There hasn't been one of these since November. December was busy, what with a (very brief) spell of real travel (domestic, of course), and various celebrations.

As notified, this one will be the last of the series.

My "shadow journeys" -- which started back in May last year, when I was mourning the impossibility of replicating (in the foreseeable future at least) our amazing London-Baku trip in 2019 -- have been really enjoyable and enriching. And, for sure, I haven't stopped mourning, especially as the future looks even darker now than it did last May.  

But these posts only ever marginally meshed with PT's mandate, which is a) documenting Sarawak, and b) documenting our travels further afield. I justified their inclusion because they DID talk about (and augment and play variations on) travel we had actually done in the PT-relevant time period. But strictly speaking, they were always more of a Velvet Cushion type of endeavour.

Anyway, the Caucasus...

I've started reading Nino Haratischwili's The Eighth Life (for Brilka), a gloriously sweeping saga about a Georgian family.



Actually, what I'm reading is Das achte Leben, which is the original German version. Haratischwili is a Georgian, who lived for two years in Germany when she was 12, and then moved there in her twenties. She writes in German, because she feels this gives her the requisite "distance" to describe highly charged events. I spotted the German version on Indah's book exchange shelf over a year ago, and left Ali and Nino in order to gain possession... Kind of keeps it in the Caucasian family. 


When I've finished (many weeks hence, no doubt, because -- as you can see -- it's a thick book), I'll write about it on The Velvet Cushion. But for the minute, these bits from the (English translation of the) introduction give the flavour of Haratischwili's insights into Georgia:

"I think that our country can really be very funny (by which I mean not only tragic). That in our country forgetfulness, too, is very possible, in combination with repression. Repression of our own wounds, our own mistakes, but also of unjustly inflicted pain, oppression, losses. In spite of these, we raise our glasses and laugh. I think that's impressive...

"It's a country ... that is still mourning its Golden Age, from the tenth to the thirteenth century, and hopes one day to recover its former glory (yes, in our country progress is always simultaneously retrogression)...

"Today, [Georgia] ... is like a king who still sits in a glittering crown and magnificent robe, issuing commands, presiding over his realm, not realising that his entire court has long since fled and he is alone."




A number of commandments hold sway in the country, the author continues. The first is: "Don't cause any trouble." Another urges: "Always be proud of your country, never forget your language, find foreign countries, whichever they may be, beautiful, exciting, and interesting, but never, never, never better than your home."

Further commandments instruct:

"Be religious, ... cross yourself every time you see a church... -- so about ten thousand times a day if you're in the capital. Don't criticise anything sacred, which is pretty much everything that has anything to do with our country.

"Be bright and cheerful, because that's this country's mentality, and we don't like gloomy people in our sunny Georgia..."



Georgia, says Haratischwili, is "a country that doesn't want to show any ambition, that would ideally like to have everything handed to it on a plate because its people are so lovely, so nice, so happy and cheerful, and capable (on a good day) of putting a smile on the face of the world".

So all this was intriguing. And it has gone on being so. I'm currently on page 207 of 1275. I'm not disappointed yet.





There have also been a couple of Caucasian culinary experiments in the last few weeks.

This dish, humble but tasty, is Armenian cabbage soup:


And I finally got round to making Armenian mushroom soup...

Mushrooms are an issue here (like yogurt -- long story). You can buy them dried, but I'm not familiar with the varieties. You can buy them vacuum-packed, but I did that once, and didn't like the smell, the texture, or the taste. And you can buy them fresh, but they're horrendously expensive, so I generally don't.

However, languishing in the store cupboard, I had a pack of dried button mushrooms (ie, a breed I know), and at the supermarket the other day, there was a carton of fresh mushrooms whose price didn't make my eyes water. Cue the Armenian mushroom soup, I thought.

I'd never worked with dried mushrooms before, and it is all a little faffy (calculate the amount that's equivalent to the fresh variant; soak the 'shrooms; drain off the soaking liquid for use on another occasion; rinse the little chaps to remove any grit; strain the liquid to remove any grit...)

And this is undeniably a slightly odd recipe, more a mushroom stew than a soup.

But served with some butter-fried mushrooms on the top, and a dollop of yogurt-and-garlic on the side, and supplemented with a cheese bun, it tasted really good... Earthy and mushroomy.


I actually made far too much. My 100 grams of dried plus 250 grams of fresh would have made enough for two days. I'll know for next time. Because there will be a next time. I can imagine this going just beautifully with a little steak and a glass of red wine... Or with blue cheese and walnuts and a glass of red wine, or feta and bacon and a glass of red wine... The possibilities are endless...