A Boring Little Blog With Great Pictures

    Hey, friends, fans, family, and lurkers. I haven’t been updating this blog as much as I should, and while not a great deal of exciting stuff has been happening, I will try to make the boring stuff as interesting as possible.

Still reading? Wow, you people are dedicated.

    I had to make another visa run to Georgia. I hope this is the last one! Not because I don’t like Georgia but doing the 3 x 3 bounce is so old. What is a three by three bounce? This is when I have to fly three hours in one direction to fly back, albeit at a slightly different angle, three hours to Tbilisi. In reality, it is two hours and twenty minutes in one direction and two hours and thirty in the other direction, but that sounds overtly precise and hence boring.

    Georgia was as welcoming as it always is for tourists. I think I am getting used to this sincere and generous welcome past the point of surprise. Not that I am taking it for granted. I would never do that but, I was less surprised when my friend/brother (from another Mother) picked me up at the airport and joined me for a great lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe. We spent the afternoon catching up and enjoying each other's company as if it hadn’t been a week. It had been almost three months.
I returned to the Mais Guest House and settled in for the potential two or three-week process to begin on Monday. While I have found a professional person to do all the filing and paperwork it is always a gamble when it comes to time. I had the weekend to kick back and enjoy some cigars with friends at the Davidoff Cigar Lounge. It was a great reunion, and we all fell back into the comfortable routine cigar smokers have and understand. If you’re not a cigar smoker well, I can’t explain it. We all caught up on current events, and I spent lots of time and effort explaining exactly what is a Donald Trump and how this could have happened in the self-proclaimed greatest democracy in the world. It was very much like watching your high school tough guy get his ass handed to him by a Catholic School Cheerleader Squad for the Georgians. They were kilometers past 'couldn’t believe it' status. I got the impression it shook their faith in the democratic process. To put this into perspective, you have to remember how hard and how many people sacrificed everything to achieve the government they now enjoy. We are not talking distance past events or obscure events referenced in speeches by people they don’t know. No, we are talking individuals who held the very hands of the dying. The ones who lived for months without power, water, and getting bread required a ticket and a trip across town. A city plunged into chaos and lawlessness while staring down the twin barrels of external influencing super powers.
I did as much as I could to explain the electoral college and how that system worked and how the courts would act as a buffer to the more crazy ideas that the Office of POTUS might try to run with. It didn’t go a very long way to reassure, but it did add up to some very good topics to discuss and so the room was lively with the discussion.

   I arrived Monday at the office of my professional paperwork person. I had brought a package of Russian special cigarettes to him as a gift. This is a good thing for foreigners to remember. The act of tipping in North America is standard. But this is not the case in other countries and if you just do the same thing you would do at home you reaffirm the RICH American/Canadian tourist idea. The act of bringing him something from Russia meant I thought of him before I left Russia and carried significantly more impact than just saying “keep the change.” This was my third time filling, or rather watching someone else, complete the paperwork.
    The Russian Consulate is in the Swiss Embassy compound and the line up to get in is a chaotic affair. Line and turns are never as simple as saying they are in London England. When I finally got to the window the lady behind the glass recognized me and smiled and seemed impressed that my Russian had improved as much as it has. She commented my accent is getting better. She then also handed back my paperwork and said I needed to complete it in Russian. I was surprised as the last time she wouldn’t take it completed in Russian.
I returned to my professional, and she was as surprised as I was. So surprised that she pulled out Google Translate to make sure what I was saying was what she understood I was saying. Translation complete we did the paperwork again in Russian and added a photocopy of my last visa to the one containing my identification page of my passport. A new addition to the requirement from last time.
I returned with two sets of applications, one in Russian and one in English. The Russian one was kept, and I was handed back the English one with a sticky note that I could pick up my visa on Friday after six in the evening. I walked out of the office surprised that my visa would be ready in only five days.

    The next week included numerous invitations for supper. Supper in Georgian means a feast. So for tourists, it is important you know that giving time between these invitations is wise. The liver will need at least forty-eight hours of healing. My liver is an Olympic superstar, so I did three of these in a row. Max made a great traditional dinner at his home and brought me home safe and sound. Nodar took me out to a great traditional restaurant and then escorted me back to Mais Guest house. Shalva, Bekka, David, and Zura organized a couple of dinner deliveries to the club, and thankfully the club is a close stumble home. Public Service Notice for Canadians. Georgians may think you can keep up with them when it comes to consumption of Wine and Brandy as a result of my poor judgments. To paraphrase Riddick; “Do not step up if you can’t keep up because you’ll just die.”

I went back to the Embassy on Friday only to find out it was closed.

    I picked up my visa on Monday and booked my return trip to Anapa Russia. Short notice bookings are never cheap, but I was glad I had not booked it ahead of time. The return trip saw Max and his Wife stepping up again and taking me to the airport at one in the morning. Flights from Tbilisi are less than great for connecting to anyplace other than Turkey. So Anapa saw me arrive with zero sleep in twenty-six hours. Home in my bed saw me doing a “just to be safe” two-week detox program. Not that I needed to, or have a problem, but kind of like doing your oil change early because you’ve been doing some hard driving.

    Ever notice how cats are usually sitting alone? They never look lonely. I have this local cat that recognizes me and yet never approaches. In fact, if I talk to him he gives me a look like I just disturbed him from solving Einstein’s issue of gravitational waves. Cats can be like that sometimes, but I do envy their ability just to sit and seemingly enjoy the moment. I love walking in Anapa and routinely walk several kilometers a day. If I try to sit and enjoy a view for longer than nine minutes, I get restless. I need something distracting, like cigar ash falling into my lap or a conversation. This conversation doesn’t have to include anyone else. I am a writer I can talk to myself; it’s on my Writers Guild card. These conversations usually focus on things I need to do, should do, and want to do but can’t. I hate the first and last ones the most. I need to write a blog! Well, we see how effective that one has been.

Today I got to it. The need to do box is at this moment ticked with the proper Government issued pen. The want to do but can’t is still on hold. The center does, after all, hold what the rest can’t.

     I also managed to get my train ticket today to celebrate my Russian Mom’s Birthday. My Anapa friend Lasha was lots of help in this endeavor. If only to confirm it was done right. Luckily he was as the girl messed up my last name. In fairness it is hard. My last name in Russian is spelled KOBE, and so she had dropped the Y and added an E, COVEE. So if you remember your grammar lessons “Drop the Y and add a…” Hardly could blame the girl as in the head it does sound right. Probably would have worked but correctly is better. The trick now will be seeing if the conductor of the train will let me jump ship at the village before Beslan. It isn’t a proper stop, and the train only stops for five minutes for a “mechanical check.” Wish me luck and thanks for reading the boring and mundane.

You want excitement order or download my newest book  Redemption’s Bullet from Amazon!

Moscow Girls Make Me Scream and Shout. But Georgia's Always On My Mind.

   My visa ran out before my new invitation letter arrived. This statement will create stress for anyone that travels. Thankfully as a Canadian I don’t run into this situation too often. I can most certainly relate to friends from other countries when planning an overseas trip is an exercise in paperwork and bureaucracy. So I had to leave my beautiful Anapa and travel back to Georgia. Now I love Georgia too but at this time of year its cold. I had to fly through Moscow to connect through to Tbilisi, and so I got to feel real cold briefly as the minutes ticked away toward my expiring document. Sitting in the lounge, having gone through passport control, drinking a beer I became an illegal alien moments before my redeye flight to Tbilisi boarded.

Flights into Tbilisi are made less than convenient for large aircraft because the airport in Tbilisi is being renovated. I hope that this renovation is complete soon as it severely limits tourism to this wonderful city and country. It reminds me of when Vancouver was upgrading its airport. We saw Abbotsford and Bellingham's airports step in to take up the slack and the customer base. Many like myself discovered it was much easier and cheaper to fly to Vegas from Bellingham.

Because of this construction large aircraft land at night and passengers have to negotiate the taxi ranks at an hour usually spent sleeping. Taxis and airports are a small pool hunting grounds the world over and Tbilisi is no different. Many hotels have shuttles to bring you to your hotel and marked taxi’s gather to pick up passengers. Prices are very fluid and difficult to negotiate so I won’t give you a price other than to say it will be the most you spend on a taxi in the city. So simply pay the fee and know you will make up the difference on subsequent taxi costs during your vacation in Georgia. Ten Lari is usually sufficient for any trip in the city, corner to corner.

Returning to Tbilisi after living here for a year did feel like a form of a homecoming. Friends welcomed me in the traditional way, and so my first few days were filled with food and gatherings. They were interested in how my trip home to Anapa was and what I thought of current events shaping our shared world. Cha Cha and wine flowed along with stories about the previous three months apart. Culturally Georgians accept guests with grace and open arms. For me this felt like more of a family gathering, it was as if three months had never passed. We fell into our routines of speaking, translating, waiting for translations, like I had never left. My Russian has gotten better too, so this makes it a little easier.

If your a frequent reader of my blog you know I’ve lived here for a long period on and off. I know the city, the areas, and how to get a good deal or the best value for your money. Arriving late I stayed my first night at an inexpensive guest house near the old Dry Bridge market.  I was determined to check out a new place I had heard of. It was this “I know a guy connection” that allowed me to find a super place to stay.

The Mais Guest house is close to the University and was built by a couple of guys that know what foreigners expect from a good guest house. I know both of them spent time in America researching ideas and expectations. The guest house runs as an extension of the Mais Cafe and Resturant and the staff there has a good command of English and an even better command of Russian. A word for my North American travelers. Understand these hosts speak several languages and don’t get to practice English as much as they would like. North Americans usually speak one language, or perhaps two if you're lucky. Here two languages are the norm, and many speak four or five. So slow it down a bit and try to articulate the word clearly. The hosts will go out of their way to help you, it isn’t just a company idea, it is a traditional cultural expectation.

I arrived and was pleasantly surprised to find that they had room for me. It is the offseason, but its location near so many year round institutions makes it attractive. It is set back from one of Tbilisi’s busiest streets and is close to everything the city has to offer. For me, the main highlight was that it was very close to my favorite cigar bar. The staff showed me all three rooms, and I took the second largest room. It has a great balcony for sipping coffee and smoking something Cuban. The small room isn’t small by European standards, and I laughed when my host called it the small room. I recounted my London stay in a broom closet for two hundred Euros. By comparison, the largest suite is really big, and it has a balcony capable of hosting eight for dinner. The three private spacious bedrooms share a common reception and kitchen. Each bedroom has its large bathroom outfitted with five-star amenities. The beds are comfy, fine linens and special windows ensure guests sleep soundly. I was surprised to find English TV channels and having been struck down with the dreaded MANCOLD I curled up under the thick down comforter and pulled out my computer to write to you all.

So looking to the future I am certain my days here will be warm, and with the Mais Cafe just downstairs I won’t be going too far till this cold abates. They even let me use the backdoor to come and go, so I don’t have to go outside. Georgian Hospitality Once Again!

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night!

     Anapa has me feeling like I am at home. Not only because Anapa is my new home away from Canada. It rained today, in a very non-typical way for this area of the Black Sea. For those readers in Vancouver, it rained as it does at home. In Anapa, the rainstorms are very tropical in nature or perhaps Russian in culture. I don’t write this meaning to be disrespectful. Russians work hard, play harder, and fight furiously. Just ask anyone that has met them in battle. When it rains here, it rains furiously. Inches, or centimeters, of water, fill the roads in minutes. The sky truly opens up and getting caught means getting soaked to your underwear. 

Today, however, it sprinkled politely, like a Canadian rain, all day. Quietly whispering to go home soon or you’ll get damp. Reminding you politely why they sell umbrellas, from vending machines at our international airport. Russian people have asked me if it is true that Vancouver has stores that sell pot, or marijuana, from vending-style machines. I answer truthfully that we do, and when I add the umbrella machines, they are even more amazed at our strange country. But, they add, strange in a good way. 

     I have mentioned it before that Canadians/Americans and some Europeans have a hard time understanding Russian culture and customs. I was just talking about this with my English speaking waitress. I said to her, and now to you, I believe this is because normally when someone has a drastically different culture, they look different. It is a duck with various markings. The WoodDuck knows the Pintail is a duck, and it knows it will prefer to eat in the middle of the lake instead of the reeds. We humans are the same we perceive visual cues that tell us the person is a different culture and might have different customs or behaviors. It prepares us for it. Russians look just like everybody else. Perhaps the women are a little more stunning, and the men a little larger but on the whole the same. I am trying to walk that very fine line between what is and what I perceive, or think. I don’t want to be called racist or anti-Canadian/American. I do want to accurately describe and paint for you a correct picture. Personally, I believe Russian women to be the most physically beautiful in the world. But that is a bias and an opinion. I am after all married to Russian woman. She will say she isn’t Russian as people from Russia tend to identify themselves by where they came from. So someone from Anapa would say they are Kavkaz and someone from Novosibirsk might say they are Siberian. In Canada we don’t share this regional identity in the same way unless one is from Quebec, or perhaps Surrey. 

The sky has opened up here, complete with thunder and lighting. I am writing this enjoying a coffee and incredible chicken wings at my new favorite bar/lounge. I tweeted about this place and posted on my Facebook page. It is called Timer_Lounge Bar. They may not have the beach view my last year's office had, but they have incredibly good food and a larger selection of drinks. If you’re an English-speaking tourist and looking for a bit of a break from the great traditional food Russia has to offer then look up Timer. They have a New York style of cooking, full of flair, elegance, and something hard to find in New York. Farm fresh, non-GMO ingredients sourced less than fifty kilometers away. If you’re one of my Russian readers, then give the place a try. It may be a little expensive, from a local perspective, but you can taste truly world class cooking and international food without flying anyplace. A New York steak without flying to New York. Just don’t cook the meat to well done, as is cultural here!! Try medium or medium rare… It’s safe. Trust me I am Canadian.

     I went to the Market today. In American and Canada, it would be called The Farmers Market. My sister Carol-Lyn loves these types of things and frequently goes in California. Here they are just a part of life. Not really a thing, like in LA, but a regular, historically normal part of Russian life. Everything is natural, fresh, and grown/raised/harvested locally. The people are proud of their products and if you don’t arrive early you won’t get any. A sell out is usually the norm. It is difficult for me as they don’t put the price of things on the product as the regular stores do. SO I had to revert to apologizing for not speaking the language and holding out a handful of coins and small bills. Letting them take what they needed. Did they know I was a foreigner? Most certainly. Did anyone take advantage, and take more than they should? No! How do I know you’re asking? I watch other peoples purchases and get a feel for how much it should be within a few Rubles and watch body language. It is cultural to be kind and honest with strangers in the Kavkaz region of Russia. Perhaps it is the same in other regions? I don’t know as I haven’t traveled there yet. When I do, I will let you know. 

    The rain is pouring now, lightning is flashing brilliantly overhead, and the thunder sounds like artillery. The deck has a few centimeters of water on it, and I am alone. The locals and staff thinking the Canadian is crazy sitting outside under the umbrellas made really for the sun. It isn’t at all cold, and I do love thunder storms. The great thing about being in Russia is I am free to sit outside if I want. No waitress or manager urging me inside, as it is safer. I could get electrocuted, but it is MY choice. No Nanny Nation state sponsored rules oppressing me. The local saying here is; “My Life My Rules” and it is something those that scream about freedom should take to heart. 

The world media was going on the other day about something President Obama said. He commented on something the Donald had said on Larry King about President Putin’s ratings. He compared President Putin’s popularity with Saddam Hussein, remarking that when you controlled the media, it was easy to have great approval ratings. To say I was confused by this statement would be putting it mildly. I have been here in Russia for over fifteen months in the past three years. I routinely watch Global TV Vancouver while I eat my breakfast and usually watch a little BBC at lunchtime. Something I couldn’t do when I was in Thailand. The difference? Media sources are censored in Thailand, currently under a Military Dictatorship, and are not in Russia. So I found it very odd that the sitting President Of The United States would make such a statement. Does he believe the citizens of the USA are stupid enough to believe that in 2016 Russian citizens can't watch, read, and listen to non-Russian bias reporting? All media is bias, Fox News more Republican-leaning and NBC perhaps less so. CBC more Liberal in Canada than Global News Network. But to suggest Russians are like the people of Iraq? It goes along way to confirm this Russianphobia that seems to be running rampant these days. 

     Perhaps I am biased? This could be true. Many of you that read my blog only know me from my fiction writing, and follow along here to see when the next new book is being released. But, many here are friends and family. The other day I read a quote I liked. “The best part of me is I am who and what I am. It happens to also be the worst part of me”. I speak my mind, and when something is an opinion, I tend to say as much. I don’t whitewash the truth, and I don’t engage in propaganda. My political leanings are Socialist, as are many Canadians, and I tend to call bullshit when I don’t agree with something. I exercise my right to free speech. I even called my previous Prime Minister a bad word right here on this blog. So you can take it as a fact that President Putin’s popularity numbers are pretty damn accurate. Statistics being what they are not withstanding. Not everyone I’ve talked to agrees with everything he is doing or perhaps the way he is doing it but they all agree he knows best and here is the big part. They TRUST HIM. Even if they don’t understand the big picture or the endgame, they trust he has the best interests of the country in his heart. That is something for both Canada and America to pay attention to. America is entering an election with many people saying they have a choice between bad, and worse. Canada has five choices, I almost typed three, as two don’t count, and in the end, we vote out a party rather than voting IN the one we want. 

     I didn’t start off with a political agenda for this blog. It just went that way. I guess when you talk about the differences in people and cultures it is bound to happen. Russians ask what other cultures think about them. They are curious about the world outside of Russia, and they know and remember history. So it is natural for them to raise questions and question motives. For example, I recently got asked this question. 

        “When the USSR put nuclear missiles in Cuba it almost started World War Three. Now America is placing the same type of missiles in many countries surrounding Russia. When we did it, we were called aggressive and engaging in brink politics. Now we are being called aggressive again. It is not us placing weapons of mass destruction in other countries.” 

How would you answer that question? I couldn’t come up with anything on the spot and since the question was asked haven’t found a decent answer. Protecting sovereignty in small countries with a nuclear response is kind of like pissing on your Ice-cream cone, so your sister doesn’t eat it.  

Back inside the comfort of the Russian Federation

So after spending a year in Georgia, Inga and I are back in our place in Anapa. The temptation when spending so much time abroad is to compare home with where you are. In this case, it is tempting to compare Georgia with Russia and Georgians with Russians. A little insider travel trip. No one likes when you do that. Where you were is where you were. Now you’re someplace else, and it is what it is. In your head, you are finding similarities or things you like or dislike about the change. It is human nature after all. But, leave those thoughts where they originate. In your head. 

We are once again doing the residency process. It makes it a great deal easier to travel and come and go as required. This was our third time going through the process, so we were well practiced and knew what to expect. All the necessary paperwork was submitted, and I was sent to a nearby city to have my medical exams performed. Six appointments in five different locations. My driver and facilitator spoke very little English but understood if he kept the Russian to a child level we could communicate. It was a great test of my newly acquired and petite practiced language skills. I think he enjoyed the experience as much as I did. He shuttled me around to different clinics in a very VIP manner, attempting to point out historical and interesting sites along the way.

The city is called; The City Of Heroes. I believe it was one of the Forbidden Cities at a time in recent Russian history. Forbidden in the sense that foreigners at one time needed special paperwork to visit. It was a lovely city with lots of public green spaces welcoming families and couples. Fancy and simple architecture mixed in new and old buildings alike. We moved through the city from one clinic to another, and my driver/guide stopped near the harbor for a coffee. Together we looked out over the parked warships, the sun was high overhead, and I could see my guide thinking. He took a sip of coffee and in a series of simple phrases communicated a question. It took eight sentences and a few clarifications by me for him to ask. “Crimea was Russian first. It became something else. Something else that many residents didn’t like. They had a revolution, like the Arab Spring revolution. No one asked who backed the Arab revolution. The people voted. They voted democratically to return to Mother Russia (Mother Russia is expressed in one word Rodina, but has several specific meanings). Why now are American warships in the Black Sea? Is democracy only democracy if America agrees? Why when Russia put nuclear missiles on its territory in Cuba we almost went to war? America now circles Russia with these same weapons, on US Military bases in other countries,  and says it has to as President Putin is aggressive? Aggressive because he backed a democratically elected government in a territory that is 75% Russian? Why do Americans hate us so much?”

This was not an easy series of questions to answer. The general issue being why does America hate Russia so much. The previous questions adding context and situational proof so one could not only answer “they don’t it is just political.” I find myself explaining American politics a great deal more than I like, or am qualified to do. I am not American, but being neighbors and perceived to be similar I get placed into this role. To be short Russians separate people from politics, something Americans don’t do, and Canadians do to a lesser degree than Russians. So when he said Americans, he means the country and governing government, not the people. It is an essential cultural understanding of language. 

I looked at the aging destroyer parked in the harbor, now a museum to The Great War as it is called here. How to answer the question, hampered by my child-like vocabulary? My guide’s expression was communicating he understood my difficulty and the position his question put me in. I pointed to the ship and asked when did The Great War begin? He answered. An answer shared by Canada, Russia, and England. I said; “not if you ask an American.” For America, it started in December. If you Google search in English, this is history. This is the reality. The reality is shaped by those that control and distribute information. Every person fears the unknown. Things that are different create stress. People don’t like stress. Things we don’t know are different and stressful. It is easier to stay inside a box we know than look outside the box into the unknown. I don’t know how to get all these medical tests done. That is stressful. I have to tell you I don’t know. I have to show weakness. I have to trust you to help me. America is the most powerful country in the world. They can’t show weakness and remain seen as such. This hampers their ability to trust. Americans don’t hate Russians, and America doesn’t understand Russia, so they can not trust. My guide shook his head, nodding his understanding of my answer and raised the last sip of his coffee to the hulking warship. “Mira, Di Bok.” I joined him repeating in English “For God; Peace.” 

We retreated to the air-conditioned Audi and headed back up the hill to the next appointment. The next clinic took a blood sample, and I was handed a cup. The nurse pointed to a door when she gave me plastic drinking cup. I went to the door and opened it. It was a toilet. I was unclear of what she wanted and turned to look back at her. She gestured, in a very manly way, what I was supposed to do and said; “50 degrees.” I understood she wanted a urine sample and that I should fill the cup halfway. The door outside found my guide waiting for me. He pointed to an office across the hall and was smiling. I gave him a questioning look, and his smile broadened. “Trust me Canada it is all good. Go there. Do that what doctor say.”  I walked into the room, and an older man was talking with an even older nurse. He smiled and said hello and gestured for me to drop my trousers. The nurse discretely turned and looked out the window. I dropped my pants and regained his gaze. He nodded and gestured for me to continue. I pulled down my underwear dreading what was coming next. The doctor just looked and nodded and motioned for me to get dressed. I pulled up my cloths, wondering what that test was for. My answer came when I rejoined my guide. He was still smiling and with two thumbs up he said “You officially a boy.” 

My tests all came back good. I don’t have Aids, Hep, or any other social diseases. My blood tests didn’t have traces of drugs. I don’t have TB, and my blood pressure was within the ok margin. Oh!, and I am officially a man with proper man junk. So the dossier complete I read and signed all the forms and sent the pile of to Moscow. I will probably have to leave Russia two more times. A quick hop to Georgia at the end of October to get another three-month visa, and then again before my RVP (as it is called here) is decided on. If the decision is positive then I will be free to come and go to Russia for three years, so long as I am not out of the country for longer than 180 days. 

Perhaps it is the overly polite Canadian culture, but I can honestly say everyone I have had the pleasure of meeting in Russia has gone out of their way and comfort zone to make me feel welcome. Even when I was new and made social mistakes, cultural oops’s, these have been ignored. I would like to believe the same would be true if my Russian or Georgian friends tried to immigrate to Canada. But, I have too many immigrant friends that have told me differently. Perhaps infrequent immigration means Russians still have patience left for foreigners and Canadians don’t? I don’t know the answer. But I do know the feeling. So when you hear or see someone new struggling to order a coffee at Starbucks, or get directions for God’s sake help them if you can. The person is stressed, and feels like he or she is standing there with their junk hanging out! 

Back inside the comfort of the Russian Federation

So after spending a year in Georgia, Inga and I are back in our place in Anapa. The temptation when spending so much time abroad is to compare home with where you are. In this case, it is tempting to compare Georgia with Russia and Georgians with Russians. A little insider travel trip. No one likes when you do that. Where you were is where you were. Now you’re someplace else, and it is what it is. In your head, you are finding similarities or things you like or dislike about the change. It is human nature after all. But, leave those thoughts where they originate. In your head. 

We are once again doing the residency process. It makes it a great deal easier to travel and come and go as required. This was our third time going through the process, so we were well practiced and knew what to expect. All the necessary paperwork was submitted, and I was sent to a nearby city to have my medical exams performed. Six appointments in five different locations. My driver and facilitator spoke very little English but understood if he kept the Russian to a child level we could communicate. It was a great test of my newly acquired and petite practiced language skills. I think he enjoyed the experience as much as I did. He shuttled me around to different clinics in a very VIP manner, attempting to point out historical and interesting sites along the way.

The city is called; The City Of Heroes. I believe it was one of the Forbidden Cities at a time in recent Russian history. Forbidden in the sense that foreigners at one time needed special paperwork to visit. It was a lovely city with lots of public green spaces welcoming families and couples. Fancy and simple architecture mixed in new and old buildings alike. We moved through the city from one clinic to another, and my driver/guide stopped near the harbor for a coffee. Together we looked out over the parked warships, the sun was high overhead, and I could see my guide thinking. He took a sip of coffee and in a series of simple phrases communicated a question. It took eight sentences and a few clarifications by me for him to ask. “Crimea was Russian first. It became something else. Something else that many residents didn’t like. They had a revolution, like the Arab Spring revolution. No one asked who backed the Arab revolution. The people voted. They voted democratically to return to Mother Russia (Mother Russia is expressed in one word Rodina, but has several specific meanings). Why now are American warships in the Black Sea? Is democracy only democracy if America agrees? Why when Russia put nuclear missiles on its territory in Cuba we almost went to war? America now circles Russia with these same weapons, on US Military bases in other countries,  and says it has to as President Putin is aggressive? Aggressive because he backed a democratically elected government in a territory that is 75% Russian? Why do Americans hate us so much?”

This was not an easy series of questions to answer. The general issue being why does America hate Russia so much. The previous questions adding context and situational proof so one could not only answer “they don’t it is just political.” I find myself explaining American politics a great deal more than I like, or am qualified to do. I am not American, but being neighbors and perceived to be similar I get placed into this role. To be short Russians separate people from politics, something Americans don’t do, and Canadians do to a lesser degree than Russians. So when he said Americans, he means the country and governing government, not the people. It is an essential cultural understanding of language. 

I looked at the aging destroyer parked in the harbor, now a museum to The Great War as it is called here. How to answer the question, hampered by my child-like vocabulary? My guide’s expression was communicating he understood my difficulty and the position his question put me in. I pointed to the ship and asked when did The Great War begin? He answered. An answer shared by Canada, Russia, and England. I said; “not if you ask an American.” For America, it started in December. If you Google search in English, this is history. This is the reality. The reality is shaped by those that control and distribute information. Every person fears the unknown. Things that are different create stress. People don’t like stress. Things we don’t know are different and stressful. It is easier to stay inside a box we know than look outside the box into the unknown. I don’t know how to get all these medical tests done. That is stressful. I have to tell you I don’t know. I have to show weakness. I have to trust you to help me. America is the most powerful country in the world. They can’t show weakness and remain seen as such. This hampers their ability to trust. Americans don’t hate Russians, and America doesn’t understand Russia, so they can not trust. My guide shook his head, nodding his understanding of my answer and raised the last sip of his coffee to the hulking warship. “Mira, Di Bok.” I joined him repeating in English “For God; Peace.” 

We retreated to the air-conditioned Audi and headed back up the hill to the next appointment. The next clinic took a blood sample, and I was handed a cup. The nurse pointed to a door when she gave me plastic drinking cup. I went to the door and opened it. It was a toilet. I was unclear of what she wanted and turned to look back at her. She gestured, in a very manly way, what I was supposed to do and said; “50 degrees.” I understood she wanted a urine sample and that I should fill the cup halfway. The door outside found my guide waiting for me. He pointed to an office across the hall and was smiling. I gave him a questioning look, and his smile broadened. “Trust me Canada it is all good. Go there. Do that what doctor say.”  I walked into the room, and an older man was talking with an even older nurse. He smiled and said hello and gestured for me to drop my trousers. The nurse discretely turned and looked out the window. I dropped my pants and regained his gaze. He nodded and gestured for me to continue. I pulled down my underwear dreading what was coming next. The doctor just looked and nodded and motioned for me to get dressed. I pulled up my cloths, wondering what that test was for. My answer came when I rejoined my guide. He was still smiling and with two thumbs up he said “You officially a boy.” 

My tests all came back good. I don’t have Aids, Hep, or any other social diseases. My blood tests didn’t have traces of drugs. I don’t have TB, and my blood pressure was within the ok margin. Oh!, and I am officially a man with proper man junk. So the dossier complete I read and signed all the forms and sent the pile of to Moscow. I will probably have to leave Russia two more times. A quick hop to Georgia at the end of October to get another three-month visa, and then again before my RVP (as it is called here) is decided on. If the decision is positive then I will be free to come and go to Russia for three years, so long as I am not out of the country for longer than 180 days. 

Perhaps it is the overly polite Canadian culture, but I can honestly say everyone I have had the pleasure of meeting in Russia has gone out of their way and comfort zone to make me feel welcome. Even when I was new and made social mistakes, cultural oops’s, these have been ignored. I would like to believe the same would be true if my Russian or Georgian friends tried to immigrate to Canada. But, I have too many immigrant friends that have told me differently. Perhaps infrequent immigration means Russians still have patience left for foreigners and Canadians don’t? I don’t know the answer. But I do know the feeling. So when you hear or see someone new struggling to order a coffee at Starbucks, or get directions for God’s sake help them if you can. The person is stressed, and feels like he or she is standing there with their junk hanging out! 

Websites and custom painted jets.

    In my last blog, I talked about writing and doing many things yourself. Making a story a great story is a challenge to both imagination and perseverance. Sometimes it is a struggle between the two to see the winner. Stress is proven to reduce productivity, but I don’t know if anyone has studied how stress reduces creativity. Perhaps this is one such test. I got a little creative with the rollout of the newest website.

If you have been reading, you know my website woes. ScottDcovey dot com got hijacked by a donkey/midget porn site in Belgium. My attempt at resurrecting that site got sidelined and held hostage by an asshole. I refused to pay the ransom. I will run into him one day. So the newest attempt is scheduled to launch later this month. I have high hopes. Dreams even, of this site being everything I need it to be. I am even considering an APP! Free of course to all.

The book is scheduled to launch before Summer. Sorry, this is as close as I can guess. Just when it seems I have all my ducks in the row, someone tells me I am supposed to be herding cats! But I do have some goodies for you. The cover photos are ready in 3D and so is the Logo painted plane’s website launch video.

Short and sweet today as the stress of the previous week is affecting my creativity.

Much Love,
Scott D Covey.

Book. THE END

    It has been a while since I posted anything to my blog as I have been busy getting the book ready. Yes, it officially has an ISBN 9781633237865, for those that like to keep track of such things. So it is officially done and Bob Mayer I can finally type ‘The End’. But, Like he pointed out in his blog a few months ago, rarely is it the end. Now, I have to get an official website back up. I got scammed on my previous site and learned a few lessons. Again, this would be something helpful to new writers to understand and get some insight from professional conferences. A simple understanding of the difference between marketing and advertising is not enough. You have to know your readers and know what they want to see in a graphic representation of your work. Sure it has to be easy for them to order and buy the book but it also has to give them something to do past the obvious. I have been using my blog as such, and it is a poor replacement for a well-designed site. So I have been working to get this accomplished. I have also been working closely with the layout and design of the interior of the book. Past edits, and formatting it has to be easy to read and intelligently laid out with enough gaps in the transitions. Thanks again Jay M. Then the cover and back block has to be done. So you see as wise Mr. Mayer points out ‘The End’ is just the beginning.

    My supportive wife, Inga, has left me with this task and is taking the time to spend time with her parents. This may seem odd to anyone who hasn’t lived with a writer. Too often we creative typing monkeys get frustrated and can unintentionally level this frustration at those closest to us. I like to be as honest as possible here. Perhaps too much so. Three days in my underwear, only remembering to eat when you get dizzy going to the washroom and trying to find a few answers in Vodka, or just

recently, Absinth! While the answers are rarely in a bottle, it does slow the brain or provide it a distraction to move out of the mud it finds miring the process. Absinth is perhaps different. They import the real wormwood stuff here. The magical formula used by many creative types in the past and outlawed in most countries. Yes, I know you can buy Absinth in Canada, and they say it is ‘real.' That real definition is a little interpretive. Real ingredients but… when you live in a country that worries about the rat poo level in your Snickers bar, do you think for a second they would let you drink something previous artists have cut body parts off while under the green fairies influence? No! But, this is Georgia, and here you are free to be you. You also are expected to take responsibility for your actions. Local Cha Cha is available everywhere, and its purity is questionable when you buy it out of repurposed Pepsi bottles. The stuff runs about 60 percent pure alcohol so its clean of anything alive but, chemically it is a little risky. Something few locals care about, past doing a spoon burn check. So the imported Absinth is the real deal. I missed leaving my real Absinth spoon back in Canada. A gift from Mr. Antell it was from Finland and very old and I left it in the care of Dimitri with my watches. I made it work, and the hot clouded liquid bit my tongue with a sharp licorice embrace. It took four such potions till the green fairy revealed herself. Less of a fairy really and more like a cloud specter just on the edge of your vision.  I didn’t understand what it was at first until Commander Scotty’s words echoed in my head. “But, It is green.”

    The inspiration arrived, and I scribbled and sketched the book cover. I took pictures wisely thinking I may not be able to interpret this genius while not gripped by this specter’s tutelage. The room got remarkable hot, and I was glad that my tutor had no problem with my near nudity. I forgot to eat. But in a way, I was feeding on my creativity. It was like tossing a brick on the accelerator of a BMW M5 and trying to steer it through the mountains. The wheels eventually always come off. Knowing this I had locked my door and hid the keys when my conscious self-wasn't really paying attention. The morning light did not come easily. I crawled from it like a newly born vampire. I slowly gained the ability to stand and went back to my desk. The notes had survived. The pictures provided illumination and worked as a sort of a self-discovery I didn’t need. However, the cover was done. I was alive.

    So today as a bit of a treat I went to an outside cafe and told you all about it. I am not airing my liver. Who are we kidding the purity of the air would surely kill it. This is what it is to be a writer. So when you are looking at that book on the shelf, and the price know the author bled to create it. Most certainly differently than me. But we bleed the stories we share with you. To imagine the worlds and characters, we become them. We hurt ourselves and often those that love us. It is this to be a writer of fiction.

    The new book will be released shortly. Redemption’s Bullet is ten times the story Grey Redemption is. It is darker, much darker, and tighter because of those that helped/made me edit it over and over again. I am very proud of this book. It is written in blood only for you as you deserve it. A public thanks to testing readers, coerced editors, friends, fans, and family. This would have never been possible without you! A special thanks to Inga the strongest and most loving person I have been gifted with!

Nielsen Book Ratings and Forced Hands

   This month has come with several new revelations. Revelation delivery is usually reserved for angels. It must be a union shop or something. These shipments usually are accompanied by destruction or at the very least several people turning into salt. Thankfully my revelations were delivered by the outsourced delivery service, so it was with slightly less destruction. Not that this was in any way easy and without some serious soul searching, and anger.

    It turns out that all the stuff we writers have learned by attending conferences and learning how to “break” into the publishing world has missed a very significant tool. This tool is called the Nielsen Book Ratings. Yes, the same metric that brought you the Kardashians and petulant screaming Irish chefs is firmly in control of what gets published. In the same breath, Agents and dominant Publishing houses are bemoaning the state of the industry. 

We have all heard, or read, the responses from Literary Agents. "Due to the shrinking reading, demographic traditional publishing houses are less inclined to take risks with new authors or lesser artists." Really? So it rained last year, and the wheat crop failed, so you decide not to plant another one? We creative, typing monkeys are what you people eat. So you’re not going to encourage us to keep writing? If authors are not nurtured why would we they feel any loyalty to stay with a house? It’s business. You made your percentage from my effort and applied the skills you were compensated for, and now I am in the Nielsen Book Rating top one hundred; so piss off. JK Rowling dumped her publisher and while I don’t know the reason for certain it does give me pause to wonder. 

I do know one famous author who has moved to a smaller press for his series books, and the new titles he is publishing. He has mastered his craft and doesn’t need the editorial help. He was on the NYT bestseller list a few times over the years so is name is out there. Why should he choose to subject himself to the influence of companies driven by an accountant metric that brought us such wonderful enriched TV like Bay Watch! 

The huge media giants decide what makes main stream TV. Meanwhile, Show Case tops the charts with “Sons Of Anarchy” and the Sci-Fi channel makes a killing with “The Expanse”. So if these media giants see this with TV based using an outdated and stupid metric why would they apply it to print? More to the point, why has not one single agent or agent representative brought this up as a point during a writers class at one of the many conferences I attended or spoke at? I’ve listened to hours of material about making a killer thirty-second elevator pitch, creating a foundation of readers, and the ‘secret’ bump to get you to the top of the slush pile. ‘I’ve been offered representation and wanted to give… ‘ 

    Perhaps it is because they are close to the fire and know if they let the cat out of the bag that unless your first book is a blockbusting bestseller you’re in and done at one! Faced with this reality it is easy to see why putting in the amount of work to school a new author past all the pitfalls and issues that may come up is daunting. It also explains my disappointment with the last several mainstream titles I bought and read. The Border by Robert McCammon was the only book I enjoyed reading in the previous year. 

I was lucky enough to have an agent that follows me on Twitter point this out a few weeks ago. Now I could point out errors and omissions in the Nielsen system, but, this would just look like sour grapes. It isn’t the reporting system that I have issue with. It is the idea of 'mainstream', and writing to the audience desires. If you have never tried Red Wine how do you know what you like? If all you have been exposed to is the White variety and the rating system only has Whites, does a Red go to market under this system? No, it does not! The profit margin is closely watched by the accounting department and not the creative editorial one. If you need a greater example swipe to your music collection. Is it 'MAINSTREAM'? Is it one or two styles? No it probably is as varied as you and your moods. I have twenty thousand songs, all purchased, from so called 'mainstream' to Jim Carrol and the Dropkick Murphys. How many albums did the Jim Carrol Band sell? Probably not enough ever to make what his book The Basket Ball Diaries made in a week! This preoccupation of some with chasing fancy bits of paper with pictures on it created the Indie music industry and then had to play catch up, buying Indie labels, to stay relevant. These same suits, and those that stupidly play their game are making the same mistakes all over again! 

So while the big houses complain about the industry changing while refusing to see the hand they play in these changes. Fanning the fires of their destruction while the fast moving formats adapt and overcome. The publishing industry will not be the same story arc as the music industry. They say Caesar played the violin as Rome burned. Do we hear the same tune under the incessant whining of those that profit from our arthritic fingers and denied social encounters because we made the decision that; “This Day We Write!” 

So with this scathing blog I have forced myself into a corner. I have let the cat out of the bag for many of you that may be unaware of this system. If you currently have representation you might want to insure it fits with your life path. If your first ride on the bull isn’t incredible you will have to pen name your next attempt! I may have to put my money where my mouth is as well. I promised you a sequel. I have written you a sequel. I have, with help, edited you all a great sequel. One that is far better than the first. I have a multi-country fan base so the traditional method of publishing means that my Russian fans have to pay a days wages to read it. This isn’t progressive or fair. So perhaps I price it out as 2.99 and let everyone who wants to enjoy a good story do just that!! Stay tuned!! 

POSTBLOG (I couldn't find this as a word. Postscript is but this is more accurate! Hey, Chicago Book Of Styles... Decision please?

    My wise mother always said when you write an angry letter you should 'sit on it' for twenty-four hours and then reread it. So I did this with the Blog. I awoke even more pissed off at this situation than when I went to bed. After reading this again I have managed to put this into perspective. While I genuinely feel for those of you struggling to create and imagine wonderful stories it is the world we find ourselves in. So while my decision to adopt the; "Not my circus, not my monkeys" mindset it is my hope that in reading this you are a little more prepared. I also looked over my fan base and what the actual cost would be for many to enjoy my newest effort. Too many of my fans and followers live in areas that are less affluent than America and Canada. I am not in the position that I have to earn money off my writing to eat. But, for some on my FaceBook Author Page that actually may be the decision. So I am going to publish this sequel with Amazon. It will be available as a paperback and eBook sometime before summer. In doing this I know Scott D. Covey will be blacklisted. But, I believe the industry that is forcing my hand is going to burn into obscurity anyway. Finally, I get to keep my promise to give as many people a sequel as I can. 

I have created an author page and it is here: Scott D. Covey

   In closing I want to publicly thank all my test readers. Jason, Shawn, Cathy, Angela, Tim, Dimitri, Sergei, and Elliot (AKA RIZ).

   A very special thanks to a friend with a heart only small when compared to his intelligence. This option was only made possible by his hard hours of editorial work. Jay I am in your debt and know many will read this that wouldn't have been able to at a $9.99 kindle price point! Further all profits will be forwarded to a worthy cause to help education or reading in parts of the world that benefited from the low price point option. 

To: 

Penguin Random House £409.9m (23.4%) ... 

Hachette Livre (UK) £287.9m (16.4%) ... 

HarperCollins £132.3m (7.6%) ... 

Pan Macmillan £57.3m (3.3%) ...  

I send you a very special Vancouver Alex salute..........................

First Impressions of Georgia

So we arrived in Tbilisi late in the afternoon and grabbed a taxi to our new apartment. We met our Cousins near the road our place is located and they guided us the rest of the way and helped drag our luggage up to the eighth floor. To be perfectly honest, I was a little concerned. I am used to Soviet era apartments and the general outside being not as important as the inside. However, as I said even, I was a little concerned. If you are coming from NYC, Florida, or Toronto, it will be quite a shock. But relax, have faith and things should work out for you. Fight the urge to run screaming back to the airport. There is that clear enough for you? We loaded the elevator three times as they are tiny here, and you have to pay for them. We are lucky it is a simple monthly fee in other places you have to drop a coin in a very large, compared to  space, box and this allows you to go up and down. My cousin sensing my urge to bolt opened the apartment when we arrived with the first load and went down for the rest allowing me to look at the place.

It is huge, big rooms, modern kitchen, and lovely views. We have half of the floor with balconies on both sides and big windows all around. It is very nice and not at all representative of the downstairs. Curb appeal has even less influence in Georgia! We were sent on our journey in typical Russian form and had loads of snacks, food, and things one needs for a week despite the trip only taking five hours.

Our cousins welcomed us with typical Georgian hospitality. For North Americans, this means treating you like visiting Royalty. Toasts and the food were enjoyed and then we were delivered back to our home for our first night.

            The next morning brought chores like banking, mobile phone sims, and internet connections. Inga’s cousin’s wife helped out and the whole thing was painless and smooth despite a little drama about the machine eating my card. It didn’t and despite general concerns about exchange rates it is like anyplace else in the world that allows you to take out your money from a machine in the wall. This comes with one caveat. In Tbilisi Georgia, you can withdraw Lari, the local currency, or the United States Dollars directly from the cash machine, or cash point for my European readers. My Russian sister Lianna had said you could do this and I thought something had been lost in translation. I have traveled a bunch and haven’t seen this except perhaps at specialized machines in international airports. After the chores and ensuring everything was working fine we sat down for the evening for another feast and discussion about the upcoming trip to “The Village”.

            “The Village” is the little town were Inga’s two Aunts live. It is about an hour and forty minutes by minibus from the central bus station in Tbilisi. The scenery on the trip out reminded me of the Okanagan and the surrounding area. The Village reminds me of my Uncle Jocks farm near Spy Hill by the Manitoba border in the 1960’s. Except I was never there in the sixties, but I remember him telling a story about getting a “throne” in the house after I was born.  The farmhouse has internal plumbing, and an awesome hot shower large enough to wash a horse in. But, the toilet is outside and it is the squat type that causes my calves and thighs to clench. Clenching calves and painful past ninety degree squats are not conducive to easy morning relief no matter how much coffee I drink.  I contemplated changing the design to a North American one. My hosts were very concerned about the rustic bathroom and my Canadian sensibilities. However, a little research on the internet provided me the information that we are doing it wrong. The past ninety-degree angle aligns everything perfectly and it is simply my inexperience at adopting the position that is the problem.  Russian and Georgian people take this position for resting and having a cigarette in casual situations or waiting for a bus. In exploring my bench with a toilet seat idea further, I had to admit a further flaw that even I was familiar with. The dreaded spider!

I have always hated sitting in outhouses. I mean who really likes it. Even if the outhouse is of the variety called ‘the long drop’ they always smell. Even in –20 they somehow manage to reek. But, the worst for me is the giant hairy Brown Recluse spider. Each time I am forced to use one of these I imagine this large lonely spider, brown hairs protruding from his hairy back. The violin pattern mottling from which it derives its other name a warning to other lesser spiders to stay away. He is sitting quietly getting fat off all the flies and other insects his ripe real estate affords him when his world gets plunged into darkness. A vibration more violent than an insect strike stirs his web. His multiple eyes focus on the source, a large hairy pale body descending into his domain. Forced by nature to defend his territory he raises his front feet and exposes his sharp fangs. The interloping sickly pale, loose skin intruder does not retreat. He has to attack. In a quick motion, he attacks sinking his fangs and injects venom that causes the flesh to rot. It will destroy a quarter size area of skin, more than enough for the average spider. Except this ‘spider’ is not a spider at all. The case of mistaken identity is no cause for concern to our Violin spider as he is deaf to the screams of men and is happy as the brightness returns and the flies once again fly into his banquet web. So with all this in mind I had to admit that the open pit squat was a far better design. I just have to get used to the position.

The people are great and the farmhouse itself is very cool. The family here has welcomed us with open arms and despite language issues have done everything and more to ensure the Canadian guests are happy. Uncle can speak better Russian than me and we struggle along with this common foreign tongue. But he is as easy going as me, so even sharing silence and a short walk is done happily. The children have been overdosing on English with Inga and laughing their collective asses off getting me to say words in Georgian. We had another huge feast last night and met another cousin who invited me to go hunting in the morning. We had shared a few liters of wine and I was pretty tired so I politely declined. A few toasts later and with Inga’s encouragement I agreed. I climbed into bed with the knowledge that in four short hours I would be climbing into an unknown vehicle, with unknown men to go hunting for unknown prey.

            The roosters dream woke me up. The damn bird must have been dreaming as sunrise was hours away. I am not a morning person, less so when I have only slept three hours. I tried to dress in the dark and not wake Inga, but she must have been feeling slightly guilty for talking me into this and got up to make me coffee in the strange dark kitchen. We heard the men gathered on the street as we exited the house and I tried and failed to complete my morning waking ritual. The morning was crisp, the coffee hot, and the clenching yoga position was looming. Things only loom in foreboding. The dark walk was looming, the men were waiting, and Inga was fussing. She was only concerned about my comfort and happiness and I was focused on ensuring my intestinal fortitude for the drive and avoiding having to make gesturing hand signals to communicate; “Stop before I shit myself.” While this might be a little too much information for the casual reader, I am only saying what you all know and don’t admit to anyone. Five armed and unknown men are not nearly as imposing as rumbling lower large intestine in a vehicle you don’t control and with a driver that you can’t communicate with. Coffee worked its magic and I was able to join my hunting party on time and in reasonable shape.

         

The vehicle was a Delica minivan and while it had some off-road attachments it didn’t look up for any serious off-road driving. This is another instance in which I shouldn’t have judged a book by its cover. This little four-wheel drive machine did things I wouldn’t have believed possible if I’d seen a video of a pro driver on a closed course. The darkness was abating as we climbed deep into the Georgian countryside. The thick bush giving way only for a mud covered track containing hills and corners with angles the threatened to flip us over. On one such hill, I was seriously wondering if it were possible to roll backward in a minivan.

We arrived at the spot. I only knew it was the spot because everyone got out and let the dogs out. I had no idea we had dogs inside the van until this point and they obviously didn’t know a Canadian was in the van as they all came over and introduced themselves in the usual dog way. I was even happier for the earlier coffee. My cousin handed me a Turkish made 12-gauge auto shotgun and five rounds. I couldn’t ask about the legality of me carrying a shotgun in Georgia so I just accepted it and loaded it. I noticed a couple of the men were watching to see if I knew my way around firearms and could safely handle it. I passed the test and with everyone relieved and the dogs pulling at leashes we set off in the dark. We walked in silence and the dogs barked ideas and options at one another. I believe they collectively decided on following the white female dog as it was easier for the night-blind humans.

However, the decision was arrived at we found ourselves in a clearing between three mountain valleys. Two men went north and left and two others went right and Inga’s cousin and I were to remain in the middle. In Africa, this would be called the flush point. I still didn’t know what our prey was. In Canada, we hunt birds and clay pigeons with shotguns and while I know the rest of the world does things, differently I was a little concerned as I saw what looked like cat and bear tracks.

The Sun came up behind our position and it was a beautiful thing to see. The mist caught in the trees before being tugged toward the clouds and I fingered my stolen toilet paper and scanned a nice relaxing location to trundle off for a more normal and relaxing Canadian style squat.

We hunted for several hours. The other men hunted with the dogs and we occasionally heard them bray from our dedicated kill zone. It was a good plan. It didn’t work and it was a very enjoyable. The men returned in slow succession in that defeated way hunters do. Happy to have the time to hunt and wishing it had been more successful. I was happy to share the time and culture of this Men Only sport here in Georgia.

            Defeated by chance we returned to the other thing hunters do the world over. We tossed plastic water bottles into the air and blasted them with shotguns. I liked this and in truth was a lot more confident blasting a water bottle than a bear! The hunt completed I was offered the front seat for the drive home and accepted this honor quickly. The drive back was even more beautiful and I shared it with men that only knew my name and family connection. We couldn’t communicate in the usual way, but there were no awkward moments. I pondered this and found it odd. We shared so little past being men and yet we all were comfortable with just that.  The “Village” life is at first glance a little simple, but it does afford people with the gift of time. As we age, we understand time is priceless. While the young people in Georgia move to the big exciting cities of Tbilisi and Batumi to escape the village; many return. Not because they fail in their goal but because they realize the simple fact that sometimes, fast progress and a frenetic life isn’t everything as imagined. Sometimes adopting other designs is just a pain in the balls!

                        In case it is illegal for a Canadian to carry a shotgun in Georgia parts of this story are fictional and only representative of what it would be like actually doing the things portrayed in this fictional account.