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!

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! 

Georgian Boys Road Trip

   

My time in the Republic of Georgia is quickly coming to an end. I had only seen a small part of this beautiful country and my wife Inga was stuck in Russia. My friend Mamuchar (or Max as he lets me call him) suggested a trip. “A road-trip,”  I replied.

        “Well we could fly, But it would be expensive.”

I explained what a “Road-trip” was, and he liked the idea. Sometimes it is the little literal things in English, which non-native English speakers find confusing. English is such an imprecise language and so culturally connected.

        “Where we go?” Max asked.


        “How the hell should I know this is your country. Let's rent a nice 4x4 and just set off like the Blues Brothers.”

        “Who is Blues Brothers?”

        “I’ll tell you during the trip” Thinking to myself “Man am I stupid or what?”

    Renting a vehicle in Georgia is significantly more straightforward than in the west. Pick the car and skip the big insurance upsell. No deposit required. Don’t worry about the scratches and dents as they won’t be worrying about them when you get back. Agree on the days you need and sign the forms when they drop off the vehicle. In this particular case, it was a big V8 Toyota Sequoia. It was silver, had working air conditioning, and comfy leather seats. It was also dead empty. We took it to the gas station and filled it up with 87 liters of fuel. In Georgia, they call it Benzene to differentiate from Gas. Gas is auto propane or natural gas. It has been a year, and I still haven’t figured out if “Gas”  is LP or CNG as they tend to use the two as the same just one is compressed more. Not really accurate but it may be like asking “what color are your Bunny Rabbits if you don’t have Bunnies. A common issue when trying to determine translation, and what you mean.

    Max dropped me off at my apartment admonishing me to be ready at 0600 military time. The translation being 0600 as zero six hundred is military time. The meaning being I’ll be here at six sharp, be ready to go.

At six Max turned the corner to my apartment, and I could see he was happy to see me standing waiting for him. “Yes, my friend I had understood what you meant.” This day was going to be a long one as we were driving all the way north to Svaneti.

Svaneti is comprised of an upper and lower region. We were headed to the upper region and the town of Mestia, the highest inhabited area of the incredible Caucasus Mountain Range. Four of the ten highest peaks are located in this area. Mount Shkhara at 5201 meters or 17,059 feet, is found in this province. A local villager, herding cows, kindly pointed out Mount Ushba to us as it towered in the distance proudly perched at 4710m or 15453ft.

    Before we arrived in the city, we had a lot of kilometers to drive. Max’s wife Magdelinia had discovered an old Russian sanatorium in Saveneti and suggested we visit. I should point out for Western Readers that when you see sanatorium, and it is connected to Russian the meaning is SPA. Yes, I understand sanatorium is usually translated as Nut House or a place for the mentally ill in polite speak. In the East, it is a Spa. This sanatorium was forty kilometers down a atrocious, 4x4 only road. While not the Rubicon Trail, it’s listed as a road, after all, it took some superior four wheel driving to negotiate this goat track. Max was up to the task and even got my joke when the road finally tamed. I told him. “We need to go back you missed one pothole.”

Laughing, with a comfort only usually found amongst friends of similar cultures, we got out of the truck for lunch. Earlier research had shown a retreat guest house and restaurant near the old sanatorium. It was closed and abandoned. Max talked with the residents of the two houses showing any signs of recent habitation while I walked around the old grounds.

The old Soviet architecture is apparent in two ways. The design is recognizable right away. Massive columns hold sweeping arches with bold right angle blocks. The other is was it was still standing despite being built many years ago and uninhabited for thirty plus years. The ground was soft under the huge trees, and the vegetation had advanced on the building. It reminded me of the old growth forests of home, and I was glad when Max rejoined me. He filled in as many details as he could about the history of the place. It had been a rather famous old spa for the Russian elite. Tennis courts, complete with lights were still standing empty waiting to be played on. Residents could take a horseback ride to an alpine mountain lake reputed to have curative powers. The trip took four days. A local had offered to provide horses if we wanted to make the journey. Max had politely declined, and I was glad as after four days on horse back I would need to find the spring of eternal youth to sooth the aches of that journey.

 

We backtracked to an old suspension bridge we had driven by and stopped to enjoy lunch. Max had stopped earlier and secured fresh Georgian bread and cheese to go with the sausage and packaged cheese I had brought. Before lunch, we took a quick dip in the mountain stream to cool off. The water was fresh and as cold as ice.

    Refreshed and fed we resumed our trip. One of the main things tourists need to know when getting off the main highways in Georgia is that risk is part of the journey. Aggressive driving is the norm and when you mix old CCCP trucks and older cars with modern cars of vastly different horsepower rating chaos is bound to happen. Mix in winding narrow mountain roads, various forms of farm animals grazing where ever they like and crashes are unavoidable. We were lucky enough to avoid a couple of close calls on this trip, and we drove by two ruined vehicles that were not so lucky.

   

After twelve hours on the road, we arrived in the village of Mestia. Max checked with three hotels before getting directions to a guest house that “probably” had rooms available. The road up to the guest house was incredibly steep and narrow, and both of us were wondering if we would be able to turn “the tank” (our vehicle had been so named at some earlier point) around. We arrived at a beautiful house built into and around the areas famous Svanetian towers. We were shown to a room with two beds and a huge deck perfect for cigars. The price was right, and more importantly, it was available, so we took it.

Guest houses consist of a common room or rooms and usually a separate shower room and toilet, with a locking bedroom. The bedroom is yours for the night, and the other room or rooms are shared. We were lucky in that we had no other guests joining us that night, so it was like having a 2000 SQ foot house as your suite.
The guest house had another huge deck off the kitchen and restaurant. Starving Max and I found seats and ordered calf and pork barbecue, fries,  and vodka. Max also ordered Kubdari. Max told me Kubdari is the Svans national, ethnic dish. When it arrived, I said I had tried this. My Russian mother in law made this for me every time I arrived at her home. I had just though it was Ossetian Khachapuri. Khachapuri is a baked bread product that varies by region. Georgian has at least nine different types of Khachapuri, but some arguments occur when coming to any agreement on this. But when your talking about food that has been popular since 500AD, and perhaps before, these things happen. Basically, Khachapuri has to contain bread and cheese in the ingredients to be Khachapuri.

    The sunrise the next day was breathtaking. The trees were hanging onto to clouds refusing to let them go like a jealous lover. The warmth of the sun chasing the chill from the air and turning the clouds to memories. The colors vibrant, unreal, and shifting as the sun slowly chased its arch. Coffee was hot and too large for my friend Max. Georgians are not used to 20 ounces of coffee in the morning. I can't survive without it!

    We left early for Max’s sister's house and another feast that would include Mingrelian Cha Cha. Like the previous discussion about cheese bread each region has their version of this Georgian treat. Be careful as 40 percent is for teenagers. Keeping with traditional expectations I had three and the road was as smooth as silk for the rest of the day. Significantly less scary as well.

    That night found us at Max’s father in laws house and another feast. Georgians see guests as gifts from God and treat them as such. Hospitality doesn’t go far enough to explain how you will be treated in a Georgian's home. A huge table was set, and we ate and drank more Mingrelian delights. I went to bed earlier than Max and his brother in law, but then I am not Georgian, so this is acceptable.

    The next morning was not kind. Max brought me coffee, Canadian size, and said “fucking Mingrelian Cha Cha.”  I nodded and got my feet on the floor. We left early as Max knew a place with a cure-all for a Mingrelian hang over. We arrived at a roadside pullout and walked over to an older looking place with two older women sitting on the front deck. Max ordered a spicy meat stew with bread and some Borjomi mineral water. We ate without appetite, and without many words. Wounded soldiers from the night before.

    The return road trip is almost always lackluster. But, not in this case. Inga had managed to get a ride back to Tbilisi after being stuck in Enhotva for almost three weeks. The main road through the Kazbegi mountain range had been wiped out by a landslide. But she was home, and we were going to pick her, and Max’s wife up and go to Signagi.

Signagi is also called the city of love and is located in the Kakheti region of Georgia. Narrow cobblestone streets contained within the old ramparts of the 18th-century fortress. It was a wonderful reunion and a fitting place to visit with the Love of My Life.