“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.