The atmosphere these days in Abkhazia? I would say that this can be reduced to an image.
This one:
Abkhazia, a former Communist Riviera is a strip of land located at the east end of Georgia, bordering the Black Sea. This "country", only recognized by Russia and Venezuela, still maintains the non-very strained relationship with the neighboring Georgian and has been since the end of the War of Independence it two years ago. It is theoretically impossible to pass from one to another and the only way to get there is to go through the Russian border to the north. By a sleight of hand going on and some connections in Sukhumi, the Abkhazian capital, we get the last minute of laissez-passers to special cross the border on foot by the river Inguri.
Check the position, or talk softly in a dry dust, goats and Georgian. We pass the barrier and the waltz begins. Three men without uniforms challenge us in urging us to show our papers. We will never know if they were military, customs, and local cops at work (very rare). Service vehicle, a black BMW of smaller, tinted windows. We spend almost two hours in full dodger has four times the same answer manaqement, interrogation punctuated by the passage of aid trucks. One question to us. Hey extreme tourists, you see the marks of splinters Missill on the body? That's what awaits you on the other side, "then laugh and easygoing guy. We share an informal meal. They desperately particularly Boris, our fellow Muscovite. Indeed Russia has always supported largely the "occupier", and still provides protection against Georgia, as well as South Ossetia. Finally, we get a grudging permission to pass. The bridge about 1 km serves no mans land we are experiencing dragging our luggage.
Abbkhazien Finally the post appears. A soldier in uniform waiting for us on the other side in the middle of the road, against a backdrop of vegetation and ravaged by the fighting, and graces us with a vigorous handshake "WELCOME IN ABKHAZIA," Ton says. Bullet holes, sandbags, barbed wire, photographs prohibited. Abkhazia was known have the most beautiful symbol of Soviet Union, because of its popularity. And it has to recognize that the violent luxuriance of its vegetation lined with colonial architecture bright white makes it a disturbing charm. The walls are always decorated with poster bearing the image of the puppet president in the pay of Moscow and portraits of soldiers killed in combat there two years ago. The Department of Home Affairs, or we have to do to make our visa comes down to a conference room, empty. Or almost. A group of 6 chicks chattering, chuckling, 3 or 4 attached pretend to work ahead of Facebook, and the minister himself throne, reading the newspaper yawning crows.
The country has never been recognized, no hope to run a cell phone or abroad non-Russian, when his people ....
His people ...
the facts speak for themselves. We go out on the streets in search of the site in ruins Abrat. We're going to do when a local, wide, blocks our passage. "If you climb to the ruins, I slit your throat!" we shall there, with a vivacity the land on which we had not been accustomed. Slightly dampened by this short but strident argument, we decide instead to go fetch an inn to restore us. We go up the main street of the city, when we pass a group of fifteen young, 15-20 years, Soviet champagne bottle in hand.
One of these juvenile drunkards at the sight of facies perforated piercings Razor Dunek, energized by trying to mock. We do not know, and on our way. The worry is that the dear little dog, she did not intend to stop there. After 5 mintutes walk we realize that this beautiful young we had followed. With two or three of his henchmen. And those two or three acolytes accompanied by a dozen of the thieves accabit. They rattrappent us, surround us and we lock against a wall. The tough guy of the band, which is according to the most devoted old rule, the more hefty and, incidentally, most burned.
Yes, twisting detail, while his right arm was completely burnt to the third degree. And it starts
s'engrainer. In Russian. The average strike going after Razor Dunek that I translated: "He loves not my big piercing under the lip, and told me that if they see me with that old, they are going to put a bullet in the head." Remind that they are fifteen, dead drunk, with large bottles in hand. The time is, as far as possible, the negotiation, and even if this idea debecte me. View my precious shoes soiled with my own blood is an image that m'irritte more.
- "Ok, so if I withdraw, you leave us alone?
-revoked, immediately!"
He runs, and the group as dry evaporates in seconds, leaving us alone with our sweat, some ice, beaten by the burning winds Abkhazians. few hours later altercation narrowly avoided the same breed, because I had dared to remove my tshirt, installed at a deserted terrace and eccentric. relax the next day we take a minibus to a monastery in the mountains. Everything would proceed peacefully if we did not notice that our friendly driver driving at breakneck had not been amputated right arm. I spend the next two fingers to get arrested by the militia because I was doing (alone, big mistake) photographs of the station, frozen in time in twenty years. Do not speak Russian, and they do not understand my silence and my legitimate incomperhension address their issues were very quickly heated. Situation saved by the driver of the hotel. "Why take her picture station? Him go botanical garden photos, it beautiful. Why make him train pictures?". Note that the militiaman said recess was dressed in civilian clothes and had to be 22 years old at every break, with a wrinkled uniform Lourdeau the unidentified.
In conclusion, the Abkhaz people committed the astounding feat of getting the Russian people, that we will find the next day in Sochi for an ethnic affable and gracious manners in civilized and refined. Surreal.
And thank you.
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