Border People

What a great day! I left Marina's place at 6:50 thinking I could catch the 7 am marshratka to Akhartsikhe. As I walked down the tree lined boulevard I smiled at several men, something I don't usually do because it means an open invitation to what I don't know but just the same. Across the street a man in his shop calls out, "I love you!" I must have passed his shop many times but I never bought anything there. I thought that's a good ending to Borgomi and Georgia. But that wasn't the end.

The marshratka didn't leave until 7:30. I had time for coffee then. Nothing was open even though the people who were up tried their damnest to find something for me. Finally a man went into his bus company office and made me a Turkish coffee with his little kit. I call these coffees Turkish or tintos (from Columbia) but the Georgians have their own method although they all taste the same - close to mud. I've grown to like them. Another man had been helping me - telling me where I should stand when the correct bus comes. He watches for me. I have my picture taken with these two.

I thought I had the last seat in this marshratka that should seat 14, but at one point there were 21 people beating out the bus I took from Ushguli that had 17. There was no back to my seat but I had a view and I wasn't smashed or had to stand. It was a short ride, only an hour and a half.

When I got to Akhartsikhe I knew I'd have to take a taxi to the border. I could have given him 15 gel but I was leaving Georgia and the money would be useless in Turkey. I hoping to find a kachapuri that hot cheese stuff pastry but still nothing was open. People in Georgia really don't open anything up until 9 or 10 am. The driver tried to find me kachapuri on the way to the border but no such luck. I gave him 18 gel. We get to the border at 9:15 and it doesn't open until 10am. I had my I-Pod.

It was really easy crossing over, sincerely saying goodbye to the Georgian border patrol and telling the Turkish guys I was happy to be back.

Back - nothing was at the other side. There were no vehicles of any kind. One guy said he could call a taxi but I used my taxi quota for the coming year. I'll just wait in the middle of nowhere and hope I can hitch with someone else coming across the border. Posof the next town was 12 km away and where I hoped to catch a dolmas to Kars.

About 10 minutes later a good looking guy comes towards the deadend. I see him talking with the border patrol guy. He doesn't have a vehicle. There's not a chance he speaks English. I ask him if he's taking a taxi. He is. Mevlut is an electronics engineer and he speaks English. You don't how many times I've lucked out picking the right person who just happens to speak English. But that's not all I've lucked out about.

He ıs gettıng a taxı to Ardahan about an hour and half away. Mevlut wıll not let me pay. It ıs a very scenıc - green green rollıng hılls rıde and ın thıs dolmas there ıs only Mevlut myself and the drıver. (BTW I have only the Turkısh alphabet here so there are no commas.)

I thınk Mevlut would have paıd my way all the way to Kars. He dıd not thınk I had any Turkısh money. I only had an hour more to get to Kars and Mevlut made sure I was safely on.

Next the frıendly people of Kars - lıke thıs guy who makes sure I always have a full cup of free chaı (tea) whıle I wrıte thıs.