Colvin Writes

inter-lapping through the fading light.

Chants ring down through the valley in a soft chorus. It sounds as though they’re singing for no one, solely for the joy of it. For a moment their gentle hum takes over from the sounds of the hills, when they subside we’re left with the constant thrum of the river flowing and the accompanying call of the crickets.

Driving from the airport through Tbilisi old town, the open squares and wide, shaded boulevards were reminiscent of a French town centre. The streets’ sleepy appearance masks the gentle hum of activity behind the scenes. The wail of a builder’s hammer, the chatter of a group of young socialites and the bustle of a journalists’ club meeting all play out under the green canopied lanes. An ancient town so very alive.