...and the world's your oyster

Tbilisi is the capital of Europe. At least that's what aliens would think if they landed on Earth for the first time there. Everywhere, there are European flags, sprayed on walls and hanging from flagpoles in front of private or official buildings. Even the unpopular regime of Georgia is trying to placate the population. At least in Tbilisi, no one believes the government, and since last year, people have been camping and demonstrating daily in front of the parliament. The accusation is that they collaborate too much with Russia and do not bind themselves closely enough to Europe. For most people in political Europe, Brussels is, at best, associated with boring bureaucracy. However, for the residents of the Georgian capital, it means freedom and autonomy. Alongside the sea of Georgian and European flags in the streets, slogans like 'Russia is a Terrorist State' and even spray-painted NATO symbols are often seen. The left bubble in Istanbul is against the migration of Syrian refugees into their country, as it strengthens the strictly Muslim communities. The politically progressive in Tbilisi are pro-NATO because, after two wars and especially since February 2022, they cannot afford an anti-militaristic stance so close to the Russian border. Values and beliefs can be universal, but the specific political positions and demands are always shaped in the context of our respective environment.
That’s why I can’t pass judgment when I read words like 'unfortunately' or 'heroic' in the exhibition about the Soviet occupation. Of course, history museums shouldn’t use evaluative vocabulary, but the image of the enemy has burned itself into memory too deeply, then and now, to care about such nuances. At the same time, Russians are not a rarity in Tbilisi's urban landscape. Many still come here for vacation without a care. Some men try to evade their military service by staying in cheap hostels. A few dissidents are politically active. A couple of times, I am first addressed in Russian in restaurants. When I meet someone from Lithuania through my solo travel app Leva, we find ourselves in a karaoke bar recommended by our waiter after a bottle of Georgian white wine, where I am the only one singing in English. All the others sing Russian pop songs.
On my last day in what feels like the most pro-European country outside and maybe even within the EU, I sit in my hotel, waiting to depart until the rain stops, when a backpacker enters. Jeff from California gives me a surfer wave as he introduces himself. He mentions he lived and worked in Georgia as an English teacher for quite a while and is back in the country for the first time in eight years, he tells me. According to his first impression, a lot has changed. The outdoor hype is leaving its mark. He won't even reveal his favorite area in Georgia. He wants it to remain untouched by tourism. Fair enough.
Before my flight to Bangkok, I meet up again with my travel companions from my Europe tour, Darryn and Christian, in a restaurant. We all independently found our way to Tbilisi. While Darryn stays for a while longer to then travel to Armenia and Azerbaijan, Christian is contemplating whether to go to Iran (!) or over the Black Sea towards Scandinavia. I get a few Southeast Asia tips from Darryn, put my last Lari on the table, and say goodbye to the two.
At the airport, an older Pole approaches me, asking if I have time and speak English. His phone has no internet and the settings are entirely in English. I try my best, but I can only set the language to Polish, and he thanks me and says goodbye with a few German phrases. 'Greetings to your president... ehm no...' - 'Chancellor,' I help him out. 'Kohl?' - 'No,' I laugh: 'When Kohl was chancellor, I was this small.' I hold my hand about a meter above the ground. There's something rather comforting about still being mentally in the '90s when it comes to the politics of other countries.
Bangkok is primarily a stopover for me. A light version of Vietnam for acclimatization. And so the airport greets me with numerous SIM card shops and exchange booths and a weather that is fortunately cooler than I expected.
Before checking into my hotel, I sit down on a bench in a park and watch as a few birds approach my backpack. 'How exotic, with their yellow-black plumage,' I think. Suddenly, I see a one-meter lizard slithering through the water right in front of me. Another one lies ten meters away on the grass, lazily sunbathing while posing for photos in front of me. The seemingly interesting birds are completely forgotten. As I continue walking through the park, I realize this is a hallmark of the green space. At its center is a life-sized lizard statue. Reptiles are everywhere, swimming in the park pond and walking along the footpaths.
The contrast after Georgia could not be greater. Bangkok's nightlife, the urban jungle within, and the Buddhist temple complexes and nature outside the city invite for adventures. However, I need a break after Georgia and switch to ignorance. The day trips to the River Kwai and the historical capital Ayutthaya that I planned while in Georgia are abruptly dismissed. 'I'm here on business,' I could say if anyone at the hotel counter cared. But they don’t. I take advantage of the soulless Thai mall culture and run a few errands: including getting a mosquito net that could soon come in handy and replenishing my sunscreen, which costs 15 euros (in words: fifteen) here.
I also have medical appointments lined up. Since Istanbul, I've been in an on-and-off relationship with my stomach issues. It’s not that bad, but I feel the need to satisfy my inner hypochondriac. In the end, the diagnosis is not surprising: 'German boy doesn't cope much in a strange environment.' So it’s all a matter of habit. I think this when, even during my fourth massage, I’m still not feeling any relaxation in the traditional sense. Whether it's traditional Thai, foot, head-shoulder, or oil massage - each time I have to suppress cries of pain. It must be this way...?
One of my few excursions outside the hotel district takes me to Bangkok's 'green lung.' A peninsula on the southern side of the Chao Phraya River, reached by a tiny ferry, where one can rent a bicycle. The majority of it is forested, and in some of the few bungalows, families sell simple rice dishes or iced coffee. All in all, it feels more relaxing than the previous Thai massages...
The Thais love their king. Photos of the royal family are on the walls in apartments and official agencies. So far, I knew this from landscapes of personality cult. In Turkey, it looked quite similar with Atatürk. However, apparently in Thailand, it’s customary to show a video praising the king before every movie. I sit in front of the screen and watch the epic but kitsch-looking five-minute presentation. Gold-framed stills of his majesty residing in Bavaria blend together in a PowerPoint style while an epic choir provides a multi-voiced soundtrack. Additionally, images of a Buddha are shown repeatedly. It is bluntly implied that the king is his incarnation. Despite its overloaded presentation, it comes across as inadvertently funny. Especially since the video runs directly between an ice advertisement and the movie of my choice, which couldn't be sillier: The remake of the slapstick classic 'The Naked Gun.'
(Disclaimer: many Anglicisms!) One evening, I feel a bit of FOMO and check my nomadtable app to see which solo travelers are around in Bangkok. A few twenty-somethings are drinking in a rooftop bar nearby. Well, I suspect they’re not my peer group, but I give myself a nudge anyway. Upon arriving upstairs, I spot the table with the group. 'Consider it an ethnological field study!' I think to myself and join the youth with my cocktail. Most seem to be self-employed or digital nomads, at least that's the information I can glean between the phone breaks. So not breaks from the phone, but on the phone. Occasionally someone attempts to reignite the conversation, as if the metaphorical batteries need to be recharged and balanced again. Phone time: 100%, conversation time: 0%. 'Can you smile? I'm gonna make a video,' prompts the group's creator to smile at the selfie camera. Since they all want to go dance in the club afterward, the 23-year-old model from Denmark asks me what kind of music I listen to. 'Not this,' I reply half ironically, pointing upwards to the speakers blasting loud electronic dance music. 'I like older music,' I try to clarify the confusion on her face. 'Oh, so like the 2010s?' she asks. I try not to let my face drop and break out in loud laughter. 'No, more like the 70s,' I say. 'Oh, okay,' her expression now is pure bewilderment, as if her mental timeline is out of order. 'I like karaoke though,' I try to smooth the waters. 'Ah, I love karaoke,' she says, but it’s already too late. My social experiment is fulfilled. 'I have to meet a friend now. Have fun at the club,' I excuse myself half-heartedly from the group. It’s neither a loss for her nor for me. One night in Bangkok...