Love notes to a lost land

Many of the strangest moments in Georgia were had while in the back of taxis. Vulnerability comes with entering the fortress of another man, with the persistent thought that your safety teetered on the edge of a blade. That and the sheer lack of understanding that prevents you from gauging what's standard practice and what was reason for concern. In the back of the taxi I sat holding two things; my rucksack and my belief that all people were fundamentally good. It was this that would get me safely onto that plane.


We were left in Tbilisi, in the middle of a cold dark night. We had hours to kill so bided our time in an all night diner that served Georgian cuisine. We ate strange dumplings, a local delicacy, while drinking beer and staring at the clock. Finally we were outside and needed a taxi to the airport. It was that confusing hour where you're not sure if it’s late at night or early in the morning. Only a group of ancient gypsies were left on the street. They had better luck than us. A taxi conveniently halted by the beggars and their belongings, wrapped in a tarpaulin, were stuffed into the back of the car and they floated out of sight. We were now completely alone. We kept walking and n a street corner by the Mtkvari River, a driver stood. We agreed on a price and began putting our bags in the car. Before we could enter the car a man appeared from behind us. He spoke good English, an odd thing in Georgia, which made me instantly lower my guard. I didn't know what was happening but before I could protest we were in the car and driving. The stranger went up front. I didn’t want him behind me. Instantly he started speaking in Georgian to the driver. A tense fear came up my spine. The driver was a slight man, dark skinned with sunken eyes. Did they know each other? I looked at the passenger again. He seemed different, young with fervent eyes almost wild. They talked in Georgian so fast that my mind made up terrible scenarios. Still looking at the driver, out from his pocket came a knife, golden with a button that made it spring out. The kind only used for crime. Like a snake’s tongue it was brandished and then darted back inside the handle. My vision blurred and a nervous itch ran down my body. He had a demented smile on his face which made me sure I was about to die. The doors looked locked. I did my jacket up to the top. A feeble gesture but perhaps the blade might not penetrate completely into my chest. We'd bought the ticket, now we had to ride.