Country Mouse in the City

When I was here before, another friend and I who lived in villages used to joke about being country mice, especially when we would visit our “city mouse” friend.  After living in the village, living in Tbilisi has been a bit of an adjustment, but generally a very positive one.  I had to get used to Georgians who had nice things and weren’t uber rich.  I found out that it was possible to have a car in Tbilisi without a cracked windshield.  People on the marshrutkas frequently have fancy smartphones, although I’m still not sure how they afford them.

Tbilisi at night-I love this city a little more every day.  The city is beautiful at night, made even more so by the fact that not that long ago, there wasn't electricity to keep it lit at night.

Public transportation in general was something I had to learn.  Before, I would basically stick to the metro (subway) since it got me most places I needed to go and it was easy to understand.  A few months before I left, they installed digital signs at bus stops showing approaching bus numbers and their general destination, as well as approximate arrival times at said bus stop. The signs are in Georgian and English. It revolutionized the bus system for me, making it possible to use them.  Thanks to a handy website, I now know which marshrutkas run along paths I frequent, so I’ve started to use them too, as they are faster and more comfortable than buses.  It also requires me to use a bit of Georgian, but after the first few times, it got pretty easy, so now I feel like I’ve mastered public transportation in Tbilisi. That means, of course, that I’ve only gotten on the wrong bus or marshrutka a few times, but I’ve always figured out where I was.

The problem with public transportation is that it actually takes me a while to get places.  I used to think everywhere in Tbilisi was close, but then I realized that I stayed in one section of Tbilisi.  Now I live at one end and several places I like to go are at the other.  This is city life, I suppose, spending hours in transit.  It never took that long to get anywhere in the village.

I actually went back to my village for a visit soon after I arrived.  It was wonderful and terrible at once.  It was wonderful to see my old host family again, to walk the same streets, to breathe in the cool mountain air.  Walking around the village, I got to see a few former students and several colleagues, which was great.  I loved being able to show off my new Georgian skills, although they did not last very long.  I also loved hearing that the volunteer who replaced me was not liked nearly as much as I was.  Since he didn’t even know Russian, he did not really communicate.  I never met him, but I both pity him and am more than a little glad he wasn’t a better volunteer than I was.  The problem with going back to visit was that after a few minutes, I did not have much to say.  I exhausted my applicable Georgian quickly.  I didn’t get married in the last year and my brother still doesn’t have a kid, so basically they decided nothing new happened in my life.  I got fed a lot, quickly remembering how I had gained 25 pounds in a year, but you can eat only so much.  So it was boring.  And then, it suddenly wasn’t boring because my host dad decides we should have a mini supra to celebrate me coming home.  I actually got roped into two in the weekend I was there, even though I almost never experienced supras that weren’t connected to birthdays in the year I was there.  While it is in some ways so nice that they toasted me and told me I was their fifth child and always welcome, it was also uncomfortable because I rarely drank with my host dad and his friends in the year I lived there.  Also, trying to navigate the world of drunk drivers without offending people who treat you like their own child is awkward.

With my former host sisters

 I had forgotten what it meant to have someone else be responsible for me.  In many ways, it was great and made my life in the village easier.  However, I like my autonomy more than most people, and I had forgotten how much I give that up in the village.  Someone else decided when I would eat and where I would go.  Sure, I could have thrown a fit, but I was a guest, and these people had cared for me for a year.  I’m definitely glad I went back to see them, but the country mouse no longer prefers the country.  In Tbilisi, I have more control.  I can relate to the people I meet more.  I have an existence closer to the one I’m used to living than the one I had in the village.  And I like it.  If only it wasn’t going so quickly.

With my former host parents.  I'm pretty sure in a year of living with them, I never got a picture with both of them.

Mountain Adventures Sandwiched by too Much Time at the Tbilisi Airport

The Tbilisi airport is tiny for a national capital, but the even stranger part about it is that it’s busiest when all sane people are asleep.  I flew in at 2 and had a flight to Mestia, the capital of Svaneti at 11, so borrowed the free wifi and then headed to the Astroturf underneath the escalators.  Don’t ask me why there is Astroturf in the airport, but I joined the legions of tired travelers who have napped there.  When I arrived, the airport was bustling; by the time light shined through the skylights, waking me up, it had thinned. By the time I was supposed to be on a flight to Mestia, the place was deserted.  Thankfully, two friends had shown up by then.  Unfortunately, they delayed our flight for two hours before canceling it because there were too many clouds.  We knew that they canceled this flight regularly because of bad weather, but too many clouds?  Really?

Tired and unhappy, we had to go to another part of town to collect my money for the tickets, then get on a marshrutka to Zugdidi, whence we could take a Mestia marshrutka the next morning.  Somehow we won the baby lottery, or lost, more accurately, so we had about 6 screaming toddlers on our marshrutka.  They were pretty good once we got going but one mother decided the best way to calm her screaming child was to soothe her with lullabies. I would have been all for this except her idea of lullabies were Selena Gomez’s ‘I Love You Like a Love Song’ and Maroon 5’s ‘Moves Like Jagger’, both of which are terribly overplayed in Georgia and don’t soothe my nerves, let alone a small child’s.  Regardless, we finally made it to Zugdidi, only to find a storm had killed the power.  I had to scramble to find a place that would let me top up my internet so we could find a place to stay.  A while later, we found a hostel and they said they would call the marshrutka drive to pick us up there the next morning.  Finally, some good news!

I woke the next morning to a text from another friend who was supposed to come to Mestia to meet us.  Georgia was due for 3 days of storms, so he and his friend were putting their trip on hold.  Great.  Storms.

The storms next adversely affected our trip when we spent well over an hour on the marshrutka sitting on the road in the middle of nowhere because a storm had taken a chunk out of the road and sent it rolling down the mountain.  I was getting a sincere feeling Georgia was either mad at me for leaving or mad that I had returned.  Either way, I was getting punished.

Thankfully, when we arrived in Mestia, one of the people from our homestay came to pick us up and took us to the lovely home we would be staying in for the next few days.  2 friends who had arrived the day before soon arrived and then we were treated to a massive meal that exemplified Georgian’s culinary skill.  As the day was still drizzly, we just walked into town to check things out before coming back home.  The 10-year-old, Ananano (Ana) who lived at our homestay, also showed us their adorable kittens and bunnies.  I don’t like cats, but these were pretty cute.  I was quite happy when the bunny just let me hold it, even if it did get my white shirt dirty!  We ate another huge meal and called it a night pretty early.

Even I will admit this tiny kitten is cute.

We got up early the next day to hike to and past the cross, a walk people say is gorgeous.  Unfortunately, while the weather was cooperating enough to keep the rain at bay, the clouds were enveloping all the prettiest mountains.  By the time we made it to the “lake” at the top, the cloud was enveloping us, to the point that if we got separated, we could not see each other.  Still, we somehow managed to spend 9 hours hiking around some deserted and beautiful mountain areas.  We were exhausted by the time we got home so did not make it much past another delicious dinner.

View at the Cross.  Do you notice how the clouds block all the good stuff?

At the lake

 

The next day, one friend left early and the rest of us took it easy and then got a ride to Ushguli, the highest permanent settlement in Europe.  Some people debate that it is the highest settlement and another friend debates whether it is Europe, but regardless, it was pretty epic.  The ride there can only be undertaken in SUVs and other suitable vehicles because at times it is overtaken by water or landslides.  We stopped along the way to take pictures of the beautiful scenery and even got to venture inside a Svan tower at one point.  When we got to Ushguli, it was muddy and dreary, so we walked around a bit and then went to the café, thinking we would explore more once we had a cup of tea in us.   

Svan tower we stopped at on the way

Ushguli

Ushguli, with lots of Svan towers

 The place was deserted except for the two girls who worked there until we decided to order, when a Georgian man brought some tourists in.  Eventually, he started talking to us and we learned that they had a true Soviet collective going on. There was a Russian who lived in the Czech Republic, another one who lived in Moldova, a guy from Baku, and an Armenian (I believe), as well as a Georgian girl, who seemed to be their guide.  The Georgian man was from Tbilisi and, in true Georgian style, bought us wine, chacha (hard alcohol), and food.  They toasted us, and we toasted them.  The experience was delightful, very Georgian, and restored my love of Georgia after the past few rough days.  We spent so long in the café that we had to head home after that, but none of us minded since the café had given us an excellent Georgian experience and we could all feel the chacha. Once we arrived in Mestia, we were greeted by an amazing rainbow.

That night, at dinner, the family just kept bringing out food so our table was full of the supra stack-when you stack plates of food somewhat pyramid-like on top of each other because the table is not big enough for all the dishes, usually something done at supras.  Every meal we ate there was amazing and basically supplied me with all of my favorite Georgian dishes save two, but dinners were extra large.  We only ate 2 meals there and had no idea how anyone could eat 3.

The last full day we tried to go to the ATM but found that it was not working.  We walked around in search of Svan salt, a brownish mixture that I brought home but have yet to try, and Svan gum, pine resin that tastes kind of like furniture and sticks to your molars.  The experience was sweetened by he fact that we could only find the Svan gum at a 'store' that was really a converted van.  Being a small town, there was only one ATM in Mestia so we then headed home.  Thankfully, even after our purchases, we had enough money to get us all home so then went on another hike with little Anano as our guide.  She claimed we were going to see rive and “ice”.  Turns out, we hiked to the glacier friends had talked about.   While the glacier refrained from calving in front of us, it was still awesome to see water rushing out below the blue ice.  

Close-up of the bottom of the glacier

 Even though the hike was much less intense than the one to the lake, we were exhausted since our muscles were still aching from the hike to the lake.  As it was our last night, the host family had set out chacha alongside our immense spread for dinner, so I enjoyed one last night of toasting Georgian style.  We all grudgingly agreed to finish the bottle, since anything else would be silly, and commented on how strong it was since it made all of shudder until a few shots in.   

Dinner for 4

We had to wake up at 4:30am to catch the 5am marshrutka, which, of course, did not leave until after 6am.  It also tore down the twisting mountain roads, giving me one of the few severe bouts of nausea Georgian roads like to provide.  Thankfully I survived and we rolled into Tbilisi in the afternoon.

My last few days in Georgia were spent between Tbilisi and Manglisi.  Rain hampered me from doing too much in either place, but I got to say a few goodbyes, buy a Georgian cookbook, and soak up what was left of my Georgian experience.  At home, I mostly relaxed and spent a bit of time with my host family.  Saying goodbye to them was quite sad, but I got pictures with all of them except my host father, who was not home when I left.  About an hour before I left, my host family and favorite neighbor came in to give me gifts.  My host family gave me a clock, which is certainly designed for babies, that had a sweet message about good friends on it.  That’s why they had bought the clock for me, and I felt quite touched.  My neighbor gave me some apple-shaped toothpicks, and my host brothers gave me some beautiful but incredibly heavy drinking glasses. Somehow everything fit.  My host sisters and a neighbor walked me to the marshrutka.  Of course, it was one I had never seen before and was much nicer looking than most of mine, but the drive drove so fast that I hardly got to appreciate my view for the last time.  I ran a few last-minute errands and had dinner with friends, eating khinkali and drinking Georgian wine one last time.  When I got to the airport, I had to pay quite a bit for excess baggage but made it to Istanbul just fine.

A Visit from Home Prompts Reflections on the Idea

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. 

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.

Old and new in Tbilisi

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 2^nd 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 2^nd 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 2^nd graders are one of my favorite classes, so I loved watching them play games, dance, and try to make khinkali.   

The girls had to ask the boys to dance for the "White Dance".

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.

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.

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.  

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 20^th 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.

A Multicultural Existence

Oh, where to begin?  Less than five weeks left, the weather is gorgeous, I just spent the last 6 days having a great vacation out west and a bonus day in Tbilisi… 

So, here are a few scattered thoughts…

Wednesday was a holiday, so two friends and I took the rest of the week off to do some adventuring out west.  It was a great trip and showed me that trusting a 23-year old frat boy over my common sense sometimes leads to a great adventure instead of jail or death.  The trip will get its own blog entry later, but since I’m nearing the end, I’ve been doing more thinking and am starting to evaluate my year here, so you’re going to get another one of those blog entries.

One of the nights we were on a beach drinking and talking and I brought up something that had been bothering me since about my last blog entry.  All of my close friends here are expats.  This was also true in Russia, although I made some close Russian friends.  Why do I feel so compelled to travel halfway around the world to a foreign language and culture just to make friends with other people like me?  They told me it was normal. 

It came up a few days later with a friend from South Africa.  She pointed out that being here lets us meet people from other parts of the Western world we never would have met otherwise and would not have made friends with.  She has a good friend she met in Georgia who is from England, so now they both have an impetus to visit a country that previously held no interest for them.  Even the Americans I’m friends with probably would not have become friends, and certainly not good friends, back in America. 

Another friend recently wrote on the Facebook group page frequented by TLGers, asking if people who had eschewed laptops and ereaders had really felt that they had gained more by doing so, since connections with home make it harder to make connections here.  While everyone who answered obviously leads a wired Georgian life, all the responses echoed the sentiment that people got plenty of Georgian culture.  Obviously I’m not the only one who has been wondering about the expat bubble vs. Georgian immersion experience.

While I may not be immersing myself 24/7 in Georgian culture, I’ve gotten a multicultural experience.  I’m slowly learning Australian slang and realizing how wrong they speak English in England.  My knowledge of Singapore has grown exponentially and I’ve realized how different America does certain things from other parts of the West.  It’s made me much prouder to be from America, as I’ve defended certain aspects of American culture that seem strange to my friends but I hold much nearer and dearer than I thought.  Conversations about the Constitution, including incredulity that Britain exists without one and a conversation about the Supreme Court that ended at 5:30am, have made me appreciate the brilliancy of that document and how it has helped shape our national character.  There are plenty of things about America and Americans that drive me crazy, but there’s plenty that we’ve done well as well.

For Cinco de Mayo, my Peace Corps friend, Australian friend, and Singapore friend cooked food for about 20 people to celebrate.  It was a great snapshot of what this year has been.  We had a token American of Mexican descent to add some legitimacy to the event, but mostly we had a bunch of Americans and a few people other nationalities, including a few Georgians and Armenians, enjoying good burritos and stir fry (don’t ask).  I got to make guacamole and we made “sopeli sangria”, as one friend dubbed the village wine sangria we made (sopeli is Georgian for village).  Ten of us ended the night chatting on the rooftop of the hostel, overlooking the city and watching fireworks and paper lanterns float across the skyline while chatting.  It was a night I will remember for a long, long time, and one of the reasons I will miss Georgia so much, getting to spend quality time with so many interesting people with so many different reasons for coming to Georgia and views on life.

After the party, I felt I had to do something related to Georgian culture so finally made my way to the National museum.  Basically there is a floor dedicated to the Soviet Occupation and one dedicated to all the sweet stuff they’ve dug up around Georgia.  The Soviet Occupation museum made me consider for the first time the independent Georgia that existed between 1918 and1921.  While the Red Army had little trouble taking over Georgia, the museum catalogs other heinous deeds of the Soviets: the poets and writers shot, the thousands killed, the struggles to retain Georgian culture and language, the war against religion, and other crimes of the Soviets.  There are letters begging other nations for help, including one from the Khevsurs (a group of people in a remote mountain part of Georgia) pleading with the US government for help as the Soviets were forbidding them from practicing their religion and traditional way of life and vowing that they would fight until the last Khevsur was killed against the Soviets.  I’m sure they got no response.

The basement is a completely different story, filled with gold, silver, and other exquisite treasures dating back centuries.  Ancient Georgia was alive and well, trading with far-flung places in the known world.  It was nice to follow up a sorrowful visit with an appreciation of beauty and human craftsmanship.  The pieces were all amazing, some incredibly detailed, most well preserved.

Speaking of jewelry, I’ve acquired a ring that has become one of my favorite pieces of Georgia.  No, not that kind of ring, although I did get it from a man in my village.  A few weeks ago, I went to wait for my marshrutka to Tbilisi for the weekend.  I started talking to the woman who sold me the ticket and another old man who was waiting.  They figured out who I was, asked me all the usual questions like do I like Georgia and why don’t I get married to a Georgian.  He then told me he wanted to give me a gift.  After so many months in Georgia, this did not make me feel weird or guilty, as I regularly get things like flowers or candy now.  (Yeah, getting lilacs from students and random kids on the street is pretty awesome, in case you wanted to know.)  He then started taking a ring off his key ring and I thought it was going to be some stupid key ring like we have back home.  He told me it was silver and handed me a twisted silver ring that could or could not be real, but it is still something I treasure since he gave it to me simply so that I would think Georgians were hospitable.  Georgians may drive me crazy with a lot of their ideas and ways, but their hospitality is really incredible. 

The old man then told me that the Georgian language was the easiest language in the world to learn.  I tried to suggest that maybe that’s because he was Georgian, but he was adamant that it was an unbiased fact.  I decided not to argue the matter since I knew he was wrong and he knew he was right.  And it reminded me of the double-edged sword that is Georgia.  Of course, I don’t even know if I got his name, but I’ll remember him for sure.

I think I’ve expressed to many of you that I’ll be ready to go home when I go.  I’ve got several amazing adventures left, have loved Georgia, but I’m ready to go home for a while.  Part of it is that I long to cook my own meals made up mostly of veggies, go to the bathroom where the neighbors don’t know that’s what I’m doing, and just be me.  Another part is that the internet can only do such a good job of communicating the joys and sorrows of friends and family back home.  While I’ve had so many wonderful experiences here, there are ones I would have liked to have been a part of back home, for better or worse.  I’ve realized that there has been an emotional and relational cost of my penchant for strange countries.  I’m not saying I’m close to hanging up my hat, but I’m looking forward to sitting tight for a while and hoping for lots of visitors in Bloomington.

While that would be a good place to end this blog, I won’t.  I have to write about how lovely spring has made everything.  I am surrounded by green.  It is lush and lovely, and I am constantly stunned by the beauty of the earth in my little region of the world.  While I don’t love the 90 minute rides on Georgian marshrutkas that take me to Tbilisi every weekend, they give me at least 50 minutes to gaze on absolute loveliness, especially on Sunday evenings as the sun sets over the mountains or the valley is submerged in fog.  I love my Midwestern cornfields, but the sights of the area around Manglisi remind me again and again of the Georgian legend that God had reserved this place for himself.

So while on vacation, I left behind my laptop and found my phone only worked as an alarm (which I needed far too much for a vacation).  The 5 days free of connection to the outside world was a lot easier than I thought it would be.  Granted, I was too busy exploring, but it was a reminder that I need to unplug every once in a while since I am tethered to my computer so much.  When I got back to Tbilisi, too late to go home to the village due to our bus breaking down, I stayed the night at a hostel and used a friends’ internet connection.  I had a lot of unread emails but only a few important ones.  My Facebook account had weathered my absence just fine.  Without my laptop to write down thoughts, I had actually written in my travel journal, which is still not full after 5 years and 3 trips to the former USSR.  That night, having no computer or exhaustion to lull me to sleep, I borrowed a book from the hostel.  Having no real agenda for the next day, I sat on an outdoor couch, sipped tea, and finished the book.  It was an easy read, but the feeling of simply sitting and reading was absolutely delightful, and it had been so long since I had lost myself in a book like that.  Monday as a whole was a mental health day that worked wonders, but the experience also reminded me of what my life was like before it was invaded by the internet.  Of course, today, I’ve been tethered to my computer, so maybe the lesson isn’t quite fully learned.

Also, my workweek is about to get even shorter.  Yes, that is possible.  Apparently the ministry lets the 12^th grade out a few weeks early to study for the big national exam.  That’s understandable and should save my mother from having to yell at my sister each morning to get out of bed.  The ministry also lets the first graders out after this week.  I don’t really know why, and neither did my co-teacher when I asked her, but I think it has been like that for a while.  I can’t say I’m disappointed, as I don’t hate the class, but I also can’t say I’ve been that effective there.  Some of them are super cute, though.  But now I’ll be able to sleep in on Thursdays.  I can see the cute kids when I roam the streets instead.

Oh, and my upper grades are finally getting past the verb “to be” and into action verbs.  I like that a lot.  Taking a page from my high school German teacher’s handbook, I’ve made the kids do motions for the verbs to help them remember it.  I think they like it.  I also get a kick out of making them bark and meow and flap their wings like a bird.  I taught my 6^th graders Simon Says, and they now beg to play the game every class.  It makes me feel like I’ve done something I came here to do-teach them English, give them a slice of American culture, get them to remember something in English, and enjoy it.

Looking Forward and Looking Back

I have 6 ½ weeks left of school and a little over 2 months before I step foot on American soil once again.  When I got back from Turkey, I calculated how many lessons I had left.  I’m somewhere under 90 now.  These numbers tell me 2 contradictory things.  I have so little time and I have so much time.  Being me, my planning is taking me mentally past Georgia into my travels and then starting to think about life beyond Georgia, like grad school.  Mostly this is simply thinking about what I’ll need for my new apartment because the thought of actual work is terrifying after a year here.  Still, I have adventures still to enjoy, lessons still to teach, and hopefully relationships to continue.

With the end in sight, however, I’ve also started thinking over my year in Georgia.  I know I’ll be able to reflect better when I’m home, but then life will consume me with thoughts of grad school and other matters.  Now I have plenty of time to reflect, especially as I enjoy the fresh mountain air.

Sometimes I think about what I set out to do when I came to Georgia and realize how I’ve fallen short of many of those goals.  While I can speak some Georgian, it’s far from where I expected it to be, because I was so easily able to use Russian. In the grand scheme of things, increasing my fluency in Russian is a much better thing, but still, I wish I would have studied a bit harder with Georgian.  My fluency in Russian is definitely better, but my vocabulary and grammar could have been improved more as well.

While I came here mostly for me, I wanted to be a good teacher, and I often wonder what impact I’ll have made.  I know a lot of why TLG exists is to help raise the English level of our co-teachers.  While my cos can understand me better now, their English is still pretty terrible. I feel I’ve failed in really improving their English, but the limited overtures I made in that regard were ignored or misunderstood.  My cos seemed in no hurry to appreciate having a native speaker around and prefer to speak in Georgian than attempt to work on their English.

While it isn’t a great excuse, I blame my cos’ poor English as the reason I didn’t do more in my school.  They don’t really translate announcements for me.  I usually find things out from a teacher who translates for me into Russian if I find out at all.  I talked with my cos about a few ideas for English clubs and working with older students but again was ignored or misunderstood, so nothing came of it.  My English Club for other teachers (which has fizzled out) basically only got started because my Russian-speaking friend helped me talk to the director about it.  People with more enthusiastic/engaging cos are able to communicate and just do more.

Basically, in TLG, you have to have a lot of initiative to implement new things or get lucky and have a really receptive school.  I have initiative, but I funneled it more into graduate school applications and travel plans.  Ideas for improving my community stopped mostly at ideas because I had basically no support and no initiative to override that lack of support.

Sometimes this is why I think older volunteers are better.  They have more life experience, confidence, and are less likely to bend their expectations to fit the status quo.  Sometimes I hear volunteers (especially those placed in cities) talk about all the things they find shocking about Georgia and just want to laugh.  I overheard say she asked if there were grief counselors at her school when a student died.  Seriously?  While that would be a great thing, so would adequate heating, books for all the students, electrical outlets in every room, and schools that were not falling down, just to name a few things I view as more pressing problems.  Those in the city don’t really understand the poverty and difficulty of Georgia.  Yes, Georgia is trying to rise above being a developing nation, but it has a lot of work to do once you leave Tbilisi.  Resources are scarce and often not used correctly. 

But, maybe these city folk aren't always just being city folk (but sometimes, oh they are!) and are just unwilling to accept the status quo as is and are voicing their concern as part of the effort to change Georgia, which is why we're here.  Sometimes I wonder if by fitting in, I've wasted opportunities to instigate change.  But then I realize I live in a village, where life sometimes feels as different to life in Tbilisi as it does to life in America, and the way I know how to affect change requires resources I don't have here.

I realize that this is another excuse I’ve created: that in the village, there aren’t the resources to do the things I’d like.  I also realize that I’ve worked so hard to remain conservative in my life in the village so as to avoid problems and be considered a ‘good girl’ by everyone, since crossing that line invites lots of problems.

Yet, lately, I’ve realized that I’ve been so conservative in some actions, I’ve failed to take risks that really could have helped my community and school.  I’ve made small strides toward change, but not major ones.

And there are volunteers who have taken risks and made real impacts upon their communities.  This weekend, I went on an excursion to Vardzia, a cave town in western Georgia. It was arranged by TLG, so I got to meet some new TLGers.

One guy had been a nuclear engineer and then a broker in New York before coming to Georgia.  That, of course, prompted the question of why he was here.  Apparently foreclosing homes in New York made him so disgusted he wanted to go do something good for poor people and ended up in Georgia.  He came in fall 2010 and started out in a small somewhat isolated village.  He was trying not to brag, but just told some stories about the changes that he had made in his village.  After a year of him being there, they got a racquetball court, since he loved to play.  After he left, his school went around the village and picked up trash (a huge problem in Georgia).  He said that they had done this on their own because he had talked to them about how it was a problem while he was there.

“I was just honest with them, and if you’re honest with people, they’ll respond,” was more or less his way of describing the sudden interest in the environment and other changes he helped bring about.  This got me to thinking, that, sadly, I’m not really honest with the people in Manglisi.  No, I don’t lie to them, but I also choose the diplomatic answer over the truth.  I haven’t really shown who I truly am to them.  This is part of why I like leaving every weekend and look forward to being in America, where I can feel comfortable again.  Sometimes the language barrier prevents me from being honest.  A lot of times, I decide the cultural barrier is too great to overcome.  Sometimes I just decide it isn’t worth the trouble.  Thinking about it this way makes me sad for all the lost opportunities I’ve had because I haven’t been honest.  I could have made a bigger impact had I been willing to take risks and tell the truth.

I’m hoping that I have made an impact in ways I just can’t see.  I hope that I’ve inspired students in ways I don’t realize.  I hope that my co-teachers will take something away from how I’ve taught class.  I really hope that Manglisi gets another TLGer and they aren’t shocked that the school and community had a volunteer for a year.

While I realize I’ve had a lot of missed opportunities, I’ve still had a wonderful year.  I discussed the lack of being honest with a friend, and she agreed she did the same in her village.  We’ve both gotten wonderful travel experiences and have gotten to experience Georgian culture, sometimes more than we’ve wanted.  I have a much better understanding of life in a developing/impoverished nation.  As much as I hated life in the depth of winter, village life has shown me a lot about living outside of the comforts I’ve always known and shown me many of the joys that can come of it, like drinking fresh milk, eating fruit off the tree, seeing baby animals in the spring, and living in beautiful surroundings.  I have come to care about my students, which is why I still get so frustrated by them some days and am so happy when I realize I have taught them something.  I’ve made some great friends, even if they are mostly other expats.  I’ve grown as a person and am far more confident in the face of challenges.  I have been constantly amazed by the kindness of strangers and hope to bring home the spirit of hospitality I’ve witnessed here.

Let’s see what the next 6 ½ weeks bring, since it’s not over yet.

Relating to The Idiot More Than I'd Like

Is there ever a good time to relate to a Russian novel?  Probably not.  Still…

The Idiot is a novel written by Fyodor Dostoevsky with the premise of how people would receive Jesus if he came to Petersburg society, or something to that effect.  The main character, a prince, returns to Russia after spending several years in Switzerland, for his health.  He sometimes has “fits”, some people think he is an idiot, and he is incredibly unassuming, compassionate, and genuine.  It’s a good read, and I finally finished it today.

I started reading The Idiot (this go-round) soon after I got back to Georgia in the cold, dark days of winter.  I was still adjusting to Georgian culture again, feeling a bit out of it, and spending my days by the pechka in order to keep warm.  Thus, when the opening chapter of the book shows the hero as suffering from Petersburg cold in clothes unsuited for the Russian winter and feeling quite confused and foreign despite being back in a place he’s been before, I connected with that feeling of being cold and alien.

I have been reading the book off and on all semester but started to get deeper into the story while traveling in Turkey.  I noticed I was extraordinarily sore while in Trabzon, but was not totally convinced I was sick until I got back to Georgia and slept all afternoon and all night after I got back.  I ached all over, my chest hurt, and I was miserable. I had no respiratory symptons, and actually my respiratory system was feeling better than it had in months, so I didn’t think I had the flu.  Then Dr. Mom informed me that I had hallmark flu symptons and could actually have the flu without any respiratory problems.  This happens, of course, the one year I decide to get a flu shot.  Suffice to say, my first two days back in my village were mostly spent on my bed, sleeping or resting and dreaming of Robitussin Cold, Cough, and Flu.

This does relate back to the book, I promise.  Aside from being miserable, I found that I understood the main character’s life a bit better.  I understood feeling feverish and confused much more than I had a few months earlier, which is good, since the prince spends about half of the book feeling feverish, confused, or upset.  Suprisingly, feeling feverish and a bit out of it made teaching easier, since everything felt a bit surreal.  Thus the prince’s feverish dreams that collide with reality and make him unsure of what he was previously convinced was true seemed much more believable.

I was already starting to feel like I was relating to the book a bit too much for my own comfort before yesterday, when the parallels heightened.  I had spent the weekend picnicking at the Tbilisi Botanical Gardens and making burgers with some friends, trying to give my body some rest instead of haring off on another adventure as planned.  I accidentally grabbed a friend’s phone (since they all look the same) and so yesterday had to return to Tbilisi to give it back to her.  Try living without a phone-you feel handicapped more than you’d think.  It meant I had a lot of time to spend on the marshrutka and read my book for part of the time, mostly about Pavlovsk society, gossips, and courtship intrigues.  When I got back to my village, I took the long way home and got a phone call when I was close to home that made me feel like I was in a Russian novel.

Several months ago, the gym teacher, and mother of one of my 5^th grade boys, told me she had a very handsome single male relative she wanted me to meet.  I listened to her detail his attributes, nodded, and smiled, assuming that this, like all other talk of matchmaking to get me stay in Georgia, would come to nothing.  After eight months of hearing people tell me I should marry a Georgian and stay here forever, I actually found one who did something about it.

Nanuli, the gym teacher, called me, asking me to meet her.  I then saw my host sisters and friends walking, and then we saw Nanuli.  They clearly knew she was looking for me.  I went to talk to her and she shooed her son away.  She also tried to talk quietly, since she did not want the woman who lived nearby to overhear.  I felt almost like I was in middle school.  Since when had talk of a boy elicited so much secrecy?  Regardless, she said her relative had finally come to Manglisi, told me again how handsome and strong he was, and said he had to leave the next day again, so I should meet him that night.  Trapped, I agreed to rest a bit and then meet him.

My host sisters, who had clearly been involved in this, had waited for me.  I assume that they had given the gym teacher my phone number, and that she had run across them while they were out walking, or the gym teacher had come to my house looking at me.  Regardless, the addition of intermediaries struck me as similar to the book, when third parties are always relaying messages or notes or gossip.

We got home, were fed, and my host mom asked me what Nanuli wanted.  I told her that she wanted me to meet this relative.  She asked why.  For some unknown reason, I was totally honest with her: because Nanuli wants me to marry him.  This caused laughter all around.  If nothing else, this was helping me bond with my host family.

A little after dinner, I went out, where I was supposed to meet either the relative or Nanuli by the park, but when I walked out of my house, I saw her.  We walked together to the relative’s parents’ house as she told me about how wonderful he was.  We got to the house early, since the guy had been visiting friends.  When he came in, I remembered that Georgians are very attractive and then age very quickly, so 32 meant that he looked older and less attractive than I was hoping for, especially since Nanuli had told me how attractive he was.  She also said he was great at Russian, which, perhaps because he was at least a bit drunk due to meeting his friends, was not that true.

I thought the whole thing would be painfully awkward, but eventually the mother came home and started putting out food like all good Georgian mothers do.  Mostly the Georgians talked amongst themselves, occasionally translating.  I did feel like a girl on display, with her matchmaker trying to entice eligible men with her excellent qualities as Nanuli boasted I was good at Georgian (and made me utilize my limited Georgian) and was always studying while the teachers chatted (which I’ve only done a few times).  She also mentioned that I am always the one to remind the teachers to ring the bell (since they are always too busy chatting and sometimes I can’t stand it so I mention it).  When it was discovered that the guy didn’t like coffee, Nanuli and the guy’s parents all thought this was a wonderful similarity, as in ‘aren’t they perfect for each other, they both hate coffee and like tea’ kind of way.

In The Idiot, the main character often feels at a loss for how to act appropriately in situations.  I could definitely relate to that.  How does one act when meeting a Georgian man the villagers think you should marry?  They don’t really teach you that, although it seems like something girls in Russian novels probably were taught.  I, instead, felt out of place and hoped I didn’t do anything stupid, which the prince often worries about.  While I have no interest in marrying said relative, I also don’t have any interest in causing a “scandal” (to borrow from The Idiot) or causing any problems in my village.  I’ve tried very hard to remain a good girl in my village and for everyone to approve of my actions and would like that to continue for the next two months.

I think I managed to end the night without doing anything damaging, and then went home and tried to relate everything to my host mom.  Of course, in The Idiot, people manage to recount events perfectly.  I was tired and could only remember bits and pieces.  Today, at school, Nanuli caught me on my way out the door. She said that the guy liked me and was worried this morning that it might have been obvious last night that he was drunk.  I smiled, told her that it was fine, and went on my way.

My neighbor invited my host mom and me for tea today.  My host mom told her about the meeting, so she asked if I was going to get married.  I told her probably not, and as an afterthought realized that subtlety was maybe not the best way to go about it.  The fact that I laughed probably kept them from thinking there was anything serious in it.

I think my village really is trying to get me to stay.  My fourth grade girls keep showering me with seed bead jewelry.  It’s quite pretty, even if some of the beads are neon orange and the bracelet I got today fits a fourth grader and not her American teacher who has eaten too much white bread and too many potatoes in Georgia.  I got flowers last week from a fifth grader and yesterday from an eleventh grader.  They just pick them from someone’s yard, but still, the daffodils are lovely.  Some of my kids have given me drawings, and I can’t leave third grade without getting kisses and hugs from a few girls.  Not to mention that the whole set-up is apparently largely due to the concern of one of my fifth grade boys, who has been very concerned about me marrying a Georgian.

Like The Idiot, my story starts off about where it started.  I’m healthy and still very single, but the whole adventure has made me appreciate Dostoevsky a little bit more, if nothing else.