Getting into a decent marshutka, or acquiring a good driver for that matter, is really a game of odds. On the way from Kazbegi to Tbilisi, we (myself, Mark, and Simon) were fitted into a packed marhsutka, with a decent driver, who wore a red cardigan. Cardigans are almost always appropriate, and, as Simon put it, “they demand respect.” Our driver only stopped once, at a roadside group of vendors which included elderly women selling over-priced handmade goods, including a hat I badly wanted but wasn’t willing to spend 30 Lari on. Simon desired a pair of brightly colored, 80’s inspired wool socks, but also wasn’t about to shell out a ridiculous amount of Lari for them; in other words, he didn’t 15 Lari want them. Besides, he was only “going to keep them in his drawer for 10 to 20 years, and take them out, on occasion, for a hike, which would only occur rarely.” Once in Tbilisi, we scoured the marshutka station for Caitlin, whom we found with relative ease. I love looking for a marshutka. I simply go up to a driver, throw my hands up in a confused, questionable fashion, and ask “Borjomi?” or whatever city I’m trying to get to, then all the marshutka drivers argue for a bit and then direct you in the correct direction.
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| typical marshutka |
Then it was Borjomi departure time. The great thing about this country is that you can have absolutely no plans: no hotel reservations needed. Once in Borjomi, we began searching for a place to rest our heads. The first hotel we visited was too pricey, so we started meandering aimlessly throughout the streets. A group of old Georgian men playing chess caught on to our tourist scent, and one of them approached us shouting something about “satsumro, satsumro (hotel).” We all replied with “otsi, otsi (20),” to signify that we were only able to pay 20 Lari a night. “Ok, ok. No problem, let’s go,” said the aged man, as he began walking towards his car, intent on driving us to a hotel. Simon was a bit hesitant about getting into a car with a stranger, and seemed to be more comfortable with walking. Ever the bargain hunter, I asked the man how much it would be for him to drive us to the hotel. “Ram deni lari (how much),´ I asked. “Ara, ara (no, no),” he responded. I’m all about getting free stuff, so I started to head in the direction of the car with the friendly stranger; Simon was forced to follow, as the rest of the group always appreciates a free ride. Besides, he was old, seemed legit, and there were three of us. If things had gone awry, we could have taken him. The man turned out to be a hotel owner, and he drove us a short distance to a Soviet era hotel which, upon first sight, seemed completely abandoned. There was absolutely nothing in the lobby, and the outside was a bit run down. Never let a cover fool you, however, looks can be deceiving: the inside was actually pretty nice in a melancholy, haunting kind of way. It was settled, we would stay in love potion room #9 for the night, and perhaps a few more nights, depending on the vibe Borjomi gave.
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| hotel lobby |
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| front of the hotel |
The Borjomi vibe turned out to be great, even though Simon the BAMF left early, and missed out on some fun nights. At first, Mark, Caitlin, and I blamed Borjomi for Simon leaving, but then decided it wasn’t Borjomi’s fault that Simon didn’t come, it was Simons fault he didn’t Borjomi come. This great line was stated by me, and Mark loved my modern day Shakespearean style prose. Borjomi turned out to be my favorite city that I’ve visited, thus far, in Georgia. It’s a town full of giggles and chuckles; a place where you don’t find your destination, but destination finds you. It’s a town full of more than friendly locals, who will point you in the direction of wine markets; a place with beautiful architecture of brightly contrasting colors, including pink railings, bright blue balconies, and electric yellow buildings. In fact, a holy man even walked past me in Borjomi and blessed me. It gets even better-we had a cow in our backyard at the hotel, and Caitlin loved my drunken cow impression (the cow seemed drunk). Our first restaurant experience at Batumi was truly shocking: the food was varied, delicious, and brought out quickly, even on par with American standards. They also served a type of “sauce” which tasted just like authentic Mexican salsa. Ah Borjomi, it’s absolutely amazing, I can’t say it enough. The excellence continued into the next day, when we departed for the cave city of Vardzia. One of the female hotel workers had handed Mark a cell phone the previous day, and he spoke with someone who informed us of how to get to Vardzia via marshutka. On our way to Tbilisi from Kazbegi, we had spoken with another ex-pat who was teaching English in Turkey, and who had previously visited Vardzia from Borjomi. He told us we could expect to pay at least 25 Lari a night for a hotel/hostel and 30 Lari for a roundtrip drive to and from Vardzia. Well, I guess we’re just lucky, or the woman Mark spoke to was “an incarnation of God,” as he put it. As luck would have it, we managed to hop on a private 15 Lari roundtrip marshutka ride with a bunch of Russians and Azerbaijani people. Mark committed another faux-pas on this trip, as he kept referring to the Azerbaijani people as the “Armenians, because he always gets those two mixed up.” Oh, Mark, at it again.
The marshutka ride was one of the best I’ve ever had. Here are some highlights:
1) 1. The music. One song had lyrics that went a little like this, “will you touch my tra la la, my ding ding dong.”
2) 2.Random stops at a fortress, the Green Church, and a completely unexpected picnic, where the Azerbaijani and Russian women fed us hot dogs, bread, cucumbers, and hard boiled eggs set amidst a flowing stream. Also, some dogs came running out of the woodworks to try to catch some grub, and one of the dogs was an extremely adorable little spaz.
3) 3.The Russians and Azerbaijanis kept trying to get pictures with us. We allowed this, of course. Who doesn’t love feeling like a celebrity and being fed?
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| Standing by the river |
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| adorable spaz dog, I wanted to take her home sooo bad |
I have no idea where these women obtained food from, but people in this region are like food magicians. One moment there’s no food, and then, almost suddenly, food appears, and you’re told to “tchame, tchame (eat, eat), until you’re stuffed, no matter how many times you’ve said “ara, ar minda (no, I can’t).” After Vardzia, Mark, Caitlin, and I went to the store to buy some delicious wine. Then it was balcony party time back at the satsumro (hotel), where we had a mix of 80’s, 90’s, and oldies tunes to rock out to. Also, we listened to some Jet (“Look what you’ve done”) and a few other songs with downbeat melodies to prepare for Marks departure the following day. The morning Mark left was a sad day indeed, but before he peaced out to go teach the po po’s in Kazbegi how to speak right, he joined us for a delicious breakfast. Food joints around Georgia never seem to open early, so it’s always difficult to find a place to eat in the a.m. As Caitlin has pointed out, I’m now known to be the one who talks to strangers all the time, so I approached a group of men and asked them “sad aris sauzme (where is breakfast)?” Mark started cracking up, and pointed out how caveman and absurd the question was. “Just imagine going up to someone in America and asking that: where is breakfast?” He’s right, it is pretty silly, but my Georgian is a bit lacking. Like every other person in Borjomi, they walked us for a bit and then pointed in a direction where evidently breakfast would be available. The restaurant we picked out was fabulous, because Borjomi can do no wrong. Caitlin had the best French fries ever: they were drenched in butter and some delicious seasoning. The menu even served such fare as “wild fire mushrooms.” Mark ordered a kebob, and he almost hit Caitlin and I in the face with his long iron skewer. “No one deserves to be hit in the face with a kebob,” Mark apologized, “except maybe Jon Bon Jovi.” Good point.
Not long after breakfast, Mark had to eat and run to get back to his mountains. Caitlin and I sat alone, disheartened, missing Mark, Simon, and Tom. It was a sad, sad, day. From almost the moment we met, Caitlin and I had been talking about riding horses, and Borjomi was to be our moment to shine. We were unable to find the National Park Station, where we needed to register to ride said magnificent creatures. Not to worry, our helpful and informative friend, Artur, who worked in the Borjomi tourist center, helped us to flag down a taxi and take us to the horses. When we finally got to the station, we had to wait a bit while the rangers, or whatever they were, finished talking to a group of Israeli backpackers and a lone Lithuanian, who Caitlin kept mistaking for a Ukrainian. Greg, Mark, and Caitlin are always getting their countries mixed up. When they finally got around to us, we were informed that we would have only one hour to ride, since we came in too late. Sorry park people, we didn’t get the horse schedule memo. As we were about to leave, our hotel owner showed up. Caitlin and I both gave each other some perplexed WTF faces. How did this guy find us, and how did he know we would be at the park station? We thought quickly, and remembered that we had interrupted his game of chess earlier to ask for directions to the station, before we gave up our search and sought out Artur. The hotel owner drove us back to the city square, where he told us he would pick us up in an hour to take us to Lankati, where the horses would be. Hotel owner was the first Georgian I’ve met who runs on GMT (Georgian Maybe Time), and he was late, so we flagged down a taxi.
The taxi ride was only 5 Lari, but our driver didn’t have change for a 10 so he ended up getting a pretty big tip. We were dropped off in front of what appeared to be a tourist register center, but turned out to be a cottage with a bed in it, and it smelled like urine and wild animals. By this time, the taxi driver had already driven off, and Caitlin and I were stuck in the middle of the Borjomi wild forest, with no phone (I had lost mine a few days earlier and Caitlin had turned hers off-unbeknownst to her, you have to have a pin to turn your phone back on). We were being set up for those all too familiar horror stories, where the Americans get lost and murdered, never to be seen again. As we were sitting down, contemplating what to do next, and dreading the long walk back to the main road to hail a taxi, the Lithuanian we had seen earlier at the park station passed by. We told him of our dilemma. Unimpressed and un-amused with our quandary, he wished us the best of luck and continued on his way. Then, like a miracle, a knight in blue denim came galloping out of the thicket of the forest. When he saw our dazed, confused, and downtrodden faces, he slowed to a trot, and I instinctively yelled out, “do you speak English?” “No,” he said, “Russian.” Great, because I know about 5 Russian words. When he finally stopped his horse, which he was riding bareback, we tried our best to communicate that we were supposed to ride horses here, and we gave him our permission slip to be in the forest, which was given to us beforehand by the park rangers. He looked it over, made a few phone calls, and told us “10 minutes, no problem.” Off he galloped, with our permission slip in hand. I pessimistically told Caitlin that he was never coming back. Much to my surprise, he re-appeared in 10 minutes, and kept his word. He came back with his horse, who now donned a saddle, and a fellow friend of his. He instructed us to get on the horse, and Caitlin sat on the saddle while I was placed behind her, riding bareback. Who’s the BAMF now Simon? He and his friend led us through a trail in the national park. While on our ride, we passed the Lithuanian, who spoke Russian, and told us not to fear the random men, as they were good guys. The name of the horse was Maria, and she had a tendency to ride in the murkiest of places; I was covered in dirt, spider webs, and leaves by the end of the trip. Along the trails, we were treated with delicious wild blackberries, vashlee (apples), and fresh mountain spring water, which was nicely chilled.
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| Riding bareback, with Caitlin |
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| Caitlin with the horse guy |
After a 5-7 hour horse ride, the two men called up one of their friends, who spoke English, and asked us if we wanted to go to dinner with them. At first they said something about a fire, which I took to mean a bonfire; Caitlin thought they said “fire car.” We rode Maria into town, and arrived back at the Russians house, which was a full blown bachelor pad. They offered us internet, cookies, and coffee. I declined the coffee, just in case it was laced with GHB. After several minutes, we walked toward the main road, hopped into a taxi, and headed off back to our hotel, where we grabbed our translating book, and then were whisked away to a restaurant. Once at the eatery, the horse guys ordered an insane amount of khinkali and khatchupuri, as well as some ludi (beer) and several shots of cha cha (vodka). At one point, the lights went off, and our server brought out some candles, which prompted one of the guys to say “romantic.”After dinner, we walked around the city with the horse guys for an hour or two; it was hard to get away from them. When we finally managed to lose them, we ran up to our room and collapsed into a peaceful and much needed rest. The best part of the experience was that we only paid 25 Lari each, which the horse guys used to pay for our dinner. As we left the next day, we were unable to find any hotel workers to pay for our stay. As I mentioned earlier, the lobby is completely empty, with no receptionist whatsoever. Unable to find any hotel workers, we left our money and key in the room, hopeful that the right person would find it. Georgia places great emphasis on the honor system.
Borjomi was simply a bastion of happiness, and offered up a rock star weekend. Just like a prayer, Borjomi will take you there. The Borjomi trio, including myself, came up with an A-Z list to describe this wondrous city. Here it goes:
A-awesome
B-beautiful
C-cathartic
D-delightful
E-elegant
F-fantastic
G-grandiose
H-herculean
I-inspiring
J-joyful
K-kick ass
L-lovable
N-nostalgic
O-open
P-promethean
Q-quiet
R-regal
S-succulent
T-tantalizing
U-ultimate
V-validating
W- warm
X-xena-ish
Y-yahoo (yay)
Z-zippity dippity do
We left the next day to head home. We were unable to find a marshutka to Ozurgeti, where Caitlin lives, so we took a marshutka to Kutaisi, excited to eat at McD’s again and use the free internet. Once in Kutaisi, and at the safe haven of the American embassy, we met a few fellow TLG’ers. One of the TLG’ers, a man from Australia, showed us a video of a car wreck he had filmed earlier. There was a dead body sitting in the car, in plain sight, while policeman stood idly about, smoking cigarettes and chit-chatting. Only in Georgia…
After McD’s, we had no luck in finding a marshutka back to Ozurgeti, so we took a cab instead. Our cab driver drove like a fugitive, at 140 kph, twisting and turning about through the mountain roads. The way he drove, you would of thought there were at least 12 police cars behind him, sirens blaring and all. No worries, he got us back to Caitlin’s host family in no time at all. Once in the safety of Ozurgeti, and at the home of Caitlin’s (C’s) host family, we were immediately instructed to sit down to eat. I had the pleasure of meeting C’s infamous host aunt, whose name I can’t remember, although I know there’s a tuna in there somewhere, so that’s what I’ll call her. Tuna pretty much forced us to finish off a bottle of cognac. Once the bottle was depleted, she gave us full shots of cha-cha (vodka) which we had to down as well. After this drinking and eating fest, we were treated to some Georgian dancing by C’s host brother. When he was finished doing his thing, they put on “Wakka wakka” by Shakira. I don’t know why, but they love to listen to this song over and over again and watch Georgian dubbed Spanish soap operas. I hate it. The evening came with a bit of success: many Georgians, when they prepare meat dishes, leave a great deal of fat on the meat. I guess they like the taste of it, which is utterly revolting in my opinion. Of course, Caitlin hates the fat too, and her family has had difficulty understanding why she doesn’t eat it. I’ve become a master of charades, so I managed to communicate her dislike of the fat by grabbing a piece of fat on my oblique’s while making a face of revulsion and saying ara, ara (no, no). Then, sensing this opportune moment, C grabbed a piece of fat and a good piece of meat, while saying “no” to the fatty piece and “yes” to the non-fatty piece. They got the point, and hopefully will no longer encourage her to eat the gooey gunk.
The next day, Caitlin’s host family went to Batumi, and drove me to some church to meet up with Tuna. Tuna placed me in a car with a man I’ve never met before, and he began to drive me…somewhere. Somewhere turned out to be, thankfully, a marshutka station. For the entire drive, which was short-lived, he kept speaking to me about some Georgian singer, who was playing on the stereo, while asking me “you like, you like?” To avoid any arguments, I just said yes, even though the artist was clearly terrible. When we arrived at the station, he placed me on a marshutka heading towards Lanchutki, the biggest city, if you could call it that, next to my tiny village. Using my excellent marshutka locating skills, I navigated my way towards a large Mercedes marshutka bound for my village. The driver looked exactly like Alex Trebek, and he offered me a meal of puri (bread) and sulguni (cheese). I reluctantly accepted to be polite, after he repudiated several of my rejections. I was seated next to a woman with a full blown mustache, and a young boy who wouldn’t stop singing “wakka, wakka.” I don’t think I’ll ever be able to escape that wretched song.
Overall, it was an amazing week. I had the time of my life, and I owe it all to you Borjomi. I made several wishes in this astounding wilderness town, and I think they’re going to come to fruition. After all, Borjomi is a magical land, where if ye ask, ye shall receive.
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| In Borjomi, you just may find yourself. Caitlin and I found Narnia |
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