Malaise

It was also time for me to start thinking about the future. With the end of my trip growing more palpable and less palatable by the day, I needed to get a move on. But the next four weeks passed in a malaise of adventure perforated by visits to Tbilisi, desperate calls to shipping agents, and exploration of absurd alternatives. I grew to despise this city which had become a jail.

I rode plenty of dirt, took a few spills, went to the hospital, shaved my head, and met an ensemble of characters: an Italian the thought of whom still makes my blood boil, a Saudi who wanders the streets of Tbilisi for a week every year searching for the woman who once saved his life, @motomogli who has incredibly been riding the world with his cat for the last five years, the delightful @capalmaty, a Dutch biker with a head so enormous it is noteworthy, a drunk beast of a shepherd who could have snapped my neck like a twig in a desolate forest, and plenty of sensible Germans. 

That I can summarize a month in a paragraph says enough.

The fact is, Georgia never stood a chance. On the heels of Turkey, up against sky high expectations, and burdened by circumstance, its inadequacy was a *fait accompli*. I didn't find Georgians to be particularly welcoming, but to be fair everyone is an asshole compared to a Kurd. I feel bad saying this in light of the generosity Paddy showered upon me in his adopted home, but I just didn't love it. Nor did I hate it. I was just feeling some kind of way.

And that's okay. I was riding my own ride. A permutation of experiences, both pleasant and otherwise, that no other human ever will.

I have provided my caveats, and I hope I have not deterred you from visiting this supposedly great nation.