Oh, the places you will go and the people you will meet, Pt. I

Nigvziani-Kutaisi-Tbilisi-Kazbegi-Tbilisi-Borjomi-Vardzia-Borjomi-Kutaisi-Ozurgeti-Nigvziani

The dashes and cities listed above serve to elucidate my hectic one week of travel throughout Georgia. It was refreshing to not only be around English speakers again but to be in such great company. I have to take a quick moment to applaud my comrades, who are a bit crazy, creative in their own unique ways, adventurous, kind, interesting, open-minded, and wonderful old souls. I’ve divided the trip up into two separate parts, as I have a lot to say about the fabulous Borjomi adventure. The shenanigans began after “training” and meeting with our principals and English co-teachers in the seaside town of Ureki, not far from my village. Caitlin, Greg, and the Aussie slept at my house that night, and apparently bonded with my host family. In fact, just this afternoon, my host sisters kept telling me that Caitlin was a “very, very good girl,” and that Greg “has tattoos and is very strong.” They’re so sweet, bless their hearts. The walk to the train station (where you catch the marshutka) is about a 2 mile walk (I’m just making this up, I really have no idea) from my house, although I had to drag my over stuffed suitcase along a gravel road with potholes larger than anything you can imagine. The potholes here really make the ones back home in New Orleans laughable. Yes, they’re that bad. When we finally reached the road side by the train station, we waited, in the blistering sun, for an uncertain length of time. All the while, I was drenched in sweat and miserably regretting my tendency to over pack to the extreme. Multiple marshutkas heading to Tbilisi, the first city of our destination, were completely full, so we decided to head to Kutaisi first (Georgia’s second largest city) with the hopes of finding a marshutka that had available space to Tbilisi.

Elation overcame us all as we stopped in Kutaisi, at the American embassy, A.K.A. McDonald’s. McDonald’s was a glorious sight for two reasons: 1) Free internet, hallelujah and 2) Big Macs and French fries. We stuffed our gluttonous faces with fried and greasy foods, and enjoyed some free time on the net. Our departure from McD’s was a bit depressing, but Tbilisi called, and we answered. Once in the big T, we checked in at a hostel and headed for the nearest bar to celebrate our successful journey. Some of us celebrated a little bit too much, and ended up staying out till 5-6 am’ish. I don’t remember the name of the bar, but it was one of those establishments, hidden in the dark crevices, which you would never find had you not known of its existence beforehand, except with knowledge obtained from a previous patron. Thankfully, our police teaching amigo Ashley led the way. This dimly lit, smoke filled bar was pretty much a dive, had a Nitendo, and was filled with tunes played by a random group of Georgians armed with a guitar and knowledge of English songs, including oldies and more modern day rock like Franz Ferdinand and Oasis. Shortly before leaving the bar, I met several Irishman, and thus began my acquaintance with Tom, whom I jokingly refer to as Dr. Potato, but only if he gets out of line (Dr because he’s armed with a Ph.D and potato because…he’s Irish; Mad Mark calls him the Irish loveboat). Unfortunately for Tom, his travel buds were leaving to go back to Ireland the next day. That left him with 2 days of nothingness in Tbilisi, although I’m sure he would have found something exciting to partake in. Being the overly friendly person that I am, I invited him to join our group for our excursion to Kazbegi the following day, to see our dear jolly friend Mad Mark. Surprisingly, he accepted the invitation to join our motley crew.

The drive to Kazbegi was beautiful and comfortable, especially through the winding mountain roads; the marshutka was a small one, and we were only joined by a Slovakian couple. Upon seeing such mountains, Aussie Adam squealed, the type of squeal which only emanates from a child, who, upon seeing presents under the tree on Christmas morning, lets out a sound of delight. It was, in other words, glorious. Once in the dreamy hills, our driver made a side stop to a small village. He pulled in front of an elderly womans home, and the senior citizen was perched upon her porch, rocking back and forth in a small chair. The marshutka driver said a few choice words in Georgian, which none of us understood. In an attempt to frighten us, Caitlin stated “that loosely translates into sex slavery.” Greg was o.k. with this, as long “as he got paid.” Obviously Greg misunderstands the term slavery. Luckily for us, this wasn’t the case, and the driver made some sort of exchange with the squeaky pitched voice spry Georgian woman and hopped back in to resume the drive towards Kazbegi. Our driver was more than accommodating, and stopped at multiple areas on our way through the mountains. One roadside attraction was an ancient church, see picture below.

Once at Nunu’s guesthouse in the striking mountain town of Kazbegi, we met up with our fellow TLG’ers. Simon the BAMF was there, and when I first saw him he was “just picking a dandelion.” Typical. The first course of action was to tchame (eat) and have ludi saatia (beer time). We picked a café nearby, and were treated with the typical Georgian restaurant service: extremely slow. I was starving, and impatient for my Khatchapuri. Mad Mark helped to ease my nerves a bit, by constantly retorting “shits coming homes!” It finally did come, and it was alright. Ludi saatia later gave way to ghvino saatia (wine time) once back at the guesthouse. We didn’t have anything to undo the cork, so Jacob, the New Zealander, showed us a little trick he learned back at the home front: placing a bottle of wine in a shoe and slamming against a hard surface, gradually applying pressure and releasing the cork. It worked the first time, but on the second try Jacob shattered the bottle, garnering some nasty cuts on his hand. Ever ready to cheer people up, Mad Mark provided Jacob with some chuckles, and therefore helped relieve his pain, by telling him about a recent faux-pas. During a toast with the policeman he was teaching English to, Mark toasted to nasha, which, come to find out, is a bad word in Georgian, meaning slut. Way to go Mark, cheering to ho’s!

Mountain climbing began the next day, and I, albeit a bit reluctantly, went along for the climb. As a below sea-level Louisianian, who has never before climbed a mountain, my performance was quite pitiful. One of the best climbers of our group was, as you might of guessed, Simon the BAMF, who climbed the mountain with ease and grace, all the while carrying a backpack filled with our heavy containers of water (the Aussie helped later on), while smoking cigarettes. It was unsurprising, to say the least. The view from the top was breathtaking, and I was glad I went through all the trouble to catch the view from the monastery atop the mountain.

Unfortunately, our group disbanded the following day, and our group for the Borjomi trip consisted of myself, Mark, and Caitlin, who would later meet us in Tbilisi after an ill-fated decision to head to Svaneti with the boys. Saying good-bye to Tom was hard for all us. It’s rare to meet such an intelligent, cultured, interesting, and kind person. Simon would like to climb glaciers one day with Tom, Caitlin would like to eat snacks with him, and Mark would want to climb emotional glaciers and drink Jameson with him.

“Now I'm zonin, seein' things so vivid, I'm a soul, nah homie, not even, Imma zone out till I lose feeling,
Remember Imma be gone way past November, even stay up there, up there; floatin, floatin, hopin I could find peace somewhere.”