…Georgia
is more than happy to remind me that I’m wrong.
When I taught in Russia, the other ETAs and I would
frequently discuss, for lack of a better word, Russian karma. If things had been going really smoothly for
a while, we would start to get nervous, as we knew the other shoe was about to
fall. Things can only go so well in Russia for so
long before a catastrophe happens to even things out. In America, when things go well, we
accept that as a reward for hard work or God smiling on us or something else
supremely positive. In Russia, it made me suspicious. On the other hand, after a string of
frustrations and problems, I began to await something good to happen. You may scoff, but this philosophy of Russia’s
vindictiveness and karma was surprisingly accurate.
I know Georgia
is not nearly as vindictive, but it still seems to run on different rules. Georgia isn’t so upset when things
go well, especially since I am regularly overwhelmed by the generosity of
Georgians. Georgia more just likes to remind
me I haven’t figured the system out, probably because there is no system. Check your logic at the door.
I know this, and I try to plan for this or accept it when it
happens. But, sometimes it surprises me. This happened at least twice this
weekend. The nice thing is that Georgia’s
surprises always have a silver lining, and sometimes the change is better than
the original plan.
The first time I was surprised was on our train to
Borjomi. We were going to take the
marshrutka (van), but when we found out that the train was ¼ of the price, even
if double the time, my love for Georgian trains combined with everyone’s love
of saving money to make us all take the train.
5 hours on a train made us decide we needed supplies, so after buying
them, I finally realized we had 6 minutes to check out, run up 3 flights of
stairs, find our platform, run down those stairs, and get on the train.
Somehow, we made it, or at least, we jumped onto the
train. This is where my knowledge of
Russian trains failed me. I figured we
could easily walk from whatever train carriage we were on to the one where the
rest of our friends were. Then I
realized the train was PACKED. All the
seats were filled, as was all the space usually used for walking. The area used generally just for entering and
smoking had several people in it. The
train started moving, so we were stuck.
Having men flick the ashes off their cigarettes near my face made me
immediately regret not taking the marshrutka.
However, my lesson about assumptions learned, Georgia made
the situation better. The man collecting
tickets figured out I was American and eventually ordered me to follow him,
into the main compartment of the carriage, and into what I thought would be a
toilet. Instead, it was a small room
about the size of a train toilet with only 2 women in it…and a seat! They gave me the seat, and I eventually
struck up a conversation with one of the women in Russian. I learned she was from Gori and asked her if
she liked it, since she had only moved there after she had gotten married
(albeit about 18 years ago). She said
she didn’t like it until the war (the brief 2008 war with Russia). She’s a doctor and was working in either an
ambulance or the emergency room. They
were bombed during the war, as Gori was a serious battleground, since it is
Stalin’s hometown and close to South Ossetia. She talked some about the war and said that
it made her fall in love with Gori. Since 2010, she’s worked for The Georgian Center for Psychosocial and Medical Rehabilitation of Torture Victims, an organization
that helps rehabilitate people affected by the war. She said she loves what she does, and
listening to her talk about her life demonstrated that.
The conversation made me thankful for knowing Russian and
for being in Georgia,
as conversations like that are some of my favorite parts of being here,
especially because they come as such unexpected treats.
When the doctor and other girl in my tiny compartment left,
my friend joined me, and we enjoyed relative peace and quiet until the train
cleared out enough for us to reunite with the other 13 friends on the
train. The rest of the journey was
great. We found our homestay and 2 other
friends easily enough and then headed back to the train station for dinner, as
a really great restaurant was there. One
of my friends ordered a bunch of things for us, so between the feasting,
village drinks people had brought, Georgian birthday party filling the other
half of the restaurant, we had a supra/dance party.
We were going to wake up early to take the 6:50am scenic
train up to Bakuriani, the ski resort, but we all rethought that decision for
various reasons. After being treated to
eggs for breakfast, we took a marshrutka to Bakuriani, a winter wonderland. People go there to ski, but a couple friends
and I opted to explore the village a bit and take advantage of the outdoor
skating rink. They don’t have zambonis,
but rather men with giant metal sheets with handles who brush the ice to the
side. They did this before the rink
opened and then continued, as we were skating in fairly heavy snowfall. After an hour, we met up with the first
casualty of skiing at a Ukrainian restaurant where she had already made friends
with some Georgians. More friends gave
up on skiing and joined us, so I spent the rest of the day in the café and
another 30 minutes on the ice.
I’ve never even tried to claim I was a good cook (although I
do make a mean chocolate chip cookie and am proud of my various attempts at
guacamole), but I dearly miss getting to make my own nutritious meals. Thus, I suggested we utilize the homestay
kitchen, cook something healthy, and enjoy the 6 liters of wine some friends
had bought at the Poti bazaar for a whole 12 lari. It was a huge success. There were 18 of us in a tiny kitchen,
eating, drinking, and talking. It was
like a slice of home with Georgia’s
distinctive stamp on it. We offered
several toasts, had no problems making do with 18 in a small room with only
small plates, and all enjoyed ourselves fully until the lure of bed, however
cold, sent us away. Getting to indulge
in and share the joy of Russian food I missed made the night even better, as we
had гречка and veggie икра.
We had a leisurely morning until we headed
back to Tbilisi,
where I got to introduce my friend to her first schwarma ever. (On a side note, I am baffled as to why the US does not
have schwarma stands/trucks all over major cities. They’re great, cheap, and easy to eat on the
go.) We also got accosted by several
beggars and a wino, which felt weird for Georgia. I think they were taking
advantage of the sunny and warm weather like we were. Well, warm really means not that cold. I walked around with friends until I needed
to head back for my 6pm marshrutka.
This is where Georgia taught me not to become
complacent. The last marshrutka should
leave at 6pm and has countless times.
For a while, I was told it might leave earlier, so I would get there at
5 or close to it and slowly freeze until 6, when the marshrutka actually left. The last few weekends, I had cut it close but
made it in time for the 6pm departure. I arrived 10-15 minutes early only to be
told I was about 5 minutes late. I may
have even seen my marshrutka leaving.
Regardless, I was told I had no recourse but
to wait until 10 or 11 the next morning to head back to my village. I was frustrated, having missed the
marshrutka not because I was late, but because I wasn’t extra early. One of the men explaining to me I had no
other choice but to wait until Monday to go home then walked with me out of our
little marshrutka yard. He chatted with
me for several minutes and then took my information and gave me his
number. He said if I couldn’t stay with
my friends, I could stay with him.
Before any of you flip out, this is Georgia, and this is just an
example of Georgian hospitality. He also
assured me he had a wife and kids at home, and he looked to be at least my
parents’ age, if not older, so I was not worried.
I still decided to stay at a friend’s
apartment, after calling my host mom. I
asked her if I could go home in the morning with my host grandpa, who daily
brings bread from Tbilisi
to Manglisi. She called him and then
told me he was not sure he was coming since the road was closed and may not be
open in the morning. Being American, I
tried to figure out if he would know in time to let me still go with him. She told me my host sisters would simply tell
my director that the road was closed so I couldn’t come back and told me not to
worry. I knew that this wouldn’t be that
big of a problem in Georgia,
but I still felt bad.
Her words worked their magic. I decided to treat myself this morning to hot
chocolate at one of the fancy cafes I have up to now avoided for fear of the
cost. It was not as painful as I
thought, and I basked in the joy of good bread, delicious hot chocolate, fast
WiFi, and lots of ambient English. They
even gave me a free gift of some dried bread (think large croutons that dip
excellently into tea), which made my return certain. I also bought myself a Russian spy novel
called “Breakfast with Polonium” to help me work on my Russian. I soaked up the sun and good weather until my
feet told me I had to go home.
When I came home, I was informed that school
had been called off after a few lessons because of the cold. Although I still would have been able to
teach most of my classes before school was canceled, I can definitely say that Georgia gave me
a much better day than teaching in a freezing-cold school would have been.
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