just one Islamic crescent moon and
star for Turkey. It feels like the Cru-
sades all over again.
The significance of the flag,
though, is important to Georgia's
history. The Jerusalem Cross can be
seen on a fifth-century Georgian map
and has been a prominent symbol
of their identity for centuries. Until
the Russians banned it, that is, and
replaced it with the Red Banner in
1921. Like many other formally inde-
pendent states, Georgians woke up
one morning and found themselves
suddenly absorbed into the Soviet
Union.
But after its collapse, shortly before
declaring independence in 1990, the
hammer and sickle was banned and
the centuries-old Jerusalem flag with
its five red crosses was re-introduced.
However, the new president, Eduard
Shevardnadze, refused to endorse
it. It was only when his successor,
Mikheal Saakashvili, succeded him in
2004 after the Rose Revolution that it
became, once again, the national flag
of Georgia, coming full circle.
Sadly, though, this chaotic and
violent transformation of Georgian
society has not yet ended. Two re-
gions, South Ossetia and Abkhazia,
have succeed from the new state and
are leaning towards a supportive
and welcoming Russia who backed
them during the Russo-Georgian war
in 2008. The stalemate continues.
The two de facto independent states
remain defiant, even now, so we dis-
covered, denying road access across
their territories. Georgia's leaders
maintain that they are still an integral
part of their sovereign territory but
under Russian military occupation.
The first Georgian men we come
across, because the weather is hot,
are shirtless. Their bared torsos, the
way they carry themselves, makes
one think of strength and indepen-
dence. They would need to be strong,
these resilient Georgians, population
just over four million, who, like many
TRAVERSE 38
before, have dared to challenge the
might of Russia and lost.
We ride through the lowland
marsh-forests and swamps of the
Black Sea coast near Batumi. Dense,
sub-tropical vegetation encroaches
onto the road; banana trees, vines
clotted with purple grapes. Gen-
tle-eyed cows claim the road as their
own and all traffic is forced to give
way. Briefly we turn inland and begin
to climb; the air cools and is scented
by eucalyptus trees that shed their
bark to expose the smooth, blue-
white skin beneath. Through Katu-
mi, jousting with drivers who feel
that traffic lights and white lines are
merely gentle reminders, the obeying
of which relies mostly on personal
preference.
Back down again to the coastal
wetlands, extensive and flat, the Black
Sea on our left, lakes and swamps
and estuaries on the right. The road
is little more than a causeway raised
above the level of a damp and sodden