My hosts’ mother drove me right up to the Abkhaz border in
the morning and wished me luck. She also
told me not to take any pictures because I would probably get shot. But come on, I’m a scion of one of the most
privileged classes in the most privileged generation born into the most
privileged society in history. The world
exists purely for my entertainment, and every misadventure along the way ultimately
becomes a funny footnote to my life. So
there I was, looking across the Ingur river at the enormous Abkhaz flag waving
menacingly on the other side of the 2km bridge above the Russian army
encampment and thinking, “Yeah, I got this.”
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