Gory Gori

So, we went to Stalin's birthplace, Gori, this morning. It was on the way, but the experience was nothing like visiting the Lenin Museum in Tampere, Finland, endless Soviet kitsch aside. Gori was once known for its fortress, which still stands, although we only had time to snap a quick photo from below. The town is only 35 kilometers from Tskhinvali, the capital of the breakaway state of South Ossetia, the flashpoint that triggered Russia's invasion of Georgia 9 years ago. Gori was also on the way for the Russian army, which occupied the town for a time. Although the apartment buildings hit by rockets have been repaired, the town hosts the largest barracks complex I've seen, and neat rows of refugee housing run along the highway to Tbilisi, a mountain ridge on the distance marking the border with South Ossetia, a land of 50,000 people with serious passport problems.

Visiting the Stalin Museum was every bit as surreal as visiting a Hitler memorial. We could hear pops from a nearby military firing range. Stalin's humble childhood home (for the first 3 years of his life, at least) was covered by a memorial, behind which sat a grand building, and Stalin's personal train carriage. I fed a spritely stray dog some ham I'd kept from a hurried breakfast, and entered. The museum staff were friendly--we helped some carry tables down some stairs, and one called me "a gentleman" in English--but the museum unreal. We passed a group of Chinese men in suits receiving a tour, as well as countless photographs of Stalin showing how he served the proletariat, then moved into an area featuring gifts to Stalin and a bust of Roosevelt. Tellingly, many of the gifts were labelled "casket," but we were impressed by a portrait of Bucharest made from dried tobacco leaves, and another of Gori made from chaff! 

My good deed outside attracted more dogs. One came up, limping, a paw seemingly crushed, and another with an eye infection, then a second with another maimed paw, all sporting ear tags that at least showed that they had been registered, vaccinated, and spayed, but I still felt like Jesus in Matthew 15:30 (especially the Jesus Christ Superstar version). Instead of healing, all I could do was apologize to the dogs, and head to the train car. Stalin's toilet wasn't very impressive.