Settling In

A Day

7:30 - The view East from my bedroom window. Not all days start with such a sunrise.

9:00 - The bus is a crowded adventure every time. The door squeezes me in so tight I don’t need to hold on to a thing. It’s just a 20 minute ride up the river valley for me but it continues 2 hours toward the mountain villages so furniture crates of fruit and kegs of beer are common cargo. 

9:45 - Passing time from the window of the teachers lounge. They boys mostly wrestle and chase each other, the girls form tight circles. It’s like anywhere else in the world except that there’s no teacher intervention…ever. So most fights amongst the younger boys are moderated by their big brothers and the fights between the older boys are over, when they’re over. 

11:00 - Some days I have long breaks between classes so when the weather is nice I explore. This day I climbed the switch backing road to the village of Kibe (which mean ladder in Georgian). Beyond me just 10 kilometers to the South is the Turkish border.

2:00 - My after school English club gathers. The boy in the with shirt is Giorgi (one of the most common names in Georgia) and he is the quintessential Giorgi. Maybe you have to live here to understand and maybe not. Some people’s names just fit them and he is one.

8:00 – Skipping the lazy afternoon that often involves a game of soccer or reading or writing or napping, let’s get to the good stuff. Not all evenings but many lead to large quantities of food and wine. My host brother Ramazi raises a drinking horn for one of his elaborate philosophical toasts.

10:30 - Our apartment seems to be the place to hang out. Maybe it’s the killer wood stove that just moved into the living room for the winter chill, or maybe it’s the graciousness of my host mother and host sister (second from left and far right respectively), or maybe it’s the sweetness of the mandarins that are always in bountiful supply. Whatever it is guests often stay late and I usually understand little of what is said, but I’ll get there.

An Excursion to Kazbegi

With my friends Logan, Michelle and Kai, I headed to the slopes of Georgia’s iconic Mt. Kazbegi. Like any good plans, this one was hatched last minute over a beer. An overnight train carried me and Kai to the capitol city T’bilisi and after convening with our compatriots from the far Eastern Kakheti region we wound our way three hours further by marshutka to our mountainous destination.

Gergeti Monastery on the left skyline with the slopes of Kazbegi beyond

Walking to the monastery and looking cool doing it

The alpine town of Stepantsminda below

A multi-lingual dinner table at the guest house. Russian, Armenian, Georgian, and English were all intermingling with a modest level of mutual comprehension. But wine and cognac help facilitate communication where language fails.

An early morning hike through the birch forests rewarded me with this glorious view.

When I arrived at the monastery the monks were warming their hands around a wood stove and lighting candles in preparation for the Sunday service. Most parishioners walk a steep hour for the 8 hour service.

It was one of those trips where you end up with nicknames (Georgian ones). Ninico and Dato looking weary of transit on the Tbilisi metro.

9 Georgian Characters and Their Stories 

Mukhrani (pronounced moo-pretend like you clearing something from your throat-ron-ee): He’s one smart 5^th grader and I love his name. When he’s waiting to be called on he clutches his raised hand and begs like his life depends on delivering the correct answer. Then when he’s chosen to speak he bounces out of his chair like a spring and exhales the answer like a cry of relief. He’s usually right.

Vasili: The guesthouse owner in Kazbegi pushed a hard bargain and drove this wonderful Russian matchbox of a car with a little taxi sign on top. He would intentionally swerve in front of busses and toward farmers on the roadside just to get a rise out of us. Whenever he did something dangerous or scary (which was often) he would take both hands off the wheel, turn around with a smile and say, “don’t worry, be happy!” Then after a perfect comedic pause, although he was dead serious, he would add, “Vasily Shumacher”. As in, of course, the Formula one champion Michael Schumacher.

Keti: This photo marks my victory in a game we played where she tried to sneak up on me and I tried to take her picture. She won the first 10 rounds in a blur but when I showed her this winning shot she conceded defeat.

Names unknown: Keti’s mother and grandmother. It’s fitting in a way that I never caught the name of these women even though they served me two incredible meals during my stay in their home. In Georgia, as a guest, the women of the house work hard to prepare and serve you food but they rarely sit at the table during meals, and they almost never drink at a supra. On this morning they prepared Adjarian Khachapuri, basically a French baguette canoe filled with a thick layer of cheese and then baked in the oven. Just before serving an egg is dropped in each vessel to cook slowly in the steaming masterpiece. This was, hands down, the best breakfast I’ve had in Georgia.

Name unknown: Well, there are actually two characters in this one. If you want to know the story of the guy on the right ask me some time in person. As for the man on the left he told us his story mostly with his hands. An Armenian native we shared almost no words in common. Over a bottle of cognac at Vasili’s guesthouse we learned that he had just survived a horrific accident that very day. His cell phone photos showed the cab of his truck in flames, many yards from the rest of the wrecked cargo. He must have rolled 200 feet down a rocky slope before he hit bottom. In gesture, he explained that angels must have been watching over him, showed us pictures of his family, and then toasted the wonder of life in all it’s precious finitude, at least that was my interpretation of the expression on his face.

Makhwala: My most successful way of communicating with Makhwala is by calling out the names of my favorite writers. She teaches literature and so when we find a common hero, Leo Tolstoy or Jack London, her face lights. Even though I can’t ask her much about her own life, we are connected by the wonderful stories we’ve read. Also, she is beautiful. She must dye her hair this wonderful deep crimson although I’ve never seen even the tiniest hint of grey. Either way, I  always catch myself staring at it. I’m a little bit in love and if she was my age maybe I would never make it back to America.

Luka: I met this young priest to be at Gergeti monastery. Before I met him and practiced the only 10 questions I could ask in Georgian, I snapped this photo of him in his robe watching the morning. Some day he will preside over the 8-hour Sunday service, but for now he gets to take some breaks from lighting candles to enjoy the view.

Gulico: She spends many evenings in our apartment and on one wine-induced occasion I was even bold enough to ask her to dance, and so we did. Here she is cutting a khourma (a very soft persimmon-like fruit). She has the most incredible hands, giant and weathered from a lifetime of work. Here her face is lit by the blue buzz of the t.v screen. She grew up in a mountain village so I can only imagine what she is thinking as she watches American music videos with women in g-strings shaking their asses at the camera. Mostly she just laughs and slaps her knee.

A Supra with Family and Friends

In Georgia, sometimes I’m with my family and sometimes I’m with my friends but rarely both at the same time. My family had been hounding me about meeting my friends and my friends heard many stories of my 7 hour supras and Ramazi’s lengthy philosophical toasts so they finally got to see it in action. From left: Michelle (Austin, Texas), Elizabeth (Starksville, Mississippi), Ramazi, Merabi, and Raines (can’t remember the name of your town, Georgia).

Some white wine, some red wine, Ramazi was not about to let anybody off easy.

Since Raines hails from the other Georgia, he was given the name Giorgi (George) for the evening. Whether he likes it or not, I think it’s gonna stick.

If any Georgian tells you they just want to have one glass of wine, they are undoubtedly lying. There are at least 5 required toasts and I hear that the unofficial comprehensive list is north of 3,000. Our tally for the night was somewhere between those two.

Hour 3 or so

No party is really rocking until a chair breaks. But usually when you get to that point, inventiveness and team cooperation are in ready supply.

Naira and Gulico prepared this wonderful feast and we even convinced them to join us for a couple toasts. Integration of friends and family…great success!

Nature

Khourmas and a haystack, near Kibe

M’tirala National Park: hard to believe this place gets 178 inches of rain a year on a perfect fall day like this one.

Praying Mantis Awesomeness

This place was like the Georgian Columbia River Gorge. I can always remember the name for waterfall in Georgian because I like the way it sounds, chanchkeri.

Garni, Armenia: a mysterious place.

Above the village of Kibe looking North up the Chorokhi River Valley.

Armenia’s capitol city, Yerevan, with the hulking silhouette of Mt. Ararat just visible of the clouds.

Sakartvelo Part 1

Gamarjobat (HELLO!),

To my friends near and far. As you may or may not know, I am currently living and teaching in Georgia (as in the country bordered by Russia to the North and Turkey to the South). I moved to my new home of Batumi on the Black Sea coast one month ago and I’m settling into a life that involves a language with lots of strange guttural throat noises, a landscape that rises from luscious citrus filled river deltas to impossibly high jagged summits, and a culture that welcomes guests with open arms and then forces them to drink ungodly quantities of  flammable strength liquor at a rapid pace. My host family is full of love and my students are full of the best kind of youthful energy.

Instead of a true narrative I’m going to tell my story in photos, with some extended captions to fill in the details.

 Sakartvelo, A Photo Essay

Layover: 12 Hours in Warsaw

The most striking thing about my short time in Warsaw, Poland was the quality of the light. From an Indian summer in Portland, climbing just a few degrees in latitude was like leaping 2 months further into fall. The stone of this square caught that low stark light and the whole year felt older and slower.

Orientation: One Week in T’bilisi

I spent much of my first week in Georgia cooped up in the smoky and fluorescently lit halls of the Bazaleti Palace Hotel. When I was able to escape from the information sessions and Georgian language classes I was delighted to begin absorbing all the sights and smells and sounds of my new home. Beyond me is the cityscape of the capitol, Tbilisi.

Climbing the walls of an old fortress with some new friends.

Me and my roommate Emmitt with that apprehensive look of two boys who know approximately a dozen words in Georgian and are about to be adopted by new families. As a side note: Emmitt is from Emporia, Virginia, he studied textiles and color theory (which I point out mostly because we ended up wearing the same color pants on this day, which means my clothing choice has been vindicated by an expert) and he tells the most ridiculous stories. His mother’s mother has 82 grandchildren and they all gather for a family reunion every year. He invited me to join him this year and I said yes please!

The chaos of the hotel lobby where host mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters stood on one side and the TLG (Teach and Learn Georgia) volunteers waited on the other like we were being picked by team captains in a playground flag football game. The introductions happened one by one with much applause and many an awkward moment when both went in for the (Italian style) kiss on the same side. My host father seemed insistent on simply shaking my hand so I had no such trouble.

In Transit

I just like this picture. It was a 9 hour car ride to my new home in Batumi with many many stops for every kind of treat that was sold by the roadside. This photo shows the main highway at its best, it slowly deteriorated to a winding pot-holed affair with harrowing passes between gargantuan soviet-era trucks.

The Many Faces of Batumi, My New Home on the Black Sea:

Batumi the Las Vegas of Georgia:

This skyscraper (still under construction) comes with a Ferris wheel built into its upper stories.

Batumi the boom town of foreign investment:

Although the trump tower site is currently inhabited only by these wonderful ivy covered stumps.

Batumi the odd sponge of western culture:

These avatar characters guard a kids playground filled with other movie characters, which is set against a palm-tree lined boulevard with French/Italian/Greek fountains/facades/gazebos.

Batumi the beach:

The locals are adamant that October is too cold for swimming in the Black Sea but most of my days so far have seen temperatures in the low 70’s with water that is bathtub warm compared to my home Pacific waters. Afternoon swims have been a regular staple of my routine thus far!

Batumi the market town:

Beyond the new construction is a thriving hub of more typically Georgian-style commerce where every block is lined with street vendors sharing the regions bounty of fruits and vegetables and counting their sums with an abacus, like this man.

Batumi the confusing marketing pitch:

I love this picture because there are these weird installations that are each supposed to give a different spin on the cities slogan, “Batumi, the city that loves you”. However, the symbolism here is very unclear. The figure is carrying a heart in some kind of cart, but whose heart is it and is that a shopping cart? If the heart belongs to the person pushing the cart, how did their heart leave their body, and if not, then who’s heart is it and why is it in a shopping cart? Will I lose my own heart from shopping or gambling too much in Batumi? If I do in fact lose my heart here can I then can I just buy a new one?       Your guess is as good as mine!

Batumi all in one photo:

This is my attempt to convey all these different themes in one picture. You are looking through the window of an abandoned commercial space where mold grows on the walls. In the first layer of the reflection are passersby (tourists and locals) crossing the square. Beyond that there is the European style of architecture from Batumi’s previous building boom about 100 years ago, and next to it is a new building which will affect the same style as its neighbor on the outside, but with the cheap and quickly built innards that you see now. And finally in the background is that new skyscraper with its Ferris wheel looming over the city.

Life at Home

You can see our second floor apartment windows from the base where I often sit with some of our neighbors and chat. By chat I mean test out my small repertoire of questions and phrases which is growing at a rate of approximately ½ per day.

 

Sunday Laundry

This is a pretty bad picture but it captures the ambience pretty well. From left to right we have: my host mother Gulico, my host brother Ramazi, Guilco’s nephew Achiko, and my host sister Naira.

Dinner this night included fish from the river near our house, homemade bread and several sauces to accompany it all including a hot pepper spread and a sweet and sour sauce made with the dregs of the grapes in the wine-making process.

Let’s be honest, home life includes plenty of free time, which I’m oh so happy to fill with: creative endeavors like reading and writing, less creative endeavors like the limited number of games that my Georgian cell phone has to offer (“bounce” is my personal favorite so far) and, last but not least the most creative photography that can be achieved without moving from a prone position. If I get bored enough self portraits do happen. 

Village Life:

On a mission to tend the wine, we headed out of the city and into the steep hills where a different pace of life abounds. Due to the significant language barrier I never really know where I’m going when my host father waves me to “modi modi” (come come). On this day I was happy to find that the road took us to a beautiful mountainous village where he spent his childhood summers with relatives.

Ramazi stirs the 120 liter barrel of fermenting wine. From what I can tell, the wine they drink here is closer to 25% alcohol and rather than sip it, you drink the equivalent of  about 1/3 of a glass with each toast. At a typical supra (feast), there seem to be between 8 and 20 toasts…as a skinny, normally casual drinker, the math is not in my favor.

At this point the wine was relatively tame, sweet and delicious!

These structures on stilts, as far as I can tell, are for storing and drying food stuffs.

All those tired crops after a long summer’s work.

Of course the neighbors invited us over for cha cha, a clear moonshine tequila/vodka of sorts that is distilled from the remains of the wine making process…it’s very dangerous!

Ramazi claimed this was the highest waterfall in the Soviet Union. Measuring 50 meters,it was impressive and beautiful but that claim seems a bit large to me.

Ucha on the left, Ramazi on the right, look at that wink and that shirt with colors perfectly suited to a day of wine tending.

Portrait of a Supra 

 A supra is a feast held for a special occasion or in someone's honor or just because it's the Sunday night before Sam's first day of teaching. That was a rough first day!

Acharistkali:

Acharistkali is the name of the town where my school is. It's a 20 minute commute by bus. Some days I have long breaks between classes when I can go explore the area. It’s only 10 kilometers South to the Turkish border along this branch of the river. This is a view back toward the town.

The break room where many an aging teacher has been known to fall asleep with their noses buried in a textbook. The last two on the right are my co-teachers Shorena and Natia.

P.E. class consists of the teacher putting the soccer ball in this caged sort of field and then sitting off to the side to smoke a pack of cigarettes while the kids go nuts.

It’s fitting that my 1’st graders couldn’t even sit still for the 1/200^th of a second that it took for this picture because that’s what class is like. This boy in the middle (still working on the names) usually has a big loaf of bread in his backpack, which he steals bites of throughout class…pretty good system if you ask me.

My 5^th graders ready to get down to some serious preposition business.

The extracurricular class that I lead after school is a mash up of games, some of which have significant English learning value and many that just involve lots of running and laughter. I’m extremely thankful for Teona, a strong 12^th grade student who translates many of the things I say (including all the rules to the games) into Georgian. Without her it would be chaos.

For all you Camp Orkila readers out there, this is a game of “Where’s my…”  

“Dog!”

A Collection of Landscapes

Looking up the Chorokhi river valley from the vantage of a cell tower I found on the top of the hill near my house.

The view North along the Black Sea coast from the slopes of the Batumi Botanical Garden.

The Chorokhi river

On a break from class

Batumi beach at sunset