Ananuri Fortress

Start with the wind. It comes down the valley off the high Caucasus, cool even in summer, and it carries the smell of wet stone and pine. Below the walls, the water of the reservoir lies flat and green-blue, sometimes almost turquoise. Put your hand on the wall beside you. The stones are rough, uneven, and set in thick mortar. People shaped them by hand, and many of them were carried up from the river below.

You are standing at Ananuri, a fortress complex on the Georgian Military Road. The road is the old route that climbs north from Tbilisi, through the mountains, toward the Russian border. For centuries, anyone who wanted to cross the Caucasus by this path had to pass under these walls. That fact is the key to the whole place. Ananuri was not built for beauty. It was built to watch the road and to control it.

The fortress was the seat of the Eristavis of Aragvi. Eristavi is an old Georgian title, roughly equal to a duke. These were powerful feudal lords who ruled the Aragvi valley from about the thirteenth century onward. Most of what you see now dates from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the peak of their power. They collected tolls, raised soldiers, and played a dangerous game of loyalty and rivalry with Georgian kings and with neighbouring lords.

Look at the layout. There are two fortified areas, an upper one and a lower one, joined by stone walls that follow the slope of the hill. The upper fortress is the better preserved part. It holds a large square tower, the strongest point in the complex. The lower fortress has mostly disappeared. Defenders could fall back from the lower walls to the upper ones, one ring at a time, and hold the tower until the very end.

That square tower has a name, Sheupovari. In Georgian, the word means something close to the unyielding one, or the one that does not give way. Locals say it was the place of a last stand during one of the many sieges here. You may notice that many visitors walk straight past it to the churches. Instead, stand at its base for a moment and look up. The walls are thick, and the openings are narrow. Every detail here points to defence, not comfort.

Now a story — and it is a legend, not recorded history. According to one popular tale, the fortress takes its name from a young woman called Ana, from the family of Nuri. Enemies besieged the castle and captured her. They wanted to know the secret path the defenders used to bring water up from the river. Ana refused to tell them, and the story says she died for her silence. Ana of Nuri... Ananuri. Historians are not sure the name really comes from her, but the story is told on this hillside to this day.

The real history is dark enough without legends. In the eighteenth century, a rival lord from the neighbouring Ksani valley attacked Ananuri. His forces broke in, set fire to the complex, and killed members of the ruling Aragvi family. A few years later, in the 1740s, the local peasants rose up against the Eristavis themselves. The rule of the Aragvi dukes ended soon after. The family that built these walls to control the valley lost it to the people who lived in it.

Inside the walls stand two churches. The larger one, the Church of the Assumption, was built in 1689. It is a cross-domed church, which is a common Georgian design. Picture a cross on the ground, with a dome rising over the point where the arms meet. The smaller church nearby is older and plainer. Together with the tower and the walls, they make the whole outline of Ananuri, a fortress and a place of prayer at the same time.

Walk around to the south side of the large church. This is the first surprise most people miss. Look at the carving on the facade. You will see a large cross, and around it, curling vines of grapes. The grapevine is everywhere in Georgian Christian art. Georgian tradition says that Saint Nino, who brought Christianity to the country in the fourth century, carried a cross made from vine branches. Here the vine and the cross grow together in stone.

Look closer at the carvings. Among the decoration you will find animal figures and other small carved details, set into the honey-coloured stone. Some are worn by centuries of rain and wind. Take a slow walk along each wall of the church. Each side has its own decoration, and the light changes the carvings as the sun moves. In the morning and late afternoon, low light makes the shapes stand out clearly.

Step inside, and let your eyes adjust to the dim light. The interior once held frescoes over much of its surface. Many of them were lost in the fire of the eighteenth century. What you see now are fragments and later paintings — dark faces of saints, flakes of colour, and patches of bare plaster. You may smell candle wax and hear soft voices in prayer. This is still a working church, not only a monument. Women usually cover their heads, and visitors keep their voices low.

Here is the second surprise. The water below the fortress is not a natural lake. It is the Zhinvali Reservoir, created by a dam in the late twentieth century to supply water and power for Tbilisi. When the valley filled, the water covered fields, roads, and parts of old villages. The lower parts of the original landscape around Ananuri now lie under that calm surface. The fortress was built above a river valley. Today it stands above a lake that did not exist when its walls went up.

Before you leave, find a spot on the walls where you can see both the road and the water. Watch the trucks and minibuses climbing north toward the mountains. They travel the same route that armies, traders, and pilgrims used for centuries. Listen to the wind and the hum of the engines below. Then turn back once more to the grey tower and the carved cross on the church. Ananuri still watches the road — it simply has no tolls to collect anymore.