How I Became a Man Who Waves Back: From Georgian Cobblestones to Bangkok Streets Full Of TukTuk Scams
A blog post about a hand, a Toyota XXX, and the quiet dignity of mutual acknowledgment on the road. The Moment Everything Changed It happened on a cobblestone street in Batumi, Georgia. A silver New Car — license plate NN-X33-XXX — rolled slowly ahead of me. The driver raised a hand out the window. Not a demand. Not a warning. Just a hand. A floating, sunlit, "I see you, friend" "I will taking from you" of a hand. And I? I did nothing. I sat there, hands at ten and two, as the XXX car glided away into the Georgian afternoon like a ghost I'd failed to acknowledge. The cobblestones said nothing. The palm trees judged me silently. Somewhere, an eagle on a bottle cap watched from the gap between a wardrobe and a wall, deeply disappointed. That night, I couldn't sleep. Because a person has to decide who they want to be. And I had decided, apparently, to be someone who does not wave back. No more. Understanding the "NN": A Tale of Two Conti...
