What is the connection between the five persons below?

So Saakashvili is the President of Georgia, right? And Basescu is the President of Romania. Moreover, Voronin is the President of Moldova. Good.

Now it gets more complicated. The breakaway region of South Ossetia (small area bordering Russia, with a population of less than100,000) has not one, but two governments. One is led by a chap called Kokoity, elected by the Ossetian population and supporting secession. The second one is led by Mr. Sanakoev, formerly involved with the separatist struggle of the Ossetians. Since those days he mysteriously switched sides and finds himself at the helm of a Tbilisi-sponsored government. He was elected with votes from Georgian-controlled villages in the region and backs Saakashvili’s policies of keeping an autonomous South Ossetia within Georgia.

Back to the point. Sanakoev is in Brussels these days, in a public relations campaign aimed at winning the Europeans over while establishing his European credentials. This is where it gets interesting, and where Voronin, and especially Basescu come into the equation.

Talking to the EU-Georgian Parliamentary Cooperation Committee, Sanakoev delivered a speech (in Ossetian!), which included the following sentence: “Georgia is coming back to Europe and with Georgia, my region – South Ossetia – should also go back to Europe.” More about this here: http://www.civil.ge/eng/article.php?id=15335

This kind of discourse reminds me of the kind of speeches Basescu was making regarding Moldova, using EU integration as an instrument for facilitating the rapprochement of the two countries (a better word would probably be “unification”). In a declaration made during the hot summer of 2006, Basescu made a puzzling statement, saying that “Romania has given the Republic of Moldova the chance to join together the European Union,” while at the same time “recognizing Moldovan authorities’ wish to be an independent state.” More on this here.

Basescu’s words can be translated as “Romania is coming back to Europe and with Romania, Moldova should also go back to Europe.” See the similarities?

I wonder if this kind of discourse will work with the Ossetians. My guess is that, for many of them, the EU still seems a distant prospect (if not necessarily a dream), while Russia is much less distant and more real.

In the case of Moldova, with over 1 million people already working in the EU, the Union is definitely a less distant prospect. Therefore, most Moldovans might be more susceptible to Basescu’s rhetoric than Ossetians from the Tskhinvali region.

Another issue where the parallel between Moldova and the separatist regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia works in an interesting (if controversial) way is “passportization.” Russia has been facilitating the issuing of passports for Ossetians and Abkhaz people, making them de iure citizens of Russia. This, of course, made the Tbilisi government very upset, and plugged into the usual accusations of a Russian grand conspiracy behind Georgia’s minority problems.

It’s been many years now that Moldovans have been queueing to get Romanian citizenship – and thus passports. Basescu recently claimed that Romania had 800,000 active applications for citizenship from Moldovans. Check out this article for more on this.

The benefits accrued by Moldovans with Romanian citizenship are similar to those of Abkhazians or Ossetians with Russian citizenship: both passports open up access to travel and work abroad, which would be much more difficult otherwise in the Moldovan case, and nearly impossible in the Abkhaz or Ossetian case (since neither state is officially recognized by the international community, travel documents issued by the de facto governments are virtually worthless).

I am aware that my above comments have probably caused rage among most of my Romanian friends (of course I know that Moldovans are really Romanians and thus have the right to a Romanian citizenship). Having said that, I think that drawing a parallel between Moldova and the two separatist regions nevertheless is an interesting framework for looking at these issues.

Coming up in my next posts:

• Tbilisi night life: Taking control of Traffic Bar
• Why the Romanian President may have his approval ratings increase by up to 10 points by the end of July.

Politics...

As one might expect, Georgian politics is complex, arcane and byzantine. In a nutshell, it is quite a mouthful. Since my understanding of it is still primitive, I will try to just offer a few rough observations based on my discussions.

Shevardnadze’s time was bad. There was no electricity, bad roads, and rampant corruption. It is a good thing that Shevardnadze left because his time had passed.

Soviet times were also bad. Even though Georgia was very rich during those years, nothing compares to sweet freedom and independence.

Rose revolution was not really a revolution. Saakashvili used to work for Shevardnadze. (Indeed he did, but he resigned a few years before the revolution. I was unable to find more about why the Rose Revolution was not a real revolution. Feel free to pick your own scenario/conspiracy theory, as I surely have.)

Saakashvili is quite controversial. There seems to be general agreement about the success of his education and police reforms. Also, people generally tend to like the better roads and more or less constant electricity supply. In general, most people tend to agree that corruption levels are lower now than before 2003.

Criticisms are varied and range from the quality of architectural lighting to concerns about foreign investment and privatization, sweeping through the whole range of political and economic issues.

My own personal assessment (unconfirmed as of yet) is that there seems to be a glaring gap between people’s expectations with Saakashvili when he first came to power, and what he was able to deliver during the several years since the Rose Revolution. To be sure, improvements are numerous and easily observable, yet the overall economic situation remains problematic and reflects in low salaries (according to one source, pensions can be as low as 15 Euro, while average salaries are around 100 Euro) coupled with high prices.

To make things more complicated, there is the perception that, despite criticism towards the President, the next elections will largely maintain the current status quo.

Finally, I must say that I left out many of juicy bits for the sake of discretion.

In the next posts I am planning to talk a little bit about Tbilisi night life. Also, depending on developments within the next few days, I may introduce you to a new and unexpected turn in my research which may just lead to some interesting findings.

Mtskheta

No, the above word is not a typo. Au contraire, it is the name of the ancient Georgian capital, and hence incredibly important. Just in case you were wondering, ‘kh’ in Georgian is pronounced with the expectorant voluptuousness of a middle-Eastern ‘h’. And, no, there are no silent letters.

One thing I probably need to work on is remembering names of places around here. My memory is somewhat hampered, however, by the extreme proliferation of consonants, that make any Southern Slavic language sound like Italian by comparison. So for now I will use my guide book as reference, and having avowed that, I will need to beg for your understanding if at any one time a particular name eludes me or is misspelled (again, this is definitely not the case for the title of this post).

So Mtskheta is the old capital of Georgia. Considering that Tbilisi itself was founded around the fifth century, this makes Mtskheta pretty darn old. In fact, it has been the centre of Georgian spirituality since Christianity became the official religion during the first half of the fourth century. While there is little left of the town itself, there remain four churches, as well as a stunning view of the confluence of Mtkvari and Aragvi rivers.

The first church I visited was the 11^th century Sveti-Tskhoveli Cathedral, which consists of an imposing Georgian-style building, dominated by its conic dome and surrounded by a walled-in interior courtyard. According to the legend, this is where Christ’s robe ended up after being taken here by two Jewish merchants in the 1^st century. Unfortunately, the robe location is enclosed by a square structure in the middle of the church, and as a result out of sight. The church lies on the site of the first ever Georgian church (dating from the 4^th century C.E.) and has been damaged, destroyed and rebuilt several times since the 11^th century. It is the burial site of many kings from East Georgia.

While Sveti-Tskhoveli lies close to the banks of the river, Jvari church is visible from far away thanks to its strategic location on top of one of the surrounding hills. The church itself (as the other sites around Mtskheta) is classified as UNESCO World Heritage, and rightly so. At the time of my visit, there was a religious ceremony in progress. Rites and chanting reminded me of Romanian Orthodox churches, and so did the garb of priests and monks. Yet religious songs had a melodic beauty that seemed to stray from the Gregorian-style chanting you hear in most Orthodox churches.

Probably the most stunning thing about the trip to Mtskheta was the view from Jvari. The hill overlooks the valleys of Mtkvari and Aragvi rivers, and offers a perfect viewpoint from observing the surrounding valleys, mountains and hills that dot the landscape. It is obviously pointless to offer any more description without providing photographic evidence. Suffice it to say that the beauty of the area dwarves most of the landscapes I have seen throughout my journeys.

Georgian Food

Back to the real stuff. I can’t believe that so many posts have gone by without any serious discussion of the clef de voute of Georgian culture – food.

To start with, one must avoid any confusion whatsoever between Eastern and Western Georgian food.

I will first talk about the latter, since my exposure to it has been minimal and all my information is based on Revi’s account of it. Supposedly, West Georgian cuisine relies heavily on vegetables, and the resulting dishes are mostly very spicy salads. (As a side note, the propensity of Georgians to give otherwise placid vegetable salads an incredibly devilish spicy twist was revealed to me early on, when my forays into said salad were shortly interrupted by flames engulfing my oral cavity, shortly followed by an activation of my tear glands and a literally burning desire to drink massive amounts of any liquid within sight. It turned out that the side effects were caused by massive amounts of paprika-style chili peppers sprinkled all over the tomatoes and cucumbers).

A second staple of West Georgian cuisine is cheese. According to Revi, gouda is a very traditional Georgian cheese, the delicious taste of which is only exceeded by its foul smell. (I tried to point out that the term gouda is normally associated with a yellow dairy product originating from the North European lowlands, yet my assertions were swiftly dismissed).

More interestingly, West Georgian cheese includes a variety that is mixed with a certain type of herb that in the West most people would associate with Amsterdam, Bob Marley or the 1960s hippie movement. Alas, it appears that the Saakashvili government is trying to curb the production of said cheese, with dramatic effects on the hallucinogenic dairy product industry in the region.

Back to East Georgia and its cuisine. This one I had the opportunity to experience first hand. First, khinkali. This was presented to me as meat dumpling, which immediately evoked memories of various Central European varieties of fried potato or flour dough with the ability to incorporate incredible amounts of calories in a tight, greasy package. Big mistake. The Georgian khinkali is indeed what one might call a dumpling, yet its thin and light boiled dough and fig-shaped silhouette look nothing like what I had seen or expected. The process of eating khinkali involves holding the fig’s end with one’s fingers, sprinkling the dumpling with pepper and then trying to slurp or drink the boiling juice that fills it, while eating the minced meat inside and concurrently avoiding the embarrassment of having juice drizzling from your chin or the even worse scenario of sustaining massive burns to the inside of your mouth. Once one has mastered the technique of eating khinkali, the experience resembles that of having ciorba de perisoare (or, for English-speakers, boiled meatballs swimming in soup-like juice) and tortelloni at the same time. Overall assessment: surprisingly light, yet tasty.

Khachapuri is basically bread filled with goat’s cheese and somehow fried. It is shaped like a pizza, and tastes somewhat like a flat gogoasa (Romanian donut). However, it must be added that khachapuri comes in different varieties. Because of time and stomach constraints, I was only able to have the classic version. I am told other types may include eggs. Assessment: heavy and filling. There is further need of sampling to establish quality of taste.

Aubergine (eggplant) with nuts. This dish is a Georgian twist on the aubergine salad one finds throughout the Balkans, supposedly originating from Turkey. The remarkable addition here are nuts, and the result is quite nice.

Kebabi are basically sausage-shaped meatballs (of varying lengths), with various spices on top – of which coriander (or cilantro) plays a major role – and wrapped into thin pita bread. The taste is somewhat close to the Romanian mici or the Bulgarian kebabcheta, although the particular spices make it unique. Georgians usually dip it into a tomato-based sauce.

Shashlik sounds incredibly Turkish to me, yet seems to be a constant feature in Georgia. Essentially it is made of chunks of grilled meat, sometimes accompanies by pieces of onion or sauce. My favorite so far.

Books and Vodka

I left off the story of my Georgian adventure at a point where statistics and graphs had taken center stage. At the end of the lecture on Tuesday, I was advised do dig into the pile of surveys on Georgian attitudes as a way of substantiating claims and adding flesh to the shaky bones of my research.

Instead, I did exactly the opposite. Diving right into the middle of the expat social scene, I proceeded to make friends, wander around city bars, restaurants and (overpriced) pool halls, and in the process imbibed with large quantities of Georgian beer, Georgian cognac and (Russian) vodka. Needless to say, my daily stint at the GFSIS office sharply shrunk to no more than 4-5 hours a day spent trying to churn through hundreds of pages of material while coming up with a list of people suitable to interview (and fighting the inevitable hangover).

In my defense, the last few days have been filled with non-stop interviews with expats and some locals, conducted in smoky bars with blaring techno music or in the quieter ambiance of outdoor cafes. People like Winston, Big John, William, Revi, George, Stephanie or Erekli were all happy to bombard me with priceless pieces of insight about Georgia, ranging from smoking habits to more serious depictions of the political scene.

So, what are the preliminary conclusions, you might ask? First, that books, scholarly articles and ICG reports are of limited use when trying to understand the complexity of real life and politics in Georgia. Even though I came here with a significant amount of facts, statistics and history bits about Georgia under my belt, I soon found myself as clueless about the real issues as if I had just been parachuted here from outer space.

Second, that my project is much tougher than I had initially thought. Providing an informed, realistic and comprehensive analysis of Georgian self-perception and its connection to frozen conflicts already seems like an arduous task. And while it is clear to me that by the end of my stay here I will have amassed enough data and knowledge to write a perfectly boring, allegedly insightful yet overly simplistic scholarly piece, I am not sure if the underlying question that drove me here will ever find a satisfying answer.

Tbilisi: Then and Now

Reading Thomas Goltz’s journalistic account of Georgia in the times of troubles, I came across a description of old Tbilisi. While the portrayal is evocative and keen, it is unclear whether Goltz is talking about Tbilisi in the days of nineteenth century Russian empire, or rather presenting it as he saw it in the heady days of civil war and ethnic conflict inferno. My guess is that the account below blends the two together.

“Nestled under the walls of the oft-rebuilt Narikala Castle on Mount Mtstaminda, and split and defined by the Mtkvari River, ‘old’ Tbilisi was a chaotic series of cobblestone streets filled with more churches, mosques and synagogues than one could count or reasonably attempt to visit in a week. Mulberry trees dropped their sticky fruit underfoot, and straggling vines grew out of the cement, creeping up the red brick walls of once grand but now mainly long-neglected mansions. Old wooden balconies leaned dangerously over the narrow lanes, and many doors still boasted ornamental gargoyle brass knockers. Once regal, most of the older homes had been turned into communal apartments, entered through mysterious courtyards defined by a high density of draped laundry and illegal electricity lines, strung from window to spiral staircase and then the street.”

Meet the Expats

After staying in last night and doing work, I felt so good about myself that somehow today I was able to devote a lot of my time to socializing and, hence, did very little productive. In an attempt to blend in with the locals, I arrived at work slightly later, although at 9:30 the office was still eerily quiet.

I had a late lunch with three of the interns: Alex, Melissa (a senior from University of Michigan) and Shannon (a second year MA student at Pepperdine), and in the process got to know them a bit. We ended up walking quite a lot to a pedestrian street in the old center of Tbilisi, and had Mexican food, out of all things. I was not expecting much of it, which was good because I was pleasantly surprised by the “stuffed tacos”, which basically consisted of juicy chunks of meat (probably pork) with sauce and a leaf of lettuce wrapped in a tortilla. Alex and I had beer and chatted about different kinds of ale. It turns out that the waitress spoke German, so again I ended up pretending I spoke a language I don’t really speak (Claudia saw first hand my skill at pretending I speak said language) and ended up being asked if I am from Germany. Prost! (which, for Romanian speakers, means “cheers” in Germany, as opposed to “stupid”).

Afternoon in the office was dull, and filled with complaints about the internet being down. Fortunately I had printed a thick stack of articles, but still my productivity levels were at an all time low.

I left early to catch a talk at one of the local think tanks (Caucasus Research and Resource Center, for those of you who know or care). In the process of traveling to the lecture location, I got the chance to practice some more “Georgian”, which by now increasingly includes pantomime, some two or three Georgian words as well as some supposedly Russian, featuring prominently resolute “DA’s”. In the end, I was able to somehow navigate the taxi through the various universities of Tbilisi (apparently there were no less than 250 of them in Georgia in 1989) and found the one named after Mr. Chavchavadze, which boasted a huge bas-relief of a fellow called Ioseb Besarionis Dze Jughashvili (better known in the west by the name of Stalin).

The talk itself was called something like “Looking at the Caucasus: the Role of Data,” and therefore promised to be excruciatingly boring. Vivid memories of Monday mornings of research training ran through my head, causing anxiety and distress. To my surprise, however, the lecture turned out to be a very interesting compilation of data presented as a sequence of graphs and looking at social, economic and political views in the South Caucasus. I do not intend to bore anyone with the details. However, it is probably worth mentioning a couple of facts that struck me as particularly relevant or interesting. First, Georgians obviously started off with sky high expectations from Saakashvili when he came to power. Continuing poverty and hardship created a significant gap between high expectations and everyday realities of slow economic recovery. As a result, Georgians have the most negative perception regarding their current economic situation. Fair enough. Now, what I find strange and, to a certain extent, hard to explain on top of my head, is that they also seem to be the most optimistic regarding their future (out of the three South Caucasus countries). How do you reconcile frustrated expectations in the present with continued optimism for the future? I guess it is true what they say, that hope is the last to die.

Second, it seems that Armenians have a very positive self-perception regarding their current wealth levels. By contrast, they are by far more pessimistic than Georgians about the future. The expectations gap is particularly interesting for me at this point, since high expectations can lead to instability and political turnover. In the context whereby Saakashvili seems to have the tendency to amass more and more power, instability may not bode such good things.

Back to the title of this post. After the lecture I met some of the expat crowd, many of which were students coming here for the summer to do research or internships, including several medical students. Other than that, a couple of World Bank folk, and a few other NGO workers. I was able to get introduced to the lecturer, who is also the CRRC director for Georgia, who enquired about my project and recommended some data sources. I am increasingly considering using surveys in my work, although I will of course have to rely on ready-made ones for that purpose (not least because I simply cannot remember all those damned sampling techniques!).

I think this easily qualifies as the dullest post so far. I am sorry about that. I guess my work might surface here and there throughout different posts. Just scroll.

As a proper follow-up to the lecture, I joined Anthony (who happened to be there as well) and walked home through Vake Park. After a while he suggested buying two beers for the road. Haven’t done that in a long time. It still works.

Getting home, I meet Nino (Anthony’s wife) and their 2 and a half month-old daughter Lizzie, who is absolutely adorable, has beautiful eyes and seems utterly unfazed by the attention shown by three adults, watching us with unabashed boredom. I guess we, grown-ups, tend to be rather boring people. That’s why I always wanted to stay a child. But then people told me I was immature.

Food Shopping in Georgia

At 5:30 I decide to head back home from work, since everybody else is long gone. I take a walk down Rustaveli Boulevard, passing the Parliament, Opera House, Tbilisi Marriott and finally stopping by Prospero’s Book Shop to pick up an English-Georgian dictionary and conversation guide. I find out that ‘sami’ means three, ‘luti’ means beer and ‘ara’ means no. So, after only two days in Tbilisi, I can already say ‘sami luti’! Not sure how ‘ara’ fits into that sentence though.

After studying the conversation guide for a further half hour, I decide to apply my newly found knowledge to buying essential groceries at the local mini market (Anthony doesn’t seem to be the eating type – the only food in the house are old dry biscuits). The lady recognizes me from the day before and offers me Borjomi sparkling water. I proceed to order bread (by pointing at the bread and showing one finger to indicate the desired quantity), cheese (by pointing at the piece of cheese in the fridge) and salami (same technique). It gets a bit more tricky when I decide I want butter (nowhere to be seen). I point at the bread and then make a gesture as if spreading something on it. I get offered a different bread. I then accompany my gestures by saying ‘bootter.’ It finally works! ‘Luti’ of course works like a charm. I even remember the brand that Alex (the English guy) mentioned earlier today. I somehow remember ‘matsoni’ means yoghurt and so I go home happy with my shopping bags full of goodies.

First Day at Work

Surprisingly enough, the expected hangover seems to be absent at the time when the alarm rings. An ungodly 7:30 AM. The stiff mattress syndrome is starting to take its toll though, as I suddenly become aware of constantly having woken up in the throughout the night. Anyway, no time to waste since I am supposed to meet Jonathan at 9.

Anthony is kind enough to leave me a note with the bus numbers that take me downtown. I get to the bus stop but none of them arrives, so I finally hail a cab and confidently say “Chechidze tri”. The driver asks me a couple of questions and, after receiving no answer, resigns himself to driving. I get dropped off in front off the Italian Embassy. The address turns out to be “Chechidze sami A,” with GFSIS actually being the same building as the Embassy. Which can only be a good thing, I imagine. The first confirmation comes when I discover the espresso machine – which is normally the equivalent of the Antichrist to any proper coffee lover. This time, however, the mechanical beast delivers fresh ground, rich tasting coffee in several varieties which make a very realistic approximation of their original kind. I am elated.

Back to business, though. I arrive with uncharacteristic puentlichkeit at 8:59, for my 9 AM meeting with Jonathan: a very laid back and sharp American guy around his forties. He gives me a quick briefing about GFSIS and then proceeds to show me around the building. As promised, he attempts to introduce me to the staff members. However, the only real person I get to shake hand with is Mari, a lovely lady who works as a secretary. All other members of the staff seem to take a quite liberal approach to “normal” working hours. Jonathan says people start to roll in around 10 AM. That works fine for me.

A few words about the working environment. The building itself looks modern, fully air conditioned and with a lovely terrace for avid smokers like me. The intern office is filled with state of the art computers hooked up to broadband internet. I get even more excited when I find a folder called “Background Documents” on the shared drive, containing thousands of various papers, government documents, reports et al., which pretty much make up the whole literature ever been published about Georgia and the Caucasus.

The other interns start arriving around 10. The last two get into the office at 11:44 AM. There are a few American girls, one doing a Masters in Belfast. She asks me if I work with Nick Wheeler or Will Bain. I refrain from mentioning anything about the latter faculty member and I pretend to be flattered she knows the names of our illustrious professors. I also talk to Alex, an English guy from London that seems pretty chill and laid back. I later find out he is 22 and taking a year off to get some field experience before applying for the Foreign Service. I suddenly feel old.

12, Chardin Street

It turns out that Georgian wine fully lives up to its expectations. Last night I met with Khatuna and went out to a very nice Café-Restaurant in the old town. The area was filled with narrow pedestrian streets, and there was a young and hip crowd all around the place. Although it was dinner time, Khatuna decided we should just have wine, and she chose a dry white variety which was absolutely superb.

Khatuna seems to know a lot of people in Tbilisi. She obviously comes from a very privileged background. Despite the fact that she has lived in the US for 8 years, she seems very Georgian. She talked to me at great length about Georgian history, and there was an unrestrained pride in her voice whenever she mentioned her country. What is interesting is that she seems convinced that it was Georgians who invented wine. Judging after the quality of my drink, I would say that if they didn’t invent it, they did an extraordinarily good job at making it their own.

After having mentioned that I am interested in interviewing some people, Khatuna calls up ‘a relative’ who apparently knows a lot of people in Georgian politics. The guy shows up in no time – prosperous-looking, balding (seems to be a national trait here, yet somehow they all manage to make their dearth of hair look good) fifty year-old guy called Erekli. He made up his somewhat faltering English fluency with an open and friendly approach. I find he represents the Republican Party, one of the opposition groups in Georgia. For some reason, he starts trying to persuade me to meet with representatives from his party in order to get a critical view of the government’s policies. His insistent offers makes he wonder whether he thinks I am somehow connected to the Romanian government. I make it clear that I am just a student researching Georgia. He retorts by confidently expressing his certainty about me becoming a very important Romanian politician. Somehow I can’t help but doubt it, yet a combination of the wine and the heady rush I get from being in a new place makes the flattery reach its goal. Finally, Erekli and I resolve to meet again and, after exchanging phone numbers, he offers to take me on a trip to the old capital of Georgia. So far, so good.

The night ends with a scenic drive around the old part of Tbilisi. Situated on either side of the river, the area is filled with ancient-looking churches and traditional houses with perched out wood balconies. It is guarded from up on the hills by ancient walls and the imposing statue of the defender of the city (which somehow reminds me of the Christ statue in Rio, that of course I have never seen save for movies and photos). Finally I get dropped off at the flat, surprisingly sober after having drunk two bottles of wine on an empty stomach. I go to bed wondering how bad the hangover would be.

Tbilisi: A First Look

I wake up feeling still wired up, not tired and not rested. After taking a significant amount of time to shower and get dressed, I decide that Anthony is a nice enough guy to present him with the bottle of single malt I had purchased in Munich. He is visibly surprised and pleased, so my idea turns out to be a great ice breaker. We chat about random things, and in the process I find some facts about him. Born and raised in New York, he taught English in the Bronx for a while until he got fed up with it and decided to embark on an adventure. He somehow ended up in Georgia, got married and had a baby 2 months ago. He is the editor of a weekly English-language magazine and works part-time for the Ministry of Education.

Less than one hour after waking up, I was already armed with a map of Tbilisi and a Georgian SIM card (Magti GSM), the number of which I still don’t know. I called Khatuna (Vaida’s former housemate and best friend), who promised to take me to a ‘new place, very upscale and with a great view.’ There I am supposed to have some Georgian wine. More about that later.

I get out of the apartment with Anthony, who shows me around a bit. This is my first encounter with Tbilisi.

Tbilisi is spread along the valley of a river (need to remember the name), in between green hills. The location is quite charming. The city itself looks quite run-down in certain areas, with potholed streets, the standard decrepit communist blocks (Georgians call them Kruschchovi, or something like that, after the Soviet leader during the time of which they were built) abound in the outer areas. Yet the wide tree-lined boulevards with smart shops and the architecture downtown remind me that the city has seen much better times.

Overall, what I saw was roughly what I had expected. Tbilisi looks a lot like Bucharest in the late 1990s, in terms of its development level. New buildings, hotels and residential areas start to pop here in there, a sign that Tbilisi is going through an incipient boom. Walking along a boulevard of Tbilisi makes me think of towns in Romania – Constanta maybe? Yet some of the architecture looks quite unique – some influences look Eastern, but yet again what does that mean? Obviously there is something about this place. Yes, it feels “Eastern European.” And it also feels post-Soviet . But there is also something else to it, something I cannot quite pinpoint. My job here during the next few weeks will literally be to identify that “something.” In other words, what makes Georgia Georgian. If I can manage that, my job is mostly done.

Good sign: Shawerma kiosks seem to be everywhere. The guy who sold mine was from Baku, looked friendly and had a big moustache. I thanked him in Turkish, while Anthony was trying to talk to him in broken Russian. I wonder if not speaking either Georgian or Russian is going to be a problem. So far, I can’t really understand anybody and hardly anyone can understand what I am saying. Yet things somehow seem to be happening. People accept my cash and give me what I ask for in return. A mixture of sign-language and English words seem to be fine for now. In the next few days I will analyze the possibility of learning the Georgian alphabet. They have 33 symbols, which apparently more or less correspond to the general idea of letters as we understand them. As long as I memorize them I can read stuff and that should make it much easier to get around.

The people here seem quite friendly, approach me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. They seem to immediately notice I am foreign (I wonder what gives me away), yet so far none of them intended to rip me off. On the way back home I asked the cab driver for the price, and he showed me three fingers. By the way, I need to remember the word ‘skolko’ – I think it means ‘how much’ in Russian. It could be essential vocabulary.

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.