In this remote place on a small balcony - a ledge where there are almost no people, and the noise of tourism subsides, I wanted to reread Mtsyri. I didn't find time for this, but I refreshed the plot. We are talking about a boy, Mtsyri, who, after being taken out by a Russian general from his native village, fell ill and was left in a monastery. He became an orphan, lost his home, his family roots. He all aspired to discover his origin, and having escaped from the monastery for only three days, lived a full life during this time. Got drunk from freedom and exhausted from futile attempts to discover his roots, he was found by monks and, once again returned to the monastery, where he started to talk like this: Old Man! I've heard many times that you saved me from death? I'm sullen and lonely, and I'm a torn leaf, I grew up in the dark walls of the monk fate with the soul of a child. I could not say the holy words "father" and "mother. And further: I lived as a stranger in the Motherland of slavery and orphanage.
On this beautiful sunny day, we went to Jvari to see the confluence of Aragvi and Kura from the top of the monastery, took a ride on the children's railway and visited the market under the Dry Bridge and climbed the funicular to Matsminda and met a spectacular sunset.