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.

Heart and Soul

Tbilisi had become blisteringly hot. Days upon days of 95+ degree sunny weather had settled into the city and there was no signs that it would be letting up. The casual clothes I had packed were no match for the heat and I decided that the only way to beat it, was to head north into the mountains.

Last year, when I lived in Georgia, I had lived in the southwestern part of the country, far from the rugged, craggy giants for which the country and region are famous. I lived in my own mountains while there, to be sure - they were dense, lush, and weathered - but they were not the fabled ones of the north. I have to be honest here and say that I don't think I have met a mountain that I didn't love and have respect for - the mountains are such a huge part of my life and who I have become. Ten years ago, I was a lost soul and as I began to explore where I wanted to go for college, I looked toward the mountains. I always felt at ease in the mountains; I felt safe and welcome; I felt like I could be the person I was meant to be and that the mountains could help repair my damaged sense of self. Montana definitely sprang me into a life that had been lost to me - one where I once again felt good about myself and believed in myself and loved myself. The mountains are life affirming. So, I loved the mountains of Adjara in southwest Georgia just as I loved the mountains of Montana, Colorado, and northern Georgia.

Suffice it to say, however, that when I lived in Adjara as a Fulbright, it was difficult to get to the north.

This time, living in Tbilisi, the situation is far different and the mountains of the north are a mere few hours drive away. So, I decided to escape the oppressive summer heat of the city and head north.

On my marshrutka ride up to Kazbegi (or Stepantsminda), I befriended some Russian tourists and we all stopped at a waterfall to fill up our bottles and cool down in the refreshing spray. I bought some fresh fruit leather and snapped photos (as I always do). We passed the ski resort of Gudauri, the monument to Russian-Georgian friendship built during Soviet times, and the travertine spring that sits near the top of the mountain pass all the while the views were getting more and more wild.

A roadside stand. Souvenirs, churchkhela (nuts dipped
in fruit sauce), and fruit leather.

A village along the Georgian Military Highway

Once in the town of Kazbegi, the owner of the guesthouse where we were to be staying greeted us each with a shot of chacha, which is Georgian moonshine in case anyone has forgotten. The three of went to what would turn out to be a rather mediocre dinner before the true magic was to begin. Over the course of our dinner conversation - in Russian - I learned that these girls also liked photography so afterwards, we banded together and walked around town well into the evening taking pictures. It was considerably cooler in Kazbegi and as we sat on a hillside drinking wine, a storm rolled in and rain began to slowly spit down from the sky. We made it back to the guesthouse just in time and I huddled under the blankets and read in my room as the sky really opened up outside.

The village Gergeti, Gergeti Trinity Cathedral, and Mount Kazbek

Gergeti Trinity Cathedral

A storm rolling in

Is anybody home?

Ancestors keeping watch.

Evening thunderstorm

A home being reclaimed by the Earth.

The next morning, I woke briefly at six to capture dawn breaking on the brilliant Mount Kazbek. By then, the storm was long gone and the sky was clear. It was chilly and I shivered as I snapped several photos before hurrying back to the warmth of my bed.

The monastery and mountain at dawn

Mount Kazbek is an ancient volcano

Last year, I had come up to Kazbegi with my parents during my final week in Georgia. We decided to take a 4X4 up to Gergeti Monastery, a 14th Century church that sits perched 2200 meters above the town and below the 5047-meter Mount Kazbek. The road was quite possibly the worst I have ever been on, matched only by the road to my host mother's village in Adjara. This time, I wanted to hike up. Later in the morning, this time by myself, I ambled around town (and was offered wine and chacha at 10:30 in the morning by some men on the street) before leisurely starting towards the village of Gergeti and the monastery that sits above it. As I began climbing the mountain, the sounds of civilization melted away and I was left with nothing but the wind, the creek, the birds, and the crickets. Despite the church being crowded with tourists and trekkers, I had the trail nearly to myself. It stirred my heart and my soul.

A house in Gergeti village

An ancient watchtower

The hiking trail

Mount Kazbek emerges from the other side of the ridge.

Gergeti Monastery

Gergeti Trinity Cathedral

The village of Gergeti (foreground) and town of Kazbegi (background)

Gergeti

After the hike, I had a delicious meal in town and then headed back into the oven that was Tbilisi.

European schnitzel and fries, with Georgian eggplant and walnut sauce

A Greta and Keda Reunion

On Friday morning, I rolled out of bed and ran to the train station. I bought my ticket and was soon headed to the Black Sea coast.

The day I arrived in Georgia I had begun to plot a way to visit my Fulbright host site, Keda, and my Georgian family and friends that live there. Since it is roughly a six hour train or marshrutka ride to Batumi from Tbilisi and then another hour to Keda, I took Friday off. If Keda was closer to Tbilisi, I would visit more often, but as it stands now, that would be hard to do.

View from the train. Western Georgia is humid and subtropical.

This very Soviet scene.

Once in Batumi, I could feel my excitement mount. I sat in the Keda marshrutka at the dodgy, dirty Batumi bus station waiting to go, slightly apprehensive. Ever since I left Georgia last year, I had imagined what I would do when I first returned to Keda...who would I see first? Who would see me first? What would happen?

The marshrutka station in Batumi

Keda marshrutka

Well, that question was answered for me. When I arrived in Keda, I hopped off the marshrutka and started heading up the hill towards my host family's house.

"GRETA!!!!!"

I spun around and who do I see come dashing up the hill behind but two of my favorite girls - sisters, Tamuna and Nini! They both more or less crashed into me with big hugs and insisted on taking my bags off my hands.

Nini scurried up the stairs of one of the neighbor's homes to announce my arrival. Malvina!

Then came the big greeting. I finally reached my host family's house and on the back porch I see my host mother. "Tsitso!" She hugged me, told me I was too skinny, and within minutes whipped up a bunch of food and had me eat.

What was on TV but Turkish soap operas dubbed into Georgian. As always. But, wait! A twist! Midway through my meal, Tsitso came into the room and switched the channel to an Indian soap opera dubbed into Georgian. Every single day, without fail, when I was in Keda last year, Tsitso and every other woman in Adjara, watched these programs. 

Meanwhile, Tamuna and Nini sat with me while I ate, staring.  Last year, Tamuna seemed to have taken a shine to my camera and so, I wanted to get her a special gift for my return - a camera! Immediately, she seemed smitten with it, thanking me profusely. All the older Georgians wanted to know how much it was, but I refused to tell them. I told them: "In America, you never ask someone how much a present costs." They accepted this, although I could tell they were really curious. In Georgia, it is perfectly normal to ask someone what their salary is, so asking how much a gift cost would not phase them.

At this point, Giorgi came bounding into the house, back briefly from swimming in the river: "DEDI!" (MOM!) He thought I would arrive in the evening, so when he saw me sitting on the couch, he did a double-take.  "Greta!" He smiled, his eyes still carrying their mischievous twinkle.

In the late afternoon, I sat with Malvina and her mother, Narqizi, at the local cafe and snacked on delicious watermelon. In the evening, I sat with all my neighbors and sipped on Turkish coffee and ate sweet plums.

Turkish coffee, plums, and sweets.

Yours truly and Tamuna!

Narqizi

On Saturday, Giorgi, Tamuna, Nini, and I all went down to the river to swim. Along the way, a whole bunch of other kids joined us. It was sweltering and so the water felt incredibly refreshing. Of course, as I packed for this trip back in Tbilisi, I had anticipated possibly swimming, but somehow did not bring sunscreen or my swimsuit. When I asked if I could buy sunscreen in Keda, I was told no. "You don't need it!" Tsitso proclaimed. Huh.  So, I swam in a t-shirt and my sleeping shorts. It was so hot, I knew they would both dry out before I went to bed. I did not stay and swim for too long as I did not want to be burnt to a crisp. That evening, everyone who had gone swimming with me was burned while I remained unscathed.

In the river.

After swimming, I walked around town, searching for my English teaching counterparts. None of them were to be found. I then went and hung out with Malvina for awhile, chatting. She is a university student studying English, so we were able to converse pretty easily.

Malvina and Tamuna on either side of me!

Keda!

A view down valley.

An old, still-functioning gas station in Keda

The mountains of Adjara

And so the rest of my day was spent eating, drinking Turkish coffee, and hanging with old friends.

Tamuna was alarmed that I had to leave the next day.

"Work," I pouted.

"You come again?"

"Of course." Without a doubt I will return before I leave for America.

My dear neighbors! From left: Tamuna, Maka, me, Malvina, Narqizi, and Mzia.

Me and my host mother, Tsitso!

My marshrutka ride on Sunday was probably one of the wilder marshrutka rides I have been on and that is saying something. My driver drove at a blazing speed, passing others wildly. One black SUV tried to pass us but a car was coming in the other direction, but instead of falling back behind us, the SUV veered right for us. The only way we avoided getting into a serious three-car collision was by my driver quickly pulling  onto the shoulder of the road. I cursed and watched in amazement as the SUV pulled the same stunt on another marshrutka ahead of us.

But that's not the worst incident. Not exactly. An hour or so later, a marshrutka pulled up alongside mine and a passenger stuck his head out the window and started yelling. In a huff, my driver accelerated to pass...but so did the other marshrutka. TAP! My driver hastily pulled over and before I knew it, the other driver had my driver by the collar and slammed him against my vehicle, right where I was sitting. Everyone piled out after the other male passengers pulled the drivers apart and then proceeded to scream at each other for a good five minutes. The women watched, shaking their heads and I decided to take some pictures of the pretty views. I was fed up with the ride.

View from the side of the road. Eastern Georgia has a dry, continental climate.

By 8 pm, we had finally reached Tbilisi and thank goodness!

It was a wonderful weekend of relaxation and the reunion with my host family and friends was more than I could have asked for. My home on the other side of the world!