A Year on the Road

Ok so it has not quite been a year and "road" is a loose term.  More like, spending the majority of the past year living in "not my home."  I figured this was as good a time as any to reflect on my mad journey.  There have been plenty of tears along the way and it's probably the loneliest I have been since I first graduated from college.  I left my favorite boys behind and pursued my own selfish impulses, but they've been more understanding than I ever could have hoped for or deserved.  Well...the biped has been, the fluffy quadruped, not so much.

Nonetheless, this past year I have done been plenty of amazing things that I never thought I would do.  I rode horses in Mestia, floated over Cappadocia in a balloon, hopped on a camel, accepted rides from strangers, had a picnic in the clouds, scaled castle walls, built an entire house in just a week, wandered through caves, dined with strangers, danced like a fool, ate mysterious foods, made frenzied dashes through airports, slept in strange places, and chased farm animals even though there was no farm to be found.

Now that I have settled into graduate school I find myself reading until I pass out from exhaustion, spending too much time contemplating modernization theory and experimental design, and constructing nerdy jokes that only a very few will appreciate.  I have not grown to love London yet, but I do love my LSE-life...as nuts as it is sometimes.  It's comforting to know that after a year of not quite fitting in anywhere or with anyone that there is a cozy niche at LSE where I can indulge in being myself and not worry so much for a bit.

I didn't meet all my goals for this past year.  I did not make it to Azerbaijan or Belgium.  But I am already dreaming of 2012 with ideas of Morocco, Loch Ness, Belgium, and the Siberian railroad.  I realize that most of my time will actually be spent on my dissertation and the inevitable job hunt, but this girl will dream all the same.  

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!

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

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.

Spring Break Armenian Style

We had a long weekend for the Easter holidays, so a few of my fellow teachers and I decided to hop on a marshutka and head to Yerevan.  The trip started off easy enough, my friend Annette (Netty) and I got up early to take a cab from Gori to the Ortachala bus stop in Tbilisi.  There we met our friend Chris, who is teaching in Zugdidi.  Then Mallory, Jeremy, Frankie, and Caitlin, all teaching in Tbilisi, and Rob, teaching in a village near Tbilisi, showed up.  We all piled into a marshutka with only one other passenger, a friendly Russian-speaking woman who was clearly bewildered by all of us young, loud English speakers.  About an hour into the journey Jeremy announces he doesn't have his passport.  A few chaotic moments followed where we asked the driver to pull over and I explained in Russian that Jeremy was without a passport.  We assigned Rob to be his travel buddy for the journey back to Tbilisi, and there we left them on the side of the road in an unnamed village somewhere outside of Tbilisi with nothing but promises of "we will see you there!"

We were all optimistic that they would make their own way to Yerevan not too far behind us.

The drive to Yerevan was spectacular.  Everything was beginning to bloom and we wove through high mountains and over bumpy roads.  Mallory and I had each packed a picnic so we were able to dine on lavash, cheese, hachika, girl scout cookies, and Easter candy (courtesy of some Americans who visited my school).  We arrived in Yerevan at one of the most impressive hostels I have ever stayed at.  We dropped our stuff off and went to explore the city.  We were hoping that Jeremy and Rob would be there when we got back from dinner.  Alas they were not.  There was a moment of false hope when Rob's French twin walked into our room.  I think he was shocked by our eager faces which suddenly drooped in disappointment.  "It's still lovely to meet you though!" we said.

A few moments after that they did arrive and we were jubilant.  And a few moments after that the woman next door told us to stop being jubilant.   

The next day we explored the city by foot.  At first we attempted to explore as a group of eight, but we eventually split.  Rob, Chris, Mallory and I wandered around, eventually ending up at the Cascade which is best described as a giant stair case with interesting statues at the base.  The boys indulged us in a few pictures.

Chris, Rob, and Statue

At the bottom of the Cascade

At the top of the Cascade

The next day we took a bus tour that was arranged through the hostel.  This was an all day excursion that Jeremy, Netty, Chris and I opted to take along with 40 or so strangers (turns out some of them were also TLGers).  It was called "essential Armenia" and took us to Lake Sevan and Sevanavank, which is the monastery that sits overlooking the lake.  Next we went to Noratus cemetery, where there are many ancient tombstones that tell ancient stories, including the one about the wife who thought her husband drank too much vodka.  While we were wandering among the tombstones, some hundreds of years old and others brand new, Jeremy was invited to join a man who was visiting his sister's grave.  He motioned Jeremy over to sit with him and drink a few shots of vodka and sample his small feast.  I'm sorry I missed it, as it seemed to be quite the memorial experience.  Next, all 40 or so of us in the group piled into a home where a nice family prepared lunch for us.  After that the next stop was another monastery called Hayravank, which also overlooks Lake Sevan.  We all waited at the top of the hill while a young Irishman in our group used the monk's old escape route to walk down to the lake and take a quick swim.  It looked cold.  Very cold.  We gave him a round of applause.  Next we went to Garni temple which is a pagan ruin and then the last stop was Geghard Monastery, which is carved out of the side of a mountain.  After this whirlwind day, I certainly felt that I had a true sense of "essential Armenia."

Sevanavank at Lake Sevan

Noratus cemetery.  She kept asking us to take her picture and posing for us.

View from Hayravank Monastery of the swimming Irish

Garni Temple

Chris and Jeremy at Garni Temple

Me at Garni Temple

Inside Geghard monastery

On Sunday it was Easter so some of us traveled to Khor Virap Monastery, which is at the foot of Mt. Ararat.  Mt. Ararat is a sacred place for Christians, and especially Armenians.  It is currently within Turkey's borders which are closed and therefore this monastery is as close as many Armenians can get to the sacred mountain.  Netty, Mallory and I set out for the monastery, Chris and Caitlin were going to see another church, and Frankie, Jeremy and Rob didn't know what they would do.  Just as us ladies stepped out of the hostel, we heard, "wait, wait for us."  Turns out the three boys didn't know how to get by without us.  So off we went in search of a marshutka.  Turns out we couldn't find one so we hired two taxi drivers who drove us there and back and waited while we explored.  It was amazing to see so many people swarming to the church and realize that only a small, small few were tourists, everyone else was there to worship.  We saw many a rooster being marched to it's sacrificial death.  Unfortunately, I also spied the pile of rooster heads, put a damper on the celebration for me.  All of us but Mallory walked up to the rocky hill top that overlooks the monastery.  We saw handkerchiefs tied to the bushes and someone explained that it was where people made wishes.  So I took Frankie's Swiss army  knife and cut some of the fringe from my scarf and we picked out a bush and each made a wish.  Mallory missed out, but when we came back down she had been posing for photos with random people's kids.  So she had a perfectly good time without us.

View of Mt. Ararat

Khor Virap Monastery

Making a wish

Later that night most of us went out for drinks at a nearby bar.  My birthday was the next day so at midnight we toasted my birthday Georgian style.  This means that each person stood up and made a very sincere toast about how wonderful I am.  Except Frankie, whose toast I won't retype here, but it did make me laugh.  Thanks Frank!  Afterward everyone put on lipstick and gave me birthday kisses.  I don't know why, but it was great nonetheless.

The last day was my actual birthday, which we spent lounging around in a park baking in the sun.  I brought my ipod so Rob and I listened to the Smiths while Mallory and Chris tried to annihilate each other at 7 degrees of Kevin Bacon.  A perfect day.  It was our last night in Armenia so we celebrated the end of our adventure with a dinner at an Armenian restaurant and gave more Georgian toasts. 

All in all it was a great time.  I certainly bonded with a new group of people and developed relationships which only people who travel to together in tight quarters with no room for secrets can.  I am writing this entry anticipating a weekend in Borjomi, the resort town of choice for the Russian tsars and politburo elite, with the same group of merry travelers. 

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.

The Places to Go

Every year I look forward to that first week in January when the New York Times' Travel Section tells me where I need to go that year.  In 41 short posts you have everything from the extraordinary to the new hot spot 30 miles from your hometown.  Then there is the inevitable let down when I realize that I am not going to any of these places and the wanderlust in my heart wimpers a bit and settles back in for another long year.  However, something felt different this year when I read The 41 Places to Go in 2011, like my wanderlust had awakened with a persistent buzzing that wouldn't let me sit at home for another year. 

I will begin my journey with #6, the Republic of Georgia.  The NYT wants me to ski.  I do not ski.  I spent most of my youth in Salt Lake City, UT (30 miles from Park City, UT, which the NYT has awarded with the #9 spot this year).  I repeat: I do not ski.  Instead, I will be a volunteer English teacher for the Georgian school system through program sponsored by the Ministry of Education.  I have never taught anyone anything, much less English as a second language.  However, the prospect of teaching, while terrifying, is somehow still less terrifying than skiing.  So teach I will.  I leave tomorrow and will stay through June.  I am not sure what to expect...though I 've been told to not expect anything because my experience will totally and utterly surprise me regardless.  So here I am, almost packed with a nervous tummy and struggling to keep my mind from preemptively composing my adventure.  I know whatever if it is that I am greeted with -- my students, my host family, my co-teachers, and fellow volunteers -- will be amazing.  I look forward to spending 4 months outside of my comfort zone and exploring a country that is known as the "cradle of wine." 

The other places I will visit this year, include Budapest (#40), Beius, Romania, and  London (#7).  Hopefully I will have the chance to fit in Turkey, Azerbaijan, Armenia, and others as well.