A new Chapter
The fat man in the seat behind me was in distress. Throughout the flight from London he and three loud, Russian speaking companions had talked and laughed, constantly bumping my seat, jostling me. Now they were suddenly quiet and still, and I sensed something was wrong. Twisting round in my seat, I saw his big face pale and sweating, his eyes at once flat and panicked. Then his full weight slumped forward, nearly flattening me against the seat in front of me. Two of his friends stood, calling for help, and flight attendants rushed to lower him into the aisle, onto the floor of the plane, where he lay unconscious and panting. The pilot began to make an announcement in an unintelligible, guttural language (could this be the sound of Georgian?) and I had a terrible feeling that I was about to be grounded in Baku by the man’s collapse.
I didn’t want any delays; I was on my way to join my husband in Tbilisi, an hour’s flying time from Baku, starting a new chapter of my life. Jim had left Washington DC three weeks earlier to start his new job as chief of an education development project. Our home in Capitol Hill was on the market, in the capable hands of our realtor. I’d sold our Toyota and held a lawn sale to get rid of anything we wouldn’t miss after three years abroad. The rest went to storage; we would rent a furnished place in Tbilisi. I had shipped our summer clothes, our bed, my favorite kitchen tools, and said goodbye to friends and family. On October 23, 2011 I boarded a flight to Tbilisi, my jewelry and some family photos in a small carry-on. I was ready, looking forward to seeing Jim again and curious about our new home town, and I didn’t want any delays.
The fat man revived slowly, sat up in the aisle and then regained his seat. The flight attendants prepared to land in Baku for our scheduled layover. Most of the other passengers left the flight there, including the man and his friends. I peered through my window into the night, watching luggage handlers and mechanics moving about in the darkness like stagehands changing a set. Perhaps two dozen new passengers boarded the plane, and we were off to Tbilisi. My new chapter was beginning.
Arrival in Tbilisi after more than 24 hours of travel was a blur of impressions – a modern airport with soaring ceilings, bright lights, and long, polished corridors; efficient passport control; escalators; and then a dear, familiar face among the throng waiting to meet arriving passengers. Jim had a hired car and a driver named Ika, who whisked my luggage into the trunk of a sleek, black sedan and sped us through a dark wasteland toward the city.
By night the hills around Tbilisi are dotted with old churches and a ruined fortress, all flooded with golden light. Ancient stone bridges and a sleek, modern suspension bridge, twinkling silver and blue, span a black river canyon at intervals. A vast presidential palace, all chrome and cold white light, overlooks the city. Down in the city center we hurtled along an avenue of elegant Beaux-Arts buildings; past a monumental Parliament in yellow stone; into a vast roundabout, at its center a towering monolith crowned with a gilded statue, a man on horseback. Even exhausted and travel-weary I recognized Saint George slaying the dragon.
Then a hotel lobby, warm and bright; welcoming smiles; handshakes, thanks, and farewell to Ika. A small elevator, a room, a hot shower, the welcome relief of lying down after so many hours of sitting in airplanes and airports. The next thing I knew, brilliant morning light was glinting off the golden statue of Saint George, directly outside our window. The new chapter had begun.