Horse Meat, Pizza, and Other Discoveries

Diary Entry: April 1, 2017

This little two-section city has a way of revealing its vastness. Tonight, I learned that lesson on a truly endless trip to a fellow student’s house. This time, I had to spring for a taxi; even Google Maps was clear in its warning: this house is not to be walked to.

The cab dropped me in what felt like the middle of nowhere. Not just quiet, but empty. No people on the sidewalks, not a single car passing, not even streetlights. Just the dark shapes of housing projects, rental apartments, and small, fenced-in yards. It took me half an hour of walking in circles to find the right door.

Navigating an unknown city without a live internet connection is a special kind of hell. Google’s cached map only holds so much, and then it, too, gives up. I was wandering, lost, across these beautifully manicured lawns when some small miracle occurred. In the distance, I spotted another classmate, also a visitor, clutching a cellophane pack of beers and snacks. A lifeline. He knew the way, and I accompanied him to the house.

The party was already full. It was a truly international crowd — a microcosm of the LLM program. Brazil, Japan, Italy, Kazakhstan, France... Georgia. All of us.

The supposed highlight of the evening was a spread our Kazakh friend had brought back from Christmas break: boiled horse meat and other national “delicacies.” How could I eat horse? I couldn’t.

We got pizza instead. We drank beer. And we talked.

And in that conversation, a small, heart-warming revelation: I realized everyone sees everything! I was sharing a story, half-joking, about how I’m always so eager to ask tough contracts questions in class, but the professor has so many students to call on, he often misses my raised hand. I thought this was just my own little observation. But my friends from Brazil... they’d noticed! They’d seen it, too. They are so supportive and observant! It was the first time I realized how closely we are all looking out for each other. What a truly warm and wonderful feeling!

On the way back, a few of us detoured to a downtown nightclub. I ended up dancing with a French girl. There was a genuine spark at first, a real passion in the way she moved, but then — like a switch flipping — it was gone. She became cold, distant, her body language closing up. I didn’t understand the shift. I finally just left her on the floor and started walking around the club.

That’s when I looked up. The ceiling was decorated with drinking horns — Kantsi. I was stunned. I thought that was a uniquely Georgian thing. It seems not everything is as endemic as we’re led to believe.

At the bar, a few American students recognized me. We chatted. They brought up Zaza Pachulia, the Georgian NBA player, saying he was selected as an All-Star or something. I had no idea he was that big. But the conversation felt... transactional. I had the distinct, unpleasant feeling they were waiting for me to buy them drinks. I loved that. But I don’t drink. Only beer.

I left them, too.