Our man in Georgia: the beginning
As I landed at Kutaisi airport in the early hours of Sunday morning, the sky was just beginning to glow in the east, the peaks of the Caucasus vaguely looming out of the darkness across the airfield. By the time I had made it through Georgian passport control, I hasten to add, day had very much broken; as I walked out of the airport terminal, accompanied by my taxi driver (who had nearly given up waiting), the sun was shining down brightly. I had been to Georgia once before, and one of the lasting impressions from that visit was the hair-raising driving style of the taxi drivers: I braced myself for a rough ride. As we cruised along at a speed which felt well under the limit that morning, then, I couldn't help feeling something was off. After all, it being 5:30am, the roads were empty except for the odd car or stray dog; what better conditions could there be for burning some rubber? Those doubts were soon dispelled: as the road hit the built-up area of Kutaisi, the passing cars an...