The Wandering Scot

An occasional travel journal.

Gori: Stalin's Home Town

Stalin, Gori.Most relics of Stalin were swept from public view in the USSR in the years after Khruschev’s 1956 denunciation. But not in Gori, Georgia.

This small provincial town is Stalin’s birthplace.  I suspect that Stalin is pretty much the only interesting thing ever to have happened here, so, despite everything, he is still commemorated as the local boy who went on to Great Things.  His statue, birthplace and museum are all still preserved, if no longer explicitly venerated.

After my 70 minute marshrutka ride from Tbilisi, I was dropped off in the Gori’s main town square.  This is dominated by a tall and imposing statue of a mustached figure in a military greatcoat.  There is no inscription.  Back in the day, none was needed.

Heading North from the square, I spotted what initially appeared like a smallish Greek temple.  But no.  This is the site of the modest house where Stalin was born and raised.  That modest  two room brick building has been lovingly preserved and, to protect it from the elements, a temple like outer structure has been erected over it.  On the North side is a second, smaller statue of Stalin, this time in a softer, more relaxed pose.

The Stalin Museum itself lies just to the North of the preserved house.  The museum has a wide array of Stalin paraphernalia, including reproductions of early photographs of the young “Soso”, a copy of Stalin’s first police mugshot, his first desk in the Kremlin, historical exhibits from WWII and Yalta, an array of his favorite pipes, gifts received from foreign governments, and finally his bronze death mask.

My favorite piece is definitely the Tsarist police mugshot.  It casts such a different light on Stalin: as the wild young revolutionary, rather than the  smug middle-aged dictator.

A guide took me inside Stalin’s armored railway carriage and we tiptoed nervously past the compartments where the great man had slept and worked.

The Museum presents its artifacts without commentary: neither praising nor denouncing.  But of course the choice of exhibits is itself significant: we are shown Nazi banners being flung at Stalin’s feet during the great Soviet WWII victory parade, but we are not shown any hints of the Gulag, let alone of the Great Terror.  In an unintentional piece of symbolism, the elegant clock outside the museum is stopped: permanently frozen at the High Noon of the Soviet Empire.

As background reading on Stalin’s Georgian youth, I’d strongly recommend Simon Sebag Montefiore’s “Young Stalin” which paints a very vivid picture of Stalin’s time in Georgia, showing his different roles as a seminary student, a star choirboy, a proud Georgian poet, a rabble-rousing Marxist, a ruthless underground Bolshevik leader, and an organizer of daring bank robberies, supplying badly needed cash to Lenin’s headquarters.

Down the Potosi Mine

Cerro Rico

Potosi in Bolivia sits below the Cerro Rico mountain, which is a treasury of metallic ores and riddled with mines.  During the Spanish colonial period it was a fabulously wealthy silver mine, generating vast fortunes for the Spanish Crown.

The mine is still mostly hand worked.  I took a small group tour with Koala Tours (recommended by LonelyPlanet).  The tour involved a fair amount of talking, standing around, buying supplies, visiting an ore refinery, etc, but we also got a good two and a half hours underground.  The city is at a heady 13,000 feet up the Andes and the mine entrances are higher.

Potosi now produces mostly zinc, with some tin and only a little silver.  World zinc prices rose dramatically two years ago and so the Potosi miners are prospering.  They have very large incomes by Bolivian standards and are buying 4 wheel drive trucks, etc.  But they still have very poor life expectancies (as low as 38?) mostly due to silicosis.  Miners typically start at 15, with some starting at 10 or 12.

The mining is all done by small (100-200 people) competing cooperatives with no coordination between cooperatives and very little concern for safety.  Mines can easily run into one another (and fight) or undermine one another.  The mountain is slowly being hollowed out and may eventually collapse.  The optimal solution for the whole mountain would probably be to move to open cast mining and level the thing, but the cooperatives oppose this, as they would lose their livelihoods. They reckon it is better to have desperately harsh but profitable jobs, rather than to have nothing.

Most work is still done by hand.  In the mine we visited, they loosen the rock by blasting, hand-shovel it out, move mine trucks by pushing and pulling by hand, and hand-shovel the ore in and out of big baskets for mechanical winching between levels.  We didn’t see the mining face (too dangerous) but we saw shoveling, winching, and trucking.

El Tio

We had stopped at a supply store to buy gifts for the miners, including soda, coca leaves, dynamite and fuses.  (Note: you have to be at least 12 to buy dynamite.)

We visited a rather touristy in-mine museum, with a touristy statue of El Tio, the lord of the mines.  (The miners are all good Catholics above ground, but they perhaps wisely regard below ground as belonging to Someone Else.)

We then went down two levels, the first being 25 meters, the second less.  Within a level, most of the travel was through the railed tunnels for the trucks, which was easy going, with only occasional crawls.  But between levels, we scrambled up fairly narrow, steep, irregular passages.  Our guide explained that when he was younger they used to have to carry the ore out on their backs, up these steep passages.

By the standards of CUCC, this would have been a very easy cave, but at 13,000 feet, the climbs up felt like very hard work.  I was very definitely out of puff and breathing very hard after the second climb. But it was good fun!

Scot + Dynamite

I was in a group of eight visitors plus two guides.  Most of the others were young students and I think I was twice the average age. After we got out, the students had kept back one tube of dynamite.  So we got to wad it up, (it felt like putty), light the fuse (naturally we passed around the dynamite with lit fuse for photos) and then our guides put it in a field, waved us back, and we watched the explosion.  Loud, but not outrageous.

Later, after a shower, we visited the rather dull refinery of San Marco.  There was some refining machinery, but it was much less impressive than the mine tour.