Early in the morning, I said goodbye to Mariam, and she gave me a bag of food from last night’s feast.
“As always,” I had decided to walk to the train station instead of taking a taxi or the bus. I admit: the explanation I give next is only half the truth. The other half is that I find it difficult to find the right bus (metro, etc.), to get off at the right stop, and to pay in a foreign currency.
But it is also true that I prefer walking. I try to get a feel for a city by walking through residential areas, and it’s also a kind of physical exercise.
The train station is quite far from the center of Batumi. The station building, while somewhat imposing, is closed; people walk around the station to get to the platforms.
At first, the route runs along construction sites, dozens of tall buildings. I wonder if they are for tourists seeking the uniformity of tourist locations, or for citizens. Either way, it’s clearly too much. I’d seen enough half-finished and then abandoned skyscrapers with promising renderings featuring swimming pools and other must-haves, regardless of the city, beach, or country they were in.
In a way, this uniformity reminds me of Vienna, too. In my memory, Kärntner Street once had a character I could associate with Vienna. Those old shops had given way to the same mid-/upscale flagship stores that most tourists know from home—and yet they seem to be buying enough to cover those incredible retail rents that have ruined long-established businesses.
Outside of Batumi, it quickly turned green. Intense green! I thought it was funny to see banana trees with ivy climbing up – combining warm and cool climate. But I couldn’t take any photos because I was sitting against the direction of travel and always missed the right moment.
In Tbilisi, I walked around, went to a restaurant, kept walking, sat in a park, walked through the market district, and back to the train station to end my eight-hour wait.
I had saved a last Lari in cash for later in the bathroom, but it was closed 5min before I really would have liked going there.
A couple with a baby, a nanny, and a lot of luggage had arrived. The man sat opposite me and tried to open a blister pack of batteries. After a while, I offered him my scissors, and we found we could converse in German. They had decided to sell their London apartment, keeping just their New York apartment as a backup and now simply travel around the globe. They could both work from anywhere because they’re “into crypto.”
I couldn’t end the conversation at that point, but I wanted to.
His wife somehow helped me by “insisting (her words) to go to the platform now,” and you could see that this confident guy knew his place, because his broad grin—the grin of a man who, after this week in Armenia, can afford renting a sailboat in Milan—turned into a nervous and humble grin.
I helped them with two pieces of luggage and looked for my carriage. The train was much longer than last time and fully booked. I didn’t know that it now starts from Batumi anyway, and that might be another reason to be well booked. In 2022, it was half empty and much shorter.
The effects of this were visible at the border. I remembered a long procedure anyway, but this time it took four hours.
First, at the Georgian side, I met my crypto hero again who now disliked the train adventure and said next time he would fly again. I asked if that was difficult with so much excess baggage, and his smile reappeared and told me, “You seem to forget that I’m into crypto and know how to turn hot air gambling into real money, and I can afford anything!” (Maybe his grin also said, “It’s economics, stupid!”)
What a pity we had to go off in different directions!
I think about this quite often—how is it that people go in a direction where they never find back to “normal”? (No, I don’t assume I’m normal in the normal sense, but I still think I am related to normality.)
We’re born with equal rights (theoretically), and after a few years, some of us think that because our billions helped destroy the planet, 1) we must become cyborgs, 2) we must live forever, 3) we must occupy another planet, and 4) that’s fair because we’re simply better.
No: It’s simply fair—without any justification.
Okay, back to the platform:
There was a stray dog lying there, and a man started petting it with his shoe. He was so successful that he couldn’t stop – always other parts where presented for treatment.. But at some point, he got fed up (3 a.m., by the way) and walked away. And the dog stroked the snout itself because the man had left it untouched. I have to say, it looked cute.
The border control consists of three parts:
First customs check. This is straightforward; just asking and a shy look, hoping he doesn’t see anything, and you’re on your way. Then outside, pass control at the office, and a second time on the train.
At the Armenian side “every time” it was a hearty welcome and it made me happy! This time, the first officer to check my passport had a little surprise for me.
Anyway he was friendly, but then said to his partner, “Avstria!” and then to me:
“Franz Krankl, good man! Walter Schachner, good man!” (Austrian football players in the late 70ties)
He could see the effect on my face, and it reflected on his face—truly joyful and happy. And then he gave me a welcoming handshake.
I’m back in Armenia!
HANS Krankl, or simply goleador!