მონატრება

წისქვლის უზარმაზარი, მრგვალი ქვა წრეზე ბრუნავს, გრუხუნებს და სიმინდის მარცვლებს თვალის დახამხებაში ფქვილის პატარა ნამცეცებად აქცევს. იქვე ახლოს, ხის დაბალ სკამზე ბაბუაა ჩამომჯდარი, ისეთზე, იმერულად „ჯორკოს“ რომ ვეძახით. მაღალი, თოვლივით თეთრი თმით, ოდნავ მოღუნული ფართე ცხვირით, გამჭოლი თვალებით, წელში მოხრილი ზის და ყალიონს აბოლებს, თან წისქვილის ქვას თვალს არ აშორებს. ცოტა ხანში კუჭის ტკივილით შეწუხებული მუცელზე ხელს იჭერს, სკამიდან დგება და იქვე მდგარ, რკინის ძველ საწოლზე ინაცვლებს. მეც იქვე ვარ ჩამომჯდარი. წისქვილის ქვა გრუხუნებს, ხმაურში ერთმანეთის არ გვესმის და ყვირილით ლაპარაკზე გადავდივარ. გარეთ, ღამის შუქზე ციცინათელები ანათებენ, ტყიდან კი ტურების გაბმული ყმუილი ისმის. წისქვილის ხის შენობა იქვე, ტყის განაპირას დგას.

ხმაურში რომ გამაგებინოს, ბაბუაც ყვირილითვე მპასუხობს. უკვე მერამდენედ მოყოლილ საქულას და მაქულას ანეკდოტის თქმას ვთხოვ. ისიც კი ვიცი, რომელ სიტყვას რომელი მოსდევს, სად აუწევს და დაუწევს ხმას, მაგრამ მაინც დაჟინებით ვეხვეწები, რომ მომიყვეს. ენის გასატეხებიც ბლომად იცის. „კოკროჭინა“ ბოლოსთვის მოვიტოვეთ. ზღაპრების ასაკიდან თითქოს დიდი ხანია გამოვედი, მაგრამ ათასჯერ მოყოლილი კოკროჭინას ამბავი მაინც არასდროს ძველდება. მისი თხრობა ბაბუასთვის წმინდა რიტუალად ქცეულა. ოქროსთმიანი, ბროწეულისლოყება ბიჭის და ბოროტი დედინაცვლის ამბავი ექვსი შვილიშვილიდან თითოეულმა ზეპირად ვიცით. პირველად ამ ზღაპრიდან გავიგე, რატომ აკეთებენ ღვინოს საწნახელში, რა დანიშნულება აქვს ჭურს, როგორ აცხობენ პურს თონეში, რისთვის გამოიყენება საჩეჩელი... რატომ არსებობენ ბოროტი „დედინაცვლები“ და როგორ ყოველთვის დაამარცხებს ბოროტს კეთილი. არ ვეშვები, ისიც არ იზარებს: იყო და არა იყო რა, ღვთის უკეთესი რა იქნებოდა...- იწყებს ბაბუა მოყოლას და თვითონაც ზღაპრის გმირს ემსგავსება.

გავა წლები. ბაბუას უეცარი დაღუპვიდან გავა იმაზე მეტი დრო, ვიდრე მას ვიცნობდი, მაგრამ ეს სურათი სამუდამოდ ჩაიბეჭდება ჩემს მეხსიერებაში. ხშირად მომენატრება არდადეგებზე სოფელში გატარებული უდარდელი, უბრალო, მაგრამ სავსე და ხალისიანი ბავშვობის დღეები... წისქვილში მოყოლილი ამბები... წლები დამაშორებს ბაბუას სახლს, იმ ადამიანებს, ვისთან ერთადაც ამ ლამაზი დღეებით მონიჭებულ სიხარულს გაუთვიცნობიერებლად ვიზიარებდი. საქართველოდან შორს მყოფს, ჩემს სიზმრებში არაერთხელ განმეორდება წისქვილის სცენა.

ჩვენ ისევ ისე ვართ ჩამომჯდარი. ბაბუა ისევ კოკრიჭინას ზღაპარს ყვება. წისქვილის ქვა ისევ ბზრიალებს და სიმინდის მარცვლებს ფქვილის პატარა ნამცეცებად აქცევს.

California Dream

I love travelling, but can’t stand being a tourist.

To me there is something fundamentally wrong with the image of a red city bus filled with Chinese tourists, only experiencing the place through the lenses of their camera.

When I travel, I like to pretend I am a local…
have a coffee in the quiet coffee shop,
observe people,
wonder where they are going to,
who is waiting for them …
take in the smells,
sounds,
and colours of the place.

I also believe that the best things happen unplanned, and anyways, why make plans if you are in only for the thrill of surprise?

I ran into my own San Francisco surprise walking across Fisherman’s Wharf on a sunny October afternoon.

Kenneth is no ordinary photographer.

He’s made nude photos of women he loved throughout his life,
and photographed his favorite places in the world,
mostly black and white…
Berlin,
San Francisco,
Mexico,
Cuba…

It was the Cuba photos that caught my eye…
My smile turned into his curiosity,
his curiosity into a conversation,
conversation into a discussion of 20^th century American literature
and then a (politely turned down) invitation
to dinner and a photo session…

Upon his advice I went to the bars
where famous American writers
used to hang out,
picked up bargain books
in San Francisco’s most famous bookstore…
passed by the church where
Merilyn Monroe and Joe Dimaggio took a wedding photo,
(even though they were not allowed to get married in the catholic church)…
and then stopped at café Triesta
for what is probably the
best coffee in
San Francisco..

Then the day’s treat:

bike trip over the golden gate bridge..
Breathtaking view of the Pacific ocean,
baby whale under the bridge,
sunlit cliffs to the right,
behind my back the evening San Francisco,
basking in the last rays
of the warm October sun,
and
sunset that will
blow
you
away….

and then a thought:
I have to come back some day,
Kenneth will have photos of exciting new places
waiting for me...

Raday utca

Sol·i·tude

Viva la Cuba

We arrived in Havana on a warm Sunday afternoon, after a long journey through cold and gloomy countries. Havana - the most eclectic city of all! Old and new, proud and poor, welcoming and full of secrets at the same time! Sunlight, warmth, music and impatient anticipation rushed through my veins and a big smile came on my face: “Viva la Cuba - Let the adventure start!”

“Hola my friend, which country are you from?”– this is the first question Cubans will ask you even before they enquire about your name. In a country which is cut off from the rest of the world by embargos, tourists are almost the only way of getting a glimpse of outside world: probably that’s where this fascination with different places comes from.

Cuba is a country of contradictions. It’s a country where rum is cheaper than coke, where you hear music everywhere – from taxis to convenience stores, toilets don’t flush properly, people are poor and you can get a 5 year jail sentence for eating unlicensed beef. Oh, and did you know that Cuba is one of the most sustainable countries in the world? - “It’s because Cubans don’t waste anything” – says the explanation.

Revolution is still alive in Cuba and, just to make sure nobody forgets about it, everywhere you go there are billboards reminding about the 52nd anniversary. Che Guevara is also still alive – visit any bookstore and nearly the only books you can find are about him.

It’s a country where shops have more empty shelves than products, but if you have the money, you can find almost anything on the black market. Here everything gets accomplished through social networks and personal connections. You want to book a car for tomorrow? Talk to Jose and he will call Manuela, Manuela knows Raquel and Raquel will connect you with Jorge. Then wait 2 hours for Jorge to call you and agree on the trip details after rigorous negotiations over the price. Still, you are not guaranteed that Jorge will actually show up tomorrow – his car may break down – and if that happens, you won’t be surprised at all, because it’s a pure miracle that his 60 year old car can drive at all!

Being in Cuba, you can’t help thinking how much where you are born determines your fate and the opportunities you get in life. It’s sad to see a country which has all the natural conditions to be rich and developed, but where people are struggling to make ends meet from one day to another.

In the entire two weeks that we spent in Cuba, we only found one person who openly criticized the regime. But, on the other hand, we saw enough people who have to survive on less than 20 USD of official income a month and are deprived of any opportunities, to mistake this lack of open criticism for a sign that everything is ok.

In short, Cuba is a country which exists in at least two different dimensions – one that you see, and the other that you feel, sense, taste, experience..

Havana is a great city, but it can be quite overwhelming as well. So, after four days of wandering through the old streets of Havana, countless mohitos and servezas, somewhat unsuccessful exploration of nightlife, 60 year old Chevrolet rides, strolls along the quintessential Malecon seaside and discussions about where to go next, we finally decided it was time to head for Trinidad.

Trinidad is a dreamy colonial town on the southern coast of Cuba and my favorite place so far. When you get here after a 5 hour drive from Havana, you feel that time suddenly stops and you fall into a voluntary amnesia – everything outside Trinidan seems less relevant, far away, not important and you slowly submerge into the quiet, unassuming charm of this place.

One of the many unforgettable memories from Trinidad is walking in a poor neighborhood at night and finding myself in a street party - in almost every home families were dancing on a porch, outside the front door, in the living room – some even invited us to join them.

After being in this town only for 5 days we got to know enough locals to feel at home: our landlords, the cab driver who drove us to the beach, the horse man who took us on a half day trip in the mountains, our neighbors and of course, Manuel, the funniest and craziest guy who dances on the main square of Trinidan 365 nights a year!

We fell in love with Trinidad - with its beaches, mountains, old colorful houses, live music and all night dancing on the main square, delicious Cuban flan (the only dessert that we got to taste in Cuba), the view on the old church from our terrace and the local band which can smell tourists 5 streets away and will start playing the moment tourists approach their street.

Our second time in Jose Marti airport in Havana was very different from the first time we set our foot on Cuban soil: we were all sad to leave, but promised ourselves to be back one day. When I am back, I know I just need to show up on the town square in Trinidad and my Cuban friends will probably be still dancing away the dark Cuban night to the tunes of live salsa.

Two Pair of Eyes

It was one of those days in the year... my apartment was a mess... I was in the midst of packing... had to catch a flight home that evening.

At lunchtime I left the flat in order to find the missing presents. I both love and hate this process. Hate it for the responsibility to make that choice for others. Love it for the emotions it creates in case you get it right.

Having returned, I continued packing. As anticipated the bottling device did not quite fit, but after a while of begging my Xmass wish was accommodated and everything was finally in the suitcase.

On the way to the airport, my mind finally apprehended the fact of the journey, and only after passing the customs at the connecting airport did my conscious at last accepted that I was actually on my way home. But where is home... the question is a continues debate... and everyone has his or her explanation... there are also those who are still searching for the answer.

In the airports, I paid a visit to the shops to pick up couple more gifts, just in case by accident I forgot to count someone. Finally having seated myself in front on the boarding gate, I saw many familiar looks, the ones that only my country women and men own. It made me smile... tried to hide it... did not want to offend anyone by staring and smiling at them.

At this time the thought of who was meeting me in Tbilisi once again surfaced. It is one of the overwhelming emotions to see the faces of loved ones in the airport awaiting your arrival, however with our flight schedules during the night, one can’t expect this from them... should consider taking a taxi home next time...

As the last customs officer of this journey greeted me, I was immensely glad to have been addressed in my mother tongue... after having waited in the chaos to pick up my luggage... Georgians will never learn to stand in the line, we might not even need to... said farewell to the acquaintances’ travelling with me and headed for the exit.

This is usually the point when my hart starts to beat faster. These couple of seconds of anticipation are filled with tons of strange thoughts... who will be there... who remembered... how big have my cousin become... what has changed... As the automatic door opened in front of me... hundreds of eyes looked my way... I glanced at the crowed and saw the two pair of familiar eyes look at me. It was in that look I realized I was home.