Wichi Tie To – Welcome to Georgia

My wonderful and beautiful wife and I decided that our life has not been exciting enough in the last few months.  That’s why we decided on a road trip from Yerevan to Tbilisi, Georgia.

Traveling by car to Tbilisi is a two stage operation.  The first stage is to get from Yerevan to the border.  After crossing into Georgia, you get  into a Georgian car and boggey oggey oggey until you just can’t boogey no more, or you get to Tbilis.

A car ride to Tbilisi is a 7 or 8 hour ordeal, depending what happens to you at the border, over a steep and winding unforgiving Caucasus Mountain road.  It is nothing for the faint hearted in the best of circumstances.  It is fraught with danger.  You do not want to stuck out there in one of them broken down Roosian cars.  To minimize all unnecessary risks, my wonderful and beautiful wife researched and planned and planned and research and found a reliable service with experienced and knowledgeable drivers.  She called in advance, reserved a date and time and asked them to sent us a reliable car with an experienced and knowledgeable driver to take us to the Georgian border.

Our driver arrived at the appointed time and place, but at the wrong place and time.  Somewhat unsettling, his car was a broken down Volga with a cracked windshield, bumpers secured by wire, and headlights affixed by tape.  Even more disconcerting was that our driver had never been to the border, did not know where to find it, and unaware that he was taking us there.  But, otherwise, everything was going just as planned.

Our driver gunned the Volga as a demonstration of car’s reliability and before anything fell off the car, we jumped in and off we sped.

Barreling out of Yerevan, we crested one mountain after another, and things were going well.  The car was incompressible and it rattled and shimmied, but it ran.  And the scenery was stunning.  We passed vistas and drove down into villages in the bottom of ravines, then climbed above the clouds, all on a stunningly awful road.  Speeding toward the Georgian border, I begin to notice something I have never seen before: A Roosian car shedding parts.  “Say,” I asked the driver.  “Isn‘t that something we might need?”  Our driver was poised and confident.  He knew his Volga.  “No,” he reassured us.  If he was not worried about it, why should I worry?  And, so forward on our journey we went, speeding down a cold mountain road high atop the Caucasus, until the car shed something I figured must surely have been important because it big and made a loud noise when it crashed to the ground.  And when the car came to a stop, I looked at my wonderful wife, shook my head and told her that I just knew that was an important part.  I also knew it was important because our driver queried if I saw exactly where it fell.  According to him, it was something he called the engine.

Oh no, I thought to myself.  Isn’t this exactly what we were trying to avoid?  Aren’t we stuck high a top the Caucasus on a cold mountain road with no one around to help?  But our driver still had that look of confidence,  He was not worried.  If he is not worried, why should I worry.

Our driver now bounds out of the car.  I think to myself, this enterprising young fellow is going to fix uur problem away.  In no time, we will be back on the road,  Ten minutes later, our driver still has done nothing of the sort.

I am a graduate of the San Gebriel Valley Institute of Technology and Low Rider Studies.  I have a degree in shady tree mechanics.  I minored in Low Riderology.  I know a thing or two about Chevy Impalas.  Figuring that an Impala cannot be all that different from a Volga, I endeavor to remedy the situation.  After stepping out of the car, I pop the hood, but it fell off too.  But thanks to my advance training, I was still able to diagnose the problem.

Most Yerevan cars run off of pressurized natural gas.  It actually seems to enjoy many important advantages, the most important of which is that it runs clean.  But it also has certain disadvantages, among them is that pressurized natural gas explodes.

Our car was fueled by pressurized natural gas.  My ready diagnosis of our mechanical difficulty was that we had a gas leak.

As I explained the situation to the driver, he suddenly decides to becoe useful and lights a cigarette,  At that moment, I taught him several words that he nver heard before.  And as a quick learner, he figured out their meaning rather promptly and dosed the cigarette before anyone blew up.

Not having exploded, we fixed the Volga.  A little tape, and a few clamps later, things seem ready again.  The driver starts the Volga, it turns over, he jumps out, but forgets to set the car in neutral, and now our freshly repaired Volga is headed for another disaster – a cliff.  But fortunately, the jerry rigged parts fail and the car stalls before careening over the precipice.

With a litle more jerry-rigging and some care in starting the car, we are back on the road, and, though a bit behind schedule, we are border bound.  But another problem developes.  We leaked all our fuel.  We are high in the mountains on a cold and lonely road with no fuel and no fueling stations anywhere in site.  And did I mention that it was cold.

Rounding a sharp hairpin turn, our redemption is in sight.  It is a sign.  It advertises in Armenian, Russian,  French, Cantonese, Farsi, Tagalog, and English not only a natural gas fueling station, but also a comfortable commode for the weary traveler.  I am not sure about anyone else, but a comfortable commode is almost a necessity for me after hours on the road and several near death experiences.  So, while our intrepid driver fills his empty tank, I am off to the commode.

The directions for the commode point you to a two story structure in the back.  The sign tells you to enter on the second floor.  I am climbing the stairs to the second floor, and the odor strikes.  At first, it is weak.  A couple of steps later, it is intense.  At the top of the stairs, it is overwhelming.  You get the feeling that this is a municipality with a tertiary treatment facility for its sewage water.

Undaunted, I enter the restroom, turn the corner and see before me five grown men squatting over a trench-like cut in the cement floor.  Below, is two generations of excrement.  But the men are amiable.  They move over to make room for me and welcome me.  Apparently, I had interrupted a rather lively discussion on string theory.

Finishing my business, I bid adieu to the discussion group and returned to the fueled up Volga and my ever patient and always beautiful wife.  No more stops and no more frivolous diversions.  We have a border to reach.

But our driver did not quite take us to the border.  He brought us to a gate near the border and gave us a general thatatway gesture to tell us where we had to go.  Except, he was wrong.  It was the other way, and it was not even the border.    It was just another gate on the way to the border, which was further down a muddy road.  But eventually, we get to the border.  After showing the same two guys our passports too many times, and standing in line for the same two guys again to show them the passports more than too many times, we leave Armenia.  But we are not yet in Georgia.  We are in an in-between zone over a bridge that crosses a Creek.  After crossing the Creek, we enter Georgia.  We are warmly greeted by Georgians singing one of the greatest songs anyone has ever sung – Wichi Tei To

Witchi-Tie-To, Gimee Rah
whoa Rah Neeko, Whoa Rah Neeko
hey Ney, Hey Ney, No Way

Witchi-Tie-To, Gimee Rah
whoa Rah Neeko, Whoa Rah Neeko
hey Ney, Hey Ney, No Way

water Spirit Feelin’
springin’ Round My Head
makes Me Feel Glad
that I’m Not Dead

Witchi-Tie-To, Gimee Rah
whoa Rah Neeko, Whoa Rah Neeko
hey Ney, Hey Ney, No Way

Witchi-Tie-To, Gimee Rah
whoa Rah Neeko, Whoa Rah Neeko
hey Ney, Hey Ney, No Way

You can find Jim Pepper performing this wonderful song on You Tube.

water Spirit Feelin’
springin’ Round My Head
makes Me Feel Glad
that I’m Not Dead

It grows on you.  It is riveting.  It is gorgeous.

Welcome to Georgia.