Georgia lost its mind

So Western Turkey was in the way, Easten Turley was on the way, and Georgia I was not going to let get away. One of my favourite countries, although only the size of Ireland indisputably more diverse. As you may have read from my experiences 12 years ago in the Eureka book. From the 200 glaciers and stone towers of retreat, opulence of Russia investment in the ostentatious erections on the Black Sea coast of Batumi, and the wine region (Georgia is where wine was invented apparently) I decided I wanted another fix of the capital. So, once I crossed the border I headed straight for Tbilisi.

I looked at this for ages

Probably my biggest compliant of the country last time was the standard of driving, however having lived in Bulgaria for ten years I have lowered my standards of expectation when it comes to road etiquette and consideration. I hit the capital at 5pm on Friday, having come from rural Turkey this was baptism by fury. The heat was high, the intensity higher and the impatience at breaking point. Food delivery mopeds weaved between the stagnant traffic radiating their heat and irritation, my panniers imprisoned me in the inferno of captivity. The bike was overheating, I felt the sweat running down my legs, utter discomfort stemmed only by the alertness needed to stay upright and on track. Unlike the dog that ran into the road causing radical braking, I kicked out art it and nearly dislocated my knee.

But I’m not going to retell the time of my city break as it was pretty typical of any city weekend.

On Sunday I headed for the hills, along it seemed, with the entire population of the city with whom had reluctantly shared the road with me in the other direction 2 days ago. It was horrendous and now with the Sunday Subaru boy racers with their fisting aperture exhausts and pop back unbaffled revving.

There are few accounts of anyone ever returning to a place after a decade or more and experiencing anything but disappointment. This I’m sorry to say is where this tale is going.

Although Georgia seemed a lot less foreign this this time, not just familiarity but there are a lot of similarities to Bulgaria. Now I see subtle differences to my adopted country rather than full on unrelatable strangeness. They don’t have chimneys though. Turns out they want to keep their trees and to encourage this all heating is done via gas and in winter it’s Free. Imagine? Free heating. I couldn’t live without a log burner though.

There are, I have said before certain places I will never return too, I caught them at the right time and don’t want my memories tainted. Mongolia, Loas and a remote Thai island to name a few. The road to north to Russia for me in 2013 was hard but exhilarating. Today not only now was it Sunday congested but tourist saturated, to the point of unsustainably overpopulated. The picturesque church that overlooks the turquoise waters of the reservoir was a bus park, the selfie-stick zombies weaved around obstacles seeing all via their screens. I didn’t even stop. I found a deserted restaurant, (not sure why it was empty when everything else was heaving) and sat in the shade waiting for my dumplings. I was ushered to another table where the view was better and so the meal came with an injection of wellbeing, as the parade of traffic passed by.

That feeling bestowed upon me was not to be taken from the premises though. Back on the road I begun the realise the extent of the ‘progress’. So many coffee shops all with signs in ‘Starbucks’ font. On every corner not one but three restaurants, white water rafting, horse rides, quad bike rental, parasailing, authentic replica herder sheepskin hats. I viewed all of this through the visor, the sights obscured by the swarms of phone holding tour groups, spewed from buses and seeing nothing that wasn’t captured in the angle their lens. I was repulsed, the Russian Georgian friendship monument that in 2013, was uninhabited and I ridden right up into, was now a theme park. I took one photo from the road to show my distain for what it had become. Worst was yet to come.

Elevated roads were being constructed over rivers aimed into direct holes drilled into mountain sides. The unlit and curved tunnels of snow protection from before now bypassed. Among the convoy of day-trippers and tour busses was the working trucks. The entire parade punctuated by Russian southbound truckers. The impatience was palpable, and as I approached one oncoming truck the one behind decided to overtake right into my path. I had no option but to pull into the dirt and stop hand on horn as he pushed me off the road. And he had the audacity to give me a look if indignation. I wanted to turn round and bring him to a stop telling him in Russian that ‘in 17 years as professional truck drive, l never in my career made a manoeuvre so inconsiderate, so dangerous, so stupid, as the one you just performed that put you in the league of utter fucktard. Then put my helmet through his screen but having removed my head first. This though was just a taster, from that point on I was invisible, every fucker was overtaking into my path. There is defensive riding and then there is pure avoidance like a dodgem free for all. As I reached my destination, I had my lights on full beam and my finger permanently on the horn, the adrenalin as these projectiles came at me one after the other has be screaming through my helmet MOTHAAAARRR-FUKKKKKKARRRS. And if I hadn’t been doing that there would have been tears of disheartened despair, at over population, over developed, commercial and consumerism. The beauty ruined by the masses. Of course, to all the other traffic I am the traffic and no better than anyone else albeit a lone observed seeing through my eyes, the blinked and phone holding oblivious.

The more fatties I see – the less I eat, the more tattoos – the longer sleeves I wear, the drunker the party the less I drink and as an contrary observer the more phone pointing I see the more mine stays in my pocket. It’s like an awareness, the ghost of Christmas present, do you like what you see? I am one of them I know, OK, but they are unaware, I can at least see that much. I just want to run to the hills, go be a hermit in Balkan cabin, alone with my memories, of how much better everything was and leave the narcissist to see what’s left via a screen. 

I turned off the road and, as is often the case when you leave the parade within 10 kms I found tranquillity, I found a stone castle, herders on horseback, flocks in the road, hoses roaming free. And at this 5800 feet altitude a late spring with the panicles of blossom on the horse chestnut trees I love so much.

I stopped and smelt. I paused and breathed. I stayed and unwound. I needed to recharge… to write and discharge. I found an escape route a runaway ramp. I despair at the overpopulation of the planet, the over development, I can’t change it, I’m a part of it, I also though seem to be able to leave it. I just wanted Tranquility with Wi-Fi.

I found what I needed and stayed.

Peace out.