Abstract
In the Abkhazian village of Chlou situated at the very foot of the Caucasus, I sat drinking “Isabella,” an astringent wine, and listening to the recollections of Mikha Jobua, a 125-year-old Abkhazian. Mikha has an excellent memory, and I listened with great interest to his stories of the Russian-Turkish War of 1877-1878, in which he was a 30-year-old horseman, of how a large group of Abkhazians had been driven to Turkey (1870-1874), and of the unheard-of snowfall of 1911.
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