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Jonathan had an idea to visit a back-street khinkali restaurant which seemed like something of an adventure. Khinkali are traditional Georgian dumplings that consist of pleated dough parcels typically filled with a spiced mixture of meat, such as beef, pork, or lamb along with aromatic herbs. The defining characteristic of the dish is the savoury broth trapped inside the dough, which is created as the meat juices release during the boiling process. Eating them is a specific ritual in Georgia, they are held by the ‘kudi’ (hat) or thick dough knob at the top, which remains uncooked and should be discarded, while it’s expected the diner makes a hole in them and drinks the soup. It all sounded like a right faff.

This wasn’t a shiny chain restaurant, it was very much a traditional and basic food option that has likely been serving locals for decades. There was a friendly welcome and an inviting atmosphere, so it all looked positive. The restaurant was full for most of our visit, so this was a fast service venue that was obviously popular, with the shop next door selling uncooked versions of them to take away.

That’s the entirety of the menu there, you can have beer and khinkali. There is nothing else.

They are not presentationally great if I’m being honest. I discovered later that they can be fried or steamed, just like the similar Polish gyoza, with the fried versions always looking better. I was quite suspicious about these before tasting them, but I had one and they were really rather lovely. No-one else in the venue seemed to be piercing a hole and drinking them, so I just cut into them and the liquid had a depth of flavour and some spiciness to it.

It was Jonathan’s turn to deal with the bill. I did try some of Jonathan’s beer, but it was, er, a little basic. But, it’s hearty stuff and I don’t think they’re trying to compete with my craft beer bar diet of sours with a chicken schnitzel. Definitely a recommended experience and the service really added to the whole arrangement.

Whilst looking out onto the Black Sea, the pirate ship Eldorado came into sight.

It might just be a tourist ship now taking interested visitors around the coast to have a look at Batumi from the water, but it must have been quite something for those who lived here to see invaders approaching by boat. There have been pirate boats on the Black Sea for hundreds of years from the times of the Goths and, in not a dissimilar way, there is still military action in the waters of the occupied territories of Ukraine.

In my last post I showed a map of Batumi from the very end of the nineteenth century, but this is what it looked like in 1870. This is from a time before the railways reached (they got here in 1883) and before much of the development that took place later in the century was even thought of. A few years after this more defensive structures were added by the Ottomans, fearing a Russian invasion, and it was all likely relatively peaceful.

Our second museum of the day was the Museum of the State of Adjara, a wide ranging affair which had this interesting map of how the city looked in 1899. The seafront area is only half developed here, with the old city and port being the most built up at the time.

The current railway station, of which more soon, is currently located around two miles outside of the city. In this map, the original railway station is visible, in a more convenient central location. It reminds me a little of the early maps of Las Vegas that were split up into these smaller plots.

I get the impression that in twenty years the city of Batumi will be hard to recognise because of all of the residential and commercial developments being built. The residents of Batumi live in interesting times (which may be good or bad)……

There were a few of these around Batumi, showing what the city once looked like. In a city which is as fast changing as this, I really like that they’ve done this to try and get an understanding of how things once looked.

The building has changed somewhat since the original photo was taken in 1905, it seems to have gained a floor now and also changed its function.

And the last painting for the moment as I’m conscious that this blog is still in Batumi and I’m Prague ready to come back to the UK, so it’s not what might be called live blogging…..

Anyway, this is another artwork by Richard Sommer (1866-1939) who I’ve already mentioned went missing at the outbreak of the Second World War. The city of Samarkand, in Uzbekistan, seems interesting because of its long history, although I suspect it’s going to be a while before I get to visit it.

The element that I was most interested in here is that AI mentioned it thought that this was likely purchased by a wealthy member of the Russian nobility. This was apparently a time, just before the First World War, when Russian nobles were running this area of the world and they wanted an artistic depiction of the cities that they were governing. I’ve never really thought of the Russian elite being sent to this region, in the same way as the British sent their elites to India, but I’m attracted to the thought that this painting was a link to that.

Perhaps the frame was an addition to that feeling of decadence and ostentation, a period of time when Russia felt its international strength growing. I am perhaps overthinking these things, but I like distractions….

This oil painting is by Richard Sommer (1866-1939) who was a German who studied in St. Petersburg and became an influential artist in Russia. He then travelled extensively around Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan, although the Second World War came around and he disappeared. This was a melting pot of people at the best of times before the conflict threw everything into the air, so anything could have happened to him.

The painting itself is of two yurts, now more commonly used by the middle class in fields across England as some glamping project, with some nomadic people. In the background are the Transcaucasian mountains, which we didn’t cross on our two week trip to the area (not least as they’re on the Russian border) but we can close to them at times.

Not being an expert on frames, I’ve gone to AI to date that, and it tells me that it’s a utilitarian picture frame from the late 1800s that was functional and decorative. And that fits into this being something likely painted for the home market, a little bit of culture that was on the wall of someone’s house once…