(continued from yesterday)
So, I was frantically walking around the city, looking for a place to buy a SIM card. It was impossible. Everything was closed and I gave up.
Plan B: frantically walk around the city looking for a pay phone. When I found the first one, a babushka sitting nearby started yelling. I asked her to translate to Russian and she told me the phone was broken, but there’s a working one across the street. She was wrong — the one across the street was broken too. The one further down the street was also broken. Actually, all of them were broken. This city has almost no pay phones at all, and certainly no functioning one. It wouldn’t be the first infrastructure deficiency I’d notice; roads are dotted with potholes, outside the main avenue there’s absolutely no garbage bins, no public toilets, no sidewalks that aren’t cracked.
Plan C: find a cigarette and hope to calm down. I asked a shopowner in the street, and I was lucky enough that he both gave me a cigarette and spoke English. He was nice enough to let me use his phone. I finally came in contact with the girl from CouchSurfing, and she agreed to meet me in 2 hours.
Finally!
I could relax now and get dinner. Walking down the street, I saw a really interesting babushka, so I tried to sit down near her and secretly take a photo. A group of beggar children nearby saw me, all ran up and started excitedly asking me where I was from, and did I fly on an airplane into Tbilisi?
I asked if they knew where a cheap restaurant was, and one of the boys told me to follow him down the road. A girl asked me for money, and he embarrasingly hushed her away. For whatever reason, he wanted to treat me like an equal, not somebody to beg from. I followed him for almost ten minutes to a restaurant and offered to buy him a meal, but he refused.
Thank God the menu had an English translation. Otherwise, I may have accidentally ordered “brain in flat” or “stewed brain.”
My first Georgian meal. The food was excellent and a live band played what I’d call “Georgian folk,” but really I have no idea what I’m talking about. Lots of drumming, insanely fast string instrument strumming, synchronized chanting-singing and some full-on yelling.
I paid for my meal and went to the statue where I was supposed to meet my host. I waited. An English guy walked guy came up, said I didn’t look like I was from around here (white guy with an overstuffed backpack — strong hint), and started making small talk. He’s on an almost-year-long bike-around-the-world trip. He started in England and has already made it this far. He’s been camping in the woods almost every night in the suburbs outside cities. The CouchSurfing girl was half an hour late, and I was becoming increasingly nervous and thinking about my options. Socially awkward English guy wasn’t helping.
Plan D: after forty-five minutes (10:45 pm!), I remembered that before I left St. Petersburg, I wrote down the address of a hostel in case of emergencies. Perfect!
Said goodbye to English guy, got in a cab, gave address to the driver (speaking my barely-understandable Russian) and left. He had a hard time finding the place, but after lots of circles and U-turns we finally arrived at the “Green Stairs” hostel. I knew we were at the right place because the words “Green Stairs” were spraypainted on the wall.
I nervously walked into the yard, trying to figure out which of the many doors belonged to the “hostel.” Ends up the hostel is just some guy’s house. He speaks English and works as a translator. His salary is small, so to support his wife and children he rents out the three extra rooms of the house to students. He recently learned about the hostel concept in Europe and decided to re-market his rooms that way, and hence, has been running a “hostel” for two months now.
The man is incredibly nice. The house is absurdly dirty. Dusty wooden plan floors; stained, molded walls; a hallway that doubles as a kitchen because it has a refrigerator and a bunson burner in it; a bathroom with a showerhead but no tub, so water sprays directly onto the floor. All this for $20 USD a night. Anyways, what choice did I have?
Goodnight.
TBILISI — DAY TWO
Good morning. Despite having hardly any sleep last night, I woke up early — 7 am — with the sun shining in my face and the intense heat pulling me out of bed. Tbilisi is hot. It feels like a desert here. I think I spent almost $10 on cold drinks today (water, juices) alone.
The hostel owner told me I could stay another night, but one night only — tomorrow somebody else has already booked the room. The main mission for today was to find out where to stay next. Another CouchSurfer had told me previously that I could stay with him, so I had to make contact. I walked around the city for hours, waiting for shops to open up (which doesn’t happen until around 10 am) so I could buy a SIM card and call him.
In the meanwhile, I explored the city. A babushka selling fruit in the street, recognizing me as clearly a foreigner, pointed me towards a house, yelled in Georgian, and put her hands next to her head to act-out sleeping. She kept saying “Nazee! Nazee!” so I thought this may be the word for “hotel” in Georgian. Ends up it’s a woman’s name. Nazee is an old woman that, much like the owner of “Green Stairs,” rents out some of her rooms to travelers.
Nazee agreed to let me stay with her the next day, since I already had one more night booked at “Green Stairs.” Eventually, I bought a SIM card and came in contact with the other guy from CouchSurfing, and he agreed to meet me the next day, so I wouldn’t need to stay at Nazee’s. I returned to her house and politely declined the offer. She smiled, shook my hand and accidentally spit some food onto the floor while talking to me.
As I write this, it’s around 3 pm, and so far I’ve been exploring the city. Initial thoughts:
Tbilisi is a far cry from what I expected. I was expecting something like the Estonia experience — another tiny former Soviet state that has become politically friendly with the West and is currently engaged in bitter conflict with their former rulers, Russia. I was wrong.
Estonia is fully Europeanized, and Estonians are doing well for themselves. Everybody is multilingual, and everybody is fluent in at least Estonian, Russian and English. The city is filled with modern building, American companies, luxury brands. Free wireless internet everywhere. Tourist information in English for all the European visitors everywhere you look.
Tbilisi is more like Iraq. It is poor. Very poor. The buildings are all dilapidated. Not like Vyborg, where buildings are abandoned and destroyed. Here, they are in such a condition that you wouldn’t beieve anybody lives there — but they do. Public infrastructure is somewhere between poor and nonexistant. This is the capital city of the country, and next to nobody speaks English.
To describe the city in a sentence, I would say: steep, narrow, winding streets, framed by broken buildings, filled with old women selling wares and begging children.
In the 2008 American presidential election, a memorable moment came when the Georgian-Russian war broke out. John McCain, wanting to prove his anti-Russian credentials, made a statement: “We are all Georgians now.”
What the hell was he talking about?
(continued from yesterday)
So, I was frantically walking around the city, looking for a place to buy a SIM card. It was impossible. Everything was closed and I gave up.
Plan B: frantically walk around the city looking for a pay phone. When I found the first one, a babushka sitting nearby started yelling. I asked her to translate to Russian and she told me the phone was broken, but there’s a working one across the street. She was wrong — the one across the street was broken too. The one further down the street was also broken. Actually, all of them were broken. This city has almost no pay phones at all, and certainly no functioning one. It wouldn’t be the first infrastructure deficiency I’d notice; roads are dotted with potholes, outside the main avenue there’s absolutely no garbage bins, no public toilets, no sidewalks that aren’t cracked.
Plan C: find a cigarette and hope to calm down. I asked a shop owner in the street, and I was lucky enough that he both gave me a cigarette and spoke English. He was nice enough to let me use his phone. I finally came in contact with the girl from CouchSurfing, and she agreed to meet me in 2 hours.
Finally!
I could relax now and get dinner. Walking down the street, I saw a really interesting babushka, so I tried to sit down near her and secretly take a photo. A group of beggar children nearby saw me, all ran up and started excitedly asking me where I was from, and did I fly on an airplane into Tbilisi?

I asked if they knew where a cheap restaurant was, and one of the boys told me to follow him down the road. A girl asked me for money, and he embarrassingly hushed her away. For whatever reason, he wanted to treat me like an equal, not somebody to beg from. I followed him for almost ten minutes to a restaurant and offered to buy him a meal, but he refused.

Thank God the menu had an English translation. Otherwise, I may have accidentally ordered “brain in flat” or “stewed brain.”

My first Georgian meal. The food was excellent and a live band played what I’d call “Georgian folk,” but really I have no idea what I’m talking about. Lots of drumming, insanely fast string instrument strumming, synchronized chanting-singing and some full-on yelling.
I paid for my meal and went to the statue where I was supposed to meet my host. I waited. An English guy walked guy came up, said I didn’t look like I was from around here (white guy with an overstuffed backpack — strong hint), and started making small talk. He’s on an almost-year-long bike-around-the-world trip. He started in England and has already made it this far. He’s been camping in the woods almost every night in the suburbs outside cities. The CouchSurfing girl was half an hour late, and I was becoming increasingly nervous and thinking about my options. Socially awkward English guy wasn’t helping.
Plan D: after forty-five minutes (10:45 pm!), I remembered that before I left St. Petersburg, I wrote down the address of a hostel in case of emergencies. Perfect!
Said goodbye to English guy, got in a cab, gave address to the driver (speaking my barely-understandable Russian) and left. He had a hard time finding the place, but after lots of circles and U-turns we finally arrived at the “Green Stairs” hostel. I knew we were at the right place because the words “Green Stairs” were spray painted on the wall.
I nervously walked into the yard, trying to figure out which of the many doors belonged to the “hostel.” Ends up the hostel is just some guy’s house. He speaks English and works as a translator. His salary is small, so to support his wife and children he rents out the three extra rooms of the house to students. He recently learned about the hostel concept in Europe and decided to re-market his rooms that way, and hence, has been running a “hostel” for two months now.
The man is incredibly nice. The house is absurdly dirty. Dusty wooden plan floors; stained, molded walls; a hallway that doubles as a kitchen because it has a refrigerator and a bunson burner in it; a bathroom with a showerhead but no tub, so water sprays directly onto the floor. All this for $20 USD a night. Anyways, what choice did I have?

—

Goodnight.
TBILISI — DAY TWO
—

.

Above two photos: the view from my window. Beautiful mountains, rusted tin roofs, decaying wood panels.
—
Good morning. Despite having hardly any sleep last night, I woke up early — 7 am — with the sun shining in my face and the intense heat pulling me out of bed. Tbilisi is hot. It feels like a desert here. I think I spent almost $10 on cold drinks today (water, juices) alone.

The hostel owner told me I could stay another night, but one night only — tomorrow somebody else has already booked the room. The main mission for today was to find out where to stay next. Another CouchSurfer had told me previously that I could stay with him, so I had to make contact. I walked around the city for hours, waiting for shops to open up (which doesn’t happen until around 10 am) so I could buy a SIM card and call him.
In the meanwhile, I explored the city. A babushka selling fruit in the street, recognizing me as clearly a foreigner, pointed me towards a house, yelled in Georgian, and put her hands next to her head to act-out sleeping. She kept saying “Nazee! Nazee!” so I thought this may be the word for “hotel” in Georgian. Ends up it’s a woman’s name. Nazee is an old woman that, much like the owner of “Green Stairs,” rents out some of her rooms to travelers.
—

Above: Nazee.
—
Nazee agreed to let me stay with her the next day, since I already had one more night booked at “Green Stairs.” Eventually, I bought a SIM card and came in contact with the other guy from CouchSurfing, and he agreed to meet me the next day, so I wouldn’t need to stay at Nazee’s. I returned to her house and politely declined the offer. She smiled, shook my hand and accidentally spit some food onto the floor while talking to me.

—

As I write this, it’s around 3 pm, and so far I’ve been exploring the city. Initial thoughts:
Tbilisi is a far cry from what I expected. I was expecting something like the Estonia experience — another tiny former Soviet state that has become politically friendly with the West and is currently engaged in bitter conflict with their former rulers, Russia. I was wrong.
Estonia is fully Europeanized, and Estonians are doing well for themselves. Everybody is multilingual, and everybody is fluent in at least Estonian, Russian and English. The city is filled with modern building, American companies, luxury brands. Free wireless internet everywhere. Tourist information in English for all the European visitors everywhere you look.
Tbilisi is more like Iraq. It is poor. Very poor. The buildings are all dilapidated. Not like Vyborg, where buildings are abandoned and destroyed. Here, they are in such a condition that you wouldn’t beieve anybody lives there — but they do. Public infrastructure is somewhere between poor and nonexistant. This is the capital city of the country, and next to nobody speaks English.

To describe the city in a sentence, I would say: steep, narrow, winding streets, framed by broken buildings, filled with old women selling wares and begging children.

In the 2008 American presidential election, a memorable moment came when the Georgian-Russian war broke out. John McCain, wanting to prove his anti-Russian credentials, made a statement: “We are all Georgians now.”
What the hell was he talking about?
—

—

—

—

—

—
