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.