Travelling story or how I had to Georgia
Travelling story or how I had to Georgia nOJ8R
It was 2013, when we were in Georgia. There were only three days left until the end of our journey. So we decided to move to the most remote region - Svanetia, hoping to get a local plane from there back to the capital city. After the night train we had found ourselves in the middle of roadway, and it was just a halfway. I had been showing my thumb to passing drivers for 2 hours when the car finally stopped and took us to Zugdidi - last normal town on our way. As soon as we got out the car another cheerful man came up and offered the ride to Mestia - our final destination. While he was driving those incredible serpentine road, he was telling us that he had worked as an engineer in Moscow, but after USSR had collapsed he had to return to Georgia and now he can only carry on tourists as a car driver. We had been riding for 6 hours, when we finally arrived to Mestia, which was just in 130 kilometers from Zugdidi. Our driver said, that he have friend there, and asked if we would like to join the supper. "Here it is, georgian hospitality" - we thought and agreed.
After the third liter of refined homemade vine and countless poetic georgian toasts our host brought the horn and said that we have to empty this horn in case of. . . whatever, at that moment my memory was turned off. On the next moring I found myself under the heavy whool blanket in a cold guest house, feeling the worst in my entire life. I had to eat green sour tangerines for the whole day to keep myself stand. And even more important, it was already well past noon, and the ticket office in the local "airport" had been closed, as we found out a bit later. So, we realized we had missed the chance to buy plane tickets and that we have to go back the same way.
It was 2013, when we were in Georgia. There were
only
three days
left
until the
end
of our journey.
So
we decided to
move
to the most remote region - Svanetia, hoping to
get
a local
plane
from there back to the capital city. After the night train we had found ourselves in the middle of roadway, and it was
just
a halfway. I had been showing my thumb to passing drivers for 2 hours when the car
finally
stopped
and took us to Zugdidi - last normal town on our way. As
soon
as we
got
out the car another cheerful
man
came up and offered the ride to Mestia - our final destination. While he was driving those incredible serpentine road, he was telling us that he had worked as an engineer in Moscow,
but
after USSR had collapsed he had to return to Georgia and
now
he can
only
carry on tourists as a car driver. We had been riding for 6 hours, when we
finally
arrived to Mestia, which was
just
in 130 kilometers from Zugdidi. Our driver said, that he have friend there, and asked if we would like to
join
the supper. "Here it is, georgian hospitality" - we
thought
and
agreed
.
After the third liter of refined homemade vine and countless poetic georgian toasts our host brought the horn and said that we
have to
empty this horn in case of. . . whatever, at that moment my memory
was turned
off. On the
next
moring I found myself under the heavy whool blanket in a
cold
guest
house
, feeling the worst in my entire life. I had to eat green sour tangerines for the whole day to
keep
myself stand. And even more
important
, it was already well past noon, and the ticket office in the local "airport" had
been closed
, as we found out a bit later.
So
, we realized we had missed the chance to
buy
plane
tickets and that we
have to
go back the same way.
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