Bucharest - Tbilisi

Saturday was a hot day in Bucharest, witth temperature probably around 35 degrees, sunny but as always a thunderstorm was just around the corner. I arrived at the airport to find massive confusion and chaos – as expected. First surprise awaits me at the check-in counter: I am told I need a visa to enter Georgia. I had talked to the Georgian consulate in Bucharest a few weeks back and they told me the opposite. This could be interesting.

I finally board the plane. Lufthansa are as always very professional and efficient. Grey leather seats, white interior, everything looks modern and streamlined. Still, flying isn’t quite the elaborate experience it used to be. Nowadays a flight from Bucharest to Munich seems more like a shuttle service hauling people back and worth, no trace of the sense of excitement when flying in the 1990s.

Excitement comes in many flavors though. Seconds after take off we run into a major storm, and for half hour the plane weaves through the skies trying to avoid turbulences and bad weather. At this point, I am so tired that I become slightly paranoid. The aircraft makes strange maneuvers, we pass layer after layer of clouds and I have no idea where I am. Note to self: need to stop watching those Flight Disaster series on National Geographic.

Upon touching down in Munich, the pilot seems compelled to point out that he brought us on time despite the initial delay. I like German efficiency. Then three hours to kill in the airport. Fortunately, the terminal is big, shiny and modern. I wander around for a while then stop to have some Bavarian sausages and Weissbier (unfiltered). Nice. After gobbling up heavy German food, I feel like I am about to pass out frim exhaustion. But the trip is just beginning.

The Tbilisi flight is operated by an old 737-300. I get an emergency exit row window seat. Time to stretch out, have a second dinner with wine and try to sleep. It turns out the emergency door is not properly insulated, so I get a worryingly cold breeze blowing right in my head. I wrap myself in the blanket, position the pillow strategically and pass out. Upon awakening, I get a glimpse of city lights from below (Batumi, maybe?). It looks like we are flying at low altitude– which is unlikely – most likely meaning that the air is crisp and there is little pollution. Thirty minutes later the plane makes a bumpy land in Tbilisi. The landing strip is full of potholes and reminds me of Baneasa Airport. The terminal, however, is brand new, modern and squeaky clean. You can definitely tell Georgia is modernizing fast.

I hand out my passport to the immigration officer. He examines it, looks at me and says matter-of-factly: “You need visa!” “But… Romania, E.U. citizen, no visa!” I try to protest. A second guy comes and points me to the visa office, throwing a stern look that allows no room for negotiation. After not having slept for 40 hours, I also am in no mood for arguing. Somehow, it seems pointless to try to explain that Romania is in the E.U. and therefore I don’t need a visa. So I go to the bank, change the dollars I got from Beny yesterday, fill out the form and hand it over to the visa guy, together with the 60 lari fee (around 30 euros). Minutes later I am the happy owner of a Georgian visa. The first one in my new passport. (I later realize that it allows only one entry. This might be a problem later, if I want to travel to Baku or Yerevan.)

I get out of the terminal. The air is still warm, yet somehow fresh. I get into an official taxi (25 lari to Tbilisi) and say the magic word “televiziaa” to the driver, who nods and slams the gas pedal to the ground, handling the car like a getaway driver in an intense police chase, while blasting from the stereo a mix of Georgian (?), Russian pop music, and Madonna. The crazy ride ends in front of Kosmo Café, to the surprised stares of a bouncer and two prostitute-like girls hanging out in front of the entrance.

Anthony welcomes me on the fourth floor of the old apartment building (pre-1960s, I would say). Poor guy looks even more tired than I do. I get a quick glimpse of the apartment. It is indeed huge, everything looks old and a bit run down – it obviously hasn’t been renovated in decades. I kindof like that. My room has a small balcony facing the boulevard and overlooking the traffic and the hills beyond the boulevard. A double bed with a surprisingly stiff mattress, a small dresser, a chair and huge mirror are the only pieces of furniture. I like the place, except for the bed, which feels a lot like sleeping on the floor. But that’s ok. I am tired enough not to care about these details any more.