Uplistikhe – Surami – 75 km
The morning began with a gentle descent, the kind that lulls you into a false
sense of ease. Just twelve kilometres from my timber guesthouse, nestled
among vines and dumpling memories, lay Gori—a town with a name that
echoes through history, heavy with implication.
I arrived Gori, the birthplace of Joseph Stalin with curiosity, not reverence. The
statue that once loomed over the town square had been removed, its absence
more telling than its presence ever was. But the museum remained, a relic of
Soviet pride and post-Soviet reckoning. As I approached, I crossed paths with
two Chinese women and their English-speaking guide. They invited me to join
them, and I gratefully accepted. Some places demand interpretation.
Inside, the guide spoke with clarity and candour. There was no attempt to soften
the edges of Stalin’s legacy. Instead, she offered facts—meticulously
researched, quietly devastating. We moved through rooms filled with artifacts,
photographs, and contradictions. I found myself unsettled by the parallels
between Stalin’s behaviour and the bravado of certain modern leaders. History,
it seemed, was not content to stay buried.
Outside, the sun was high, the air thick with silence. I cycled to the Gori
Fortress, perched on a rocky hill overlooking the town. Its origins stretch back to
the final centuries BCE, though written records only begin in the 13th century. I
climbed the ancient stairs, each step a reminder of the layers beneath my tires,
beneath my feet, beneath my thoughts.