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  • HOME
  • ABOUT
  • THE FAMILY ALBUM
  • ONCE UPON A TIME IN ROMANIA
    • ▸Bucharest, 1989: The days of Revolution
    • ▸I’ve also lived under communism
    • ▸Portraits of transition
    • ▸”Cabernet cu pepsi”
    • ▸Romania, 1990: Beyond the headlines
    • ▸“Mineriada” – My story
    • ▸Memorial of pain
  • WORK IN PROGRESS
    • ▸Barbershop
    • ▸Melancholic Identities
    • ▸Faces
    • ▸Fragmentary world
    • ▸Two
    • ▸Buddhist monks
    • ▸About windows and walls
    • ▸Mediterraneo
  • STORIES
    • ▸Alone, together
    • ▸Life and death in Varanasi
    • ▸Trans-Siberian – An experience of becoming
    • ▸Boxing in Havana
    • ▸Moving out of Escobar shadow
    • ▸One night at Htee Thein monastery
    • ▸Easter in Sicily – I misteri
    • ▸Easter in Sicily – La pasquetta
    • ▸Stalin’s Museum in Gori
    • ▸Havana: Between magic and decay
    • ▸Muay Thai for a day
    • ▸Cuban billboards
    • ▸Seeking a geisha
    • ▸Belfast’s murals: Behind and beyond
    • ▸Riding the Yangon’s ring train
    • ▸Bazar-Barakholka-Vernisazh
    • ▸An unexpected trip to Dhobi Ghat
    • ▸A different way to look at death
    • ▸Cannes under siege
    • ▸Inside the Guru’s kitchen
    • ▸Tibetan refugees
    • ▸The Golden Triangle: A Mecca of tribal diversity
    • ▸Bullfighting: Barbaric or art ?
    • ▸Crafts and traditions in Morroco
    • ▸Glastonbury with God
  • TRAVEL
    • Cuba
      • ▸The show must go on (part 1)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 2)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 3)
      • ▸The show must go on (part 4)
    • France
      • ▸Paris
      • ▸Paris. Again
    • Greece
      • ▸Mount Athos
      • ▸Postcards from Santorini
      • ▸Athens
      • ▸Mykonos – The picture-perfect Island
    • Germany
      • ▸Berlin
    • Vietnam
      • ▸Four days in Hanoi
      • ▸Cruising through the misty Halong Bay
    • India
      • ▸Portraits of Kashmir
      • ▸Rishikesh – Spiritual marketplace
      • ▸Life on the Sidewalk
    • Ireland
      • ▸The capital of pubs
      • ▸Ireland in ten days
    • Israel
      • ▸Israel in black & white
    • Colombia
      • ▸Colombia
      • ▸Paisas, coffee and much more
      • ▸Streets of Bogota – From Dystopia to Hope
      • ▸Life along the magical Magdalena River
      • ▸A non-touristy guide to Cartagena’s Caribbean paradise
    • Myanmar
      • ▸Min-ga-la-ba Myanmar
      • ▸Up and down on the hills of Shan State
    • Japan
      • ▸Tokyo
      • ▸Springtime in Kyoto
    • Portugal
      • ▸Life at the edge of Europe
    • Russian Federation
      • ▸The unexpected Moscow
      • ▸White Nights in St. Petersburg
    • Italy
      • ▸Rome
      • ▸Random Sicily
      • ▸Vedi Napoli e poi mori
      • ▸Venice
      • ▸Vanishing Venice
    • Morocco
      • ▸Sunset, camel rides and tea in Erg Chebi
      • ▸Medinas: Morocco’s hidden cities
      • ▸Morocco outskirts
      • ▸Djemaa El Fna encounters
      • ▸Surf and hippies
      • ▸The road of the One thousand kasbahs
      • ▸Amazigh – Berber – Free men
    • Georgia
      • ▸Postcards from Georgia
      • ▸The Many Faces of Tbilisi
    • Nepal
      • ▸Kathmandu Valley
    • Romania
      • ▸Romania to go
      • ▸Maramures
      • ▸Tara Motilor
    • Jordan
      • ▸Bedouin Trails
    • Turkey
      • ▸From Turkey with love
      • ▸Ballooning Cappadocia
      • ▸Where East meets West
      • ▸Street life, Istanbul-style
    • Mexico
      • ▸Finding Mexico City
    • Malaysia
      • ▸Transit KL
    • UK
      • ▸London
      • ▸Grab your kilt and bring your pipes
    • Sweden
      • ▸Stockholm
    • Spain
      • ▸Off-season Andalusia
    • Thailand
      • ▸Bangkok, year 2555
      • ▸Life in Pai
      • ▸Thailand
    • Laos
      • ▸Luang Prabang – The City of ultimate Zen
    • Poland
      • ▸Why I love Poland
    • Estonia, Latvia & Lithuania
      • ▸Neighbors, but not relatives
      • ▸Patarei – A little slice of Hell
    • Findland
      • ▸A sunny day in Helsinki
    • Denmark
      • ▸Copenhagen
  • SINGLES
  • CONTACT
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Stalin’s Museum in Gori

 

Gori is neither a landscape wonder nor an architectural arrogance. But this small town in Eastern Georgia has a powerful story: it is the birthplace of Ioseb Jugashvili, known as Joseph Visarionovich Stalin, responsible for the deaths of 20 million people.

This does not prevent the inhabitants of this town from treating his memory, with a certain pride. It is an ambiguous feeling, however, because the young people are fully aware of the horrors Stalin was responsible for, while the old communists still consider him a great statesman.

It is a real palace which overwhelms you from the entrance with an intense communist atmosphere. A rather fanatical female guide machine-gunned us information about Stalin: his childhood, youth, and revolutionary actions.

The museum is not an apology for Stalin’s actions, but rather a luxurious detailed presentation of his life, the focus being on the personal side, without any mention of the atrocities committed. It’s like a historically imposed tolerance.

In the main building it’s almost everything you need to know about Stalin – including his mortuary mask, kept in a sumptuous amphitheater. Some gifts, pens, pipes, his last pack of Herzegovina Flor cigarettes, a military uniform, a travel suitcase, paintings, photos and letters. Outside, near the main building there’s a green wagon, part of the personal train used by Stalin since 1941 with which he traveled to conferences in Yalta and Tehran.

At one point, a culture minister announced that the museum would be reorganized into the Museum of Russian Aggression and for several years, a banner that read “This museum is a fake of history” stood at the entrance of the museum. In 2017, however, the banner disappeared and it seems that things will remain as they always were.

 

 

 

Stalin’s Museum in Gori

 

Gori is neither a landscape wonder nor an architectural arrogance. But this small town in Eastern Georgia has a powerful story: it is the birthplace of Ioseb Jugashvili, known as Joseph Visarionovich Stalin, responsible for the deaths of 20 million people.

This does not prevent the inhabitants of this town from treating his memory, with a certain pride. It is an ambiguous feeling, however, because the young people are fully aware of the horrors Stalin was responsible for, while the old communists still consider him a great statesman.

It is a real palace which overwhelms you from the entrance with an intense communist atmosphere. A rather fanatical female guide machine-gunned us information about Stalin: his childhood, youth, and revolutionary actions.

The museum is not an apology for Stalin’s actions, but rather a luxurious detailed presentation of his life, the focus being on the personal side, without any mention of the atrocities committed. It’s like a historically imposed tolerance.

In the main building it’s almost everything you need to know about Stalin – including his mortuary mask, kept in a sumptuous amphitheater. Some gifts, pens, pipes, his last pack of Herzegovina Flor cigarettes, a military uniform, a travel suitcase, paintings, photos and letters. Outside, near the main building there’s a green wagon, part of the personal train used by Stalin since 1941 with which he traveled to conferences in Yalta and Tehran.

At one point, a culture minister announced that the museum would be reorganized into the Museum of Russian Aggression and for several years, a banner that read “This museum is a fake of history” stood at the entrance of the museum. In 2017, however, the banner disappeared and it seems that things will remain as they always were.

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