I Had Flat Tire

Flying out of Russia this morning.  Many countries you aren’t sure if you’ll ever return.  Some places, as with Russia, this morning, I assume I will find a way back.  Slowly digesting all that we went through the last two weeks, traveling across the entire Eurasian landmass, confronting these two iconic cities.  I acknowledge a dull, commanding echo from this civilizational impact.  Slowly now, I must reassemble what this country is, in my mind. 

And we have to stay nimble.  We are flying on to two more countries formally part of the USSR.  Soon we will land in Tbilisi (it’s only now after having spelled it forty-one some odd times that I know how to do so.  I assume we will all love the city as it is visually charming full of great food.  We’ll only have two and a half days and there is a lot to cover, and eat. 

We were up late last night watching Russia lose.  I think it was the first time I really routed for Russia and did so with a feeling.   I don’t really know anyone in Croatia.  And I don’t ever watch soccer, but having seen what happened to Moscow after Russia beat Spain I think all of us were willing to tune in an watch it unfold, in Russian.  Croatia was good.  In the end they proved better.  But it was close, down to the last goal shoot out.

I joked with everyone that win or lose we may have trouble with our driver who was due to pick us up at 3:45AM the next morning.  Either he parties because of victory or he drinks his sorrows away.  Alas, this proved prescient. 

I schlepped my particularly full and heavy bag down the five flights of stairs.  No Ivan.  I walked back up the five flights of stairs.  Ivan wrote to say he’d be 27 minutes late.  It was a rather precise number and I reckoned that I could count on the submarine captain in the first place.  Now I presume he woke up late and was reading off his GPS.  We brought the other bags down, checked the house for things.  Now he was ten minutes away.  But my local SIM card was out of juice and I couldn’t communicate with him easily.  I logged on to my daughter’s LTE but it was spotty.  I called Ivan.  I texted Ivan.  It was ten minutes passed when he said he’d be here and we were now beginning to be rather late. 

I wondered if he’d just blown us off, assuming we must have found another solution.  I considered walking upstairs and getting an Uber which would have been cheaper but may have taken longer.  Two blocks ahead there were cabs passing by but we had quite a bit of luggage.  Cursing Ivan I walked up and hailed a cab, and rode with him back to our location, nervous about just how much he would charge. 

At 4:30AM the ride was free of traffic, and we got there in about twenty-five minutes.  I told myself that this was a “come on” culture, meaning if I was close I could probably persuade people to let us check-in by saying “come onnnnnnn.”  I told my wife to run for it as we pulled up and turned to settle with the driver. How much?  I asked.  I paid him a bit more than what I’d would have paid Ivan, and he was OK with that.  

After we got through immigration check in and immigration, Ivan managed to ring me.  “John.  I’m so sorry.  I had tire.  Flat tire.  I had flat tire.  Had to fix flat tire.”  He told me “sorry” about thirteen more times and I told him “no problem”, “we’re fine”, “don’t worry about it.” Thirteen times or so as well.  I really had liked Ivan.  I think both of us had been looking forward to reconnecting this morning.   Better he have a flat tire than a leak in the submarine he otherwise drives for a living. 

Sunday 7/08/18