Library

The Peace Corps lounge: wifi, books, and what is allegedly the best shower in all of Georgia.

And French press coffee, courtesy of Dave, who came almost directly from Uganda. Sweet!

Training

I was kind of hoping that since I was only coming to Georgia for three months that I wouldn't have to learn the language.

Yesterday afternoon we started working on the alphabet. My brain feels like it's been turned inside out and scrubbed with a brillo pad. The Georgian alphabet is linguistically unique, and the letters all look like the opposite of what I expect them to sound.

That could just be the jetlag talking.

Anyway, this is where we ate lunch yesterday. Potato dumplings! And drinks! It was lovely and delicious. And there was a sweet little kitty.

Carry On

I very carefully packed a carry-on bag with lots of spare clothes and everything I would need for the entire week of orientation here at the Peace Corps office.

Lufthansa made me gate-check said carry on at LAX, and all I got on the plane with was my tiny laptop bag.

Naturally, not a single one of my bags made it here.

So much for planning ahead and all of that.

At least I'm here! And so far, so good.

Istanbul

I'm writing this post in the Greenport bar in the Istanbul airport, sitting here with my new colleague Dave, who I met in the LA airport two flights (and many, many hours) ago. He's drinking a Fez beer. Trevor and I called our last cat Fez.

In addition to jet lag, a crusty nose, swollen ankles, staticky (yet somehow also greasy) hair, and frayed nerves over a very important bag that Lufthansa made me gate check (and Turkish Airlines swears is now checked through to T'bilisi), I'm feeling pretty good. It was surreal going through LAX yesterday with what appeared to be every security guard and police officer scanning the crowds, and trying not to think about that horrible day 10 years ago as we lifted off and touched down four times.

I'm hoping that I left my tears behind when Trevor walked away in the Columbia airport (cashmere has no absorbent properties, by the way) and am ready to step forward into this new, excellent adventure.

Missing

This time, it was harder to leave Trevor.

(And the rest of my loved ones, including those pictured at left.)

I've been away from home for months before and find that it gets harder, not easier, to leave. Three months is not such a long time, but I worry about my parents, who are spry as heck but not getting any younger. I hate that every time I come back, my niece and nephew seem a foot taller and 10 years older (though I will admit that I am ok with just hearing about the band concerts). I hate missing out on fall, sitting on the deck and watching the leaves turn.

In a way, though, I appreciate how painful it is to leave. Otherwise maybe I would become numb to how awesome my ordinary life is, how excellent my hometown is, how rich I am in friends and family and four-legged creatures who snore, shed and drool. Maybe the wakeup call has to be painful to really shake me up.

Going away

Before our little shindig last weekend, my friend Ann was complaining that she only sees me at my going-away parties.

Well, that and Christmas when the rest of the college gang swings into town. And when she and the fam bike by on balmy summer evenings.

When we do get together, it's noteworthy. Lulu and Seth celebrated the anniversary of Seth taking some of his first steps on our porch (chasing her) by chasing each other around some more.

Conversational

When my favorite morning NPR show ended on my dog walk this morning, I switched my MP3 player to the travel Russian audiobook I downloaded from the library last night and started trying to pick up some new phrases. (They didn't have Georgian.)

This was complicated by the fact that it took me about five minutes to figure out which came first, the Russian lady or the English guy, and further because I was busy wondering about the circumstances that would surround such conversations as "Are you traveling alone?"

"Please speak more slowly" seemed especially troublesome. Considering that I am just now learning how to say please, thank you and "Good morning, madam," how much will it help me if somebody speaks slow gibberish as opposed to fast nonsense?

At least I am getting used to the sound of Russian in my ears. Next week (!!!!) I'll be surrounded by it.