South Caucasus Trip (Part 4)

On Aug 3^rd, Laika and I made the trek from Yerevan, Armenia to Tbilisi, Georgia for what would be the final leg of our South Caucasus trip. We used the same Armenian driver that had transported us from the Georgian-Armenian border to Yerevan, but this time he would drive us all the way from Yerevan to Tbilisi without a handoff to a second driver at the border. The drive was straightforward, and I enjoyed seeing the mountainous Armenian landscape one last time.

Laika and I arrived in Tbilisi around 2pm. We paid the driver and bid him do svidaniya (Russian for “goodbye”). Not being able to find an Airbnb to our liking that would let us book for one night, we opted to stay the Ibis Styles Hotel, a unique boutique hotel near Freedom Square in Tbilisi. We were able to enjoy one more night in Tbilisi before our tour guide Levan (pronounced “Lay-oh-von”) would pick us up the next morning, so we opted to have dinner and drink at Fabrika, a super trendy all-inclusive hostel with restaurant and retail options for young travelers. The place was a warehouse that was converted into a hostel, and the place was full of young locals and foreigners. Though I enjoyed the energy of the place, I felt as though the target demographic was more my sons’ ages rather than mine. Still, I know how to be inconspicuous and just have a good time people watching.

The next day, Laika and I awoke and were ready at 9am because we thought Levan would be picking us up. However, he sent a message to Laika saying that he would be running late. He would pick us up at 10:30am. This wasn’t a big deal. Laika and I enjoyed complimentary breakfast at our hotel and then went back to our room for a little more rest. A little after 10:30am, Levan messaged that he was outside. As we exited the hotel, we saw him and his Mitsubishi Delica, a minivan with four-wheel drive capabilities.

Levan was a short, funny, energetic man in his late 30s who had been providing tours in Georgia for most of his adult life. In fact, Laika and some friends had booked a tour with him seven years ago. He was also an armchair scholar of Georgian history and had endless stories about the regions, cities, and landmarks of his country. He spoke accented-English and would often start his responses to my questions with “c’mon” or “for sure” as a way of negating or affirming his answers.

Levan gave Laika a big hug, the same way you would a friend that you haven’t seen in years. He gave me a firm handshake, and soon we were off in his Delica. As we drove out of Tbilisi, Levan confessed that the minivan that we were in wasn’t his; it was his friend’s. His van had broken down a couple days ago, and he was hoping that it would be repaired tomorrow. He also admitted that his friend’s van was also prone to overheating, and that was why he was late. If he drove over 80 km/hr for an extended amount of time, the temperature gauge would climb like a girlfriend the later her boyfriend came home after a night out with his friends. He might have to stop and let the engine of van cool from time to time.

This wasn’t a problem for Laika and me. Though it was hot outside (30-35 degrees Celsius throughout) the trip, we were looking forward to the adventure with Levan. Laika trusted him, and I trusted Laika’s judgment, so he had trust of both of us. About an hour outside of Tblisi, we pulled over to the side of the highway for the first of many stops to cool the engine of the minivan.

For our first day of the tour, Levan was taking us to Vardzia, a cave monastery in southern Georgia, and then we would spend the night at his home in Borjomi. On the way to Vardzia, we would be picking up a German backpacker who would be accompanying us for the day. Levan told us that the boy’s name was Florian, and he was 2m tall. Florian was indeed a tall young man, and the only reason I speak diminutively about him is because he was 23, the same age as my oldest son. That was not unexpected because most of the solo travelers that I encountered during my summer of travelers were closer to the ages of my sons rather than my age. Most 45-year-olds were not traveling by themselves because they were traveling with their families or wives; I was an outlier in most travel situations.

During the first day, we slowly made our way to Vardzia. We stopped at the Green Monastery outside of Borjomi, visited Akhaltsikhe (Rabati) Castle, and then stopped for a meal about 30 minutes outside of Vardzia. The entire time Levan would tell us stories of important historical battles, German prisoner forced to labor when Georgia was part of the Soviet Union, and local folklore and legend. Though we had to stop intermittently to cool the van, it was an engaging and informative drive to Vardzia. Still, when we arrived at Vardzia, it was around 6pm, and the site was starting to close for the day. However, Levan was nonplussed by this.

“Just wait one minute,” Levan told us, and he ran off to talk with someone he knew.

Laika, Florian, and I took a seat at a restaurant at the base of Vardzia. It was next to a river, and the sky was very grey with overcast clouds. Any minute it was likely to rain. How would this impact our visit to Vardzia? We each ordered a glass of wine, and then a torrent of rain began to fall.

We were at the base of Vardzia after it had closed, and it was raining. Our chance of getting in seemed slim. However, we were not bothered by this. We had a good view of the cave monastery from across the valley as we were driving in, and Laika and I were both of the position that if it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen. That is the part of any travel adventure: things don’t always go according to plan. Nonetheless, the universe did seem to be on our side.

As soon as we finished our glasses of wine, the rain abated, and Levan informed us to follow him. He would be taking us into Vardzia for a semi-private tour.

How did you get us in? I asked.

“C’mon. I know the night watchman,” he responded.

So, while are chances of visiting Vardzia seemed slim at first, we were now exploring it after a rainfall as the sun was starting to set, a perfect combination of light conditions to take pictures as the site was empty of all tourists–besides the four of us. (Also, there was a monk or two in the monastery performing religious duties, but they didn’t count.)

After exploring the site until dusk, we drove back to Borjomi, dropped off Florian at a hostel, and spent the rest of the night at Levan’s family home, enjoying salty smoked cheese, slices of ham with bread, and homemade Georgian wine. It was good nightcap to a very memorable day.

The next day, we all awoke and enjoyed a homecooked breakfast made by Levan’s mother and father. While Laika and I relaxed, Levan was busy MacGyver-ing up some wired contraption that he plugged into his van’s fuse box to trigger an extra fan to help cool the engine. Whatever, he did it seemed to somewhat work. This jerry-rigging was necessary because Levan had received disappointing news that his van would not be repaired in time, so we would have to continue the tour with his friend’s.

During the first day of our trip, Levan would be on the phone every so often conversing loudly in Georgian about his van’s repairs. Instead of being bothered by the anger in his voice, Laika and I found these calls amusing, part of the coloring of the experience.

After one short phone conversation, in which Levan was very heated, I tried to cut the tension. Bad news from the mechanic? I asked.

“No,” he tensely responded. “It was my mom!”

I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or serious, so I didn’t pry further.

Then Levan continued, “She treats me like some 37-year-old baby, asking me where I am when I am driving. If anything were to happen, what would she do? She’s old and has arthritis.”

I looked in the rearview mirror to see Laika smiling in amusement before looking out the passenger window to conceal my smile. [Note: The passenger seat in Levan’s friend’s van is on left side of vehicle, so I was looking to the left, not the right. In Georgia, most driver seats are on the left side of vehicle, but some are on the right. Although Georgian law states that imported vehicles must have a left side driver seat, many vehicles were imported before this law went into effect.]

On the second day of our trip, we would be driving to Kutaisi. There we would be staying and able to enjoy another cultural significant city in Georgia. There were only a few problems. First, as I indicated, the van was prone to overheating. Second, we would be driving using a highway system that was still under construction by a Chinese construction firm. Third, there was a lot of traffic on the road due to the highway not being completed and the multitude of travelers driving to the seaside resort city of Batumi. Fourth, it was sunny and hot!

Levan skillfully and patiently made the drive. Laika and I silently and patiently endured the drive with all windows open because the AC wasn’t working. Levan apologized for this malfunction, but there was nothing he could do, and Laika and I still had a lot of goodwill and faith in his ability to oversee this tour. Unless you are ruler of a country, a mega rich individual, or celebrity on an international junket, you should expect and be able to tolerate some degree of discomfort or inconvenience. These experiences are just fodder for small talk for future conversation with other travelers. It was how hot? You had to wait how long? How much did they try to charge you? Levan, Laika, and I all persisted to Kutaisi.

In Kutaisi, we were staying at his friend’s place. We would be staying on the second floor of a very spacious home. That night we would enjoy a homecooked meal and drink homemade Georgian wine. Levan’s friend was an older man who was often shirtless with his big belly protruding. The only other people at the house were the man’s daughter-in-law, her son, and a small puppy. The daughter-in-law was wearing a sundress and had a bored, pouty mannerism like the daughter in one of those farmer’s daughter jokes.

After checking in, Levan took Laika and I to explore Kutaisi. It was cute city with interesting old world and Soviet architecture. And that evening, we had a delicious homecooked meal of Georgina food. We also partook in the Georgian wine drinking custom. Before each drink, there must be a toast, starting with the host and going clockwise around the table. After finishing a jug of the host’s wine, he bade us goodnight, and Levan, Laika, and I retired after finishing the remnants of second jug.

The third day of our trip was a nature day. Levan took us to a cave system and some waterfalls neighboring Kutaisi. It was thankfully cooler the third day and rained somewhat.

The fourth and last day of our trip, Levan would drive us back to Tbilisi so that Laika and I could catch our 3am flight the next day back to Doha. Still, Levan wanted to make the most of the day, so we stopped at several churches in Kutaisi before driving to the Katshki Pillar, a limestone monolith with a little church sitting on top. A ladder runs from the ground to the top of the pillar. There is a locked gate at the base of the ladder because only one monk is allowed to inhabit the church and perform religious duties. After the pillar, we drove to Chiatura, a mining town that sits in a valley. Due to the steepness of the valley, several cable cars extend from the peaks of the valley to a central station in the base of town. We stopped and took a short ride in one of these cable cars. The town and the surrounding area are quite picturesque. However, years of mining and mining runoff have polluted the river that runs through the center of the town. The water in this river resembles a brown sludge, and Levan said there is a lot of pollution in the area. You can buy an apartment for $8000, but you would likely have to contend with weird illnesses and a shortened lifespan.

After Chiatura, Laika and I wanted to stop for dinner, so Levan promised a break after we made it out of the valley. However, due to prolonged ascending up the valley, the van overheated, so we pulled over next to a field to allow the engine to cool.

While we were waiting, two older Georgian men emerged from the field. They seemed good nature but were curious. “What was going on?” They seemed to ask in Georgian. I didn’t know how to answer, so I pointed to Levan.

Levan seemed to inform them that it was no big deal. We were letting the van’s engine cool. There was nothing wrong.

The men then were wondering about the nationality of the two passengers.

Levan seemed to tell them that Laika and I were visiting Americans. This seemed to excite the two men who wanted to invite us across the road to their home for some wine.

Levan asked Laika and I, “Do you want some wine?”

“Sure,” we excitedly responded.

It was Saturday, so the relatives of the two men were gathered for a family dinner. There were about two or three generations of family members at the home. One of the men who invited us for a drink called two younger family members to join. One was a younger Georgian man who spoke English well, and the other was a French Georgian man who was visiting his family for the third time in his life. He spoke English with a French accent. It was the job of these two family members to translate for us every time the older Georgian men made a toast. Meanwhile, the female family members placed dishes with food in front of us. All the food was prepared using ingredients grown or raised on the farm. Laika and I couldn’t have asked for a better meal.

After a couple toasts, the French Georgian said that we had interrupted his nap. The family had been eating and drinking for the past two hours before we arrived, and everyone was in jovial spirits. During most of the homemade meals that I experienced, the men would eat and drink while the women cooked and served the men. Laika, being an American guest, was the exception. So, she asked Levan, at one point, if Georgian women ever drink with the men?

“No, Georgian women don’t drink,” he insisted. “Only Russian women drink with men!” Still, every so often during our meal, I would see one of the older women sipping the contents of glass after a toast.

After sampling many of the Georgian dishes and enjoying many more rounds of toasts, it was time for the final toast. The man who had invited us into his home stated that in Georgia an unexpected visitor is a gift from God, and that he wished us a safe trip and to always remember Georgia fondly. With that very touching and poignant toast, Levan, Laika, and I said goodbye to the family and resumed our journey to Tbilisi.

It was night when we arrived at Tbilisi. Levan was exhausted after the four days of driving, but he promised to take us to the airport before concluding the tour. Laika and I wanted to buy some Georgian groceries before our flight, so Levan rested while we shopped for sauce and cheese. After a couple hours, we met up with Levan and brought him some chicken wings and potato wedges. He was with a friend, and the two gobbled up the food. Then it was off to the airport.

On the way to the airport, I felt as if I need to say something to show my appreciation for everything Levan had done for Laika and me.

Levan, I said, I have one more toast. I have been traveling for most of this summer, and I have seen many amazing things; taken lots of beautiful pictures; eaten so much new, delicious food; and bought interesting souvenirs that I will keep or give to my friends and family back home. However, the thing that also I value about traveling is the relationships that I form, like with you, the family that we stayed in at Kutaisi, and the farmers that invited us into their homes today. Thank you for introducing Laika and I to the people of Georgia. We will always have fond memory of this tour with you.

Levan was a little taken aback. “C’mon,” he responded. Then began to critique the tour. As the tour organizer, some of the logistics of the tour had bothered him. He wanted us to travel in his van, not his friend’s, because the engine wouldn’t have overheated, and we would have been more comfortable with the AC. However, Laika and I assured him that everything had been fine. We saw and did so much in our four days with him that we weren’t disappointed. Plus, if the van didn’t overheat, we wouldn’t have had that last meal with the farmers.

This comforted Levan. He was happy that we sincerely had a good time.

At the airport, I presented him with a jug of beer because I lost an arm-wrestling match with him that he initiated on our first night together, and Laika provided him with a tip as a token of our appreciation. We hugged him one last time, and Laika and I entered the airport so that we could catch our flight back to Doha and conclude the last trip of our summer.

The following are pics from the final leg of my South Caucasus trip.