Portrait of the artist as an increasingly confident bus rider

As Elvis Costello once sang, "Every day I ride the bus." No wait, that was somebody else. Singing something else.

Since being encouraged by my Canadian friend Jeff to take my life aboveground since buses are both much faster and way more entertaining, I have been slowly building my confidence as a bus rider. It started with two routes suggested by Google maps and has now expanded to minibus route #72, as discovered by my host sister on last night's trip home from the movies. People, it stops right outside our corner market. This is huge, especially when you have accidentally picked a big angry scab on the side of your foot (ahem) or are wearing ridiculously uncomfortable fashion slave shoes (every Georgian woman).

Apparently riding the bus makes you appear more assimilated, because an old man on route #6 talked at me for about 5 minutes yesterday before realizing I don't speak Georgian. (Also I was stopped for directions on the street today. Maybe my sudden transportational confidence shows in regular life?)

Building relationships, one jerkey stick at a time

German dog treat: you know you want it.

It has taken me about a month and most of a bag of German dog jerkey, but I have finally convinced Gary the guard dog to let me pet him. He still looks a little worried about it.

I could use this as a way to segue into some wise words about how building relationships takes time blah blah, but honestly I have no wise words. It's tough. Being in another culture makes it more complicated. Trying to be open and friendly and honest takes you only so far. Apparently, smelling like beef sticks helps, in certain circumstances.

Anyway, it's cocktail hour. A really nice bottle of Saperavi is calling my name. (And can I just say, a mid-range bottle of red wine costs about $3.75 here? You see why I like this place so much.)  

The world's most nervous guard dog.

On not biking

According to Larissa, this sculpture has something to do with the fact that some famous bicycle used to be manufactured in Tbilisi, not the fact that a few people are brave/insane enough to ride here.

This is as close as I'm going to get to biking in Tbilisi. I'm nervous even getting into cars here. (But I had to take a picture, because c'mon! A giant bike!)

This sculpture, which is prominent enough in Old Town to be a meeting point landmark, is painfully ironic considering that there are so few bikers here. In fact, I can list every single time I saw someone biking here. And each time, I thought, that person is insane. Especially when I saw what appeared to be the national cycling team following a pace car on the highway.

Borjomi

The first stop on the epic religious pilgrammage was Borjomi, a town famous throughout Georgia for its distinctively strong-tasting (iron? salt?) mineral water. While the religious types caught up with their nun friends, we took a walk through town. 

Here we are, blocking your view of some really awesome murals.

And tasted some of the water right from the source. (Gross. Like, you just bit your tongue really hard and now it tastes like blood, only it's also warm and bubbly.)

I'm only smiling because I haven't actually tasted the water yet.

 Even if its water is kind of nasty (though it's supposed to have magical healing properties...), Borjomi itself is a sweet little town nestled in the mountains. And there were bicyclists!

Bicyclists! Are they insane, foreign, or both?

There will be mud

 When I told Larissa I would accompany her on her friend's church group trip, I didn't realize I was signing up for a pilgrammage to three ancient monastaries. I also didn't realize that nobody would actually know how to get to two of them, which would result in one of them remaining stubbornly unfound. The above photo is evidence of one of several failed paths. Some might consider this a disaster, but honestly I'd rather slog around in the woods than look at another church, anyway.

 We found the third church, mainly because our leaders asked the right random farmer, who walked us way, way up the side of the mountain to the ruins of a church they said was from the 5th century. (The monastary is the dark spot on the left up there.) I didn't take a picture of the skeleton we saw in one collapsed room, but if I had better internet I would post a video of the polyphonic chanting some of the men did in the other one, a haunting, ancient sound that captured perfectly the mood of the rain softly falling and the desolate, forgotten spot.

 On our way back down the hill, the farmer led us to his house, brought out the 5-liter jug of homemade wine and insisted that we drink a toast or three and bless his family. Of course, the American was called upon to say a few words but luckily they didn't expect me to drain my glass the way everybody else did.

It was way too many hours in a crowded, overheated minibus, but a glorious day.

Vegetarian?

As a vegetarian for more than 20 years now, I often receive concern from people who worry that I don't get enough to eat when I travel.

Honestly, all it takes is one look at me to know that I get plenty to eat wherever I go. But seriously, it's just one of those things that makes travel interesting. The phrase "I don't eat" is pretty much the first thing I learn in every language.

Happily, I find most cooks love the challenge of making me something special to eat. Larissa is no exception. Among her creations is the sushi-esque creation above, hollowed-out boiled carrots filled with Georgia's famous walnut-garlic-spice paste. Unfreaking believeable, but make sure to brush your teeth afterwards.

Of course, if you prefer to dine on nothing but fancy French pastry, Tbilisi has you covered on that front too.

Date night

 Larissa and Vachtang and I seem to be making a habit out of Friday date nights. No hanky panky, just romantic evenings watching the sun set. This is at Lisi Lake, which is just up the hill behind our house.

 Also, there were french fries and ice cream at the swanky little cafe, where the wind blew away our napkins and made us feel like we were at the seaside.

Next time, we swim!

Day trip

 As part of my research this summer, I'm taking a bunch of guided tours and taking copious notes. And pictures! The highlight of yesterday's trip west was the ancient cave town of Uplistsikhe, which dates from the first millenium BC. Although the temperature hovered around 95 degrees, the wind was blowing at the top of the hill, making it nearly bearable.

 Mercifully, our guide was also willing to scuttle plans to visit the third church of the day in favor of a hike at the Armaziskheri archaeological site, from 3000-2000 BC (hard to fathom) and known as the cradle of paganism in Georgia. Fun times!

More sobering was our stop at the Stalin museum, made more disturbing by the reverent, almost religious attitude of our guide. Reluctantly, she showed us the rooms under the staircase devoted to the estimated 4 million victims of his brutal political repression. She "spoke" English (more like, kind of memorized the guide script) but not enough to answer questions and not nearly enough to be suitably impressed when I told her that I hail from the same place of one of the dignitaries whose photograph is on display. Why hello, Harry Truman! Fancy meeting you in Gori.

Carbon copy

Making 100 more copies of my survey turned out to be no simple task. First was the difficulty of conveying the notion of photocopying to Larissa. Although stores all over the place advertise "Xerox," the way Georgians pronounce the word bears no relation to the way I say it. I still haven't learned that whole squeeze the back of your throat sound.

One we got the task figured out, we spent another lifetime with the very pleasant lady at the shop. This involved her handing us the cord to plug in the machine, and of course there is no such thing as automatic double-sided. And I have gotten a LOT more practice stapling. And ten random people came in at various points needing things copied so of course she had to help them too. It was all quite entertaining and almost worth the shocking amount of money it cost.

And she is a sport to pose for a picture with her machine, isn't she?

Almost every day

Sometimes, not sure why, I think of Trevor. (He would be shocked and appalled by the platters stacked up flat--it warps them---and would no doubt stage a vinyl intervention.)

Carlessness

If I had better internet, I might look up some articles I've read about the physical-activity-related benefits of using public transportation, but you'll just have to believe me. Naturally, I don't have a car here, not that I would ever want to drive in the bedlam that is Tbilisi traffic. Instead, I have been building a deeper appreciation for big-city public transportation. Tbilisi has an efficient network of metro trains, minibuses, regular buses and of course gazillions of taxis. Taxis are the reason I have finally learned how to (more or less) pronounce the word for "four," since drivers inevitably want to gouge me by charging five lari. Finally, I can counter offer.

My favorite is the metro, since with only two lines it is impossible to get lost. I have managed to board the train going in the wrong direction, though this is scarcely a disaster, considering that we are one stop from the end of the line, at which point the train simply goes back in the right way.

The minibuses, known here as mrshrukas, are plentiful and cheap (50 tetri a ride, less than 30 cents), though the routes seem impossibly complicated to me and even Larissa has to ask, though to be fair, this is because she normally just drives her car and is only taking the bus to humor me.

Still, given enough time, my favorite method of travel here is plain old walking. This mode allows for slowing down to watch old men playing backgammon on the sidewalk using bottle lids for pieces, popping into secondhand shops to paw through sparkly dresses, or investigating the "American House" shop, which turned out to be where expired CVS handcream and returned bedspreads (with department store receipts still taped on) get another shot at being sold.

Thomas says hello

Actually, it looks more like he's saying, "What are you looking at?" But whatever.

The other market

After our visit to the big, touristy market the other day, Larissa was anxious to take me back to the other market, which is a lot more gritty and where everything is much cheaper.

 This is the kind of place that is never listed in a guide book. In fact, even Larissa's daughter Tamta has never been there. Some advantages of traveling with locals: they know about places off the beaten path, and they are often thrilled to have an excuse to play tour guide to spots they rarely visit themselves.

 This market has a little of everything. I scored some vintage Soviet school maps for Trevor (5 lari each--less than $3, whereas they wanted something like 50 at the other market), lentils and a giant bag of soy pieces. It'll be interesting to see how that cultural exchange goes over.

As always, the best part is the fleeting friendships. Larissa quizzed this shop owner about her products (they come from Armenia and Turkey, mostly), and she quizzed Larissa about me before giving us each a piece of candy as we parted ways.

Awesome porches of Old Town Tbilisi

Shopping!

 If you find yourself in Tbilisi and in search of old Russian cut glass, funky Turkish jewelry, typewriters that use Cryllic, expired currency, accordions, or random electronic wingdings, I highly recommend checking out the Dry Bridge Market. If you visit, I would further recommend that you take along somebody who is fluent in Georgian and Russian, in addition to being a ruthless bargainer. By zipping my lips and letting Larissa do the talking, I got great deals on an amazing enamelwork ring, the lowest price of a dozen vendors on a funky necklace, Russian jazz records for Trevor, and a gorgeous Russian modern (is there such a thing?) teacup. This was an especially great deal, at the equivalent of $1.75.

After saving so much money, we headed over to the new Wendy's on Rustavelli, where the combo meals (veggie burger!!) come with tokens for the game room upstairs, where we burned off enough calories for post-lunch Frostys by playing basketball and Pac Man-themed air hockey, at least until I somehow broke the machine.

Sunday photo safari

 Sunday afternoon I didn't have much going on, so I tried to ignore the blazing heat and took myself on a little walk around the back streets of Old Town. I tried to be discreet about snapping photos of laundry. Hey, at least it's clean, right?

 And up the hill on the cable car, with a great view of some very green water. On one side of the hill, houses pile on top of each other and the streets teem with speeding cars. On the other side is a deep green valley and the botanical garden, and some doubtless centuries old ruins. Such are the contant contrasts of Tbilisi.

Giorgi knows all

Georgia is a small country and even though Tbilisi is a capital city of more than 1,000,000 people, it is a small town. For example, I had a beer(s) with Giorgi, who was born in Tbilisi but lives in Columbia. I was raving about this great meeting I had last week with an organization I think Mizzou should be affiliated with, and of course he knows all about it because he helped start it.

Ahem.

Also, it does no good to ask anybody in Tbilisi if they know any Giorgi, because half of the men in this town have that name. Some call themselves George.

I told Giorgi how much I love his hometown, and the feeling is mutual re: him and MY hometown. He especially raved about my dad, who is funny, smart, easygoing, and like Giorgi knows everybody. However, he at least has the advantage of an unusual first name.

Not allowed

 No shoes and no cats allowed inside. Though you will take note that Thomas is photographed making himself at home at the kitchen table, so we know where leniency comes into play. (Hint: it is not in regards to shoes in the house.)

Quality control

 My work in Georgia this summer involves investigating agricultural tourism sites, such as wineries. (Tough job, I know!) I have visited several so far, and have been struck by the fact that while some are modern, impressive state-of-the-art facilities that could easily pass for Tuscan, others are decidedly more... primitive. The top photo features a 7.7 km wine cellar originally constructed as a Soviet military tunnel. The bottom picture is from a tasting I attended nearby that took place in the storage room, while workers nearby banged on tanks.

Modern Life

One of my favorite things about Georgia is how it almost feels like time-traveling to the 1950s. There are old Soviet cars, crusty old buildings, some crazy ideas about the roles of women...

But glassy buildings are sprouting up all over Tbilisi. Wifi seems much more widespread, I don't think the power or water have gone out a single time (yet), and while there were a few isolated McDonalds here three years ago, more and more international chains offer crappy American food.

I have mixed feelings about this. While I root for Georgia's development and economic prosperity, I would hate to see this city that I love so much shed its character and become just another row of strip malls.

Happy!

 If I were home, I would have baked an angel-food cake, Dad's favorite. But since I'm a ways away, I will just have to wish him a happy birthday in pictures. The cake, minus a big slice for us, belonged to the neighbors but spent the day before the party in our fridge because apparently theirs wasn't big enough, and while it was fluffy and delicious none of us in the household were quite sure it was worth the two somewhat sleepless nights brought to us by the party itself.

Happy birthday, Dad! Here's to cake, candles, holidays spent away from home, and a good night's sleep.

Weekend in Lagodekhi

One thing I love about travel is the completely random adventures that pop up if you stay open to them. For example, last weekend's trip to Lagodekhi with a trio of strangers who turned out to be fun companions with a loose travel style and taste for adventure.

 We drank beer in the park with random Georgian men (ok, they did--I knitted and zoned out to conversations I couldn't understand in Georgian and Russian). We got slightly overheated hiking to a waterfall, where it seemed like a good idea to get under the gushing water until we noticed the size of the rocks being chucked over the edge in the torent.

 We crossed some extremely sketchy bridges, including this one, which only went across half of the river. (We got wet, and that wasn't even the crossing where Billie accidentally threw her backpack into the current.)

And of course everywhere we went, we received typical Georgian hospitality, which included this interesting assortment of breakfast offerings: whole tomatoes, cream cheese, pickled flowers, a giant chunk of butter, and one bowl of frosted flakes and cocoa puffs, plus of course lots and lots of instant coffee.

Turtle Lake

I may have mentioned that I am staying again with the host family that I lived with when I came to Georgia before. Last time, we spent the time getting to know each other. This time, it's like a family reunion. Also, I have inadvertently provided a welcome diversion to sadness surrounding the recent death of Vachtang's mother. OK, and also I give everybody plenty to do in terms of feeding me and fixing things I accidentally break around the house. Ahem.

 As is often the case, having a guest in town has given the family an excuse to visit some places they rarely visit themselves. Friday night they took me up to Turtle Lake, which is high up on a hill overlooking the city--and ironically a stone's throw from my previous office, though I had no idea it was there last time I lived here.

We rented a pedal boat, strolled around the water, tried to pick our house out of the sprawl, and resisted the temptation to buy popcorn and cotton candy. It was an odd little three-person date, and it was lovely.

Walking

For the past few days I have been making the rounds of old friends and potential collaborators. Georgians are justifiably famous for their hospitality and it is only because I insist on walking everywhere possible (much to the ladies' chagrin) that I have not already popped from the ridiculous amounts of food being forced on me.

One bonus is coming across graffiti that perfectly captures my feelings while crossing in the sub-street tunnels. Another is having time to noodle around on the FM dial and having the pleasant, though surreal, experience of hearing part of Morning Edition at 3 pm.