Exterior day: the bay of Sukhumi from above. Camera approaching the city.
Images of Sukhumi today. The city centre, some customers talk in the bar on the promenade “U Akopa”.
In early April I arrived in Sukhumi – city of mourning, tobacco, and aromatic vegetable oils. I looked at the six weeks set for my stay in Abkhazia as an anteroom, a sort of quarantine – before the invitation to Armenia.
In Sukhumi, in April, I received the oceanic news of Mayakovsky's death. Like a water mountain that scourges the spine hard, the news took my breath away and left taste of salt in my mouth.
In May 1930, after getting some documents, I started my journey to Erivan' with a wicker basket, for the long-coveted journey to Armenia that I never stopped dreaming of. We reserved seats on a train to Erivan' through the pistachio-green town of Tiflis...