When one day I unexpectedly and coincidentally arrived in Kutaisi and checked into a guesthouse run by a Russian who physiognomically resembled a Cyclops, accompanied by his friendly partner, I wanted to get a snack and something to drink at a store nearby. In the shop, I heard a roughly 50-year-old man snorting and staggering. Though I didn't understand the language, I sensed it was about me. My presence seemed to discomfort him solely based on my origin. He placed me in the USA, which he apparently detested. After we somehow agreed, through gestures and broken language, that perhaps I didn't epitomize capitalism, he invited me to his home for wine. With no better plan than to say yes, I accompanied him. He lived just a few houses away, with his mother. According to him and his much younger neighbor, who joined us later, the Mafia organization "Thieves in Law" was founded there, and until a few years ago, murders were commonplace. His elderly mother became very angry at one point when he played music too loudly while showing me Roger Waters and Deep Purple on YouTube. Somehow, he liked me suddenly. He was very drunk. His English-speaking neighbor later told me about him; he had once worked as a driver for the US military but lost his license when he caused an accident privately and fled in zigzags from the police. He lost his job afterward. The life of the young student next door was not all joy and happiness either. He told me that on the day of his last and most important exam of his studies, he was accompanied by his then-partner, only to be told at the door to the lecture hall by her that their relationship was over and she had never loved him throughout all those years. He failed the exam and had to repeat the entire year.
 

So my evening ended relatively drunk, with homemade wine as a gift, until I met the couple who ran the guesthouse again. The Cyclops wanted to show me the garden, which I found somewhat creepy at that moment, given the darkness and the size of his forehead, and I replied politely, "Saftra - tomorrow - we'd love to do that." However, his partner insisted: "No, no, now. Go on!" She smiled mischievously at me, like someone who knows things you can't even imagine. So, feeling foggy from the Georgian grape wine at the supra, I dared, though feeling a bit uneasy. It was still warm outside, cicadas chirped, although it was pitch dark under the low trees, the full moon was still clearly visible. As we walked through the thicket of the beautiful garden and reached the river, which I had crossed before on the way to the accommodation but couldn't locate here, it was very bright from the full moon. It was rushing, and the Cyclops smoked. To my great surprise, he then told me that 3000 years ago, the Argo had passed by here, searching for the Golden Fleece. In that moment, it felt like I wasn't in the present anymore, especially when I heard his Russian words, which I only partially understood. The imagination was magical: the Argonauts traveling through ancient Colchis in search of immortality, beside me a Cyclopean giant, perhaps with ancestors from Pelion? I didn't regret coming along, even if I was just a means to an end and had become an accomplice. An accomplice to a couple who used me as an excuse to knowingly lie to each other, as it seemed forbidden for the Cyclops to smoke in front of his partner. Just before, I had quit smoking myself, so it was probably the best cigarette I never smoked.