Losing Purpose

Ben and Caroline's blonde hair, and Ben's goatie, really stuck out amongst the black-haired and dark-clothed Georgians we encountered. They were a breath of fresh air. Over our bowl of soup at the road-side restaurant I quickly grew to like them. Although they had not gotten to know Georgia as intimately as we, they had arrived slowly enough to know where they were and to get the local mentality. I could not communicate easily with Caroline because she didn't speak much English and I spoke no French but Ben's sense of humor was great. They had experienced Georgian hospitality too and had drunk many tamadas on their way. With a lot of laughter we all recalled being forced to get drunk with the locals and how we had found ourselves toasting and being toasted. They had discovered the same Georgian hospitality as well as irrationalities as we. After our lengthy meal, we headed towards Khetvi, the last village before the dangerous Rikhoti pass.

"This must be a record, nigger!" I had found us a place to sleep in less than five minutes. All it took was one short conversation with a man in front of a grocery store in Khetvi. He showed us to an old woman's house where we could sleep. A skinny eldery, yet wirey woman, named Nuna popped up behind a wooden gate wearing a marihuana bandana over her head and wielding a pair of clippers. She was toothless but smiled from ear to ear, happy to have us as guests. She barely spoke any Russian but the man explained what we were up to and she soon showed us through her garden to her humble home. I told the man we could pay 20 lari in total which is the equivalent of around 12 dollars! She agreed and we put our bags and equipment in our spacious rooms.

Nunu was a comical character and constantly kept joking with us in Georgian, which Ben tried to understand with the help of his guide book. Her daughter on the other hand was not as cheerful. Leyla, a 35 year old, fair-skinned yet hardened woman, barely smiled at all. Her eyebrows were constantly in a V shape and I could tell right away she was not happy to share her home with four foreigners. She was happy to receive 20 lari though, which is a pretty penny in these parts...

"Gas is expensive!" Leyla yelled as Tim tried to boil some water for coffee on a gas heater. "No problem," I replied, "we'll wait for it to heat up on the wooden stove in the living room." Perhaps Ben and Caroline, nor Tim for that matter, were aware of the poisonous manner of our young host but it was bothering me. Nunu drank coffee with us and even ate some cookies we had bought at the local store (our only source of food for two days) but Leyla didn't want anything to do with us. Tim, Caroline and Ben spent the day joking around in French and were cheerful for the most part. Each time they would laugh outloud I noticed Leyla giving them a dirty look. I felt she resented their happiness. They (and I for all she knew) were from the West, and life was perfect for us. We were privileged and I knew she resented us. I spent my day writing away quietly and helping Tim cook our humble dinner of pasta and cheese. I was ready to leave the next day but again fate had different plans.

"We can't go in this rain, it's not smart man." "Damn it Tim! I told you not to get rid of your rubber shoes, I'm fine with walking in the rain." "Really?! You'd walk in this weather? What's the big deal with spending one day here? We have a cheap, warm place to be, we should take advantage of it." Tim didn't know what I was going through. Spending another day under the dirty stares of Leyla - being in a place where I didn't feel wanted seemed like torture. I would have left, I would have walked in the rain, I would have run as far as I could have from that place...

"She wants more money," a neighbor of Leyla's tells me in Russian. Leyla was not happy with us staying another day and she didn't even try to hide it. "She'll get her money," I reply, yet I don't manage to keep myself from swearing outloud in Croatian. I understood why Leyla resented us, I understood why she disliked us, but I knew it was wrong. If she despised us so, she should not have taken us in...money was more important to her than her pride...but in a way I felt guilty too...

"What's the matter," Tim asks, after I spend a silent morning writing. Ben and Caroline were busy making lunch and we had some time to talk. "It's getting to me, Tim. I can't stand wasting another day like this. I don't want to be here...she doesn't want us here..." "Don't worry about it, nigger, we'll be out of here before you know it."

Getting to know Ben and Caroline better helped shake away my blues somewhat but I was still in a miserable state. Tim noticed something was wrong and he was worried as we said our cordial yet cold good-byes to Nunu and Leyla. New Year's Eve was tomorrow (now you know how late the blog is, SORRY!!!) and we wouldn't be celebrating with Ben and Caroline. They would be in a hotel in the small town of Surami while we would head further for the larger town of Hashuri and try to find another homestay. As we walked away from the small wooden house in Khevi I turn around to look at Leyla one more time and her look gives me goosebumps...so much hate...

"Tell me what's wrong, what's the matter with you? I saw the way you passed those people without even looking at them. You don't even smile at the people anymore." We had crossed 7-8 km and were about to enter Rikhoti when Tim approached me. "I don't know Tim. I just don't see the point in this anymore. We just take from these people. I felt like I was exploiting Leyla and Nunu. They didn't want us there but needed the money, it just feels wrong. I don't want to take anymore." "You're wrong! Nunu wanted us there, she was happy we were there. We did nothing wrong. We gave as much as we could, we always do, you know that. It was Leyla's fault. She's the one who should feel sorry. She could have been open towards us, towards our good intentions, our love. You know that's all we felt towards them." My brother was right as he had been so many times along our way. We had in a way given back to the people who hosted us, who showed kindness towards us. We tried to love them as much as we could and to share with them, if nothing our experiences, our thoughts, our good intentions. I was confused though, everything was foggy like the weather that day. Walking without a clear purpose is impossible...walking such distances without a firm mindset was also impossible...I knew if something didn't change soon, I wouldn't make it to Tbilisi...