Getting to Tblisi, Georgia - Part 2

My friend who teaches teachers the craft of writing talks about the strategy of "exploding the moment" or "writing small" when trying to make a point of a climactic part of a story. My feeble attempt to create this in my last post was intentional, and coupled with the fact that I wrote it after midnight in D'segh after a long, busy, but exciting day.

...like I was saying (with apologies to Sir Ken Robinson), we arrived just outside of Tblisi with our Georgian-side, though Armenian taxi driver with whom we had no connection in language and location. We were at his mercy to get Margaret and I safely to the Old Tblisi Hotel. After he pulled over to chat with other taxi drivers, we just stayed in the car assuming he was calling the hotel for directions, or consulting those who better knew the lay of the land in Tblisi. After ten minutes, we started to get restless, after 20, I decided to become actively involved. Unfolding out of our small sedan, I just stood to the side of our taxi driver to let him know I was there, but yet refraining from intervening--knowing I couldn't communicate anyway, but hoping my presence (and size--I'm really tall in this country!) would help the process along.

As I may have mentioned in an earlier post, Armenian men are famous for asking for directions so I assumed this was what was happening; just taking longer than usual due to a different country, possible language barrier and other issues. But when I sensed things were not getting resolved, I tried to graciously intervene. Kindly, but with my typical long-armed American sign language, I asked what was going on. Our driver had been speaking emphatically with another taxi driver in what looked like a heated conversation (though it may have been natural, I'll never know), and when I spoke to our driver, he started pointing to this other taxi driver as if we were suppose to get into his taxi. I was told the fee our driver was charging was excessive to begin with, but I was not about to pay another taxi driver for the services we hired our driver for from the border. For the first time, I felt I was in the middle of an Armenian conversation, but clearly now with an elevated ire. With finger-pointing well above the shoulders, we contined to argue. I finally gave up and returned to the taxi with Margaret and waited.

I'll finish this entry soon! Gotta get to sleep beforemwemfly home tomorrow!