Saturday in Tbilisi

Saturday in Tbilisi
Today I followed light, or rather it eluded me, always not where I am, always shining somewhere impermanently and not on me. I walked outside and it was a nice day, the trees in Tbilisi, the trees that are everywhere, that are big and that are varied, they gave me a smile. As I walked down Rustaveli I would look up and the great pine trees made it seem like I was in some mountain forest, only to hear the loud cars and look around to see the huge cafes and shops alongside the road. Tbilisi is tricky like that, you look to your right and you see a mountain, it seems like you are on some mountain ridge, but then you realize you are in a hectic city center.
I walked down the winding huge busy street, stopping in shops we don’t have in the US, French shoppes, with a more alternative style. I walked passed couples and young people, Georgians seem to have a bit of European style, lots of black clothes, and a little bit of punk mixed in. I went up side streets when I got tired of the noise and generic feeling of the big street. Up those steep streets were the oldest buildings, and inside them people lived. Many buildings were dirty, like someone needed to come clean out the dirt in between the corners, at the joints connecting the buildings, in the entrances, around the windows, all of the places where dirt can sit, and perhaps has sat for a long time. Everything needed a high pressure wash.
I turned right onto one street chasing the elusive sun that shined on the trees at the top of the street. It looked so old and beautiful up there. But I never made it so high, I got curious and turned left right before. Walking back to Rusteveli I saw the sun in a rectangle shape on one of the dirty walls. I couldn’t stand tall enough to feel some of the sun on my face, and therefore missed it again.
Back on Rusteveli and after an hour I reached a big intersection marked by an old building that stood alone, almost separating the street high above with Parisian style architecture. Perhaps at one point it was a fancy café or restaurant, of course now it inhabits a McDonalds.
Somehow stopping at the McDonalds for a coke sounded ideal. I never eat at a McDonalds in the States, well, except for desperate situations, usually during traveling. But somehow I craved French fries and a coke. I wanted simplicity, self sufficiency, I didn’t want a waiter, or a wait. I just wanted a snack to eat wherever I wanted. And it worked. I sat outside the McDonalds in the shade and watched the light over on the other side of the city, across the bridge, where the light shined softly over a landscape of houses, and churches.
I drank my coke, poured with no ice, without me having to ask and starting walking again. I walked through the book sellers on the street and the gallery of stores on the sidewalk until I reached a large building with fountains. There a gypsy woman asked me for money and I gave her a five. As I walked on I suddenly was bombarded with begging of another girl who got on her knees and grabbed my leg unless I paid her. I tried to walk away, but her grip was too tight. I gave her my last bill of one lari and she walked away.
I went to dinner that night with a Georgian friend from grad school. It was a French restaurant, one of the three restaurants established by a Georgian chef who studied in New York. I had the best chocolate soufflé I have had in years. The center just poured onto the plate.
I liked Tbilisi because it wasn’t failing in its attempt to be modern and stylish. Maybe it is imitating trends, but they move with these trends with ease and with their own style. They own it with confidence. They are not self-conscience. It is their world and it makes me want to be in it.