Woody’s Experiences in Georgia
I was glad to depart from Tibilisi as it was cold, grey, boring and snowing periodically. I had met my employers at their small office near the city centre and now I was on my way to the B. P. Supsa Terminal on the Black Sea coast not far from the town of Poti.
The terminal at Supsa was divided into two parts, a set of four storage tanks each holding 250,000 barrels of oil with workshops nearby were situated on the right. A camp comprising of sleeping quarters, canteen, bar, cinema and a gym stood on the left. B. P. looked after their employees very well.
Apart from B.P. employees visiting American and British military personnel periodically stayed at the camp so a wide range of accents could be heard.
The site was guarded by a large contingent of Georgian soldiers who were accommodated in a nearby barracks. This was for security as groups of Chechan guerrillas occasionally infiltrated the area from the Caucasus Mountains in the north to sell drugs or to rob. The only experience I had of this was one evening when drinking wine in the local village bar. Shots rang out from a short distance away but I ignored them thinking that some hunters were shooting birds in the nearby pine forest. While I conversed with the two Russian bar maids a jeep screeched to a halt directly outside. Two security guards who I recognized from the terminal shouted for me to get into the vehicle. Within five minutes I was back in the camp and the main gates were closed and locked.
All the staff gathered together at the assembly point and were informed by the terminal manager that a gun battle was raging only half a mile away between the local police and an armed group of Chechan guerrillas. All staff were instructed to remain in the camp until further notice.
Several hours later we were informed that the guerrillas had fled north in the direction of Poti and that the police and army were in pursuit. This was my only experience of political violence in Georgia during a six month period.
Opposite the terminal was a small ethnic Russian village populated by very poor religious people called the ‘Old Believers.’ The men had long beards and the women wore traditional Russian peasant clothes. Most earned a living from a small plot of land attached to their wooden dachas where they grew fruit, vegetables or flowers. Some of them had small flocks of sheep, goats or a few cows. The ‘Old Believers’ had lived here since the time of Peter the Great of Russia. He had deported them to Georgia after the men had refused to have their beards cut short. They only spoke Russian, maintained Russian traditions and married into each others families. Several hundred people lived in the village and when I jogged through the village they often waved or shouted their greetings to me.
The villagers were very friendly after they had got to know me and several of them worked in the terminal. One of these was a man named Vassily who worked as the head gardener at the terminal.
Vassily was a man of about fifty five. He looked older after years of physical toil and he had a lot of agricultural experience. He often had conversations with me in Russian about fruit growing and was interested to know that I came from a farming family. He often invited me to his dacha where I spoke with his wife and two beautiful teenage daughters. He also showed me his produce, mainly flowers which he obtained from an area of about a quarter of an acre. When the camp manager wanted to give him instructions I usually acted as interpreter.
Just beyond the village, beside the shore of the Black Sea, was a large pine forest. I jogged through this every day for fitness and often saw local villagers gathering pine cones for their stoves. The cones were very effective as fuel and generated tremendous heat. The forest was also a quiet retreat from the sun and the terminal and I spent hours there reading under a tree on weekends while the distant sound of waves from the sea hitting the shore could be heard.
About one mile from the forest was a small resort called Magnetiti. This had been the site of a sanatorium because the grey sand on the beach had healing qualities. Magnetic properties in the sand relieved bodily aches and pains. Although I initially didn’t believe this I discovered the truth after covering my aching back with the material. Within minutes the pain was relieved.
The beaches along the shoreline of the Black Sea were heavily polluted and not well maintained by the local authorities. Dead animals lay on the beach. Debris of all kind was washed up from far away and syringes lay on some parts of the beach after druggies had finished their business. Bathing on the beach wasn’t very desirable but the area was very good for an evening walk after a long working day.
Local entertainment was limited to the local village bar run by a Georgian man and his Russian wife named Valentina. Both were extremely hospitable and lived in a nearby dacha. The bar was situated close to the entrance of the village but was little more than a wooden shack with a porch and veranda attached to the front. However, it was a cosy place to spend a cold winter evening where a small stove full of burning pine cones and dim orange lighting gave the bar an attractive atmosphere. I spent hours in conversation with bar lady Valentina who spoke with me exclusively in Russian. This gave me useful practice as I hadn’t spoken the language for many years.
The bar sold beautiful red Georgian wine at a very low price which I drank regularly. Sometimes a local villager or soldier ventured in with a handful of coins to purchase vodka from a large plastic container that Valentina had stored behind the bar. This was undoubtedly the most popular product on sale.
Beside the bar was a small wooden booth from where a Siberian woman named Svetlana sold sweets and drinks. She was a middle aged woman who wore a dark blue beret, peasant style clothes and felt boots. Being very friendly she often conversed with me in Russian and was a well known figure in the village community.
In summer a holiday camp situated in a small park opened to the public for relaxation and entertainment. Chairs and tables were placed under nearby trees and this created a pleasant place to drink and socialize. A Georgian supervisor from the terminal once invited me there to a family party. He had hired the dance hall and had food and drink delivered for his family and friends to enjoy. Traditionally, at Georgian family social events guests are expected to give a speech and a toast to those gathered which I gladly did when asked but the size of my drinking glass was a problem.
The glass was really a huge goblet big enough to hold the contents of a complete bottle of wine. After giving a short speech in Russian I was expected to drink the entire contents without stopping. I succeeded on the first and second occasions but I was struggling with the third. Eventually, I gave five short speeches and toasts in Russian to the applause and satisfaction of those gathered. This left me in a rather intoxicated but happy condition. Other guests did the same until what began as a fairly quiet and civilized family affair gradually degenerated into a drunken orgy.
The private party was interrupted by the arrival of a group of young female Georgian dancers who had been performing in Poti and were on their way back home to Batumi. The dancers were asked if they could perform and they obliged. The problem was that soon after they began dancing a large contingent of male B.P. employees arrived from the village bar totally intoxicated. Immediately, some of them began dancing amongst the Georgian girls who glided around the floor in their long costumes. Suddenly, one of the girls screamed aloud as one of the men grabbed her and danced foolishly beside her. This immediately led to a problem as local Georgians present objected and a conflict occurred. This spilt over into the area outside.
Eventually, the terminal security guards were called to the scene and sorted out the conflict by taking the offenders back to the camp. The following morning the terminal manager interviewed all those who had participated in the affair and two men from B.P were fired. Two senior managers from Baku then arrived to apologize to the locals on behalf of the company and paid money for the repair of a damaged fence in the holiday camp.
Travelling on public transport was far from easy in Georgia as most buses were packed to capacity and there was a fuel shortage. In order to save on petrol bus drivers turned off the engine when they reached the top of a hill and allowed the bus to run freely down the other side. Upon reaching the bottom the bus engine would be started up again. Buses often broke down and on two occasions I had break my journey and transfer to another bus between Supsa and Batumi.
I was able to travel freely in Georgia although there were dangers of being kidnapped and one had to be wary. The countryside was mountainous and picturesque with vineyards, small farms and green fields while the snow capped Caucasus Mountains formed a magnificent backdrop. Sometimes I passed by a field with statues of Lenin, Marx and Stalin positioned upright or on their side, the final resting place for these once famous Communist figures. Vehicles had to be vigilant of farm animals that periodically wandered into the road, immune to passing traffic. Policemen sometimes randomly stopped traffic with trumped up accusations and had to be paid off with cash bribes.
My experience of Georgia lasted six months before returning home to England. It allowed me a good look at a country trying to recover after almost a century under communist control. Poverty, crime, unemployment and alcoholism were very high by Western standards and the country was experiencing a period of economic and political change.
