Death is a part of life everywhere you go. However, in Georgia it seems to play a more prominent role. When I was preparing to leave for Georgia, I was told "Georgians wear a lot of black. If you wear bright colors you will stand out." I kind of chuckled since I lived in all black for the length of my adolescence and beyond. Color is a recent phenomenon in my life. When I arrived in Tbilisi, our trainer, Tamar, repeated this fact about Georgians mostly only wearing black. She said it is because so many people die in Georgia that people were always wearing black for mourning. Death was so frequent people just began to wear black all the time and it became ingrained in the culture. And this is true, I look at my students, all black. I look at the people on the street, all black. The stores even cater to this trend and mostly only sell black and gray, with limited selection in other colors.
Georgians have a hard life. They have received unwanted visitors and survived many bloody wars throughout their entire history. War and suffering are a part of life, then and now. People in Gori are all too familiar with heartache, as they took a big hit during the August War in 2008. Everyone I have met here has friends or family from South Ossetia or Abkhazia. Many have shared their stories about being forced apart from their homes and families, losing family members, and being displaced indefinitely.
In the 6 weeks I have been with my family, they have received news of several deaths. A colleague, friends, our neighbor. My oldest sister speaks very matter of factly about death. Delivering the news in a very unemotional tone. I have not figured out much about Georgian mourning, but I do know that the day after our downstairs neighbor died (of old age) a coffin lid appeared in the stairwell and remained there for four days. For those four days we heard wailing from downstairs almost constantly. People came with flowers. And after four days the funeral was done.
But this entry isn't about death. Rather it's about the celebration of life. As I sat through a birthday supra for my "aunt" it really struck me how distinct this lifestyle is from what you typically find in the U.S. Celebrating family and friends and God are top priorities here. Every supra and every toast are carried out with both purpose and sincere merriment. This is a lifestyle that seems to come from a long history of hardship and an understanding of what it means to truly live your life and not simply go through the motions of school, work, marriage, etc. This isn't a place where work will take over every aspect of your life and it will never be the most important thing.
I have spent nights with my family and my fellow teachers' families laughing harder than I have in a long, long time. I have danced more than I have in a long, long time. And it feels as though I smile more than I used to. Even on the tough days when it feels like nothing is going right and everyone is driving me crazy, my family jokes me back into a good mood.
Deadlines, rules, and everything else takes a back to seat to these things. Why worry about such things when you have so much to celebrate? Why waste a moment not treasuring the family and friends you have around you? What could possibly be more important than this?
I think this is where some foreign teachers are struggling. Trying to plan lessons with co-teachers who don't share your concern for preparation or dealing with students who are uninterested in English can be frustrating. At times it can feel like school and learning is not a top priority for Georgians. And at times it most certainly is not. But I think that's just fine. In fact, I think there is something great about that. I would rather see my students thrilled to see their friends and happily celebrating the holidays with their family. Learning is important to them, and I truly feel that most of them will do just fine with their chosen paths. In the meantime, yes -- eat, drink and be merry -- because everyone here knows all too well that everything around you can disappear in a heartbeat.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
Roadtrip
Last week I decided it was time to take advantage of my new found adventurous spirit and plan a roadtrip. My family had shown me photos of their favorite cities in Georgia. One was Sighnaghi, also known as the Georgian city of love. Located in the eastern Georgian region of Kakheti, Sighnaghi is only a 2 hour journey (or less with Georgian style driving) from Tbilisi. After careful study of the pre-war edition of Lonely Planet I also determined that Telavi was just a short one and a half hour journey (shorter with Georgian driving style) and was surrounded by worthwhile sights. More often than not worthwhile sights are churches. They never cease to amaze me with their beauty, especially since, more often than not, they are surrounded by or perched on top of gorgeous mountains.
My careful study led me to chose the following route: a taxi from Gori to Tbilisi, from Tbilisi to Telavi, overnight in Telavi, taxi from Telavi to Sighnaghi, Sighnaghi to Tbilisi, Tbilisi to Gori.
So on Saturday my friend Annette and I met at the taxi stand and started our journey. It was raining, as it has been for the last few weeks, but we didn't let that dampen our spirit. Once in Tbilisi we had a chaotic trilingual exchange with several taxi drivers. We bargained with one driver who agreed on our price as long as we agreed to wait for more passengers. Our friend Mike ended up joining us along with a teacher from another TLG group who also needed to go to Telavi.
Our driver was exceptionally gracious. He chatted with us as much as he could and made a special stop to treat us to snacks for the journey. The drive through the mountains was absolutely breathtaking. As we ascended the mountains we saw more and more snow on the ground and we began to feel the change in altitude. When we finally arrived in Telavi we met our homestay host, a kind widow who loves to entertain travelers from all parts of the world. After introductions we went for a long walk around Telavi. Unfortunately, we did not go to the surrounding monasteries or churches because it was now late in the day and it would require another cab ride. Since the weather was warm it was pleasant to walk around the town and see the beginnings of spring blossoms. We eventually returned to our homestay where our host had prepared dinner. Afterward we joined her by her fire and spoke in broken Russian and Georgian.
The following morning our host made us breakfast and we set off in the rain to find the marshutka to Sighnaghi. After some confusing conversation we determined that we had either missed it or it was not coming for another 2 hours. We bargained for a cab and moments later we sped off in the rain listening to Russian- Roma music. I felt like I was staring in my own version of Everything is Illuminated.
We arrived in Sighnaghi and had just barely stepped out of the taxi when a woman approached asking if we needed a homestay. We said no, but that we would like to find a cafe. She led us to a hotel/ restaurant. We had our doubts as we walked into a nearly deserted room. There was just one couple sitting in the corner. After watching us stand there awkwardly with uncertain looks on our faces, they eventually said, in perfect English, "Please sit down. She will be here soon." Sure enough just as we finished introducing ourselves, "we are teachers from Gori," and they themselves, "we are visiting from Tbilisi for the weekend," the waitress arrived. They went on their way and we drank our Turkish coffee and set out to explore Sighnahi.
After taking in the impressive views and making friends with a local dog (that was probably part wolf), we headed towards Bodbe convent. A short, slightly uphill walk from Sighnaghi is Bodbe Convent. This is where Saint Nino is buried. For those of you who don't live in Georgi and therefore do not know at least a dozen women named Nino, St. Nino played a very important role in Georgian history. She brought Christianity to Georgia, which remains a very christian nation. Legend says she fashioned a cross with a strand of her own hair. Her tomb is inside a small church, and even though we were there on a Sunday, we arrived after prayer service and therefore were entirely alone in the church. Even the surrounding garden was deserted. These were some of the quietest moments I had experienced since arriving in Georgia. -- In Georgia you are never alone. You are constantly surrounded by people, people who always want to talk or sing or dance, it is never quiet. This isn't a bad thing, in fact I have been enjoying it, but you do notice the absence of silence. -- Therefore, I savored my moments in the convent.
As we headed back toward Sighnaghi a car sped by us and honked. Georgians honk their horns as a way to say hello to people they know, not necessarily to say "hey get out of the road you silly English teachers." The car stopped and low and behold it was our friends from the cafe. They offered to drive us back to Tbilisi, which we thought was both a very kind offer and extremely lucky. As our new friends Eka and Iliya drove us along the winding Kakheti roads we learned that they are newlyweds, have good jobs that require them to converse with native speakers of English, they love to sing, have a rock band, and are more than eager to share their thoughts about the different Georgian regions. After such a lovely ride with new friends, the taxi from Tbilisi to Gori was uneventful.
There really is not enough that can be said about Georgian hospitality and openness to perfect strangers. When someone toasts you at a supra and tells you how honored they are that you are here with them, they truly mean it with all of their heart. If someone stops along the road to offer three strangers a ride, they have no intention of asking for gas money in return for their gesture. And when someone welcomes you into their home, they aren't worried about feeding an extra mouth, they feel blessed to add a new family member. Sure there are exceptions to these statements, but overall Georgia is filled to the brim with kindhearted, genuine people.
My careful study led me to chose the following route: a taxi from Gori to Tbilisi, from Tbilisi to Telavi, overnight in Telavi, taxi from Telavi to Sighnaghi, Sighnaghi to Tbilisi, Tbilisi to Gori.
So on Saturday my friend Annette and I met at the taxi stand and started our journey. It was raining, as it has been for the last few weeks, but we didn't let that dampen our spirit. Once in Tbilisi we had a chaotic trilingual exchange with several taxi drivers. We bargained with one driver who agreed on our price as long as we agreed to wait for more passengers. Our friend Mike ended up joining us along with a teacher from another TLG group who also needed to go to Telavi.
Our driver was exceptionally gracious. He chatted with us as much as he could and made a special stop to treat us to snacks for the journey. The drive through the mountains was absolutely breathtaking. As we ascended the mountains we saw more and more snow on the ground and we began to feel the change in altitude. When we finally arrived in Telavi we met our homestay host, a kind widow who loves to entertain travelers from all parts of the world. After introductions we went for a long walk around Telavi. Unfortunately, we did not go to the surrounding monasteries or churches because it was now late in the day and it would require another cab ride. Since the weather was warm it was pleasant to walk around the town and see the beginnings of spring blossoms. We eventually returned to our homestay where our host had prepared dinner. Afterward we joined her by her fire and spoke in broken Russian and Georgian.
The following morning our host made us breakfast and we set off in the rain to find the marshutka to Sighnaghi. After some confusing conversation we determined that we had either missed it or it was not coming for another 2 hours. We bargained for a cab and moments later we sped off in the rain listening to Russian- Roma music. I felt like I was staring in my own version of Everything is Illuminated.
We arrived in Sighnaghi and had just barely stepped out of the taxi when a woman approached asking if we needed a homestay. We said no, but that we would like to find a cafe. She led us to a hotel/ restaurant. We had our doubts as we walked into a nearly deserted room. There was just one couple sitting in the corner. After watching us stand there awkwardly with uncertain looks on our faces, they eventually said, in perfect English, "Please sit down. She will be here soon." Sure enough just as we finished introducing ourselves, "we are teachers from Gori," and they themselves, "we are visiting from Tbilisi for the weekend," the waitress arrived. They went on their way and we drank our Turkish coffee and set out to explore Sighnahi.
After taking in the impressive views and making friends with a local dog (that was probably part wolf), we headed towards Bodbe convent. A short, slightly uphill walk from Sighnaghi is Bodbe Convent. This is where Saint Nino is buried. For those of you who don't live in Georgi and therefore do not know at least a dozen women named Nino, St. Nino played a very important role in Georgian history. She brought Christianity to Georgia, which remains a very christian nation. Legend says she fashioned a cross with a strand of her own hair. Her tomb is inside a small church, and even though we were there on a Sunday, we arrived after prayer service and therefore were entirely alone in the church. Even the surrounding garden was deserted. These were some of the quietest moments I had experienced since arriving in Georgia. -- In Georgia you are never alone. You are constantly surrounded by people, people who always want to talk or sing or dance, it is never quiet. This isn't a bad thing, in fact I have been enjoying it, but you do notice the absence of silence. -- Therefore, I savored my moments in the convent.
As we headed back toward Sighnaghi a car sped by us and honked. Georgians honk their horns as a way to say hello to people they know, not necessarily to say "hey get out of the road you silly English teachers." The car stopped and low and behold it was our friends from the cafe. They offered to drive us back to Tbilisi, which we thought was both a very kind offer and extremely lucky. As our new friends Eka and Iliya drove us along the winding Kakheti roads we learned that they are newlyweds, have good jobs that require them to converse with native speakers of English, they love to sing, have a rock band, and are more than eager to share their thoughts about the different Georgian regions. After such a lovely ride with new friends, the taxi from Tbilisi to Gori was uneventful.
There really is not enough that can be said about Georgian hospitality and openness to perfect strangers. When someone toasts you at a supra and tells you how honored they are that you are here with them, they truly mean it with all of their heart. If someone stops along the road to offer three strangers a ride, they have no intention of asking for gas money in return for their gesture. And when someone welcomes you into their home, they aren't worried about feeding an extra mouth, they feel blessed to add a new family member. Sure there are exceptions to these statements, but overall Georgia is filled to the brim with kindhearted, genuine people.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
One month
I have officially been in Georgia for one month and I must say things are going just fine. I haven't transformed into a superstar teacher or learned enough Georgia to hold a conversation beyond ordering food and beer and buying snacks at the corner store. Nonetheless, I feel very good about how things are going.
A few weeks ago I went to Tbilisi for the weekend to see my friend Mallory. The first day we met up with a bunch of fellow teachers and walked up to turtle lake. I don't think either of us were expecting a "walk" to turn into a "hike." Needless to say I was only kind of properly dressed for the occasion. As we made our way around the hills overlooking Tbilisi we took in some gorgeous views and has a small picnic. Every Georgian that walked by greeted our group with Garmojoba!
Later, as Mallory and I walked around the city with our backpacks and pleasant demeanor Georgians kept approaching us and saying "Mast! Mast!" (short for teacher in Georgian). They assumed (correctly) that were are Americans and (also correctly) that we are here as part of the government's English language initiative. In bits of English, Georgian and Russian we had a few conversations about how happy they were to see us here in Georgia. And of course they called us "kargi gogos" -- Georgian for good girls. The following day while at the large church in Tbilisi, some young choir boys kept racing ahead of us to take our picture. An Iranian man squealed with delight when heard us speaking English and also wanted a picture.
I have never felt so popular.
As I walk through Gori my students and fellow teachers all greet me with "Hello!" or "Hello teacher!" Even the students who I cannot coax into speaking in class suddenly can converse with me while standing on a street corner waiting for the light to change. I highly doubt I will ever again live in a place where everyone greets me on the street, therefore I am embracing it.
Between teaching my 5th grade the hokey pokey,discussing Lady Gaga with my 8th, 9th, and 10th grade, and dancing with my mandators I have been having wonderful time. Yes, there are tough days when I feel like nobody can understand me when I speak or I cannot think of a game that will inspire my 11th grade to participate more enthusiastically. But even on the tough days I still get to sit down with my new family, talk about how our days went and laugh together.
A few weeks ago I went to Tbilisi for the weekend to see my friend Mallory. The first day we met up with a bunch of fellow teachers and walked up to turtle lake. I don't think either of us were expecting a "walk" to turn into a "hike." Needless to say I was only kind of properly dressed for the occasion. As we made our way around the hills overlooking Tbilisi we took in some gorgeous views and has a small picnic. Every Georgian that walked by greeted our group with Garmojoba!
Later, as Mallory and I walked around the city with our backpacks and pleasant demeanor Georgians kept approaching us and saying "Mast! Mast!" (short for teacher in Georgian). They assumed (correctly) that were are Americans and (also correctly) that we are here as part of the government's English language initiative. In bits of English, Georgian and Russian we had a few conversations about how happy they were to see us here in Georgia. And of course they called us "kargi gogos" -- Georgian for good girls. The following day while at the large church in Tbilisi, some young choir boys kept racing ahead of us to take our picture. An Iranian man squealed with delight when heard us speaking English and also wanted a picture.
I have never felt so popular.
As I walk through Gori my students and fellow teachers all greet me with "Hello!" or "Hello teacher!" Even the students who I cannot coax into speaking in class suddenly can converse with me while standing on a street corner waiting for the light to change. I highly doubt I will ever again live in a place where everyone greets me on the street, therefore I am embracing it.
Between teaching my 5th grade the hokey pokey,discussing Lady Gaga with my 8th, 9th, and 10th grade, and dancing with my mandators I have been having wonderful time. Yes, there are tough days when I feel like nobody can understand me when I speak or I cannot think of a game that will inspire my 11th grade to participate more enthusiastically. But even on the tough days I still get to sit down with my new family, talk about how our days went and laugh together.
Two Fortresses and Cave City
Last weekend I went into Tbilisi for a quick day trip. What I love most about Tbilisi is that is unlike any city I have ever been to. My fellow teachers, Annette and Jessica, and I decided to walk up to Narikala Fortress. As we made our way up the back streets of Tbilisi and ascended the stairs leading the to fortress we had incredible views of the city. In addition to the cityscape we also got to peek into the daily lives of Georgians -- a man working in his garden, a woman hanging out the laundry, another man repairing his house. Approaching the top of the fortress we saw a group posing for pictures at the highest point. They had slipped underneath the safety rails and were standing on the rock jutting out over the city. It was a gorgeous day for looking out over the city, so naturally we did the same once we made it up there...when in Georgia.
The next day I ventured up Gori Fortress with my teaching assistant Nino and my host sister Nata. Nino led me over to the the binoculars and the guard pointed out all the surrounding sights for us: the church on the hill, the church on the mountain top, the cemetery, the neighboring town, South Ossetia, and the refugee settlements. Next Nino led us down what I have been calling a "hole." Really it was an opening that led us down over some rocks, through some bushes, over some more rocks to the the fortress wall. There was also a slightly hidden alter where people had bound their own crosses with sticks and grass, similar to how St. Nino bound her cross with stick and a strand of her hair.
When we returned home I was feeling rather accomplished as I sat munching on my soup. My host father came home and Nata filled him in on our excursion. There was some rapid chatter followed by everyone's eyes lighting up. My sisters informed me we were going on a picnic to Uplistsikhe, which is a cave city a few miles out of Gori that I have been very eager to see. We hurriedly packed up the picnic supplies and headed out the door. Moments later we were cruising down the street -- quick stop for lavash, another for fanta, another for the lamb meat for the shishkabobs. My family led me through the various nooks and crannies of the cave city, which was even better than I expected. It reminded me a lot of the places I would explore with my parents when we would travel to southern Utah. Next we found a nice green spot, dad fired up the grill, and we sat enjoying the warm weather.
The next day I ventured up Gori Fortress with my teaching assistant Nino and my host sister Nata. Nino led me over to the the binoculars and the guard pointed out all the surrounding sights for us: the church on the hill, the church on the mountain top, the cemetery, the neighboring town, South Ossetia, and the refugee settlements. Next Nino led us down what I have been calling a "hole." Really it was an opening that led us down over some rocks, through some bushes, over some more rocks to the the fortress wall. There was also a slightly hidden alter where people had bound their own crosses with sticks and grass, similar to how St. Nino bound her cross with stick and a strand of her hair.
When we returned home I was feeling rather accomplished as I sat munching on my soup. My host father came home and Nata filled him in on our excursion. There was some rapid chatter followed by everyone's eyes lighting up. My sisters informed me we were going on a picnic to Uplistsikhe, which is a cave city a few miles out of Gori that I have been very eager to see. We hurriedly packed up the picnic supplies and headed out the door. Moments later we were cruising down the street -- quick stop for lavash, another for fanta, another for the lamb meat for the shishkabobs. My family led me through the various nooks and crannies of the cave city, which was even better than I expected. It reminded me a lot of the places I would explore with my parents when we would travel to southern Utah. Next we found a nice green spot, dad fired up the grill, and we sat enjoying the warm weather.
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| Me on a fortress wall |
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| alter |
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| alter |
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| alter |
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| Uplistsikhe |
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| Uplistsikhe |
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| View from picnic spot of Uplistsikhe |
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