of the genocide and in the many years that followed, but above all by the absence of all this from Western history books. On leaving we walk along the granite avenue lined with a well-tended green lawn; at the top of the hill we find the pyramid; observing it up close I realise it is crossed by a vertical cut that symbolises the genocide and the tragedy of Armenia.

A short distance away stands a monument composed of 12 wedges representing the 12 Armenian regions, wedges positioned in a circle with the perpetual flame burning in the centre in memory of the fallen of the genocide. A touching moment is the prayer recited in that place where the grey of the granite blends with the greyness of the sky; here silence reigns supreme as if it wanted to incessantly manifest the call to remember what happened. We spent the entire morning touring the city and it is now lunchtime; we go to a restaurant near the mausoleum; the place is characteristic: we are outdoors sitting under a canopy, divided into two groups we have lunch in the shade of the wooden roof.

They serve us lavash (a thin oven-baked bread, with an exquisite flavour that accompanies all dishes), goat cheese, walnut sauce, chicken and mushroom sauce, green salad, soup with rice, potatoes and coriander. Coriander, an annual herbaceous plant that is widely used in cooking in Asian countries, in Italy is also called Chinese parsley. Its therapeutic properties are countless: in herbal medicine it is known, appreciated and used as a stimulant, digestive, anti-inflammatory, antiseptic, as well as eliminating intestinal gas and reducing headaches. Here it is used to season salads, soups, meats, but not everyone likes it for its aroma, its spicy and bitter taste.

A herb so loved by Armenians and Gregorians, which for many of us proved to be a real nightmare, because, always omnipresent, it made food inedible for those who do not appreciate it, forcing the unfortunate ones to bread and water, cheese and fruit. After lunch, although overcome by accumulated sleep, we continue the afternoon tour of the city; the stop is at the Erebuni museum (LP 166) at the foot of the hill where the ancient fortress of Yerevan once stood. Located along that trade route that linked the East with the West, the North with the South, which in time would become famous under the name "Silk Road". The museum too, perhaps needless to say, is built in Soviet style and contains a collection of what was found inside the ancient walls; objects, a few jewels, wooden work tools, stone millstones, utensils, pottery are on display.

In my humble opinion the museum is worth a visit only for the imposing sculptures found in the first room and for the model of the fortified city. Tiredness is increasingly heavy on all of us, so we decide to return to the hotel; a few hours of rest, then a nice, reinvigorating shower and at 19.30 we are ready for dinner. The restaurant is not far from the hotel and we reach it quickly; it is called Mimino, after an Armenian comedy film. The interior, very characteristic, features exposed beams and paintings of agricultural life in Armenia. They serve us raw vegetables, tomato and cucumber, salad in a container of baked wheat, cheese, bread; then a bread roll filled with meat, soup with beef; the dessert made with flour and drizzled with honey.

After dinner we return to the hotel and in Republic Square we find the illuminated fountain with a show of sounds, lights and water games; what better occasion to enjoy this seductive performance? Approaching the fountain my gaze is lost in the water games and my mind is captivated by musical pieces of various genres. During the show I could not miss the opportunity to take some night-time photos. Back at the hotel, since the sleepiness had passed, the inevitable game of burraco. I go to bed looking for

Part one

At 8.00 the alarm goes off, the day begins, breakfast, then at 9.00 departure; today we will tour the suburbs of the capital. The first stop is the church of Saint Hripsime (LP 184), a building in brown tuff from 618 AD. Having passed the enclosure, we find the building dedicated to the Saint, erected after the martyrdom of the nun Hripsime who refused to become the wife of King Tiridates III who, blinded by anger, had the nun slaughtered together with her 35 companions. Saint Hripsime is considered one of the oldest churches in Armenia and is renowned for its refined architecture in the classic Armenian style characterised by a central plan and dome. In the centuries following the original structure, adjacent to the main entrance, the gavit was added, a portal open on three sides, characteristic of Armenian churches.

With its structure it fulfilled several tasks: • during services it was the shelter of the catechumens and of those who could not access religious services; • it was the burial place of important people and this custom served to remind that despite earthly importance one returns to ashes: an important warning to humility during earthly life. Entering the building I can admire how the sunlight, coming through the windows, projects a cross onto the floor. We leave Saint Hripsime, get back on the coach and head towards Echmiadzin (LP 183) with the cathedral of the same name, seat of the Armenian Catholicos Garegin II; the spiritual head of the Armenian Apostolic Church. The main church was built in 301 AD by Saint Gregory the Illuminator; destroyed, it was rebuilt in 480 and today has a cross plan; the gavit of 1648 supports the three-level bell tower, entirely and finely carved.

From the main portal we enter the exquisitely frescoed interior; on the ceiling one sees the Eastern garden full of roses and winged cherubs while, illuminated by the sun, the golden parts of the frescoes stand out, instilling fantastic emotions. Very interesting would be the treasure, which unfortunately we do not visit, but the guide I consult describes it as rich in important relics such as the Holy Lance, used to pierce the side of Jesus on the Cross, and various fragments of Noah's Ark which tradition holds to be on the slopes of Mount Ararat. We leave Echmiadzin heading towards the church of Saint Gayane (LP 184), built in 630 AD; today it is a monastery inhabited by nuns, the church is dedicated to Saint Gayane, a nun beheaded by Tiridates III together with Hripsime.

The complex is surrounded by walls and the building has a portico with frescoes of fine workmanship, but which, left to neglect, need restoration in order not to be irreparably lost. The convent is currently inhabited by nuns and we have the opportunity to see them with their long grey dresses and their heads covered with a dark blue cloth. We continue the tour of the historic religious buildings with Zvartnots (LP 184) where we can visit the ruins of the cathedral, an imposing three-storey construction erected in 643 AD but demolished in 930 by a devastating earthquake that razed the entire area to the ground. Only after 1900 were archaeological excavations carried out and, besides the remains of the cathedral, the palace of the Catholicos and the remains of a cellar with amphorae buried in the ground where wine was kept were brought to light.

The church has a Greek cross plan with five entrances; the exterior was a polygon with 32 sides and 32 windows that, seen from a distance, must have appeared circular. The structure rose for three storeys, always maintaining the same polygonal characteristic, and culminated in a circular dome; the columns and external ornaments of the church were all carved and today, among the remains, it is possible to admire fine sculptures depicting pomegranates, grapes, eagles as well as numerous capitals and decorative friezes. In the square in front of the cathedral, some vendors display drawings depicting the original cathedral; thinking of such a structure erected in that era, I understand why the emperor of Byzantium, passing through Armenia, was dazzled by so much beauty and wanted an identical construction to be built in Constantinople.

For the record, this did not happen because the architect died during the journey to Constantinople. Walking around the archaeological site I can admire the remains of the palace of the Catholicos, composed of private rooms, dining rooms, refectory and even thermal baths, while a short distance away stood the cellar where stone presses for grinding grapes and terracotta amphorae buried in the ground used to preserve the wine so as to always have it fresh are visible. After visiting the site, we head towards the city and, given the time, we take a tour of the Pah Shuka market. The covered market is inside a shed with a vaulted roof, reminiscent of the classic structure of Soviet markets; the stalls are made of masonry and on them are displayed in an orderly and precise manner, almost as if they were works of art, vegetables, fruit, sweets, fish, meat, brains, liver, ox tail.

On many stalls there is dried fruit; plums, apricots; I taste one and am struck by the fullness of the flavour, the intense taste and the sweetness: since I am at the beginning of the trip, it is truly a pity that I cannot buy them to take home; they truly deserve to be tasted. There are also beautifully displayed packets of sweets whose composition creates a pleasant scenic effect; it is truly delightful to wander around this market which in the simplicity of its products shows the ability of Armenians to make the best use of what nature produces. After the visit to the market, while we wait for the coach, since we are in the immediate vicinity of the Blue Mosque (LP 163), I decide to pay a quick visit. Having entered the courtyard I find myself projected into a Madrasa, the Quranic school.

It is like making a leap in time, into Central Asia, to Samarkand (See my diary Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan). The walls of the courtyard are white with green, light blue and blue decorations. In the centre of the courtyard the mosque is covered by the scaffolding of the restoration it is undergoing, but between the sheets I glimpse the fantastic colours of the glazed ceramic that covers it. Leaving the madrasa I see that the coach has arrived; I must board quickly because the vehicle cannot stop for long on the busy avenue; we set off again heading to the restaurant.

We take a short tour of the city where I observe a thousand facets of this reality, difficult to imagine in Italy; we are truly on the watershed between Europe and Asia, here cultures mix, the physiognomy of the people highlights characteristic somatic traits; the people are orderly, proud of their nation, feel part of society and of their own lifestyle. But unfortunately the signs of Soviet domination emerge, which have left a great and impressive void both in terms of private initiative and in mental liveliness; wandering around the city, sometimes, one encounters people whose gaze seems to be lost in time; as if they were in perpetual wait for someone to tell them what to do.

I am also struck by the lack of fine local craft shops; Armenia, which decades ago was known for its goldsmiths, its chisellers and other forms of refined craftsmanship, now after the genocide and Soviet domination manifests this boundless artistic and cultural void.

Part Two

We arrive at the restaurant, a characteristic place with tuff walls; they serve us vegetable appetisers, string cheese, carrot and tomato soup with bread, chicken skewers, aubergines, courgettes, a rice side dish, and finally profiteroles for dessert. The afternoon is dedicated to shopping; more than for purchases I wander around the city observing the customs and traditions of the population; it is delightful to examine the sellers of fresh fruit and dried fruit who, walking along the avenues, try to sell their goods to whoever they meet. The shops are various and the city is becoming enriched with foreign chains; I also notice some well-known Italian clothing brands.

The city centre is under reconstruction; the building of new palaces creates a jarring contrast with the old homes, many of these in pure Soviet style; all the same and without any external decoration, without balconies and sometimes disproportionate in size. Wandering around the city, dinnertime arrives and we stop at a characteristic place: green salad, mushroom salad with mint, aubergines with mushrooms, focaccia with cheese, bean soup, mushrooms with cheese, Turkish coffee or herbal tea. While we have dinner we are accompanied by a small band composed of voice, drum, flute and guitar that lets us listen to traditional Armenian music. During the return to the hotel I notice that the city is patrolled by large police forces; Irenia explains that the visit of the President of Russia is taking place.

The city is completely in a ferment, the avenues are decorated with Russian and Armenian flags, Republic Square is one big bustle of law enforcement officers moving in all directions. Given the great chaos, we decide to return to the hotel and devote ourselves, some to burraco, some to reading. At the end of the evening, returning to my room, I can listen to a TG in Italian.

Part One

A sunny day, the blue sky lights up the large Republic Square where our hotel overlooks; it really is exciting to move about in good weather, unlike the greyness that accompanied the previous days; filled with good humour we set off towards Garni. On the outskirts of the city, having reached the surrounding hills, the coach stops and Irenia invites us to get off: we have arrived at the Arch of Charents (LP 220), a monument dedicated to the Armenian writer of the same name, erected in the place where the writer used to stand to compose his works. A fascinating spot from which to admire, in the distance, the imposing and majestic Mount Ararat, which with its snow-capped peak dominates the endless Armenian plain below; almost a constant and protective presence. With this view I begin to understand the reason that binds the Armenian people to this fantastic mountain.

I take a few photos of the arch and the panorama, taking care to frame the mountain. We resume our journey on the winding and not always well-paved Armenian roads, where the potholes really are a challenge for the driver and a torment for the travellers, and despite the comfort of the coach we take a few jolts. And it is precisely after a pothole on a narrow hairpin bend that the coach swerved and made my backpack fall. The region near Yerevan is hilly, with harsh and barren terrain, the pastures are dry, the houses are light grey-green with white windows and roofs of galvanised sheet metal or asbestos cement, an expression of the Soviet style. Most of the cars I see are Ladas (a Soviet brand), often dated. The area is rich in plants and in the gardens of the houses I see pear, grape, walnut and fig trees. The vegetable gardens are also cultivated and well kept.

Along the roads, next to the houses, there are improvised stalls of those selling the produce of their fruit trees or their vegetable garden, and very rarely little stands selling cigarettes, engine oil, petrol. During the journey Irenia tells us about life in Armenia; the school cycle is divided into compulsory schooling plus university, and currently in the country young graduates make up 95% of the pool, which makes employment easier. She also tells us about monthly wages: a worker earns 100,000 Armenian dram, a teacher, by giving private lessons outside school, earns about 70,000 dram, a doctor 200,000, the state pension is 40,000 dram. Politicians' salaries turn out to be the highest but she doesn't know how to quantify how much.

While she is explaining these things the driver has taken a road that runs along a valley floor, and moving among enchanting canyons crowned by green mountains we reach the monastery of Geghard (LP 180). I get off the coach and, seeing this enchanting building partly carved into the rock and equipped with mighty defensive walls, I grab my camera to frame it but … the lens is jammed, the aperture and the zoom are stuck, what's happening? After the backpack fell, the lens got knocked out of alignment and is now unusable. In my utter despair I try to find solutions, but it's useless, the lens is really stuck. I don't lose heart; warned by a sixth sense I had decided to bring a compact camera, so I'll use that.

The monastery, partly carved into the rock, is topped by the steep and vertical walls of the mountain, entirely surrounded by high defensive walls and set in a beautiful natural setting. The origin of the structure dates back to the 4th century, when the monks who lived in the caves raised the monastery, and subsequently a first church was built, also partly carved into the rock. The name Geghard means "the monastery of the lance" and derives from the fact that the tip of the lance now kept in Echmiadzin was originally in this monastery. The main church visible today was built in 1215 and has a square plan topped by a dome in the Armenian style.

All around the church countless caves open up; I can observe some beautiful carvings on the walls adjacent to the caves, while the places of worship feature carved crosses of high quality that appear as refined works of chiselling from the hands of an expert goldsmith. The monastery is currently inhabited by monks who devote themselves to countless and varied activities: while we are visiting they are busy collecting and transporting honey from the hives to the inner rooms of the monastery.

Having exited the walls we walk around the complex to admire its harmony and discover that a little way off, set into the rock of the mountain, a stream flows, and that the branches of the plants growing on its banks are covered with little coloured strips: they are the prayers that the faithful hang up; they recall the prayers that Tibetans attach to strings and that, fluttering, allow the wind to carry them away. We leave the monastery and, heading to the car park, we see a small market; the stalls display religious handicrafts (crosses, rosaries, sacred images) and local handicrafts and food products; I photograph some very colourful garlands and a few stalls where a flatbread with religious symbols is sold. The cake is a sweet prepared with white flour and filled with honey; at lunch I will have the opportunity to taste its deliciousness.

We leave the monastery of Geghard and, travelling through the province of Kotayk, we head towards the pagan temple of Garni (LP 179), where we arrive shortly; we pass through a small village where the coach barely fits between the houses, and in a small square we stop near a boundary wall built with large boulders. Having passed the divider we enter the archaeological area where a paved avenue begins, adorned with gardens of multicoloured flowers, and at the end of the avenue, imposing, tall and slender, stands the Greco-Roman temple. Built in the 1st century by Tiridates I of Armenia, it was destroyed by an earthquake in the 17th century, but in 1979 it was easily rebuilt since archaeologists recovered almost all the pieces: unlike other sites where the stones were reused for various constructions, here the population had left everything in place.

The temple stands on what originally, in the 7th century BC, was a fortress and later, because of the splendid position overlooking the valley of the Azat river, became a place of worship. The building is constructed with basaltic rock and appears in all its imposing size with the grey and brown colours characteristic of the local stone. It features very fine capitals and ornaments in the Greek style, and is dedicated to the god Mithra (the sun) who, a cult originally from India, through Persia, Armenia and Greece, reached Rome. The main room of the temple was dedicated to the worship of water and for this purpose a cavity opens in the floor which was filled with water, in the place where on 22 March the sun was reflected in it.

Adjacent to the temple we can see the ruins of a church and some palaces, while a short distance away stand the splendid Roman baths with mosaic floors made with natural stones of 15 different colours. I notice that the avenues are paved with blocks of basalt and have a curious, almost hexagonal shape. I hypothesise that it might be worked columnar basalt, and indeed, shortly afterwards when I lean over to see the valley below I find the answer: on the opposite side I notice imposing outcrops of columnar basalt. Columnar basalt is a rock of eruptive origin and is formed by magma that solidified quickly and fractured along the lines of least energy, giving rise to the characteristic organ-pipe shape; hence the name columnar.

Part Two

We leave the temple of Garni and its fortress and walk towards a characteristic Armenian house for lunch. We enter the wide courtyard where we find a garden with tall trees providing shade; against the boundary wall a covered terrace is set up and equipped with tables and chairs, while Armenian-made carpets hang on the walls. Nearby there is a building housing a fireplace with a grill for cooking, next to it the characteristic oven where lavash, the excellent Armenian bread, is prepared and baked. The oven, set into the ground, consists simply of a large terracotta jar where a fire is lit in the centre which heats the entire surface; the bread, once kneaded with white flour and water, is placed against the walls to bake. A few minutes per side and the lavash is ready to be brought to the table, excellent with cheeses and vegetables.

And indeed lunch begins with salad, goat's cheese, olives, green beans, aubergines, cucumbers and tomatoes. Then comes the meat: oven-baked pork accompanied by onions and fennel; truly tender and with an exquisite flavour. For dessert there is the cake I had seen at the monastery in the morning; it is warm, fresh, the honey completely fills the cake, the flour is soaked in this sweet nectar, it really is excellent, it melts in the mouth making the tasting most pleasant; finally the classic Turkish coffee. We leave Garni and, retracing the valleys and crossing the hills, we return to Yerevan where we stop to visit the imposing and recent church of Saint Gregory (LP 164).

The hot, muggy afternoon climate welcomes us to the city; as soon as we get off the coach we miss the admittedly hot, scorching but dry sun of the morning; in the heatwave we visit the enormous church that stands on top of a hill. While we are taking a group photo we see a bride arriving; but is it ever possible to miss the opportunity to witness a wedding? Shortly afterwards Irenia finds herself busy explaining the marriage rite according to the Armenian religion: a ritual made of gestures dating back to remote traditions. The Armenian Apostolic religion is to be considered distinctive in that the Armenian Church boasts a very ancient tradition; Armenia is considered the first nation in the world, in 301, to have adopted Christianity as its official religion.

The first evidence of the Christian religion in Armenia dates back to the 1st century, when it was preached by Saint Bartholomew and Saint Thaddeus, two of the twelve apostles; hence the name Armenian Apostolic Church. Armenia was outside the Roman Empire and when the Council of Chalcedon was convened, in 451, Armenia, engaged in a local conflict, did not take part in it and did not even adhere to the decisions of the Council itself, distancing itself from the dictates of what would become the Roman Church. We leave the church of Saint Gregory and head to the State Museum of Armenian History (LP 165). The visit to the imposing museum begins with the rooms of the Palaeolithic period, where numerous and very interesting finds are visible, among which I notice with astonishment arrowheads of obsidian and rock crystal.

In the halls we retrace the millennial history of the country and I have the opportunity to admire jewels, weapons, wooden and obsidian objects from the Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Enchanting jewels from the 11th century BC, then necklaces, bracelets and rings from the medieval period. I admire in wonder enchanting polychrome glazed ceramics with very fine decorations featuring animals, human beings and geometric patterns. I am fascinated observing terracotta vases that, finely pierced and then glazed, are true masterpieces of meticulous craftsmanship and refinement. I contemplate gold coins, miniatures, the chair of the Patriarch from the 15th century, Ottoman weapons, silver jewels with very fine filigree.

Thus we reach the room of traditional Armenian costumes; the garments on display are divided by region and I notice how they change in shape and colour, yet the clothes have one thing in common: the colours, with the basic red combined with blue for festive clothes, while for working in the fields yellow garments were used. The section dedicated to headdresses and men's and women's belts is interesting. Just as singular are the jewels that, placed on various parts of the clothing and the hat, dangling, served to ward off evil and the evil eye. Other rooms are dedicated to carpets. Of great interest is Irenia's explanation of the colours used in making carpets, clothing and accessories: blue means purity, red fertility, while green represents nature.

In one part of the museum, through a photographic itinerary, they retrace the history of the 1900s; I see photos of the Russian empire and then decorated porcelain, traditional objects and various furnishings, vases in amber and mother-of-pearl, copper plates, wooden good-luck charms, curious moulds for decorating doors, and finally Easter eggs decorated with cherubs and seraphim. As I am about to leave the museum a artefact catches my attention: placed on a wall there is a finely carved basalt cross (the khatchkar). Irenia explains to me that this cross was carved by hand by a monk and that a twin cross is still present at the monastery of Goshavank which we will visit in the coming days. I am struck by so much painstaking work and by such very fine craftsmanship that it looks like a fabric with an interwoven weave.

We leave the museum, which stands in Republic Square right opposite our hotel: crossing the square I notice its extent and, recalling Irenia's words when we first arrived in Yerevan (one of the most beautiful squares in the world), I instead think it is one of the largest squares in the world. Back at the hotel I organise the day's notes and show the camera to Gianfranco for his opinion: the lens is irreparably stuck, so I will have to photograph only with the compact. A real shame, but thank goodness I have the second camera, otherwise I could really say goodbye to the photo shoot. For dinner we walk to the restaurant that stands a short distance from the hotel and is located in the old part of the city. In the venue, modern, refined and well cared for, they serve us vegetables, soup with beef meatballs, trout with boiled wheat, lentils, warm peach filled with dried fruit.

Having discovered that it is Pinuccia's birthday, as a surprise we celebrate her with a little candle on the peach and with a local sparkling wine. At the end of the evening, we calmly return to the hotel.

Part One

Wake-up at 7:00, breakfast, and at 8:00, having loaded the suitcases, we leave Yerevan heading towards the monastery of Khor Virap, which stands about 30 km south of the capital, on the border with Turkey. Having left the barren outskirts of the capital, we travel through the fertile plain that offers a landscape completely different from the one seen yesterday, and I admire stork nests, fields cultivated with maize, vines and vegetables. Suddenly the appearance of Mount Ararat warns us that we are approaching our destination, and we arrive at the monastery of Khor Virap (LP 187), which stands on a hill dominating the fertile cultivated plain and is topped by the imposing and fascinating mountain which, rising with its perpetually snow-capped peak to 5,165 m above sea level, is the symbol of Armenia.

In the locality there is an archaeological site, spread over seven hills, whose foundation dates back to the 2nd century BC, where the place of worship, the royal house and the acropolis stood. Currently Khor Virap is the best-known religious site in the Ararat region and perhaps the most photographed building in Armenia; a place very rich both from a historical and from a religious point of view. Initially built as a prison, it became important for the imprisonment of Saint Gregory the Illuminator who, following his work of spreading Christianity, was imprisoned for twelve years in a well six metres deep. He was freed, following a vision had by Tiridates III's sister so that he might cure the king of lycanthropy, an illness that struck the ruler after the killing of Hripsime (see page 16).

The king, once cured, not only converted to Christianity, but allowed Saint Gregory, who had become the first Katholikos, to build Christian churches over the pagan temples and to spread the new religion and, as mentioned, in 301 Armenia became the first country to adopt Christianity as its official religion. But let's return to the visit to the monastery: having left the coach parked at the foot of the hill, we quickly reach the outside of the defensive wall, where through a wooden portal we enter the sacred area. Khor Virap means "deep well"; the complex features buildings from various periods, the first dating back to the 6th century, while the church dedicated to the Holy Mother of God dates back to the 17th century.

In a small church there is the well where Saint Gregory the Illuminator was imprisoned; I enter the small building and to the right of the altar there is the opening that leads to the well; an aluminium ladder placed vertically descends for 6 metres. Taking advantage of a moment when the crowd of tourists seems to disperse, I go down into the well; at the bottom of the well there is no lighting and the air is hot and humid; I decide to climb back up quickly.

Wandering around the monastery we stop at the boundary wall to take souvenir photos with the imposing Ararat in the background, and then, observing the panorama, I notice that the green plain is dotted with watchtowers; we are on the border with Turkey, and since the political situation between Turkey and Armenia is very tense, Irenia strongly advises us against visiting the nearby archaeological site of Astashat to avoid the sensitivity of the border guards. I pause to look at the border area; I am a few dozen metres from that frontier which for decades and not many years ago was the border line between the Soviet bloc and the NATO countries.

Mount Ararat, when satellite military technology was not yet as developed as today, was dotted with NATO military bases whose function was to monitor the territory; here began the immense Soviet Union, and this border area too was dotted with military bases; they seem like distant times, bygone eras, but I am talking about just a few years ago; today the situation remains heated, the result of the historic and long-standing tensions between Turkey and Armenia. I calmly wander around the monastery observing the beautiful church with its sculptures, the stunning facade, the side buildings, the well-stocked souvenir shop where you can buy valuable objects. Finally we set off for the next destination. Moving away from Khor Virap we drive alongside green fields cultivated with watermelons and melons.

From this angle I rejoice in the view of Mount Ararat and Little Ararat rising on its flank, almost like a parent and a child who with great love watch over our journey, which proceeds calmly through the green and cultivated plain. During the journey we pass through a city, once a well-known centre of the metallurgical industry of the Soviet empire, today the copper mine is the only large mining industry in the whole of Armenia. We travel a few dozen kilometres until we begin to drive alongside what was an imposing and extensive iron foundry and today shows only the abandoned skeleton of the great industrial centre. Leaving the green and fertile plain we head towards the mountains, and as soon as the hills begin we pass through an area renowned for wine production: outside the houses we see bottles and large flasks full of wine; a sign that in that place it is possible to buy some.

Curious, I ask Irenia whether what is on display is real wine: she tells me it is coloured water or wine that has turned to vinegar. In any case it really is a nice way of advertising: a little table with bottles resting on it, clearly visible even from a distance. Continuing the climb we encounter a sign indicating the border with Turkey; we are in the Vayots Dzor region. As we advance the landscape becomes barren, the land uncultivated; we drive alongside mountains whose peaks are dotted with barracks and military posts; the tension with Turkey shows itself in the landscape too. Travelling along the valley floor we drive alongside steep rock walls whose colour changes according to the mineral composition, from black to grey to red.

Finally, penetrating into a narrow gorge carved by the Amaghu river, surrounded by imposing mountains with bright red rock, due to the presence of iron, we arrive at the monastery of Noravank (New Monastery) (LP 214), which appears perched on the side of the mountain. We stop and, on foot, cover the last metres towards the monastery and here, as if from nowhere, the slender outline of the church of the Holy Mother of God suddenly appears among the plants. When we reach the perimeter walls, having gathered the group, we enter to visit the religious complex.

The first church that appears, in all its magnificence, is the church of the Holy Mother of God with facades rich in bas-reliefs with very fine decorations; then we head towards the perimeter walls overlooking the gorge; here the feeling of being in an eagle's nest is palpable, a dominant and impregnable position; truly a strategic location. While Irenia explains the history of the monastery, I take a few photos of the landscape and the bas-reliefs. We enter the church of Saint Karapet, built in 1227, during the period of Mongol domination, as can be inferred from the features of the faces carved in the bas-relief on the entrance tympanum: the figures have almond-shaped eyes, characteristic of Asian peoples. The sculptures are coloured red and Irenia explains to me that it is "Armenian red", the Vordan Karmir, obtained from an indigenous beetle characteristic of the Ararat valley.

Adjacent to the church of Saint Karapet stands the church of Saint Gregory, where the tombs of monks and some princes are kept. We then return towards the church of the Holy Mother of God which, lit by the sun, appears in all its magnificence, showing the fineness of the sculptures on the external walls.

Part Two

The church, built on two levels, houses on the lower level the mausoleum of the princely Orbelian family, while on the upper level, reachable only through two narrow and steep staircases on the facade, is the actual church. Beautiful to observe is the dome which still presents, in the drum, a slender structure rich in columns and capitals. Having finished the visit to the monastery, before going to the restaurant, we stop at the souvenir shop where handicrafts are purchased. Having come out, having found the restaurant, we stop for lunch; raw vegetables, cheese, chard, yogurt, boiled spelt, roast chicken, sautéed herbs (seasoned with mint and parsley); they bring us wine, curiously served in Coca-Cola bottles. After lunch we resume our journey, we leave the red valley, we descend again to the valley floor heading towards the border with Iran.

As the kilometres pass, the landscape changes its appearance again; from steep and barren mountains we now find ourselves surrounded by land with gentle slopes, pastures and fields. The view is lost in the very extensive hills we are travelling through, cultivated with wheat which, just harvested, leaves the sunlit straw on the ground, making the landscape fairy-tale-like with its golden colour. As we proceed, the heavy traffic on the road increases noticeably; we are approaching the border with Iran; one of the few crossings for the passage of foodstuffs and other goods; since Armenia has no outlet to the sea it must transport everything by land. Suddenly we stop, we have to change our means of transport as the coach cannot proceed on the road leading to the monastery of Tatev.

Before getting into the minibuses, the driver very kindly prepares us a coffee, then, having climbed aboard, we set off immediately leaving the well-paved main road to proceed on semi-paved roads that take us into the heart of an extensive valley. After a few kilometres we reach a mining village; the houses are still in the Soviet style, grey-green with white windows and roofs of galvanised sheet metal or asbestos cement, and the whole gives the impression of being a building site rather than a village. We continue on the dirt road taking great care not to open the windows to avoid having to literally eat dust, enduring the heat that reigns inside the van; suddenly we stop: in front of us the road is blocked by some bulldozers that are working.

Irenia gets off to talk to the workers and reports back that, following some landslides, they are widening the road, but in a little while we will be able to pass. Stopped at the edge of the roadway I observe the road we have to travel, which winds along the mountainside until it reaches the valley floor and then climbs up the opposite mountain to disappear near the plateau ahead of us. Under the hot sun and immersed in the dust of the construction site we confidently wait for them to let us through, and indeed after almost an hour we can get back into the minibuses and continue towards the monastery that stands on the edge of the impressive Vorotan gorge. We reach the plateau where we find the village built around the monastery of Tatev (LP 223).

The structure was built starting from the 9th century and over the centuries it became an important centre; in fact in the 13th century as many as 680 villages belonged to the monastery and it became an important and renowned place of study. We arrive near the imposing perimeter wall where, having left the minibuses, we begin the visit of the complex. The entrance gate stands in a point easily defensible from attacks. Entering we find the mammoth church of Saints Peter and Paul which, built in grey stone, features the finely decorated gavit. Inside we find an altar decorated and prepared for a religious ceremony, and indeed shortly afterwards a monk appears who will celebrate the function. The building, although bare, shows its slender, simple architecture, in which the light entering through the narrow windows creates fascinating plays of light.

To the side of the church stood the renowned library that was destroyed by the Mongols, while it contained over 15,000 volumes between manuscripts and scrolls. On the walls where the library's shelves rested, the hollows carved into the stone to support the shelves for the texts are still visible. Just beyond the library stands the church of Saint Gregory, a simple structure lit by light filtering through cross-shaped windows. In the courtyard there is the Gavazan, a stele of stacked stones, 15 metres high, which served as a seismograph for earthquakes. As this is a seismic area, the stele, by oscillating, warned of an earthquake in progress; legend has it that many foreigners were frightened on seeing these enormous blocks of stone oscillating which, despite the earthquakes suffered, never collapsed; a great artefact of Armenian culture and stonecutter's art.

We visit the rooms still usable after the devastating earthquake of 1931; the refectory, the kitchen with its traditional bread-baking ovens, then we take a walk on the outer walls and when we lean over towards the valley floor we are literally drawn to the impressive void that opens up beneath us. We are at the highest point of the walls that overlook the valley floor; here the vertical drop is a few hundred metres and precisely at this point the Mongols threw the monks and the inhabitants of the villages into the void: a real massacre. Having finished the visit to this magnificent and much neglected monastery, having taken the minibuses again we retrace the dirt road until we reach the valley floor, where near the Devil's Bridge we stop to see the imposing ravine.

Near the river there are natural sulphur pools, suitable for a regenerating bath; arriving near the pools indicated by the guide, I find them crowded with people comfortably resting while sipping beer. Sunset catches us while we are still in the valley floor and only then do we begin the return journey while the darkness of night falls quickly. As we climb the mountain I can clearly see the pylons of the cable car under construction; a Swiss company is building this system, which practically travels horizontally; the work should come into operation at the end of 2010 with cabins for 25 people and a journey time of 11 minutes, which will save hours of travel, with descents and climbs, on dirt roads. The cable car will connect the miners' village with the village of Tatev; perhaps it will be an opportunity to proceed with the restoration of this monastery built in an enchanting position.

The return road seems much longer than on the way there; we are dusty, exhausted by the heat, sweaty and tired. Finally we reach the main road and, taking the coach, we head towards Sisian (PL 218), where we will stop for the night. We arrive at the hotel at 21:15; the place is simple and nice. We sit down for dinner; cold cuts, stuffed aubergines, cheese, Russian salad, soup with potatoes and meat, boiled rice, fruit. It is 23:00 when I turn on my mobile to send an SMS to Italy. Now it really is time for a regenerating shower and then a good sleep.

Part One

We spent the night with the window open to listen to the pleasant sound of the fountain in the square below, a sound that lulled our nightly sleep. In the morning, looking from the windows, we are greeted by a grey sky and windy weather; these colours make the already sad buildings of the small town even gloomier, and they too respect the classic Soviet style. I am quite stunned by this monotony of the buildings, almost as if, once the Soviet period ended, everything had inexorably come to a halt since 1991. I really have the sensation of travelling backwards in time, of being in a dimension completely different from the one I am used to in Italy and in other countries; it really is a different world.

We leave the city and, travelling through hills cultivated with wheat, we soon arrive at the archaeological site of Zorats Karer (LP 219), the Armenian Stonehenge; it is a large complex from the Bronze Age and the Stone Age and contains more than 220 monumental steles and megalithic constructions such as royal tombs and tumuli. The site extends over an area of seven hectares; the longest row of stones is over 250 metres long. Its origin and use are still unknown, but it seems it was an astronomical observatory. Similar stones are found in other areas of Armenia; in the Shirak region and in the area of Lake Sevan. They are all basalt stones and each is two to three metres high, weighing up to 10 tonnes, and they have a hole at the height of a seated or standing man; it is a place that must be visited, whose charm is lost in the mists of time.

I have fun observing the landscape through the holes in the stones and, looking at the sky, albeit overcast, I imagine observing celestial bodies in motion. We resume our journey towards Selim Pass, where we cross over heading for Lake Sevan. The wheat fields that yesterday, lit by the sun, appeared golden and shining, today appear yellow and grey. Along the route I notice many cattle and sheep grazing, while the houses, which do not change style, are flanked by enormous haystacks which, piled up in a pyramid shape, often exceed the height of the house and the stable. Here too I observe a detail that had struck me on the previous days; the fuel for the houses: here the sunflower head or dried cow dung is used.

I see quite a few beekeepers who have placed their hives in the meadows and they remain present on site, standing on wheeled carts that very much recall the travellers of some decades ago. Another thing that strikes me is that near the houses and in the grounds of the hotels the grass is never cut and in this season you see it yellowed and lying on the ground. As we travel the landscape changes radically, from cultivated fields, to pastures, to basaltic walls to steep mountains where the few grassy stretches are used for grazing or for growing vines or other fruit plants. In the valley floor carved by a stream we stop for a break; the table is outdoors on a terrace by the river which with its movement enlivens the stop; lentils, sauerkraut, salads, tomatoes and cucumbers, cheeses, sliced bread, bean soup with oregano, minced meat rolls, watermelon, Turkish coffee, are our lunch.

We resume our journey heading towards Selim Pass; having left the valley floor we begin to climb the mountains; the landscape becomes ever wider and suddenly the vehicle stops in a square; we get off and, camouflaged with the grass of the high pastures, we can see the caravanserai of Selim (LP 216); the structure was deliberately built camouflaged to protect the caravans from the bandits that infested the area. This is one of the countless buildings that stood along the trade routes; they served as lodging and place of exchange for caravans and wayfarers. This caravanserai is the best preserved of those that have come down to us. From the inscription on the lintel it can be inferred that the structure was built in the Mongol era; the building was erected with basalt stones and consists of two connected spaces.

At the entrance is the first room, which was intended for the caravan owners, while the second space, of considerable size (13 by 26 m), divided into three parts, was intended for the animals and for the exchange of merchandise. The interior is lit by chimney windows on the roof. We continue our journey and, having left the caravanserai, shortly afterwards we pass at 2,410 m above sea level through Selim Pass (LP 214) where the descent towards Lake Sevan begins; here the landscape changes again, in some stretches it is barren, while in others it is green and used for grazing. Having reached the vicinity of Lake Sevan we make a stop at Noratus (LP 192) where there is a cemetery with about 900 khatchkars, the stone crosses in the Armenian style.

We go into the ancient cemetery to admire these stunning crosses of every size and with enchanting craftsmanship; they are blocks of basalt or tuff, finely worked; adjacent to these crosses is the modern cemetery with simpler crosses, and while we are visiting the place a group of elderly women asks us for help; I take photos in exchange for a tip; a short distance away, among the crosses, the same women sell woollen artefacts they have made. Arriving at Lake Sevan (LP 188) and driving along the shore I can observe the tourist development during the Soviet period; the lake, considered the sea of Armenia, was one of the major seaside resorts of the entire country. The basin is immense; it has an area of over 1,350 square kilometres (5% of the entire territory of Armenia) and currently has a depth of 75 m.

In Stalin's time, the lake's water was subject to massive withdrawals for hydroelectric production and this created a notable lowering of the surface level; the rulers even made the mistake of intensively exploiting these waters which, due to the great evaporation, do not regenerate, and they tried to remedy the disaster by diverting other watercourses. Today, years later, the lake's level is slowly rising, but it will never return to its original levels since that would submerge the buildings constructed.

In the country's history, Lake Sevan was the scene of notable clashes; famous was the battle of 859 between Christians and Arabs when very many Arabs perished in the vain attempt to reach the island where the monastery of Sevanavank stands; the bodies of the Arabs, dressed in black, floating, gave the impression that the lake's waters were black; here originated the current name "Sevan" which means black. We arrive at the hotel, which is located on the lakeshore, a Soviet-era building recently renovated, very welcoming and luxurious, situated in a panoramic position. Dinner time arrives: vegetables, Russian salad, cheese, fish with potatoes, dessert, coffee; all accompanied by a good Armenian wine, ruby-coloured with a robust flavour. Given the hour and the location we linger chatting, before the inevitable game of burraco.

Part One

All night long an incessant wind blew, its gusts crashing against the hotel windows; in the morning the sky is partly blue. Breakfast and then a walk around the beach establishment which appears truly well organised; equipped with beaches, pools, a private pier. Looking into the distance I see that black clouds driven by the wind are coming down from the mountains; since cold weather is forecast, it will be useful to cover up and keep heavy clothing within reach. We leave the hotel and head, driving along the lakeshore, to the monastery of Sevanavank (LP 190) which originally stood on an island, now become a peninsula following the lowering of the water level. Here, as mentioned, the famous battle took place.

The church, built in the 14th century, has an architecture different from those seen previously; in the courtyard there is the oldest khatchkar found so far, dating back to the 5th century, carved into a block of green tuff, while the other crosses present date back to the 8th century. The church has the classic cross shape, the dome is octagonal and inside there are icons from Iran. We resume our journey and, moving away from the Sevan region, we go into the valley floor and then into a tunnel; on exiting the impression is of being projected into another dimension; to our eyes an alpine landscape appears, the houses have the architecture, colours and finishes of our alpine houses. Continuing we notice on the roadside numerous people with enormous pots from which steam rises; we ask who they are and Irenia explains that they are sellers of boiled corn cobs.

As we approach the city, the landscape and architecture change again; the valley opens up with woods and meadows and the more recent houses have coloured walls, red tile roofs and balconies on the facade, while the older buildings are in the usual gloomy grey style. In Dilijan we find only the classic Soviet houses; we pass quickly through the city to climb the mountain where shortly afterwards we reach the monastery of Goshavank (LP 197), which stands on a hill, on the edge of a small village. The monastery takes its name from Mkhitar Gosh, a monk who was a statesman, scientist, writer and author of the first Armenian penal code, whose remains are buried in a small chapel alongside the main complex. The monastery was for decades considered one of the main cultural centres of Armenia.

Today the complex includes the church of the Holy Virgin from 1196, the church of Saint Gregory and the library. What immediately strikes you about the complex is that it has no defensive wall; as if they did not fear attacks, invasions or destruction. Access is directly from the village houses that are scattered on the mountainside. Entering the church of the Holy Virgin I see a monumental khatchkar, in finely worked basalt, almost like embroidered fabric, and immediately my mind returns to the twin cross seen at the Armenian history museum in Yerevan (see page 21). The monk who carved these crosses took 70 years to finish these unique masterpieces; I pause in wonder to contemplate this excellent work and, given the opportunity, I photograph the details. Continuing we reach the library; the walls are blackened by the smoke of candles

Part One

At 7:30, low clouds blanket the forest and the mountain; during the night it rained heavily; the temperature is cool and it feels good with a nice sweater. After breakfast we set off with our coach toward a new destination. Along the way we cross mountain ranges and valleys, with extensive crops of sauerkraut and cabbages, as well as lush pastures where sheep and cattle graze. Reaching Ijevan (LP 197), we make a quick stop to buy the excellent Armenian brandy "Ararat" to take home. We resume the journey and shortly afterward arrive at a narrow, steep valley carved by a river, where the mining town of Alaverdi (LP 205) stands; we stop to change vehicles. Having gotten into two minibuses, we travel a road that winds upward toward the plateau where, surrounded by countless villages, the monastery of Ozun (LP 206) stands.

The 7th-century structure is dedicated to Saint Thomas the Bishop, which means "anointed"; the church, built of tufa, has a cross-shaped plan; behind the altar you can see a beautiful fresco of Mary with Jesus; outside, two finely carved tufa columns depict biblical stories. Once the visit is over, we descend toward the mining town, where the air is heavy because of the smoke from the chimneys, which struggles to disperse into the atmosphere; and it is precisely because of the highly polluted air that the population, over time, has built their homes far from the valley floor. We board our coach again and, after crossing the town, travel a road that climbs the mountainside, heading toward the monastery of Sanahin (LP 206), which we reach in a short time.

After leaving the coach, following a short path among souvenir stalls, we enter the well-kept and well-tended monastery enclosure, spectacular in its size and harmony. The beginning of construction dates back to the 11th century; later the complex expanded with several buildings constructed in successive periods. The gavits of the churches are astonishing; that of the Church of the Holy Mother of God is a large three-nave hall with low columns with intersecting arches supporting the roof, while that of the largest church of the complex, the Church of the Holy Redeemer, has four tall pillars with capitals and bases decorated with animal heads, fruit, and geometric designs.

The name Sanahin means "this one is older than that one," and its origin seems to date back to the period of the construction of the nearby monastery of Haghpat, where the builder indicated the first structure erected, thereby giving rise to a dispute that has lasted ever since. The floor of the gavit of the Holy Redeemer is strewn, as custom dictates, with tombs whose gravestones are carved basalt. As I wander through the monastery, I can observe the beauty of the buildings and the presence of numerous and beautiful khachkars carved in tufa. The two monasteries were important cultural centers; let us not forget that in the Middle Ages these places served as universities, and Sanahin was famous for its school of miniature painting and calligraphy.

The Mongol invasion of 1235 is to be considered the main cause of the general decline of monastic life, which led to the subsequent decay of the monastery itself. After leaving the monastery, we linger at the souvenir stalls; after all, today the trip in Armenia ends, so these are the last chances to make purchases. The stalls offer the classic wooden crosses, sometimes a piece of craftsmanship in raw wool fabric, liqueurs, spices, and more rarely cotton artifacts, while books and postcards are found mostly inside the churches. This souvenir sector is still in its infancy, and I am convinced that in a few years the offerings will be broader. Back in town, we stop for lunch, and during the break two other groups of Italians arrive; meeting up with fellow countrymen is always pleasant. In the restaurant there is musical accompaniment with piano and clarinet, which brightens the lunch.

After leaving the restaurant, I observe the town that rises in the valley carved by the river; the houses are built making use of every possible terrace cut into the steep mountain walls, while farther out from the town are the copper and iron foundries. One of them is in operation, and the smoke coming out of the chimney struggles to disperse into the air, falling to the ground and making the air truly heavy. Despite this imposing presence, the scenery is fantastic. Resuming the journey, we travel a few kilometers, and once back on the plateau, we head toward the monastery of Haghpat (LP 207), which stands on the same plateau as the monastery of Sanahin; the two monasteries are separated by a deep fissure carved by the river descending from the mountain.

We reach the monastery, one of the vital centers of medieval Armenia both culturally and religiously; for a long time Haghpat was the spiritual center of Armenia, and its university was famous throughout the then-known world. The complex is well kept; the cared-for buildings and the cut grass provide an excellent presentation of the place. Built starting in the 10th century, it represents an extraordinary example of medieval architecture. The gavit of the Church of the Holy Cross is dominated by the dome, and the water in a basin there was considered by many believers to have healing qualities. Continuing the tour, hearing a chant, we go into the gavit to listen to a priest: the acoustics are magnificent, and the voice spreads perfectly.

A little farther on, placed between two buildings, we see a stupendous khachkar with human figures (the only one seen so far and perhaps the only one in Armenia); the stone is pink with traces of color; starting from the top, God is carved, supported by two angels, and below that the crucifixion can be seen flanked by two men and two women; it is truly a great joy to observe this fantastic work. Behind the church we see the bell tower, built on three levels, the first of which is a Greek cross, the second octagonal, and finally the dome supported by seven columns. We visit the library: in the floor some amphorae are buried; it was the place where manuscript scrolls were stored, which could be pulled out with a rope, read, and then put back. Next we see the refectory, where pairs of columns support the magnificent ceiling made of cross vaults.

During the Middle Ages, which was the period of the monastery's greatest splendor, the abbot, his closest collaborators, and the elders dined in the refectory, while all the monks ate together with other people but not in the refectory: near one wall a millstone is visible to remind the diners that it was the work of the people that gave them nourishment. The monasteries lived on tributes from the villages, and the money was used for the expenses of the monastic community. The weather worsens; the clouds are covering the nearby mountain peaks; the time of departure is approaching, so we head toward Georgia. We travel through the green valley along the river, and in a few kilometers we reach the border. Here we will leave Irenia and the driver to take another guide. Stop at the border for the exit stamp from Armenia in the passport.

While we are in line, Irenia finds a Georgian guide who speaks Italian; we introduce ourselves and begin to socialize, convinced that she will be our guide, but between one word and another we realize that it is not her; she is waiting for a group of 53 Italians; thinking about it, we met them at the monastery of Haghpat, and from their accent they seemed Piedmontese to me. The moment has come to say goodbye to Irenia and the driver, who was truly good at guiding us along these roads, sometimes winding and sometimes not well paved. We head toward Georgian customs, and while I am in li...

Part Two

Once the group is back together, we load the suitcases onto the coach and set off for the capital of Georgia: Tbilisi. The landscape immediately looks different; we've come from a narrow gorge with a river running through it, and now we find ourselves on a plateau that is entirely cultivated and surrounded by green mountains. After just a few kilometres I realise I'm in another cultural and economic dimension; you see old Soviet-style houses alongside very beautiful recent homes—well kept, nicely finished, but above all colourful. The new or renovated civic and commercial buildings stand out from the greyness of those built in the Soviet era; a real leap in quality. Another detail that strikes me is the tractors working in the fields: brand-new New Hollands, and I'm left puzzled thinking of the old, albeit effective, tractors I saw in neighbouring Armenia.

When we reach Tbilisi we go to the hotel, where I rush under a hot, reinvigorating shower, then I turn on my mobile and find a strong signal: at least I can communicate with Italy. Sitting comfortably in the hotel lobby, I update my diary with my impressions of Armenia: it feels as if I've come back from a journey backwards through time. In Armenia I really wasn't expecting such a static reality; although there are some who try to move the country forward, most people seem to have stopped, waiting for the coming of I don't know what or whom. A country that is very beautiful in its nature, it needs some dynamic figure to spur it on and help it recover from the traumas suffered over decades of genocides and domination. It comes naturally to me to say: come on Armenia, you can do it, your thousand-year history teaches so many things, find the strength to start again.

But by now we're in Georgia and I want to see this country; dinner is scheduled for 7.30 pm, so we take advantage of the hotel's exchange office to get some Georgian Lari. Dinner time comes quickly, we cross the city by coach and at 8.00 pm sharp the city lights up, the monuments magically emerge from the darkness of evening; I watch in amazement at the castle, the tower, the churches; Tbilisi appears to be a modern city that, wanting to leave the period of Russian domination quickly behind, has taken the West as its reference model. For dinner we stop at a restaurant/brewery, a very nice and welcoming place; we dine on cucumber salad, chicken salad, sausage wrapped in a dough similar to our piadina, large meat-filled dumplings, beer or wine, melon (very fragrant), watermelon. Truly an excellent and tasty dinner; after a week in Armenia, changing flavours and tastes is a relief.

After dinner we ask Tamara whether it's possible to take a tour of the city and she obliges; it's wonderful to admire the city so brightly lit, the hills, the plain, the bridges, the river, the main buildings. Back at the hotel, some chat and some play cards.

Part One

The alarm goes off at 8.00, breakfast, then Tamara gives us some maps of Georgia; essential for getting an overall picture of the territory, on which I trace the route we'll be taking over the coming days. Having studied the programme and spoken with Tamara, we suggest modifying it; we'll start the tour by visiting Tbilisi, which stands in a magnificent position, enclosed on all sides by evocative hills, built on the banks of the Mtkvari River; it's a quiet place with a distinctly European atmosphere. Then we'll resume the original programme. We start with the church of Metekhi (LP 52), built on a rock sheer above the river, from where you look out over the city; the first building was erected in the 5th century but was destroyed during the invasions; the current building dates back to the 13th century.

A religious service is under way in the church; the main religion in Georgia is Orthodox Christianity. In the temple there is an icon depicting the Christian martyrs of the 12th century; it shows the Arab conquerors beheading Christians who refused to trample an icon and throwing their heads into the river. The historic and venerated icon is still visible today, positioned above the altar. On the way out, behind the apse, carved on the outer wall, you can see the "Georgian Cross of Life", a distinctive religious symbol. On foot we head towards the centre of the old city; after crossing the river we make our way among historic, well-kept buildings where you breathe a pleasant atmosphere of history and colour.

The second stop is at the synagogue; the Jewish community has been present in Georgia since the 6th century and has always lived peacefully, in the most absolute respect for the other local religions. We visit the place of worship, which preserves many ancient books and parchment scrolls; the interior is dignified and well kept. Continuing through the city's neighbourhoods, we come to a building with a crowd of people queueing; we ask what's going on and Tamara explains that we're at the city Seminary and the people in line are waiting their turn to sit school exams. A short distance away stands Sioni Cathedral (LP 50); through its modern portal, built in 1991, you enter the building dating back to the 13th century.

Beside the Cathedral stands the bell tower, where a monk swings the clapper to ring the bell; the observation that comes naturally concerns the possible deafness that will affect the monk. Right next to the cathedral stands the ancient caravanserai (currently a large building site, about to be turned partly into a museum and partly into a luxury hotel); all around are streets with Art Nouveau houses that make strolling pleasant. We walk along the capital's old alleys until, in the medieval quarter, we reach the oldest church in Tbilisi: the Anchiskhati Basilica (LP 51), erected in the 6th century. The 17th-century brick pillars and porticoes are clearly visible. The barrel-vaulted ceiling is entirely frescoed, as are the side walls, but unfortunately the frescoes have been blackened by the smoke of candles that have been burning for centuries.

Leaving the medieval part, we get back on the coach and cross the city heading towards the hills on the outskirts, where, walking along a path, we reach the ridge of the hill from which you look out over the city. We are at the foot of the Mother Georgia statue (LP 51), an imposing metal sculpture in Soviet style that, in appearance and features, recalls the Mother Armenia statue seen in Yerevan. Continuing along the path, which from above offers an excellent view over Tbilisi, we arrive at the Narikala fortress (LP 51), built in the 8th century: it is a beautiful example of military art and architecture. We come down from the hill and find ourselves projected into the Muslim quarter; we pass in front of the mosque and the Turkish baths; the local sulphur springs are a centuries-old tradition, frequented and praised by numerous historical figures, and are known throughout the world.

Some buildings have façades decorated with mosaics whose designs remind me of the buildings of Central Asia along the Silk Road. Once the city visit is over, we resume our original programme; back on the coach, we head for the church of Jvari, which stands on a hill a few kilometres from Tbilisi. Near a river we stop for lunch at a restaurant that has set up tables outdoors under a canopy, from where we can admire the church standing on the hill on the other side of the river. Lunch arrives: aubergines, Russian salad, cucumbers and tomatoes, focaccia filled with beans, grilled pork with onions, liver with onions. Georgian cuisine seems very different from, and much richer than, Armenian. Tamara has had them leave the coriander out of the dishes, and the food is very close to our own flavours.

While we eat, a light breeze picks up and tempers the intense humidity; having lunch in these conditions becomes truly pleasant. After lunch, and after a strong Turkish coffee, we set off again towards the church of Jvari (LP 70); we approach the hill and, starting the climb, soon reach the square in front of the church, where we are welcomed by some sellers of terracotta and wooden crafts. From the square and the church there is a beautiful view over the plain below, where the town of Mtskheta, the ancient Georgian capital, stands. The church, built without foundations, rests directly on the rock and was constructed in the 5th century in the classic Georgian style; it is a small but elegant building; the interior has a Greek-cross plan and the dome rests on an octagonal drum.

Once the visit is over, we head towards Mtskheta (LP 67), where we stop to visit the imposing Svetitskhoveli Cathedral (LP 68), one of the three cathedrals of Georgia. Svetitskhoveli means "Life-Giving Pillar" and is a place of great worship for Georgians, as legend has it that the tunic of Christ was kept here. The story tells of an enormous, immovable pillar that concealed at its base the garment of Christ, and of the person who died wearing it. Once the pillar was miraculously raised, the place became a place of worship and prayer, and numerous miracles manifested themselves. The first church built here dates back to the 1st century, but the current one was erected in the 11th century; inside there are beautiful 12th-century frescoes; the frescoed pulpit is stunning.

In the side nave there is a chapel that is a reproduction of the church of Jerusalem, where on Easter night the Holy Fire was lit and then carried to all the churches. On the way out, we walk around the immense and imposing construction, enclosed by a fortified wall built in the 17th century; the building is harmonious even though it was erected in an architectural style unusual for the time; it was built using stones brought from villages and tufa quarries in the area, and this varied origin means that in the church's load-bearing structure you can see stones in different shades: brown, green and grey. Leaving the Cathedral and heading towards the coach, we cross a small market where it's impossible not to stop and look at the stalls displaying various objects, some very interesting.

Resuming the tour, we travel along the Georgian Military Highway which, starting from Tbilisi and crossing the Caucasus, reaches all the way to Russia; the landscape is highly evocative, and over the coming days we'll see that it crosses valleys and plains, climbs and descends mountains, runs alongside rivers; truly a fairy-tale journey.

Part Two

Coming out of a tunnel, we find ourselves on a viaduct at the end of which, perched on a hill, the fortified complex of Ananuri (LP 99) stands solitary and dominant. The complex, in typically Georgian architecture, dominates the valley below, now filled by an artificial reservoir that only adds to its evocative power. Inside the fortress are two 17th-century churches; the larger one has outer walls that are entirely carved, with an imposing "Cross of Life" standing out, which gives it an extremely evocative appearance. Inside, the walls are frescoed with a magnificent 18th-century Last Judgment. We continue our journey, first alongside the river; then we begin to climb the slopes of the mountain, where the landscape becomes alpine and at times resembles our magnificent Alps; now we are in the Caucasus, where the major peaks exceed 5,000 metres with room to spare.

In the late afternoon we reach Gudauri (LP 101), a well-known Georgian winter sports resort; on arrival at the hotel, a shower and then a stroll among the lush green pastures beneath the imposing peaks, while in the sky, after a few days of bad weather, some blue appears. I hope it's a good omen for the coming days, so I can take nicer photos than those taken so far, which look flat because of the greyness caused by the bad weather. The Truso hotel, where we're staying, isn't the one in the programme, but it is clean, tidy and welcoming; a family-run place where we'll feel very much at ease. Dinner time comes, a buffet and without coriander; the food is very good and well prepared. Then the evening passes quietly in the cosy hotel, which resembles an Alpine chalet; I sort out my notes, study the upcoming destinations and then there's a game of burraco.

In the sky the clouds are thinning, revealing an intensely starry firmament; a deep dark blue lit by the bright full moon; let's hope that tomorrow, given the excursion on the programme, the weather is good.

Part One

Bright light filters through the room's shutter; opening it, I find a blue sky with very few clouds; the hope of seeing the Caucasus glaciers is coming true. I get my backpack, camera, a spare T-shirt and windbreaker ready; today a mountain hike awaits us. Tamara warns us that, clouds permitting, we'll have the chance to admire fantastic scenery; as a mountain lover, I'm fascinated by the expectations for the day and by the mountains of the Greater Caucasus, about which I've read a great deal in mountaineering magazines. We leave the hotel and take the Georgian Military Highway, which winds up through the imposing mountains and leads us to the Jvari Pass (LP 101), where we begin the descent towards Kazbegi, and shortly afterwards we stop in a car park. On the other side of the road, on the mountainside, there is a limestone deposit created by the water coming down from the mountain.

Tamara explains that the water has therapeutic properties and is excellent for the liver. I collect the water and drink it; others in the group follow suit, but shortly afterwards some have gastrointestinal problems. Resuming the descent along this wide valley, on the road we meet many trucks coming and going from nearby Ukraine; the roadway is sometimes narrow, sometimes unpaved, and the coach has to proceed very slowly. Along the way I notice many tunnels that are used in winter as avalanche shelters. On this stretch of the route we pass through some villages that are inhabited only in the summer months; the scenery looks like a nativity scene, tidy and clean; the clouds wrap around the peaks and sometimes even the whole road; the climate feels autumnal, but I keep hoping for good weather for the hike.

On a green, cultivated plateau on the opposite side of the river are some villages that can be reached either by a long and winding road or by a cable car daringly strung above the rushing river. Once in the valley floor, we reach the town of Kazbegi (LP 102), where in the square we find some off-road vehicles that will take us to the day's destination. A lively discussion breaks out with the drivers; they want to negotiate the price, the return time; they air problems about time and the capacity of the vehicles, and act arrogant and overbearing; it seems only the prospect of lost earnings brings them back to reason. Here the group decides to split up: some will go up by car and others will reach on foot the church of Tsminda Sameba (of the Holy Trinity), perched on the vertical slopes of the imposing mountain.

The meeting point is set at the church or the coach: it all depends on how long it takes those of us walking to reach the church after a climb of over 500 metres. The small group of seven sets off; we leave the square, walk alongside the Tergi River, cross it via the bridge and then, leaving the tarmac road, head towards a village on the mountainside. The climb starts gently at first and then gets steeper and steeper; the road becomes a path winding among houses and cultivated land; then suddenly, very steeply, it climbs up the mountain; we proceed slowly and with effort, pass near a cemetery and then enter the woods; we keep a steady pace, then the path becomes gentler and meets the road coming up from the valley floor. Now we walk easily along the road, which unfolds through increasingly sparse woods that give way to high-altitude pasture.

We reach a plateau and suddenly, almost an apparition, there right in front of us is the church of the Holy Trinity (LP 103); after more than an hour and a half of walking, the effort is repaid by this sight; quickly and overjoyed, we cross the plateau leading to the church. As we approach, I notice people waving to us on the church's defensive walls; they are the other members of the group waiting for us. Once we reach the church, the group is reunited and it's a lovely moment of joy; a group photo is definitely in order. I go up to the 14th-century fortified church and, just before the entrance, walk alongside the modern home of the monks who live in this enchanting place crowned by imposing mountains.

We enter the sacred area and find ourselves immersed in a building site; the monks, turned carpenters, are busy rebuilding the dome; having removed the old galvanised sheet metal covering, they have rebuilt the supporting timber and are now positioning copper sheets. It's striking to see these monks moving easily on scaffolding that looks unstable and precariously propped against the walls. It is always the monks who prepare the copper sheets to be placed on the dome; the sheets are cut without using gloves; their hands are protected only by some rags and bear numerous wounds, both bleeding and healing. The cut sheets are hoisted onto the dome by ropes that brush against the fragile scaffolding in place.

The position where the church stands is stunning; in front are the imposing Caucasus mountains, below it, almost sheer, you can see the town of Kazbegi, and behind, half-hidden by the clouds, you can just make out the imposing Gergeti glacier. We sit on the perimeter wall and Tamara explains the history of the church; after the effort of the climb it's lovely to listen to her in the warm, pleasant sun at 2,000 metres, immersed in this magnificent scenery. We visit the church; at the entrance a monk carefully checks that those going in don't have cameras within reach, as well as wearing clothing suitable for a religious building: anyone wearing shorts is stopped, and women may enter only with their heads covered by a veil. Once the visit to the complex is over, we have a packed lunch; the food prepared by the hotel has been brought up by the cars: vegetables, meatballs, dessert.

Sitting on the grass, in the warmth of the sun, as I eat I admire the glacier that is gradually emerging from the clouds and the mountains that form a crown around it. Once lunch is finished, the time for the descent approaches, and as I go over to the cars to put away the rubbish to take down to the valley, I notice that on the opposite side of the valley black clouds have appeared and are menacingly heading towards us; so we decide to set off towards the valley floor, while the Gergeti glacier, standing out against the blue sky, seems to want to bid us farewell. During the descent the sky grows more and more overcast, and when we reach the first houses on the valley floor it starts raining heavily; thank goodness we did the hike in the morning.

Once we reach the town, we meet the cars heading back up the mountain, taking other tourists to the church; I wouldn't want to be in their shoes in this heavy rain. With Ambrogina, walking at a good pace, we reach the town square and don't find the coach, but under a shelter we see the other members of the group taking refuge, and we quickly join them. The coach arrives but doesn't stop; it carries on; perhaps it's going to pick up Tamara and the others we left behind along the way; indeed, after a few minutes the vehicle stops with the other hikers on board.

Part Two

Shortly afterwards it stops raining, but the sky stays grey and threatening. We continue towards the Dariali Gorge (LP 105); a harsh and astonishing gorge carved into the mountain by the Tergi River. When we reach a lay-by, the last one before the nearby border with Russia, the coach stops and we get off to admire and photograph the spot. We return to the hotel, retracing the Georgian Military Highway while it starts raining heavily again; the climate feels autumnal and it's necessary to wear a jumper. Arriving at the hotel around 5 pm, I take advantage of the adverse weather conditions to sort out my notes and study the places we'll visit over the coming days. Buffet dinner, and we celebrate Gianfranco and Giuliana's 10th wedding anniversary; then the evening passes quietly with reading and card games.

Part One

The alarm goes off at 7:00. Thinking about the conditions of the previous afternoon, I curiously open the shutters and the day presents itself with a beautiful blue sky; the temperature is cool, but Tamara warns us that in the valley below, where we are headed, it is over 30 degrees, so I dress in layers so I can stay in a T-shirt during the day. While we drive through the stunning valleys dotted with green pastures populated by large herds of cattle and horses, Tamara gives us information about her country. The average salary is 700 lari, the pension is 150 lari; there is insurance for all citizens paid by the state. The school system is structured on a model of five-, four- and three-year tracks. The only major source of export is the coal mines. Oil, of which we have seen some wells in operation, is used domestically and is not exported.

There is a large steel mill in the country, a legacy of the Soviet era, but only a small part of it is still operational today. While Tamara explains the life of Georgia, we arrive at Gori (LP 70), the birthplace of Josif Vissarionovich Dzugashvili, known to history as Stalin, a highly controversial figure, but here in Georgia he is considered a true leader, enormously famous, respected and venerated. We see his birthplace, preserved under a temple-like cover, and the museum dedicated to him, built a short distance away. Traveling through the plain characterized by cultivated fields, we arrive at Uplistsikhe (LP 73), an ancient city dating back to 1000 BC, entirely carved into the rock and reworked until the 6th century AD. At the time it was one of the main political and religious centers, an important city that stood on the caravan routes between Asia and Europe.

Abandoned, it was forgotten for centuries until 1957, when the first archaeological excavations for its recovery began. Today only a small part of this immense heritage is visible, estimated to cover an area of 10 hectares. After parking the bus, we begin to climb the sandstone hill where the city is carved. We see the astonishing theater with its inlaid ceiling, the dwellings, the water cistern, the hall where public meetings were held. We return to Gori and pass beneath the ancient fortress; shortly afterwards we stop for lunch. While we eat, a 4x4 with EU insignia arrives. We ask Tamara why soldiers are present and she explains that they are busy monitoring the nearby border, while the building just a few meters from us is their base.

We resume our journey and as we leave the city we drive alongside what was once the steel mill par excellence of the Soviet Union, an enormous, immeasurable, immense complex stretching for several kilometers and today transformed into a sad and abandoned cathedral in the desert. Only a very small part is operational, producing steel for domestic use; a tangible example of the failed Soviet policy. We leave the city traveling through land cultivated with wheat, where the eye is captivated by the yellow of the crops. Then we begin climbing into the mountains again and stop at a local handicrafts market; here the production of terracotta items and woven wooden baskets is typical. We arrive at the Gelati complex (LP 79), built in the 12th century, which became famous for its academy. In the Cathedral of the Virgin we can admire the beautiful Byzantine frescoes.

We then see the academy, a building reconstructed and adapted to modern style, and the Church of St. Nicholas, closed for restoration, but thanks to the kindness of the restorer we manage to enter and admire the beautiful frescoes among the scaffolding. Finally, at the southern gate of the complex, we see the tomb of "King David the Builder" and other Georgian rulers. We return to Kutaisi (LP 76) and stay in a private house equipped to accommodate tourists; the structure is welcoming and clean. The accommodation is located on a hill facing the city amusement park, and from this position it commands a full view of the city. The view, especially at sunset, is very lovely. The sky remains cloudy and at times there is a light drizzle.

I am in Kutaisi, a place of mythological origin, the valley of the Golden Fleece of Jason and the Argonauts; here Greek mythology accompanies us on this journey. Shower and then dinner at 8:00 PM; the table is set with many dishes: raw vegetables, cooked vegetables, sausages, chicken, cheese, bread, soup, savory and filled pies, fruit. After dinner, we stay on the terrace listening to music that, coming from a concert in the city, reaches us perfectly, brightening our evening as well. Finally, even though it is almost midnight and the complex is still playing, I go to rest.

Part One

The day presents itself clear, unlike the previous days; the sky is completely clear — it seems like a mirage. The sun illuminates the city, reflecting off the roofs still wet from the previous day's rain. Breakfast, and before departing, since I have time, I update my diary; it's time to pack the suitcase, and after loading it onto the bus, we set off on foot. Crossing a neighborhood that is waking up, we head toward Bagrati Cathedral, the second cathedral of Georgia. We walk along streets that seem straight out of a fairy tale, with paved cobblestones; the well-tended houses are surrounded by trees, some with branches so laden with fruit they seem to defy gravity, and neatly cultivated vines where the first rays of sun strike the nearly ripe grapes. We arrive at Bagrati Cathedral (LP 76), or rather, at the construction site that encloses the cathedral.

We enter to visit what remains of what was, built from the 11th century, a stunning church. Destroyed in the 17th century by the Turks, the cathedral fell into abandonment; today, thanks to restoration work, we can admire, among the scaffolding, the perimeter walls, the finely carved entrance arch, and the grandeur of what must have been a spectacular place of worship. Returning toward the bus, I pause to observe, out of professional habit, a technical characteristic of Georgia and Armenia: gas pipes run externally and are not buried underground as they are in our country. I see various pipes, from the few centimeters in diameter of the radial connections to the large pipes of the main distribution, all above ground.

And it's amusing to observe how, near driveways, "omega" bends are created, always above ground with a height of several meters, to allow trucks to pass, and even more amusing to see the "omegas" for tractors to pass at the entrances to fields. I naturally think of the rigid regulations governing the transport and distribution of delicate and explosive gas that apply in Italy; the dissonance here is truly striking. Leaving Kutaisi, we see what was, also in the Soviet era, one of the foremost factories for trains and aircraft, today active only for routine maintenance of Georgian vehicles, while the production facility is completely decommissioned. The road is dotted with rest stops with lit braziers; travelers who stop can feed themselves with a snack of grilled meat: each region has its own specialties, and as we have seen, we go from wine to fruit to corn on the cob and now to meat.

We leave the region and upon arriving in another province I notice that even the handicrafts change significantly; here, outside the houses, there are stalls with bread as well as multicolored hammocks that brighten the landscape, while leaving the town, the landscape of countryside cultivated with wheat returns with its golden color, and the numerous stalls of vegetables, melons and watermelons reappear, neatly stacked, producing a striking sight. We arrive, or rather return, after this tour of Georgia, to Tbilisi. Lunch break, and in the afternoon the first stop is at the modern Holy Trinity Cathedral (LP 52); after years of construction it was consecrated in 2004. It is beautiful with its soaring Georgian architectural forms; the building is imposing and the interior is rich with precious and venerated icons. There are many pilgrims; truly an interesting place of worship.

Leaving the cathedral, we cross the neighborhood and can leisurely visit the many characteristic shops with items mostly of a religious nature. In mid-afternoon we return to the hotel, leave our suitcases in the room, and then go out to visit the flea market, where we find truly so much merchandise: from printed icons to embossed and worked ones, some very beautiful; paintings, antique bladed weapons, handicraft products, lots of Soviet merchandise, medals, clothing, binoculars, film cameras, porcelain, glassware, jewelry, household accessories, medical tools, radios, TVs, electronic components, tools, locks, keys … here you can truly find everything and for every budget, even things that are now impossible to find in our country, such as VHS camcorders, cassette players, vinyl records.

Evening has come, and returning to the hotel we change to go to the theater; a show summarizing Georgian history awaits us. Inside the venue, tables have been set up with wine, dried fruit and sweets. The wine is red, fragrant, and with its intense flavor is an excellent pairing with the dried fruit. The show symbolically retraces the history of Georgia, highlighting the crucial moments; only having read the history is it possible to understand the various scenes and the symbolism connected to them; a show that deserves to be seen. After the performance, we go to dinner, and after having seen Tbilisi at night, magnificently illuminated, we head to the hotel for a well-deserved rest.

Part One

It's Sunday; we sanctify the holiday, then breakfast. Today, two days before departure, Mariella isn't feeling well and decides to stay at the hotel. The day presents itself with an intense blue sky and the temperature is warm. We set off heading toward a region characterized by fields cultivated with vines; along the road there are many fruit stalls, mainly featuring watermelons, melons and onions. On the highway there is a slowdown; there is an accident and unfortunately a gruesome sight; on the roadway lies motionless, not yet covered by a sheet, the body of a man. For some in the group the sight is shocking and takes away the beauty of the day. We arrive at the Ikalto Monastery (LP 112), founded in the 6th century, which was one of the main academies of medieval Georgia. Although long abandoned and now undergoing restoration, it reveals its former magnificence.

The main building is the Church of the Transfiguration, built between the 8th and 9th centuries; the interior is bare, completely whitewashed by the Russians in the 19th century. The walls, though dilapidated, await cleaning to bring to light the covered frescoes. Of the ancient academy, only the perimeter walls and the pillars that supported the imposing four-story building are visible. We continue the tour until we reach Alaverdi Cathedral (LP 112), built in the 11th century and surrounded by imposing defensive walls; it is currently inhabited by monks. Entry is permitted only to those who wear (according to their rules) clothing suitable for visiting a religious building, and Gianfranco, who is wearing knee-length shorts, is forced to remain outside the walls.

Among other things, within the perimeter there is an absolute ban on photography, and there is a guard who is very quick and active in enforcing this rule. The complex is under renovation, but it is possible to visit the church: at the entrance, beneath the gavit with its wide arches, the beautiful 14th-century fresco depicting St. George with the dragon is visible; the interior of the church is, strangely compared to what we have seen so far, very bright because on the side walls there are many Gothic-style bifora windows that allow light to enter. Arriving at the altar, we pause to admire the painting of the Virgin, dating back to the 11th century; my attention is captured by the position of the choir, which is placed at mid-height along a wall of the central nave.

Going outside, I wander through the monastery courtyard, which is adorned with lovely and well-kept flower beds and made even more beautiful by ancient wine casks. On our way out we stop in the souvenir shop where very nice icons are for sale. It's time for lunch, and we head to a home that offers meals; a welcome opportunity to see typical Georgian dwellings and enjoy their great hospitality. The house is simple, situated on a hill where I admire the plain dotted with vineyards, whose rows paint regular marks on the horizon and whose grapes produce white wine. On the terrace the table has been set for lunch; the view is brightened by the green valley that stretches for many kilometers to the mountains that crown this verdant locality.

We are served tomatoes, cucumbers, Russian salad, tomatoes stuffed with meat, cheese pie, meat with puree, grapes, all accompanied by water and local white wine. After lunch we take a bus tour of the town of Kakheti (LP 108), where we see the imposing walls of what was the royal palace and the statue of Archil II, a venerated local sovereign. We thus arrive at Gremi Monastery (LP 112), which stands on a hill; its appearance is simple, made of red bricks, an unusual construction compared to the previous ones. Built in the 15th century. Inside the church, stunning frescoes are visible, and I am amazed by the beautiful shades of blue.

Near the church rises the tower-palace, which houses a small local museum; the rooms of the ancient palace are visible, with the kitchen on the lower floor and the chambers on the upper floor, from which dizzying escape routes depart to be used in case of siege. Having climbed up to the current bell tower, I enjoy the spectacle of the plain dotted with vineyards. We continue our journey until we reach the Ninotsminda complex, which collapsed following the earthquake of 1800; it is currently in a state of abandonment, though partially rebuilt. The complex is fortified with wide, powerful and singular walls with protected holes where, in case of siege, liquids were poured onto the besiegers. Returning to Tbilisi, we are greeted by the muggy heat that wears us out; but we are at the end of this interesting journey.

We arrive at the hotel and pack our suitcases for departure, or rather for the return to Italy. Dinner in Tbilisi at a characteristic restaurant: vegetables, cones with ricotta and arugula, focaccia with beans, spicy sauce, pork ribs with potatoes, chicken with garlic sauce and eggs, wine. The evening is brightened by a wedding and a show with dancers in traditional costume. Near us there is a table of young people; at a certain point in the evening the boys challenge each other to drink wine using a horn as a vessel; the amount I estimate is contained in the horn is about half a liter. The horn is filled several times by each participant until, no longer lucid, he abandons the competition; different countries, different customs. A beautiful evening, almost a sweet farewell from Tbilisi and Georgia.

We return to the hotel and the devoted burraco players challenge each other in the last game.

Part One

The alarm clock, implacable, goes off at 1:45 AM. We grab our suitcases and set off for the airport, which is a few kilometers from the center. Check-in, and here too the electronic ticket shows the limits of technology and creates some difficulties for us, but little by little we check in our suitcases and collect our boarding passes. We take off; the sky is clear, from above we can see cities and roads, then the black of the Caspian Sea, and finally, entering the clouds, the panorama disappears. We land in Vienna; it's raining and the temperature is 14° C. We put on sweaters, say goodbye to Sandro who, for work reasons, must leave us and takes a direct flight to Moscow. At boarding for Milan I still have problems with the ticket printed in Tbilisi; once the difficulties are overcome, we are all on board and depart for Malpensa.

We take off; the Alps are covered by a layer of compact clouds; only at times do I glimpse the Austrian peaks covered with abundant snow; it feels like winter. We arrive in Italy; the clouds thin out. Following the on-board map, I identify Bolzano, the Dolomites, some of whose peaks I recognize, then the Adamello with its flat glacier appears, followed by the Valtellina, Lake Como, the Lariano triangle, San Primo, a mountain dear to me, then Como, and finally the towns of the Varese area around Malpensa. We disembark, wait for the suitcases; mine doesn't arrive. I file a lost luggage report, wait for possible checks, and finally return home without my luggage; it will be delivered to me two days later.

In the meantime I have already downloaded the photos, started organizing them, numbering them, recalling the sites photographed, but I have difficulty matching photos and names, and only with painstaking work do I manage to catalog them all. By now the trip, with its history and the places visited, is a memory. I begin writing the diary, into which I transfer the sensations and impressions from this enchanting vacation in the Middle Ages that allowed me to understand many aspects of history, which I have tried to recount, albeit in a concise way, in this piece of writing. Among enchanting landscapes, peoples on the mend, semi-abandoned monuments and many undergoing restoration, the experience was extremely positive and culturally interesting. While preparing the diary, I am already thinking about the next trip, another country with a centuries-old history ….

follow me in my stories! See you soon.

Three reasons to make the trip

• Countries rich in art, culture and nature, whose history is the result of complex movements of peoples who have lived in the area. History begins in the Neolithic and develops up to the present day. It is the opportunity to travel in a land that has witnessed the evolution of humanity.

• The people with their beauty, their manners. Art and culture of peoples with an ancient fascination that must be sought in the historical vicissitudes that have characterized the area.

• Traveling in nature, seeing the parks, relaxing at the thermal baths is an opportunity not to be missed. The encounter with a sometimes pristine nature is alone a reason to undertake this fascinating journey.

Acknowledgements

At the end of this work, I feel I must express my personal thanks to all those who made this trip possible; a trip rich in history, culture but also in nature and humanity. Gratitude also to those who encouraged me and to those who assisted me in the creation of this written work.

A special thanks to: • Don Maurizio Corbetta, Parish Priest of Rovello Porro (CO), creator of the trip. • Irenia and Tamara, the guides who accompanied us, for their professionalism; for bringing us closer to Armenian and Georgian cultures and traditions. • Foto Ottica Balestrini Luca of Rovello Porro (tel. 02.9675.2227) for the advice and the photography equipment provided to me. • Laura who contributed to the presentation and proofreading of the diary.