A Curious Dream

“`Oh, I've had such a curious dream!' said Alice, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about...”

I am sitting in a hostel in Tbilisi, gorging on internet and hot showers, but not feeling the same gratifying sense of indulgence that I've felt every time before this, the dread of returning to the village after a great weekend no longer looming.

You see, this time, I rode to Tbilisi in silence, scrolling through the memories in my heart; melancholic, happy, and sad about the knowledge that this time there would be no marsh ride, precariously postponed until the very last possible moment of the Sunday evening, back to the village.

I said my goodbyes last week, tears shed, gifts exchanged, and heartfelt 'thank yous' delivered. I am ready to go home after much uncertainty, waffling, and reconsidering. I had a pretty good thing going here, despite how different it was from home. But alas, the recurring lesson is that all good things must come to an end.

I wonder if one day I will get tired of doing this, falling in love with a place and a time, only to uproot and do it all over again in a different place and time. I wonder if one day, I will come to a point where I have simply collected too many of these deeply personal experiences that I no longer will be able to share myself fully with others. Lot's of things, I wonder, but in the meantime, I am honestly excited for the next phase of life and the for the times when I will sit alone, smiling to myself as I remember my adventures, like a curious dream.

I'm Coming Home!!!

First, all the songs that I can think of that have to do with what comes next: Coming Home!!!

I wish I had written regarding this sooner, some of you might have had some helpful thoughts to contribute, but alas, as is my style, I procrastinated and am just now getting around to sharing my experience in deciding what comes next.

It was truly a difficult decision. Things were lining up for me here quite well: a new home with lovely accommodations closer to school, after school paid private lessons, familiarity with the area, and at last, Georgian friends and a boy to boot. The pros were enticing, but in the end it was the thought of all the people I love back home proved to be a greater pull on my heart. I'm coming home. And it's a good thing too because the program is being reduced and I probably wouldn't have been able to stay another 6 months anyway.

I'm nervous though. I don't have a job yet, or a place of my own to stay. I don't know where I'll be next, and I fear that those I left behind will have moved on without me. But I guess these are all concerns I'd have to deal with sooner or later anyway.

In the meantime, I'm excited to get reacquainted with my life. I can only imagine the reverse culture shock I'm going to feel – no longer will I be able to talk vulgar unabashedly without those around me understanding; “Ra Ginda, Gogo?!” will mean nothing anymore, and I won't have to plan my days around whether or not the water and power are running. I'll even have to start showering everyday again... weird.

And while I will deeply miss those that have marked my life here in Georgia (locals and westerners alike), I am revving and ready to go for the next challenge. 

Vergavige! Arvitsi Kartuli!

As is my nature, I do a lot of things by myself. I have never relied on others to get things done and it thrills me to do things for myself that are intimidating. And in Georgia, for me, simply buying a coffee gets my heart racing a bit faster. What if the waiter strays from the casual pleasantries? What if they try to rip me off? What if I say something wrong? Gah!

And the stress is for good reason, I usually pass for Georgian here. Often the older ladies are skeptical of me, unsure if I'm really a foreigner, or perhaps a Russian spy posing as a foreigner. Generally, the appearance works in my favor, as I enjoy general anonymity. This is particularly true on marshrutka rides, and in general when I'm around Georgian men, as they seem much more likely to leave me alone when they are unaware that I'm a Westerner. So when I am able to complete the task at hand without needing to have anything explained or without having to interact too much with others, this works fine for me.

It's when people ask me questions, thinking I'm a local that things get awkward. Apparently, the few words I do know, I deliver with a fairly accurate accent, and more than once, I've fooled a local, only to be revealed as a fraud 2 seconds later when I must reply to additional inquiries with Ver Gavige, Arvitsi Kartuli! or I don't understand, I don't know Georgian.

After five months of immersion, I'm red-faced embarrassed to admit I don’t' speak nearly as much Georgian as I should. I've learned the necessary basics to have my needs met: me minda [I want], arminda [I don't want], satchmeli [food], mivdivart [I'm going], sada.... [where is...], and a few variations (I know more than these few phrases, of course, but you get my gist).

Basically, I know enough to find my way around, to buy what I want, and to eat. My host family and I communicate swimmingly, pantomimes and charades, galore! But really, I haven't had a need to really learn the language. My co teachers, unlike those of some of my friends, actually speak English (who'd have thunk)! The Boy (please refer to previous entryfor details), also speaks enough English, and weekends, I generally spend with English speaking friends, who, together with their shared knowledge of Georgian, we have the communication capacity of a 4 year old, at best.

The language is also not very practical. Only Georgians speak Kartuli, and the country is no bigger than South Carolina – probably has a smaller population, too. Even it's neighbors speak entirely different languages. I say this because when I went to Armenia, I kept thinking of all the things I could say or ask to find my way around, only to immediately realize, no one knows wtf I'm saying!

Now, I realize that English is not, by any means, an easy language to learn; I have mad respect for anyone who knows it as a foreign language. But, at least it makes sense. Or maybe it doesn't really make sense, but at least there's a rule to site whatever strange grammatical situation. With Georgian, holly shit, there are no rules. At least, it really truly feels that way.

To start, I had to learn an entirely new alphabet. Take a look at it, it's quite a lovely alphabet, I think; but at least 6 of the 36 letters, I can hardly distinguish their sounds. Two P sounds, two K sounds, two T sounds, and two Ts sounds, of which the last four all sound the same to my amateur ear. And don't even get me started on the letters that make sounds I cannot even imitate! A Georgian's favorite pass time is having me pronounce each letter and then laughing at me: “Listen. T, T, T. It's in the throat! It's in the throat!” they say. Yea, easy for you to say, Georgian! Now, you pronounce Th! Th, Th, Th. Eh? Not so easy, is it, Georgian? Not so easy... And then I breathe deeply and wait for my heart rate to slow and the blood flow to return to my clenched fists... (but not really, though, teehee).

My biggest and most ignorant frustration is the fact that most words don't have a direct translation. This is a dumb thing to stress about, because I logically understand that only concepts or meanings really translate. But alas, I'm as ethnocentric as anyone, and I often find myself thinking “how could you not have a word that means exactly what I want to say?!”

As for the actual grammatical structure of the language, it's really quite difficult to follow. Here's what I do understand. There seems to be no infinitive form for most words; one cannot say to eat or to go. In Georgian, there is only past, present, and future form. Sounds simple enough. Except each word has 7 forms. You cannot simply say eat to communicate your desire or need to eat. You must add one of the 7 prefixes or a suffixes to a root verb in order for it to make sense and actually be a recognizable word. For example, to express that I will be going to Tbilisi, I would need to say “Mivdivart Tibilshi;” this would change if I were expressing that you are going to Tbilisi: “Midikhart Tibilshi;” or he/she/it is going to Tbilisi: “Midis Tibilshi” Do you see where a whole bunch of the English form was conjugated in the Georgian form?

Additionally, word order doesn't really seem to matter in most cases, from what I have figured out. To say I am Klara, I can say Me var Klara, but Klara var will do must as well. This is a simple example,, but I think it applies in most cases.

It is also quite a trip for me that mother is deda and father is mama.  The hardest word for me to learn was teacher, which is ironic cause I hear the word ALL of the time: mastsavlobeli. My favorite word is Shakuarebuli, or lover cause it has a sweet meaning rather than a dirty one like in English. I also enjoy using mets instead of me too; this one, I'll be using long after I'm back in the states. And by far, I get the greatest kick out of Yea, boy -- ho, bitcho! How fantastic is that?!?! Ho and Bitch in reference to men? How fitting! ;)

Now, I apologize because I am well aware that this is a horrible explanation of the language, but the truth is, I have a horrible understanding of it. All I know is that I just ordered two shawarmas and some cokes all on my own in Georgian, and that's good enough for me!

On The Topic of Fall

In step with my last entry (less about romance, more about autumn), let me tell you about my trip to a magical land they call Mestia!

Mestia, those are the Svan towers there.

Mestia, or Svaneti, as it is also known, has been at the top of my Must-Do List from the moment I arrived in this blessed little land of Georgia. You can follow the link to the wiki-page for a more thorough history of it (cause, let's be honest, we all believe what wiki says), but here's my experience of the place.

I've never seen this many colors in nature!

I really should have made more of an effort to go during the summer, when I had nearly 100 (more like 60, but still) days of nothing to do. It would have been nice to do more hiking and exploring. But alas, as my procrastinating self would have it, I waited until it began to get cold.

Thankfully, while it was a very short trip, the timing turned out to be great. With fall dawning, the scenery all the way there was literally breathtakingly picturesque, literally. This is about to be a pathetic run-down of what I know about Svaneti, but here you go: Svaneti is the highest inhabited point in all of Georgia. Svaneti also claims to be home to the highest mountain of the caucuses (a claim I have learned to be false; the point is Mount Elbrus and is actually located in Russia. In truth, you can only see it from Georgia, but in true Georgian spirit, they claim it anyway).

Svaneti was so isolated and recluse for so many years that during the Turkish-Ottoman times, when Georgia was conquered by Turkey, many relics and important artifacts from pre-Christian times were stashed away here, in the belief that the region would be too recluse to be found and too inhospitable to be conquered. Many of these remain here, but sadly I didn't get a chance to seek them out.

The Svan towers were built primarily as look-out points, in case of invasions. Eventually, and I think still, they are used for food to last into the harsh winters. Additionally, (I learned from my host sister who is very intelligent and knowledgeable about Georgia), the towers create a barrier from the snow rolling down the mountains. This barrier allows for a relatively snow-less area to gather; also apparently the towers are quite warm in comparison. I was there in early fall and I can tell you, it was SOOO cold (for a Southern Californian).

Ushba Glacier, that we never reached.

Due to their unique geographical location, Svaneti, to this day retains it's own sub-culture, to some degree. And while all Svanis speak Kartuli (or Georgian), they have also preserved Svanuri, a spoken dialect, very different from Kartuli.

At a resting point. We almost look superimposed.

We spent only 1 night here and we did some intense hiking while we could. We tried to get to the Ushba Glacier in this picture, but failed pathetically. Although, with a good attitude and a pair of local youths to guide the way, we found the top of a spectacular looking point. It took us nearly 3 hours to get up and a bit less than 2 to come back down. My body ached for days, but it was absolutely worth it.

On our way back, a taxi-friend of ours hooked it up with a free ride, a few apples, and a guided tour. It was fantastic. I took as many pictures as I could, but honestly, they just don't do the majesty of it all justice. Anyway, there are more pictures on FB, if you're interest. What I know for sure is I want more autumns in my life. What I fear is that no autumn in my future will live up this one. 

Misadventures in Armenia!

At the start of September, I visited Armenia!!! The whole ordeal was a badly planned, but well timed adventure, and my friends and I kept good attitudes through most of it. In the end, the trip was a success and I saw most of the major attractions I'd hoped to visit.

If you've seen the pictures on my FB, you'll know there was plenty to see, more than enough to taste, and too much to do. But if I were writing Armenia's marketing slogan, it'd simply say: “Armenia: beautiful art and beautiful women, sometimes at the same time.” I think the slogan has potential, no?

Seriously, though. there were endless smells and flavors and emotions to experience, but during most of my time in Armenia, there was the underlying emotion of insecurity. Kim Kardashian is not the exception, yo (although, it's debatable how Armenian she really is)! Here I am in my baggy, dusty, cargo pants, beat up Toms, and loaded backpack while these women prance around in 4 and 5 inch heels and full on glam... at freaken NOON! I'm not hating though, it only made me long for my own days as a girly-girl.

Cascade and my three partners in crime.

And then there was the art on public display. We visited a place called the Cascade, a FREE modern art gallery in Yerevan, the capital. Inside and out, this place was remarkable. Check out my pictures, my words simply won't do it justice – in fact, neither will the pictures, but what do you want from me?

This was one of my favorites. Ji Yong-Ho, 1978.

Hand made crafts at the Yerevan flee market

We also spent some time at the Yerevan flee market. This was one of my favorite things, even though I was as intimidated as a nun in a brothel. Bargaining is not my forte; I hate feeling like I'm ripping someone off, even if the one that ends up being ripped off is me. I did buy some cool souvenirs and took tons of pretty cool pictures (considering I have no skill at it – goes to show how cool the place really was).

1924, the bottle says, and I tasted it!

Also in Yerevan, we embarked on a [literally] intoxicating tour of the Noy Brandy Factory, which takes it's name from the biblical story of Noah and his ark, as Armenians believe the ark's final destination was in Armenia, where Noah descended with grapes in hand. This was also among my favorite things, mainly because we got to have a tasting of an 88 year old wine! The company no longer produces wine, only brandy, but they offer a taste of this special wine to guests. If sold, a bottle of this particular 88 year old wine would easily sell for more than $4,000USD. And if I could describe the taste to you! Like honey! My mouth waters just thinking of it. And to continue the mood, my travel bud and I bought ourselves a bottle of wine, some chocolate, and some nail polish, then ventured to the highest point in Yerevan and closed the night with toasts, music, and introspection – Rebel Youth style.

Giant barrels of fermented happiness... :)

The remnants of our night.

We spent most of our time exploring Yerevan, a remarkable little city, on par with any European city, modern and easy to navigate. However, considering how tiny Armenia really is – even smaller than Georgia – it was a shame we had so many failed attempts at exploring it further. Armenia is only about the size of Maryland, 5% of which is covered by a fresh-water lake, and it has a population of just over 3 million.

As our last day in Armenia neared, we tried to shake the feeling of frustration and defeat. We had so badly hoped to see as much of Armenia as possible, and while we met wonderful people all along our stay in Yerevan, disappointment lingered. And then, like two misfit blessings, our little Estonian Angels descended upon our hostel and suddenly, our luck changed!

Garni, site of Greco-Roman Ruins dating back to the first  century.

Jurii and Ragart arrived a day before we departed and immediately befriended me and my travel companion. It didn't take long before they graciously invited us to share their taxi the next morning to Geghard and Garni – one, an ancient monastery, and the other, the site of ancient Greco-Roman ruins, likely built in the First Century! Exactly what we'd hope to see! And so, without a second thought, we agreed. Needless to say, the experience was breathtaking and the wonderful company only enhanced the excitement! I could never have imagined the sense of self-meaninglessness that one could experience in the presence of such history and pure awesomeness. Such was the beauty of those sites we beheld, and still time has gone on, and the history of those people and their victories and their defeats have become only legends for our musing. The passing of time is mind-blowing really. And here I sit now, reminiscing on my trip, memories only made sharper by a few good pictures, and time still persists.

Inside Geghard Monastery

Sevanavank Monatery, 9th Century.

And as if these stops were not awesome enough, upon our departure from Armenia later that same day, our driver offered to stop at the third and final destination we had hoped to visit, Lake Sevan, the largest body of fresh water in Armenia and one of the largest high altitude fresh water bodies in the world, occupies 5% of the countries land. And at the top of the hill sat Sevanavank Monastery, or the Island Monastery as it is otherwise known, standing since the 9^th Century . Breathtaking.

Lake Sevan

And with that, we made our merry little exhausted way back to Georgia, happy to be home. The experience was all around, a great one, but as an Honorary Georgian (only in my own head), I couldn't help but compare the two little countries, who's people share an international relationship akin to a pair of competitive siblings. Both countries claim a lot of firsts, both have an intense pride in their history and in their people, and both extend such a level of hospitality to visitors that can only be described as “God's will.”

Also, both countries were part of the Soviet Union and gained their independence in the same era. Yet, each has their own distinctive language, with it's own distinctive alphabet – an Armenian tour guide told us that a man created an alphabet with 60-some letters, he chose the prettiest ones and so came to be the Armenian alphabet. Of the remaining ugly 36, he gave those to Georgia. The Geography is unnoticeable different, and yet even their foods are nothing alike. The entire time though, I couldn't help thinking that if the two weren't so proud, they might actually make a great single country.

But alas, I guess the fight over who was the first to produce wine will always maintain the two divided.

Anthology, Part II

I owe any one who actually checks in periodically with this sham of a blog an apology. Considering how much I've been up to, it's been inexcusably too long since I've bothered my silly little head with composing anything, if you allow my ego to indulge by calling it so.

In truth, I have no good reason for my blogging absence, I simply find it inexcusably difficult to find the motivation to write. My only explanation is that I remain in denial about anyone actually having interest in my thoughts and experience, perhaps only because my ego is a masochist.

It's a shame, really. I mean, putting a descent, usually coherent sentence together is the only thing I know how to do half well. And I'm in the midst of living out some of my dreams! You'd think that would light my fire, right. But alas, as my adventures here, much too quickly come to a close, I find my thoughts begging to be documented in some self indulging form. So, here you have, Part II of my anthology of tall tales.

“You Know That Game, Drunken Mario Kart?”

 “Well no, Katie dear. I do not know that game, Drunken Mario Kart, but I think I see where this is going, and I like it!” is what I would say if I were back in the states.

Actually, that was the way my friend chose to describe the driving culture here in Georgia. And I'd say that it's pretty spot on. It's like a game of drunken Mario Kart, that good old Nintendo 64 classic, complete with vengeful conductors, road blocks, a complete disregard for safety and traffic rules, and more than occasionally, a bit of alcohol to boot.

When we signed our teaching contracts way back in September, the staff made a point of reminding us that driving ourselves was strictly prohibited. Of course, I thought “WTH? I do what I want!” It felt limiting; public transportation doesn't run late and many of our families don't have family cars. Besides, I've always found driving to be a bit of a meditative experience for me, music blasting, coasting down the I-15 at a reckless speed of 80 MPH. “Pfff,” that's what I thought of that. “I do what I want!”

It took no more than one quick outing to the center of Tbilisi to understand this caveat of our contract and suddenly, I was thinking, “Touché, TLG. Tou-ché .” You know how you watch those TV shows of people driving in Italy? Or when you cross the border into Tijuana and suddenly you know that you've entered a life-or-death driving situation? Yea, Georgia is like that, but raised to the 8^th power.

I don't know if the driving style has some correlation with the patriarchal culture, but it's one theory (that I just made up right now). In my perspective, driving here is like a test of your machismo. Are you really going to let that guy pass you up? Is that puny car really going to beat you to the stop light? Will that car, in the correct lane, barreling towards at high speeds and shining it's high beams at me as I try to pass up another car scoot over to let me through? These are actual regular scenarios! Lanes are literally a mere suggestion. I swear, I am not embellishing to make things more exciting, I have literally seen a 2 lane highway turned into a 4 lane. Literally. And it seems that traffic enforcement is not a high priority, understandably so. One thing at a time; Georgia deserves massive praise for what it has accomplished in so few years in terms of order and accountability in all respects of public enforcement.

For those who are able to sleep in a car, I envy you. Every ride, I am praying to a God that may or may not exist; at that moment, every time, I tell myself I'm a believer. Which is also what the drivers tell themselves. Every vehicle, without fail, displays a small alter of saint trading cards, and crosses, and other religious paraphernalia. Sure, Georgia, you keep telling yourselves that your protected from your own shitty driving because you do the sign of the cross every time you drive by a church. Don't get me wrong, I'm not knocking their beliefs or devotion, I'm just saying, you can't leave all the work to the saints.

So, you wonder, how do get around without your very own car? Well, there's these lovely things called marshrutkas, or death cabs, if you will – your preference. The word marshrutka, I have been told, is derived from the Russian language. These novelty items are our main form of public transportation. Basically, they are large passenger vans, altered to transport infinity people! I have counted about 16 actual seats on most marshes, but I have counted MANY more people actually riding in one. Obviously, there are no seat belts, and the ails are fair game for standing space; as long as the door shuts, we're good. Needless to say, marshrutka rides aren't always the most pleasant. They're hot, and often crowded, and you always pray you're not sitting next to the person with bad B.O.. And let us not forget the driving techniques; you'd think that with a car load of other people's lives in their hands, these marsh drivers would be a little less risky.

Anyway, all marshrutkas (generally) have a set route. This may be a short route within the given city or village, or it may be a longer route, from one city or village to another. I've taken both. The intercity ones range from 30 Tetri to 80 Tetri (which I think is about $0.20 to $0.50 US). While the city to city ones range depending on your distance. Some are very well outfitted, others look like they're left over from Soviet times and are motored like the Flintstone's cars. They get the job done, though and for that I am grateful. However, unlike buses that have set stops, a marsh works a bit like a taxi in the sense that it can be flagged down just about anywhere, and can be asked to drop of in the same manner, just yell gacharet!! to the driver, and voilà! Like magic.

While I miss driving, the meditation and independence it provides, I am happy to leave it to the pros here. So far, so good. Wish me luck, I'm headed out for a 3 hour marsh drive right now! :)

Back to the Beginning

This weekend reminded me of the real reasons I am here. I think I have been honest with myself and others from the beginning; never during this whole process was I ever under the delusion that I was doing anything charitable. Frankly, I'm aware that every one of my motivations have been purely selfish.

True, I am in Georgia to share and teach a skill. I am living in a town and country that nobody will deny, has progress to make. I live with a family that works hard, has little, but lives happy. But while it has all been a shock to my system, I still don't think I am here doing anyone a favor. I'm just doing a job that I was hired to do.

Sadly, I am not as altruistic or noble as is trendy to be. When I signed up for TLG (click if you're interested in the program), I did it because of all it could offer me, more so than what I could ever offer this program: free flight and accommodations half-way across the world in a beautiful country? The chance to meet new people and see new places? And an escape from a 9-5 that was making me fat and depressed in exchange for a few hours of my time? Uh, YES, please!!

Admittedly, since I've been here, it hasn't all been Strawberry Fields, but this last weekend certainly reminded me of who I like to be and why I chose to be here. For the first time since that wretched and awesome week of training 2 months ago, my friends and I returned to the real TLG stomping grounds, Tbilisi. We all kind of crashed in different places, some in hostels (which I have come to realize I LOVE doing), and some with local friends with apartments. I crashed at the BoomBully hostel on Rustaveli Ave. The staff here was great and it didn't take long before we made new friends from around the world. It also didn't take long before my crew was back to it's regular shenanigans. We all met up at a bar and soon it became evident that this bar is kind of the TLG place to be.

I am sure that I would never be called charming, and I certainly can be easily intimidated, but nonetheless, I find socializing is kind of thrilling. Meeting new people and making connections are things I thoroughly enjoy doing and it was the major element that was missing from my life in San Diego as of late. I no longer had new things to tell people nor new people to tell old things to.

So after two months, I found myself afloat on opportunities in Tbilisi once again! Met new and old volunteers, learned about others' experiences, was exposed to the pros and cons of life here from the perspectives of others, and finally saw the possibility of extending another 6 months as something I could consider. As much as I have come to love my host family, some things are just difficult to cope with when living with people so different from myself and they are challenges that in another 6 months, might really drive me nuts. But many volunteers in Tbilisi shared their experiences from living in villages to then moving to the “Big City.” Anyway, I haven't even begun work yet and I still have another 4 months here. And then there's always the possibility of working in another country... The point is, I don't know where I'll be in 4 more months, but I'm starting to see the promise in the opportunities.

The hardest part of choosing is entertaining the idea of being away from people that I love so much. But I guess having people that love me isn't something I can complain about , is it? I'm one lucky girl, no matter how I paint the picture.

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous

Here in Georgia, we live a lifestyle of decadence and indulgence; all things are abundant... well, all the things that matter, anyway. Admittedly, it's a different kind of riches and fame than what we Americans have had drilled into our impressionable little capitalistic minds. My Georgian family, for instance, is not dripping in gold chains or rings, they're not sporting the latest in fashion trends, and they drive a stripped down veggie van that sometimes needs a push to start (although I will say, 4 out of every 6 cars on the street seem to be Mercedes Benz... not sure what the deal is with that). They certainly have never appeared on TV, reality show or otherwise – heck, my family doesn't even own a television and our radio is probably from the early 90's.

However, our table is always brimming with food, fresh vegetables, home grown chicken, and homemade cheese, bread, and wine for eternity. Everyone is friends with everyone else, neighbors share coffee each afternoon and families gather in the evenings for food and wine. Ask anyone if they know the Such-and-Such family, and in a country no bigger than South Carolina, the odds are, the person you've asked will recognize the name. And I propose that there is no fame greater than that of Georgia to a Georgian – the level of national pride, I can only compare to that of the US, post 9/11 (I truly don't think this is an exaggeration).

So allow me to give you a little insight to what life is like here for me, the good, the bad, and the inebriated.

As I have explained in a previous post, I live in the outskirts of a “city” called Zestaponi. I say “city” in quotation marks because really, it's no more than 2 long blocks, the businesses on one street and the bazaar on the other with a few villages on the edges. Every time I venture into town, I feel like I'm literally stepping onto the pages of an Ayn Rand book. There seems to be a layer of gray dust over this city, punctuated by mounds of multi-red brick rubble, the remnants of soviet factories and such, long ago abandoned. I wish I were skilled at photography, I simply cannot do justice to the poetic sadness they inspire. Nonetheless, here are a few shots.

I have been told that the man's face is that of famed Georgian Poet and Intellect,  Ilia Chavchavadze.

I'll let you go ahead and interpret this lovely mosaic/piece of propaganda. Also, I will have you know that I'm pretty sure more than one person might have mistaken me for a Russian spy, snapping pictures on the highway... very conspicuous. 

Anyway, the point of this is that I spend most of my time at home in my village, as do most of the volunteers who live in villages (so I've gathered). I don't know how the experiences of those who live in the cities or in apartments compare to my experience, but alas. My morning begins at around 9:30 AM on a good day, 11:00 AM on a lazy day. Currently, the children are home on summer vacation, a luxury which my host parents do not get to indulge in, as they are merchants at the bazaar. They're day normally begins at 5:00 AM, sometimes earlier, to venture into the cities to purchase and sell produce.

The daughter usually prepares a small breakfast: coffee, tea, or hot chocolate; bread and jam or honey, sometimes pasta or some leftovers from the previous night. We sit, sharing in each others' company for an hour or two; I help them with their English and they help me with my Kartuli (Georgian). Eventually, we ladies clear the table as the boys run off to do their boy things. Society is unabashedly patriarchal and gender roles are very clearly defined, in accordance with the America of the 40's or the Mexico of the 70's and 80's, I'd imagine. And you may imagine, I've had and continue to have my internal struggles with this. Regardless, I participate in the chores that I am allowed to do. Two months in, and in most situations, I am still considered a guest by the family.

In Georgian tradition, guests are considered a blessing from God. And so, guests are treated accordingly, with an endless supply of food, wine, and idleness, partly because I think they believe they're fulfilling God's will in some way, but mostly because a guest is a source of pride, a point for bragging – “look who's come to visit me, and look at all I can provide.” It sometimes feels a little possessive and perhaps this is heightened because I'm an American, but I'm always on display – “Meet my friends, meet my neighbors, meet the newborn child of my coworker's niece!” Only until recently, have I been allowed to clear the table on occasion, and I've washed dishes TWICE! Otherwise, I mostly only sit around while people watch me and/or feed me.

We follow up breakfast with a few chores, most of which I am now allowed to participate in after insisting: picking nuts, shelling beans, peeling potatoes, preparing for lunch/dinner. And then, the remainder of the day is spent mostly lounging around. There truly isn't much else to do until the parents come home from work around 8:00 PM. So I spend ungodly amounts of time reading, playing Sudoku or freecell, listening to music, trying to study Kartuli. In all honestly, I have never had soo much free time to spare, and sadly, I have also never been so absolutely unproductive. I do enjoy walking outside of my bedroom and picking a delicious pear or a handful of nuts, though and then taking more than a few moments to focus all of my attention on enjoying their flavors, smells, and textures. While I cannot totally adjust to this idleness, I can definitely see how people live happy, fulfilled, worry free lives here. I certainly have never had so little to worry myself with, a state of being with which I was completely unfamiliar in the states. But alas, I am still an American, and I cannot help but find ways to worry and want more.

My host parents arrive around 7 or 8 from the bazaar and quickly get to preparing dinner. Dinner is served around 10 usually, very late in my opinion. But dinner is usually accompanied by wine and by wine, I mean shots. Here, wine is not for sipping, it is for celebrating! From what I've gathered, most of my friends' families only toast with wine at Supras, a sort of celebratory dinner, really, just any excuse to drink and eat. However, my family (thankfully) has wine at nearly every dinner. Each drink is preceded by a lengthy toast, usually to the effect of “to our dead ancestors; to world peace; to love; to Georgia and America;” pretty monumental stuff, but in many more words of course. It wouldn't be a Georgian toast if it didn't take 10 minutes of presentation prior. Most homes make their own wine from grapes grown at home... no telling what percentage of alcohol it contains, and while we do not drink between toasts, about 3 toasts is all it takes for me to feel a bit tipsy. And at least at my home, 3 toasts at least, are required. I honestly think my host father just made that ish up to keep me drinking; and I , of course, gladly comply.

The night concludes at around midnight, after dinner has been finished and the veggie van reloaded for the next day's work. And so, I tipsily proceed to my modest little bedroom for a snooze, thankful for the wooziness brought on by the wine and it's assistance in quickly finding sleep on my chicken wire bed that sinks in the middle (I present exhibit A). 

Exhibit A: Chicken wire, or 'trampoline' bed.

The routine repeats each day, we've had 2 months of this and frankly I am going a bit insane from the monotony. Thankfully, we have weekends away with friends, and school begins on the 17^th, so I survive. Your messages and FB posts, and emails, and skype calls help keep me sane, though, so please keep those coming. They help me cope with the homesickness I occasionally feel. Overall, I have little to complain about (though I admittedly do a lot of that), and I'm developing a tumultuous, but exhilarating romance with this country and it's people. I'm excited for the next 4 months, no doubt.

Mivdivart Batumishi!

There is no way around it. Blogging generally translates to “talking incessantly about myself” and being so self-centered publicly makes me feel a bit awkward, but so be it. Here is just a (long – sorry about that) post about what and how I've been doing lately.

I've been here just over a month now and it's been a total roller coaster of emotions. Everything I feel is amplified ridiculously here, but it all comes with the territory of adjusting to a new place. I'm glad that I am introspective enough to know this and be able to talk myself down when a freak out begins to emerge. None of it is ever as terrible as it feels, and it always passes.

With that being said, the last two weeks were both the best and worst time I've had here so far. Two weeks ago, my group gathered in Batumi. It was great, but returning to my village was so difficult. That week back, I was sick, went to the clinic, missed home intensely and felt like such a disappointment to my host family for not speaking better Georgian. It was by far my toughest week here.

But aware that my emotions were especially heightened by the situation, I took a deep breath and resolved to turn things around. And then I had my best week here. I made a concerted effort to learn some more Georgian, I spent more time with the children, learned new games, helped Ana with cooking and cleaning, and suddenly, I was feeling like part of the family. I even start to miss their endless questioning and attention seeking when I'm out of the house.

And just this weekend, my group and I went to Batumi again for a little excursion. Batumi is 4 hours west

Batumi is on the lower west coast, while I live 30 minutes east of Kutaisi in the center of the country.

 of Zestaponi. It is an up and coming beach resort; even Donald Trump has taken interest and begun investing (don't know if that's actually a good thing). We stay at a hostel each time, a nice place with free wifi, warm showers, free washing machine and soap, and occasionally air conditioning – pretty glamorous compared to what I'm now used to.

Stainless glass window in the Madea park

This time, 14 of 15 met at the hostel. These weekends are usually filled with booze and laughter and relief. It's always such a refreshing break to be around native English speakers who don't need to be spoken to in simplified English. My brain thanks me every time.

Not sure what this building was, but it looked great.

Dancing fountains at the park

Chillin in the Black Sea.

Alphabet tower and the Ferris wheel on the promenade

Every night was a great time. We hit the discotheque, ate great food, explored the parks, and lounged by the Black Sea. We met a traveling doctor without borders and a guy with a mullet. My favorite was the 21^st century hippie in the midst of an epic romance. He had been traveling India with the love of his life, but had run into challenges and ended things. Now he was passing through, on his way to Tbilisi to reunite with the woman he so loved. We wished him luck and he blessed our journey. But by far, our best night was the last. The night seemed to be on the verge of being washed out by the summer storm that refused to cease. Still looking for some trouble to get into, we hustled through the drizzle, intent on finding our friends who sat having a drink in some unknown bar.

Sketchy little bar, Gold Bar 1.

At last, we found the landmark by which they guided us and our eyes scanned the signs, in search of the “Gold Bar.” Imagine my concern when this is what we found. But alas, an adventure is what we sought so after probably too brief consideration, we descended into the sketchy little hole in the ground.

To no one's surprise, we were enveloped by a sheet of hot humid smoke; just the type of place my mama tells me not to go. But the music boomed, and our friends' smiling faces greeted us. And then, in this dingy little smoke filled excuse for a bar, the beauty of the Georgian spirit welcomed us. In an instant, tables were joined and drinks were in our hands. In a matter of moments, the Georgian women had us on our feet, dancing, hooting and hollering, hugging and kissing us, exuding the joy that I've come to love of the people here. And once we were all good and sweaty and smiling, we were directed to our seats, as a lovely woman emerged from the back with a guitar in hand. Casually, she pulled up a stool at the head of our table and settled her guitar in her lap and then, began strumming a charming Georgian tune. Her thick voice singing along beautifully. We all clapped and cheered and showered her with praise.

Then she said in Georgian, “Now a national Megrulian song.” She stood and moved her stool in front of my friend's recording camera, stared into the lens and began plucking at the strings. A melancholic lament escaped the instrument and silence fell over the room. And then a haunting voice. I couldn’t help but have flashbacks of 'La Lollora,' her voice so heavy with sadness and memories. I cannot tell you what her words said, but her rendition spoke of mourning and longing and all of our heads cocked slightly to the side in compassion. The video will certainly fall short of the experience we shared, but I promise to add it to this blog as soon as I can get my hands on it.

Georgian Songstress, serenading our table.

And so we wrapped up our stay in Batumi, with music and friends. I rode home alone in silence the next day, as I like to do after a weekend that has given me so much to ponder. I loved my time with my friends, but I'm happy to report, everyone missed me here at home, and I missed them and our day has been lovely. The wait until our next adventure will seem short, I'm sure.

The Things.

The things I've observed:

• Every road looks like a game of Mario Kart. Everyone drives like hell! I think it's some weird machismo manifestation that serves no one but the funeral industry. Seriously, that card of a Christian icon you have in your rear view mirror is not going to save us from your shitty driving.
• Perception of danger is limited. There seems to be a general invincibility complex; from crossing the street to letting kids play with knives, people for the most part seem to feel like they're made of steel.
• There is some serious national pride. Everyone will tell you that Georgia was the first in everything and anything you can imagine. From wine, to dance, to humans on earth, Georgians claim to have been the first.
• Georgians are hospitable to a fault, wonderful, joyful, generous people.
• The women deserve more credit than they get here, but hasn't that been true in every culture in all of history, everywhere?

The things I refuse to go without:

• A daily shower, even if each one is with ice cold water, we'll see how this changes when it starts to get cold.
• Clean undies, even if for some uncontrollable reason, I can't shower, I'll be damned if I wear the same dirty panties twice!
• Deodorant – need I say more.
• Internet – I can manage days on end without it, but I'm like a junky; eventually, I need my fix.
• A phone. Luckily, they've given us one to use in country. I speak wot someone from my group at least once a day, which helps me cope.
• Shaving my legs and pits – for now...

Things I'll miss:

• a flushing toilet. Ours has to be flushed by pouring a bucket of water down it. It's awkward when you have to go and there's no running water. If it's yellow, let it mellow, I guess.
• My family and friends. That's a no brainer.
• Cereal! Cereal! Cereal! My primary food group in the states. I miss a nice cold bowl of delicious Honey Bunches and 2%. Oh, how I miss this.
• Driving – it's kind of my solace, but we're not aloud to drive here because it's too dangerous.
• A real bed – I sleep on a wire cot, my back is killing me!
• Air conditioning. I get it on occasion when I travel, but at home it just doesn't exist.
• Flat ironing my hair... :(
• Simply understanding what is being said at any given time.

Things I just cannot understand:

• They've still got quite an antiquated view of the role of women.
• Sexual suppression -- women are expected to remain virgins until marriage, and any display of affection automatically raises eyebrows. Even hand holding is frowned upon until there is an official proposal.
• Dating – whole different ball game here.
• Why drinking is so socially acceptable. Men just sit around drinking all day while the women do all the work. Given, this isn't true in every family, especially not mine, but in many families, it is.
• They're view and treatment of western women – A post to come dedicated solely to gender roles, dating and western women.

Sick, Sick, Sick.

“She's all laid up in bed with a broken heart” … well less a broken heart, and more a broken digestive system. I'd been doing so well! I went a WHOLE MONTH without a refrigerator and I had managed to avoid ANY illness – diarrhea or otherwise. And I was taking pride in the strength of my gut, humility forgotten. And then Karma said “Bitch!? NO!”

I've spent the last 2 days laid out, I'd like to say I spent them in bed, but the ugly truth is I spent most of it laid out on the bathroom floor. I have certainly had an encounter or two with food poisoning back home, but this was another level. I can't remember the last time I felt that miserably ill and completely out of control.

I had hoped to just tough it out, but after the 104F temperature wouldn't subside for half a day, I finally conceded, it was time to call the doc.

So here's the funny story. In a desperate attempt to get the fuck out of monotony, I made plans to meet up with a friend in my group who lives only a few kilometers away, Katie from Utah/Vermont/Arizon (she proudly claims a little of each). Even though she also lives in the middle of nowhere, it was still a very nice break from routine for both of us. Her house, while not the epitome of comfort, felt like luxury compared to what I've become accustomed to. And maybe it was this ungrateful behavior that the universe decided to punish.

I ate eagerly, as they boasted a real kitchen, refrigerator and all. I drank cold water from the well and enjoyed the cheese and milk. And I was fine. So the next morning, in an effort to return the favor, Katie paid a visit to my home. We hitchhiked with 3 burly men, which was a new experience, but I should explain more about hitchhiking and men in another post. We made it back to a very excited family. You see, Katie fits a profile of an American that frankly I just can't satisfy: blonde hair, blue eyes, cute as a button. Katie has also made a much more concerted effort to learn the language, a department that I, admittedly have fallen short in (though I promise to make a better effort now). Anyway, with the arrival of a guest, my family had planned an exciting trip to the river! We don't get out much here, so a 10 minute drive to the dirty river on a day reaching 114F -- kind of a big deal.

And that's when it all started going downhill, FAST. And as Katie began to see the color severely drain from my face, she quickly took it as a her queue to exit. My house is really that unexciting. The kids, primarily the girls were very eager to convince Katie to stay -- partly because they liked her better than me, but mostly because without her I don't think they were going go to the river – an obvious stake in the situation. After much pleading, Katie finally made her escape. The day continued, as I slept in a heap of cold sweats and shivers. The night carried on much the same (I'll save save you the details). And eventually, when my I began to notice my fever simply would not break and the dizziness would not subside, I finally made the call to the clinic.

Suffice to say, I don't recommend the clinics in Georgia all that enthusiastically. As a developing country, they have very limited resources, hygiene is clearly not a prime priority, and simply the inability to understand what the hell was being said for and about me was terrifying. Near tears, they laid me down and in goes the IV. They told me something like “heat virus” was the culprit, and while I was skeptical at first, the meds have worked and I'm feeling a whole lot better. Here's hoping I don't have to do that again. And Katie, she'll be back soon, I'm sure. My family won't forgive me until I do...