My Taxi Driver Got Me Drunk (and Other Stories)

  The many weeks that have gone by since my first trip to Kazbegi have been a blur. As suddenly as my time in Georgia began, it has equally sudden almost come to an end.

The weekend after I visited Kazbegi, I awoke rife with indecision. Where did I want to go? If anywhere at all? I thought about Borjomi, about three hours away from Tbilisi, and frowned. I was in no mood to travel that far, but I also did not want to stay in Tbilisi. I resolved my indecision by deciding to go east to the city of Telavi in the Kakheti region, a place to which I had never been and only an hour and a half outside of Tbilisi. However, since I came to the conclusion so late, I arrived around 6 pm.

I don't think anything too exciting of note happened while I was in Telavi. I had dinner in a very Soviet-like restaurant, empty except for a women's dinner party and music that blasted so loud it was hard to hear myself think. I returned to my guesthouse following dinner and just relaxed. The next morning, I partook in one of my favorite activities – exploring! I am always looking for new subjects that I can photograph. After several hours, I took a shared taxi back to Tbilisi. Here are several photographs from my short excursion to Telavi:

The Caucasus Mountains at dusk.

A church in Telavi

This guy tried to ask me out.

An old beggar woman

The next weekend was the halfway point of my summer stay in Georgia. I spent it by stinking around Tbilisi and exploring. I went to the museum with an exhibit on the 'Soviet occupation' and walked around Old Town:

Vake Park (not in Old Town)

Balconies are famous in Tbilisi

Churches are plentiful

Old Soviet medals

Another week sped by and I found myself again wondering what I should do. It had been three and a half years since I had visited the nearby ancient capital of Mtskheta. It started off in the usual way, by me exploring my surroundings: the center of the small town, one of the most important cathedrals in the Georgian Orthodox faith, and the information center. 

Mtskheta

Mtskheta

Jvari Monastery

Then, in the usual way, a taxi driver approached me and asked for a ride. He wanted to take me to Jvari Monastery, which sat perched on the top of a mountain overlooking the city of Mtskheta. It had been three years since I had seen it, so I agreed because why not? On our way up the mountain, we nearly hit a man who just stepped right out in front of us even though he saw us coming – I will tell you that this is not particularly unusual here in Georgia. After avoiding him, the taxi driver shouted: “Durak! (Idiot)!” and then assured me that he was an excellent driver because he drove tanks in the military. Okay, was all I said. We arrived at the church and the driver introduced me to a vendor friend of his who spoke a little bit of English and who had been to America before. We chatted and then I went to get my customary photos and to pay my respects to the Jvari Church.

Yours truly on the road to Jvari Church

Jvari Church

After I got back in the taxi, my driver asked me if I had eaten yet. This is an incredibly common question here, except when taxi drivers ask, there is usually an angle to it. They aren't just interested if I have found nourishment. I don't know why I attract all the weirdos – I don't understand why they would think I would actually be interested in someone twice or even thrice my age who I had only just met two minutes earlier and whose cab was hopelessly out of date. So, when this driver asked me if I had eaten, I tried to back out. I had plans, I told him. You do, he asked. Yes, to eat in a restaurant in Mtskheta. Alone? Yes. He suddenly picked up some Russian tourists and told me we were all going to eat and drink together. With the addition of the Russians, I felt better about this venture and so I agreed. The driver ordered us khinkhali and a bottle of chacha. Only two toasts later, I could feel the chacha inside me, the buzz, a slight electrification behind my eyes. He poured me a third shot and I knew that if I drank anymore, I would graduate to the next step of drunkenness by getting vertigo and then with, well, not so pretty results. There is not much of an in between for me when it comes to alcohol. Either I feel next to nothing, save for that slight buzz behind my eyes, or I am experiencing intense vertigo. Luckily, I have largely been able to identify when I will transition to that level and can stop it. I told the driver I could absolutely not drink another shot. He pleaded with me: “Just one more. I am toasting to you.” Not going to work. A little while later: “I am toasting to American and Georgian friendship.” Still not going to drink. Later: “I am toasting to you, the American, knowing more about Georgia than these here Russians.” Ugh...no. Again: “I am toasting to you.” By then, the driver had finished the entire bottle of chacha, and yet, seemed no worse for the wear. 

The restaurant

On the way back to Tbilisi, I was sitting in the back of a marshrutka next to a middle-aged man. After riding half the way in silence, he finally asked me where I was from, whipping out his phone. Oh dear, I thought, another one...

And in case you need to wash your clothes.