Seven years ago, in May of 2014, Chris and I decided to adventure to the Republic of Georgia.

Why?

Because we shared a love of lesser trekked places.

Why?

Because we were a new couple something?

Why?

Because I was living in New York City, he was living in Manila. The flight was roughly 9 hours for each of us.

Why?

Because we missed each other.

What we found was remarkable. People stared openly at us. We were the only tourists for hours some days.

We butchered massive dumplings called Khinkali … and also a language that sounded like 27 consonants fell down a ravine. A Russian woman took us in her tiny, crumbling house and showed us her ironing board. We drank dry red wine, intense grappa and fresh orange juice. We lived in a caffeine jolt from coffee the consistency of melted chocolate. We stumbled over cobblestones, and we also go to know each other.

We stumbled over our words, arguing when our luggage never appeared, and those first four days were spent wearing Qatar Airways pajamas.

I remember an afternoon by the Bridge of Peace, where Chris was so quiet. I suddenly considered he was miserable traveling with me. I fretted over it most of the day, casting sideways glances towards his scowling face. Ten days later, I just realized he’s quiet. Often. And, he has bitchy resting face. Always.

I walk around creating a soundtrack. I’m a travel writer, and I’m always asking questions.

Shit man … I scream “Look! Cows!” even when I’m in the car by myself.

It’s the differences that make people come together cohesively. The yin & yang … as wise Chinese people figured out so many millennia ago … is vital to longevity.

In those first days of our first trip to Georgia, I let go of the worry that if he wasn’t talking, he wasn’t happy. I got to truly know him. Our ensuing seven-year relationship has helped me drop the misconception that many humans so easily fall prey to––that everything is about us. Sometimes, people are just quiet because it’s their default. Sometimes, people like me talk because they are nervous and overcompensating.

Clearly I’m super wise and shit now. Take note.

That original trip to Georgia was so wonky and magical, so new and fresh and curious … I almost worried what we would find upon our first return to Tbilisi, when he surprised me with a trip back here this week.

One thing is for sure. Chris may be quieter than me, but when it comes to the physicality of traveling, he’s much, much louder. We took a round-the-world route that would have made Marco Polo blink twice.

I’m used to it. What can I say? Seven years.

Today, we found so much we remember––street corners, small shops, beloved restaurants and the vibe of Georgian life. So much is new here, too. Tour guides waved brochures in our faces by the river, begging us to buy boat rides. No one stopped to stare or inquire where we were from, and we even met a fellow American in the first block beyond the hotel door. There are fresh coats of paint, less rebar, cracked glass and rusty gates.

Georgia isn’t as undiscovered as she was nearly a decade ago.

However … neither are we. I owe this place something for that.

For posts from our first trip, click here and here. And, also here.

Apologies that my blog menu bar is still broken. If you have the skills to fix it, please direct message me.

More to come!