I left Iran during the last days of June 2017 and went on an un-ending backpacking trip. It was only a few days after I left my job to start a new life, which would be consisted of a solo backpacking. I had always been dreaming of such travel, and Georgia was on the top of my list.
I vividly recall that during my military service I would dream of backpacking in Georgia. Therefore, June 2017 was the time. I left the country with a medium sized backpack and entered the Armenian border. The officer in the border asked me if I had any drug. I nodded pretending that “of course not! Who would do that when entering a new country?!” It was overwhelmingly difficult to hitchhike in Armenia, as almost everyone would ask for money. For me that I had formerly hitchhiked for long trips, all over Turkey and Iran, it was a ginormous failure. Having concluded that it was almost impossible to do so, and being a total arrogant to take a taxi, I started to walk to Yerevan.
Consequently, after walking for a couple of hours, I met this guy who was also a hitchhiker who had rented a taxi. We shared the taxi and arrived in Yerevan. The next day we took a train for Georgia and I felt like it was going to be a charming experience.
We entered Georgia and it was a totally different experience. Even when you don’t actually know that you are in Georgia, you realize that you have entered a new country, as the nature changes from a dry environment to a totally green one. I realized that we didn’t need to leave the train with all our backpacks and stuff to be checked by the Georgian border police. In the border, the Armenian polices left the train and the Georgian ones took the control of it. They visited the passengers one by one and asked for the passport, while the train was already on the move. To the question of “what do you have in your backpacks?”
I replied: “Just backpacking stuff such as a tent, a sleeping bag,…”.
While I was getting started to open my backpack, they said “No, don’t. You don’t need to!” And I was obviously enraptured.
The interesting part is that Georgian polices usually tell you “Welcome to Georgia.” when they hand your passport back to you, which is exhilarating.
When we arrived at Tbilisi we realized that a friend that I met on the train, had forgotten and left his passport on that train, the one which went directly to Batumi. Imagine that; completely new to a country, and you don’t know what would be the reaction of the polices. And it was in the middle of the night. We arrived at Tbilisi at 1 AM and we were looking for the polices.
And let me tell you about my lovely Tbilisi, the city that has buried my heart in itself. In the middle of the night, you won’t feel frightened. You still see a couple of shops and restaurants and cafes open. So, we talked to these polices, in the street and also the police station. Georgian polices are easy going and they usually take it easy. It is like they don’t feel like working, which I loved immensely. So, firstly we met some of them in the street and they couldn’t help at all. They gave us an address of a police station in the vicinity that took us almost half an hour to find. Then we found the police station and talked and talked and talked, which was of no avail. Then, we left, broken-hearted and exhausted.
We were sitting in the middle of the city that we met this other higher ranked police. He asked a girl who was working in the nearby McDonald to translate between us. Then, the former polices that wouldn’t work and find a solution, all of a sudden were on the task and were calling the train and so on and so forth. Finally, this friend of mine left with them. I shouted at him “yo, homie, I will be sitting here in case you need help.” And guess what? I had no contact of this guy. I had just met him on the train. But I knew that I was going to meet him again one day, on Facebook or somewhere.
Therefore, I sat there watching the beautiful city and the nice lighted buildings. I sat there until 5 AM.
Then at 5 AM I took my backpack and left for the city. I was supposed to meet this guy, Misha. I got to know him on Facebook. I had contacted him to crash on his couch, when I was in Armenia. To my request, on Facebook, in which I had stated and mentioned my CS profile so that he has an idea of me, he had merely mentioned:
“No need for profile. Come, brother. This is the address and my phone number.”
I was distinctively astonished by the kind-heartedness. Therefore, from 5 to 8 AM I slept in a park and then left for the city to buy a sim card. I gave him a call and told him that I am in Tbilisi and he said that normally the prices from where I was to his district is 3 GEL, and I shouldn’t pay more than that. I talked to a taxi driver and he asked for 10 GEL. The next driver to whom I talked while also having Misha on the phone, asked for 10 GEL as well. Misha asked to talk to the driver himself and at the end, I took the phone again and he told me:
“Don’t pay him. I got this.”
I was ok, and I didn’t mind that. We arrived at the destination and we were waiting in the car in front of one of those big supermarkets. The driver asked me to call Misha again, which I did. Again we were waiting. Then there he was; a hippie with bohemian clothes and dreadlocks and a small backpack. The driver pointed at Misha and smiling with the contempt he said:
“That’s your friend?”
As I had not seen Misha ever before, I doubtedly replied:
“I guuuuuess so. This guy thoroughly has the potential to be my friend.”
I should say that I was filled with fret and excitement at the same time. I felt like I am entering a story which is not normal at all. During the whole process of leaving Iran to start this incredible mind-blowing experience, I was feeling this way. And the events of that travel were extremely abnormal and unexpected that still that I ponder about them and go through them, I get goosebumps.
So Misha approached us and he talked to the driver for a couple of minutes, while I was still sitting in the back seat with my backpacks like an imbecile child. To me, it sounded like an altercation. After a couple of months of telling this story to my cronies, that at the end Misha looked like telling the driver something like “fuck off”, I don’t believe it was the case. Now that I think of it, I dismiss this idea as Misha has proven to be an overwhelmingly kind-hearted creature.
After the talk with the driver, Misha paid him: and asked me in a distinctively foreign accent to get off the taxi. I did and we hugged. Then, immediately I assured him by telling him:
“I will pay you. How much did you pay for my taxi?”
He looked at me saying in a hugely serene voice “You don’t need to. I work. My money is your money. No worries about money.” Just like that. These are the exact words. It astounded me. Imagine that! Would you believe that in this world? Then we went inside the supermarket. He asked me if I want any drinks, to which I replied: “no, thanks.”
Then, he informed me that he usually come to this market to use the internet, as he doesn’t have the internet at home. Afterwards, we left for his home. I should note that I was also slightly worried about this high level of kindness, as my experience in Armenia was not the best experience ever. Over there people tended to rip me off very often.
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We went up to the steps towards his house, and entered this extremely shabby house, on the walls of which you could see primitive paintings. The house was greatly dusty, senescent and also spacious. This was not annoying to me as I was very acquainted with these sorts of lodgings and I profusely yearned to reside in such places.
We were alone at home and I was a little uncomfortable. Misha came to me and asked if I want coffee or tea? I chose coffee, as I needed caffeine. He went to make coffee and showed me the place I was supposed to sleep and put my stuff in. Then he went and played music loudly. Then some people came out of each room. There were two couples from Belarus, Burak from Turkey and some people from Georgia as well. The people came one by one and said hi to me. I also realized that they have a different kind of rapport with each other and they were singing some songs with each other, totally in harmony, of which I had no idea. And I was stoned there like a dumb one.
I was supposed to leave for rainbow, in the mountains, in some days. This was my first encounter with rainbow people, the rainbow warriors. These folks formed the first impressions of the concept of Rainbow Gathering to me. Before meeting these people I thought I had heard all the stories and had done my homework in grasping the concept of the rainbow. Over there, in Misha’s house, the fortress of the rainbow warriors, I realized that I didn’t have an iota of understanding regarding the rainbow movement. I already knew that they care about dances and food and love and light. But I didn’t know that music and love are an indispensable part of these rainbow warriors’ lives.
These people are the thieves that stole my heart and altered my understanding of life, emotions, love, anger, money and social relationships. They have become my family and I have become a member of their family. With them I realized how fucked up I was prior to our encounter. This enlightening heartwarming epiphany was that of Joyce’s character seeing the girl bathing her feet in the water and the devastating explosion eventuated. That I catastrophically faced all I had, prior to that day; the Ego and my attachments.
Misha, the great character, told us that we don’t need to fret about the money. If we had money, it would be nice to share for the food, but if we didn’t, no one should be bothered with it, as he would pay for the food. Imagine that! This attitude breaks you into pieces and reconfigures you, the “you” who has been structured for thousands of years.
My feeling, in total, was that I finally had a gang. That I had somewhere to where I belonged, a family of my choosing. I chose this family. They wouldn’t judge me at all. They would share everything with me, show me love and light and play music unswervingly and dance and dance and dance; those primitive dances with fire, the one that breaks your heart. Those howling in the sky that reminded me of Ginsberg’s Howl:
“who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts”
Please watch the video I made in my travel from Armenia to Georgia below:
