(July – August, 2026)
“I don’t usually like Americans, or capitalists.”
-“Well, you must be making an exception. We have been talking for the last hour and a half.”
As a speeding vehicle turns the corner, I pull Nia close as we rise up off the street to the relative safety of the cracked, and uneven, sidewalk to dodge the oncoming vehicle. It’s Georgia, after all, and drivers’ caution is not to be taken for granted.
A curly dark-haired, young Georgian women with just the right amount of tasteful glitter sparkling in the makeup along her cheeks and along the shores of her hazelnut eyes, I met Nia at a microbrewery a few blocks away from my rented apartment in the trendy Sololaki neighborhood.
I continue. “And tell me, how is the revolution going?”
“Not very well.”
-“That’s unfortunate. Babylon didn’t fall overnight, though. Say, we have been walking quite some time. Can I be sure you are not leading me to a basement down one of these dark winding alleys of Tblisi?”
“No, you can’t be sure. Do you usually trust three strange women in a foreign country.”
-“Most of the time, yes. I am still assessing you, though.”
Eventually, Nia and her two friends do bring me to a happening outdoor patio bar unscathed. The music is upbeat, the crowd is enthusiastic, and dance moves are on full display. The vibes be flowing.
I had just returned from my most recent backpacking trip several hours north of Tblisi and, though tired, went out for quick bite before swearing that I would settle in early for the night. That was hours ago. Having used Tblisi as my urban base between hikes for the last six weeks since I first arrived to Georgia in early July, I should have known better. It is exactly the type of city in which you go in search of a burger at 9pm and end up not putting the key into your hotel room until 3am.
With a more than 1,500 year history, it is an incredibly entertaining and fun city with a varied crowd of characters and an ambience that can match your flavor of choice. That night out with Nia and her cohort was among many delightful forays into the eclectic nightlife tucked away amongst the many winding alleys and leafy plazas of Tblisi for me.
Throughout my collective time in Tblisi, I came to meet many wonderful people and established a shortlist of friends I reached out to upon my return trips into the capital.
“You’re not like most Americans.”
-“Ha, I think I have heard that before.”
Pasha and I are jamming a reggae chord progression in Giorgi Leonidze park as the sun sinks into the Tblisi basin. As I perfect the up-stroke for that quintessentially recognizable “skank” signature of a reggae vibe, Pasha solos out on his guitar in between laying down clever and humorous Russian lyrics about buying weed in Moscow.
“I wrote that when I was a teenager.”
Pasha (not his real name) was one of many Russian émigrés I had met not just in Tblisi but also in Batumi. The vast majority are men, though Pasha was fortunate to bring his wife and mother, too. Many had the same story, and I was often slow to ask the obvious when I would converse with them. But one thing was always clear. They were good people wanting to live a good life.
But the state of the world was complicating matters tragically so. It’s unfortunate the extent to which the hubris and self-aggrandizement of a few, old men in this world bent on their own visions of legacy and interpretation of history unbalance and unravel the peaceful existence of so many. Millions are just hostages unwillingly along for the ride.
I identified with Pasha very soon after he approached me the first time in the park when I was jamming on my own next to a fountain. I had seen him in my periphery pass me by when I was in the middle of a song, and later when I noticed he was returning to my direction and about to approach me, I got nervous.
“Nice tunes. Want to jam?”
I am not a natural musician, despite my profound love and long term relationship with music. I fight for every ounce of progress I make on my guitar, but I absolutely love it. It was never about becoming ‘something‘ to me anyhow, just a form of meditational release that often proved helpful in filling in the lowkey windows of my existence over the years. Hell, it’s always a better time spent than watching television or scrolling on a phone.
But I had been getting noticeably better in the last year and half since I began making a concerted effort to pick up a bit of music theory and go down the rabbit hole of Youtube online lessons and attended few in-person lectures. While still nervous in the presence of other musicians, I was also hungry for the collaboration and opportunity to practice.
Pasha and I jammed in the most riveting way, and I was stoked. He was a brilliant guitarist and musician and taught me a lot. He was also patient and glad to have a jam partner.
“It’s normally just me in my home studio making loops. It’s fun having another person to play with at last.”
Hours passed. It sounds silly, but I have found the sensation of connecting in rhythm with other musicians in composition of an improvisational melody almost on par with the ecstasy and dance of sexual experience, and when you think about it, anyone that knows that feeling would agree that is a pretty on-point metaphor.
But I digress.
I later learned that he had spent years spearheading a Russian educational charity where they would travel to the lesser developed villages of the Russian countryside and teach intensive IT workshops to youth. Later on, they would expand into other skills development and cultural event organization, including helping one group of teenagers successfully record a hit music album. His organization would even help fund other means of community development such as building football (soccer) pitches where appropriate infrastructure previously lacked.
“You would not believe what a difference having a place like that can make to youth growing up. We would show them what is possible through all these events. But it was time to leave.”
Pasha was referring to the start of the Ukraine war. He was among the first wave of 200,000 Russians that immediately fled their homeland within the first couple weeks of the conflict to avoid conscription and disruption. Georgia has been one of the largest recipients as it has flexible visa arrangements, not just for Russians, but internationals all over who seek it out as a kingdom for digital nomadism.
It is a sensitive situation though. Russia and Georgia have a touchy past. The Russian empire maintained alliances with Georgia against the Muslim empires to the south in the 15th and 16th centuries but later absorbed the kingdom entirely in the 1800s during the former’s imperial expansions. Later again Georgia would be incorporated as part of the Soviet Union after a brief period of independence between 1918-1921. Most recently in 2008, the two countries engaged in a 5-day war over rising tensions in South Ossetia and Abkhazia, disputedly autonomous breakaway republics within the otherwise internationally-recognized borders of Georgia. Both regions are off-limits to travel. The current government of the Georgian Dream party is considered sympathetic to Russian bidding while it walks a fine line of taming the bear in its backyard to the ire and chagrin of much of the youthful and progressive population that desperately yearns to strengthen alliances with Europe and the West, as originally demonstrated during the Rose Revolution of 2003 and the subsequent presidential administrations of Mikeil Saakashvili.
To Pasha’s credit, however, he invited me one evening to join his choir group of other Russian émigrés who were practicing folk songs from various regional Georgian dialects and ethnic groups. It was a beautiful performance to observe in Vere park overlooking the city and the Kura river that winds its way throughout. They truly appreciated the culture of their host nation. I think that is true of most immigrants, in general.
That same evening he took me to a café popular with the Russian expat community where a performance artist he followed put on an eclectic show in the basement of the venue. Fortunately, half of the act was in English as my Russian comprehension still struggled immensely, but it was just another example of the wide ranging entertainment one could find when out in Tblisi.
I would also meet other diverse group of folks in Tblisi. One was a returned Peace Corps volunteer who served in Africa but later married a Georgian and ran a wine bar in Tblisi, as well as a couple of his other American expat friends. One of them was a brewer and another a political pollster. Jill, my Swiss acquaintance from my time in Sofia, introduced me to her friend, Soo-ne, an Iranian that had been living in Georgia for nearly eight years that guided me through other alternative neighborhoods I had not explored yet. Kate and I would also delight in victory beers and seek out the best khinkali (savory and juicy beef filled dumplings) of the capital in between backpacking trips often.
I even had one memorable evening that began by stumbling into a poetry slam after having spotted a particularly noticeable balcony above the cobblestoned streets of old town that sat pleasantly in the cusp of a tree’s canopy. Impressed by the organic performances that evening, I even felt encouraged to share a recital of one of my favorite poems on stage, too: none other than Robert Frost’s The Road Less Traveled.
Later that night, Tblisi lost power, as it does, and I found my way into the after party of the poetry group in a bar were a live music jam continued uninhibited by the loss of power, it just turned acoustic. Those are often the best performances and a testament to the undercurrent of Tblisi, that even a power outage will hardly slow the vibe of people out on enjoying life.
In reflection of my brief residence in Tblisi, there may not be a better city in which to trust a group of three strange women leading you on a long walk across the city because they know of a party. Nor is there a better place to follow that sketchy alley that has a peculiar green light illuminating the doorway in the bend, or following the crooked stairwell at the entrance of a decrepit Victorian style façade down to the basement that has a burning red light above its door. Most certainly, you will at least have no trouble finding a sophisticated local wine bar, a delightfully decorated courtyard replete with an elegant pianist rising the mood of your meal, or a refined jazz bar ensuring your soul’s cup is full.
The cocktails on the other side will not disappoint and the conversation will be far-ranging and cerebral. The person you end up speaking with is likely there for just the same reason as you.
Trying to live a good life.
On August 7th, I boarded a short flight to Baku, Azerbaijan.
Curiously during my check-in and time mulling about the petite flight terminal, I noticed that every single Russia-bound flight displayed delays of between three to eight hours to the visible frustration of a crowd gathered around in despair. I suppose it was a busy day in Russian airspace…
Leave a Reply