Omar the Angel

With Tim's words still fresh in my mind, we approach a small restaurant along the road right before Rikhoti pass. A man outside asks me something in Georgian and instead of continuing with my head lowered as I had done the past few days I struggle to smile and greet him. He waves me over and I enter the restaurant with Tim following shortly behind.

"Sit my friends, sit! Where are you from?" After the same old routine of explaining where we were from and what we were doing, the young owner of the restaurant brings us a plate of fried eggplant with walnut sauce, some homemade cheese, bread and shredded cabbage. Soon a small group of young men are around us and are asking us the questions we have been answering for the last five months. I try to find delight in our replies and I smile, at first out of politeness but the men are all cheerful and keep patting me on the back saying "Molodec (Young man!)" which sort of means, "way to go young man" and soon I find myself actually enjoying myself and their company. They bring over a bottle of chacha, the potent grape brandy and Tim fills our cups quickly. First, as always, we toast to God and gulp down our entire glasses. The owner, proud of his strong cuncoction, throws a glass into a small fire we are all huddled over and the chacha bursts into a colorful flame. We all laugh - it's a tough drink, and we are all tough men, or at least crazy men. I drink another shot, and then another and I feel my cheeks getting warmer. "To your hospitality, may God give you health!" I toast, already knowing the right words for the right moment. The men are touched by my toast, as are most of the Georgians who discovered that I had learned their tamada tradition, and they stand on their feet out of respect towards me. Tim fills my glass as soon as I set it down to the ground. "Keep drinking, nigger, you need it." The smoke from the fire was burning my eyes but I didn't mind anymore. I didn't mind the cold, grey weather, I didn't mind how tired I was, how I longed to be elsewhere. The chacha was doing its trick and the men were exactly the company I needed at the time - happy, tipsy Georgians. After a few more shots I tell Tim its now or never if we want to make it through Rikhoti pass. We kiss the men on one cheek and leave...

Rikhoti pass turned out to be a 2 km tunnel through a mountain, and I detested tunnels as much as anything during the trip - they were cold, dark, drafty and often dangerous. This tunnel was no exception - with barely enough space to walk on the side, Tim and I often had to cross into the road and feared getting hit by a car. It was very cold and dirty water dripped on us from above the entire time. Somehow though, I didn't mind. Maybe it was because I was drunk, maybe it was because of Tim's words, but I was in relatively good spirits. We exit the tunnel and to our surprise the grey sky which had hovered above us for almost the entire time we were in Georgia started to be speckled with bright blue spots....and we could almost see the sun through the clouds...we had entered a new region of Georgia, a new climate, a new world....and I couldn't have been happier for it...

I smile at an old man selling honey from a tiny wooden shack and he too waves me over...

Omar ("war" in Turkish, since he was born at the beginning of WWII), was what I would describe as the perfect host. Much like Halil-bey, the kind old man who saved us in the mountains of Tamdere before we reached the Black Sea, was so peaceful, so gentle and thoughtful, that I would not be surprised to discover he was an angel and not of flesh and blood. He took us into his little shack and offered us a humble meal of everything he had in a small refridgerator above the two small chairs in the wooden box he used to sell his homemade products from. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and his hands were large and worn with work on the land. His manner was too gentle for his appearance, so much in fact, that I had to mention it to him. "I might be big, and my name does mean "war" but I prefer peace. I like friends. I like to meet new people and you know that in Georgia guests are gifts from God." Omar smiled, and each time he did Tim and I followed. His kindness was contagious and his smile intoxicating. He poured us some chacha and Tim asked for some wine. "Drink as much as you want, my guests. Don't feel that you have to drink out of politeness. I don't drink much, since I have a bad heart, but I will drink some with you." We drank and Omar was the tamada. His toasts, probably the wisest I have ever heard, filled our hearts with passion and even brought tears to my eyes on a few occasions. He knew - how I do not know - what it meant to do what we were doing and he knew the right words to say. "For your patience...to your parents who are worrying for you at home, and for you who worry about them and wish them peace of mind...to your hopes and dreams, for you are both dreamers...may you not give up, no matter how tired you are, no matter how difficult it is, stay together and make it to your goal...for the lessons you have learned, may you always respect them and never forget them, may you never forget me and this day we met in Rikhoti..." How could I forget this man? To me he is not a simple honey vendor, or a former economist who travelled throughout the former USSR (as I he later explained), but he was a mentor, a spiritual guide....a great man I will cherish....

Our time with Omar was short, perhaps only a few hours, but the experience moved me. "You gave me the strength to go on, Mr. Omar, bless you..." "You always had the strength. You and your friend are strong men, don't think otherwise. What you are doing is beautiful and only strong, good men can do what you are doing...don't worry, you will be fine, you are not alone..." And I believed him...I still believe him...

Tim and I looked at each other as we walked away from Omar. We both knew we had experienced something special, and my brother and I were now so connected that we didn't need to say a word, all was understood...


Surami, was ahead of us, a beautiful landscape of snow-capped mountains with houses and old churches spread out across them. We stop to eat some "piroshke" (fried dough with mash potatoes and cheese) at a stand along the road and we notice some people waving at us - Ben and Caroline! They had found a hotel nearby and were also looking for something to eat. It felt good to know that others, friends, were along the road, and each time we would bump into them "accidentally" along our way (which will happen often), made me feel less lonely. We talk with them shortly and continue towards Hashuri....

The large green pine trees along the road towards Hashuri seemed more beautiful then the ones we past previously, and the sky was now blue with bright, fluffy white clouds...I was happy to be on the road...Tim and I made our way towards Hashuri, joking around the same we always had - quoting "The Big Lebowski" and "The Chappelle Show" and retelling the same old inside jokes we shared, yet that day they seemed funnier than before....as the sun set we stopped to marvel at the sky turning red and I took a deep breath...I looked down at the valley before us, Hashuri, and the purpose of the trip seemed to be coming back to me - I felt like my self again...