One of the most surprising things about the dictators of the twentieth century is their ethnicity. Just as Hitler was not German (he was Austrian), so that symbol of Soviet terror, Josef Stalin, was not Russian. Born Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili in a small town called Gori in the Republic of Georgia, west of the capital Tbilisi, a benign and bizarre legacy lives on in a town with little to cling on to but its association with its famous son. A traveller's impression in 2001 of a visit to one of the underrated museums of Europe - the Stalin Museum.
A torch is also important for visiting museums in Georgia, especially when the weather was bad. We went to visit the Stalin museum in Gori, the fourth largest town in Georgia, a wonderful Soviet affair with tree-lined boulevards, wide avenues and a multitude of crumbling low-rise apartment blocks, all set against a picturesque backdrop of lush green mountains on all sides. When the sun shone, it was idyllic to saunter in the numerous green open spaces the town had to offer. Gori was remarkable to me for two very different reasons: it has hardly changed since the fall of communism and hence offered the traveller an insight into how life used to appear in Georgia; and it was the birthplace of Stalin.
Gori - a world apart from the bright lights of Tbilisi
In contrast to Tbilisi, with its obvious Western influence (bars, restaurants, shops and branded goods), Gori reminded be of Soviet Russia when I first visited in 1991. I asked Keti about her impressions of the town over a lunch of salad, shashlik and beer in what appeared to be one of the few eateries in town (we had asked a policeman where we might find a restaurant and he had paused for some time before coming up with a suggestion) - we were the only customers. She said that it was interesting for her because it reminded her of Georgia fifteen years ago when life was duller but safer. When we asked for the bill, the waitress added it up on an abacus, the preferred Soviet calculator - I had not seen one in action for years.
There were fewer cars, fewer kiosks and fewer people selling things on the streets. The kiosks sold only Georgian goods, newspapers and magazines, a poor selection; interestingly the pornography, so prevalent in Tbilisi, was missing. On the streets people were selling only sunflowers seeds, potatoes, basic essentials. The shops were emptier than the capital, Coca-Cola was available (a factory opened in the early Nineties in Tbilisi), the chemist had a poor selection of drugs, but ample toothpaste and shampoo. The town had a calm if rather stale feel to it; people walked around mildly bored, as there really was not much to do. There was an air of mild decay, of a place where ‘progress’ had passed by without stopping. Buildings were crumbling slowly. It did not seem to have changed much for decades.
The only Stalin statue to outlive the Soviet Union
Which was why the Stalin Museum was such a shock. Josef Djugashvili was born in Gori in 1879 and lived here for the first four years of his life. In the main square there is a huge statue of him, the only Stalin statue to survive the fall of communism in the Soviet Union (several have recently been restored to their former resting places in other parts of Georgia as people yearn for stability and order). His old wooden house, complete with cobbles on the street, had been preserved with what struck me as almost a marble mausoleum with columns surrounding it. Behind that there was a huge almost castle-like building with impressive arches at the entrance. This was the Stalin Museum. In a town that had seen no investment for decades, here stood an example of Soviet excess. Keti was only mildly interested in accompanying me to Gori as she thought there was nothing of interest there and could not relate to my fascination with the Communist past. I watched her jaw hit the floor as we entered the museum.
The marble stairs led to a life-size statue of Stalin. Behind him was a dark blue stained glassed window. He appeared as though about to address his flock. And so it went on. So many interesting exhibits, so much money invested into show, while Gori crumbled around. There was his personal train carriage in which he travelled all over the Soviet Union, a reconstruction of his office in Moscow. I even played a little tune on his piano. More interesting than the museum itself was the enthusiasm of the guide. She was thrilled that a foreigner had come so far to pay homage to ‘Our Stalin.’ The man is an absolute God in Gori and it was not possible to say a bad word against him.
Continued at A Stalin Family Visit to Gori.
Paul Bradbury - Author of Hvar: An Insider's Guide to Croatia's Premier Island, and Lebanese Nuns Don't Ski
Join the Conversation