The Road to Tusheti

Another terrifying post from my deadpan boy Ned.

King of nowhere

Things weren’t exactly off to a hot start. I was waiting at the square at the Isani metro stop, sitting as far away from the homeless as possible. And the stray dogs. It was early, around 7:10, the guide wasn’t supposed to meet me until 7:30, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone besides him. I was tired—I’d been on the road almost a month, and even a private room isn’t the same as your own bed. I looked up and saw a drunk and tough looking man approaching. He was a taxi driver and wanted me to ride. “Rustaveli 10 lari,” he said.

“No, I stay here,” I replied, overly enunciating.

“10 Lari, Didube.”

“I wait for tour. Tusheti.” It didn’t really bother me that he approached. Rather, it bothered me that he was trying to charge me three times the local rate. You can argue double is…

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