The Bad Adventure

Saturday, Sept. 13, 2008--Kvarti to Shilda (Continued)

After I had finished seeing the museum and the winery, there was really nothing else to see or do in Kvarti. It was 13:20, and the lady at the winery told me there would be a van leaving for Telavi at 14:00. I walked up the street to where there were people who could help me get on the right van.

About 13:57, two men walked up. One spoke English and said he was a soldier who had served in Iraq. He was wearing an Army jacket and said that it had been given to him by an American friend there. He had been drinking some, I could tell; his friend seemed okay. Anyway, they wanted me to have a beer with them. I told them I had to catch the van at 14:00. The one speaking English asked me to wait there. Well, I would have been gone if the van had come, but it didn't. He returned with 3 beers, one for me and one for each of them. Continuing to wait for the van, I started drinking on mine with plans to give it to them when the van arrived. However, there was still no van by 14:15. They started suggesting that I go home with them and spend the night as their guest and then go to Telavi the next day. I continued to wait for the van, and they kept encouraging me.

Another man walked up and asked if there was a problem in English. I told him that I was just waiting for the van and that these men were inviting me to stay with them. He said that they were local men and that I could trust them if I wanted to go. I looked at the other men standing around to see if I should be alarmed, realizing that this third man could be part of a nefarious plan. No one nearby indicated anything. I know that vans do not run as the day gets later and there are fewer people traveling, so I went with them.

They took me nearby to a house where there were two women (their wives) and three children. They put food on the table and opened a bottle of wine. We ate and drank. They were very friendly. Everything was fine. One of them even went inside and came out with a gift of a clay horn and drinking bowl to give me me as a souvenir of my visit to Georgia. But after we had eaten, they wanted to drive me to Telavi and drink some more there. That's when I became alarmed. I really didn't want to go to Telavi with them because they were already too drunk, and I knew that the night would be boring and cost me more money that I would like. But how could I get out of it?

We made a couple of stops. They got money from an ATM. Then they stopped for gas and to put some fluid into the car. We started off around 16:00 for Telavi. We turned onto the main road just out of town and I remember thinking he was driving too fast. I also started thinking that I should move my U.S. dollars to a safer place so that I could excuse myself after spending just the amount that was evidently on me. There in the back seat, I unlocked a compartment of my bag the guy had seen inside when helping me store the horn and moved my packet of dollars to there and locked it again without their seeing what I was doing. Then I remember thinking again that I would need a stragegy to get away from them before they got too drunk and the night became a mess.

Just then, they started to pass a horse-drawn cart and a car was coming toward us. Our driver started pulling back to our lane and putting on the brakes, but he wasn't stopping fast enough. (I think it must have been brake fluid that he was putting in the car earlier.) I could tell that we were going to be in an accident.  I looked down, because I really didn't want to see what was happening. Anyway, there was a bump. I looked up and we had hit the back of the cart. I saw something flying off of it. At the time I thought it was a person, but as I think back on it, I am not sure what it was. I also sensed that we ran over whatever fell. I do remember that a man jumped out of the cart with a long, wooden staff and rushed toward the car hitting at the hood and the windshield. Again, I sensed a bump and thought that maybe we had run over this man's foot. Our driver stepped on the gas and rushed off. I don't remember noticing any lumpiness in our movement, but somewhere down the road the driver pulled off onto a side road and stopped. The guy speaking English got out and looked toward the front wheel, so I am hoping that something was wrong with it and that was what caused the bumps that I thought could have been us running over people. The English speaking guy (Za Za?) walked back to look down the highway to look toward the cart. I thought, I have to go now; it's a perfect excuse for an escape. I opened the door, grabbed my bag, and told the other guy I was leaving. I heard him getting out of the car and running toward Za Za yelling his name as if their bait was getting away.

I heard the car doors slam and the car start again. I looked back only to make sure that they were not coming for me. They had turned back toward the accident and town. I rushed on down the road away from it all trying to think about what I should do. I knew I didn't want to be with the two guys any further. And I was afraid to go back to the cart in case those men were hurt and would attack me. Instead, I walked as fast as I could until I came to a corn field. I went into it and sat on the ground where I could not be seen from the roadway and thought and thought. I knew I should contact the police, but I also knew they wouldn't understand me. I was afraid that the two guys would tell the police that I had been driving and was at fault to try to save themselves. I looked at my map to see where I could go. I knew if I kept on the highway the way I was going, either the guys or the police could search for me. I thought about cutting across fields back toward another road leading a different direction from the area. I even thought of just staying there in the field all night.  Bees were being attracted to the gel in my hair though, so it would have been very uncomfortable trying to stay there in the corn field.  Eventually, I decided I should contact the police.  Otherwise, I might find myself on a wanted poster and arrested by the police as I tried to fly out of the country.  (The two guys had taken photos of me at their home.)

I thought I had seen a house further down the road, so I started walking to the back of the field so that I could walk parallel to the road without being seen by traffic on it.  The first place I came to was just a barn and not a house. I walked further heading toward another place and realized that it was a barn, too.  I saw a house across the road and decided I should cautiously try to get to it.  Just as I started walking that direction, I heard someone yell at me.  I looked around and saw that it was a shepherd with a flock of sheep in the field I was crossing. I went to him saying, "Polizia; telephone polizia!"  He did not speak English, so I tried to draw a picture on paper of what had happened. He eventually made a call. I don't know if it was to the police, but who else could it have been? He handed the phone to me and there was a woman on the line. She did not speak English. I tried to use words--accident, road, etc.--that she might recognize, but it was obvious that nothing was being communicated. I gave up and handed the phone back to the shepherd. I figured that at least there would be someone who would know that a person who spoke English had tried to contact the police that afternoon.

The shepherd looked at me.  Using hand motions, he point to me and then used his hands to indicate drinking from a bottle.  I realized he wanted to know if I liked to drink.  I shook my head yes.  Then he pointed at me and then at himself followed by using his fingers to indicate a walking motion and said, "Come."  

Over the next 1 1/2 hours, we herded his sheep back towards an enclosed pasture.  It was easy.  All I had to do was walk behind them with my arms out from my sides while making circular motions with my hands.  The sheep just moved.  If one to the side fell behind, I just moved behind him and did the same.

When we got to the enclosure, he made a couple of phone calls.  Then he took a baby lamb and tied its legs with a rope.  One of his sons arrived on a horse cart.  The lamp was pushed up under the seat.  The shepherd and I sat on the seat, and the 9-year-old son sat in back.  Having just looked carefully at the map and knowing that I needed to be aware of where I was, I asked, "Shimla?"  He shook his head yes and continued.  On the edge of the village, we stopped for his son to get off at a friend's house.  Then we road intoto the village of Shilda where they lived.

When we arrived at the house, the wife met us.  She took the horse and wagon to the side and began unharnessing the horse and taking care of it.  Jixo, the shepherd, took the young sheep and hung it from a hook with the head down.  He took a long knife and slit its throat. Then he bent the head back until the neck broke.  He cut the head off and set it to the side. Then he cut the lower portions of all 4 legs off and threw them to the dog. He then skinned the lamb's body and cut it into parts which were put into a large pot of boiling water which the wife somehow already had going in the yard.

Like other homes in Georgia, this one housed an extended and widened family.  No one spoke English, though. Eventually, a young man (a nephew) came for about 15 minutes.  He could speak English and explained that the families were those of two brothers, their wives and children, and their parents.  He said that the brothers had just returned from fighting in the war with Russia which ended just in time for me to make my planned visit to Georgia.  Unfortunately, the time was so short with the nephew that we did not discuss what happened.  Also, the story was so complicated that I wasn't sure how well he might understand the vocabulary I would have to use to explain it.

That evening, they had a feast. I knew what that meant for me. I had already been drinking at the winery and with the two men in Kvarti.  But it is traditional that the guest join in the drinking. My guidebook says that under no circumstances should one refuse to drink. And tradition is that the entire glass is emptied each time there is a toast. We weren't drinking wine; it was a form of homemade vodka called chacha that is very strong.  At the same time, we were served the lamb, tomatoes, and bread. I took a rib section that had 3 ribs. It was tough, had no flavor, and there was not much meat on it. But I made it last me, because I didn't want more. I tried to eat lots of bread to soak up the chacha. There were two big round white balls (about the size of baseballs) on the platter with the lamb meat.  They put one on my plate and said, "BEST:  Eyeball!"  Took one slice and then moved the rest of the eyeball back to the plate.  They watched and smiled as I ate the slice (which I tried not to taste nor to think about).  I eventually had to also take one bite of the heart, too, at their insistence. In the meantime, they kept making toasts with chacha ("To the world," to Georgia," "to America," "to your family," to our family," etc.)--a traditional procedure I had already experienced at two other places on this trip including the home this afternoon.  They were a genuinely nice family, and the whole extended family was there with us--grandfather, grandmother, brother, brother's wife, nephew, Jixo, his wife Nana, and one of their sons and his friend. They had gotten drunker, and I was becoming too drunk.  My name had morphed from "Randell" at the beginning of the evening to "Rambo" when they addressed me.  It was such fun.  But before I knew it, I had drunk too much. I got sick and rushed outside to throw up.

After that, the night was a disaster for me. I continued to throw up several times. The family was so nice to me.  They were holding a cold damp cloth to my forehead, rubbing my back, and holding a pan under my head.  I had to take off my pants and put on one of Jixo's pairs of jeans so the puke could be washed off mine. Eventually, I was no longer throwing up, and Jixo and his brother put me to bed with the pan beside me for the night. I felt miserable. I remember telling them over and over again, "So sorry."

Sunday, Sept. 14, 2008--Shilda to Telavi

I still felt bad in the morning. I still had a wobbly feeling as if I were drunk. I had a glass of mineral water, but a few minutes later I threw it up. The wife made me a cup of hot herbal tea (with local stems and leaves in the cup), and it came up, too. I was not interested in anything going into my stomach.

The men, however, all came together. They felt sorry for me, but in a pleasant way of concern. They ate breakfast which included a glass of chacha for each of them. How do they do it? Jixo teased me about joining them:  "Rambo!  Chacha?"   I tried not to even think about the idea of food or alcohol, and they all laughed.

The family gave me some special tea from their area to take with me and returned my clothes which they had washed during the night. I got the impression that they had become concerned that I might not have money due to the fact that nothing was in my pockets. (I had removed my money and my special money pocket and put them in the jeans when I changed clothes.) They asked if I had money and mentioned that the van would cost money. My guess is that they thought I had been robbed since I had been wanting to call the police when Jixo saw me in the field and since they hadn't find money anywhere in my pants. I assured them that I had money and was okay.

Anyway, before leaving, I unpacked the horn and glasses (which are for serving/drinking chacha) that had been given to me by the two men the day before and gave them to this family.  Then, about 9:30 a.m., the men and one of the sons took me up to the corner to wait for the van.  The men shared a 1.5 liter beer with friends there while waiting. Georgians really drink a lot! Anyway, I met townspeople there. Everyone was friendly and nice, but mostly they were curious. I'm sure it was strange to them to have an American visiting a local family.  The brothers told them who I was and asked those planning to ride in the same van to look out for me.  One boy of 9 spoke some English, but he was shy. Anyway, the van came at 10:00, and I took it to Telavi.  A woman made sure that I got off at the proper stop and directed me to the center of town.

By that time, I had decided that there was no need to try to contact the police. I had tried yesterday. There would be a record that I a foreigner had called if I needed to prove that I had done my part to help them rather than run from the accident. I didn't feel well, so I just wanted to find a room.

I had no problem getting a nice room using my guidebook. I immediately went to bed and slept for 2 1/2 hours. Then I went out to see the town. That's when I found the cyber cafe. After that, I bought a wrap sandwich made with shaved chicken, tomatoes, cucumber, onions, parsley, mayonnaise, a red sauce, paprika, pepper, and salt. It tasted good and did not bother me. I bought a diet cola and drank that, too. Then I went back to my room and stayed there for the rest of the night reading until bedtime.

Monday, Sept. 15, 2008--Telavi

I had a good breakfast where I am staying. It consisted of a pastry filled with beans, oatmeal, cherry preserves, yogurt, tea, and cookies. And I shared the meal with another American who is here. He is a statistician (retired from the federal government) who currently lives in a small village in Guatamala. He was a bit strange, but it was nice to visit with someone. He is here just relaxing and preparing a paper that he will present to a statistical conference when he returns home in a few weeks.

I explored the town. What there is to see is closed today, since it is Monday. That is a fortress with a Persion palace behind it. But the town is full of children. Today is registration day for the new school year. I bought a cola and sat in the park reading from my book and watching the students. Occasionally one would say something to me. Most young people here are taking English and can speak some if they are not too shy. Later, I walked down a couple of old streets to see the older houses with their projecting balconies across the front, a form of architecture that Georgia is known for.

I will have dinner at my guesthouse tonight and will return to Tbilisi tomorrow to meet the guests from the U.S. visiting my family there and have dinner with them. Wednesday night (actually, Thursday morning), I will leave for Denmark after taking care of some final things I want to do there in Tbilisi.