The meeting ended, and I picked up my GoPro for the first time in a while.
It's been three days since I arrived in Georgia. Maybe because I've only been using English, or because I don't have any Japanese friends here and haven't had a chance to use Japanese, I couldn't bring the polite forms of Japanese to mind during the meeting earlier. I felt like my Japanese had gotten worse.
But after the hearing someone told me, "Your design is really lovely," and that made me truly happy. That alone was enough.
I left the house and started walking the opposite way than usual. Today's destination was the KFC in the Galleria. Walking there felt very fresh and made for a great sightseeing walk.
To the other bank of Tbilisi
Along the way I found stylish cafés and shops and saved the ones I wanted to visit on Google Maps. Then I crossed a bridge and went down.
There was a vast lawn, and even an area dedicated to skateboarding. Construction was underway — maybe they're preparing for some kind of sports event.
It was full of nature, and the streetlight designs were stylish too. Instead of just being a simple lamp, they extended up and then curved back — so chic.
As I walked toward KFC, I saw a man sitting and counting traffic. He was saying something. In Russian, surprisingly.
"Show me your watch. What time is it now?"
The man looked a little scary, but I understood Russian, so I said, "Of course, go ahead," turned my arm toward him, and showed him the time on my watch.
Then his expression changed completely. He looked at me with eyes that sparkled, as if he was truly moved. I don't know why he was so moved.
That made me so happy. I was really glad — to be able to live using Russian and to make someone smile.
After that I kept walking. There was a corner that felt like Paris, a street of restaurants with tables and chairs outside. The townscape was so beautiful, such a cute town. I walked thinking it'd be nice to come here with Sasha.
As I approached the town center, there were government buildings as well.
I spotted the Galleria across the road. I kept thinking how to get there — there was no obvious underpass and no pedestrian bridge. So I decided to stroll along the other side.
Walking along I saw a Georgian version of Michael Jackson's handprint and a Marriott hotel. It was a high-end area.
I finally found an underground passage, went through it to the other side. The walls had Georgia's history written year by year, and there was art further in. There were lots of stylish shops on the other side too — it was really charming.
Somebody was squeezing pomegranates to make juice; it looked so appealing and fun that I went over — it was 10 lari. No way, that's too expensive. I couldn't do that. I'd much rather squeeze a pomegranate myself; it would taste way better.
Listening to music, I arrived at the Galleria. It was a shopping mall, like the Galleria in Russia. It wasn't that big, though.
I was hungry so I went to KFC. But there were more than ten people waiting and the orders were backed up. I gave up.
My first Georgian khinkali
Since KFC was full, I went into a restaurant called No.1. It felt upscale, but I wanted khachapuri and khinkali, so I chose it.
I chose a table on the outdoor terrace. There weren't many people, so I thought it would be nice.
But that was a mistake. It was freezing.
The view outside was incredibly beautiful. But it was cold. The low was 8 degrees, and I was only wearing a Burberry trench coat with a Kandinsky T-shirt I bought in Russia underneath. The wind pierced my back.
I ordered five khinkali. They said the minimum was five. I also tried to order khachapuri, but there were so many varieties I couldn't pick the ideal one, so I randomly ordered the cheapest one. And water.
What arrived was a bread filled with cheese. It was tasty, but not the khachapuri I had imagined.
The khinkali still didn't come after 20 minutes. I rang the bell and asked, "Are the khinkali ready yet?" Still nothing, so I asked the waiter who had taken my order directly, and he laughed and said, "Wait five minutes."
Awesome.
The staff were very friendly too — not like in Japan where they can be like perfectly scripted robot-people. They were truly human. While I was ordering, one even interrupted me to mutter, "Huh? It's starting to rain," and things like that — it was really great.
And then the khinkali arrived.
Eating khinkali after a long time. The taste was amazing. As I expected it was spicy, but it was so good I couldn't help myself. It was so delicious I wondered why it's this good. It was just too delicious.
I chose khinkali filled with meat, and it was incredibly tasty. I know how to eat them: hold the top knot, bite a little from the bottom, sip the broth, then eat. Yes, you eat them with your hands.
The khinkali I had after so long was truly the best. This is Georgia! I thought. I was so happy to be able to eat khinkali in Georgia.
The souvenir street at dusk and the way back
There was no point in staying and it was so cold, so I paid and left. I departed the Galleria and headed home, returning by a different route.
A statue stood in the center of a circular road. I walked on and came upon a quiet shopping street. It was practically a souvenir street, with lots of gift shops lined up.
I found one that resembled the ring my ex used to wear. The one she said her father bought for her when he went to Georgia. Oh, I thought, I see.
Whenever I entered a souvenir shop, the clerk always followed behind me. Why is that? Is it theft prevention — what are they watching for? It makes me feel really uncomfortable.
Maybe I'll buy souvenirs when I leave at the end of November or in December. They were also selling a lot of wine. I'd like to dive into wine too, but the weak yen makes that difficult.
Night fell and I finally arrived home.
After a short rest I went to the supermarket. I bought toilet paper, toothpaste, and water — around 1,500 yen in total. A bit of an extra expense.
I also bought purple grapes. They were packed full and cost 100 yen. It's great that Georgia sells by the kilogram.
Georgian lemonade is incredibly delicious. This time I bought vanilla lemonade.
I still can't get the image of the man's smiling eyes — the one who brightened up when I spoke Russian — out of my head.
