You know you’ve failed to adjust to a place when you start viewing daily trifles as culturally anomalous. Riding the bus f rom Freedom Square to the university on Chavchavadze Avenue: a trip of a few kilometers. Easy enough. But at each stop the denizens pile themselves in. Stop after stop, a distressing number of people are insisting on getting on the No. 140 . At one point the doors cannot be shut. The driver shouts testily, “There's another bus coming, eh! Why don’t you wait for it?” It doesn’t work. More people get on. Strap-hanging, I can no longer move. Stuck between university students and a couple of older guys, I realize that I no longer have to hold on. Jolts from the road or otherwise, I’m not going anywhere. We arrive at my stop. “Excuse me,” I say. No one looks at me, no one moves. I can see the light pouring in from the door. Fresh air and personal space. I gentl...
Excerpts from bygone days abroad