Anyone who has read Terenti Graneli’s After Death (“…I will die at night, at dawn…”) will surely remember this passage: “On Sunday morning, when the church doors open for all worshipers, a woman will come thoughtfully to my grave, she will remember my sunburnt face, she will remember my torture, and she will feel sorry.” Who was this mysterious woman? On November 11, 2019, I posted one of Terenti Graneli’s poems on my Facebook wall. A well-known and respected lawyer from Kutaisi, my dear friend Ivane (Vano) Afridonidze, responded with some fascinating information in the comments. It turns out that the woman Graneli mentioned was Vano’s aunt (his mother’s cousin), Tamar Kachakhidze. Here are some excerpts from Vano Afridonidze’s comments: “Once, in 1966, my cousin Tsiala Zhorzholadze, Aunt Tamriko, and I were having a family gathering. Tsiala revealed the secret of that ‘one woman’. We each had a glass of red wine, and she asked her mother: ‘Mom, now tell us about Terenti Graneli’s last request.’

Chiatura is a city with such a unique landscape that it could never be confused with any other. Its special location in the Kvirila Gorge has greatly influenced its development. For example, the abundance of rocks and caves attracted people here as early as the Mesolithic period. Many remains of ancient “Sakhizari” settlements have survived in the area thanks to this location. (There is even a forest nearby called “Nakhiznevi.”)The geography of the city also explains why, in a place with a population of less than 12,000, there were once as many as 36 cable cars in operation. One foreign visitor, impressed by the network of aerial trams, even called Chiatura the “Aerial Venice.”The idea of building cable cars in Chiatura was first raised at the end of the 19th century, but it became more widely accepted only in the 1950s. Local engineers developed several freight and passenger cable cars. Because of the challenging terrain, cable cars quickly became a fast and convenient means of transport. In fact, the first aerial cable car in the Soviet Union was built in Chiatura.

This is not a fantasy tale, but a memory of an extraordinary man. Aleksandre (Alyosha) Nemsitsveridze, known as “The Birdman,” or simply Ate (as his closest friend called him), was a remarkable figure in Georgian mountaineering and speleology. He was also a close companion of Levan Gotua, a prominent figure in Georgian literature, a colorful representative of Georgian alpinism, and a man who endured much in life.

When we realize that we have forgotten the past, that our collective memory has deceived us, we see that this state of oblivion often lasts longer than it should. This seemingly abstract introduction is dedicated to women who shaped history with their lives and even more with their work. Today, I am writing about the revolutionary women of the late 19th and early 20th centuries who had some connection with Kutaisi and who left behind remarkable stories about this city.

For social and cultural anthropology, the transformation of a dwelling into a home—when walls transcend their utilitarian function and acquire deeper symbolic meaning—is a fascinating subject. The question is not merely about the techniques and materials used in construction but about the profound shift that occurs when a shelter becomes imbued with life and meaning. This article explores the symbolic significance of the house, its social, cultural, and individual dimensions, and how urban spaces, like the city of Kutaisi, can serve as extensions of the home—an expanded, collective variation of personal space.

At the beginning of the last century, Chiatura was a small village with only a fewhouseholds. It consisted mainly of wooden barracks, taverns, and blacksmith shopsscattered along both sides of the Kvirila River. The village also had a railway station anda market. The area where today’s densely populated Agmashenebeli Street is locatedwas completely uninhabited at the time. It’s hard to imagine now, but this elevated areawas once covered with an oak forest, with a cemetery to the south. On the plain,stretching all the way to the railway station, a walnut tree alley ran along the street thatnow bears the name of I. Chavchavadze.

The 1900s were a crucial period for the Caucasus, as it was during this time that the region experienced significant political and ideological shifts. Protest movements emerged, and the Caucasian countries, which were part of the Russian Empire, began to reimagine and redefine their identities. Georgia was no exception to these changes. One of the most pressing issues for nationalism during this period was the understanding of heritage, place, and territory, and how these elements shaped the construction of national identity. It is fascinating to explore how Georgian thought responded to these transformations and the ideas that arose in the context of protest. Kutaisi was one of the most important centers for these developments.

“We should declare Kutaisi a nature reserve, where only educated, polite, patriotic Georgians will have the right to enter without a permit.” This phrase was written by the famous Kutaisi scribe, folklorist, and public figure Pipinia Mikeladze, who was also well-known for his rare sense of humor. His jokes have survived to this day—sometimes in their original form, other times in modified versions, though many people do not realize that these sayings actually belong to Pipinia.

For a Jewish woman raised in a traditional family, walking from street to street, from family to family, or from one congregation to another in the 1930s and 1940s, pencil and notebook in hand, must have been incredibly challenging. Rosa Khananashvili was that determined and enthusiastic woman who broke barriers to take the first step in ethnographic research about the lives of Georgian (Kutaisi) Jews. Her remarkable talent and abilities helped her achieve the seemingly impossible: creating a unique work titled Ethnographic Essay on the Ancient Life of the Jews of Kutaisi.

Cities in fiction reflect a range of associations, capturing the personal, cultural, and historical dimensions that define each era. Just as Maupassant’s Paris in the 19th century requires context to fully understand the significance of a woman smiling from her balcony, so does Rezo Gabriadze’s 20th-century Kutaisi. In his story “White Bridge,” Gabriadze illuminates the unique, often humorous, character of his hometown, blending its historical, social, and emotional contours into a tale that embodies the warmth and complexities of Kutaisi life.