I just made my first visa run to Armenia the other day.

I worry about things.  It’s just in my nature, and I don’t do anything about it, because the way I see it, it’s a reasonable and realistic way to approach the world in general and in particular, things that I have never done before.  Optimism may not always get you in trouble.  If you’re lucky, it won’t even usually get you into trouble.  But a little caution is not pessimism in my opinion.  It’s realism.

What’s to worry about?  Well, for one thing, it’s not unreasonable to be suspicious of a country that will let me cross its border visa-free.  If it were a free visa, that would be one thing but visa-free?  Without any visa at all?  Not at any point?  Too good to be true, and even when it turned out to be true, I can’t help but think, too good to last.  So there’s one thing.

Another thing is this huge number of Russians and Ukrainians pouring into Georgia at the moment.  Check the date on this post.  Russia invaded Ukraine in February of this year, resulting in a huge number of Ukrainian refugees coming in as well as Russians fleeing their country because the writing on the wall is now clearly written in fresh blood.  

Fast forward to now, 3 October, and we’re seeing a several-kilometers-long line of cars trying to get into Georgia from Russia. These are the people who ignored the bloody writing on the walls and are now running from military conscription into Putin’s insane “special operation” or whatever that nut job is calling it.

These things have already resulted in a huge rent hike all over town to take advantage of the situation – it’s now a landlord’s market, not a tenant’s market.  Is this going to result in a change of policy regarding the one-year visa-free policy?  Why not?  It could.  One year visa-free is too good to last, sort of like the McRib sandwich that disappeared with the appearance of summer this year.  

*( I DUG the McRib, and we didn’t have that, or chocolate shakes, at McDonald’s in China, so I’ve been enjoying those, but I digress.)*

Sorry, where was I?  Oh yeah.  So I’m concerned that I won’t get to stay for a year with a new visa this time, or that I will have to stay a day in Armenia overnight before I can come back in, or something like that.  So here’s how that went:

No worries.  Georgia to Armenia, get stamped out of Georgia, get stamped Into Armenia, get stamped out of Armenia, and get stamped back into Georgia.  Bam.  Done.  Bob’s yer uncle.  Thanks for reading.

Yeah, OK, so here’s how the day went…

I got up in the morning and met with someone I met on Facebook who needed to do the same thing.  We called Yandex for a car.  She paid to get to the border and I paid our way back to Tbilisi, and the whole thing really was as simple as I said, but for a few details.  We got out of the car, the driver was happy to wait for us to take us back when we were done, and here we go…..

For one, when we had our turns to get stamped to leave Georgia, the officers wanted to see old nucleic tests for COVID.  They weren’t fussed about the format or even age.  They just wanted to see something.  To leave the country?  Whatever.  Both of us were unprepared for this.  Fortunately, we were both able to find some sort of evidence of having had something done in the previous year, and that was good enough.  We got stamped out and directed to the Armenian border checkpoint.  SO:  Lesson one, Make sure you have something, anything, that shows…..well, that.  It doesn’t have to be new.  Just something.

On to Armenia.  A hundred or so meters across a bridge, we got to the building, went in, and there were two lines.  One really long and one with about three people in it.  We asked the cleaning lady who was working on the floor with a mop, “What’s the difference?  Do we have to stand in the long line?”  She laughed and said no, they were the same.  That line just gets longer because they think they have to stand in line.  That was her best guess.  So we stood in the short line and in less than a minute, we were in Armenia, no questions asked or any sort of discussion, no COVID or anything.  Lesson two, don’t be a sheep.

After wandering around for a few seconds, we worked our way around to the other side of the building and got stamped out about two minutes after we got stamped in.  Again, no issues, no discussion about anything.

We walked back down to the Georgia checkpoint, this time to come back in.  I don’t know what my companion had to deal with, but here was my brief “ordeal” re-entering Georgia:

The officer took my passport, looked inside for a moment and said (in English), “You have a German surname.”  I chuckled a little.  “Yeah,” I said.  I didn’t really think anything of that, though it had never happened before.  But then she said, “PASSPORT.”  Huh? She repeated, “PASSPORT!”  I paused for a second.  I felt stupid having to say this, but I hesitantly pointed at the passport in her hand and said, “Tha….that’s it.  That’s my passport.  That thing in your hand.”

“No!” She demanded.  “I want to see your GERMAN passport!”  

I just laughed.  “Why would I have a German passport?  I’ve never been to Germany in my life!  I’m American!”  That was a white lie, but a safe one.  My one trip to Germany was two passports ago, at that point.

“You just left today,” she pointed out.  All I could think at this point was that my companion was already through, waiting for me.  What the hell was this?  “You just left ten minutes ago!”  She added.

“Yeah,” I said, “and now I need to get back to work in Tbilisi, if that’s OK.”

Anyway, she looked at me suspiciously, reluctantly scanned my passport, seemed mildly disappointed to not find any sort of Nazi leanings or anything on which she could base an arrest, stamped me back in, and handed it back.  I was good for another year.  Done.  Lesson three, don’t…Hmm.  Yeah….No, I’m not sure what the lesson there is.  If you have a German surname, make sure that you…no, I really don’t know how to finish that sentence.  Sorry.  I have nothing for this one.

On the way home, it occurred to me that, technically speaking, I don’t even have a proper German surname.  My surname is Zeigler.  With an EI.  As far as I know, the proper German name is spelled Z-I-E-g-l-e-r.  IE, not EI.  But then, I wasn’t expecting to be profiled.  But that was it.  The entire encounter coming back in lasted less than a minute, so it wasn’t even enough time for me to work up any sort of concern.  

Then I got back home, stopped for a pizza, and took the rest of the day off.  I was home before 3pm.  Nice.  Faster than I had expected.  

That’s the whole adventure, I’m afraid.  Nothing to it at all.  If you have to go through this yourself, be sure to check with the current laws, but if they still stand, you should be good.  Easy-peasy Japanesey.

Thanks for reading.