Scenes from Georgia

Scenes from a classroom

While teaching my resource officers prepositions-
Me: Where is the statue of Stalin?
Levin: In the city center.
Me: No, it is not in the city center anymore.  Where is it now?
Giorgi: Not in the city center, but always in our hearts.
Me (suppressing laughter): No Giorgi, it is in front of the museum.

Teaching my 5th grade-
Georgian teacher: Which words do you not understand?
Tango: Mike
Georgian teacher: Mike, it's the English version of Mikheil.
Irakli: Mike Saakashvili!

My 5th grade

Teaching my resource officers present continuous-
Me: Add "ing" to the ending. Running. Walking. Sitting.
Giorgi: Drinking and driving!
Me: Ara! (no!)

Chatting with my 3rd grade-
Student 1: Manuela you are very beautiful!
Me: Aww
Student 2: Manuela I love you!
Me: Aww
Student 3: Manuela how old are you?
Me: (provide confidential answer)
Student 3: That's my mom's age!
Me: Oh

Scenes from home

At the dinner table-
Georgian dad: Drink! Drink!
Me: Ara, ara.  (No, no)
Georgian dad: Drink! Drink!
My Georgian sisters and mom in unison: No!
Me: Thank you!
(hysterical laughter)

Over breakfast-
Me: Maya do you have (WWII) Victory Day off from work?
Georgian mom: No.  I work for a German bank. It was no victory for them.

In the living room-
Georgian sister:  The woman in the market told me these ribbons bring you different things.  This one is for luck, this one for love, this one for marriage.  Which do you want?
Me: I'll take the good luck one.
Georgian sister: Me too.  I don't want to be married.
Me: (picking up the marriage ribbon) Let's just put this one very, very far away.

Standing on the balcony watching a helicopter fly overhead-
Me: Whose is that?
Georgian sister: The military's.
Me: (after a pause) The Georgian military's?
Georgian sister: Yes, of course! (laughs)

One morning whilst drinking my coffee in the kitchen-
Georgian mom: Manuela!  Look outside!
Me: (wander out on the balcony and witness a dead lamb hanging from a post, being skinned) Oh how nice.  (sip my coffee and walk back inside)

Walking into my building I stop to study a neighborhood chicken hanging out in the garden.  I feel eyes on me and look up to see a man leaning out the window studying me, studying the chicken-
Me: Garmarjoba!
Him: (gives me strange look)
I take my exit.

Scenes from the street

Walking over the bridge on my way home a woman stops me and points behind me eagerly while smiling and speaking rapidly in Georgian.  I look behind me to see a beautiful, huge rainbow framing Gori fortress-
Me: Oh! Dzalian Lamazia! (Very beautiful!)
Woman: Kargi gogo. (Good girl)

Waiting to cross the street a car pulls over and a nun sticks her head out.  She asks me for directions-
Me: Oh! Bodishi (excuse me), ar visi.  (I don't know)
Nun: (laughs and drives away)

Adaptation

After three and a half months of living in Georgia I have culturally adapted in several ways.  For instance, in DC I am overly cautious about crossing the streets due to crazy drivers on their cells phones, who drive too fast and do not pay attention to pedestrians.  However, in Georgia I happily walk out into the middle of traffic and wait in the middle of the road while things clear up on the other half of the road.  This is due to crazy drivers on their cells phones, who drive too fast and do not pay attention to pedestrians.  In all seriousness, the lack of crosswalks and traffic lights in Gori do require a certain amount of...bravery when crossing the street.  As I like to say, just close your eyes and wish for the best.  Same goes for riding in a car.  Traffic rules are...flexible.

Other cultural quirks I have picked up while living here:

• Being able to bolonde (drink to the end!) a glass of homemade wine.  Anecdotal evidence, i.e. the severe hangovers that my friends suffered while visiting my Georgian home, suggests that my family's wine is exceptionally strong.  However, after my farewell suppra which included many toasts I had not a hint of a hangover.
• Drinking chacha with the hope that it will cure what ails you.  Georgians jokingly believe that their adored moonshine known as chacha will cure everything.  While in the middle of a terrible allergy attack I took a shot or two with the intent of clearing my sinuses.  Seemed to work reasonably well.  And while it feels like you are drinking paint thinner, chasing it with a meticulously seasoned piece of lard is quite delightful.  Yeah that's right, I said lard.  Don't knock it until you try it.
• Dancing.  I have always loved going out and dancing it up.  However, my clubbing days tapered off in the past few years as I got older and the scene got more annoying.  But in Georgia the young and the old all LOVE to dance.  No evening is complete until someone has played Sharika and danced around with what were previously perfect strangers.  Has-been top 40s, the latest from Russia or traditional Georgian music is all fair game on the dance floor.  I even spent a few days a week learning two traditional Georgian dances.  Hey, you need to do something to work off all that bread and cheese!
• Departing to a destination in a taxi filled with strangers with the intent of staying in a strangers home.  It's not that there aren't hotels in Georgia, but living on a volunteer stipend tightens the purse strings, so more often than not staying in a stranger's home is the best option.  Same goes for taxis and marshutkas, they are often the easiest way to travel around the country.  Some of my favorite moments in Georgia have been the drives back and forth between Gori and Tbilisi.  There was the time that the gentleman upfront bought my friend and I some beers to enjoy on the journey and there was the other time when another guy fell asleep on me...
• Georgian time.  Deadlines are not important.  Being on time is not important. However, be aware that this only applies to Georgians.  If you are not Georgian be prepared to receive a phone call demanding to know where you are.

These adaptations will be challenging to overcome as I re-immerse myself into American society.  There are many things that I will miss terribly about living in Georgia.  Including, but not limited to the following:

• Toasting every sip of wine.  Drinking with a sense of purpose feels much more dignified. However, I will also enjoy being able to drink at my own pace again.
• The food.  I have had sessions on making khinkali and kachapuri.  Hopefully I can approximate these and some other Georgian dishes upon my return home.
• The people.  My family especially.  Georgians are truly wonderful, kind, sincere people.  Their hospitality cannot be topped.
• The countryside.  There are so many beautiful places in Georgia.  I am very glad that I did my best to see as much of it as possible.
• Sharing the roads/ sidewalks with farm animals.  My host family thinks it's hilarious that I come home with pictures of the neighborhood chickens or cows.  I loved being able to look to my side and see sheep, cows, chickens, dogs, and the occasional goat striding down the road too.
• Walking past the market/ marshutka stand as it opens up for the day.
• Walking past the market/ marshutka stand as it closes for the day.

That  being said I am looking forward to the following things when I return to the U.S.  Including, but not  limited to the following: nachos, french food, thai food, all not-Georgian food, craft beers, my boys, being able to show my tattoos, American TV, movie theaters, fireflies, baking, boxing, etc.

I have four more days in Georgia, then I am off to Turkey for almost 2 weeks.  See y'all soon!

Dancing in Georgia

Here is a collection of photos of dancing in Georgia.  Nobody loves to dance more than Georgians.

Dancing at a picnic

Dancing at picnic

Dancing at a picnic

Dancing at a restaurant

Dancing at a restaurant

Dancing at another restaurant

Dancing at another restaurant

Dancing at another restaurant

Dancing on a bridge

Dancing at yet another restaurant

Dancing at home

Dancing at home

Dancing at home

I'll post some videos once I am stateside and have a faster internet connection!

Two weeks to go

It is already June.  Summer has arrived in Gori.  Everyone is eating ice cream.  The flowers and grape vines are blooming.  I am not sure how this happened so fast.  In just a matter of days I will being saying farewell to my Georgian family, students and co-teachers, and close friends that I have made while here in Georgia.  I am not an overly sentimental person, but this is going to be a tough one.

It's hard to say exactly how much of an impact I have made and if I really did improve the English language skills of my students or family.  I guess the best that I can hope for is that they have learned some new things while also gaining confidence in using the English they do know.  I sincerely hope that my co-teachers have been inspired by some of the different ideas I brought to the classroom....if nothing else, they now know the hokey pokey.

I suspect that my host mother fears for my starvation when I return to the U.S. and then move to London for grad school.  Last week she made a special effort to teach me how to make khinkali (Georgian dumplings).  My two host sisters also participated in the evening of khinkali making, thereby ensuring that I was properly educated in all aspects of the process.  My prior khinkali session with my friend Nino's family had already provided me with a base knowledge.  As a result my family was most impressed with my folding skills as well as my freakish strength which makes me an excellent kneader of dough.

I tried to mix the meat, parsley and cilantro with a spoon and was quickly told to use my hands.

Kneading dough.

Excellently folded khinkali.

Khinkali!

Kachapuri and eggplant with walnut are also on the list of things my Georgian mother will teach me to make before I depart.  Unfortunately, I will not be around for the wine-making in October.  I suppose my education in all things Georgian cuisine will remain incomplete.

Svaneti: The Western Frontier

Last week the travel family took advantage of the Independence Day holiday to take a trip to Svaneti.  Svaneti is a region in northwestern Georgia that has remained fairly isolated due to the fact that it is very difficult to get to in good weather and damn near impossible in bad weather.  This strategic location has more or less kept out the numerous conquerors that have come through Georgia.  Even the Soviets had a hard time maintaining rule over the Svans.  Because of this Svans have preserved a very traditional lifestyle and even today they are culturally distinct from other Georgians and are known for being a bit rougher and rowdier.  That being said, every Georgian I met said: "oh Svaneti is beautiful, you will love it!"  followed by: "it will be very cold, bring many clothes." 

So I packed my bag full of sweaters and my winter coat and left the balmy weather of Gori in pursuit of the western frontier.  Svaneti, it was indeed extremely beautiful.  But it was also very warm.  We all packed warm weather clothes but ended up with rosey sunburns while we walked around in our lightest of clothes.  

Netty and I met up with Andy and we boarded the overnight train to Zugdidi.  Mallory, Rob and Justin boarded the same train in Tbilisi and were just a few cars down from us.  We had very inexpensive, but very comfortable accommodations.  However, our bunk-mate, a young Georgian man, was intent on marrying Netty.  Fortunately his energy petered out early and he fell asleep mid-proposal.  After a few bumps, and a few snoring neighbors, we arrived in Zugdidi around 6:30am.  We quickly made our way to a cafe to fill up on coffee and wait for our friend Chris.  He eventually showed up and we made our way to the marshutka stand where we would board a crowded bus for a 4 hours drive up through the mountains.  However, due to road construction we had more than a few elongated stops, many bumps and plenty of steep curves.  It's times like this I am grateful for my sturdy stomach, many of my fellow travelers were not so blessed.  We eventually arrived at our homestay in Mestia  in the early afternoon.  The boys, who are all living in villages, were ecstatic about the shower provided to us.  It had hot water and everything! 

We headed in to town to look at the Svan towers that dotted the landscape of Mestia.  These towers are pretty amazing.  They are handed down through generations and remain only within the family's ownership.  In the good ol' days blood feuds were common and a method of taking over a tower was to kill everyone in the family.  The towers are still standing today and the families have built their homes around the structures.  After an evening out in downtown Mestia, which consisted of eating Svan food and walking around taking pictures of the towers, we headed back for showers and homemade black wine (courtesy of Mallory's neighbors).

Svan Tower

The next day we decided to go horseback riding.  I don't know why.  Nobody was especially excited about this prospect and I was downright terrified.  But I do believe the phrase "what else is there to do?" was used in this decision-making process.   Unfortunately, as beautiful as Mestia is, there is not all that much to do.  Horseback riding it was...

Let's take a moment here to recap my failed career as a cowgirl.  Around the age of 8 I was convinced that I was going to learn how to ride horses and embark on epic journeys around the wild west, also known as the greater Wasatch mountains of Utah.  My parents will eagerly laugh (hysterically no less) and tell you how quickly this ridiculous idea was truncated.  I believe that I completed 3 lessons out of 8.  It turns out I was terrified of horses.  They are big.  They are smart.  And they know that they are smarter than you and therefore do whatever they please while you shriek in terror gripping the reigns and pray that you remain attached to the saddle.  I have never learned to ride faster than a trot.  We'll leave it at that.

...So twenty years later here I am staring down a horse.  While I stared at her big brown eyes I reminded myself about the Georgian medical system and that terrifying/ comical doctor's visit to see if I had strep throat.  Silly me, there aren't hospitals in Mestia anyway.  I took a deep breath and mounted my chosen horse.  I wouldn't say she was a pony, but she was definitely petite compared to the horses I rode back in my cowgirl heyday.  However, size is no issue when it comes to brainpower, once again this horse was smarter than me.  Once I was back in the saddle so to say, my horse and Rob's horse took off at a brisk walk, leaving the others and our guide behind.  However, unlike my horse, Rob's did not have a strong sense of where to go.  His horse took wrong turn which resulted in him being unable to steer her back and yadda yadda yadda, the guide took the reigns from him.  When I saw that the guide wasn't too concerned about where my horse was taking me, I settled into my role as the lead and happily rode along, forgetting my terror as I greeted every passing Svan with an enthusiastic "Gamarjoba!"   They all pretty much laughed and waved to me.  One woman told me "well-done!" in Russian. 

Horseback riding

My horse did not respond to being told to stop.  When I would tug on the reigns she would turn her head nip at my ankles.  My solution was to steer her in the opposite direction.  Since she was A) smarter than me, and B) stubborn (not unlike her passenger), she would refuse to move in the opposite direction.  Therefore this attempt to resulted in her stopping for a few moments.  However, she quickly figured out my plan and towards the end would basically do a 360 degree turn and continue on her way, no matter how far ahead of everyone else we were. 

We followed the road through town, past the airport, to where the road ended and the open fields began.  At this point many of was lost control of our horses.  My horse turned into a brat -- a smart brat -- who was determined to eat grass and not move or walk me into tree branches.  At one point someone said "Manuela, you are going the wrong way!"  I responded with "Yes, I know! She doesn't care!"

This portion of the excursion surely wore down our poor guide, who was alternately chasing after us who were being led astray or forcing our immobile grass-eaters to move.  Once we were back on the road, my horse led me right back to our homestay.  I found this impressive since she doesn't live there.  But her owner, a young Svan boy, was there waiting for her and she clearly knew this.  Turns out she isn't just stubborn, but also a bit fickle about the company she keeps.

Our little jaunt resulted in some comical sunburns and severe saddle sores.  We waddled to town for dinner and then called it a night. The next day we took it easy and went to the local museum which has an interesting collection of archaeological artifacts, old manuscripts, and vintage photos.  Afterward, Mallory and I headed back to drink beer and chat while everyone else went on a hike.  This was a very early night since we had to get up for our 5am marshutka ride.    

Sunrise in Mestia

Our journey back from Svaneti was just as bumpy and complicated as the journey there, and at times very uncomfortable.  However, it was well worth the effort and time involved getting there.  Even if there isn't actually much to do there, it is still a breathtakingly beautiful place to visit.

Wish you were here!

Highlights of Teaching

A few of you may have forgotten that I am actually in Georgia for the purpose of teaching, not to roam the  countryside and sleep in strangers' homes.  Teaching, as I have mentioned before, is entirely new to me.  There have been many ups and downs, due to both the cultural differences and my unfamiliarity with the task at hand.  However, the highlights have been magnificent.  I would have never, ever thought that teaching my 5th grade the hokey pokey would put me in such a good mood.  Alas, life is full of surprises.  Here are some highlights from teaching:

• Teaching a lesson to the 8th, 9th and 10th grades about Lady Gaga.  My students had to read an article and tell me their opinions.  I later gave them articles about Banksy, Shepard Fairy and Johnny Depp.  Hearing their opinions and helping them articulate themselves in English was a great feeling. 
• Teaching my 3rd grade "I Can Sing a Rainbow."  Turns out I am tone deaf and shouldn't be teaching young, impressionable children how to sing.  Nonetheless, it was great fun.
• Teaching the hokey pokey to my 5th grade.  They needed to learn right and left and this was my solution.  They really got into the dancing aspect and suddenly I heard a loud thump. Luca had fallen down somehow, but he got right back up and continued dancing.
• I wanted to teach the 5th grade the different parts of the body, but didn't have access to a printer to make a diagram of the human body.  My solution?  I created labels for each body part and asked a student to volunteer to come up to the front of the class.  The other students then had to attach the right label to the right part, i.e. head, arm, hand.  I followed this up with a rousing round of "head, shoulders, knees and toes."
• Asking the 11th grade conditional questions such as: "If I you won the lottery, what would you do?"; "If you could be an animal, what would you be?"; and "If you were stuck on a desert island, what would you bring?"  Alas, these kids are much too nice and practical. Answers included: I would give money to the poor and I would bring wood, matches, clothing, a compass and water to the island.  My answer?  I would bring my ipod to the island.  
• Playing Guess Who? with the 9th grade and having them practice describing people. 
• Throwing my "magic" ball at students.  Wait, it is not as bad as it sounds.  If they catch the ball they have to answer the question.  It keeps them awake and paying attention at the very least.  My 5th grade can handle this with the utmost maturity, however, those pesky resource development officers (i.e. the adult students) had to have the ball taken away after someone threw it at another student's head. 
• Encouraging the students who have been labeled "lazy" and getting them to speak.  Some have become more and more vocal over the past few months, which pleases me to no end.

My low point: trying to unteach Georgians the phrase "shut up."  It sounds awful when they say this, and somehow everyone knows this phrase.  At least they sometimes say "shut up please."

The Road to Kazbegi

From time to time TLG books excursions for the teachers, until now I have not had the opportunity to participate in one.  However, when I heard that Alex was taking a group to Kazbegi I leaped at the opportunity.  Kazbegi is located on the Georgian Military Highway, near the Russian boarder and mere a stone's throw away from Chechya.  Created in ancient times, this road has served as the primary route from Georgia to Russia for centuries.  It was only in the 19th century, when Russia took over Georgia and the rest of the region, that it was turned into a proper highway.  Kazbegi, and journeying along this highway, has been at the top of my list of places to visit in Georgia since I arrived.  The downside of this was that those interested in coming to Kazbegi had to be at the meet-up point in Tbilisi at 8am on Sunday morning.  Oy mey.

My steadfast travel buddy Netty and I looked diligently for a place to crash in Tbilisi on Saturday night.  Since our Tbilisi based friends were all occupied and hotels/ hostels were too expensive, we opted to stay with Netty's host father's aunt.  A very sweet lady who did not speak a word of English, but eagerly opened her home to two strangers.  There were two university students already boarding with her, so Netty and I spent the night with three other strangers in a two room flat.  Just a regular Saturday night in Georgia.

 The next morning we met up with Alex and about a dozen or so fellow teachers and sped off to Kazbegi in two minibuses.  Alex, our tour guide and TLG flight coordinator, has a HUGE job of arranging these excursions as well as booking all the flights for us in and out Georgia.  Until now, he had only been that mysterious person in charge of my ticket out of Georgia who was not responding to my emails.  However, after spending a day with him, he is one of my favorite people.  He quickly showed off his daredevil side by scaling fortress walls and jumping down rocks near fast moving rivers.  In his previous life he was a director at a British high school in Tbilisi.  All those years with teenagers has kept him young.

Our first stop was at Avanuri fortress where we scaled the walls and wandered around a bit.  I mentioned to Alex that a certain fortress wall we were climbing on seemed high and narrow.  he responded, "not seems, is."

Avanuri Fortress

We piled into the minibuses and headed for our next stop, the picnic lunch.  We naively thought that this meant we would either eat in the minibuses or perhaps at a restaurant.  Ara (No).  We drove further into the mountains and wove higher and higher and the weather got colder and colder and our surroundings got whiter and whiter.  I, of course, was being kept company by my ipod, highlights include Aracade Fire, The National, and Tom Petty.  Just outside of the ski town of Gudauri our minibuses came to a stop in spot that had large round concrete slab, which is presumably used as a viewpoint over the mountains.  This was our picnic spot.  We dined on bananas and sandwiches while taking in an incredible view.  At one point the wind shifted and the clouds completely surrounded us.  A dog, who clearly knew that this was the picnic spot, made his way over and shared a few sandwiches with us before disapearing into the snow again.

Picnic spot

The View

Standing in the Clouds

Picnic Pal

Once again we piled into the cars and slowly made our way down into the Terek valley.  We made another stop to sample some mineral water.  My friend Frankie summed it up as tasting like "rusty nails."

We stopped here for water?

Yummy Mineral Water

We took a quick trip up to the Georgia-Russia boarder.  We did not go very close, but we had a clear view of the Georgia side of the checkpoint.  Once again there was a dog there to greet us, and perhaps to keep us from getting any clever ideas.

Russian Boarder Dog

Boarder Checkpoint

After that the next stop was Kazbegi.  This is where I explain that the village of Kazbegi itself is not the destination point for people traveling to "Kazbegi."  The destination is in fact the Tsminda Sameda Church.  Images of this church are often what appear when you google "Georgia, Republic of" or "Kazbegi."  Its photo even graces the cover of the pre-war Lonely Planet.  To get to this church from the village it is about a 5 kilometer walk uphill.  We thought about having the minibuses take us all the way to the top, since it was rainy and muddy.  However, the rain and mud made it too tricky for the minibuses to make it up the hilly path.  So off we went on foot.  Eventually the crazier minibus driver decided to make the effort and took a few to the top in his vehicle. However, those of us who stayed behind to hoof it up there felt a bit more accomplished when we reached the top, if not completely and utterly exhausted.


Throughout the journey the church kept getting closer and closer and then finally, we just had to make it up and over a snowbank to get to the church.  Alex threw snowballs at us as we climbed up.  And suddenly, there we were.  It was worth every wet puddle, muddy tumble to the ground and snowball to the head.

Tsminda Sameda in the distance

Tsminda Sameda - we made it!

Tsminda Sameda

After roaming around the grounds for a bit it began to snow.  It was a perfect scene.  After watching the huge flakes fall from the sky we headed back down the hill, taking the shortcuts, also know as steep inclines down hill that ended with us in somebody's field.  After hopping a few fences and barely avoiding falling in some cowpies we were back at the minibuses.  We were all pretty wet, cold and tired and there was a two hour journey ahead of us back to Tbilisi.  So I took off my wet shoes and settled in with my ipod.  Highlights include more Arcade Fire, New Order and The Cure.  We once again wove through the mountains, over the hills and among many, many herds of sheep, cows, and occasionally pigs.

Sheep using the Georgian Military Highway

Life in Gori

I have been traveling around the country a lot lately, and I realized that I have neglected to write more about life in Gori.  I have said many times over the past two months that I am really glad to have been sent to Gori.  It is both a proper city (aprox. 50,000) and a small village (i.e. cows and chickens in the road).  I have really enjoyed becoming part of the community here in Gori and participating in the many important springtime events.


Bonfires
The first of these was the Wednesday before Easter.  I cannot pronounce, or spell for that matter, the official name of this day, but the basic premise is that everyone lights bonfires around town and the children jump over the flames.  My host mother explained that this tradition was started back in the old days when people would burn their old clothes and get the "devils" out of the home before Easter.  Or something to that extent.  The most popular kindling for the fires is not clothing, however, it's tires.  So it is well-known that you should never ever hang out your laundry on this day because everything will become sooty and black.

I had a wonderful time walking through town with my family stopping at all of the different fires.  We met up with my host mom's sister and her daughters and walked around some more while munching on sunflower seeds.  Sunflower seeds are an integral part of walking in spring.

bonfires

walking with a gaggle of girls

 bonfires

St. George's Day
The next big event I got to participate in was St. George's Day on May 6th.  This is a very exciting day for Gori dwellers as it means that Gori Jvari reopens for the summer.  It remains open until November 23rd, the other St. George's Day.  Gori Jvari is a large church that sits up on a hill near my house overlooking the city.  Whenever Georgians pass a church they cross themselves three times, so it is common to see people stopped in the middle of my street crossing themselves furiously.  Surprisingly we had school that day, not surprisingly few students showed up and those who did were petulant about not being able to leave early and walk to the church.  I asked my 5th grade what was special about this day and how they celebrate.  They explained to me that it commemorates when St. George killed a dragon ( I think?) and that they go to the church and sacrifice sheep.  The older of my host sisters invited me to join her classmates on a picnic.  Since only 3 of my students showed up for our lesson, I was released early for the picnic.

Gori Jvari in the distance

The  "walk" to Gori Jvari takes about an hour and is straight up hill.  We were only a few in a sea of many people making their way to the church.  The air was heavy with festivity (and wine).  The wind always blows in Gori, but that day it was particularly strong and I was surprised not to see chickens and Gori dwellers flying off the hillside.  When we finally made it to the church, only a few people from the group went inside to pray while the rest of us stayed outside and enjoyed the view.  I watched as one of the sheep tried to get away from his owner, and by extension his upcoming fate. 

The walk to Gori Jvari

Gori Jvari

Gori Jvari

Our time at the church was brief.  It became clear to me that the most important part of this day was actually the picnic.  We walked about twenty more minutes further into the woods, where the wind couldn't get to us, and settled in.  My host dad had very kindly prepared the lamb shishkabobs for the picnic the night before.  When the boys started the fire and began putting the meat onto skewers my host sister shook her head and said "they don't know what they are doing," and took over the skewer duties.  I was proud of her. Soon we were feasting on lamb, lavash and jonjoli.

(Side note: I have become a fan of jonjoli which is a pickled, green, salty plant that seems to exist only in Georgia.  I recently came home to buckets of light pink and white flowers covering the balcony.  I was told that that is what jonjoli looks like before it gets pickled.  There are now several jars on the counter waiting to be eaten.)

After about an hour I ran out of things to talk about with this group of 16 year-olds.  Turns out we don't have all that much in common, and I am after all their teacher, so I was ready to head back down as it was also getting chilly.  However, there was still some socializing to be done, so I waited and observed until it was time to go.  As we headed down the hill it got quite cold.  At some point my sister much have realized that she shouldn't be caught coming home without a coat (the fact that a nice young man had lent her his, was not
 going to be a viable explanation for grandma), so she said to me "we must wait here for Kati."  Sure enough a few moments later Kati came running from around the corner with a coat and Nata was able to come home pretending she had it all along.  Sisterhood, it is the same everywhere.

Rock Concert
The latest event in Gori took place last Thursday.  All week my family had been talking about the rock concert that would take place in the city center.  As I was walking around earlier in the day I saw the stage being set up with a huge banner with the European Union Monitoring Mission logo and about a dozen of their cars lined up.  I didn't realize that the EUMM could take time off from their peacekeeping duties (they monitor the peace accords between Russia and Georgia) to hold rock concerts.  A highlight for my family and students was that Vassia, a very charming Russian teacher from my school who is known for being quite the jazz musician back in his youth, was going to be playing in this concert.  He joined a group of young and old musician and rocked Gori post-Soviet style.  The music sounded exactly like what you would expect rock in the former-Soviet Union to sound like.  I went with my host family and my friend Netty, which added up to a gaggle of girls and Uncle Zaza.  It appeared that everyone in Gori was at this event, all age groups, dancing around together, eating sunflower seeds and drinking fanta.  I said to Netty that the only thing missing was the "Saqartvelo!" chant.  And moments later there is was.  We later walked home with the gaggle of girls singing "I love rock and roll."  


Life is good in Gori.

Borjomi

May 9th was Victory Day, when Georgians, and many others, celebrate the USSR's WWII victory.  With a three-day weekend made available to us, the travel family decided that it was time to hit Borjomi.  Borjomi is a resort town where the tsars, and then later the Soviet elite, would vacation.  It is also known for its mineral water, which is salty, bubbly and sworn by all Georgians to be the cure for too much chacha.  We arranged for a homestay and planned to spend time in Borjomi National Park as well as the Mineral Water Park and also take a side trip to Vardzia, a huge cave city about 3 hours ways by car (2 with Georgian  driving style).  Perfect plan for a three-day weekend.

Netty and I planned to have the Tbilisi folks meet us in Gori and we would hop on the first marshutka at 9:30 am all together and make our way to Borjomi, which is only about an hour and a half from Gori.  We had our doubts that Mallory, Jeremy, Frankie and Rob would make into Gori in time to catch our ride, but alas they proved us wrong.  We were certain, or at least very optimistic, that the first marshutka on Saturday morning was at 9:30 am.  After all, we had asked our co-teachers, our families, I even made a special trip to ask the marshutka drivers themselves.  However, upon arrival at the marshutka station, which also doubles as a taxi stand and large market, it appeared that there was no marshutka until 12:40 pm.  Oh mey (Georgian for "oh my god"... or something to that effect).  Netty and I spent some time in broken Georgian, Russian and English trying to straighten things out, but when the rest of our group arrived and a driver saw all six of us, he went over to his van, switched the sign to Borjomi, asked for $5 lari a head, and off we went.  I love this country.

After we settled into the homestay we decided to go for a walk/hike in the national park.  It was a chilly and rainy day, but we decided it was not a big deal.  We stopped at the Borjomi tourist center for a map.  The man there spoke perfect English and eagerly shared all the attractions and entertainment options with us.  (Spoiler alert, there is no bar night scene in Borjomi, so entertainment means hiking and bathing in salt water.)  Off we went with our map.  Our merry band of travelers, being who we are, managed to take a small, unplanned "detour," i.e. not the most direct route, through the town.  There was an animated scene where Frankie and Rob discussed a sign and analyzed which direction it was pointing as the rest of us watched from across the street.  Many big gestures where involved: shrugging, pointing, head scratching, more pointing.  We then asked a friendly police officer.  Our languages failed us and in the end we just picked a direction. Alas it was the right one.

The office for the national park is about ten times larger than the Borjomi tourist office and a very helpful woman provided us with information and allowed us to leave our excess belongings behind.  Off we went through the forest.  Our merry band of travelers managed to take a "detour," i.e. not the trail, and follow a little stream for a while.  It was a beautiful and stunningly green. 

Borjomi National Park

Borjomi National Park

Borjomi National Park

After a few hours of walking through the woods, we decided it was time for dry shoes (I cannot retype here the words I used each time I managed to step in that darling little stream.) and some food.  We stopped at the homestay to change and then made our way to the tavern where all the locals go. 

Upon arrival at Tavern Nia we saw that it was just us and a group of about six men.  After some beers it was time for the dancing with our new Georgian friends to begin, stopping only to eat our dinner.  There is really no more quintessential Georgian experience than dancing with strangers to Shakira.  After the bar literally ran out of beer -not our fault, we only had two each - we headed out into the night.  It was barely 9 pm, but there was nowhere else to go but home.  So we went back and played some card games.

Dancing

Dancing

The next morning we got up early to make our way to Vardzia.  We haggled with some taxi drivers and negotiated a price for the daylong journey.  The original plan was for us to take one car. However, our attempt to fit four in the back and two in the front was...uncomfortable.  We took the leap and hired a second car.  Thank god.  I brought along my ipod for the long drive.  Pre-war Lonely Planet had promised the drive to Vardzia would be spectacular, that was no exaggeration.  Pictures really do not do it justice.  We wove through rocky mountains and green hills, the heavy rain that day made everything even more brilliant and richly colored.  Paired with my flawless soundtrack, highlights include The Stranglers, Tom Petty, Jeff Buckley, and David Bowie, the drive was the highlight of my weekend.

Upon arrival in Vardzia I was grinning from ear to ear.  "I'm so happy!" I said.  "Uh, yeah we can tell," said Mallory.

Vardzia is a cave city dating back to the 12th century, it features multiple levels and hundreds of rooms, many churches, and even a working monastery.  In 1283 there was a huge earthquake and the outer walls were shaken away, vastly reducing its size. Its amazing to think this huge network of caves was once even larger.  Our merry band of travelers spent two hours weaving in and out of rooms, climbing rocks, walking down dark tunnels, smacking our heads on low ceilings, and enjoying the views.  At one point the heavy rain started up again and we all sat and watched from the inside of the cave.  We eventually made our way back down to our cars and headed back to Borjomi.

Vardzia

Vardzia

Khertvisi Fortress

We made a quick stop at Khertvisi Fortress and climbed the castle walls and wandered in and out of the ruins.

The next day was our last day.  After lazily sitting in the sun on the balcony of our homestay and waving to the tiny, but enthusiastic, Victory Day parade that drove by, we decided to make a picnic and then go swimming in the mineral water park. After gathering our picnic supplies we somehow lost inspiration for carrying our mountains of food into the woods and we settled into the city square for our feast.  After we chowed down on pickles, olives, cucumbers, tomatoes, lavash, cheese, and kalbasa, we decided to go swimming.  Upon arrival at the mineral park, we immediately regretted not picnicking there.  The entry point to the park is a children's amusement park.  A bit creepy in the off season, but the rest of the surroundings are perfect for a lazy day in the sun.  We walked about three kilometers up to the mineral pool. This required maneuvering over some "bridges" and encouraging some cows to unblock our path.  I was worried we would arrive at some cheesy swimming pool, but much to my delight it was a simple concrete, no-nonsense pool.  We all jumped in and splashed around in the warm sulfur water for a bit.  But it soon came time to hurry back and catch the marshutka.  We made our way back through the cow paths and over the bridges, past the abandoned kiddie rides and out of the park.

Swimming hole.

After a quick stop for ice cream, we were on our way back to big city life, with nothing but happy memories and sunburns.  And oh yeah, hundreds of pictures.