It’s a long road.
It’s flanked by two ditches on either side, not so deep, but lined with piping which will eventually, I’ve been told, carry fresh, potable water to each house. For now, the people are happy with well water.
Giant, Soviet-era dump trucks rumble down the pavement and kick up plumes of dust in their wake. I get used to shielding my eyes. Other cars pass at such tremendous speeds I wonder how they don’t end up in the ditches. People on the street are eager to greet me; usually a simple “gamarjobat!” suffices, while the occasional early drunk will demand more of my time. The houses here are cozy affairs, reminiscent of bungalows. Almost all are two stories with doors in almost every room leading to the outside. Across the street from my house, a family keeps a small cement store in the front of their yard which sits right on the road. This is a prime spot for parties, conversation, and drinking. Sometimes, Lela and I want chocolate, and we take Mariamee and Ana over to the shop to wake up the pleasant woman and her daughter. She complains cheerfully about the cold.
Georgia is a work in progress. Anaklia is doubly so. The government is busy filling the ditches; the hotel-casino about 3 km away is a year away from completion; fathers work on their homes late into the night, their cold sweat highlighted by the spark of welding torches. They light up the night as much as the full moon. Constellations feel unfamiliar until I can spot the Big Dipper. Read more about daily life in Adam’s village…