Day 22 from Kars, Turkey to Tbilisi, Georgia

(this is from yesterday, too tired now to write about today and this internet cafe is awful!)

Waiting in the bus office in Kars with a muddy wooden floor and a wood burning stove in the center of the room, I thought about the great irony of Turkey. Sometimes, I’d seen internet cafes with brand new flat screen monitors, broadband connections and the works yet int he middle of the room there’d still be an old fashioned wood burning furnace as it out of the USSR. Walking there, I’d gone through blocks of mud and piles of ash which upon entering, I realized came frmo the many furnaces used. I’m headed to Posof, about 30km from the border with Georgia. The driver tells me its 2 hours to the border and 4 to Tbilisi. I hope he’s right. Another man is waiting, older wearing a sport suit and Kangol cap and the usual Turkish mustache. One more man comes before we leave asking for a ride to just outside town. He sits in the aisle, although the bus is almost empty, and keeps muttering “servis”Â? talking to no one.

The mumbler finally gets out and I realize who my driver reminds me of, the Georgian president Mikhail Saakashvili. The bus seats all have leopard pattern covers, another reminder of everything we think is tasteless and kitschy, is what people in the third world think is classy. The nouveau riche are perfect examples but even the amount of fake flowers and other junk proves it.

The asphalt of the road is the only thing that breaks the monotony of white outside the bus. There’s snow everywhere and shades of white are the only way to tell the mountains from the sky. We pass plenty of typical poverty-stricken Turkish villages, the ones whose houses are either stone or concrete walls topped off with a mud and straw roof. Occasionally a tarp is thrown over and held down by dozens of rocks. Primitive living at its best. A single tin chimney rises from the center, signaling the ubiquitous wood burning furnace. Yet somehow, each tiny one or two room place manages to have satellite tv, which I’m told costs about 200 USD one time with all viewing afterwards being free. No business are in sight and livestock wander the streets.

My Saakashvili look-alike is now wearing black sun glasses although there’s no sun. We’re almost to Posof after dropping off the only other passenger. Suddenly, we come around a bend and there’s a shiny new industrial complex. Two massive cylindrical tanks rise from the snow with long one story buildings in rows. I notice a helipad. It takes a second, but it quickly dawns on me, the BTC. For those readers not following geopolitics there, that’s the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan pipeline which brings Azeri oil to the Mediterranean via Georgia. Sure enough, I see a sign for it. Must be a monitoring station.

As I’m the only passenger, the driver asks if I’m going to Gurcistan (pronounced Goorjistan). “Evet”Â? I tell him in Turkish. He offers to take me the rest of the way to the border for a small fee. I agree. By now, the geography has already radically changed the snowy plateaus and mountains have changed into a series of lower forested mountains and valleys which we’re driving through. A small series of buildings approaches devoid of military, checkpoints, outposts on hilltops and the usual trappings of a border. Being used to the heavily militarized borders with Iran and Iraq, I’m surprised to see an empty border post with two or three people. I arrive and head to get my Turkish exit stamp which the guard does seemingly annoyed at having work to do. They point me off to one of the many poorly marked buildings in the distance. Luckily, an official motions to me and says “customs.”Â? The Turks actually wanted to check my bags leaving. I was surprised.

I head to the Georgian side where two guards yell asking where I’m from. “America, America!”Â? They are visibly pleased. After all, Georgia and the United States are new best friends, with teh highlight being Bush’s visit to Tbilisi, the first time the American president has ever been to Georgia.

They let me take a picture of the welcome to Georgia sign and then ask for my camera so they can take a picture of me standing by the border gate with the two flags in the background. I thank them and after a few minutes of talking, they stamp my passport and send me on to customs which consists of a few men hanging out in a beat up old Russian car. They aren’t too interested and I wait around for the big Turkish tour bus clearing passport control. I’ve bought a ticket in the meantime to continue on to what I hope is Tbilisi. I’ll later find out I’m wrong.

I eventually get on the bus, with customs not even having talked to me. What changes when you enter Georgia? Latin letters turn into bizarre macaroni like shapes. Tea turns to coffee. Mosques become churches, cars get older and roads get worse. Getting to the first small town takes what seems like an eternity as our massive mercedes bus goes a few km/h over the dusty rocky roads. An anticlimactic border crossing. But the land became greener and crosses began appearing on nearby hilltops.

We finally made it to Abhaltssikhe, the first real town across the border. I’m told the bus stops there, much to my dismay and a Georgian girl who speaks passable English tells me which mashrutka, or minibus to take. But I need Georgian Lari. I only have Turkish lira. We find an earby exchange who only takes dollars, no euros or lira, despite the fact that the Turkish border is a few short kilometers away. Having my only dollars hidden and not wanting to reveal the hiding spot in public, I say I have none. But the bus is leaving so another women, also on the original Turkish bus puts me in the bus as she’s headed to teh capital as well and pays my fare. 10 Lari. I have no idea how much that is.

The bus is old, very old and the seats are a nasty brown and feel like threats of cloth over old springs. Great. It smells like coming home after a long vacation when the windows haven’t been opened for a month. We set off and before long, I’m realizing that a bathroom stop would be a good thing. I keep hoping. While the scenery is wonderful, my bladder keeps distracting me. As each town passes, I check my map hoping we’re either close or stopping. Neither. As night falls, I realize that between that and the increasing rain, it’s not going to be a fun first night in Tbilisi.

After an excruciatingly long and uncomfortable trip, we arrive yet I still have no money. All exchanges are closed. The woman asks where I’m staying and I point to the address of a homestay in my guidebook. She calls the given phone number but nobody answers. We wait and she calls again. Finally, she decides we should take the metro and buys me a coin. We go what thankfully was only two stops in what seems like an exact replica of the Moscow subway (Aaron will remember that) and arrive on a very uneven muddy street. Everything is new, but I’m reminded of my time in Russia. We set off down the street as my place should only be a block or two away. Finally after searching and asking at local shops, she deposits me on the porch explaining to the nice old lady in Georgian what had happened. I thank her and she says not to worry, or expresses that idea as she actually doesn’t even speak English. I give her a big hug and say thanks and she runs back out into the rain, more thankful than I’ve been in a long time. I’m tired, cold and wet. On top of that, I have no idea where the hell I am or how things work in this new country.

A sweet old lady who speaks what used to be good German shows me in and to the room where an older Italian man and American man are. I get an improvised bed. Thank god. After some conversation, I head back out to an ATM, grab some food and funky Georgian mineral water and come back for much much much needed sleep.

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