Light or Heavy

NYC

2014-05-24T11:38:00.001-07:00

10 days of España

2013-08-06T00:09:00.001-07:00

Day 1. No sleep. In Barca at last. Big lunch. Long walk. La Sagrada Familia. Waffles. A bit of sleep. Tapas x 5. 4-0. Spain on fire. Hard rain and the way home.

Day 2. Late start and a big breakfast. Mosquito attack. Park Güell. Tapas. Flamenco together with a jealous woman – and she did mean it serious. Gourmet food. Discussion about Georgian food and wine. A few bottles later. Discussions about passion, differences in men and women. And finally, agreement reached in all topics (that's what true friends are for…to understand or maybe wine had its toll).

Day 3. On the way to pick up Lurja (car). Hola Marina(gps). Short stop at house of Miro. Broken car. Police station. Zaragoza. Dinner near the market place. Beautiful market and the cathedral, narrow streets, unbearable heat of the night.

Day 4. Windy roads. Sos del Rey Catolico. Ancient city center. Lunch on a veranda. Arrival at Pamplona. Sleepy city.

Day 5. Pamplona in preparation for San Fermin. Busy and welcoming. Old market … locals ’try our jamon, cheese...’. Enchanting narrow streets with thousand stories to tell. Road to San Sebastian. City packed with Americans and Australians. Tapas at the square in the old city.

Day 6. San Sebastian, Monaco of the North. Everyone has a place in this city the reach, young families and even the students. Very lively yet with a touch of aristocracy. The see food is worth a try. Night drive (of the brave) to Pamplona. San Fermin in preparation for the 8am spectacle - the run of the bulls(and the 'brave' people). The city is one big party place. No place to squeeze into. Social peeing, no gender discrimination! There is just no place to deposit so much beer. Poor Lurja became a causality of the bio wars. A ‘comfortable’ sleep under the Lurjas roof. 8 o’clock- the run of the cows. A bit disappointed to have driven 200km and witness no blood shed. Back to San Sebastian.

Day 7. The road to la Rioja. Arrive at your destination - Haro the capital of Rioja! Spain refuses to work on weekends, not to mention during siesta time. If you get hungry during siesta taught luck, no food or water between 3 - 7:30pm. Big disappointment, wineries closed due to siesta or wedding preparation. Next stop - Laguardia, medieval city of 300 plus caves (now wine cellars), built on a hill, in the middle of vineyards as everything else in Rioja.

Day8. Breakfast in Laguardia. And a long drive back to Barca.

Day9. Shopping frenzy. Jamon with some melon and with couple of survivors. Packing.

Day10. Early morning alarm. It is time to part … already!! Sneaking out without a sound (trying at least). See you all next time!!

My Thousand and One Nights in Andalucia

2012-11-07T13:08:00.003-08:00

Part 1 - Cadiz

At the crossing of Atlantic ocean and Mediterranean sea, southernmost part of Spain, lies beautiful, eternal, dreamy Cadiz, reportedly the oldest continuous settlement in Europe.

I arrived on Monday evening on a train from Jerez , full of expectations for my Andalucian adventure…

Cadiz turned out to be everything I expected it to be and more.

Squares, white and yellow streets….

Shore that reminded me of malecon in Havana…

Flower market with the curious street vendors…

Beautiful sandy beach surrounded by two castles..

Empty boats that the low tide leaves on the shore and the high tide rocks slowly…

Breathtaking view from the old tower..

Walking, walking, walking, up and down the narrow streets

cold cerveza and a tapas plate in a corner bar on a hot afternoon

The family where I lived and the beautiful 3 year old granddaughter with huge blue eyes and golden hair, who got angry with me every time I could not undertand her wibliwobli spanish..

I spent my mornings wondering in the old streets of Cadiz..

My afternoons on the beach, enjoying the lazy quietness of the day, lying on the golden sand and watching the tides slowly come up to my feet.

My evenings walking at the seaside, along the atlantic coast, empty gardens in the twighlight and the smell of azalias…

and danced away my nights at half dimmed salsa club on the mediterranian coast..

Part 2 - Sevilla

Upon arrival Sevilla felt like a burning hellhole. Too warm to breath at first, easier once you find a spot where you can sit under the water spray and don’t move..

Checked into a small hostel in the jewish quarter.

Loved the area, narrow , atmospheric streets with almost a surrealistic feel.

Came across the most famous flamenco place in town that was “fully booked” for tourists in front of me, but I managed to get a ticket after speaking my version of spanish with a cute andaluz at the entrance.

Unforgettable flamenco !

Half dimmed courtyard, where the dramatic cry of the flamenco singer broke the silence of the sticky, heavy air.

Ole!

Dinner on the street leading to the cathedral, full of tapas bars and bustling with the locals: students, artists and wonna-bes, chatting away the evening over a glass of wine..

Then the salsa bar, mojitos and and the crazy italian who spoke a mixture of spanish-italian with brazilian accent and a sprinkle of english as he was swining me to the night tunes.

Took the wrong turn on the way home and got lost, finally finding my way to the cathedral.

a couple kissing next to the cathedral, the rest of the people on the square quite drunk, or perhaps lost like me..

a stray cat that escorted me home..

Part 3 - Granada

Three and a half hour train ride later I arrive in Granada. When I first decided to move to Spain and was contemplating where to go, my basque friend said: “you have to go to Granada, that is your type of city”. and he was so right! well, where do I start? …

Walking up the cobblestoned streets of Albaicin, the arabic quarter of Granada, a kaleidoscope of white buildings, narrow streets, marrocan shops, carpets and rugs outside, teterias everywhere, offering tea, baklava and waterpipes with oriental flavors.. Lanterns hanging outside..

“come inside, taste some tea! “ - Shopkeepers stealing my smiles.

“green apple with melon please”…

it’s such an intoxicating feeling:

sitting in a teteria,

listening to arabic tunes,

taking in the flavor of the waterpipe,

slowly sinking into timelessness...

School, where the four of us were the only students (obviously, nobody else was crazy enough to go to granada to learn Spanish at the time of the year when you feel like a fish on a frying pan every time you step outside).

Lunch together in the café across the street every day.

“When does the break finish? “

” It finishes when you come back. “

- in that case: “Un medio tostada con atun y café con leche por favour.”

I think, still, what will haunt me most, is the site of alhambra at night, seen from the side of albaicin. I walked up the narrow, dark and deserted streets of albaicin for half an hour. most people have already finished dinner, it’s late even by spanish standards.. from some homes I can hear the sound of someone washing dinner dishes..from others sound of a lonely guitar.. and then, after one more turn, I come up to the vista point and to my right, on the hilltop on the opposite side across the river, is alhambra! I remember my spanish teacher’s tales about the ghosts of alhambra and at this moment I have no doubt that it’s all true.

and of course, I can not leave without visiting sacromonte, el barrio gitano de Granada.

I follow one of the world’s most beautiful streets leading to gypsy caves, a street that looks more like a threater setting, with Alhambra topping the hilltop on the right side, plane trees and a promenade next to the river, tapas and wine bars on the other side. there is always enough time to have a glass of wine at the bar with the locals.

Seeing a flamenco show in a gypsy cave was something out of ordinary. So much flair, passion and drama on one dance floor.

Last day I search for a shelter from the scorching sun of Granada and indulge in the absolute delight of arabic baths.. smells, sounds, the touch of water keep me grounded into my very own andalucian dream.

Part 4 – to be continued…

უსათაუროდ

2012-11-05T13:01:00.003-08:00

mTa momenatra, saRamos susxi, Txel kabaze mocmuli Salis Jaketi, fexebze amocmuli windebi. martoxela gzaze vinmesTan erTad gaseirneba, varskvlavebis yureba, balaxis suni, WriWinebi, Zveli Robidan aqa-iq amovardnili ficrebi. saxlSi cxeli rZe da wina dRiT gamomcvari orcxobila.

aqve sadRac axlomaxlos rkinigzis sadguria, liandagebi soflis gareT, patara, Zveli sadguri vardisferi kolonadebiT, liandagebs Soris dayrili mazuTiani xreSiT da am mazuTSi amosuli gvirilebiT.

sadRac axlos patara mdinarea. xandaxan am mdinareSi soflis qalebi qvabebs recxaven. mdinaris piras saxli dgas, Zveli xis saxlia, naxevrad farRalala, SigniT xis skivrebiT da fardagebiT, garedan wvimisgan ganacrisferebuli, arafriT gamorCeuli.

WriWinebis xmas drodadro mxolod liandagebis xma erTveba. gareT sarecxi kidia, ferad-feradi, Ramis Crdilisagan odnav gaxunebuli. saxlSi yviTeli Suqi anTia da me melodebian.

ratom melodebi ase didxans da ase mondomebiT, ar geSinia, rom ukan veRarasodes movagno? ase Cumi monatrebiT rom melodebi ratom ar damiZaxeb, gzas ratom ar momaswavli? amdeni mTa da amdeni gza martom rogor unda gamoviaro?

wvimiani saRamoa, ufro swored aRar wvims, magram foTlebidan CamowveTebuli wvimis xma sisvelis SegrZnebas miqmnis.

fiqrebi Cndebian, krTebian, erTmaneTs misdeven da mere qrebian. me martoxela, faragabneuli mwyemsi var.

arafers meubnebi, mec Cumad var, ar gsayvedurob amden xans rom malodine, arc Sen mkadreb sayvedurs. sakvamuridan sadRac kvamli amodis, nela, zantad, nisliviT. nisls ereva da ifanteba.

marto WriWinebis xma da Cemi da Seni guliscema ismis. Sen aseTi mSobliuri da aseTi Soreuli. axla vici, rom imas rac aqamde moxda an ar moxda ukve azri aRar aqvs.

arc imas aqvs mniSvneloba, rom amdeni xnis Zebnis Semdeg Zlivs gipove da Sen kidev Turme yovelTvis icodi, rom me sul Sens axlos viyavi da jiutad ar meubnebodi, elodebodi me sanam mivxvdebodi.

mTavaria rom gipove, Seni xeli mxars miTbobs, uxmod mivabijebT martoxela gzaze, susxia, nislia, nawvimari foTlebi krTebian, WriWinebi WriWineben, Soridan matareblis xma ismis – viRacas sadRac mieCqareba dilisTvis. me ki Sen gipove da soflis orRobeSi SenTan erTad saxlSi mivdivar.

სიბერე (elderliness)

2012-08-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

ხევსურეთი (Xevsureti)

2012-08-06T04:19:00.001-07:00

i am sterdam

2012-06-24T02:04:00.000-07:00

Knock knock..

2012-04-21T03:43:00.002-07:00

2012-02-26T04:54:00.006-08:00

Svidi dRe meqsikaSi

meqsikaSi Casvlisas Cemi pirveli STabeWdileba mexikos centrSi gamofenili ConCxebi iyo: quCaSi gavlisas iseTi gancda dameufla rom sxvadasxva formis, zomis, sqesisa da asakis WrelaWrula ConCxebis qandakebebi, naxatebi, Tojinebi da suvenirebi yvela mxridan kbilebs mikraWunebdnen da ybas ybaze aknawunebdnen.

Tavidan CavTvale, rom meqsikelebi am ferad-feradi ConCxebiT sikvdils dascinian, abuCad igdeben, mogvianebiT ki gavige rom es mxiaruli ConCxebi santa muertes, anu sikvdilis wmindanis saxea, romelic meqsikaSi Zalian didi pativiscemiT sargeblobs.

uZvelesi warmarTuli tradiciebi da kaTolikuri rwmena meqsikaSi erTmaneTs bunebrivad Seerwya da kaTolikuri eklesiis winaaRmdegobis miuxedavad aq Turme dResac sjeraT rom weliwadSi erTxel cocxlebs droebiT samyofelSi, anu miktlanSi myof gardacvlilTa sulebTan kavSiris damyareba SeuZliaT.

ufro metic, santa muerte Turme kriminalebis, aralegaluri imigrantebis, patimrebisa da narkobaronebis mfarveli wmindanicaa da imasac ki amboben rom misi kulti CrdiloeT meqsikidan SeerTebul StatebSi iwyebs gavrcelebas.

“am saxlSi cxovrobdnen frida da diego”

“or saaTSi mogakiTxav, ai am quCis kuTxeSi damxvdi, Tu meti dro dagWirdeba damireke”- miTanxmdeba xose, taqsis mZRoli romelic mexikoSi yofnis pirvel dRes gavicani da romelmac Cemi turistuli gidis movaleoba sakuTari iniciativiT maSinve SeiTavsa.

dilis 11 saaTia, koiakanSi var, Tbili, mziani amindia da frida kalos muzeumSi wasvlis win iqve moedanze yavis daleva gadavwyvite. koiakani dRes mexikos gareubnad iTvleba, Tuca mexikos xmauriani da gadatvirTuli centrisgan gansxvavebiT aq iseTi SegrZneba geufleba TiTqos patara provinciul qalaqSi xar.

moednis kuTxeSi kafeSi vzivar, yavas velodebi, mzes veficxebi da vfiqrob ra ucnauria rom sul cota xnis win frida kaloze wignebSi vkiTxulobdi, axla ki im saxlSi Sevdgam fexs sadac igi diego rivierasTan erTad cxovrobda.

ratom aris am ucxo qalis cxovreba aseTi mimzidveli da saintereso CemTvis? miWirs vTqva ra ufro metad mizidavs: misi mxatvroba, diego rivieras siyvarulis istoria Tu ubralod im adamianis tragikuli bedi, romelic mTeli cxovreba sawols iyo mijaWvuli da romelsac cxovreba mainc ase TavdaviwyebiT uyvarda.

zamTris dRis sizmari, anu mogzauroba vercxlis qalaqSi

taqso mexikodan sami saaTis savalze, mTebSi Camaluli patara qalaqia, romelic viwro quCebisa da lamazi arqiteqturis garda imiTaa cnobili, rom meqsikaSi vercxlis warmoebis uZvelesi centria. qalaqisken mimavali gza, romelic zRvis donidan 2800 metris simaRleze, mTebSi gadis, iseTive lamazi da sasiamovnoa, rogorc TviTon taqso.

SuadReze ukve taqsos mTavar moedanze, Zveli saxlis bolo sarTulze, kafeSi vsxedvarT, qalaqis daklaknil quCebs, TeTrkedlebian da kramitissaxuravian saxlebs gadavyurebT da mniSvnelovan sakiTxebs gayinuli margaritebis TanxlebiT ganvixilavT.

SuadRis sicxeSi mTis ferdobze zantad gawolili patara qalaqi mexikos qaosisgan Zalian Sors meCveneba! dRe nela miizlazneba da Cvenc arsad gveCqareba: gadavwyviteT mTis wverze avideT da qalaqs zevidan gadmovxedoT.

gzaSi eklesiasTan SevCerdiT da dakrZalvas SeveswariT. iseTi SegrZneba meufleba rom romeliRac Zvel filmSi movxvdiT. ratomRac Zalian mominda gavigo vis krZalaven: neta mTeli cxovreba taqsoSi icxovra? bednieri iyo?

Sua gzaSi isev vCerdebiT, amjerad Sadrevnebian patar moedanze, romelic mTis kidezea SeyuJuli da saidanac taqso xelisguliviT moCans. isev raRacnair siurealistur ganwyobze var, moednis kuTxeSi miyuJuli Cems garSemo xalxs, manqanebs, saxlebs vaTvaliereb. nelnela orives Zili gvepareba da Tvlemidan gamofxizlebuls mgonia rom yvelaferi mesizmreba...

taqsodan Rame gamovediT, wvimaSi.... Tavidan sul mixveul-moxveuli gzebiT mivdivarT.. trasamde gasvlamde gzas marto manqanis farebi anaTebs, siCumes kidev saqsofonis da wvimis xma arRvevs.. arafers vambobT, magram es siCume raRacnairad ufro sruli da savsea vidre nebismieri saTqmeli...

ucnaur ganwyobaze var: mogzauroba raRac axliT mavsebs, magram yovelTvis roca ucxo qveynebSi ucxo adgilebs da ucxo xalxs ecnobi, xvdebi rom is, razec Sen yovel dRe fiqrob, dardob, ganicdi, rasac Seni dRis did nawils uTmob, da rac xandaxan Rame Sens sizmrebSic Semoipareba xolme, SeiZleba arc iseTi mniSvnelovania. rom im naWuWis gareT, romelSic Sen arsebob, cxovrebas aTasi sxva feri, gemo da surneli aqvs. yovel Rame axali dRis molodiniT Sennairad TiTqmis Svidi miliardi adamiani iZinebs da yovel diliT es Svidi miliardi adamiani TavTavisi cxovrebis realobaSi iRviZebs..

ramdenad ganapirobebs Seni cxovrebis ritms da arss Tu sad cxovrob?! magram erTxel Tu moiwamle mogzaurobis cnobismoyvareobiT, nuTu odesme SeiZleba ipovo adgili sadac gaCerdebi da ityvi: “me aq unda davesaxlo?” roca Sens win bevri gza iSleba, rogor unda airCio Tu romeli gza migiyvans Sens rCeul adgilas? Tu arCevanis SesaZleblobas yovelTvis axlavs “ra iqneboda Tu... “ eWvi?

manqanaSi isev siCumea, magram fiqrebidan (Tu sizmrebidan) wvimis xma mafxizlebs... taqso, es Rame, es gza CemTvis raRaciT iseTi gansakuTrebulia, rom tkivilamde vgrZnob rogor minda es ganwyoba filmis kadriviT davafiqsiro da mexsierebis firze samudamod Sevinaxo...

ukacravad, mzis rigSi bolo vin aris?

qveyanaSi, sadac weliwadSi lamis 350 dRe mziani amindia, mzis kulti rom arsebobdes gasakviri araa. xolo Tu gagimarTlaT da 21 aprils mexikoSi aRmoCndiT, qalaqidan erTi saaTis savalze mdebare mzis piramidaze sakralur ritualSic ki miiRebT monawileobas: 21 aprili maias kalendriT gansakuTrebuli TariRia da meqsikelebs dResac sjeraT rom Tu am dRes TeTrebSi Seimosebi, teotiuakanSi mzis piramidaze axval da mis wverze miniaturul wres daadeb TiTs (es “wre” sididiT nigvzis lebanze pataraa), mzis didi energiiT daimuxtebi.

21 aprilamde TiTqmis sami Tvea darCenili, magram mkvdrebis gamziris (romelzec mzis piramida mdebareobs) gavlisa da piramidaze amosasvlelad 248 safexuris vai-vaglaxiT aforTxebis Semdeg morCilad vuerTdebi turistebis grZel rigs da velodebi rodis mova Cemi jeri rom mzis wres xeliT Sevexo da meqsikis uZvelesi sakraluri adgilidan Cemi wili mzis energia wamoviRo...

Hasta Pronto, Mexico!

meqsikaSi Cemma mokle vizitma imaze srwafad gairbina, vidre velodi. Bbolo dRes, diliT taqsis mZRolis komentari “ra cudia rom seniorita dRes ukve midis meqsikidan, darCeniliyo kidev cota xans”- realobaSi mabrunebs da maxsenebs rom saxlSi wasvlis dro movida.

aeroportSi megobars vemSvidobebi da usafrTxoebis gasasvlelSi didi enTuziazmis gareSe gavdivar. iseTi gancda meufleba rom bolo 10 welia Cemi mTeli cxovreba aeroportebsa da damSvidobeba-daxvedrebis garSemoa agebuli. gasvlis win ukan viyurebi da vfiqrob: “ara uSavs, me aucileblad davbrundebi”.@ mere vxvdebi rom Cemamde albaT milionobiT adamians ufiqria ase, zustad am gasasvlelSi.

da mainc, Hasta Pronto, Mexico!

მონატრება

2011-11-07T01:15:00.000-08:00

წისქვლის უზარმაზარი, მრგვალი ქვა წრეზე ბრუნავს, გრუხუნებს და სიმინდის მარცვლებს თვალის დახამხებაში ფქვილის პატარა ნამცეცებად აქცევს. იქვე ახლოს, ხის დაბალ სკამზე ბაბუაა ჩამომჯდარი, ისეთზე, იმერულად „ჯორკოს“ რომ ვეძახით. მაღალი, თოვლივით თეთრი თმით, ოდნავ მოღუნული ფართე ცხვირით, გამჭოლი თვალებით, წელში მოხრილი ზის და ყალიონს აბოლებს, თან წისქვილის ქვას თვალს არ აშორებს. ცოტა ხანში კუჭის ტკივილით შეწუხებული მუცელზე ხელს იჭერს, სკამიდან დგება და იქვე მდგარ, რკინის ძველ საწოლზე ინაცვლებს. მეც იქვე ვარ ჩამომჯდარი. წისქვილის ქვა გრუხუნებს, ხმაურში ერთმანეთის არ გვესმის და ყვირილით ლაპარაკზე გადავდივარ. გარეთ, ღამის შუქზე ციცინათელები ანათებენ, ტყიდან კი ტურების გაბმული ყმუილი ისმის. წისქვილის ხის შენობა იქვე, ტყის განაპირას დგას.

ხმაურში რომ გამაგებინოს, ბაბუაც ყვირილითვე მპასუხობს. უკვე მერამდენედ მოყოლილ საქულას და მაქულას ანეკდოტის თქმას ვთხოვ. ისიც კი ვიცი, რომელ სიტყვას რომელი მოსდევს, სად აუწევს და დაუწევს ხმას, მაგრამ მაინც დაჟინებით ვეხვეწები, რომ მომიყვეს. ენის გასატეხებიც ბლომად იცის. „კოკროჭინა“ ბოლოსთვის მოვიტოვეთ. ზღაპრების ასაკიდან თითქოს დიდი ხანია გამოვედი, მაგრამ ათასჯერ მოყოლილი კოკროჭინას ამბავი მაინც არასდროს ძველდება. მისი თხრობა ბაბუასთვის წმინდა რიტუალად ქცეულა. ოქროსთმიანი, ბროწეულისლოყება ბიჭის და ბოროტი დედინაცვლის ამბავი ექვსი შვილიშვილიდან თითოეულმა ზეპირად ვიცით. პირველად ამ ზღაპრიდან გავიგე, რატომ აკეთებენ ღვინოს საწნახელში, რა დანიშნულება აქვს ჭურს, როგორ აცხობენ პურს თონეში, რისთვის გამოიყენება საჩეჩელი... რატომ არსებობენ ბოროტი „დედინაცვლები“ და როგორ ყოველთვის დაამარცხებს ბოროტს კეთილი. არ ვეშვები, ისიც არ იზარებს: იყო და არა იყო რა, ღვთის უკეთესი რა იქნებოდა...- იწყებს ბაბუა მოყოლას და თვითონაც ზღაპრის გმირს ემსგავსება.

გავა წლები. ბაბუას უეცარი დაღუპვიდან გავა იმაზე მეტი დრო, ვიდრე მას ვიცნობდი, მაგრამ ეს სურათი სამუდამოდ ჩაიბეჭდება ჩემს მეხსიერებაში. ხშირად მომენატრება არდადეგებზე სოფელში გატარებული უდარდელი, უბრალო, მაგრამ სავსე და ხალისიანი ბავშვობის დღეები... წისქვილში მოყოლილი ამბები... წლები დამაშორებს ბაბუას სახლს, იმ ადამიანებს, ვისთან ერთადაც ამ ლამაზი დღეებით მონიჭებულ სიხარულს გაუთვიცნობიერებლად ვიზიარებდი. საქართველოდან შორს მყოფს, ჩემს სიზმრებში არაერთხელ განმეორდება წისქვილის სცენა.

ჩვენ ისევ ისე ვართ ჩამომჯდარი. ბაბუა ისევ კოკრიჭინას ზღაპარს ყვება. წისქვილის ქვა ისევ ბზრიალებს და სიმინდის მარცვლებს ფქვილის პატარა ნამცეცებად აქცევს.

2011-11-06T12:21:00.000-08:00

California Dream

I love travelling, but can’t stand being a tourist.

To me there is something fundamentally wrong with the image of a red city bus filled with Chinese tourists, only experiencing the place through the lenses of their camera.

When I travel, I like to pretend I am a local…
have a coffee in the quiet coffee shop,
observe people,
wonder where they are going to,
who is waiting for them …
take in the smells,
sounds,
and colours of the place.

I also believe that the best things happen unplanned, and anyways, why make plans if you are in only for the thrill of surprise?

I ran into my own San Francisco surprise walking across Fisherman’s Wharf on a sunny October afternoon.

Kenneth is no ordinary photographer.

He’s made nude photos of women he loved throughout his life,
and photographed his favorite places in the world,
mostly black and white…
Berlin,
San Francisco,
Mexico,
Cuba…

It was the Cuba photos that caught my eye…
My smile turned into his curiosity,
his curiosity into a conversation,
conversation into a discussion of 20^th century American literature
and then a (politely turned down) invitation
to dinner and a photo session…

Upon his advice I went to the bars
where famous American writers
used to hang out,
picked up bargain books
in San Francisco’s most famous bookstore…
passed by the church where
Merilyn Monroe and Joe Dimaggio took a wedding photo,
(even though they were not allowed to get married in the catholic church)…
and then stopped at café Triesta
for what is probably the
best coffee in
San Francisco..

Then the day’s treat:

bike trip over the golden gate bridge..
Breathtaking view of the Pacific ocean,
baby whale under the bridge,
sunlit cliffs to the right,
behind my back the evening San Francisco,
basking in the last rays
of the warm October sun,
and
sunset that will
blow
you
away….

and then a thought:
I have to come back some day,
Kenneth will have photos of exciting new places
waiting for me...

Raday utca

2011-08-14T03:31:00.002-07:00

Sol·i·tude

2011-04-04T12:43:00.000-07:00

Viva la Cuba

2011-03-05T10:08:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Havana on a warm Sunday afternoon, after a long journey through cold and gloomy countries. Havana - the most eclectic city of all! Old and new, proud and poor, welcoming and full of secrets at the same time! Sunlight, warmth, music and impatient anticipation rushed through my veins and a big smile came on my face: “Viva la Cuba - Let the adventure start!”

“Hola my friend, which country are you from?”– this is the first question Cubans will ask you even before they enquire about your name. In a country which is cut off from the rest of the world by embargos, tourists are almost the only way of getting a glimpse of outside world: probably that’s where this fascination with different places comes from.

Cuba is a country of contradictions. It’s a country where rum is cheaper than coke, where you hear music everywhere – from taxis to convenience stores, toilets don’t flush properly, people are poor and you can get a 5 year jail sentence for eating unlicensed beef. Oh, and did you know that Cuba is one of the most sustainable countries in the world? - “It’s because Cubans don’t waste anything” – says the explanation.

Revolution is still alive in Cuba and, just to make sure nobody forgets about it, everywhere you go there are billboards reminding about the 52nd anniversary. Che Guevara is also still alive – visit any bookstore and nearly the only books you can find are about him.

It’s a country where shops have more empty shelves than products, but if you have the money, you can find almost anything on the black market. Here everything gets accomplished through social networks and personal connections. You want to book a car for tomorrow? Talk to Jose and he will call Manuela, Manuela knows Raquel and Raquel will connect you with Jorge. Then wait 2 hours for Jorge to call you and agree on the trip details after rigorous negotiations over the price. Still, you are not guaranteed that Jorge will actually show up tomorrow – his car may break down – and if that happens, you won’t be surprised at all, because it’s a pure miracle that his 60 year old car can drive at all!

Being in Cuba, you can’t help thinking how much where you are born determines your fate and the opportunities you get in life. It’s sad to see a country which has all the natural conditions to be rich and developed, but where people are struggling to make ends meet from one day to another.

In the entire two weeks that we spent in Cuba, we only found one person who openly criticized the regime. But, on the other hand, we saw enough people who have to survive on less than 20 USD of official income a month and are deprived of any opportunities, to mistake this lack of open criticism for a sign that everything is ok.

In short, Cuba is a country which exists in at least two different dimensions – one that you see, and the other that you feel, sense, taste, experience..

Havana is a great city, but it can be quite overwhelming as well. So, after four days of wandering through the old streets of Havana, countless mohitos and servezas, somewhat unsuccessful exploration of nightlife, 60 year old Chevrolet rides, strolls along the quintessential Malecon seaside and discussions about where to go next, we finally decided it was time to head for Trinidad.

Trinidad is a dreamy colonial town on the southern coast of Cuba and my favorite place so far. When you get here after a 5 hour drive from Havana, you feel that time suddenly stops and you fall into a voluntary amnesia – everything outside Trinidan seems less relevant, far away, not important and you slowly submerge into the quiet, unassuming charm of this place.

One of the many unforgettable memories from Trinidad is walking in a poor neighborhood at night and finding myself in a street party - in almost every home families were dancing on a porch, outside the front door, in the living room – some even invited us to join them.

After being in this town only for 5 days we got to know enough locals to feel at home: our landlords, the cab driver who drove us to the beach, the horse man who took us on a half day trip in the mountains, our neighbors and of course, Manuel, the funniest and craziest guy who dances on the main square of Trinidan 365 nights a year!

We fell in love with Trinidad - with its beaches, mountains, old colorful houses, live music and all night dancing on the main square, delicious Cuban flan (the only dessert that we got to taste in Cuba), the view on the old church from our terrace and the local band which can smell tourists 5 streets away and will start playing the moment tourists approach their street.

Our second time in Jose Marti airport in Havana was very different from the first time we set our foot on Cuban soil: we were all sad to leave, but promised ourselves to be back one day. When I am back, I know I just need to show up on the town square in Trinidad and my Cuban friends will probably be still dancing away the dark Cuban night to the tunes of live salsa.

Two Pair of Eyes

2011-01-13T05:40:00.000-08:00

It was one of those days in the year... my apartment was a mess... I was in the midst of packing... had to catch a flight home that evening.

At lunchtime I left the flat in order to find the missing presents. I both love and hate this process. Hate it for the responsibility to make that choice for others. Love it for the emotions it creates in case you get it right.

Having returned, I continued packing. As anticipated the bottling device did not quite fit, but after a while of begging my Xmass wish was accommodated and everything was finally in the suitcase.

On the way to the airport, my mind finally apprehended the fact of the journey, and only after passing the customs at the connecting airport did my conscious at last accepted that I was actually on my way home. But where is home... the question is a continues debate... and everyone has his or her explanation... there are also those who are still searching for the answer.

In the airports, I paid a visit to the shops to pick up couple more gifts, just in case by accident I forgot to count someone. Finally having seated myself in front on the boarding gate, I saw many familiar looks, the ones that only my country women and men own. It made me smile... tried to hide it... did not want to offend anyone by staring and smiling at them.

At this time the thought of who was meeting me in Tbilisi once again surfaced. It is one of the overwhelming emotions to see the faces of loved ones in the airport awaiting your arrival, however with our flight schedules during the night, one can’t expect this from them... should consider taking a taxi home next time...

As the last customs officer of this journey greeted me, I was immensely glad to have been addressed in my mother tongue... after having waited in the chaos to pick up my luggage... Georgians will never learn to stand in the line, we might not even need to... said farewell to the acquaintances’ travelling with me and headed for the exit.

This is usually the point when my hart starts to beat faster. These couple of seconds of anticipation are filled with tons of strange thoughts... who will be there... who remembered... how big have my cousin become... what has changed... As the automatic door opened in front of me... hundreds of eyes looked my way... I glanced at the crowed and saw the two pair of familiar eyes look at me. It was in that look I realized I was home.

Cun·ning

2010-12-19T14:03:00.000-08:00

Delicious

2010-12-12T12:38:00.000-08:00

Used........ with Love

2010-11-12T18:24:00.000-08:00

Colors of Autumn

2010-10-31T05:22:00.000-07:00

Checkered

2010-10-13T10:41:00.000-07:00

Curtain's

2010-10-02T10:04:00.000-07:00

Raw Reality

2010-09-27T05:50:00.000-07:00

სერიიდან: მე და საქართველო

2010-09-19T07:42:00.000-07:00

მიყვარს/არ მიყვარს

საქართველოში ყოველ ჯერზე ჩამოსვლისას, თბილისში, მშობლიურ „ალექსეევკას“ აეროპორტში დაშვებამდე რამდენიმე წუთით ადრე თვითმფრინავში მჯდომს, ხშირად მიფიქრია: რა არის ის, რასაც ჩასვლისას პირველად გავაკეთებ. როგორც წესი, ჩემი მრავალჯერადი დაკვირვებიდან გამომდინარე, სწორედ ამ მომენტებიდან მახსენდებს თავს თანამემამულე თანამგზავრთა ჩვევები, “გრუზინულ“ მოვლენებად ქცეული ფენომენები, რაც ყველაზე მეტად მაღიზიანებს და აშკარად თვალშისაცემია ჯერ კიდევ ჰაერში ყოფნისას.

ამ ფონზე, ერთი-ორი ავტორის და ბლოგერის წაბაძვით, მეც გამიჩნდა სურვილი გავაკეთო ჩემი მიყვარს/არ მიყვარს მოკლე ჩამონათვალი. როგორც ამბობენ, ცუდი არ არის, იმ მავნე ჩვევების ხშირად ჩამოწერა, რისთვისაც თავის დანებება გულით გწადია ადამიანს. ჰოდა, ასე იქნებ მეც უფრო გამიადვილდეს ამ ყველაფრის უფრო მსუბუქად აღქმა ან იმაზე კონცენტრირება, რაც მიყვარს და ყოველთვის მენატრება საქართველოს გარეთ ყოფნისას.

არ მიყვარს - თბილისის აეროპორტში მაინცდამაინც შუაღამეზე ჩამოსვლა; რამდენიმე წამის დამჯდარ, მაგრამ ჯერ კიდევ მოძრავ თვითმფრინავში ბარგის ჩამოსაღებად წამომხტარი მგზავრები, ურიგოთა „რიგი“ საპასპორტო კონტროლთან; კომენტარები ბარგის აღებისას; ტაქსის მძღოლის უკბილო ხუმრობა; მოღრჭიალე ლიფტი; დილით ადრე გაღვიძება; დაბურულმინიანი ჯიპებით გადატენილი ქუჩები; გადატყავებული სკამები სამარშრუტო ტაქსში; რესტორნებში სქელი შავი ტყავის მენიუები გარედან ამოტვიფრული „კრომბარეხირით“; სამარხო ნაყინი (ასეთიც არსებობს!); მეზობელ/ნათესავების საყვედურნარევი შეკითხვები დაქორწინების უახლოესი გეგმების შესახებ; ეგრეთწოდებული „საინფორმაციო” გადაცემები ქართულ არხებზე; სარეკლამო რგოლებად ქცეული თანამედროვე ქართული ფილმები; თავისუფლების მოედანზე აღმართული წერეთლის „შედევრი“; ჰომოსოვიეტიკუსის ხორცშესხმული ასლი ქართლის დედა; ნაგვად დახვავებული ცელოფნის პარკები და ცარიელი პლასტმასის ბოთლები ბუნებაში; შარდენის ქუჩა; ქვემო იმერეთი;

ბალანსის დაცვის მიზნით, აქ შევჩერდები და შემდეგნაირად განვაგრძობ:

მიყვარს - სწრაფი საპასპორტო კონტროლი; ღამის თბილისის ნიავი; დიდი ხნის უნახავ მეგობრებთან ერთად ჩაჯდომა; რიკოთის უღელტეხილის ჰაერი; დედაჩემის მოყოლილი უბნის სიახლეები; დილის გამოძინების შემდეგ მეგობრის ზარი; გემრიელი ლობიანი; მთები; სოფელში შემორჩენილი მოხუცების მოყოლილი ამბები; ბუნებაში გასვლა; სახელდახელოდ გაწყობილი სუფრა რაჭის სოფელში; გასეირნება თივის ზვინებში; გემრიელი ხუმრობა; ისპანახის ფხალი ნიგვზით; აღმართის ავლა კოჯრის ქუჩაზე; ტრასაზე ნაყიდი ვეებერთელა საზამთრო; ყორეები; სოფლის ორღობის მტვერი; თონეში ახლადგამომცხვარი პურის ოხშივარი; ჰამაკი და რეზო გაბრიაძის მოთხრობები; ზემო იმერეთი;

აჭარული ესკიზები (ნაწილი პირველი)

2010-09-19T06:10:00.000-07:00

baTumis pliaJze dilis 12 saaTi iqneba... papanaqeba sicxis miuxedavad napirze dawva-daxrukvis msurveli turistebi kidev mravlad arian SemorCenili. “gogoooeboo... cxeli bublikebi googooeboo” – Cemsken xanSiSesuli Savosani qali moemarTeba.

gamyidvelebis umravlesoba wels pensionerebi arian – qalebic da kacebic, zogi 80 wels mitanebuli. maTi codviT guldaxrukuli jer kidev erTxel mTavrobas vukurTxeb (“im mTavrobas ra vuTxari ori kinkila pensioneris Senaxvis Tavi rom ar aqvs da am gagania sicxeSi ase daaxriginebs”) da mere ‘bublikebis’ gamyidvels veZaxi. lamara jer Calis qudis qvemodan maTvalierebs cisferi mocimcime TvalebiT da mere Cems gverdiT qvebze moceliliviT eSveba Tavis bublikebiana.

- daviRale gogoebo, da Tavbru mesxmis, ori dRea vmarxulob da araferi miWamia.

maxsendeba rom xuTSabaTia da mariamobis marxva jer ar dawyebula.

- ramadani 2 dRea daiwyo da dRisiT wylis dalevac ar SeiZleba – mixsnis lamara.

- am sicxeSi uwylod siaruli rogor SeiZleba, Tanac mTeli dRe!

- RmerTi mowyalea bebia da momexmareba! ramdeni bubliki ginda? ai 5 cals Tu aiReb barem 2 laris iqneba.

fuls vixdi, lamaras wamodgomaSi vexmarebi da gaocebuli da gulgadawuruli vayoleb Tvals.

naxevar wuTSi lamaras policia wamoadga Tavs – wels gamyidvlebs pliajze siaruli aukrZales da mTel sanapiro monakveTze policielebi ganaweses. Sors dganan da saubari ar mesmis, Tumca ჟestebidan vxvdebi rom policieli lamaras mkacrad tuqsavs da lamarac TavCaqindruli pliaJs tovebs. "netav martoxelaa Tu ojaxi hyavs? ramdeni wlisaa? axla raRa eSveleba, vaWrobis uflebas Tu aRar miscems policia? an ase mSier mwyurvalma rogor unda iaros ramadanis bolomde? da saerTod, Cems meti mTel pliaJze ratom aravin iyida bublikebi? A– xom xedaven rom am qalis erTaderTi Semosavali TiTo bublikze mogebuli 10 TeTria. Aai, es qali magaliTad, Casuqebul SvilebTan erTad rom wamogorebula – ra, didi ambavi iqneboda gaWirvebul moxucs daxmareboda? ” – brazi udanaSaulo qalze gadamaqvs, romelic Tavis vaJikosa da nanikosTan erTad Cems gverdiT wamogorebula da mzeze nebivrobs.

meore dRes pliaJze CaTvlemils isev lamaras xma maRviZebs: “gogoebooo, cxeli bublikebi goooogoebooo” ––Cvens danaxvaze lamara pirdapir Cemsken da Cemi megobrisken moemarTeba. “ Tqven Cemi klientebi xarT, googooebo, ramdeni bubliki gindaT?”

idayvebs veyrdnobi da vgrZnob rom mis Calis quds miSterebuls raRac Cumad mixaria. ra mixaria? albaT is, rom kargad aris, policiis gverdis avlac moaxerxa da cisferi Tvalebi isev daRlilad, magram mainc imediT ucimcimebs.

… Deeds

2010-09-16T01:35:00.000-07:00

‘He believed in individual freedom and the demands that that freedom imposed on responsible human beings. And he and his wife lived their lives accordingly’ - to live a life you love and make other people write these words in a tribute to you, probably means a fulfilment of your mission in life. The legacy, deeds, achievements, impressions that we make from different encounters with different people is what we leave behind us. If we are very lucky ending up doing something we love, and presumably being good at it, we might have some impact on the communities we live in. It doesn’t take to be a Noble prize laureate or a philanthropist to contribute to the better livelihood of other people. You can do so by a careful, cognizant observation of simple societal aspects of everyday life. People are so committed to self-preservation and personal satisfaction that they often fail to notice how ignorant they have become. Just imagine that by doing something differently in a discrete manner you can lead to enlightenment of others and/or disclosure of a hidden devil – i.e. a simple truth of our essence in this life.