Farewell Again

When I was in Tbilisi, I had the opportunity to meet the lady who hired me. Although the organization is British funded, she was Georgian with a pretty decent command of the language.  She told me some more vague details about the camp. She tried to draw a map of how to get to the destination, but it was a rough sketch. She said she would email me later with more details.

Here is a transcript of that email correspondence:

Me: I need to know where I’m going on Monday by tomorrow, latest so that I

can instruct the person who is driving me. I will not have wi-fi on Monday.

I need to know:

1. The exact name of the facility.

2. What group name do I tell them I am with when I arrive to the facility to assure I have arrived to the right place? (Assuming I will not just sit by the road waiting for the rest of the campers to


3. Will I be able to get to my room when I arrive, or will I need to sit and wait in the lobby or foyer?

Thank You,

Her: OK, when you reach Shekvetili look for turn Shekvetili Beach, turn right, cross the tiny bridge you will see the road that has three ways, take the left road and follow for a while, then you will need to turn right and you are there. Call Manana, she will then give you the room.

Me: Does the group/ camp we are with have a name? And does the destination have a name of building I can look for?

Her: This is a new hotel, nobody would know the name (I don’t know), better to ask for Manana (everybody knows her there) and tell her you are in Manana’s (me) group.

Her (continued):  The hotel name is Ponto, but as I said nobody would know as it’s a new one.


I packed all of my things… again. It’s humbling to stand back and look at all you own condensed to three bags.

I took them downstairs this morning, and ran into my host mom who was mopping the living room area. Our eyes met and a look of sadness passed between us. We don’t usually show emotion towards each other, so to me this implied that she is affected by my leaving. Which is a good sign, as I never really know whether she liked me being here or not.

Lado (with Nino in tow) helped drive my stuff to the new house.  They insisted that I stay for an early lunch. I didn’t want to impose, but they were really insistent. They served these dumplings similar to Polish pirogues.  One with cheese and the other potato.  Since Lado had left, Giorgi walked me home.

I was unfamiliar with that area of town as I had not been over there before. But I quickly realized it was an extension of the main business street of town.  That makes things so much easier!

Now I just have one big bag and a backpack for summer camp.

Part I of my Georgian Chronicle is almost over….


“For once, for once, for once I get the feeling that I’m right where I belong
Why am I the one always packing up my stuff?”

Why Am I The One, FUN.


Holla atcha boy!

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