A Halt in Akhaltsike

On my way out of Tbilisi I actually stopped again in Gori.  I travelled with two Danes—one who had been to Canada and loved it, and one who said that my passport was “low quality” and who I will forever remember as a total asshole—by marshrutka to visit the Stalin museum.  I decided that yes, maybe $6 was actually worth it, because who knows when I would be back in Gori again?  Georgia wasn’t at the crux of international trade as it once was.  So we embarked on the extremely rigid tour, led by a woman who loved Stalin, who had rehearsed exactly the English script for the museum, and who had no time for questions.  We were even allowed to visit Stalin’s personal train carriage. 

From Gori I bid the Danes adieu and hopped on a marshrutka heading west.  I was initially planning on going to Kutaisi but there ended up being one of those middle-of-nowhere switchups between marshrutkas and we all had to get out and into another vehicle.  I was the last person to get in and the only seat available was the one at the very back next to the window.  The furthest possible seat from the door, and in between me and this seat were several billowy babas, luggage, animals and whatever else.  Expecting the populace of the van to recognize that I needed to get in and systematically tetris themselves into position so that I may take the first available seat, I was surprised to find no one budging and everyone waiting impatiently for me to somehow squeeze in.  I gave one of my signature “WTF?” looks at them, apologized to the nearest old woman, and dove in, crowd-surfing my way over the people and seats until I gingerly slipped into my spot. 

It was after this I decided I didn’t feel like talking to my co-travellers and pretended I couldn’t speak Russian.  Even those who fed me plums and cherries didn’t get much of a peep out of me because it was hot and I was going through a grumpy phase. As it turned out, the marshruka was heading south, not towards Kutaisi but back from whence I originally had come, through Borjomi and to Akhaltsike. 

This is the kind of adventure I live for, however, and I was totally prepared to deal with this.  I hadn’t even been given a chance to look around Akhaltsike on my way into Georgia so I used this opportunity to look around the town.  There wasn’t a great deal in it, except a large castle.  I also ate some pelmeni after “bargaining” down some hotel owners from 30 to 20 lari for a room.  Still expensive.  But once in Akhaltsike I was ready to plot my advance on the autonomous Adjara region, by tracing my finger along what us pros in the geography business would refer to as a “highway” on a map.