Kings and Drunkards

Kutaisi was not the urban center we had pictured it to be. Being the second largest city in Georgia (pop. 250,000), we had expected a miniature version of Tbilisi, not more of the poorly-stocked stores and muddy streets we had encountered on our way. Granted the center boasts a magnificent theater and a noble statue of David the Builder, Georgia s most successful leader, but the locals were not accustomed to foreigners and after 5 months I was tired of rural stares...

We reached the city early and after spending a few hours wandering about from Turkish coffee to Turkish coffee, we "accidentally" bumped into Giorgi from Batumi. Irakli had told him we were in Kutaisi so he dropped by on his way back from a short trip to Tbilisi. He was accompanied by two sisters named Lily and Tea and we soon found ourselves knocking back a few Natakhtaris at a pub nearby.

"Irakli! Levani! What a surprise!" We had no idea Levani would be coming to visit us but after hearing that Tim had been ill he decided to hitch-hike with Irakli in case we needed some help. That is the nature of Levani, Giorgi and our Georgian friends - always ready to help a visitor...

"You know what Russians want? Do you know what Gorbachov s wife once said? She said Georgia would be great if it wasn t for the Georgians!" Giga, a friend of Irakli s had hosted us for a few days and the chacha and wine we drank in his cellar was fuelling our passionate discussions well into the night. Giga s uncle and friends, Erekle and Nikolai, were all explaining the situation their beloved nation was facing.
"Well," I replied, "I d like to say a toast about that. Russians may want to see Georgia with no Georgians, but I d be happier to see Georgia with no Russians! Gamarjos (cheers)!" Giga s uncle laughed upon hearing my toast. "You re a wise man and I think you understand our troubles." "I don t consider myself to be very wise. That s probably why I m here; I ve got a lot to learn, but I do understand how it is to be from a small country and I do understand how it is when others don t let you be what you consider yourself to be. I am Croatian. How could I be anything else? Even if it meant I would have an easier life I couldn t change how I look at myself. The world wanted us to be Yugoslavian but we fought for our identity. Isn t the world a little richer for this? Each language, culture, way of looking at life makes this world more interesting. Georgians fought for centuries to feel the way they do, to think the way they do. You didn t compromise your beliefs and you didn t bend over to others and I respect this. Sakartvelo gamarjos (cheers to Georgia)!" A small drunk man of about 25 named Tengo barely manages to lift his glass up yet somehow drinks it down in a single gulp. "I like you," he tells me as his red glassy eyes close and his head flops to the table...

Tim was taking a nap when Irakli and I went to visit the thousand year old Bagrati church, which overlooks the city from a hill. Under complete renovation, not much was left standing except the massive exterior walls and a few chambers on the second floor. Quite similar to the Sumela monastery in Trabzon, the interior was decorated by simple, yet colorful Biblical scenes. Inside a few men in blue uniforms were huddling around a blueprint spread over a stone pillar piece, listening to a small man giving instructions...
"Wait a minute," I think to myself, "it can t be! Tengo!" The man I had taken for a complete drunkard the night before was in fact the main architect of the Bagrati renovation project. Soon we were shown to his office on the second floor - the king s chamber where David the Builder had conducted his affairs while in Kutaisi...

"You like Tom Waits? The piano has been drinking, not me, not me..." Tengo sings as he pours himself another glass of chacha. We had finished the bottle in less than 30 minutes and he was hammered. I walk around the wooden chamber and look at the view of the city from the window, imagining how it must have been for David to rule a nation, to solve so many problems, to survive amongst such large neighbors..."So this is how it was to be king," I think to myself as I turn to look at Tengo struggling to keep his eyes open. "The piano was drinking...not me...not me...BARF!!" Tengo vomits his brains out all over the floor!! Tipsy ourselves, Irakli and I try to clean up the mess and make our host sleep on the couch in his office but he refuses. "It s not me...the piano..." he slurs as he wobbles to and fro. "We can t let him leave this room Irakli. His workers shouldn t see him like this." "I know, but he won t listen."
Giga arrives and also tries in vain to persuade Tengo to listen to us. "I m fine..." he mutters as he wipes the drool from his mouth, "the piano, hehe..." We leave together and the workers look on as we slowly descend the scaffolding towards the exit...they know the state their boss is in...

Tengo follows us as we head back towards the center and passerby stare at the young man barely able to walk at 1 pm. "The piano..." he sings at the ladies who give him scolding looks...

"He s a smart man but he likes to drink...too much," Irakli explains as we pick Tengo up from the curb he was sitting on and put him into a cab for home. It seems that is the case with most young Georgian men...


Irakli left for Batumi and Giga s parents returned home after visiting some friends so Tim and I checked into a cheap hotel. We needed to rest and I needed to do so soberly. We spent a few days with Giorgi s friends Lily and her sister as well as with Tea and Eliyna, who we also met our first night in Kutaisi. It was a nice change to be in female company and to be chacha-free for a few days. Drinking was such an intricate part of Georgian life and as we continued our journey towards Tbilisi, I found myself drinking more and more...at first out of politeness, later out of routine and finally out of want. The longer I stayed in Georgia, the more "Georgian" I was becoming and I felt myself starting to handle the grey cold weather and poverty the way they do...