Homesick?

For the most part I've had such a good time in Georgia that I haven't had a chance to be homesick, other than missing the people (including four-legged ones) I love. I've certainly had every other kind of sick--right now I'm suffering (along with my entire host family) from some queasy-making virus that is no fun at all.

Even though I'm not anxious to leave Georgia, I am starting to miss certain accoutrements of my home: my sewing machine, my piano, my giant fake Christmas tree, and my own personal internal combustion engine. I don't like driving in snow, but it sure is nice to have the option on slushy, windy days like we've had lately.

The view

This evening our office is hosting a media event at the hotel from which I snapped this photo a few months ago. Back then, it was warm, daylight and not snowing. I look forward to seeing the view with twinkling lights, snow-capped mountains, and the improvement in vision brought on by a glass or two of red wine.

Convenient

There may not be a Taco Bell for several thousand miles, but that doesn't mean office-bound Georgians who forget their lunch have to go hungry.

It would take some effort to go hungry here, as you may have deduced from this blog.

Even at work, though I usually bring something from home, I often pop out back to "The Garage," a bakery located in a converted parking space. It's the green door in this picture. The lady inside sells a variety of cheese, bean and potato pies, kept warm on the oven until you show up and fork over a lari or so. The pie pictured above, warm & fragrant & stuffed with delicious mashed potatoes, set me back 50 tetri, or about 30 cents.

Wet blanket

Perhaps it was not such a great idea to leave my laundry out overnight. I woke up to a clothesline--and city--covered in a fluffy blanket of snow. My cashmere sweater is frozen in a Frankenstein pose.

Not surprisingly, Larisa is in a tizzy. Under no circumstances will she now go to the ballet because 1. It's dangerous (never mind that we can walk three blocks to the Metro, then be underground until we're 10 meters from the theater's front door). 2. She can't get her hair "painted" beforehand and 3. She refuses to go out in public without wearing crazily high heels.

I'm still going, of course. Midwesterners aren't scared by a little snow. I just hope that the ballerinas won't twist an ankle on their way to the matinee.

Keep in mind that my going to the ballet today doesn't necessarily mean I'll be able to make it to the office tomorrow. I mean, come on--it's dangerous.

Language skills

This week I've had several opportunities to be thankful for my seemingly effortless command of the English language and my severely stunted Georgian.

I was pretty proud of myself when I managed to score tickets to another performance of Giselle. It entailed burning up all the talk time on my mobile phone (with Larisa doing the talking, because although their website is in English, nobody at the theater actually speaks it), two trips to the ticket office and a grand total of 28 lari, or about $16 (for four tickets--to see one of the most famous ballerinas in the entire world).

During my second trip to the theater, the crazy-eyed Russian lady made me come in to the ticket booth and sit with her by the space heater while we waited for the other lady to arrive, who at least spoke five words of English. Telling them "thank you" and "goodbye" in Georgian was enough to get a huge laugh (as usual).

After my ticket victory, I still had to make my way to work. I tried to get marshutka-route advice from a friend who used to work in my office, but my message wouldn't go through because 1. I was completely out of talk time and 2. I was SMS-ing his office landline. Ahem.

Instead of risking a minibus ride to god only knows where, I ended up walking halfway across Tbilisi. Ah well. At least I got the tickets.

Oh, so thankful

About the only traditional thing about this year's Thanksgiving dinner was the token appearance of a decorative turkey. (This one is made from a pinecone I harvested on my walk to work.)
Despite its unconventional menu (everything from mushroom dumplings to pickled beet + radish salad), the celebration was festive and fun. Wine helps.

At one point I went to the kitchen to find more, and stood for awhile in front of the fridge, confused.

"Is this the wine, in this Coke bottle?" I called to the dining room. (People here decant their home-brew into whatever container is at hand.)

"No," said Patrice's perplexed guest (visiting from Bulgaria). "That's... Coke."

"Weird."

We finally located the wine (under the table, in a pear soda bottle) and the party continued, all of us thankful for the fruits of Georgian vines.

Giving Thanks

This Thanksgiving, I have plenty to be thankful for, including the incredible opportunity to spend the past few months in a place that is the perfect combination of beautiful, bizarre, creative and crusty.Although I'm thousands of miles from my real family, I plan to share the holiday with new American friends and have been welcomed into a Georgian family that is nearly as wacky and wonderful as my own.

There won't be any turkey, but there will be plenty of wine, snacks and laughs. And I'm a vegetarian anyway.

High and low

In the past two days I've sampled Tbilisi's high- and low-brow arts by attending a performance of Gizelle at the Tbilisi Opera and Ballet Theatre on Sunday and a live broadcast of Geostari, Georgia's version of American Idol, Monday night.

I love ballet anyway, but it was especially amazing to see a world-famous dancer (Elena Glurdjidze) perform in a country famous for producing top ballerinas.

Geostari was memorable in many different ways--from the 5 lari ($3) tickets that Larisa bought from a scalper (at face value--huh?!) to the 10:30 p.m. starting time, crowds of teenagers romping around us in the balcony, and "creative" (to put it politely) interpretations of American pop songs.

Good thing tomorrow is a holiday (St. George's Day). I'm exhausted from soaking up all this culture--and from getting home at 1 a.m. on a school night!

Two more views of my daily walk

One reason I know Trevor is going to love it here: persimmon trees everywhere.
In typical walk-to-work fashion, I get to end both my morning and afternoon commute with a nice, long uphill. This one is just outside our house, and it's much steeper than it looks.

David Gareja Monastery

Saturday afternoon I placed too much faith in a very bossy GPS when I took a ride with Dave, Cuttino and Jessica to the Davit Gareja cave monastery complex, way out in the desert on the border of Georgia and Azerbaijan. The device sent us on a meandering path across dirt roads, through the shooting range of an army training encampment and within spitting distance of Azeri border guard towers.

Eventually, we made it to these amazing complexes of cave dwellings founded in the sixth century and scattered around a desolate patch of dust that is otherwise mostly inhabited by sheep, birds and the occasional fox.
It was a beautiful drive but it made me appreciate Tbilisi and its trees.

Thanksgiving

Since all the Georgia Peace Corps Volunteers were together for a conference anyway, we celebrated Thanksgiving a little early, on Friday evening.

Although it's always hard to miss a family holiday, this year I'm thankful for my fellow PC Response volunteers, pictured here with our stylish coordinator, Tamunia. Also, I'm thankful for the cooking and baking skills of the collected PCVs, including Dave (in the apron!), creator of the most incredible pumpkin soup ever.
And if I couldn't be at home, at least I got to chat with our jovial country director (left) and the American Ambassador. Not too shabby.

Real estate

Georgia is full of crumbling buildings and other relics of its Soviet past. This is one of several on the grounds of the center where Peace Corps held its conference.

Rumor has it that among other things, the complex was used as a radio-jamming station back in the day. Today, it's quite the fixer-upper.

Traveling shoes

I'm leaving for a conference, so of course I'm busy with important things like deciding which shoes to take and what I should load on my music player.

I won't be taking the shoes pictured above, since they're not mine. Don't think they would fit, either.

Birthday Party!

Anri wanted to celebrate his birthday at McDonald's, so he and Larisa and I bundled up and off we went.

The food was exactly the same as American McDonald's food (no McRibs, though, which is for the best, I think) except you can't fill your own giant tanker of soda. Whatever. What's different: they give the kids balloons on sticks, and the packaging came in at least four languages (pie wrappers are Turkish, burger papers were Russian).

I'm not sure America is exporting the highlights of its culture, but the place certainly is popular.

Commute

Trevor's been requesting pictures of my morning walk to work. My camera battery was dying this morning so I only got a few shots, and it's super gloomy in Tbilisi right now, so the walk looks even more grim and post-communist than usual. It's really quite pleasant, except for the exhaust fumes.
I avoid exhaust fumes on one stretch of my walk by cutting through the parking lot behind a row of depressing Soviet-era apartment buildings via this alley. As a bonus, there are usually several stray cats, and in the afternoon there are usually couples canoodling on the benches in the little grassy strip.I avoid getting mowed down on super-busy Vazha Pshavela by ducking under the road via the entrance to the Delisi Metro station.
But there's no tunnel under Tamarashvili, unfortunately, so I take my chances at the crosswalks along with all the other pedestrians. This morning there was a freakish lack of traffic, making me wonder if it's some holiday that I don't know about. (Maybe everybody has my cold now?)To cut about 10 minutes off my walk, I hike up this hill (seen from the top + much steeper than it appears here) leading to a twisty alleyway shortcut it took me a week of lunch-hour exploring to find.
The last few minutes of the walk take me past a soccer field and tennis courts, which in the morning are filled with old dudes and in the afternoon little kids taking lessons. So cute.

Thirty minutes after setting off, I climb three flights of stairs and fire up my computer for an exciting day at the office!

Beans, beans

Vakhtang is quite possibly the hardest-working man in all of Tbilisi. He only takes Tuesdays off; hence, I rarely see him. But I was home sick this Tuesday, so we all set off to eat beans at the famous bean place in Mtskheta. The picture is me and Larisa posing with Georgia's notion of "salad."
As a bonus, we got to see the famous hilltop Jvari church with a picturesque dusting of snow.

There were also a couple of marriage proposals from some men who seemed to spend as much time drinking as Vaho does working.

The Huddle

I spent most of my protracted convalescence hunkered down in the kitchen with Larisa and Anri as we huddled around the space heater with our laptops and a lot of snacks. Monday it even snowed, which made our little corner booth feel even more cozy.

La-la land

I'm going to have to drag my head out of the clouds tomorrow and head back to work after what seems like forever battling an epic cold that's making its way around the globe.

The Peace Corps doctor says I'm well enough to go cough on my coworkers instead of my family, and that's fine with me after almost a week of being cooped up in the house.

I head back to the office but dream of cruising up to Racha, pictured above, with the Caucasus mountains looming.

Tractor

I had to figure out a way to post this tractor photo I snapped last week in Racha. My dad loves tractors. Myself, I have been enjoying goofing around with Photoshop (see above).

Racha borders Russia, so it's no surprise that the place is populated by tons of Soviet-era machinery and mentality, and that people still talk about the Soviet times like they just ended, instead of in 1991.

Lake House

Today would be the perfect day to lay around watching romantic comedies: it's rainy and blustery outside and warm in the house with a pot of lentils bubbling on the stove. Plus I have enough of a cold to feel completely unmotivated to change out of my sweats.

Maybe after I get my work done I'll snuggle up with a DVD, but until then I'm procrastinating like a maniac, listening to Christmas music and trolling the internet for the secret to perfectly crispy oven fries. Larisa had to work today so I'm in charge of feeding Anri--if he ever gets out of bed. It's almost 2 p.m. and he's still asleep. On a day like today, I kind of understand.

Dogs

Besides being a fellow Africa Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, my host in Racha is the kind of person who stops her car on the shoulder of windy mountain passes to feed stray dogs from the bucket of dog food she keeps in the trunk.

In other words, my favorite kind of person.

Zghmartli

During yesterday's field visit, we stopped to check out a bridge project one of the grants helped pay for, and everybody got all excited about this fruit growing next to the bridge.

Zghmartli. Try saying that ten times fast. (Actually, try saying it once--I tell you, the consonant clumps are ridiculous. This one requires some spitting.)

The staff showed me the name on the internet and everything, so I don't think they were just messing with me. Also, Georgians aren't like that. Normally I don't just eat random things people pull off of plants growing by the road, but this guy is a veterinarian so I figured he knows what he's talking about, right? The dark squishy fruits are ripe, and even though they have way too many seeds, they're pretty delicious.

All together now: Zghmartli. (Bless you!)

The Cheese Lady

Today we actually went into the field and visited a woman who got a CARE grant to buy cows and has since blossomed into an ambitious entrepreneur with a thriving cheese business and plans to buy more cows and even a Jeep, which is a big deal in a country where women don't typically drive.

I love meeting people whose lives really have been fundamentally changed by some small help, because let's face it--in development that only happens sometimes.

When my PR colleague and I met later about writing about the cheese lady, my colleague didn't want me to mention the cheese lady's car-buying dream because according to her, it's unrealistic. I actually got sucked into arguing with her for a bit before thinking to explain to her that people can dream whatever the hell they want. That's why they call it a dream.

Also, I firmly believe that somebody like the cheese lady, who is not afraid to shoot firecrackers at the wolves who stalk her cows and thinks it is no big deal to ride her horse into the nearest town to buy medicine for her neighbor, most likely has what it takes to make her dream come true.

Racha

This is the view out the living room window of my host's house in Racha, where I'm doing a field visit this week.

Unbelievable, right?

I came up here under the impression I was going to visit sites and write stories, but it turns out that I'm conducting a writing workshop for the local staff. Luckily, I thrive on crazy stuff like inventing a workshop in an hour and then standing in front of a group of people as if I know what I'm doing.

Also, the housekeeper keeps bringing Turkish coffee and the PR person showed up for our session with a giant tray of fruit tarts heaped in whipped cream. At this point, I'm seriously considering calling Tbilisi and telling them I'm never coming back.