A Batumi string is not a Tbilisi hill round with salt air

We are sometimes asked to “use last year’s Tbilisi plates” for a new coastal customer. The request is understandable. Both jobs involve crates and a list. They do not share a clock.

A Tbilisi hill round is decided by slope, ice, and whether a courtyard takes a long van. A Batumi string in July is decided by people on the boulevard, hotel receiving rooms that open after breakfast, and a heat that makes a driver stop whether the log wants him to or not. In January the same string is shorter and emptier. Copying a Saburtalo order onto that road produces a tidy drawing that fails on the first Saturday of the season.

Port-adjacent drops add another silence: a yard that will not admit a private van at the hour a Tbilisi supermarket would. We mark the yard as a slot, not as a street. If the customer cannot obtain a slot, the plate says so. Pretending the crate can be left with a guard is how wine goes missing and how a study loses its reputation.

When a firm runs both a city cluster and a coastal string, we treat them as two commissions or as two chapters of one route study with two field days. One overnight on the coast is usually less expensive than a second trip, and it is the only way to hear the hotel desk refuse a dawn knock.

If you already know the summer list differs from the winter list, send both weeks. We would rather draw two plates than average them into a fiction.