Not Quite A Country (Abkhazia, Georgia/Russia/???)

July 18^th, 2010 – Seeing as summer is a lovely time to visit breakaway republics I decided to make my way to the Republic of Abkhazia, a quaint little renegade society scrunched betwixt Russia, Georgia, and the Black Sea. Wanna go? Just fill out an application at the Abkazian Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) website and wait for an authorization letter. That letter will get you across the border. Once you arrive in Sukhumi head to the bank, pay the twenty dollar visa fee, and take your receipt to the MFA office to receive a shiny new visa. So easy even an American can do it.

Took the night train from Tbilisi to Zugdidi in Western Georgia. Four person birth. Windows didn't open. No aircon. Beginning of July. Snails pace. Yes. I arrived at around six o'clock in the morning, conducted the normal haggling ritual for a taxi, and made my way to the border. My driver spoke nary a word of English and was clearly confused by the idea of me heading to the Georgian/Abkhazian border. I arrived at this conclusion when he drove me to a house of a friend or relative in order to find a translator at 6:30 am. It turned out to be a young girl no older than 14 that he roused from sleep in honor of the occasion. She never did utter a word of English. Luckily, her interpretive skill became superfluous as at some point I managed to convey my intentions. To the border I say!

Ghosts of Sukhumi (Sukhumi, Abkhazia)

July 21^st, 2010 - Ghosts roam the streets of Sukhumi. You may not see them. You may not hear them. But I assure you, they are there. And trust me, you do not want to see them...ever. You cannot help but sense their presence. This is as close as you want to get. For there are those mortals roaming these streets that see them in vivid HD and would give anything, I am certain, to forget them forever. They will try but they will never succeed. Nor should they be allowed to forget. Never.

Shortly after arriving I entered an upscale hotel in the center of town hoping someone behind the desk could not only speak English but would direct me to the street where my intended homestay was located. I found my paladin in the form of a woman named Alana. Not only did she call someone to pick me up and bring me to the homestay (she was friends with the wife of the son of the owners or something along those lines) she also changed money for me, called the Ministry Of Foreign Shit on my behalf, and even smiled. I am amazed how much I have come to appreciate a smile. Sometimes it pays to be tall and helpless.

Upon arriving at the homestay I discovered that the owners' daughter also spoke English. It was like friggin Christmas. At one point the owner/mother of said daughter made an attempt to warn me about the Russian miscreant in the room adjacent to mine. Apparently, he was an unsavory type. She kept advising me to lock my door, put my bags in the wardrobe, and keep my window locked. The truth is my Russian is a little non-existent so you could say I was a teensy bit confused. At one point her husband put a screen of metal bars (I helped) on my window. Who the hell was this guy? Hitman? Bank robber? Insurance salesman?

Sukhumi Primate Correctional Facility (Sukhumi, Abkhazia)

July 24^th, 2010 - On a hill just outside the center of Sukhumi you will find the Research Institute of Experimental Pathology and Therapy administered by the Academy of Science of Abkhazian. Why did I get the feeling upon reading the sign on my way up that if I were a monkey or close relation it is not a place I would ever, ever want to visit…..ever. Then again it is not really a place I, a human being, really wanted to visit either. However, my curiosity was piqued. You know what curiosity did to that darn kitty cat.

If you ever find yourself in Sukhumi and feel you are just too damn chipper for your own good then I recommend a visit to monkey hill for a healthy dose of melancholy. You will not be disappointed. The conditions are abysmal and the primate population (monkeys/baboons) looks happy in that 'I'm on the verge of swallowing my tail and making shit castles with my feces' sort of way. Delightful.

So why bother? After all, I was reasonably certain about what I would find. This is not such an easy question to answer. Why did I attend the largest animal sacrifice on the planet (See The Wrath of Gadhimai)? Why roam the streets of Dhaka knowing I would stare human suffering squarely in the eye (See Wandering)? I would like to believe it is much more than morbid curiosity. There would be no value in pausing at the side of the road to watch emergency crews mop up a fatal collision on any road in any country. That, at least in a cultural sense, would be mundane, objectively pedestrian. There is nothing to learn other than gory tidbits and tragic personal details. But with the animal sacrifice, with life on the streets of Dhaka, and with this institute there is an opportunity to peek deep inside the unsavory aspects of the human condition. It is not pretty. There is no inspiration to be found, only darkness. But that is life and it does no one any good to whitewash the inconvenient details of our existence. See it all or you see nothing. Face it all or live in a bubble.