We are on the midnight plane to Georgia. In various stages of inebriation, me and Dave
WhatsApp this to our grown-up children. It’s not our fault. Nothing ever is. Our Georgian Airways flight, the last one out of Gatwick, is delayed. What else is there to do but dutiful duty free?
Dave is my compadre, the finest travelling companion a woman could wish for. The best thing about her is that she will go absolutely anywhere but also has no idea where anywhere is. Except France – which she has taken against to such an extent that even French people speaking French near her makes her extremely annoyed. She can sniff out pretension at 100km, not that she knows what a kilometre is. And God help anyone she calls “piss-elegant”.
Suffice to say, when we arrive in Tbilisi, I have to prod her awake and try to enthuse her, though I feel very rough myself. “All airports are the same. Why are we even here?” she asks.
We are in Georgia mostly, I remind her, because she loves post-Soviet places and last year when I was in Armenia to
A local’s picks
This former Soviet sewing factory has been transformed into a multifunctional space with cafes and bars, artists’ studios and shops, a hostel, and a courtyard that hosts one-off events. It’s a great place to meet up with friends for the evening.
16th century, and a walk within these