ቆንጆ ጆርጂያ

As much as Turkey surprised us, Georgia touches us deeply. A country that has a moving history, that is still changing due to current world events. A country that strives for change.

The landscape we cycle through in these weeks of May is diverse, mostly lush, and always beautiful. At Batumi, we leave the Black Sea to slowly penetrate the neighboring hills into the interior of the country. Small-scale farming dominates the scenery here. In addition to herds of cows, we also encounter pigs, chickens, ducks, and dogs on the side of the road. Strong, short rain showers occasionally force us to take breaks. Large, solidly built bus shelters offer dry shelter for that.

In Kutaisi, we meet our Catalan friends Camilla and Pol again. The encounter is warm but unfortunately short. They are planning to continue their journey to China via Armenia and Iran for now.

We stay in this country's third-largest city longer than planned. Maik has caught a nasty stomach bug and needs the toilet nearby. This circumstance will occupy us for some time. A day of cycling and a taxi ride later, he is still not healthy. And when he eventually is, it is me who can't leave the toilet.

In Surami, a small town on the border between western and eastern Georgia, we stay an additional week for this reason. This area is known today for its good air and pine forests. Domestic tourists come here to cure bronchial diseases - that's what they tell me. I wonder where, except in the cities, the air might be bad here.

Although the traffic is not as light as expected, you can feel that the country has few inhabitants while cycling around. From time to time, we pass through villages, settlements, and small towns. In the former, there are usually few people to be seen.

After we have recovered, we decide to take the route to Tbilisi through the mountains of the Lesser Caucasus.

The traffic up to Ninotsminda - up to about 2000 meters above sea level - is initially difficult and somewhat daunting for the first time. The roads are narrow, and there are no shoulders. This is the shortest route to Turkey if you don't want to go through Batumi. Accordingly, there is a lot of heavy traffic on the road. Finally, we turn into an even narrower valley towards the east. The motorized vehicles thin out a bit.

The road slowly climbs higher and higher. The slope is pleasant.

It is difficult to describe the landscape of these days in words. It changes almost imperceptibly when I drive along deep in thought. But when I resurface, perhaps the green is different, the blooming flowers have changed their colors, sizes, and shapes, the hills and mountains lining the way are rougher or softer, closer or further away.

The people in this new country for us greet us kindly. The request for a place to sleep is always granted. They do not approach us aggressively - at first, they seem serious and distant, but behind that there is always a kindness that occasionally turns into warmth.

At some point on our way to the heights - we leave a valley and have a short, steep climb behind us - we cross the town of Akhalkalaki and enter a completely different world. The weather in these days is changeable. Spring doesn't seem to be able to decide whether it wants to be cold and rainy or warm and summery.

A wide plateau stretches out in front of us. The wind comes cold from the front. It forces us to our knees time and time again. The wind penetrates deeply. It swirls everything around. This, together with a bleak and desolate landscape, changes our mood.

At first, the town of Ninotsminda seems bleak. Up here, in the corner between Armenia and Turkey. I feel like I'm somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

On closer inspection, a completely different picture emerges. There is a lot happening here. Many young people are on the move - always a good sign for an area, in my opinion. Young people and children give a place hope and a future. Children's laughter takes away the dreariness of the place. When we move on two days later, the grass is greener, the sky is bluer, the surroundings are less remote.

The plateau extends a few more kilometers uphill. Cycling in these heights is hardly noticeably more strenuous. Shortness of breath and heavy limbs slow us down even further. Up here, I feel freedom. After months of being on the road, after all the impressions during our journey so far, I sometimes feel a slight indifference towards the new. This suddenly falls away from me here. The vastness, the mountains, the lakes, and the sky absorb us and overwhelm us with their rugged beauty.

At some point, we reach a point where it goes downhill. We whiz through settlements and villages again. Everything seems a bit poorer in southeastern Georgia. The buildings seem older, more dilapidated.

On one day, as we are now moving around 1500 meters above sea level, we encounter several huge herds of livestock. Several shepherds on horseback and on foot and up to 7 shepherd dogs accompany hundreds of sheep, goats, and some cows. It is not only the size of the herd that is impressive, but also the dogs. Animals you wouldn't want to encounter alone. I think my head would fit in some of their mouths.

Since we are already on the subject: there are also plenty of dogs in this country. My heart occasionally cries itself to sleep. We often encounter skinny, limping, abandoned, and seemingly sad animals. We start feeding them again. Every time we go shopping, we buy an extra loaf of bread to have it in case we come across a dog. The sleeping places in these days are mostly the territory of one or more dogs. They roam around us, guard the camp until morning, sometimes one or the other seeks some petting - in return, we share our bread.

We are getting closer and closer to the capital Tbilisi. Thunderstorms often end our cycling day early. We have settled into a calm state - we are totally in flow. We are now enjoying spring temperatures and, in general, this wonderfully relaxed vagabonding:))

Suddenly, it goes fast. One last downhill. One last village in the mountains. And already, we feel the pull of the city. The temperature is suddenly 15 degrees higher than a few hours ago. The air is heavy. The surroundings are noisy. There are many people. The cars are fast.

Tbilisi, surrounded by not too high mountains and hills, lies in a basin. Despite many trees, the air gets stagnant, and the asphalt heats up.

On this day, we have no idea what awaits us in the next 3 weeks. Tbilisi has entirely new worlds in store for us.

A variety of encounters give us insights into lives and destinies that transcend our Western European mindset. 

There is the bar of the young Russians on the outskirts of the city who left their country because they are against the war, against the regime. They organize charities for those who, like them, want/need to leave their country or Ukraine.

There is this Belgian couple who have a fancy vacation in adventurous Georgia by Range Rover with a roof tent and, after 2 nights at the family-run campsite, have the audacity to skip out on the bill!!!

There is the running community, which consists of people of different nationalities. People who can be found on the trails in and around the city during the coolness of early morning or on weekends off work.

There is this young Georgian family that is diligently preparing for a move to Western Europe. Focused on the future and highly motivated.

And then there is our hostel at the Marjanishvili metro station. It's a world of its own. 

A haven for the stranded, the aimless, and the hopeless.

We are slowly accepted into this community with suspicion and reservations. We are told about the tragedy of the impact of Putin's war of aggression on Ukraine from perspectives we did not expect.

The people who live here for longer periods are united in their displacement.

An elderly Christian Orthodox man visits the church daily to pray for everyone here. A Russian-Jewish queer couple is waiting for the green light to move to Israel. Young Russian academics are overwhelmed by the sudden end to their careers. A suspicious Kazakh loves life and parties, but is repeatedly caught up in anger and sadness.

They all live in this trashy hostel, sharing their homes with each other for months. Their coping strategies range from compulsive cleaning that makes things disappear, to gaming, writing, drinking, and whatever else they can do to pass the time and feel something.

At the end of the day, everyone gathers in the kitchen and shares what they have. The only one who is not accepted is a German with anti-Semitic conspiracy ideologies, even though he is obviously lost.

Maik is reminded of the descriptions of Paris by Henry Miller, of Munich by Oskar Maria Graf.

Tbilisi is a beautiful city. Tbilisi is a diverse city. Tbilisi is a noisy city. Tbilisi has a lot to offer. Tbilisi takes in. It welcomes everyone and doesn't let some go again. We will stay here for three weeks for now. We will meet our French cycling friends Malie and Yann again, who are moving further east from here.

We plan our hike on the Transcaucasian Trail, which we will start in July, and our onward journey in autumn. We take care of the service for the bikes and equipment. Despite all the preparations, there is plenty of time for running and a bit of culture.

And we are looking forward to the visit from home!

By the way, exactly one year ago today we got on our bikes and set off. We have not regretted leaving behind all that was familiar for a single moment. It is a joy to see how beautiful our world is and how many wonderful people live in it in such different ways!