The city of Rustavi lies about a forty-minute drive south of Tbilisi and is home to roughly 130,000 residents. It is the fourth-largest city in Georgia and offers an intriguing mix of architectural styles. There are, in fact, almost no tourists here—simply because there seems to be nothing to see.

Downtown Rustavi consists of well-maintained Soviet-era architecture, built in the late 1940s and early 1950s. But that impression holds only along the main avenues. The moment I turned off those streets and walked behind the façades, Rustavi appeared worn down, lived-in, and as charmingly old as many other places in Georgia. I’m aware that this is an outsider’s perspective; in reality, I wouldn’t be happy if the building I lived in looked like that. I can’t imagine the infrastructure inside these apartments being of particularly high quality. For example, tap water isn’t drinkable in Georgia—not because of the water itself (which is excellent) but because of the pipes.

Just like in Tbilisi, dogs are everywhere in Rustavi. But unlike in the capital, here they aren’t tagged. I like dogs, so I didn’t think much of it at first. That, as it turned out, was a rather naïve assumption.

Rustavi underwent massive changes after World War II. First came the construction of the Rustavi Metallurgical Plant between 1948 and 1953. Then housing was needed for the workers. Many German prisoners of war took part in building both the steelworks and the surrounding infrastructure. German architects also helped design “New Rustavi,” inspired by the early-twentieth-century idea of the garden town.

According to this concept, cities were to be built from scratch as self-contained sections—unlike the grim industrial cities of the nineteenth century. In a garden town, workers were not supposed to live in overcrowded tenements next to smoking factories. Instead, they would have their own neighborhoods with shops, childcare, and above all, green spaces to relax in after work. Public transport would take them to the factories, where they’d be ready to “serve the people.”

So, in Rustavi they built massive high-rises for the workers, away from the steel works. They still stand today, but without much maintenance they now resemble a dystopian future more than a socialist paradise. Upkeep remains one of the city’s greatest challenges. After the collapse of the USSR, 60 percent of Rustavi’s working population became unemployed, crime rates skyrocketed, and many residents left for good. The economy has improved since the 1990s, yet decay is still visible everywhere. Funding is scarce—even the local football stadium is in poor condition.

Eventually, I visited the old, abandoned Rustavi Steel Works. I hardly noticed yet another stray dog at first—until the situation escalated. The dog didn’t like me and called for his friends, and soon I found myself surrounded by a pack of growling dogs. Luckily, the guard appeared and chased them off. He didn’t like me either, to be precise: He didn’t like my camera. So I gave up, called a Bolt, and waited—standing perfectly still—as another pack circled nearby. I have never been so happy to see a car pull up.

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