After elbowing our way through the crowd of laden migrants (what do they carry in those enourmous bags?! Bedding? Carpets?), explaining to the seventh driver that we are not waiting for a marshrutka (minibus) or even less so for a taxi, and listening to the bidding drivers, we got to the capital of Adjara – Batumi.
Today we are exchanging the çay glasses for chacha glasses. Only good things can be waiting for us in a country which has alcohol named after my favourite dance!
Loved by Georgians and all neighbouring nations, recommended to every tourist and advertised as the top sea resort, Batumi didn’t strike us as a particularly inviting and pleasant destination. The car driven by a fashionable young man played very loud and very non-Georgian music. The artist was informing the addressees that he had consumed a rather significant amount of alcohol which results in him being accordingly intoxicated, but why would he want to sober out if there’s a party going on and the festivity is tonight and not tomorrow, because tomorrow is most certainly not as good as tonight. It matched the neon-sparkling and casino-buzzing Batumi quite well, as we were leaving it before we actually managed to get to know it better.