We arrived at the Georgian border, our car devastated by dirt and snow, and breezed through the checkpoint without hassle. Americans don’t need visas to Georgia, which I find a remarkable turn of events given the history of the region. A quick stamp and we were off. Others weren’t so lucky. I didn’t care. The dramatic mountains followed us north, and, while obviously pained economically, there was a notable and sudden change the moment we set foot inside Georgia. Road signs were often bright and new, and frequently in proper English too. Sure there were plenty of Soviet-era Ladas, Volga’s, and Niva’s, but plenty of foreign cars raced through the streets too. The traffic police actually did their jobs and patrolled the city in clean new VW’s and Skoda squad cars. The street lights not
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