We cross the river Mktari from Avlabari over to Metekhi square. We have been walking the early morning streets of Tbilisi, and decide to 
rest for a few minutes and restore our strength with some Turkish – or as some here insist, Georgian – coffee.
As the Russian-speaking waitress places the over-full cups before us, mine is tipped a bit too much, and a stream of black slurry runs down the side of the cup, and into the saucer.
“Ah,” she says with a smile. “The sign of a lucky journey!”
Buskers in an understreet passage in Tbilisi
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