Kutaisi – Georgia

It’s going to be hard to explain the following without sounding like a privileged f**kwit, but whether I like it or not, to a certain degree, depending on the context one chooses, and if I want to write openly, it’s something we are all going to have to accept from time to time. So, here we go. It’s been almost two and a half years since I last went travelling proper. Yes, I’ve been to a kiwi wedding, a Lions tour, skiing, F1, and numerous work trips abroad. I’ve loved it all, returning to places I consider home, visiting people I consider family, travelling with or to see incredible friends, but years had passed since jumping onto a plane somewhere new just for the purpose of seeing somewhere new. To join a random group of strangers and to go exploring without a care in the world; this is the closest I get to feeling free, which, would fly in the face of most people’s thinking regarding group tours. 

I think this stems from two lines of reasoning. The first has been known since the dawn of time, or, more accurately, when I began travelling a few decades ago – I’m struggling to deal with my age all of a sudden so you may notice me catastrophise the fact more than necessary. I am, at heart, a lazy traveller, and as I have said many times before I have little time to prepare for travelling, little want to organise myself when travelling, and I like to travel to places that actually can be quite difficult to travel without a good deal of local knowledge. It’s not impossible to do alone, but now, more than ever, time away travelling is precious, a time to switch off from work and the outside world, not a time to add extra stress. 

The second reason is recently updated, built on old foundations, those being my persistent fear of travelling alone yet being forced into endless social interactions with complete strangers. What’s new is the first of many epiphanies I had during my week in Georgia-the-country-not-the-US-state. A group tour forces me to interact with people, usually always people interested in travel, and thus people I can immediately find common ground with and talk to easily without sounding too much of a prick. If the group is a bit ‘meh,’ who cares, I’ll be traveling somewhere great, effortlessly, and happy enough in my own company but not completely alone. If the group is great, which is almost guaranteed when doing something a little adventurous, then there is nothing but a fantastic trip to be had. Ultimately, the difference between traveling with strangers and travelling with friends and family, is that with strangers I really don’t need to care too much beyond general manners and social etiquette. That is, I don’t need to worry about overstaying my welcome, cooking, bringing gifts, doing something another doesn’t want to, someone making me a cuppa in the morning but then feeling guilty if I need to repay the favour, people booking things for me; all very perfect normal things that people do naturally, things that I am more than happy to do in return – I hope I do without realising it – but constantly convinced I don’t do enough. I know I’m not a knob, and while there are other things to worry about during group travel, I feel I can handle them much easier than all of the above. This is my reasoning behind why I was so excited for my first group tour in years, and oh boy it didn’t disappoint.

The orange man in the white house and his equally lunatic mate in the Middle East put on hold a long-awaited trip to Oman back in April which put added anticipation on yet another country I have been excited to visit for many years, Georgia. Ironically, a country that borders another lunatic, an unfortunate fact that describes the state of the world right now unfortunately. But let’s forget about all that and enjoy the fact that I had finally landed in Georgia, a land of beautiful mountains, dumplings, and as much cheesy bread as one could dream of. As is quite usual though, first there was a border to deal with, and as with Azerbaijan just down the road, the boarder was largely staffed with women. As I queued, one person next in line for the border was abruptly summoned to a passport control desk by a stern but very pretty officer. It wasn’t just the fact she was pretty; it was as much the amusement of watching a bewildered tourist fall instantly under the officer’s command of ‘you, come,’ that had been stated clearly and firmly in that eastern European accent that emphasises such actions. I had to visit this desk, one of 15 possible routes through the border. Sure enough, through the simple act of being more aware than those around me, and a dollop of luck, I found myself in front of the cute officer’s desk as she scanned my passport. The next thing I heard was ‘William, stand back and look at the camera.’ Well, never in my life has any passport control officer, male or female, called me by name, I think I had temporarily died and gone to heaven. I reckon the whole process had lasted no more than 90 seconds and before I knew it the gate flung open and I was entitled to stay in Georgia for up to one year with nothing more than a stamp in my passport.

Naturally, on leaving arrivals, I went immediately to the man standing in front of a sign with my name on it and confidently introduced myself, however, he looked at me blankly during a brief period of awkwardness until my actual driver came over from wherever he had been hiding. I had taken the decision to book a three-hour transfer from Tbilisi Airport to the town of Kutaisi where the tour would start simply because I couldn’t be bothered to invest time in working out how the trains, buses, and random flights to Kutaisi worked. When trying to maximise holidays and time off work, at the time of booking these things I just want the easiest option, rightly or wrongly. Anyway, we set off. The driver told me not to withdraw cash from the airport and that he knew a place, and before we knew it we were driving through some sketchy backstreets in Tbilisi. Not for the first time I started to ponder what I had gotten myself into with scenarios of me trading all I had to some gangsters for a couple of Georgian lari, made more complicated by the fact I hadn’t learnt the exchange rate. No matter, we pulled up at a cash machine – good outcome, rubbish story. The next issue was I had no idea what the language was and didn’t want to cause offence by asking the driver which moves us nicely into a brief political discussion.

One of the first things that stood out driving through Georgia was the English flag and EU flag flying side-by-side at every government building. Only joking, it was of course the Georgian and EU flags. Nevertheless, the EU flag was prominent, there is no doubting allegiances here, and who is to blame them, in fact, it’s quite moving to see how a small country like Georgia living under the shadow of Russia turns to Europe for support. Without getting into history, Georgia is vehemently anti-Russian, indeed our guides frequently let loose the comment ‘f**king Russians,’ under their breath whenever encountered. So, to ask the driver if they spoke Russian would have been a grave and obtuse miscalculation. Georgia actually has its own language with an alphabet quite unlike anything I’ve seen before. Another surprise was the number of McDonalds, Dunkin Donuts, Carrefours, and all of that, but then that’s the joy of rocking up to a new country with zero knowledge and expectations. 

It was unfortunate that upon arrival to the hotel there was a full day of international rugby and the British Grand Prix to watch and so I made excuses to myself that I hadn’t rested for 24 hours, the tour wasn’t due to start until the following day, and I’m on holiday. Still, I was starving and told myself that I would have to find the courage to go out and find somewhere to eat at some point – I even looked up the names of the local dishes so I had some idea of what to ask for. Midway through the afternoon, a message appeared on the tour group chat inviting anyone who cared to join for a drink. There is only one bad thing about group travel and that is the first meeting, and so it would be breakfast the following day, or now. I chose now since I fare better over a beer than a coffee. It would be easy to say that the rest is history, and to say I thought the group were great as soon as I met them would be an exaggeration, yet the ones I met in the pub certainly didn’t dampen my excitement for the week ahead, and by the end of the first day of hiking a few days later, it was safe to say that I was travelling with one of the very best groups I’ve had the joy to travel with, backed up with two excellent guides, and an unbelievably great country. 

Why Georgia is so great will have to wait until next time as apparently I have chosen me as the main topic of conversation for today, and as such, that is how we will end. As I mentioned, I had several epiphanies during the week and also felt quite conscious of my age. Yet I also felt extremely confident in myself in the knowledge I am settled in the UK with a good job, a house, fit and healthy, and just relatively content. Annoyingly, that led me to be a little confused with how to behave. On one hand I wanted to act my age and be that mature, secure, responsible, bachelor. On the other hand, I wanted to be my usual sarcastic, sexual inuendo-fuelled, hyperactive tit that I usually am when set loose on tour or with close friends. I went with the former, because I felt like the latter, now I’m 41, is inappropriate for my age, but I also felt reasonably comfortable with it. As I said, I actually felt confident in myself, and as such probably didn’t feel the need to hide behind a veil of immaturity and self-deprecation. Still, I feel there is a balance to be had. For example, upon hearing I write a blog, some of my travel companions were interested to know if they would be written about. One commented that they wanted an ‘outrageous’ pseudo name but one week on I still can’t think of anything that is witty while not being soaked in inappropriate, flirtatious or childish humour. One could say I’ve unnecessarily repressed myself, what is certain is that another few trips are required to get this whole coming of age crap in balance.