The Lazy Cherub Enigma: Georgia on My Mind

When you’re on the road for so long everything begins to become a blur. Maybe not a blur but a bleeding into each other like spilt paint on a Jackson Pollock canvas. Intense splatters of vibrancy mixed with dirt and filth from your shoes. The canvas going on forever and the work of creating a meaningful image never ending.

So where am I with this giant paint brush called over landing?

We left Baku and headed out for another bush camp in Gobustan – home of the mud volcanoes. There are a few ways to view this one: a mud volcano site where we camped or a camp that had mud volcanoes. How you see it depends on where you look – and how you step! It’s one of those sites where you make the most of it while there but don’t particularly see yourself making the effort to go again. It made for good practise in how to gauge where and when you make a move and a chance to see with fresh eyes.

After that it was a rather unceremonious border crossing into Georgia. Nothing to it! I kind of felt cheated not having to deal with nonsensical inefficiency, laborious wait times and no toilets. Sigh. The days of living in fear that my scissors could be seen as a weapon of mass destruction are now over. Perhaps I need to consider black market caviar...

Another night camping at the Lagodheki Nature Reserve in Georgia. My god what a beautiful place! So much green So much nature! Sadly, it was pouring rain so a good hike was out of the question and time was also limited. Unlike the mud volcanoes this is a definite do over. Nature is best experienced alone or with the ones you love. And am I the only one that finds the sound of rain on your tent incredibly soothing? Even though I know my sleeping bag will be soaked in the morning and I will rue the day I agreed to such misadventure?

Our next stop was Sighnaghi – a mountain town inspired by Italian architecture and oozing romance from its pores. Being here gave us a welcome break from the “crowd’ and a chance to drift in peace and with coffee. We found an old “fixer upper” with a spectacular view that I envisioned as an open spaced gallery/coffee bar/book store (with cats!) and a giant living space loft upstairs. Of course, it means we need to learn Georgian and get in good with the Russian mafia who actually own the town…

Eventually our wandering took us to the old city walls and an abandoned church that appeared to have been reclaimed by Sarah McLachlin's voodoo dolls and suicide poem ex boyfriend. I don't think there is anything quite like finding a house of God now being used as a squatter's personal shrine to the hereafter. Old photos, newspaper clippings, candles in various stages of existence and crosses made from retired tree branches. The old cemetery also had spectacular views. Georgian grave markers always have an image of the one who passed which kind of makes sense really – you feel like you “know” them as you walk by. It becomes a personal connection between souls. It makes it that no matter how much time has passed and no matter who comes by, there is a gentle curiosity and a remembrance. As with all sacred space, the space made for children is the most poignant. A little boy in a sailor suit. A young man in his prime with his car. A teen age girl smiling in a summer dress and heels. Lives lost before their time but lives remembered in their most joyous moment.

On our way back to town we had a strange encounter with a local woman and her elderly parents. She offered us a tour of the town but we declined as it was evening. Her English was quite good and she said she had worked as a translator in Tbilisi but had to return home to care for her parents. She asked for money to help them out and in return told us this fantastical story about how the wall in town was actually older than the Great Wall of China but that Genghis Khan had come and tore it all down. She invited us into her home which was STACKED with books and then proceeded to show us her “English Books” that she used to learn the language. These consisted of a first edition print of “Death and the Maiden”, a Penguin Classic copy of Oliver Twist and a Jacqueline Suzanne-esque novel circa 1971 about a bi-sexual man’s romances in Paris, London as NYC as a fashion photographer.

Then it got weird…

She proceeded to bring out bags and bags of medications and drugs and wanted Ken to tell her what they were and what they were used for. Then she told us about her research at Oxford university on Agatha Christie and the Use of Cyanide. She kept saying she was an expert researcher in “detective novels” and that the government now black listed her because of it. I don’t know. Seems plausible…. We gave her enough money to buy bread and eggs with Ken feeling somewhat apprehensive about all the drugs she had with Russian labels...

We will be making a four day crossing into Armenia before heading back into Georgia. Another night of camping BUT three days in Yerevan. Unlike Africa where camping was the best part we are finding it the hardest part of this journey. Camp has always been a “tense” aspect of this journey and after the dock incident, the desire to isolate has become even stronger for us. Ken shared his feelings with Simon on the boat and on that end, he feels heard and understood. As for the other end? It has frighteningly gone back to normal in an “this never happened” kind of way…