Down, but not Out in Georgia Pt 4: Time to find Peace.... Escape to the Mountains

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Abastumani, Georgia



July 9^th, 2014



“Get back to where you do belong”

The Beatles, Get Back



Monday night (July 7^th), after learning from a phone call to my lawyer that my destiny with the Georgian Public Prosecutor would not be happening for some days, I decided on a whim to leave Tbilisi, not to return to Akhaltsikhe but find somewhere in the mountains (where it would be cooler and relaxing) within striking distance of Akhaltsikhe for when I am called. As I happened to be at the Tourist Information Centre at Liberty Square (that name striking a rather bitter taste in my mouth under my present circumstances) to meet a Spanish traveler I'd gotten to know in Turkey for a beer, I asked the woman behind the desk what might fit the described requirements. Straight away she suggested Abastumani, just 30 km from Akhaltsikhe, and her personal favourite holiday place. Perfect.

And so the next morning I was on the city bus to the Didube Bus Terminal by 8 am. As always, it felt good to be moving once a decision was made. At the terminal I am shown that my first impressions of a heartless city were ill-founded. One driver leaves his bus and spends 15 minutes walking me around to ensure I find the correct connection for Abastumani. Just before we depart, Vassali gets on and sits next to me. He is about my age and more than half tanked at 9.30 am (and perhaps this was his usual state). He was good natured and talked a lot to everyone non-stop. Our only mutually understood conversation was to establish that “Georgia good!”. I tried hard to sound convincing with my unresolved saga in the back of my mind, figuring that here was one Georgian I certainly was not going to be able to communicate well enough with to get him onto my crusade to stir legal revolution. Nevertheless, he felt comfortable enough to lay down to sleep with his head on my leg.

We hit the beautiful countryside that I had experienced on the way to Tbilisi: dense green forests in narrow valleys alongside a gushing river. The driver swerved this way and that as good as any Indian bus driver, avoiding the potholes on the narrow country road. We passed horse drawn carts and men walking along the road to the fields with scythes, women with pitchforks. Things were feeling 'normal' (both in the English sense of that word and the Georgian sense where 'normale' means great or super).

We stopped at a roadside cafe with a special outhouse where they cooked fresh khachapuri (a traditional Georgian dish of cheese-filled bread. The bread is leavened and allowed to rise, and is usually shaped round and plate-size.The filling contains cheese, eggs and other ingredients and butter is melted on top at the end). There I met the grandmother I had never known. Her name was Arianna and while she seemed to me to not look a day under 80 (but this is the phenomenon of me feeling like a 25 year old... perchance she was not much older than me in reality). She spirited around like a 20 year old: attestation I thought to the healthy effect of the local mineral waters? She was knitting little woolen sheep toys. She knew about 20 words of English (much more than I knew of Georgian). We exchanged cheek kisses on meeting and at parting, and I later wondered if I might not have just left the bus there and then and stayed in that small place.

Vassali wasted no time ordering three large khachapuri, it being implicit that he was going to pay. While we were waiting for them to be cooked in the wood-fired oven, he asked if I wanted a drink. I naively thought 'coffee ' or 'tea' but predictably he came back from the cafe with two bottles of beer. The bus driver really wanted to get going.... but Vassali was a skilled manipulator in getting him to wait just two minutes more (again and again). Finally the khachapuri were done and he bundled them up on a cardboard plate, got back on the bus, and proceeded to offer pieces to all the passengers (and the driver). It was of course delicious (I had not had any breakfast, and beer and khachapuri was perfect).

More and more I was being taken away from the nightmare.... Georgia was nice. I arrived in Abastumani on the Otskhe river (population around 1,500). The road in was lined with old ill-kept but very cute wooden houses. The driver let me off at what felt like the middle of no-where, but what was in fact the 'centre' of town. I had the name of a hotel from the Tbilisi tourist information and a local (also half-tanked) walked me the km down the road to find it. It looked and felt and somehow 'smelled' of an old Soviet holiday hotel... and probably was. The room included wi-fi (intermittently not working as is usual); free tea and coffee; and a balcony with a table and chair and space for yoga. 25 lira a night. Perfect.

I went grocery shopping for some supplies to make a salad, and bought myself a ¼ litre of 40%!p(MISSING)roof Vodka in the local supermarket for just 2.5 lari (about Aus $1.50 or 1 euro).. off the shelf.... and without a doctors prescription. Considering my 'drug' saga in Georgia, the irony of this juxtaposition should not be lost (given that alcohol purchases in Australia is strictly controlled through licensed premises). I later sipped half the bottle away with my salad and the khachapuri left over from the bus trip. An hour after, I was downstairs using the hotel ADSL computer connection (wi-fi being dodgy back in my room). Zaza (hotel worker) had taken a sympathetic liking to me over my treatment by the Georgian police... so he came over with his bottle of home made vodka (it being 60%!p(MISSING)roof) and we threw two shots down the throat in quick succession. He offered my more but I politely declined while trying to focus my eyesight and complete my emails. I slept really well that night (by no means drunk) and had a fabulous bowel movement the next morning (this being far too much information I know). What more could I wish for? I am considering becoming addicted to Vodka. No nasty aftermath.

I get an email back from my lawyer having not really understood him on the phone the night before I left Tbilisi as to why the delay with the prosecutor:

“you are right, we have asked about plea-bargaining agreement and still we are waiting for the answer from the main Prosecutor office from Tbilisi, they will say if they want to be paid fine 1000 GEL, and finish the case”

I reply:

“I understand.

So you did not even ask about the 500 GEL? I wanted to try, remember?”

He had told me last Friday that while under Georgian law the minimum fine is 500 lira, he had never heard of any case over drugs getting less than 1,000 lira (about Aus $600 / 420 euros).

And so it goes on. I wait the Prosecutor's pleasure.

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Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Time to drink
Time for a few

[Marguerite]

Cheers!!!
60% proof - YIKES!!!! - almost as lethal as the www.rice (rice wine) they made in the hills where I lived in Bangladesh. I think it was about 75-80% depending on who made it. AND it was legal!!! What a beautiful place - I want to go there too now........................Travel hugs