I was talking with a friend yesterday about leaving Georgia and our futures, and she said that Georgia felt
like home. I have definitely been
thinking about that, even if the thoughts have not crystallized thus defined in
my brain. In many ways, my life in Georgia is not
as comfortable as life in the West, but there is a comfort in the familiarity
of it now. I knew I could wait until a
week before my friend came to visit to ask my host mom for permission for my
friend to stay because it would be shocking for a Georgian to refuse a guest
(of the same gender in terms of overnight guests). I can tell by the landscape approximately
where I am on my marshrutka rides home from Tbilisi.
I can apparently sing along to a Justin Bieber song, which would never
be possible in America. I can leave my possessions on a marshrutka
without fear of them being stolen. I
understand most of the strains of conversation in my family. Tea with cheese and bread is now extremely
comforting and salads of tomatoes and cucumbers seem more normal than Caesar
salads. I have come to understand, at
least in the ways I can, in the subtleties of life here. There are still times when I feel as though I
will not understand Georgian culture, but they often stem from not being able
to fathom the why behind something or how Georgians endure what they endure,
instead of a surface-level shock at customs and practices.
Now that my days are numbered, I find myself clinging more
to this little patch of earth. I feel as though I am clenching my fist around
grains of sand, which slip through my fingers even more the stronger I try to
hold onto them.
I had a delightful 2-hour impromptu visit to a colleague
that shed a lot of light on who she is and how she’s interacted with me this
year. It made me regret not taking more
of an interest in her before and also further clarified why my school does not
feel as welcoming as other schools. The
teachers are always nice to me, but more and more, I find myself doing my own
thing. This colleague described the
“collective” she had experienced at her other schools previously. The Russian word works much better than the
English, but in essence, my school lacks the community that is often present at
other schools and other TLGers have described, mostly in that they are included
in events. My school does not have a lot
of events or parties or even impromptu gatherings, and I’m more often than not
totally clueless about said events when they do occur. Granted, I am probably gone for most of them,
but my school just isn’t that way. It
made me realize that my colleague, seeing that lack, was reaching out in order
to be welcoming but also to reach out to someone else whose life existed beyond
the small village we both now call home.
I also have realized how much I have come to love Tbilisi.
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| This is the door that welcomes new arrivals at the airport. |
No, it lacks the flash of most major
capitals, but I love its ancient buildings and run-down bits more than the
newly rebuilt sections of town. I smile
when I see its monuments at sundown, take great joy in counting how many
Orthodox churches I can see from a rooftop, and love that I can navigate
certain parts of the city better than I can almost any stretch of Springfield. I have realized that Georgia’s
beauty to me is in its rundown, undeveloped ruggedness. When international corporations splash their
billboards along roads outside of the big cities, blocking views of
unadulterated mountains and valleys, I think I will weep. I see that future in
my lifetime, and I hope that Georgia
does not lose that untamed quality that has preserved life from another
era. Yes, Georgia must modernize, but I hope
that it does not do so at the expense of its history and natural splendor.
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| Old and new in Tbilisi |
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| Old Town Tbilisi |
As I knew it would, having my best friend come visit me gave
me fresh eyes to understand how familiar and dear Georgia had become to me. Before I went to the airport, a friend at my
hostel told me she had a friend coming in about the same time. She had described me to him and described him
to me (Asian-North American) and figured we could split a cab, since otherwise
he was just going to sleep at the airport until the buses started running. I was more than happy to oblige, especially
since it meant I had someone to talk to while waiting for my friend’s delayed
flight. It also seemed so very Georgian,
or totally normal here but something that would never happen at home. I will miss things like that, when the world
feels very small in very good ways.
On the first day, I took her to Mtskheta, the ancient
capital, and had my friend there be our tour guide for the day. We hiked up to Jvari Monastery, since the
climb makes the church that much more impressive. It was easier than I remembered, and the walk
down was aided in its loveliness by the kilo of fresh cherries we had bought in
Tbilisi. Then I introduced my friend to lobio and let
her taste lobiani in its homeland. We
got to play the ever familiar “hurry to get the 6pm marshrutka home” game I
play every week, and then I showered her home.
As we lay in bed, she turned to me and said, ‘I don’t know how you do
this’, which I thought was funny since I had just thought about how impressed I
was that she was handling everything so well.
The next day, I showed her around Manglisi, which was more a
chance to catch up and talk like we always do than much of a tour. It was a wonderful day nonetheless. My host mom made mchadi that night, which was
a special treat. We had gone into the
kitchen to say hello to my favorite neighbor and her daughter and found the
cornmeal cakes sitting there and were told to eat. I was pleased by this surprise and in general
pleased that, although they did not interact a lot and I had to play
translator, my host family and friend seemed to be happy with one another. I then took my friend to school. I tried to include her a bit in the first
lesson and realized that most of my friends probably do every day what she was
doing, sitting there (bored) until the teacher includes them in an
activity. It made me thankful that I was
able to teach the majority of my lessons.
I also appreciated my friend’s presence because the fifth graders were
very well-behaved, which is rare.
Classes were shortened, so I was surprised by the bell, since it was
International Defense of Children Day (apparently that’s a holiday here but not
enough of one to call off school altogether).
Then, I should have had a break, but instead we went to 2nd
grade, so my friend got to see the chaos that rules the school, and how I have
no clue as to how most things will go until they happen. The 2nd graders were great as
usual and invited us to attend their carnival later that day. Since we now had extra time and no one ever
invites me to anything, I agreed. We ran
home and then came back a bit refreshed.
My 2nd graders are one of my favorite classes, so I loved
watching them play games, dance, and try to make khinkali.
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| The girls had to ask the boys to dance for the "White Dance". |
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| The boys had to try to make potato khinkali. |
We snuck out in time for us to pack and eat
some tea, bread, and cheese before grabbing the 1pm marshrutka. I showed my friend the most important
cathedral in Georgia, Sameba. It’s shiny
and new, but I still like it. Then we
met up with friends and got our marshrutka to Kazbegi so my friend could get a
taste of the Caucasus mountains. Since Georgia
does not mesh well with plans, I had no place for us to stay that night, but
even before we had left Tbilisi,
we had negotiated a homestay.
Our homestay turned out to be wonderful. We could see Mt. Kazbek
from the house and had plenty of room.
Dinner that night was delicious.
When we told our host that my friend was a tourist and we wanted her to
try chacha, her face lit up and she procured for us a half-full bottle of
homemade chacha, to which we introduced my friend. I was also so pleased that she got to see why
I have loved Georgia, as we stayed up until almost 2am sitting around the
dinner table chatting.
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| First shot of chacha |
We got up early the next morning to climb to Gergeti Trinity
church, by far my favorite church in Georgia. I love it because it seems like a Georgian
church ought to. The light pierces the
dark of the church, slicing it from a high window, creating a beam straight to
the door, as if God himself was beckoning worshippers to enter. I would have taken a picture, but the
holiness of the church does not allow for cameras, cell phones, pants on women,
or any leg at all, just reverence and awe.
The darkness, divine smell of beeswax, unintelligible incantations of
the priests, and quiet adoration of devout worshippers give the church a holy
presence I have not felt anywhere else in Georgia. Perhaps the sacrifice made to reach it or the
natural beauty surrounding it help. For whatever reason, I was glad to return
and pray in a church where my prayers feel like more than just a flickering
flame in front of an icon.
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| Gergeti Sameba Church |
By the time we got to the Gergeti church, Mt. Kazbek
was shrouded in clouds, but the views were still stunning. We enjoyed them for a while and decided to
keep on trekking, as we had risen early so that we could hike to a nearby
glacier if possible. After another hour
and a half, my friend’s feet were killing her, and a few of us were starting to
wonder if it was worth it. When it
started to hail, we staged a mutiny, and all but two of us headed back.
The marshrutka back gave us some friendly Georgians and an
overly friendly (read aggressive and annoying) Georgian to chat with. We had to
decline an invitation for khinkali (dumplings) and pretend to sleep to ward off
unwanted attention. About an hour away
from Tbilisi,
the annoying Georgian found a new crop of foreigners to talk to, as several
newly-minted TLGers got on our marshrutka. I got to talk to one of them for the rest of
the ride. Her three weeks of Georgian
experience made me realize how far my understanding of the culture had matured.
Thus back in Tbilisi,
we had time for the baths, the one thing my friend had expressed interest in
trying. We all were also in need of a
good cleansing. So, the three of us
girls headed to the baths. I knew the
best baths were closed because construction had ripped up the street in front
of them. I also knew that the public
baths were little better than public showers, so we were all willing to shell
out a bit more cash to indulge in the luxury of the Royal Baths. For 50 lari (about $30), we got a private
room for an hour. We paid a bit extra
for a scrub or massage, which basically meant an overweight Georgian woman in
pajamas took a rough mitt and scraped off my top layer of skin and then rubbed
something that frothed with bubbles over me.
My friend tried the massage, and although she described it as being
violated in ways she had never been violated before, she enjoyed it, and we all
considered the hour a great success. We
then attempted to eat at a restaurant which had lobio (bean) khinkali, which
blew the minds of all of us when we heard about it. Khinkali are usually filled with seasoned
meat, but potatoes, mushrooms, and cheese are also possible. Sadly, the place was packed, so we stuffed
ourselves at the Russian place nearby.
Exhausted, we called it a night.
The next day, I had made plans for three of us to go to Gori
and Uplistsikhe, an ancient cave town near Gori. Time and tired feet meant we only made it to
the Stalin museum and the Cake House in Gori.
I got to play tour guide, since the actual tour guides were busy with
actual tourists. When I had gone in
December, my friends and I made up half the visitors at the museum. On Sunday, the place was full of tourists,
which was rather surprising. My friend,
who does not share my love of things Russian and Soviet, did not seem nearly as
intrigued by the museum and Stalin’s private rail car as I was, but I enjoyed
taking her nonetheless.
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| Finally got my picture on Stalin's toilet! |
It seemed like I
would be a bad tour guide not to show her this facet of Georgian culture. I was also quite pleased to notice a banner
that stated that the museum, which was full of Soviet glory, is going to be
turned into a museum
of Stalinism. The museum, aside from what my friends and I
like to refer to as the ‘cupboard of repression’ largely ignores anything but
what are seen as glorious deeds of one of the worst slaughterers in the 20th
century. That will be changing, another
sign of positive steps away from Georgia’s dark past.
We ended my friend’s visit basically where my Georgian
journey began. I took her to the
restaurant next to my orientation hotel.
We went to say goodbye to a few friends who leave shortly and to eat
with others. We went to that restaurant
for sentimental reasons but also because they have a live band that plays
Georgian music in an atmosphere of old Georgia. I’m not sure how much my friend got out of
the experience other than Georgians will go to dinner at a restaurant to
dance. I was reminded how much I love
these aspects of Georgian culture. I
made her do a Vakhtanguri with real Georgian wine glasses and we introduced her
to a bit more of toasting culture.
After
dinner, we finished the night sitting on the rooftop of another friend’s hostel and admired
the view of Old Town Tbilisi before crashing.
I will miss that view a lot.
I have already said goodbye to four good friends and am not
looking forward to the many more I will say goodbye to in the next few weeks. I do like that it means more hugs hello are
coming my way, but the closer I get to leaving Georgia, the more I want to
return sooner rather than later.
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