On our first day in Kutaisi we take a day trip exploring Tskaltubo. With background music by cicadas and permanently sweaty torsos we visit the derelict sanatoriums where Abkhazi refugees have taken up residence. In the Medea sanatorium, the wallshave crumbled away, sometimes completely black and green with mould, and certain steps give the impression that they are soft from moisture. Yet we see a solitary child's drawing lying on the floor, two chairs with an empty bottle of kvass on a balcony that must once have been walled in, an tiger poster. We enter a corridor where damp rubble lies on the floor. A little further on is an old stove with an air vent through a window that once had glass in it. To my surprise, I see a flower pot with a small plant and suddenly realise that people live here too. The door to the next room is ajar and I catch a glimpse of an old woman with her cat. With the guilt of disaster tourists, we leave the building. A man smoking hangs out of a window without glass next to the colonnade. He watches the tourists who come to explore the building.