Richard Hill - The Thousand Types of Tiflis (1916)

Richard Hill, The Thousand Types of Tiflis, the Capital City of the Caucasus in whose Streets a Myriad of Types Rub Shoulders - The Joys of a Caucasian Turkish Bath

Source: Travel magazine, Volume XXVII, No. 2, June 1916

WHAT a picture and what a panorama meets your gaze as your train from Baku suddenly swings around the curve, bringing you in sight of Tiflis! The city lies in the hollow of a deep saucer sprawling along the banks of the tortuous Kura, which straggles up the steep sides of the saucer, shut in on all sides by high mountains. The railroad runs along the side of the bowl, the station being some little distance above the town proper.

Coming in that way you are suddenly brought face to face with a superb view of this most fascinating and interesting city of the East. You look down over the many tinted roofs of the houses perched so perilously on the steep banks of the river, and see into the heart of the old Georgian town and into the Tartar section, with its bazaars, mosques, minarets, and, towering over them all, the grim walls of the great city prison, once a Georgian palace. From that your gaze travels across the swift flowing Kura to the newer section of the town, with its wider streets, finer buildings and more European aspect. Then along the Golivinsky [Golovinskii] Prospect, the backbone of that newer section, the eye travels over the Vera Bridge to the Michaelofski [Mikhailovskii], a busy thoroughfare, out through the Mushtihid Park to the Race Track, and then on to the German Colony, finally losing itself in the Georgian Military Road in the distance. The whole scene is backed by the narrow, precipitous ridge along which, in a rambling fashion, the old fortress was built, parts of which remain as a picturesque background for this unique Eastern city.

Looking down upon the town as it lies at one's feet the most striking feature about it is the great number of churches that raise their multicolored and diversely shaped spires in the air. What a bewildering variety of style they present! Here we have, for instance, the plain, octagonal, single-spired church of the Armenian, usually of white stone or of plaster. There you see the gray stone church of the Georgians, severely plain; not far away the tall spire of the German Lutheran is seen; and here and there in various sections of the town the gilded minarets of the Moslem mosques show themselves, these all in turn being outnumbered by the wild confusion of the strange medley of Russian ecclesiastical architecture that forces itself upon the view. By far the biggest of these is the war cathedral [on the Golovinskii Prospect]. It is situated on a large square in the very heart of the town, close by the Viceroy's palace. As you look at it from the height of the railroad, it looks for all the world like a series of huge bowls set on end, with one a little larger placed on the top of these, gilded till it shines like the top of a gigantic gold thimble, the whole surrounded by a large gold cross.

Apart from the churches, the prison and the ruins, there are no outstanding features of the landscape except it be the funicular, the cable railway that climbs to the top of St. David's mountain right behind the town. Tiflis is the capital of the Caucasus, the seat of the Viceroy who rules this province in the name of the Czar. At the beginning of the Sixth Century it succeeded Mtzkhet [Mtskheta] as the capital of the Georgian kings. In 1395 the city was plundered by the Tartar chief, Timur; later, the Persians ruled over it, and it was finally ceded to the Russians in 1801.

Nowhere else in the world can one find in a similar area so many types of peoples, so many languages and dialects, so many religions and sects, as in Tiflis, for it is here that East meets West, and here also that East remains East. Tiflis can well be called the potpourri of races, tongues and religions. New York's cosmopolitanism, great as the New Yorker thinks it to be, is provincial compared to the riotous, regardless confusion of Tiflis. Nearly seventy languages are spoken daily on its streets, and to stand, for instance, on the Golivinsky [Golovinskii] Prospect and see the afternoon parade of fashion pass by is to imagine oneself in a Buffalo Bill's congress of nations.

Look at them, then, as they pass by. Here we have the Leshghin [Lezghin] from the mountains of Daghestan, in close-fitting, long, dove-colored coat, tight-fitting around the waist. High, soft leather boots, ending at the knee in tight trousers. A huge, gray lambskin hat perched rakishly on the side of his head adds two feet or more to a stature well on to six feet, forming as handsome a picture as one could wish to see. Swinging by his side will be a long jeweled sword and dagger, reminder to all of the great fight his people made against the Russian army under Shamyl [Shamil], the hero of Daghestan.

Behind him will be a Georgian nobleman clad in snow white broadcloth coat cut long and tightly fitting as the Leshghin's, but differing in having a row of cartridges sewed across his breast. At least that is what they were once intended for, but now they have been replaced by fancy ivory pieces topped with silver. His huge hat will be snow-white lambskin shaped like a grenadier's busby. Then will come a Georgian peasant in black, shiny coat and trousers, the trousers baggy and very wide, ending in sandals made of rough canvas. On his head is a little round cap just big enough to sit on the very back of the head, something like the caps worn by English schoolboys.

After him you will see the handsomely gowned Turkoman from across the Caspian in flowered silk bathrobe and huge, gaily colored turban; then the somberly clad Persian in his stiff, black lambskin hat and flowing robes: the Moslem priest in his sweeping garments and spotless white turban; the Armenian from Ararat in his thick, padded coat and felt waistcoat: the Mingrelian; the Imeritian; the Greek—all in the national dress of their people; the Russian peasant with his slouchy gait, huge leather boots and thick fur cap; and, as it were to add whatever color had been forgotten in this motley combination, we have the Yezidee [Yazidi] Kurd from the Kars region supplying the lack. He sports visually a brilliant scarlet long coat with a richly embroidered waistcoat, trousers with a deep gold stripe down the side, the whole topped off with a gorgeous turban of varied silk.

The women's clothes I would fain describe, but my pen refuses the task; suffice to say that the Eves of the Caucasus in relation to their dress are fearfully and wonderfully made.

Do not think, however, that the newer styles of the West are not seen here, for you will find dandies and dudes quite as up-to-date as any Beau Brummel from London, and the costumes and styles of many of the ladies are not far behind those of Paris and Berlin, for many travel abroad and learn the newer fashions of the West, losing the picturesque freedom of their national costume for the slavery of the fashion plate.

Besides all this, Tiflis being a garrison town with thousands of soldiers quartered here continually, the military adds its quota of color and effect to the general scheme.

By far the most interesting part of the town is the Tartar section, known as Shaton Bazaar—in other words, Satan's market. It is really the old, narrow', congested, original town, fairly reeking of the East and a delightful place in which to be turned loose with a pocketful of money and a hankering after antiques and curios. All through it, tucked away in odd corners, you come across shops filled with loot of all kinds that gladdens the heart of anyone fascinated by the East and anxious to carry some of its glamour to the matter-of-fact West. In these shops you can find queer copper vessels made ages ago in the mountains of Daghestan; beautifully chased, old-fashioned rifles; complete suits of armor, worn not so long ago either, by these wild Caucasian mountaineers; delicately fashioned drinking cups and vases; silver spoons of odd designs; daggers innumerable of all possible shapes and sizes; samovars richly engraved and embossed; endless varieties of shoes and clothes, and a multitude of other things that one can gloat over even if the pocket cannot afford to buy them all.

Then, how interesting it is to nose around in the queer bakeshops of the Tartars, where they bake their bread in huge ovens like inverted cones, slapping the thin, flat cakes against the sides to bake, and then afterwards hanging them on a line outside the shop to dry! Or, if you should be hungry and your stomach a strong one, you might slip into a native restaurant for lunch. They will bring you a big bowl of what looks like soup, pieces of meat, onions, carrots, tomatoes and potatoes stewed together, and with it in lieu of cutlery, one of these breads, now dry and ready to eat. The bread you pull off in strips, roll it up like a cone in your hand, and then dip it in the soup, skillfully extracting with it a piece of meat or vegetable which you eat with the bread. They will be sure to serve you tea in two teapots. One contains the tea and is a small one fitting into the larger one which holds the hot water, in order to give you several glasses.

Then you will want to stop and look into the blacksmith shop, the anvil like a fort with a moat around it, for the men who swing the heavy hammers stand in a deep hole dug around the anvil, so as to give them more play in their work. They will be stripped to their waists, and as they work they sing a fierce native song, so that a sudden glimpse into the darkness of a smithy lit up for the moment by the glowing and flying sparks is one not soon forgotten. When you pass by a place filled with bloated looking animals, you will naturally wish to investigate, and you may be a bit chagrined to find that you have merely looked into a wine shop, for that is the way they keep their wine for the most part. That is, they take the skins of rather large animals, clean them, inflate them, and then fill them up with wine.

Over in the newer part of the town you can shop with as much comfort as in any large European city, with a variety of choice not a great deal poorer. Traveling about the city, you have the choice of a very good electric car service or the ever-present phaeton. This is a low carriage something like a drosky, drawn by two horses that are kept at a furious gallop all the way. They stand at every street curb and are a boon to the shopper, for they take you rapidly to any point you may wish to make and as you shop you can fill up with your purchases the capacious hollow in the hood of the cover.

Tiflis is red hot in the summer, the hills surrounding it keeping away the cool breezes that would ordinarily come down from the snow-capped mountains of the backbone of the Caucasus. The nights especially are humid and close, but then Tiflis does not go to bed until morning, for its people usually spend the first part of the night in the multitudinous tea gardens that are to be found everywhere. These are prettily shaded by trees strung with colored electric lights and have in one corner a large stage where native dances are danced and Caucasian songs sung. The public sit at little tables drinking either Russian tea or the famed wines of this district.

Surrounding Tiflis, however, within easy reach, are many cool mountain resorts quite the equal in scenery and in health of the famed Swiss resorts. The winters are delightful, provided there be no unusual rain, for the same hills that keep away the cool breezes in the summer also shelter Tiflis from the cold north winds, so that snow is rarely seen and frost practically unknown. In the spring and early summer it is most interesting to stand upon one of the many bridges that span the Kura and watch the rafts that come sweeping down the river from points further up country. These rafts are composed of long timbers cut down in the winter months and floated after the ice breaks up. On them at times much country produce is piled, and to see the skillful way in which they are guided down the swift current and finally brought to land on the flats in the lower part of the town is a constant source of delight to the uninitiated.

Then one must not forget the famous sulphur baths of Tiflis. These are found down in the section of the city known as Shaton Bazaar, and cover an area of several blocks. The water is quite warm, almost hot, and very sulphurous. The bath houses are composed of little rooms with dome-like roofs, an aperture in the center of the dome giving light. In these rooms are marble tanks through which the water flows. You can get a Tiflis Turkish bath if you wish, and it is an experience long to be remembered. The attendant slaps you around in an orthodox fashion and then suddenly turns you over on your face and begins to run up and down your spine as fast as he can, fairly pummeling you with his toes and feet, leaving you feeling considerably better, but also quite bewildered and breathless.

But the great charm of Tiflis lies in the fact that it is a center of a region that is rich in ancient lore. From its roads radiate in every direction that take you to the quaintest, oddest places imaginable. For instance, just along the Kura valley a bit you come to a place called Mtzkhet [Mtskheta], the old capital of Georgia, where is to be found one of the oldest churches in the world. It is just as it has been for centuries, undisturbed and unaffected by the rush and whirl of Twentieth Century progress, sleepily dreaming over its former greatness. Then back in another direction you get into Daghestan, where men still wear chain armor and where feuds as old as Noah's time determine the destinies of its people. Going south you have the whole Erivan and Ararat region to explore, Ararat inviting inspection with its historic memories. Lake Gotchka with its magnificent fish and its famed monasteries, Anni [Ani], the ancient capital of what was once the Kingdom of Armenia, where an old German professor has dug and excavated for years, bringing to light much valuable information regarding the life of that old capital and its people who were blotted out in one of the frequent deluges of invasion that have swept over this region. These little excursions, too, give you an insight into the life of the country as nothing else can, for on these roads can be seen the people as they live, work and travel, and one such trip is an education in itself.

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In short, a trip out of the beaten track to Tiflis will be long remembered as a delightful glimpse into primeval conditions of peoples primitive and simple in the extreme, and will transport you back to the breezy, racy times of the Arabian Nights without the aid of the magic carpet, but accomplished in comfortable trains and by easy traveling.