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Published: November 5th 2011
On Thursday it starts raining and I don’t think it’s ever going to stop. It’s been a strange week with Eka going off to work every morning and me staying at home. I did my first surreptitious wash up after she’d left one morning. Levan was still asleep in the living room so I closed the door to ensure he wouldn’t hear me and sneakily washed up the dishes in the sink. I figured Levan would think that Eka did it before she went to school and when Eka came home she’s think Levan had done it. My god I’m an idiot sometimes. I like the little ways I discover what’s acceptable or what’s expected of me though. On the first day Eka was going to school without me I thought it would be rude to just stay in bed while she went to work so I got up and made sure I went into the kitchen early enough to have a cup of tea and a chat before she left and the first thing she said to me was, ‘Why are you up so early?’ So, lie-ins for the rest of the week! We have our compulsory introductory regional meeting on Thursday and Eka tells me to be at school at 1pm, even though the meeting isn’t ‘til three and I’m soaked from the knees down by the time I get there. I hang around until about 2.30pm and one of the other teachers offers to give us a lift into Zugdidi so four of us pile into the back – three English teachers and our director – very dignified! The meeting could best be described as a massive waste of time and I can’t wait to get out of there so I can go join the others. We’re finally set free and Eka, Maia and I grab some Kachapuri and walk to the bus station in the rain. Eka gives me a big hug goodbye I set off on my marshrutka to meet up with the others in Kutaisi. I soon notice that no one wants to sit next to me – people are actually standing to avoid it. A few minutes later I wish I hadn’t tempted fate with these thoughts because the woman who finally does sit down next to me smells like she’s made of cheese. I try to subtly lean away from her until I realise that the seal is broken on the window next to me and water is pouring in and down my leg. In the aisle beside me two guys are arguing loudly in Georgian. I smile to myself and remember why I love travelling so much. I bump into the others at the bus stop heading into the centre of Kutaisi, which is a nice surprise. We have a few drinks in the brewery and enlist the help of a taxi driver to try to find somewhere to stay but the search proves fruitless. Even the small amount we’ve had to drink disagrees with Jane and she’s pretty sick. She also accidently throws her phone in a massive puddle and we can’t help laughing at her. In the end we give up and decide to get a taxi back to Ara’s in Terjola and spend the night there. Ally and I pop off to buy some vodka and fruit juice in an effort to keep the night going. We have to stop about every 15 minutes on the way there for poor Jane to throw up on the side of the road. Ally and I sit outside talking for a while once we arrive but Ally’s host dad ‘catches’ us and I feel bad cos I think we’ve woken him up. Ara is in a slightly different situation from the rest of us because he’s just staying with this middle aged guy and his son, who’s about the same age as Ara. Ara thinks he’s something high up in the government in Terjola and they live in this massive house so there’s plenty of room for all of us. I wake up early and go pottering about. They have a baby goat and I’m instantly in love. Ally decides he wants to make an omelette, even though he doesn’t know how so we set off in the car with Ara’s host brother to buy eggs from the local shop. We make our omelette but Ara’s host dad has made something infinitely nicer for breakfast so we all tuck in (with the exception of Jane who’s still recovering). Then out comes the cha cha. This is actually my first taste of the home made Georgian spirit and I’m not convinced breakfast is the right time for it. But I oblige and take a couple of shots and then try some of their home-made wine. It’s all good. When we leave we realise we’re too heavy to all sit in the car on the rutted track that leads to the main road so we walk down to meet Ara’s host brother at the bottom for a lift into town. About half way down the track we pass a well and head over to fill up our water bottles. Beside the well are some Georgian guys drinking beer and they insist we drink with them. So the basic point I’m trying to make here is that we’re all shit faced well before lunchtime…or I am anyway, I can’t even remember if the others drank. In fact, I have to confess to something of a black hole in my memory at this point, stretching from leaving the well until round about the point we arrived back in Zugdidi later that evening. I’m pretty sure we went back to Kutaisi and sat in the brewery some more. Actually, it’s starting to come back to me. One of the other volunteers popped in to see us and the vegans arrived to spend the rest of the weekend with us. Ally and I nearly struck out on our own cos we got so fed up of waiting for everybody to decide what they wanted to do but eventually we all agreed to get a marshrutka back to Zugdidi (I might as well have never left), spend the night there and then head for Mestia on Saturday. The marshrutka driver told us about a hostel in Zugdidi for which I am eternally grateful because I now know there’s a really nice place I can stay if I ever want a night out in Zugdidi that’s actually cheaper than getting a taxi home. I would recommend this place to anyone who finds themselves in Zugdidi for the night. It’s only been open about four months and is run by a Lithuanian woman called Regina. It’s cheap, friendly and comfortable. A couple of Regina’s friends are there and one of them plays the guitar so we sit around singing and drinking for a few hours. I somehow manage to get into a massive fight with one of the Lithuanian guys staying there because he said being gay is a genetic disease. I call him an ignorant fuckhead and storm off but I apologise later cos I realise he doesn’t know any better. The others drift off to bed and I sit up talking to one of the Georgian guys called Buba until around 2am and then realise it’s only four hours til I have to be up and I’d better go to bed. As I’m leaving a load of pissed TLGers turn up back from a night out in town so I guess I had a lucky escape! We’re up at stupid o’clock the next morning to catch the marshrutka to Mestia. As usual I think I’ve managed to escape the hangover but it creeps up on me as the journey goes on. All I want to do is lay my head down on the back seat and go to sleep but it’s impossible. The views are just too incredible to miss. Not long after we drive out of Zugdidi we pass this massive expanse of water. I think it’s a lake but it seems to go on for miles and it’s the purest turquoise colour you’ve ever seen. Luckily we had the marshrutka to ourselves so we could pretty much do what we wanted, which in our case meant getting out and taking pictures. It will remain to my dying day one of the biggest regrets of my life that I set out to Mestia last weekend without a camera, for reasons which I hope will become clear. I have to say, for the sake of anyone contemplating a visit, that the journey from Zugdidi to Mestia is truly terrifying. The marshrutka hurtles along these winding mountain tracks, swerving round rock falls every hundred yards or so. I’m pretty sure we would have veered off the road if what was off the road wasn’t a 70 foot drop to certain death, although having said that I’m pretty sure we nearly died about six times. I came very close to finding God at one point. Let me say it’s totally worth it though. Mestia is, hands down, the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen and the journey itself is half of it. We were lucky enough to be visiting it in Autumn and the colours were sensational. I don’t have the literary skills to even attempt to describe this place so I’m not even going to try, except to say that being there is a truly surreal experience. It just doesn’t feel like a real place. The snow-capped mountains look close enough to reach out and touch and stone towers stand sentry across the hillsides. On a much less romantic note, however, it’s ridiculously muddy and fucking freezing. I realised to my dismay in Kutaisi that I’d left my jacket at Ara’s house, although the dismay is more for sentimental reasons than anything else. Once we were up in the mountains I missed it for a very different reason. So I end up wearing this huge padded shirt thing of Ally’s and looking pretty damn sharp if I do say so myself. Actually any sense of style anyone might have had went straight out of the window as soon as we headed north of Zugdidi; after that we were all caked in mud and just desperately trying to stay warm. When we arrive we found a guest house and negotiated prices and struck out to explore. Without any discussion we all sort of ended up going our separate ways in twos or three, which turned out quite well cos we all had great stories to tell later. Although I don’t think anyone’s topped mine and Ally’s. We stopped for a beer outside a shop in an attempt to curb my hangover and then went wandering up this really steep hill towards the mountains, passing a house that had a snow tower in the garden. Most of the original houses have these and they were built in the 12th or 13th century, originally as defensive towers, although I think families may have also used them as avalanche towers during particularly savage winters. Anyway, Ally decides to ask the guys working in the garden at this house if we can come into the garden and take a look (I realise I’ve made that sound like he asked them in flawless Georgian – for future reference please imagine all interactions that take place with Georgians in this story involving a lot of miming, hand signals and about three words of broken Georgian.) They wave us in and we have a look around. And then Ally asks if we can go inside. So the guy, whose name turns out to be Soso, gestures him up the ladder to an entranceway (hole in the wall) and then passes another ladder up to him which leads up to a trapdoor in the roof of the second floor from which we climb another ladder to the top. This is where the fact that neither of us has a camera really makes me want to weep. The room at the top is about six foot by six foot, made entirely of stone, apart from the wooden roof. Stone benches cut into the walls all the way around and two small windows are cut a little below head height in each wall. The views are truly spectacular but even they don’t compare with the feeling you get knowing that you’re standing in a structure that’s 700-800 years old. We stand there in awe for a while, looking around us, taking in the views and generally appreciating how lucky we are to have this opportunity when Ally turns to me and say, ‘Anna, imagine if we could sleep up here?!’ Now only Ally would be stupid enough to think this is a good idea and only I would be stupid enough to go along with it. I’m reluctant to ask Soso for this favour because I think it’s just too much of an imposition but at the same time the opportunity is too good to pass up. I don’t think there are handful of people on this earth who can say they’ve spent the night in a 13th century Georgian snow tower (as far as I know even the Georgians don’t use them anymore). So we traipse back down the ladders and Ally breaks out his best Georgian. An old lady leads me into a sweltering hot kitchen and we leave the men to their talk, although I go back out in time for the moment when Soso finally understands what we want and, rather flippantly, agrees. He had originally thought we wanted to sleep in his house and had actually shown Ally a bedroom before we made him understand that we wanted to sleep in the tower. I think telling him we were brother and sister helped our cause because they have very strict views on people of the opposite sex sharing rooms, even if they’re just friends it’s just not the done thing. We agree with him that we’ll come back with our stuff at about 5pm and take our leave. We’re literally giddy with excitement but we manage to contain ourselves until we’re out of sight and earshot before jumping up and down like morons. We start making lists of things we need to pick up from the guest house and from the shop as we make our way down the hill when we bump onto three people who clearly aren’t Georgian and strike up a conversation. It turns out to be a French tour guide who’s been living in Georgia for the past six years and is showing a Canadian couple around the area. Ally’s last name is Heather and there’s a rather lovely moment when he sticks his hand out to shake that of the Canadian women and says, ‘My name’s Ally,’ and she shakes his hand and says, ‘Heather’ and he looks confused and says, ‘Yes…’. The tour guide, Servane, is in the process of taking the couple up to a museum that we didn’t realise was there almost next to our new ‘hotel’ and asks if we’d like to tag along. Well of course we would. As we’re making our way back up the hill this little car (don’t ask me what it was) comes up the hill at full pelt. We dive for cover because we’re fully aware that this car isn’t going to stop for anything – if it does it won’t start again. It’s a steep hill. It makes it within about three feet of the top, slows, stops, and slowly starts to slide back down. We watch it slide back down the way it came until it’s out of sight and carry on making our way up. About 30 seconds later we hear the most terrific revving noise and turn around the see the car hurtling back up the hill in reverse. It’s the best piece of driving I’ve ever seen and this time he reaches the top without a hitch. We all cheer and applaud and Servane goes over for a word with the driver. Turns out he’s not even from the region. The museum isn’t really a working museum. We have to hunt for the old woman who has the keys and she only speaks Russian so she can’t tell us much about it (that any of us can understand anyway). Luckily Servane has been there enough times to be able to give us an overview of the history. The building is an old Georgian dwelling, last occupied about 100 years ago. It’s really just one big room. There’s a throne like seat where the head of the families would sit, a bench for the men and a much simpler and lower bench for the women. We defy history and take it in turns having our pictures taken on the ‘throne’. Around the outside of the room there’s a lower area where the cows would sleep and platforms above them where families would sleep to utilise the heat from the cows’ bodies. There’s a small room down a corridor where pregnant women and those who had recently given birth were confined. Charming. All in all it was an interesting interlude and for the millionth time I’m sorry I don’t have a camera. Maybe I’ll ask Servane to send me some of the pics she took. Ally and I are now late for getting back to our tower so we say our goodbyes and arrange to meet them for a drink later. We bump into Ally’s roommate from orientation half way down the hill with some other volunteers. Didn’t even know he was there. We tell then we’ll meet them in the bar next to their hotel later and then stop and say hello to some other TLG teachers on the street (new ones, not from out intake). Honestly, the place is crawling with them. We finally make it back to the hostel to find the others hauled up in their room with the electric fire blazing (can an electric fire blaze? Basically, it was hot.) We swap stories and arrange to hire two sleeping bags from the guest house. Ally has one with him so we’ll have something to lie on and we pack all our warmest clothes. My favourite story of the day is Jane and Rachel’s. They followed a sign for ‘Hot bread’ and ended up stumbling into a funeral where they were seated, fed and invited back to drink wine later (an invitation they eventually passed up, for which I think they’re crazy). Ally and I pick up some provisions from the shop, including a bottle of vodka for Soso to demonstrate our appreciation, and head off to our tower. The bottle of vodka disappears somewhere and we’re given mugs of beer while Soso goes back to work. I’m unbelievably grateful for this because in my hungover state my biggest fear was that he was going to crack open the vodka and I was going to throw up on his shoes. We struggle our way up the ladders with our stuff and make our first sensible decision of the day – not too drink too much that evening. Neither of us wants to attempt to negotiate those ladders in any state other than relatively sober. We make our sleeping quarters as comfortable as possible and start back down the hill for town. As we pass the house Soso comes out and asks us to bring him some beer back from the shop. I see this as another plus as it means we have no choice but to come back at a reasonable hour – we don’t want to ruin Soso’s evening by not returning with his beer til the small hours. The marshrutka (the only marshrutka) leaves for Zugdidi at 8am so we need to be on it. We meet Liam and Helen, fellow TLGers from our intake, at the restaurant next to their hotel and I text Servane who comes to join us later with the Canadians. Unfortunately I’m having one of those rare hangovers that I just can’t drink my way out of. In the end I resort to tea (anyone who knows me will be truly shocked by that but it actually makes me feel temporarily better.) Servane tells us she has a couple of sleeping mats we can borrow and we steel all the sheets from the spare bed in Liam’s room and, thus armed, retire to our tower. Unfortunately I think they’ve altered the incline of the hill while we were in the pub and by the time I get to the top I’m pretty sure I’m going to die. On the plus side I’m absolutely roasting so getting comfortable isn’t a problem. Against all the odds I actually get a pretty good night’s sleep. I’ve set my alarm for 6.30am to be on the safe side but, as luck would have it, my battery dies during the night. I wake up really early, or so I think, and try to watch the sunrise but it’s too misty. It’s beautiful though. Eventually I kick Ally awake and explain our plight. Neither of us has a watch but I can’t see a single soul moving from our elevated position so I’m convinced we’re alright for time. We break camp and head back towards town where we start to see worrying signs of life. As we approach Liam’s hotel we see figures huddled outside, looking suspiciously like they’re waiting for a marshrutka. As we draw closer we realise it’s Liam and Helen and beg them for the time. It’s 8.15am. Fuck! We hasten towards the guest house but the marshrutka passes us on the way. They pull up and we can see it’s full already. Ara tells us they’ve still to pick up another five people so we accept the fact we’re not going to be taking that particular ride and tell them we’ll find another way home. Although fuck knows how cos everyone has said that’s the only bus of the day. But we’re still on a high from our night wrapped up in the warm embrace of history so we’re not fazed. We head back to the hostel, grab our stuff and a quick shower and find the road leading out of Mestia with a view to hitchhiking (which, by the way, we were categorically told not to try in Georgia.) It’s raining so we figure if we look pitiful enough somebody will pick us up. The first car to come along stops and the guys seems willing but unfortunately we have no idea where he’s going so we politely decline. We’re standing beside a petrol station and we see a convoy of 4x4s turn in so we go to try to talk to them but they’re extremely unreceptive. Ally’s getting more anxious by the minute because New Zealand are playing Australia in the semi-finals of the rugby world cup at midday. Eventually we’re picked up by a marshrutka that’s not in service. I think it’s just a bunch of Georgian people driving to Tbilisi. They’re not particularly friendly but they agree to take us so we squeeze in the back and keep our heads down. In the end they charge us so it wasn’t technically hitchhiking but it didn’t cost us any more than the original marshrutka would have done so we’ve lost nothing in the deal. We desperately try to find a bar that’s showing the rugby but there doesn’t appear to be any such thing in Zugdidi so we resort to an internet café. I’m sure Ally told me the score but I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the rugby so I probably tuned him out. We grab a coffee in a café in the main square and Ally agrees with me that the stares we’re subjected to in Zugdidi feel much more hostile than elsewhere, although when we go for a wander round the bazaar we’re met with mostly friendly smiles. One guy even offers, in English, to translate for us if we want to buy anything and then says that I’m a very good girl. I’m feeling particularly smug since I’ve broken the zip on my boots and manage to find a cobblers and arrange to have it fixed by the next day. Anyone who’s never been to Georgia, and in particular never been to a Georgian bazaar will have no comprehension of what an achievement this is. Ally and I part ways at the bus station and there’s further confusion until I finally understand that the marshrutka from Zugdidi to Koki is the only one in the whole of Georgia that has allocated seats. I had a great weekend but it was really nice to get home too. I feel like I’m caked in filth and, despite the much warmer weather back down south my feet are still wet. Eka sits me down and I tell her all about my adventures. She calls me crazy when I tell her where we spent the night. Her and her family have never been to Mestia and I am thoroughly chastised for not taking a camera. I start spinning plots in my head about how I can orchestrate a surprise family holiday for them and then realise you can’t just flit off on holiday when you effectively live on a farm. Eka also tells me that Gala kept pestering her to call me to find out where I was and she kept telling him I’m not a child and to leave me alone, which I thought was very sweet. Even the kids seem more relaxed around me, which I guess is odd given I haven’t been at home all weekend but Mari dances around the house singing and Gio greets me with a smile and a shy ‘hello’. I’m thrilled to get back to my own bed but I have to confess that there was a point on the journey back to Zugdidi when I just wanted to keep going. Damn responsibilities. However, I’ve 90% decided not to return to the UK before I move to South Korea in February so I should have a whole month to explore after my teaching contract ends. In the meantime stay tuned for more weekend antics.
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