The Georgian way
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The Georgian way 28 October 2011
In the center of Freedom Square (Tavisuplebis Moedani in transliterated Georgian) stands a granite pillar, 115 feet high, at its foot the wide basin of a three-tiered fountain and at its pinnacle a brightly gilded bronze statue of St George the Dragon Slayer (18 feet high). Two weeks ago, for a state visit from Nicolas Sarkozy, the fountain was stilled and emptied and a raked wooden platform built, to enclose the basin and turn it into a staging area for official ceremonies and festivities. The platform and the pillar were draped in white, red, and blue. On the east side of the square the flags of Georgia, France, and the European Union were arrayed side by side across the façade of a new seven-story public building under construction.
I did not see the platform being constructed, having arrived Tbilisi after the French president’s departure, so I don’t know how many hours of labor the construction required or how it was accomplished. But this week I watched five men dismantle the thing by hand over the course of two full days, and I marveled at the process. I wondered at the absence of heavy machinery in the deconstruction of such a massive structure, considering that on the western side of the square two tall cranes are deployed at the Marriott Hotel, lifting window-washers to their work.
Maybe I misunderstand the requirements of demolition; maybe superhuman strength and power are not as important as human judgement, eye-hand coordination, and methodical teamwork. Maybe when moving long, heavy timbers and sandbag counterweights, five men working together are more effective and pose less danger to the underlying fountain than a single big rig, no matter how sensitive the operator.
Or maybe, in this country where unemployment is measurably higher among men than women, five men with a two-day job are a happier equation than one man-plus-machine with a one-day job. Whatever the reason, I was fascinated by the steady progress of the work and felt a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment when the last timber was loaded onto a truck for removal. Watching the men laboring together, steadily and calmly as if they undertook monumental feats every day, seemed to give me a small glimpse into the Georgian way.
The weather has taken a turn toward November; skies are low and grey and the wind has a sharp edge of damp. I am anxious to move out of the hotel, to find a place for us to be at home here. I hope for a small house with a fireplace and a bit of outdoor living space—a garden or a terrace—not too far from Jim’s office and the shopping district in Vake, the most prestigious quarter of Tbilisi, home to many ex-pats and well-to-do Georgians.