Detour to Chiatura & Katskhi

In recent years, I have used the website Atlas Obscura as a helpful resource for my travel planning. The website catalogs a never-ending stream of quirky sights ranging from the bizarre to the outright scandalous. Some typical sights listed include the abandoned subway stations in New York City and the crash location of Hindenburg. On the website, you wouldn't find typical tourist attractions like Buckingham Palace or the Empire State Building. Over the years, the website has become an invaluable resource in all my trip planning. It is almost always true that you will never find any overlap with any guidebook, unofficial or not. So, when planning our trip to Georgia, I immediately updated the website to see what unconventional sights I might not want to miss on our upcoming trip.

How could you not be drawn to a place like this?

It did not take long to notice the small town of Chiatura and Katskhi Column. To my delight, it was conveniently located midway between Gori and Kutaisi, albeit a slight detour through the dramatic Qvirila River Valley. Following our visit to the disturbing Joseph Stalin Museum in Gori, we were happy to have a well-deserved psychological escape from the Soviet dictator. The 90-minute drive from downtown Gori was surprisingly easy. As much as people warned us about driving in Georgia, the roads were surprisingly decent, and I don't think Georgian drivers are as aggressive as people make them out to be.

After exiting the sparklingly new S-1 Highway, the regional expressway snaked through the rolling hills before following the narrow valley floor of Qvirila. As we approached Chiatura, the canyon narrowed dramatically, and it quickly became clear that this was not just any typical industrial town.

The Dystopia of Chiatura

The industrial town of Chiatura was founded in the late 19th century after the discovery of manganese ore. With some preliminary explorations, a railway link was constructed to connect Chiatura to the outside world. Before World War One, the mine at Chiatura accounted for over half of the world's manganese output. It was amazing that this little town in the middle of the Caucasus was once one of the most important industrial engines in the world. Essential to the production of industrial-grade steel and aluminum alloy, manganese became one of Georgia's most essential exports until the second half of the last century. So what exactly drew visitors nowadays to Chiatura?

The center of Chiatura surrounded by the steep valley.

Chiatura was a perfect encapsulation of the Soviet worker utopia. Even though the mining activity occurred in the area well before the Bolshevik, this part of Georgia has been the center of Bolshevism in pre-Soviet Georgia. Around the time of the Russian Revolution, Georgia was aligned with the social-democratic faction of the Socialist Revolution, commonly known as the Mensheviks. The division between Mensheviks and Bolsheviks was the struggle between the authoritarian rules of the chosen few, like that of the USSR, and the social-democratic model in today's Scandinavia.

In contrast to the rest of Georgia, Chiatura's embrace of Leninist Bolshevism originated from the brutal working conditions miners endured. The 18-hour workdays and squalid living conditions at the Chiatura mines prompted the miners to embrace a Leninist view of revolution through the armed uprising. It was said that Joseph Stalin delivered a fiery speech to Chiatura miners to take up arms for Leninism.

Perhaps recognizing Chiatura's contribution to the Soviet Union, Joseph Stalin commissioned a series of aerial "ropeways" to connect miners across the dramatic terrain. First constructed in 1954, the innovative transport system was the first of its kind and greatly increased the productivity of the mine. It is not only the town's most visible feature today but remains the economic and social lifeline for its 20,000 residents today. We could immediately appreciate the city's majesty as we parked our car at the central square in front of the Chiatura City Hall. It was clear just how the cable car system allowed the Soviets to construct apartment blocks at seemingly precarious locations. The people here get some of Georgia's easiest yet exciting commutes. Although I have seen pictures and videos of the cable car system previously, the sheer drama of this place was simply stunning in person. It was even slightly terrifying.

Like many post-Soviet industrial towns, Chiatura has fallen on the difficulty of the modern globalized economy. The town is only a shell of its former self. It was aided by the fact that there were two dozen cable car routes in its heyday. Today, only half of the routes are still in operation, all in their original vintage form. Carriages of inactive lines hanged motionless in mid-air, often hundreds of feet above the roaring River Qvirila. It was some of the most eerie sights that I have come across. Together with the abandoned industrial buildings and cliffside concrete apartment blocks, the urban landscape of Chiatura is magnificent and enigmatic. This little town has been the backdrop of several films in and outside Georgia, including City of the Sun and Partisan.

Just a minute or two north of the city hall was one of the few remaining stations in the center of town. Constructed of pure Stalinist style, the station was adorned with the mosaic portrait of Lenin and Stalin and appeared abandoned. Just immediately beyond the station vestibule was the main passenger embarkment hall. The tramway terminal was void of any safety guardrail or modern contraption, which was itself a point of fascination. I did wonder whether there has ever been an actual fatality in its remarkable seven-decade run. From the passenger platform, we gazed at this lone passenger suspending freely in the air.

Just as I was disappointed that this particular line appears to be another victim of Chiatura's post-Soviet decline. Suddenly, a middle-aged woman appeared out of nowhere. She gestured us toward a blue tram car just off the vestibule. It just happened that another line serviced by this station was still active. Praise the Lord!

Although I was more than enthusiastic about jumping into the "Stalin's death coffin,” Brian was far less than enthusiastic by the obvious lack of safety measures. We were certain that there had not been any significant upgrade since the Stalinist days. With the women waiting by the control station, we decided to go up alone and phone Brian on the top. The two-minute ride was thrilling as the only way to see out was through these two little portholes. As expected, there were no grab handles or emergency buttons. But the ride was surprisingly smooth and was among the steepest cable car rides I have ever been on.

The view from the top was magnificent, and it was amazing how the Soviets developed Chiatura into its current size despite its challenging topography. What surprised me was the destination itself. It was a couple of drab apartment blocks and an inconspicuous playground. For a split second, I got jealous of the residents; they had one of the most scenic and convenient commutes I could imagine. At the same time, I did wonder for a minute whether I could get back down safely and reunite with Brian. Luckily, I got to ride the tram down with a local, who was amused by my tourist fascination with his town. Unlike your typical public transport, Chiatura's ropeway operates on demand. No doubt, the residents have a unique affinity toward their tram operators.

View of central Chiatura from the top of the funicular.

We had a short stroll across the river as we were short on time. There were plenty of interesting but kitschy structures. After ten minutes, we started to appreciate the peace and quaintness of this town. Chiatura was no longer a scary dystopia when it first appeared. Looking past the austere facade, we returned wishing we had spent a night there. There was no doubt that the Chiatura that we saw was only a moment in time. Shortly before our visit, Chiatura's tramway system was placed on Europa Nostra's list as one of Europe's most endangered cultural sites because of the lack of financial resources from the government. Perhaps due to its bad press, Tbilisi announced later in 2018 that the tramway will undergo extensive modernization in the coming years.

Futurist tram station, which is among the most beautiful stations I have ever seen.

Ironically, architects and urban planners worldwide have long dreamed of aerial tramways as the solution for urban traffic. And yet, this system is hanging on its thread. Aerial tramways are not unique as a form of public transit in and among some of the largest metropolises in the world. From New York’s Roosevelt Island tramway to the extensive Mi Teleférico in La Paz, the cable car system has always been a topic of fascination not just among urban planners but also citizens and tourists alike. But what distinguishes Chiatura from others is that the survival of its industries and commerce are solely hinged on these derelict tramways. Nevertheless, I believe the future of Chiatura is bright, and we certainly will put it on our next Georgian itinerary.

Katskhi Pillar

Merely twenty minutes down the road from Chiatura was perhaps the quirkiest sight in Georgia: the infamous Katshki Pillar. At 130 feet, the limestone pillar stood out from the cliff face of the surrounding valley. When I first saw the image of the pillar, I was praying that I could fit it into our busy drive between Tbilisi and Kutaisi. Fortunately, its proximity to Chiatura made this detour from the main highway worthwhile. The short drive from Chiatura soon ended on a gravel-access road. As the road gradually narrowed and steepened, we were grateful for our 4WD vehicle. At some point, we decided to park our car off the road and joined the rest of the pilgrims (or most likely tourists).

Make sure you take a look at an inscription of the earliest Georgian Cross in the country.

It didn't take us long to get the first glimpse of the infamous monolith. Peeking out the horizon like an index finger, the pillar automatically inspires much imagination. At one hundred and forty feet in height, the pillar felt surprisingly massive as you approached its base. The top of the pillar is approximately 1,600 square feet, just a bit larger than our apartment in New Jersey. While a monolith like this is not unique worldwide (think Zhangjiajie in China or Khao Phing Kan in Thailand), Katshki is the one to be inhabited to the best of my knowledge. The small monastery church atop the pillar could be spotted from miles away because of its red terra cotta roof shingles. To say this place is striking would be an understatement, and it is one of the most Instagram-worthy spots in Georgia.

The origin of the pillar has long been in the local legend, but it was not until the end of the Soviet period that an extensive archaeological study was conducted to unearth the origin of this mysterious place. According to the archaeological record, the first documented habitation of the pillar was by the 9th-century stylites, the early Christian hermits who sought salvation through seclusion and mortification. The practice of self-seclusion is made famous in the Christian tradition by Saint Simeon Stylites of the 5th century.

According to legend, Simeon sequestered himself atop a column for over three decades. That is exactly how that works, but I still have no idea. However, it seems more than logical that Katshki Pillar was the perfect place of refuge for the stylites. All religious activities supposedly stopped with the Ottoman invasion in the 15th century. The pillar-top church was abandoned for centuries but not forgotten by the locals. It was not until 1944 that someone first attempted to scale the pillar in the modern era. It was only then that the remains of the church and hermit cellars were formally documented.

It is a straight-up climb to the church at the top.

Following the fall of the Soviet Union, Georgia experienced a great renaissance of Orthodox faith. With the financial support of Tbilisi and research assistance from academia, a local monk, Maxime Qavtaradze, rebuilt the pillar-top church in 1995. A former convict, Father Maxime entered the priesthood after his release and then spent the next twenty years of his life at the top of the pillar, descending from the monolith only twice a week. All the provisions necessary for daily living are hoisted up through its cliff-side pulley and winch.

It was said that physical isolation allows him to get closer to God and atone for his sins. While I am not a person of faith, I do think there is some truth in that. In this age of hyper-connectivity, the ability to disconnect from the mundane may become more and more appealing. One could only imagine the silence and sublimity of praying up there. It might also be the most transcendent spot in the Caucasus region.

It was a solid 10-15 minute hike on foot to reach the pillar, and it is clear that this place has become an important pilgrimage site for Georgians. Today, the monastery has been revived and expanded with the help of the state. The monastery complex comprises two small chapels and a series of burial chambers. To the dismay of many tourists, climbing the pillar has been restricted to those in the religious order under the edict from Patriarch Ilia II in 2015. It helps to preserve the sanctity of this place. I, for one, do think it was the right decision. It is easy to imagine how quickly Katskhi Pillar could be degraded into another roadside attraction. Aside from its striking topography, the real mysticism of this place was tied to the inherent mysticism. Unfortunately, we did not get to see one of the monks scaling the monolith. They said it takes about twenty minutes to climb up the vertical ladder.

For anyone disappointed with the inaccessibility, you must not miss the little area of veneration at the base of the pillar; it is widely believed that it bears the earliest inscription of the Georgian Cross. It is also imperative to pop your head into the chapel at the base of the column to admire the refurbished murals. Being an active monastery, you will be bound to run into a few monks. We were happy to see that they were outwardly friendly. Given Father Maxime's troubled past, they say monks here especially care for troubled youth in Chiatura. We noticed a small visitor center and gift shop was under construction when we were there. Perhaps the proceeds will be used to fund the social mission of the monastery.

Would we recommend a detour to Chiatura and Katskhi? Absolutely. We can't imagine a more exciting day to explore two of Georgia's quirkiest sites. Both places are admission-free and very accessible. Certainly, having your own transport is worth every penny.

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The Dystopia of Chiatura

Katskhi Pillar

A Parallel Universe Called Gori

Suomenlinna - The Gibraltar of the North