Tbilisi Chronicle Monument Travelogue: A Lone Traveler's Historical Pilgrimage

Tbilisi Chronicle Monument Travelogue: Soliloquies and Unfinished Epics on the Cliff's Edge Evening in Tbilisi is shrouded in a fine rain. The Bolt car I called weaves through the misty mountain roads toward the Chronicle of Georgia. The driver is a young man in his early 20s with surprisingly fluent English. We chat all the way, and soon arrive. Sixteen 35-meter-high bronze pillars pierce the overcast sky, standing on the mountaintop like a vertical epic theater. Rain washes over the reliefs: Noah's Ark tossed in the waves at the bottom, Jesus lowering his eyes at the Last Supper; Georgian kings holding churches and castles in the middle, the grapevines of religious leaders' crowns glistening with rain; harvest scenes at the top hidden in the clouds, suggesting the unfinished nature of this land. On the left, the bronze plates of the Roman columns are peeling, exposing the rusted steel skeleton, while the new columns on the right are as smooth as a mirror. This coexistence of cracks and new life is a metaphor for the struggle between tradition and change in Georgia's 3,000-year history—a monument started in 1985 during the Soviet era and "nearly completed" due to funding shortages, just like a microcosm of this land. Bypassing the pillars, a small stone church stands quietly on the edge of the cliff. The main entrance is carved with three-dimensional church reliefs, and rainwater flows down the roof's gullies, creating a subtle dialogue with the bronze pillars' grandeur. Turning to look down the cliff, the Tbilisi Sea ripples gray-white in the rain—this artificial lake built during the Soviet era stretches for 9 km, and the sandy beach on the shore is deserted, with only parasols swaying in the wind. A stray dog suddenly enters the scene. It squats on the edge of the cliff, its back to me, its eyes on the heart of the lake. Its ears tremble in the wind, and its thin back forms a kind of eternal understanding with the cliffs and bronze pillars. I hold up my phone to take a selfie, and the cracked giant pillars, the spires of the church in the mist, the broken light on the lake, and the dog's frozen back are pieced together into a narrative that transcends language. Standing on the observation deck and looking down, the matchbox-like Soviet buildings of Tbilisi form an absurd contrast with the distant mountains. The "3,000 years" that artist Zurab Tsereteli tried to solidify with bronze seems fragile here: rainwater seeps into the cracks, weeds sprout from the feet of the biblical figures in the reliefs, and the unfinished steel skeleton is like a wound opening to the sky. But this is precisely its most moving part—the unfinished epic, just like Georgia's own history: the imprints of Persia, Mongolia, and the Soviet Union are layered upon each other, and more tenacious vitality grows from the fractures. Tour duration: 1 hour (can be extended to 1.5 hours on a sunny day; the lake is especially magnificent when gilded at sunset) Cost: Free for the entire journey, including the pillar complex, cliff church, and observation deck Transportation: Take a Bolt taxi and enter the chronicle of georgia. It costs about 12–15 GEL (¥30) to the foot of the mountain, and it only takes 3 minutes to walk to the top. When the rain stops, a ray of light breaks through the clouds, and the shadows of the giant bronze pillars are cast diagonally on the wet stone steps. Looking back at the cliff, the stray dog has disappeared, and only the Tbilisi Sea is silent and mysterious in the twilight. The unfinished epic is perhaps closer to the truth than a perfectly closed legend.