Дон Кари во Туристенрумел

Don Curry woke up in the midst of traffic noise. He had left the balcony door open overnight to let some natural coolness into his apartment. Despite the traffic noise, he was able to fall asleep, but because of the traffic noise, he woke up much too early. After closing the door, there was pleasant silence and Don Curry was able to doze off a bit longer. Today he was not bound by any given breakfast times; today there was no breakfast at all.

He set off to explore Batumi around 11:00 am. Yesterday evening he could already see that nowhere in Georgia is as touristy as this city on the Black Sea. A few years ago, the kilometer-long front to the sea coast was developed into a tourist area with direct beach access. Since then, numerous high-rise buildings with hotels and apartment complexes have been shooting up, mostly with an appealing architecture. In addition, there are hotels and restaurants that are architecturally dedicated to a certain theme. So Don Curry discovered almost next to each other the Acropolis of Athens, a stylized Colosseum with statues of Roman soldiers in front, and even a White House that is upside down. However, in the midst of the new buildings, decay already exists; a restaurant in the style of a windmill must have been abandoned some time ago and is now crumbling as a ruin. It is also difficult to estimate which of the ambitious new construction projects will actually be completed or will affect the skyline in the future as towering ruins. Batumi seems to want to become a mixture of Dubai and Las Vegas, but on a smaller scale.

After his walk to the south of Batumi Promenade, Don Curry felt a pronounced feeling of hunger. The missing breakfast made itself felt. There were certainly no shortage of restaurants, and at lunchtime there were plenty of free tables everywhere. Don Curry decided on the 'Adjarian House' because he wanted to try the famous specialty of Adjarian cuisine today: the Adjarian Khachapuri, of course with his favorite salad and a Georgian Zedazeni beer. Unlike almost all other types of Khachapuri, the Adjarian variant is not round, but resembles a tapered oval. One could also say that it resembles an eye. This character is further enhanced by the fact that in the middle of the pastry, the cheese filling is not covered with dough, but is crowned with a raw egg yolk. On top of that, there is a thick slice of butter. To enjoy the Khachapuri authentically, one first breaks off the pointed corners on both sides, dips them into the butter-egg-cheese mixture, and stirs everything vigorously. Then you can continue tearing off dough from the edge and enjoy it together with the mixture from the center. A very simple and yet very delicious dish! In the end, Don Curry inadvertently amused his waitress. When paying by card, the device asked if he wanted to leave a tip as well? Don Curry found 5 Lari (€1.80) to be appropriate, typed in 5 and confirmed. The waitress showed him why she had to laugh: Don Curry had only given her 0.05 Lari (almost 2 cents). It was good that he had another corresponding bill with him. To escape the midday heat, he retreated to his air-conditioned apartment for a while and worked on his reports.

At around 5:00 pm, he set off again, this time heading north, walking the entire 4 km to the port of Batumi. This route is lined with stalls and shops of all kinds, where you can find souvenirs, drinks, ice cream, hot dogs, etc. - or real estate. In the midst of the many beach supply stores, Don Curry also discovered two elegantly styled one-room buildings of real estate brokers. The promenade also includes numerous amusement rides and carousels. There are small soccer fields, even with grandstands, tennis courts next to them, numerous table tennis tables, and even several billiard tables that are simply freely accessible. At the end of the promenade at the port, the offer culminates with a Ferris wheel and a huge tower of the Georgian alphabet, which is adorned with all the letters of the local script. Excursion boats, pirate ships, jet skis, and motorboats that pull a person with a parachute through the sky over the sea start from the harbor.

When reading all these descriptions, it should be clear that Don Curry was never alone anywhere. The promenade is called that because countless people stroll up and down here. They do this on foot, by bicycle, by e-bike, or with small e-rickshaws; you can rent everything there except for your feet. Among the tourists, Georgians and Russians certainly formed the clear majority. But Don Curry also saw surprisingly many guests from Arab countries, with women in all degrees of veiling. In addition, a few Indians and a few travelers from European countries; several times he even caught a few German words in passing.

The most pleasant thing about the promenade, however, was its traffic-free status. There were no roads where cars could drive; there was no direct access to the sea for them anywhere. That is why all the streets in the hotel zone next to the promenade served as parking areas, as Don Curry had already painfully found out yesterday. Apparently, no one had thought of parking garages, underground garages, or at least designated large parking lots near the promenade during the planning.

After his sweaty walk in the humid heat of Batumi, Don Curry returned to his balcony once again to enjoy the sunset over the Black Sea from there. With the onset of darkness, the tourism-centeredness of this area became even more apparent: almost all hotel facades now glowed with elaborate light shows, the amusement rides put on brightly colored clothes, and the Singing Fountains in front of the Aliance Palace began to dance, colorful water jets illuminated in time with loud music. As the even louder music of the neighboring rides also sounded and everything was complemented by the constant roar of traffic with numerous honking, an unbearable carpet of noise emerged, to which Don Curry did not want to expose himself for too long. In the restaurants, there were no free tables anyway. So he simply got two hot dogs and drank his last Armenian beer on the balcony of his apartment. The noise level did not penetrate up here so loudly.

For one day, Don Curry was able to immerse himself in a world that he does not like at all: the highly commercial mass tourism with its garish, noisy excesses. For one day, Don Curry found that okay because it also represents one aspect of his travel destination, albeit limited to Batumi. But inwardly, he was delighted: tomorrow he would escape from all of this...