The Day After...

Thursday Morning - what I wrote at the time...

I can't believe I'm able to type at the moment. The only word that really pops into my head at the moment is Vodka.

If there were however a night to hit a bottle of vodka with a bunch of strangers, it was last night, since we didn't really discuss our plans for today, Verena and I. It began with Micha, Verena, and I having burgers and fries from a stand not too far from where we are staying. I had the best bacon cheeseburger I can remember in a long time. Wow. We all ate very well (3 ppl) for about 6 Euro.

But I've got a slight case of writers' wankery at the moment, so allow me to move on. We went out last night to watch a film, namely that of Sean Penn - Milk. About gay rights basically, a film about the history of the gay movement and very well done. I think I want to be gay now. Oops, I can't; I'm not. Despite the fact I've coined the phrase "Girls, it may be slightly hard to understand, but... I make men gay." I somehow bring out the inner gay in a lot of people. Just by being a nice guy from Canada. I also started a new form of metrosexual compliment that is slowly spreading... "Gerry, you make men gay."

I can't seem to get to the point right now, but then again I'm incredibly hungover. Right. After the movie we decided (Ufuk, Michael, Verena, and I) to go have a few drinks in a bar that was rather high up and overlooked the east side of Tbilisi. Beautiful view and we probably made a photo of it that you may or may not be looking at right now.

After that we thought we'd watch the Champion's League soccer on TV and found a bar basically across the street. This was of course the beginning of the end. We sat at a table with the game, occupied only by a single Irishman (of all people). So, already on the road to drunkenness, that innate call to drink with an Irishman was resonating in my system and I therefore, slightly regrettably, began talking my face off - mostly to the tune of bullshit - with this guy during the match. I honestly felt a bit bad that my friends thought I was ignoring them, but casually tried to explain that we, the superfical english-speaking rulers of the world love talking to people we barely know as if they were long-time friends. A shrug and a "we know you, Steve" was enough of a green light that anyone would need.

Ufuk, Michael, and Verena left at the end of the games (we were watching a "Konferenz" - a broadcast that switches between 4 games occurring simultaneously), but I said I wanted to stay for one of the matches that had gone into extra time, because they're one of my favourite teams.

At that point they went home, leaving me and Harry, this 50 year old from Belfast, to drink and discuss football whilst figuratively biting our nails due to the match that was occurring on screen.
He was a good guy, but altogether plastered. It's really impressive how the Irish can drink. So we chatted away, and were happy with the result of the match, because Arsenal scraped through on a nerve-wracking penalty shootout that went to 8 rounds or so.

After that was the real beginning of the end. A couple of Georgian guys at an adjacent table started chatting with me, and invited me over while Harry (I keep wanting to type Paddy) had gone to the washroom. So, drinking with Georgians will without any doubt involve drinking copious amounts of Vodka, so I was really in for a pounding, as I was up until that point, rather drunk. A couple of nice guys, these Georgian dudes. A musician and his manager, so we hit it off very well from the start. It was funny - I became somewhat of a diplomat because Harry was getting progressively more drunk and I was having to "dilute" or explain away that what he had just said was not strictly racist, but just a bit Irish.

But after a while, my position was untenable, because Harry simply got too drunk. He got pissed off that "I was siding with the Russians" and told me "look, I'm not being funny, I know you're a bright lad and that, but you're forgetting yourself, son, because these guys are in leagues with the Russians, and you backed out of taking a cab with me to drink with them." (A cab he was going to pay for, I might add, so by my Scottish-Jewish accounting I saved him cab fare...)

That was, regrettably, the end of Harry. A funny side note, he had a mobile phone but kept saying his vision was shit, and therefore carried a magnifying glass with him. Hahaha he read messages on his phone with a magnifying glass! Old school meets new. It was actually kind of cool to see that.

Back to the Georgian guys. At this point, I was screwed because I was already drunk, and Georgians are too nice. Too nice to not let you go home when you're hammered and well beyond your limit. Too nice and therefore keep toasting to anything for yet another shot of Vodka. I'm actually amazed I can type at the moment, despite it being 10 hours later.

At this point, everything is blurry. We took a cab somewhere, which ended up being a really fancy restaurant, where I had some more tasty Georgian food like that I mentioned a few days ago. I kept saying in the cab, "please, but not too far from where we were" in a sort of half sober moment of "actually, I don't know these guys and what they have planned".

At this place, I was absolutely destroyed, but kept buggering on. I could tell you anything at the moment, but the truth is, I have no idea what was said or done. I was then delivered back to where we are staying, the whole time they refused to let me pay for anything. I have this faint memory of saying bye to Bako about 10 times because (I make men gay) it didn't feel quite right to say goodbye forever. These were really nice guys who must've had a nice laugh getting the foreigner "pished off his tats".

I woke up this morning and Verena left me. No, but she went somewhere for a walk so I have no idea what I said or did last night when I arrived "home".