New Culture, New Friends

''The water seems clearer on this side of the border...'' It was a warm and sunny day as we walked our first day in Georgia and everything seemed different than what we were accustomed to. Not far from our 'hotel' we came across a large monument to St. Andrew, the First-Called, the first of many prophets and saints who arrived in Georgia, around 1 A.D. After Armenia, Georgia was the oldest Christian state in Europe and its countryside and cities are decorated with ancient churches and structures which I was eager to discover. In a way everything about this country seemed ancient to me...

"Tbilisi, 380km" the sign above us read as we passed through the small town of Gonio on our way towards Batumi. Open-eyed we marvelled at the novelties around us- the signs written in the undecipherable Georgian alphabet (საქართველო), the simplistic communist mixed with the lavish classic Georgian architecture, the physical features of the people - white skin tone, black hair and dominant noses; everything was unfamiliar and I was ready to learn. After having our last lunch at a Turkish restaurant (many Turks live in and around Batumi), and experiencing their hospitality one more time (the meal was free of course), we walked a few hours and reached the city of Batumi.

Tired old women sitting on small wooden stools selling cigarettes (at 30 cents a pack!), drab rain-stained communist concrete buildings, the sad empty shelves of the poorly stocked shops and alcohol, bet shops and exchange offices everywhere...yet many majestic 200-300 year old buildings, museums and a university as well as newly erected fountains, squares and tourist attractions such as a collossal ferris wheel, gave me the feeling that this city has been going through some really tough times but its spirit had not been broken...

"The beer is only 40 cents! God help us!" The quiet little restaurant with its old cyrilic 'beer' sign in the window, was our favorite spot while in Batumi - mostly due to its attractive prices but also because the friendly middle-aged women who worked there were good at understanding my Russian. We had also found another cheap place which only served the same stew everyday. The plain barley and ground beef was not the tastiest of meals but it was a bargain. The men gathered there were always drunk (a common sight throughout the country at any time of the day) and I could smell the cheap vodka on their breaths.
"One soup, please"...."Was it pronounced odin or adin", I couldn't even say 'one' properly. An elderly man eating alone in the corner lifts his head up from his humble meal and asks in English where we were from. "Croatia, eh? (In Croatian) Well, how are you friend? Welcome!" The man was a former sailor, now a master navigator and naval professor named Zura who had picked up some Croatian at the shipyards of the former Yugoslavia during his sailing days . We joined him at his table and after getting to know this cheerful and kind old man we accepted his invitation and accompanied him to his ship, the Elita for some "chaja" (j as in jade) - home-made Georgian grape brandy.

"This next toast is for your parents. Although I've never met them I'm sure they are great people since they have such great sons. I am thankful to them for giving you to this world, so that I may meet you." We were all on our feet in the ship's navigation room - maps spread out everywhere and various sailing equipment such as buoys and life vests hung from the walls. The chaja had turned our faces red and our spirits merry. Zura was teaching us about "tamada", the intricate Georgian toasting tradition. He was the toastmaster and we had reached the toast to our parents. Children and grandchildren would be next. As the ship rocked gently to the calm Black Sea waves, we hugged and kissed each other (once on the cheek as is the custom here) and even sang a few songs (to my amazement Zura knew some Croatian songs by Mate Miso Kovac!). We left the ship late, our arms around each others necks, staggering drunkenly to and fro through the muddy streets of Batumi, nothing but the happiness of meeting a new friend in our hearts.
"My brothers, I am so happy to meet you. You are from France, you are from Croatia and I am from Georgia but we are all brothers!" After a final beer at our spot and a few songs and laughs with the waitresses, I helped my new friend into an old Russian taxi and sent him home to his wife. Tim and I retired to our hotel, glad to have met our first Georgian friend, one of many...


The next day we hung out with Petra, a really cool Hungarian girl we met through the couchsurfing web service. We waited for her in the city center next to a large statue of Medea (from the Greek legend) holding the golden fleece, which overlooked a large fountain that spouts out water to the rhytm of music ranging from Mozart to Kusturica. The whole square felt very European and familiar to me...Petra was very welcoming and took us for a walk around the center and for some Turkish coffee - back to the coffee culture, no more tea!! I found out that she is an anthropologist who abandoned her profession and is now living with her boyfriend Giorgi (a theater director) in Batumi although she travelled the world and had lived in many interesting places - Australia, Peru, Israel, to name a few. We met Giorgi and their friend (and now ours) Levani the next day.

"Lets go to a friend's house", suggested the clean-cut dentist turned cultural/political event planner named Levani. He and Tim had hit it off quickly due to Levani's excellent French skills and all-around good qualities. Giorgi and I tried as best as we could to communicate in Russian but I was far from being at a conversational level and still needed Petra's help...

The friend who hosted us turned out to be Toto, a novelist and sports commentator who was now forced to work as an accountant at a Turkish factory near Batumi. Such was the case with many Georgians - the recent war, the closed border with their large menacing neighbor Russia and the financial crisis pushed many highly-educated individuals into fields they weren't happy to be in. In general Georgia felt packed with intellectuals...

"Do you guys like The Cure?", Irakli (Heraclitus in Georgian), was a self-described philosopher and very comical character. He sat next to us and began inquiring about our tastes in music, philosophy, and literature. "The Doors?", " Jean Paul Satre?" It was great to talk about these topics, something we had not done much of during our stay in Turkey.

"My boss is a nigger, I hate the nigger", loudly announced a friend of our Batumi hosts. "I don't hate black people," replied Irakli as he made a peace sign with his fingers, "Sex, drugs and rock and roll, peace!" Tim and I offered to get some more beer and Irakli joined us. A young virgin-like girl is in the shop and Irakli is in the mood for a joke. As she is leaving he gently takes some of her hair in his hand and smells it. She turns red, giggles and leaves as Tim, I and the lady behind the counter burst out laughing. "Zieg heil!", Irakli salutes the clerk with a click of his shoes and an arm raised in mock Nazi salute and we exit. "You guys like punk, don't you?" "Yes we do Irakli", I reply, "and we like you!" After some marinated fish, a sea of beer and a lot of great conversation we leave Toto's place after agreeing that Petra and Giorgi would take me in the next day and Tim would sleep at Toto's....we now had many friends in Batumi and I was beginning to feel at home here...