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Can you recall an experience, when you dream and something becomes really strange? A line, a form, a smell distorts itself and slowly changes its nature and transforms into something so different that it scares and amazes you? The stuff the mythological creatures are made of?

Watching tango milongas can be better than any psychodelic drug experience. You see a couple dancing. The lady is so skinny that she disappears and only her huge black tango shoes follow a big belly and immense arms embrassing pure air.

A big bubble of a chewing gum from red lips seems to ignore the rhythm of a fast milonga and grows as if it would be an illustration for evolution, and bursts all at a sudden in slow motion as a an evidence of permanent impermanence.

There is a couple dancing in sophisticated steps. The guy is so concentrated that he sticks his tongue like a six year old learning to write. His tongue becomes bigger and bigger until you see a piece of light silk swinging from a big mouth with a huge tongue stuck out.

A tattoo of the the skull on the arm of a lady observes quietely the dance, until it slips from the arm onto the face. “Mi corazon!“- sings a red flower in the hair of the skull along with the desperate bandoneon. Your view looks for breasts. One couple, another couple, they look transparent. Then you spot a young moon and a star in blood instead of heart, it reminds you of something.

“Quieres bailar?“ (Want to dance?) You wake up and realize that the moon and a star are on a red T-Shirt representing Turkish flag on a body of a skinny lady in her sixties. 


i moved all my stuff to http://candycactus/

find me there..

or always here:

Well, many of you know, how sceptical I am about the electronic communication..! It must be the tiredness of real people I guess that makes me sit and write  for this blog 😉 There is some truth in this if I think of my adventures in Ajara. But I am actually just as tired of electronics. I write, because that i realise that most of you i will not meet in hiking through Armenia.

Someone told me a smart thing. Don’t write tooo much in your blog. Just so, that we know where you are. So, there I go with a briefing about my state of being.

I am – again in the cellar in Tbilisi, lack of light and spring here, soon Armenia by foot, just came from kurdish Turkey (it is better than to write turkish Kurdistan, but my blog is anyway blocked by the “court decision“ in Turkey. I wonder what happens with the sites that really write something political, not like mine. They just disappear I guess.

To keep it short:

look at the pics at about Kurdish and Aramaic people there.

It smelt like death. Dead meat. Must have been an animal or something, I thought. Hm, so this is the known Svaneti, the praised place. I was walking to Nakra, and looking at the pieces of woodlogs on the side of the small dirt road I thought only how I really like it small.. small mountains, small lakes, rivers, I missed Ajara, Spirakiai and felt so unfitting in that place. No people. Then a young woman with a child. We went to fetch some mzhave zkhali, the mineral water coming out from the ground. There used to be some tourist bases in soviet times. Many sovietzt toursist would come to hike around Ushba, bringing kedi, sportshoes that they would trade with locals to cheese and other food. Empty houses in Nakra. There used to be a sasadilo, an inn. I could imagine tourists flirting with the locals here on the stairs. Only ghosts remain.

I walk to the main street again, 6 km, no people, in the shadow of the narrow  valleys mountain. It is a little bit spooky, but there are no objective signs of what i should be afraid of.

In the main road there are no cars. In the way I enjoy the facts, since there is so much dust after anyone passes by. but now, the warm suns light is turning to dusk and i admitt to myselft that i dont want to walk here. one car comes from the front. we talk, they live in a village in the opposite  direction, say surprised xochax xochax, when they here my story, that i travel alone, by bike or by foot. Their excitement does not comfort me much, since I have read and heard of Svaneti being a little bit wild place. Therefore I let my bike in Batumi and came up by marshrutka.

They leave and I walk again. Strange, I think. THis landscape is not mine.


pics are here, look for Svaneti

Tao vadinosi ta salis pries tukstanti metu, Bagrationu – biski gruzinu, biski armenu kilmes karaliskosios seimos buveine. Vat tuo metu nuo Altajaus atvare gentys raitos chebros, OGHUS tribes, ju visos 24 buvo, kuriu palikuonys ir yra dabartiniai turkai, ir nepesti jie buvo, moterys raitos kaip ir vyrai, o Bizantija sukriosus, vieni ju – selchukai – Manzikerte ir nugalejo ta Bizantija. Buvo dar kitu daug, vieni ju khasarai, kuriu vieni palikuoniai karaimai Trakuose buvoja. O Tao gruzinai kalnuose kaip gyveno, tai ir iki siol gyvena, nors pavardes ju jau turkiskos, bet vistiek tas pacias dainas dainuoja kaip ir Ajarijoj – chirvelo nanai nai…

Kuo toliau tuo darausi tylesne, nieko neberasau cia, nors galeciau, apie tai kaip ejau pesciom per Kackara su sandaliais (3900m) , ir kai jau ant sniego slydo kojos, tai basa, ar kaip tvarte miegodama susalau (be miegaso, viska dariau kaip senais laikais, isskyrus kad vandeni i plastikini buteli pyliau ir dar fotografavau) ir variau vidury nakties 2500m aukstyje per kalnus, vilkam stugaujant ir pilnam menuliui svieciant tris kilus (arba amzinybe) iki pensiono, kur silciau, o visi prigasdino, kad vilkai ir meskos cia isties nesisarmatyja valgyt zmogiena, kas man atrodo ismislas, bet nenorejau to patirtim issiaiskinti, sakau, jei mirti, tai geriau nuo kanjono prie Ardanuch sokt, kraujo ne tiek daug butu.  ka as zinau, labai daug gali ivykti visko ir istisai vyksta. pradedu pavargti nuo intensyvumo, labai viskas marga marga, reik uzsidaryt i pili, ispudziu pasnika pasidaryt, kad paskui vel viska jaust.

Kalbant apie pilis tai tu neitiketinu piliu ir baznyciu greit nebeliks, stato rimta uztvanka. Viskas bus po vandeniu. Gal kokie protestai ir pades, bet siaip tai liudnai perspektyva atrodo.

Koordinaciu kodinis pavadinimas – Turkija: Yusufeli, Artvin. 


arba wiki su zemelapiais:   

Siais laikais rasyti i poperiu ir ne i interneta yra visiskai nelogiska. Vat taip ir darome. Apie Adzarija – kitam G-ves numery. Popery.

Intervas su Audrium, redaktorium§ion=2&filter=2439018&record=3680667_1187363100

You might ask yourself already, why she got stuck there, in Caucasus? I realised while traveling, that in becomes borring at some point not being involved in some bigger schemes. It is not a very big one, but small is also cool. Was running all month long to get funds, and finaly – got!

Tomorrow early in the morning I will be leaving my cosy place in Tbilisi and will go for three month in the villages in Georgia. The plan is to employ people there as photographers. Instead of taking pictures myself, I am carrying several disposable cameras and looking there for people who will want to take pics of themselves. It is about minorities. Dukhobory, Azeri, kurdish Yezidi, muslim Georgians… They say, there are 56 ethnicities living in Georgia.

I feel like a troubadour, bringing people what they long for. Instead of songs of troubadours I will bring some kind of bread and games, duonos ir zaidimu! The cameras will be a game part and the bread part is that they will be payed for their work.  

Will write after a considerable break now I guess. But you can write an sms +995 93 26 73 54 and I will write back!

Good summer. Geros vasaros.

Finally, with the help of my friends, I managed to get all the cables, computer, soundcard and electricity to record some sound letters for you.

The whole thing is called E-san. Ezan in Turkish means prayer. And one can hear it five times every day almost everywhere in the Middle East.

The sounds are recorded while traveling from Lithuania –  Istanbul, Damascus, Jerusalem, Kars, mountains in Georgia.

There will be more in E-san. Bit by bit. 2.wav 5.wav Bruecke.wav


(sorry, all in wav. did  not have lame decoder)

Grynai vat sitom dienom turi ant LT pasirodyti zurnalas “Gatve“. Ir ten yra mano rasliavele apie Damaska.