The moment I arrived in Poti, I realized there were zero tourists.
A port town on the Black Sea reached after a two-hour marshrutka ride from Batumi. Soviet-era buildings line the streets, and there's only one main avenue. There's nothing to see for tourists. Just people living there.
That alone was already fascinating.
Taxi uncle and the man from Krasnoyarsk
Right after getting off the marshrutka, I got stuck looking for a taxi.
My usual Bolt was out of range in Poti. A Russian who got off the same van was using Yandex, but it said 28 minutes until arrival. When I downloaded another app, Maxim, it looked like a car would arrive soon.
While waiting for the taxi, I talked with that Russian.
He's from Krasnoyarsk. Apparently he unloads containers at the port. He looked scary at first. But when I spoke to him, he talked a lot more friendly than I did.
"Russia doesn't get Coca-Cola because of sanctions, right?" "A lot comes through third countries," he laughed.
My Russian was getting through clearly. That made me quietly happy. I could have conversations like this naturally now.
I thought the taxi had finally come — but although the app showed 'arrived', there was no car. I canceled. Two minutes later the driver himself showed up.
What the heck.
I ended up taking the uncle's taxi, but he didn't know where to go. Even when I pointed at the map in Russian and said 'here,' he couldn't see it — maybe his eyesight is bad — and didn't understand at all. He stopped to check, but still didn't get it.
In the end, we had to call the apartment owner.
The uncle made the call. They conversed in Georgian. Only then did he finally understand the location, and we arrived at the apartment.
3.5 lari. I paid 20 lari and got 15.5 back. He said to keep the 0.5 lari, so I received 15 lari in change.
The woman from the apartment came down and showed me around. She was very friendly.
I spent a month in Batumi. That place was a city. The moment I came here, the people were completely different. They were relaxed, with room in their hearts. They weren't in a hurry or worried about making money. They were just living.
They go out of their way to call, wait, and even guide you. In a busy city, that wouldn't happen so easily.
It's not that big-city people are cold; big cities make people cold. I feel that every time I come to this town.
Bristol and watching soccer
After a short nap, I went out for dinner.
Both the Russian from the marshrutka and the woman at the apartment recommended 'Bristol', so I headed there.
Walking down the main avenue, a few young people called out 'hello' and 'konnichiwa' to me. In a town where foreigners hardly ever come, I guess I'm a rarity. I was a little surprised, but happy.
When I entered Bristol, people were excited over the Georgia vs Israel soccer match.
I ordered beef soup with turmeric spice, shoti bread, and a green Georgian lemonade. The server said, 'It's tasty if you dip the bread in the spinach-like sauce.' I did, and it was incredibly delicious. About 3 lari. Around 108 yen.
The lemonade was really green. It tasted grassy. I wasn't sure if it was good, but it was local.
I watched the soccer while eating. It might have been the first time I really watched a soccer match in my life. When they passed, bodies collided, and a goal was scored, the whole place erupted.
I watched thinking, 'How human this is.'
I think it's when emotions come out that you're truly alive. I remembered people on trains in Japan who look dead. Some people suppress their emotions so much they end up exploding somewhere. Those people might actually be returning to their true selves.
While eating and talking to the camera, a guy asked me as I was leaving, 'Do you do YouTube?' He subscribed to my channel.
It's still only 13 people. Just one more subscriber makes me really happy. Later he even left a comment saying, 'From Georgia.'
The persistence of 17-year-olds
On the way back to the apartment, young people approached me again.
They were about 16 and 14 years old, and the 14-year-old said, 'One lari, please.' They didn't look poor at all. But I felt sorry for them.
I went into a nearby shop, bought a liter of water and three chocolate bars, and gave one to each of the three. They shook my hand and said 'thank you.'
Since coming on this trip, I've often thought how powerful persistence is.
That unabashed pushiness of 17-year-olds. As adults, before approaching someone we start thinking, 'I wonder how this will go,' and end up choosing to do nothing. We process everything through our tinted glasses and don't act.
I think that's a shame.
Right now I'm traveling as 'a person who is nobody.' No profession, no title. Because of that, I can talk to anyone and be friendly with anyone. There are no conditions. My possibilities should be infinite.
And yet, for some reason, I fall into a defensive mode.
I think I'm in a phase of dispersion in life. It's a time to interact with as many people as possible and expand myself. That's why I want to go at things more aggressively. The more you accumulate, the easier it is to become defensive. I know that. But breaking it down is hard.
I want to break it down. If I can, I think I'll burst out wildly.
I haven't been able to yet, though.
Oversleeping and being held up
The next morning, I woke up at 7:10.
7:10 was the train's departure time.
I thought, 'It's over.'
I'd already booked apartments in Borjomi and Gori. I messaged on Booking.com's chat: 'I overslept and missed my train. Could you shift it by one day?' It worked out somehow.
But I had to stay another night in Poti. About 4,000 yen. Expensive for Georgia. Can't be helped. It's part of the trip.
Since I had the chance, I went to another restaurant and ordered Ojakhuri — a Georgian dish of fried potatoes with pork and onions. I also had a salad mixed with cucumber, tomato, and walnut paste.
I talked while recording here too, speaking in French and English. The older woman smiled a little.
I was able to speak more naturally than yesterday.
In a town without tourists, when you're the only foreigner, you somehow feel like a special presence. Your self-image changes. Your brain rewrites itself to 'I'm someone who stands out,' and you act that way naturally. In tourist spots like Batumi, you're just one of many tourists, so you can't do that.
Places change people. Environments change self-image.
I kept ordering in Russian. Since many people in Georgia are critical of Russia, there was a time when I felt some resistance to using it. But the words I learned while studying in Russia are alive here. If I only knew English, those conversations would never have happened. I felt you should study everything.
I bought Coca-Cola, kiwis, bananas, and yogurt at the supermarket and returned to the apartment.
The next morning I woke up properly at 6:00.
I took a shower and hurriedly called a Maxim. The driver spoke to me in Russian. I was sleepy and flustered, so I replied in Russian without thinking.
I realized something: when you're tired or hurried, strangely you can be more natural.
You stop overthinking. You don't process everything in your head. 'Being natural' might mean not overthinking. You overthink because you have leeway. It's when you're rushed that you can act on instinct.
To Gori
Right now I'm on a Soviet-era train heading to Gori. A five-hour local train stopping at every station. Georgia's scenery is streaming by outside the window.
Gori is the town where Stalin was born. There's a Stalin museum. It looks like it'll be a day to feel history again for the first time in a while.
It was two tourist-free days, but I really talked with a lot of people.
I spent a month in Batumi with almost no interactions. When I came to a local town, I could connect with many people in a day. The town changes people. Depending on where you place yourself, you can become a completely different person.
When you go to local towns, you gain something. That much is certain.
