Call me Olga. Some weeks ago - never mind how long precisely - having  nothing but road money in my purse, I thought I would go to Georgia and try myself in a hospitality business. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.

Wrong. I had a problem with bronchi, not spleen, and I've never been pausing before coffin warehouses, just before the Heavenly Hundred memorial, and the only reason I was thinking about pistol and bullet was a stupid war that Russia had unleashed against my country.

It was not a war I have fled from. I'd rather be there, but I've happened to be born a woman, and I have no medical education, and never served in army or police. I have no car, so I couldn't help in bringing supplies to the front line. And I had no money to give it to volunteers.

All I could give was 480 ml of blood, and they gave me badge and thanked and said to come 6 months after.

So I've decided to spend this time profitably and, at least, earn some money. You know, maybe, that the main item of export in the Ukraine is working hands? So, I've decide to export  mine.

That's how the Russian-speaking Ukrainian writer had become a Jack-of-all-trades in Latali, Svaneti village, Georgia.

In this blog I will write about my living and work in Svaneti, retell some local legends and histories, share photoes and so on. Everyone is welcome!