I had a post typed up on my laptop and saved to my flash drive, but the internet cafe I'm in doesn't have available USB ports!! I promise I'll have one if not two posts up sometime tomorrow. In the meantime, check out some recent photos on my flickr site (flickr.com/photos/rugbxym)
Ryan
Friday, October 5, 2007
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Javakheti Part 2: The summer camp at Mir a Shkhani
The small village (about 50 families) of Mir a Shkhani is an anomaly within Javakheti. First of all, the people there are ethnically Georgian, unusual in the mostly Armenian province. Second of all, they are all Muslim. The village most likely converted during one of the invasions coming from nearby Turkey (only a few kilometers away) several centuries ago.
The camp for college-aged youth (all from Tbilisi) was based in Mir a Shkhani’s two school buildings near the Mtkvari River (the river which eventually flows through Tbilisi). Organized by Metropolitan Nikoloz and funded by World Vision, a Christian organization, the camp was an island of Christianity in this Muslim village. But differences in religious belief never became an issue and the people of Mir a Shkhani welcomed us and showed us the hospitality one comes to expect from Georgians.
Now, this wasn’t your typical summer camp. There was work, hard work. And lots of it. The main objective of the camp was to restore an ancient church carved into the mountainside. It was only discovered 5 years ago—not surprising, as all that is visible from the outside is a small rectangular hole big enough for someone to crawl into—and little is known about its history. It is believed (how, I don’t know) that the church was dedicated to St. John the Baptist and it is for this reason that it is called Tavkvetila—literally, “head severed,” referring to how St. John the Baptist met his end.
There are two rectangular-cut holes that lead into the church. The first, at the base, leads to a vertical shaft 12 feet in height. A ladder provides the only means of gaining entrance to the church. Presumably, the entrance was designed this way in an effort to keep animals out of the church (it worked but not entirely—there was an active swallow’s nest in the church). The second hole is about 30 feet directly above the first. It is the only window into the church and provides all the light. The church is quite large, measuring about 20 ft x 40 ft x 20 ft high, a size that is even more impressive when one considers that it was carved entirely out of rock.
While certainly large enough to hold 40 or 50 worshippers, Tavkvetila is not large enough to contain the crowds that come on September 11th (the feast day of St. John the Baptist on the Julian calendar). In the past, the overflow was forced to stand outside on the uneven terrain (it is a mountainside). But now no longer. The camp participants built two large terraces out of stone on which people can stand outside the church. The larger of the two terraces measures 100 ft long and stands 7+ ft at the highest point. And they did a good job—their progress was regularly evaluated by architects from Tbilisi who praised the students’ excellent work.
Derek and I joined the camp in its second half (in all, 4 weeks). We were rather unceremoniously dropped off by Fr. Theodore who said something about picking us up the next week. Derek and I would be staying in the men’s building (there being 2 parts to the school) in one of the tiny classrooms. The room was tiny, the floors wooden and dusty, and the window had a pane missing. We would be roughing it.
That first afternoon was a bit awkward. Here we were, two Americans who didn’t know much Georgian, arriving halfway through a camp. We exchanged greetings with the 20-odd students at the camp but for the most part, we didn’t speak much with them, instead clinging to Nes and Nino, the two English-speakers. But soon enough, their curiosity of Americans together with their Georgian hospitality and my desire to practice my Georgian broke the ice and very quickly I made many good friends.
As dusk approached that first day, we were visited by 3 monks from Vardzia monastery (the cave monastery). They came bearing gifts of watermelon and fresh honey from their own bee hives. They soon joined a game of volleyball that was underway in the school yard (the volleyball net was a gift from World Vision, and it quickly became a favorite evening pastime, not just for us, but for the entire village). It was quite surreal to watch monks in their cassocks playing volleyball…
Here’s the schedule of a typical day at the camp:
6:00 am: Wake up, brush teeth from spring, drink tea, fill jugs with water from spring under the bridge. Watch the cattle being driven by the villagers into the mountains. The men taking on the large cattle and water buffalo; the women and children driving the calves
7:00-7:30: Depart for worksite 2 km away (Tavkvetila) carrying water jugs, stopping to pick apricots. Ford Mtkvari River and climb up mountainside to reach worksite
7:30-11:30: Perform backbreaking work while we’re still protected by the shade of the mountain. Listen to morning prayers being read by volunteer.
11:30-12:00: Eat delicious lunch prepared by the girls (some of the girls worked at the site, too) back at camp and carried to us by one of the guys who slept in.
12:00-2:00: Return to work; now in the sun
2:00-2:30: Head back to camp; ford river, this time not making an effort to avoid falling in (by now it’s very hot), if haven’t fallen in, pushed in by one of the guys
2:30-6:00: Relax, nap, chat with others, swim in the Mtkvari River
6:00-6:30: Have supper (usually bread, cheese, tomato and cucumber salad, potatoes, pasta, honey)
6:30-8:30 (dusk): play volleyball or soccer with locals
8:30-10:00: talk on the porch, practice Georgian
10:00-10:30: evening prayers
11:00-6:00: sleep, unless interrupted by prank
As we had arrived towards the end of the camp, most of the hard labor had already been completed. The terraces had already been built; all that was left for us to do, was to backfill the larger terrace and excavate two cells below the church (most likely used for storage). The work was still hard, often involving breaking up large rocks; by the end, my hands were quite blistered.
Derek, unfortunately, became quite ill with food poisoning (not at all surprising given that we weren’t living in the most sanitary of conditions; everyone got sick at some point and I would have my turn soon) during our second day at the camp and was subsequently whisked away to the more comfortable monastery in Baraleti to regain strength where he stayed for almost 5 days. Without Derek, I lost the only person I had been speaking in English to regularly. Sure, Nino, Nes, and a few other students could speak English, but they knew that I wanted to learn Georgian so they made a point of speaking to me in Georgian, and they only spoke to me in English when I had no clue as to what they had said. I was totally immersed in Georgian—and I loved it. The English-speakers took it upon themselves to teach me the more difficult aspects of Georgian while the others, mainly the guys, taught me phrases and short poems. The guys especially had a lot of fun with me: they would teach me a phrase that they swore was innocuous and have me repeat it to the girls, which I would naively do. Based on the girls’ reactions, I would find out that the phrase wasn’t so innocuous…
More still to come.
As we had arrived towards the end of the camp, most of the hard labor had already been completed. The terraces had already been built; all that was left for us to do, was to backfill the larger terrace and excavate two cells below the church (most likely used for storage). The work was still hard, often involving breaking up large rocks; by the end, my hands were quite blistered.
Derek, unfortunately, became quite ill with food poisoning (not at all surprising given that we weren’t living in the most sanitary of conditions; everyone got sick at some point and I would have my turn soon) during our second day at the camp and was subsequently whisked away to the more comfortable monastery in Baraleti to regain strength where he stayed for almost 5 days. Without Derek, I lost the only person I had been speaking in English to regularly. Sure, Nino, Nes, and a few other students could speak English, but they knew that I wanted to learn Georgian so they made a point of speaking to me in Georgian, and they only spoke to me in English when I had no clue as to what they had said. I was totally immersed in Georgian—and I loved it. The English-speakers took it upon themselves to teach me the more difficult aspects of Georgian while the others, mainly the guys, taught me phrases and short poems. The guys especially had a lot of fun with me: they would teach me a phrase that they swore was innocuous and have me repeat it to the girls, which I would naively do. Based on the girls’ reactions, I would find out that the phrase wasn’t so innocuous…
More still to come.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Javakheti Part 1: Axalkalaki and the drive to Mir a Shkhani
Many apologies for such a late post about something that happened 3+ weeks ago! I returned from the Black Sea late Wednesday and have been busy getting ready for my trip home (Tuesday morning!) since.
Javakheti is a province of Georgia southwest of Tbilisi. It borders Turkey to the southwest and Armenia to the southeast, and not so coincidentally, it is the home to a significant Armenian population—in fact, they make up the majority of the population. There is much tension between the ethnic Armenians and Georgians in Javakheti and there is even a movement to break away from Georgia. Like Abkhazia, a region of Georgia which successfully broke away in the early 90s (though it is not recognized by any country in the world except Russia), the separatist feelings are supported by Russia. A large Russian military base in the province’s capital Axalkalaki until recently employed ~40,000 Armenians—one can see why the Armenians like the Russians. Now that the base is closing, who knows what will transpire.
Javakheti is also home to some of the most beautiful, untouched terrain in Georgia. It is mountainous, with some peaks above 10,000 feet, in some parts and in others it is steppe. For the most part, Javakheti is treeless, but it was not always so. Several centuries ago, the whole area was heavily forested until one of Georgia’s many invaders set fire to the forest. It burned for seven years and hasn’t grown back since. See my pictures (link in side bar) for a better idea of what Javakheti looks like.
The bishop of Javakheti is Metropolitan Nikoloz, Fr. Theodore’s friend and whom he serves liturgy with, and he is also partly responsible for bringing Derek and me to Georgia. For the past several years now, Metropolitan Nikoloz has organized youth camps in Javakheti. At first they were aimed at university students but have been expanded to include even younger children. Derek and I were to join the university-aged camp which was located in a small village called Mir a Shkhani more than an hour away from Axalkalaki.
We departed from Tbilisi for the Axalkalaki on Tuesday, July 31st, our party consisting of Fr. Theodore, myself, Derek, Loyal (the photographer), and Nino (the film-history student). The drive up was relatively uneventful—we were stopped a couple of times by herds of cattle meandering across the road, an event which Loyal photographed by precariously leaning out the window—and gave me a chance to appreciate the changing scenery. We stopped to eat near Borjomi, a town famous for its healing waters (Stalin, a Georgian and a hypochondriac, made trips there when he could), before continuing on to Axalkalaki.
We arrived after nightfall at Metropolitan Nikoloz’s to find the mid-teens’ camp watching a Finnish film in the bishop’s backyard. Once the film was over, we were briefly introduced before being given a tour of the bishop’s house. It is more a museum than a house, which is exactly what the bishop wants—he has been collecting artifacts, fossils, stuffed animals, paintings, etc… for the past couple of years and has sought advice from museum curators on how to best display his collection. It being late in addition to our being exhausted from the drive up, we didn’t stay long. Derek and I spent the night in a hotel as the Residence (a house next to the cathedral where all the kids were staying) was full.
The next day was the last day for the mid-teens and they left for Tbilisi in the early afternoon. Two of them, Keti and Nestan, stayed behind as they would be joining the university camp with Derek and me and would be traveling with us to the camp. Keti is a 15 year-old girl who has been living in Paris for the past few years and comes home to Georgia as often as she can. Nestan, or “Nes,” has lived in Tbilisi all her life and just graduated from high school. Both girls know a decent amount of English, and Nes, noticing that I was eager to learn more Georgian, was my teacher for the time she was at the camp (only 5 days).
The drive to Mir a Shkhani is a beautiful one rich with history. We first stopped at an ancient castle several centuries old. There, Loyal had a little photo-shoot. Since meeting Loyal and seeing him at work, I have gained a greater interest in photography. As I followed him around in the ruins, I learned some of the basics of photography. I also saw the lengths to which a photographer will go to get a perfect shot, which in this case meant Loyal lying on his back in cow dung to photograph the opening in the tower above.
Next stop was a stop to drink spring water near Vardzia, the ancient cave-city founded in the 12th century by Queen Tamar. At its height, over 700 people (mostly monks) lived in this city which had over 6,000 rooms. In the 13th century, a large earthquake sheered more than 2/3 of the city away from the mountain side. Today, we can see the rooms exposed by the earthquake, but before the earthquake, one would have had to look hard to see any sign of a cave complex.
Just a few miles away is the village of Mir a Shkhani where we headed next… more about my time there in part 2.
Javakheti is a province of Georgia southwest of Tbilisi. It borders Turkey to the southwest and Armenia to the southeast, and not so coincidentally, it is the home to a significant Armenian population—in fact, they make up the majority of the population. There is much tension between the ethnic Armenians and Georgians in Javakheti and there is even a movement to break away from Georgia. Like Abkhazia, a region of Georgia which successfully broke away in the early 90s (though it is not recognized by any country in the world except Russia), the separatist feelings are supported by Russia. A large Russian military base in the province’s capital Axalkalaki until recently employed ~40,000 Armenians—one can see why the Armenians like the Russians. Now that the base is closing, who knows what will transpire.
Javakheti is also home to some of the most beautiful, untouched terrain in Georgia. It is mountainous, with some peaks above 10,000 feet, in some parts and in others it is steppe. For the most part, Javakheti is treeless, but it was not always so. Several centuries ago, the whole area was heavily forested until one of Georgia’s many invaders set fire to the forest. It burned for seven years and hasn’t grown back since. See my pictures (link in side bar) for a better idea of what Javakheti looks like.
The bishop of Javakheti is Metropolitan Nikoloz, Fr. Theodore’s friend and whom he serves liturgy with, and he is also partly responsible for bringing Derek and me to Georgia. For the past several years now, Metropolitan Nikoloz has organized youth camps in Javakheti. At first they were aimed at university students but have been expanded to include even younger children. Derek and I were to join the university-aged camp which was located in a small village called Mir a Shkhani more than an hour away from Axalkalaki.
We departed from Tbilisi for the Axalkalaki on Tuesday, July 31st, our party consisting of Fr. Theodore, myself, Derek, Loyal (the photographer), and Nino (the film-history student). The drive up was relatively uneventful—we were stopped a couple of times by herds of cattle meandering across the road, an event which Loyal photographed by precariously leaning out the window—and gave me a chance to appreciate the changing scenery. We stopped to eat near Borjomi, a town famous for its healing waters (Stalin, a Georgian and a hypochondriac, made trips there when he could), before continuing on to Axalkalaki.
We arrived after nightfall at Metropolitan Nikoloz’s to find the mid-teens’ camp watching a Finnish film in the bishop’s backyard. Once the film was over, we were briefly introduced before being given a tour of the bishop’s house. It is more a museum than a house, which is exactly what the bishop wants—he has been collecting artifacts, fossils, stuffed animals, paintings, etc… for the past couple of years and has sought advice from museum curators on how to best display his collection. It being late in addition to our being exhausted from the drive up, we didn’t stay long. Derek and I spent the night in a hotel as the Residence (a house next to the cathedral where all the kids were staying) was full.
The next day was the last day for the mid-teens and they left for Tbilisi in the early afternoon. Two of them, Keti and Nestan, stayed behind as they would be joining the university camp with Derek and me and would be traveling with us to the camp. Keti is a 15 year-old girl who has been living in Paris for the past few years and comes home to Georgia as often as she can. Nestan, or “Nes,” has lived in Tbilisi all her life and just graduated from high school. Both girls know a decent amount of English, and Nes, noticing that I was eager to learn more Georgian, was my teacher for the time she was at the camp (only 5 days).
The drive to Mir a Shkhani is a beautiful one rich with history. We first stopped at an ancient castle several centuries old. There, Loyal had a little photo-shoot. Since meeting Loyal and seeing him at work, I have gained a greater interest in photography. As I followed him around in the ruins, I learned some of the basics of photography. I also saw the lengths to which a photographer will go to get a perfect shot, which in this case meant Loyal lying on his back in cow dung to photograph the opening in the tower above.
Next stop was a stop to drink spring water near Vardzia, the ancient cave-city founded in the 12th century by Queen Tamar. At its height, over 700 people (mostly monks) lived in this city which had over 6,000 rooms. In the 13th century, a large earthquake sheered more than 2/3 of the city away from the mountain side. Today, we can see the rooms exposed by the earthquake, but before the earthquake, one would have had to look hard to see any sign of a cave complex.
Just a few miles away is the village of Mir a Shkhani where we headed next… more about my time there in part 2.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Off to the Black Sea
I apologize for not posting about my time in Javakheti. Now, I'm off to the coastal town of Kobuleti with some of my friends from the trip to Javakheti. Keep your fingers crossed for easy internet access there...
Sunday, August 12, 2007
I'm Back
I've just returned from Javakheti and am exhausted (had to get up at 5), so I won't give a lengthy post just yet. But I'll tell you that my time there was the best part of my trip so far.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Wrapping up, Bodbe take 2
On Monday I leave Tbilisi, where I've been since my arrival in Georgia, for the province of Javakheti. While I've greatly enjoyed living in Tbilisi, I'm looking forward to a change of pace. Instead of crowds of people, I'll be met with herds of sheep shepherded by Azeris. I'll also not have access to the internet, so this may be my last post for a while.
The end of our stay at Gudushauri ended uneventfully and it was clear that we left at the right time as there seemed to be less to do. August is the vacation month in Georgia, so by the end of July, most all of the doctors had left except for those required to attend to emergencies. Besides emergency operations, there have been few surgeries in the general surgery department for us to observe this last week. Wanting to see as many operations as possible, we observed surgeries from other departments. The most interesting case was a neurosurgery operation involving a patient who had suffered massive trauma to his head 3 years ago causing part of his skull to go missing and which didn't grow back. The operation was an attempt to "plug the hole" so to speak. After removing pieces of broken skull from the original accident, the neurosurgeon molded what looked like pink silly putty over the hole and let it dry. Once dry, the "silly putty" was white and hard as bone. Finally, the scalp was carefully stitched back together over the patching.
I'll miss Ghudushauri--all its doctors, nurses, and patients, and even the security guards. I'll miss the surprise parties where we found ourselves drinking to the health of a nurse, the half-Georgian, half-English conversations I had with the doctors about everything from Russian literature to soccer, the nights spent on duty with the medical students... the list goes on. I'll especially miss the patients that stayed for several weeks (they had serious problems), for we really brightened their days with our simple conversations and cheerful attitudes. We said good-bye and promised that we would come back one day (a real possibility...).
Friday was also the last day of our language lessons. I've really enjoyed learning Georgian and both my teachers, Inga and Nana, really pushed me hard to learn as much as I could in 4 weeks time. What we covered (i.e. Beginning Georgian) in 4 weeks is usually taught over several months. As a treat (?), Nana showed us the first lesson of the Intermediate Georgian program. It was a bit humbling, to say the least: we were introduced to a new verb system, one completely opposite from the one we had just learned, and infinitely more complicated.
Today (Saturday), our teacher Nana again took Derek and me out for a day trip with her friends. This time, we went to Bodbe monastery and springs. Derek and I had already been to the springs during our first week in Georgia, but not the monastery as we arrived too early then. Thankfully, fewer people went on this trip, so instead of 18 people crammed into the van, we had only 13. We were joined by some new faces this time, too, including a very pleasant woman by the name of Maia. Maia speaks excellent English, the reason for which we soon discovered: she has been living in London for the past 14 years. Maia is quite animated and she made the 1.5 hour marshrutka ride enjoyable with her lively songs and conversations.
Bodbe monastery is a pilgrimage site for St. Nino's tomb resides in one of the churches. I hope to upload pictures of the church soon, which will give you a better idea of what the place looks like. St. Nino's body lies beneath a marble slab (Georgians don't exhume their saints) next to the altar.
Next, we went to the springs. The last time Derek and I were there, it was early in the morning and no one was there. This time, the early afternoon, there were dozens. As we had come like everyone else to the springs to plunge ourselves into the cold water, we had to wait for over an hour before our turn. It was cold as I expected, but very refreshing, especially on such a hot day.
As with our last trip with Nana's party, we stopped at a restaurant on our way back. While waiting for the food to be served, I wandered about to take some pictures. On my way back to the table, however, I was beckoned by three men at another table. Not wishing to refuse Georgian hospitality (though I probably should have...), I joined them and was immediately handed a glass of wine. My Georgian being good enough to make out basic sentences, I answered their questions and explained to them who I was, where I was from, and what I was doing in Georgia. The first toast they made was to the good Americans, and the friendship between the two peoples. They mentioned the fact that Georgia has troops in Iraq as part of the coalition. The second toast (not 2 minutes after the first) was to the hope for good politics between Georgia and America. The third toast (again, not 2 minutes after the second) was to me, for expressing a love for Georgia and for being able to speak the language (as poorly as I did). I thought I was safe because we had drained the pitcher of wine with the third toast, but I should have known better when the ordered another one. Fortunately, Maia realized my absence and came to my rescue just before the next toast. After much sweet-talking, she pulled me away.
I finished dinner with my group, though I passed on more wine. On my way back to the Marshrutka, I was pulled aside by one of the three men I had drank with. He was very proud (and very drunk) of his battered jeep and had me take a picture of him with it and then me with it. We continued to talk and he invited me to come to his village for a supra (Georgian feast), writing his address on a scrap of paper. He said he had a 16 year old son who I would make good friends with. The marshrutka pulling away, I hastily said goodbye, promising to visit him if I ever came to his town...
We made it back to Tbilisi in record time, thanks to our speedy and skilled driver, stopping only to buy some delicious local cheese.
The end of our stay at Gudushauri ended uneventfully and it was clear that we left at the right time as there seemed to be less to do. August is the vacation month in Georgia, so by the end of July, most all of the doctors had left except for those required to attend to emergencies. Besides emergency operations, there have been few surgeries in the general surgery department for us to observe this last week. Wanting to see as many operations as possible, we observed surgeries from other departments. The most interesting case was a neurosurgery operation involving a patient who had suffered massive trauma to his head 3 years ago causing part of his skull to go missing and which didn't grow back. The operation was an attempt to "plug the hole" so to speak. After removing pieces of broken skull from the original accident, the neurosurgeon molded what looked like pink silly putty over the hole and let it dry. Once dry, the "silly putty" was white and hard as bone. Finally, the scalp was carefully stitched back together over the patching.
I'll miss Ghudushauri--all its doctors, nurses, and patients, and even the security guards. I'll miss the surprise parties where we found ourselves drinking to the health of a nurse, the half-Georgian, half-English conversations I had with the doctors about everything from Russian literature to soccer, the nights spent on duty with the medical students... the list goes on. I'll especially miss the patients that stayed for several weeks (they had serious problems), for we really brightened their days with our simple conversations and cheerful attitudes. We said good-bye and promised that we would come back one day (a real possibility...).
Friday was also the last day of our language lessons. I've really enjoyed learning Georgian and both my teachers, Inga and Nana, really pushed me hard to learn as much as I could in 4 weeks time. What we covered (i.e. Beginning Georgian) in 4 weeks is usually taught over several months. As a treat (?), Nana showed us the first lesson of the Intermediate Georgian program. It was a bit humbling, to say the least: we were introduced to a new verb system, one completely opposite from the one we had just learned, and infinitely more complicated.
Today (Saturday), our teacher Nana again took Derek and me out for a day trip with her friends. This time, we went to Bodbe monastery and springs. Derek and I had already been to the springs during our first week in Georgia, but not the monastery as we arrived too early then. Thankfully, fewer people went on this trip, so instead of 18 people crammed into the van, we had only 13. We were joined by some new faces this time, too, including a very pleasant woman by the name of Maia. Maia speaks excellent English, the reason for which we soon discovered: she has been living in London for the past 14 years. Maia is quite animated and she made the 1.5 hour marshrutka ride enjoyable with her lively songs and conversations.
Bodbe monastery is a pilgrimage site for St. Nino's tomb resides in one of the churches. I hope to upload pictures of the church soon, which will give you a better idea of what the place looks like. St. Nino's body lies beneath a marble slab (Georgians don't exhume their saints) next to the altar.
Next, we went to the springs. The last time Derek and I were there, it was early in the morning and no one was there. This time, the early afternoon, there were dozens. As we had come like everyone else to the springs to plunge ourselves into the cold water, we had to wait for over an hour before our turn. It was cold as I expected, but very refreshing, especially on such a hot day.
As with our last trip with Nana's party, we stopped at a restaurant on our way back. While waiting for the food to be served, I wandered about to take some pictures. On my way back to the table, however, I was beckoned by three men at another table. Not wishing to refuse Georgian hospitality (though I probably should have...), I joined them and was immediately handed a glass of wine. My Georgian being good enough to make out basic sentences, I answered their questions and explained to them who I was, where I was from, and what I was doing in Georgia. The first toast they made was to the good Americans, and the friendship between the two peoples. They mentioned the fact that Georgia has troops in Iraq as part of the coalition. The second toast (not 2 minutes after the first) was to the hope for good politics between Georgia and America. The third toast (again, not 2 minutes after the second) was to me, for expressing a love for Georgia and for being able to speak the language (as poorly as I did). I thought I was safe because we had drained the pitcher of wine with the third toast, but I should have known better when the ordered another one. Fortunately, Maia realized my absence and came to my rescue just before the next toast. After much sweet-talking, she pulled me away.
I finished dinner with my group, though I passed on more wine. On my way back to the Marshrutka, I was pulled aside by one of the three men I had drank with. He was very proud (and very drunk) of his battered jeep and had me take a picture of him with it and then me with it. We continued to talk and he invited me to come to his village for a supra (Georgian feast), writing his address on a scrap of paper. He said he had a 16 year old son who I would make good friends with. The marshrutka pulling away, I hastily said goodbye, promising to visit him if I ever came to his town...
We made it back to Tbilisi in record time, thanks to our speedy and skilled driver, stopping only to buy some delicious local cheese.
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