Mountains, Mountains, Mountains...From a Girl who Loves the Sight of a Cornfield

 Another blog I had to write for my grant, which is why I've done 2 in 1 week

I never tire of looking at Georgian mountains.  It probably has a lot to do with the fact that, although I’ve lived in several states in different parts of the US, I always live in flat country.  As a child, I would go sledding down “hills” on the golf course, because the only elevation we had was man-made.  Then I came to Georgia, where almost any view has hills or mountains in the background.  Tbilisi is ringed by hills, with apartments even stretching onto some of the hills.  

 

Climbing a mountain in Borjomi-Kharagauli National Park

 The real beauty of Georgia, however, opens up when you leave Tbilisi, when you head to the real mountains.  In summer, they are verdant green, covered with trees and shrubs and various plants, even primeval forests.  Sometimes there are even colorful wildflowers sprinkled in amongst the greenery for variety.  Villages are scattered among the mountains, and if you look closely, you’ll undoubtedly find a Georgian Orthodox church perched on some hill or mountain.  There might even be no discernible road or even path to this church, but nonetheless, the church remains as a symbol to the faithful and a sanctuary for the intrepid who dare to climb up to it.  I look at these mountains in Georgia and I see beauty everywhere. 

In Borjomi

 Certainly, there are taller mountains elsewhere.  I’ve been to the Rockies, which are certainly impressive, but they don’t speak to me like the Caucasus do.  Perhaps because here in Georgia, I see how difficult life can be in the mountains, and it is easier to imagine how long ago people forged a life in such beautiful and stark surroundings.  When I stare at the mountains, I can see invading foreign armies pouring over them, mountaineers fighting valiantly to protect their rugged homeland, and millennia of shepherds grazing their flocks on the graceful slopes.  Learning about the history and being here, breathing in the mountain air, gazing upon vistas that my camera can never really capture, and knowing how difficult it is even in 2013 to get to the mountains, I think I understand a little more about Georgia than I did before.  The clannishness, the wars, the intense patriotism, the capacity to withstand discomfort…these all make more sense now.  

On the top of a mountain in Borjomi

A few weeks ago, I took a trip to Shatili, a remote village in Khevsureti, one of the more remote, mountainous parts of Georgia. It had been on my bucket list for a long time, but the road is only passable in summer, so I had never been before.  I wanted to go because I knew that there was an ancient fortress/town high in the mountains, close to the border with Chechnya, and it was beautiful. 

I had not really appreciated how unique Shatili and Khevsureti really were.  The Soviets would not allow the Khevsurs (natives of Khevsureti) to remain in their isolated mountain villages and forced them to come down to more “civilized” parts of the country.  The Khevsurs suffered as a result.  Even though Tbilisi has hills, the Khevsurs longed to see their mountains every day.  In the 1980s, they started to rebuild Shatili and families returned.  Now, in the summer, twenty families live in Shatili but only seven remain all year long.  It is the biggest community around.  Only native Khevsurs are allowed to own property in Khevsureti.  While Georgia is becoming modernized in so many ways, these mountainous areas still keep their traditions, and in Shatili, only natives to the area own property.  When you’re a six-hour ride on a difficult road away from Tbilisi, it’s a lot easier to keep local laws enforced than anything that might be handed down from the federal authorities. 

Before we left, the tour guide told us that in other places in Georgia, the mountains are “here” and stuck his hand out.  In Shatili, however, the mountains are “here”, and he brought his hand right up to his face.  I did not really understand what he meant until we arrived.  Shatili is set in a small valley of sorts, which mountains ringing it in every direction.  There is the town of about two streets, a river, and just enough flat ground for people to camp.  The mountains really are upon you.  

 

Beautiful scenery on the way to Shatili at the Dartvsi Jvari Pass, high in the mountains

The tour guide also said that he has had some tourists look at the fort and be unimpressed.  It’s a long and painful drive to Shatili just to see some old stone towers.  However, there’s a certain amount of magic to Shatili.  It does not necessarily hit you at first, but as you breathe in the mountain air, stare at the fort stark against the mountainside, make a toast with a drinking horn, and listen to someone strum a chongoli (a traditional Georgian stringed instrument), it starts to make sense.  

 

One of our guides playing the chongoli and singing

The more time I spent in Shatili, the more in awe I was.  The scenery is breathtaking, but the fact that people have carved out a life here, in this tucked away part of the mountains, with the ever present fear of Chechen raiders coming down from Russia, is awe-inspiring.  Even in summer, the air is crisp and cool.  Shatili did not have electricity until one of Saakashvili’s projects created a hydroelectric power station.  There are no stores in Shatili.  Yet people have clung to this place they call home in spite of significant obstacles.  Perhaps they’ve done it because it is beautiful, perhaps because it is simply their home.  Regardless, it’s impressive.

Shatili

Khevsureti is one of the extreme regions of Georgia, but the mountain fierceness resonates throughout much of Georgia.  The mountains have helped shape Georgia’s history, culture, and according to a recent article by the BBC, maybe even the language.  As I study the language and see more of the country, I start to understand this ancient land through experience.  As I gaze upon the mountains, I appreciate why Georgians have fought so hard and suffered so much for their little patch of earth.  I also understand why they claim in the favorite origin myth that God gave them the part of Earth he had reserved for himself.  I probably would have done the same.

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.

Bye America (A day in rainy DC)

Another airport, another blog post.  This time I’m in DC, waiting to fly out to Tbilisi by way of Munich.  It’s Friday night.  I’ll arrive in Tbilisi on Sunday morning.  I know you’re already jealous.

I flew into DC yesterday and had a short orientation with American Councils and the four other brave souls going on the Eurasian Intensive Language Program.  It was really interesting getting to know these people who will be experiencing similar and yet very different things over the course of the summer. We’re all going to our own chosen post-Soviet country: Armenia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Moldova, Georgia (clearly the best!), and we all come with vast but varied experience.  Our pursuit of graduate degrees and interest in these countries that fly below most people’s radar made it easy to connect for the brief period we were together.  It was a taste of what I hope is to come; in Georgia, befriending other expats was far easier than making friends ever is.  Seriously.  Where else does the line “Hey there, fellow native English speaker,” actually serve as a great introduction?

I had the afternoon off.  Everyone else had earlier flights so we were given lunch to go and they shipped off.  As DC has been enjoying a nice spate of rainstorms care of Andrea, I decided to forgo another venture up Old Abe’s steps and hit the Smithsonian.  Since I definitely did not pack an umbrella and shunned the multiple offers, I looked like a bedraggled rat by the time I got there.  It was not a problem, since I had left Foggy Bottom, where the hotel and GWU are, and far too many well-dressed young people milled around, all of them carrying umbrellas like sensible people.  Umbrellas and ponchos abounded on the National Mall, but here they were carried by tourists in flip flops, hats signifying their tour group, and t-shirts from high schools and colleges across the nation.  There were plenty of teenagers clearly trying to be cool but failing in a way they will only see when they look back on these photos in several years.  This made me appreciate that I have no idea where pictures of my 6^th grade trip to DC (basically just the Smithsonian) are hiding.

DC, and especially the National Mall, with tour buses waiting on all available streets and people milling around even in the rain, provided some excellent people watching.  As I’m gearing up my traveler’s skills of observation and analysis, it was fun to turn a critical eye on my fellow countrymen, to try to view Americans a little like I view Georgians.

I was actually left with a pleasant picture.  After seeing hundreds of benches to eat lunch, which promised a soaked dress for sure, I was very relieved to find an empty event tent with a few chairs where I could sit down after strolling the American History Museum and finally eat my lunch.  About halfway through, I thought my little piece of heaven was about to be destroyed when an event truck rolled up.  The man smiled and quickly brought out a table!  His friend teased him that he had never seen him work so fast before, to which he replied that I was cute and his friend was not.  A compliment and a dry table!  Between that and watching cute kids try to take pictures in front of the Capitol, I was quite pleased with my countrymen.

Obviously not the Capitol.  It makes me sad the Washington Monument is STILL encased in scaffolding.

I hurried through parts of the National Gallery, finding Van Dycks, Rembrandts, and Titans lurking just around the corner.  Wishing I could stay, I headed back to my fancy hotel in the swanky part of the city.  I’m not sure if it was cocktail hour, their normal MO, or what, but in the lobby they were giving away free mojitos, so I grabbed my bags and a drink and waited for my shuttle.

Since my program arranged for me to arrive 4 hours early, I had plenty of time to do everything I needed at Dulles, including eating Mexican as my last American meal in 2 months.  DC gets definite props for having free wifi in both airports, even if they do charge an extra dollar each way (each way!!) for paper tickets on the metro.

Goodbye America!  I’ll see you in August.  If you could improve the weather by then, I’d really appreciate it. 

Now that I'm done writing about Khrushchev and the Georgian economy...

And, it happened.  I knew the time would come when I would fail to keep up with the blog.  This semester somehow got away from me.  By the time winter was over, papers were calling my name.  I still managed to have a good semester.  Instead of working on papers for Spring Break, my mom, best friend, and I ventured to San Francisco.  Having never ventured to the West Coast, I loved it.  I don’t think I could handle the high prices and hills for any length of time, but the city was a blast to visit for a few days.  The weather also cooperated marvelously, so instead of gross Indiana weather, we got a week of relative sun and light jackets.   

Then I went back to school and found out I’d be writing more papers than I thought, so life became very narrow: read, write, and get your homework done.  I also decided not to go on the program I was set on this summer.  Instead of going to Russia, I decided to go to Georgia.  I leave in a few weeks and am looking forward to a summer in Tbilisi-getting to see old friends, being back in a beautiful country, and do some more exploring.

I finished year 1 of grad school well, but that was the easy year.  In August I start the MBA program and enter a different world.  Part of me can’t wait, the other part wonders how I’ll still be able to have conversations about Putin and Stalin and Misha on a regular basis.  At least I’ll have friends who won’t shudder when I talk about TFP or privatization.

A few weeks before school got out, the business school had an admit weekend, a teaser of how different life is about to become.  It was a bit jarring to realize that the two programs on the same campus could treat everything so differently.  It’s also a relief to be entering a program where people actually (and actively) care about me getting a great job I enjoy once I finish this degree.  As much as I love what I’ve learned this year, I won’t be sad to say goodbye to academia in 2 years.

But, I don’t have to grow up just yet.  In the weeks since school got over, I moved, again.  I’ve managed to stay in one place for longer than a year only once since I turned 18, so I really should be better at this moving thing than I am.  At least this time I got movers, so the process was much easier, and moving every year makes me consistently reevaluate if I need things or not.  After that, I went home to visit my parents and have ended up working at my mom’s work for more days than I anticipated.  It’s been a good break from the cerebral world of Bloomington.  Friendly smiles, happy small talk, and small town speech has been a breath of fresh air, as well as entertainment for the linguistic side of my brain.  The days I leave the bakery to be outside are reminders of why I’m in school to get a desk job so I don’t have to perform manual labor in the future.

In the midst of a month off that’s fleeing all too fast, I got a quick trip in to see my grandmother in Vero Beach.  I got to see the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in too long.  In thinking about B-school, I’ve thought about where I want to work when I graduate.  I’m pretty flexible, but the more I walked along that beach and swam in the waves, the more the Atlantic seaboard started appealing more and more.  The ocean is my happy place.  It’s just good for the soul.

Getting to visit with my grandmother was also wonderful.  It’s one more experience in a long line the last few years where I realize that my role is changing.  I’m no longer the child, tagging along while others make all the decisions, but a real adult.  This was the first time I had ever spent any real time just me and my grandmother.  It was quite lovely, and the trip was far too short. 

The visit was another instance of where I was hit by how places mean so much, even for one who sometimes feels like a vagrant.   As I drove to St. Louis, my first sight of the Arch brought a smile to my face, as it has every time I’ve seen it since I was a girl, driving to visit my grandparents, when the Arch signaled the journey was almost over.  I ended up needing to drive through my old neighborhood on Monday.  I hadn’t been by in a couple years, so I was pleased when I remembered where the street we needed was but also felt strange seeing our old house, now clearly inhabited by another family.  Even after two years away, many places in St. Louis still feel so familiar.  In the airport on my way to Florida, I caught a glimpse of one of the few restaurants before security and suddenly remembered drinking an overpriced chai tea latte there with my parents, waiting to start the journey that would take me to Tbilisi. Now I’m a few weeks away from making a similar journey.  I’m looking forward to going to Georgia for so many reasons, but I also am trying to temper my excitement.  Once again, I’ll be seeing an old familiar place with new experiences behind me.  Many of the friends who made my year in Georgia so wonderful are now far away, or will only be around for a brief period of time.  I’ll be with a new host family, spending lots of time studying, and living in Tbilisi instead of my lovely mountain village.

  I can go back to Georgia, but I can’t really go back, not to the year I had, the life I knew then.  It’s better for me, but I have so many magical memories of Georgia, that I know I’ll miss certain faces and places when I return.  While several things have changed, I’m so pleased that one of the things I’ve missed most will come true.  Within a week of arriving, I will get to sit in my favorite restaurant drinking cheap wine by the liter with two of my favorite people, chatting away the hours like we used to.  The experience was one I repeated many times and encompasses so many parts of why I loved my year in Georgia so much.  I’m hoping this summer it will be a kick-off to a new source of adventures, friends, experiences, and stories for the blog.