A little later than these events, the writer Anton Pavlovich Chekhov wrote in a letter to a friend about the Abkhaz capital: "This morning I sit in Sukhum. Nature is amazing to rage and despair. Everything is new, fabulous and poetic. Eucalyptus trees, tea bushes, cypress trees, cedars, palm trees, donkeys, swans, buffaloes, gray cranes, and most importantly endless mountains and mountains ... I am sitting on the balcony now, and Abkhaz in costumes of fancy dress capuchins walk past, across the road - a boulevard with olives, cedars and cypresses, a dark blue sea beyond the boulevard ... If I had lived in Abkhazia for at least a month, I think I would have written about fifty seductive tales. From every bush, from all the shadows and penumbra on the mountains, from the sea and from the sky, thousands of plots are watching. I'm a scoundrel because I don't know how to draw."
"Letters of 1875-1890," Anton Pavlovich Chekhov