As part of my exploration of Tbilisi, I have spent a lot of time recently looking online on Google Maps in search of interesting areas that I could photograph with both the digital camera as well as the drone. I've been pretty excited about a few places, and today I decided to fight the sun and venture into an area of the city I have not yet explored. It was an absolute blast to discover this more rustic side of Tbilisi, where it was clearly more Soviet influenced in comparison to Old Tbilsi which has a more European aesthetic to it. It truly felt like I entered a completely different city with just a short ride on the metro. Later on, in another area of Tbilisi, a tourist would see the drone, himself with a Canon DSLR and a large zoom lens, snapping a few shots of the city. To which he clearly grew a bit closer to me prior to those snaps with the intent of asking me something: Do you need permission to fly that here? A thicker European type accent that couldn't particularly be established to any particular location. To which I replied: I'm going to be fast enough. This is the mentality I tend to have with the drone when out and about in more populated areas. I choose a location by eye, and I pull out that drone as fast as I can and get it into the air for the intended shots I want. Up and back down within a minute. And I'm gone. His reaction to this reply was a light chuckle met with a slightly more serious wish for my luck.
In this other location, near the old railway, I found a series of incredibly rustic trains. Old Russian, Soviet era ones that would sit dormant in the space. Ignored by the present and cemented within time. I wanted to photograph them, they were my main reason for coming, but the wind was strong. I felt the wind pushing around and darker clouds appearing from nowhere. The trees swaying in a drunken nature. I couldn't fly that far out without some fear of not being able to return with that intended quick escape.
I placed myself underneath an old bridge to which its metal structure was appearing over the decades. Holes in the steps, misplaced concrete that screamed of intent to collapse at any day from now. I didn't feel safe up there, but it helped me cross over the railway and get to a treeline. I stood underneath the bridge, masked within the trees. Nobody would see me there. I could take off and land without a single person knowing of my whereabouts, to which I could get out of there as soon as the drone hit the ground. Stood between old shacks from the Soviet Union, rusted and left to rot. I assume they were once little shops that would sell smokes and newspapers to the locals, those who would use this train station for travel or work in the more eventful decades of their lives. The old Soviet apartment buildings screamed that this area of Tbilisi was built by the Soviets. To which now not much was left outside of some newer developments in attempt to revive it. Huge pine trees towered over everything. A beautiful, quiet space if not for the wind and sounds of trucks coming in and out of some warehouses. I stood beneath that bridge, broken shards of glass beneath my feet. A realisation of something I was surprised to notice in the corner: a needle. I looked at my feet with a second glance, checked my surroundings another time. Then placed the drone down.
I flew around the area as much as I could without too much risk. Capturing the loading of these old train carriages, though these ones weren't so rustic, still holding some colour to them. Some trucks would be coming in and out of the space, workers walking to and from different areas. A smaller sized crane would be lifting something into these carriages. I couldn't really figure out what exactly they were, but I assume it was related to the more steel oriented warehouse opposite.
My time was relatively short-lived in this space, most of that time was spent observing and making sure I wouldn't be bothering anyone, trying to find the right spot. I lurked around on the bridge a little and looked around. Near the warehouse I noticed a few of the workers starting to notice the drone. They'd stop and pool together like a scared group of animals assuming they'd be safer in numbers. One would walk a bit closer to the drone's main location which still wasn't near me. I figured it was time to close up shop and get out of there. I had my shots, a few clips to add to it. And I felt at this point, with the wind and growing unwanted attention, my best option was to leave. I pulled the drone back to where I was, very quickly packed it up and left. Walking over the bridge back to the station on the way back, I noticed the group of workers stopped and looked at me as I walked over. Like they just knew I was the one with the drone. Though I walked casually and stopped looking their direction once I noticed. Ensuring I looked as casual as I could. I didn't want to cause any sort of attention with the drone and certainly wasn't wanting to get into any trouble somehow while capturing a few mediocre photographs and clips. I walked at a normal pace, looking ahead, trying to place one foot ahead of the other despite being above the ground, over the rail which was still active.
Holes were in the bridge. Steps misaligned. The bits of rebar were visible all over. Nothing felt safe on this bridge. Sheets of metal were over some areas, to which you'd feel them moving with a bit of pressure. I wondered how this was normal to those who lived in the area. I wondered why nobody had made the decision to fix the bridge given how active it was. People still used it. Many people. Those in the area that needed to cross the bridge from the residential area and get to the metro.
The entire area felt like it was pulled from a different world. An era long gone, with such dirt and grit. Soviet factories all around. The signs of industry. The Soviet symbols that would hang above old stations. Old homes that still lived in the area by the rail somehow. Everyone in the area looked old, a bit tired. It showed the signs of the former empire that was once present, those who lived through it, aged with the surroundings, to which soon they too will leave with their stories. Much like the buildings crumbled. Much like the grass grew tall over the unused rail. Much like the old hangars began to lose their ceilings.