59787 border crossing. We came up to Kutaisi from Erzurum by bus.

At Hopa, on the Black Sea, we hopped onto a packed marshrutka (minivan bus) and proceeded to the Turkish-Georgian border at Sarp (Georgian Sarpi).

Inside the sweltering border crossing confined area, we stood in line among other border-crossers, many of whom were weighed down with great hauls of cartons of cigarettes and large containers of cooking oil, among other treasures.

On the other side, we got onto another packed marshrutka and proceeded to Batumi. It seems like we are suddenly in the tropics. Banana and palm trees can be seen and the greenery is healthy and lush. It is cloudy and the air is sultry and coastal.

In Batumi, we would like to take the train, but we find out at the station the wait would be four hours and the arrival time would be late in the evening. So we pop onto yet another marshrutka, this one taking us north along the Black Sea coast, appearing as a gray flat surface of inscrutable composition. (It is water? a cloudy mirror? gray linoleum?)

Just south of Poti, we turn inland, along a brisk efficient highway, finally arriving in Kutaisi in the early evening.

I am back at Giorgi’s guesthouse, and I have been here often enough over the years that it starts to feel just a little bit like home. As I write this, I am staring at a great tree sagging with pink apples, the neighborhood dogs hold competitive choir practice, proud roosters crow occasionally from various directions, and cars and heavy trucks rumble by on the uneven street. All sounds that are familiar to me by now.

Next, we get into a car and go to Svaneti.