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Updated: Mar 20, 2020



I was going to start trickling in general daddy blogs, with the theme of raising a child in a strange, faraway land. Then the coronavirus struck and now it feels a bit odd if I venture too far off that topic. So how about trickling in daddy blogs about raising a child in a faraway land during the plague?


I’ll admit, I wasn’t that worried about the virus at first. It was in distant China and they seemed to be doing quick quarantine measures. They built that hospital in a few days and seemed like they were reacting much better than during SARS-1. Panic was already building up on social media though, with people asking why China was moving so quickly. But hadn’t it simply been because they had learned their lesson?


Then more and more people around Tbilisi were wearing masks.


This was strange to me. Clearly a sign of panic. Many Georgians love any excuse to don those cheap, paper masks, which according to many don’t actually do anything (unless of course, somebody’s limb just got lobbed off, blood is spraying everywhere, and you want to do something to keep it from flying into your mouth – sick people need them more, so that their sneezes and coughs don’t spray everywhere). During winter, you can visibly see how easily the water vapor passes through… the same goes with respiratory droplets – except big fat ones that might fly in if somebody directly sneezes in your direction, and how often does that really happen?



Anyways, people had started wearing masks.


And there weren't any sick people in Georgia yet. Not one.


People were already in a panic. Was it the media? I don’t know. I don’t watch TV. I read news on the Internet, which means I filter a lot. I tend not to click on clickbait articles by habit. But panic must come from somewhere, so I did start keeping my eye on the news about the novel coronavirus – mostly from WHO updates – but it still didn’t seem something to panic about. It only was really serious with old and obese people and smokers, right? With everyone else, it seemed to be about as serious as the flu, with some outliers here and there.


But then it was proving to be more and more infectious, hitting country after country. Soon Georgia started tallying some numbers. People were flying back from China and Italy, bringing their unwelcome friend with them. But the government was quick to handle them, quarantining people, closing the borders, taking all measures that they could in reason do so early (and indeed, even today Georgia has one of the lowest rates of infection globally). But there were reports of Georgians taking medicines to lower their temperature so they could pass through the border controls, Georgians running out on self-quarantines, even one story (possibly fake) of Georgians overpowering a quarantine bus, crashing it, and running off into the wild.


For some time, Georgia had only “imported” cases, and cases connected to those known imports. But now cases are creeping in, proof of community spread, most likely from those people I just mentioned, the ones that cheated the checks, fell off the radar, and started infecting everyone they came around.


As the tally built, it became less about the healthy people. 1% of 100 might be one person, but one percent of 1,000… of 100,000… of 1,000,000? Now we’re starting to talk about a lot of people who don’t really need to die at the moment.


Sadly, there’s no way we can even save them all. As long as there’s no vaccine, the tactic is to spread the curve. Because the virus is so infectious and it spreads so fast, it’s prone to overload hospitals. That means a few things happen:


  1. Not enough respirators for everyone

  2. Not enough beds for everyone

  3. People who are sick but with minor symptoms get released – and spread the virus

  4. People who are not yet recovered, but recovered enough, get released – and might spread the virus

  5. Doctors, nurses, and staff are all on overtime and with everyone buying up all the good masks (that you can’t get in Tbilisi anyway), they don’t have access to adequate protection either, so they get sick


All these mean that the rate of death goes from 1-3% to onwards up to 50% among some populations even (just look at Italy… if that doesn’t make you the least bit frightened or sad, you’re a sociopath). The idea behind spreading the curve isn’t to really contain the virus, but to slow it down so the health care system can handle it, the people who need care can get it, those who can survive will survive, the people who are sick don’t spread it further, and most of all, our healthcare workers aren’t worked to death and can still manage to put in the hours.


(By the way, if you want to keep track of the numbers, here is a good site).


And again, maybe it’s not about you. Maybe you’re healthy. I’m healthy, my wife is healthy, my son is 5 months old and healthy (and the virus doesn’t really seem to effect babies anyway). Of course, I am a little worried about my son, but that’s not my real concern.


My parents are old. My wife’s parents are old. Their parents are old. Now, my parents aren’t coming to Georgia (more on that in the next blog). But what about my wife’s parents? Is it safe to visit them? How do I know my allergies aren’t really the virus, and that if we visited, it could be their death sentence, or the death sentence of their parents? That’s what we have to think about.


Sure, social isolation sucks. And maybe for ourselves it seems unnecessary, because I’m not saving myself. But for others what may seem unnecessary has become necessary. The bell doesn’t toll for thee today, my friends. The bell tolls for your parents, for your grandparents, and for all your smoker friends.


Updated: Mar 18, 2020



Drunk after a long meal of wine and barbecue, I’d stand at the curb, wave my hand, and miraculously a dozen odd vehicles would line up on the street, honking and shouting, asking to take me somewhere. The cars were anything from dusty Lada Jigulis to shining Mercedes, anyone who was out driving and bored or needing some extra cash was there to pick up strangers on the side of the road.


Even if you didn’t need a taxi, often a car would pull up to your side and creep along, with the driver sticking his head out and whispering, “Taxi? Taxi? You want taxi?” My American lady friends thought they were just being targeted by creepy guys, but this wasn’t necessarily the case. The Georgian taxi driver did this to everyone. Albeit, this didn’t mean he wasn’t creepy…


That was the taxi situation 10 years ago.


Times have changed though.


Recent laws and Georgians’ love for copying successful trends have done a lot. Firstly, the government required every street taxi to undergo a white facelift and to get a proper license. So now when you wave your hand, only a couple of white cars will pull over, and each of those white cars will typically have a taxi sign and a license. Probably for the better, but it has certainly decreased the completely random conversations with old guys about how they’ve got 12 law and medical degrees from the Soviet Union and now they’re stuck driving a taxi in Tbilisi.


Prius, the unofficial car of Tbilisi taxi drivers


The other big thing is that deep in the taxi cave, where the Taximus Prime, Lord of Taxis lives, it was decided that every taxi driver should drive a Prius. He snapped his fingers and it became so. Now if you’re a taxi driver without a Prius, you’re dreaming of buying a Prius, and if you’re a security guard secretly yearning to be a taxi driver, then you think you have to buy a Prius first. And if you’re a Prius driver who doesn’t operate a taxi, you get confused for a taxi all the time. The trend is inexplicable, except in the case of there actually being a taxi god.


Getting a taxi and for how much


Just like hailing a taxi anywhere else: You stick your arm up when you see an approaching taxi. It’s easy these days to tell who is a taxi as the car must be white and there will be a sign on top, it will be lit red for occupied and green for available (not always, plenty of drivers are too lazy for this function).


Is he available? Is he not? Does he have a passenger? Eh, who cares!


The majority of taxis do not have meters. That means YOU MUST negotiate in advance. If you don’t, they’ll likely assume you’re an idiot foreigner and charge you an absurd amount of money. Within a neighborhood, expect from 3-5 lari, if you’re taking the taxi from one neighborhood to the next, like Rustaveli to Vake, expect 4-8 lari. If you’re going across town, expect 8-12 lari maximum. It’s okay to refuse a taxi and take someone else. Here I’m giving you typical foreigner rates, as Georgians can get them even cheaper.


Sometimes it's a Prius followed by a Mercedes


Tbilisi Taxi Apps


The best way to get a taxi is to just use an app. Bolt, Maxim, and Yandex all operate pretty large fleets here and you’ll generally never have to wait more than 8 minutes. Download the app ahead of time, and you can even use your credit card. Uber does not have a presence here, as they have a strategic deal with Yandex that they won’t enter any more post-Soviet markets. Do note Yandex is a Russian company (Maxim is Ukrainian, Bolt is Estonian), which doesn’t matter much except there apparently have been some reports that they send your info back to the Motherland. Those reports are from Georgian reporters though, so take that with a grain of salt.


Sitting down


Take a seat. Guys typically take the passenger seat up front. Ladies always in the back. Ladies should sit in the back because they don’t have to worry about the Costanza Move, “Stopping Short”, as illustrated here:



It’s generally pretty fun sitting in front for guys though. For one, you get to witness firsthand all the absurd driving going on. For two you can get into all sorts of awkward conversations about your salary, religion, and political positions – generally a taxi driver will bring up everything you consider taboo to discuss back home.


Tipping


Most taxi drivers will flat out refuse a tip, or even get confused and possibly insulted by your insistence to give extra money. Which is weird, because if you don’t have change they’ll also gladly keep the change when you didn’t intend to give them any. This I think depends on where they’re from. There are plenty of taxi drivers from the villages who don’t know what tipping is, and then there are those Tbilisi old timers who often do everything to cheat you out of your coins.



Other times it's a Mercedes followed by a Prius


Tbilisi airport taxi


There is a taxi mafia that exists at the airport, like anywhere else. Don’t use them. Supposedly the cost from the Tbilisi airport to the center should be about 25 or 30 lari to get to the center from the airport, but in reality these guys will try to charge you the equivalent in euro, or even charge up to 100 euro for the trip. The best thing then is to use one of the taxi apps, or to shuffle on over to the Arrivals gate and catch a taxi just arriving and dropping someone off. They’ll take you to the center for anywhere from 15 to 30 lari, which is far more appropriate.


And you’re off!


Now you should be prepared for taking a taxi in Tbilisi. That’s all the advice I can give you. By and large, they’re super friendly people, and I suggest chatting and getting some insight on the country. Most taxi drivers have chosen their profession because they enjoy people (and because they’re desperate for cash and their favorite hobby is driving in circles). But yeah, they’re nice people. Just start off by saying how much you love Georgia, and you’ll get a positive experience every time.



And yet other times it's a... wait, what is that car?


Lastly, if you’re looking for somewhere to go in that taxi, think about heading to the Philharmonia where you can start on a GPS-guided audiotour of Rustaveli that I’ve prepared over on VoiceMap. Check it out here. And if you enjoy it, please rate it!


Updated: Mar 14, 2020



The suicide mobile, colloquially known as the “marshrutka”, is one of the primary modes of transport in Tbilisi and all of Georgia. And indeed, if you visit this country without riding in one of these daredevil tin cans, it can hardly be said that you’ve visited this country at all!


2020 was supposed to be the year ending the marshrutka, where Tbilisi City Hall was going to sit down and re-think all the routes, upgrading the majority of them to larger vehicles. This is primarily because the contract for The Marshrutka Company was going to run out. The Marshrutka Company, believe it or not, was a private company, proving that even private companies can be run as grossly incompetent as the government. Well done TMC! Their webpage is a joke, barely working on PC and forget about it on mobile (I mean, really, who would want to find a transit route on mobile?). Many of their routes simply overlaid already existent routes, the things are always overpacked, always zipping across lanes and cutting off other drivers, and always responsible for causing general mayhem on the streets. But then the genius mayor, Kakha Kaladze, a rich footballer who’s never taken public transit in his life, decided to keep the things around and scrap any plans for serious thought put into the transit system. I take that back, he did do a photo op on the bus once, so…


A beautiful marshrutka cruising down the middle land of Rustaveli


We were lucky a few years ago when they at least integrated the payment system, so that you can use the same card for metro, bus, and marshrutka. And even more, some charitable young Georgian made this web page to find routes. Like, seriously, if people have to do this kind of work for free while you do nothing but count your mounds of tetri, you’ve failed as a transit company.


The only time I ever take a marshrutka is when I’m traversing three neighborhoods and the destination isn’t on the same metro line. So from Isani to Pekini, I’d use a marshrutka. Or going anywhere in Vake, because Vake is a void of valid vehicular options.


Traveling across the country


If you’re wanting to go to the countryside, it’s likely you’ll have to take a marshrutka, as the places you can get to via a reasonable method of transit, ie train, are quite limited. Of course, you can always just rent a car as well. Strangely, there are direct marshrutkas to just about every village in the country.


You can always rent a car from these guys, like I do:


There are two main marshrutka stations in Tbilisi: Didube (Okribe) and Samgori. Smaller ones exist at Isani, Station’s Square, Sports Palace, and a few other places. Follow this basic rule of thumb: To get to anywhere in Kakheti or Kvemo-Kartli, just go to Samgori. To get anywhere else in the country, go to Didube. Just be aware that coming back, you might end up at one of those other stations. Never fear though, they’re all on a metro line (possibly the only reasonable thing about marshrutkas).


Okribe, a great place for marshrutkas and shawarmas


Don’t expect a schedule. Sure, they might say “The next masrhrutka leaves at 1:00”, but what they really mean is, “We’ll leave when we’re full.” Don’t stress out about it. Or even better, just buy a beer and sit back. But do remember there aren’t any pissy pauses.


Also, it’s not normal for marshrutkas to charge for luggage. The guy in Kazbegi tried to do this to me and two of my tourist friends. I told him where he could stick the luggage. He backed off and harassed some Asians instead. That said, you’re kind of at the mercy of the marshrutka driver.


That lady's about to wave down another marshrutka (see tip 2)


How do you ride a marshrutka in Tbilisi?


  1. You figure out which marshrutka you need to take. The routes are printed in Georgian on a small card stuck in the windshield. Probably it’s better to check that guy’s website first.

  2. Wave. The marshrutka will stop for you. Seriously. Unless you’re on a main route, where you have to do this at a bus stop. If you want to look like a local, you’ll actively seek out the most inconvenient and most dangerous place for the van to stop. In the middle of an intersection? Great! On the tightest section of a two-way street where only one car can pass at a time? Even better!

  3. You get on and find a seat. Haha, just kidding. You get on and stand, cramped between a fat man and a lady with botoxed lips so far out that you’ve got to duck, and by ducking you stick your butt in some other lady’s face who’s constantly passive aggressively whining about this fact. And fat Georgian men make it a rule to stand up for every lady that gets on a marshrutka, so the aisle is always impassable. Wouldn’t it be a better rule to let these fat guys sit down and get the heck out of the way?

  4. Since you probably didn’t get a seat, you’ll have to bend down really low to be able to see out and figure out where you are and where you’re going. And since the typical marshrutka driver is usually on his cell phone with one hand and the other is extended out of the cab with a cigarette or making obscene gestures at other drivers, and he’s swinging the wheel like a boat captain in a typhoon, it’s no easy thing to stay upright.

  5. When you’re ready to get off, yell “Gaacheret!” (rhymes with caught). They’ll immediately pull over and stop. Since they like to speed down the middle lane, this often means they’ll cut off two or three lanes of traffic to get you to your stepping-off ground. This is unless you’re on a main road. Then you should yell “Shemdegi gacherebaze gaucheret!”

  6. Squeeze past all the fat guys clogging up the aisle like corks in bottles.

  7. Either give the driver 80 tetri, or a lari or two lari coin (they always have small change), OR swipe your metro card on the glove box until you hear a beep.

  8. Step off and go directly to the medical clinic to make sure you didn’t catch the coronavirus after you were sneezed, coughed, and farted on.


Remember to subscribe and never miss an episode!


Also, if you want to tour Rustaveli, get off the marshrutka at Philharmonia and download my audioguide here at VoiceMap.

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