I can't begin to comprehend how many times I pressed the shutter. How many times I wished the minibus would stop and let me just walk into the mountains deep in the horizon. I felt the urge to abandon all society and start anew in those harsh, wild environments. Oh, how I yearn for the natural world. To be capable of photographing its beauty every day. I felt the freedom of being in such a cold, unforgiving place. To see an area of land that is still pure, free from the chaos of industrialism and endless soulless housing development. I imagined the views from the peaks of the mountains. The life that roams free around it. The species of birds that scout from above. And the four-legged friends that scatter the ground in search for anything beneath the snow. I imagined the telephoto lens I will eventually purchase to shoot more of the natural world. But for now, the anxiety of yet again reaching another border was starting to rise. The feeling that I would again have to deal with the passport control fears; the many what-ifs and potentially damning outcomes that could've ended my journey there. I am admittedly not all that well-travelled, and this particular aspect of it all will leave a sickness in the stomach for days after.
Reaching the border, the first step was going through Armenian passport control. It was an easy encounter as they pretty much just stamped me out and sent me on my way to the Georgian passport control. This was an odd border. Held by land with a large fence through the landscape, though not a whole lot of security present. The Georgian passport control was where the real anxiety hit: questions on where I was going were asked. How long I was in Armenia for. The question of how long I intended on being in Georgia for. According to the British Government website, I can be in Georgia for an entire year without a visa. I found it odd that these questions came to be, and I'm not all that good at answering things on the spot, even if I'm completely innocent and with no poor intentions. Things would only get more tricky from here on. With an oddly ending of "Welcome to Georgia" after still getting stamped through, my next step was getting my backpack scanned. Though the rest of the gear in the minibus I assume was quickly and manually investigated.
I put everything I could into my backpack, though apparently this wasn't even necessary. I put it down on the machine's belt, to which it sucked it in and revealed all the items. Something I really did not think would be a problem quickly became one. Just what exactly was that item in my backpack that they didn't recognise? Packed with two cameras and a gimbal. Oh, yeah, the gimbal which is slightly shaped like a weapon when all motors are locked. That'd do it. I was asked to take out the items and show it to them, to which I had to then explain that it was merely a camera stabiliser. The next question came: am I a journalist? I answered instantly with no. I explained that I'm just a hobbyist photographer, none of the gear was for any work. Purely for fun. The question continued as the answers didn't quite make it through, then being translated through others who also explained that it's merely a hobbyist piece of equipment and that I was indeed not a journalist. I don't think I look like one, the face of a baby and an unshaved face, hair getting a bit too long and in need of a trim. Maybe that's also it, the appearance that seemed too normal with something so odd.
I truly hated this entire experience, and typing it all out only makes me feel the anxiety of perhaps having to go through it all again in a few days. I was eventually allowed entry with backup explaining my situation, that I was only going to be in Georgia for a short amount of time, to meet some people, and that I was not there to photograph anything for work. This experience left an anxiety in me even after we boarded the minibus again, even after the border began to disappear from view. Even once I had reached my new home and unpacked everything. But now I was surrounded by a small village, cold temperatures as the sun went down. Mountains in the distance still. The smell of fresh air and a golden sunlight that was softened through the drapes. I guess, sometimes these chaotic experiences in travel are worth the much more important experiences that come later.
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