I'd like to start off this post with some bad news, then move on to the good.
First of all, there is a serious black mold problem in this house, both in the newly renovated grandparents' bedroom and the kitchen. I'm not quite sure what to do. These next two weeks I have off, so I'm going to try a plan of action that may involve:
a) talking to my family (who is probably not aware of the dangers, as I was not exactly aware until I did some research).
b) lemon juice? bleach?
c) buying a dehumidifier or two.
d) calling... someone at staff?
I don't know if they'd buy it or not, as the renovations were cut short due to a secretarial mix-up in the dad's paycheck, ending up with the family PAYING BACK hundreds of lari that he was overpaid the entire year. Bull. Really, secretary?
Secondly, Christmas was great. It was def a much needed respite after a week of going to class and not delivering the lessons we'd planned because not enough students showed up.
At least it gave me some extra time to prep for my trip this weekend-- beautiful Kazbegi/Stepantsminda!
I woke up Christmas day really wishing I could have raced Ange to the tree, sit the way my dad and I used to sit when we were both bawshwebi (it's killer on your legs, though), and revel in everyone's joy as we exchange cool/stupid things with one another and then set into the preparation of some interesting, nontraditional meal. At least I got to hang out with awesome people.
And the interesting, nontraditional meal part was preserved. Every night this weekend something new and different.
One night was spaghetti with light-on-the-tomatoness sauce and homemade cutout cookies with icing. I made the cookies, overcoming lack of cookie cutters with a knife, lack of powdered sugar with a coffee grinder, and lack of food coloring with a packet of German kool-aid, cherry flavored.
Another night was pasta with tomatoey-carrotey sauce, toffee peanuts, helva, and interesting contributions by David: meranguey cookies and stories of his life that defy classification or description. Let's just say he's been everywhere. And is a good philosophical ambler, too.
Also, the pasta served us the next morning as breakfast. Because Georgians don't wake up early, and thus maghazias were still closed when we wanted to go hiking. Thus, Brian fried up the pasta and we had mush with black pepper. Delish.
The next night we were lucky to get dinner of frozen kababi, carrots-in-kababi juice, and peas. All the maghazias were closed but one far away, and we got a police escort to it. Why, you may ask?
Let's just say that ice is not kind to downward hiking, and the police were worried that someone was pushed, so we had to assure them with help of a translator that no one was at fault.
The translator was largely unnecessary, because Cara's and my skills in Georgian are pretty serviceable. But her English was amazing. If she gets one more hour, she'll be at the minimum required hours of English to host a volunteer, for whom she also said she'd look for housing for. Motivation? It seems that way, so I hope that's the case (because that's a trait that a volunteer can actually work with), and I hope she'll get her wish.
Well, we had a wonderful time, regardless. We got exercise (!) on our hike to the monastery. Mt. Kazbegi is simply stunning. I'll get photos of the sunrise on the mountain from Cara and David. And the stars at night twinkled like I've never seen stars twinkle before.
And the policeman who gave us a ride to the store bought us a chocolate bar.
And the "real" holiday here in Sakartvelo is yet to come. Today I've been invited to a pig roast for New Year's (basically Christmas--see Saint Facetious' blog) at the aunt's place (the one who cuts my hair).
Host dad is at work and probably won't be home for New Year's, but maybe there will be some Chri-er, New Year's magic. And I'll make plenty of nom nom squares (aka cookies and maybe some babovka) in the weeks to come.
Perhaps I'll do a post sometime this week finishing up my thankful list from Thanksgiving, as well as a Festivus airing of grievances.
Until then, stay cool! And, if you're in Georgia and are always cold, stay warm!
Monday, December 28
Friday, December 18
Gilotsavt Barbaroba! And mamidas dabadebis dghe. (and tsudadoba.)
For those of you who are not fluent in Georgian (definitely felt today that is NOT me), Happy St. Barbara's Day and my aunt's birthday (and sickness day).
The day, for me, involved going to school and encountering classes of 4-8 students, then leaving school after 3rd lesson to go on a hike up the mountain to Barbara's church with most of the students.
Going there was okay. I ate more lobiani than I've ever eaten in a day. Lobiani's the traditional dish of the day and each of the students brought their family's own variety, so I had to try them all. And some cookies. And a mandarini (tangerine). And a blinchiki (fried pastry with cream). And some boiled pumpkin.
I also got to talk with some of the more talented students in English (and thus butchered my Georgian more than usual today).
In trying to come back, the students ridiculously decided to hike through the river bed rather than cross the bridge that we'd crossed in the first place (because the closer one is gapuchdabuli from the last big storm that came through, and Georgians are lazy). I protested and hiked farther north with some of the students, but eventually failed in my efforts and had to cross two makeshift log bridges rather than one. These kids are impressively adept at making log bridges, and one of the girls absolutely refused help in crossing and then told the boys, "See? I am clever!" (in English).
Now, I somehow ended up alone with this group of 7 seventh graders. While we were hiking back into town, one of the boys realized he forgot his bag, probably at the church. Which was like upwards of a half hour hike from where we were, one way. FML. Paula the indecisive is forced into the Responsible Adult role. What do we do? I, of course, was wishy washy. First we waited. I called the homeroom teacher of the class I was with who I'd gotten separated from (but not after calling my Georgian teacher of the same first name who was celebrating with her students in Baghdadi. Whoops.) and told her we'd be late. She told me the parents were worrying. So after more waffling, I decided to lead a group home. Partially because of the parents, and partially because I needed a bathroom due to the anti-constipation meds and digestive enzymes circulating my system. The boys stayed to wait for the other boy. When we got back, my host mom and the homeroom teacher both said the boys would be fine, and I know they would be, but it's the principle of the thing. When I asked the boys if they wanted to leave, and one said yes, the other asked him, "Are you heartless?"
Yikes! I don't want to be heartless. But I also didn't want to lose any remaining scrap of dignity. Whatev.
Then, naturally, it's the aunt's birthday today. So we went to her place for the party tonight (after stopping by the store last minute to pick out a present--a rose patterned cake plate, server, and plate set that cost 38 lari that the giftee probably does not need. Huzzah!). And the family commented I don't eat. Really. I'm getting sick of this. I was stuffed from earlier today, and I can't really eat bread, cheese, or alcohol, all of which were present and offered to me. But I accepted the homemade pickles, juice, pepper/tomato stuff, and preserved peaces. And a walnut nom nom square that wasn't that great. Hm. I'd say that's pretty good for being drugged up and worrying all day about school and then missing students. And Putin was on the news--his questionable orientation is in the spotlight, and the family collectively "ewwed" when the TV showed a picture of two men kissing (as my host bro affectionately snuggled with his uncle, arms and head resting on him, closer than most Americans would be comfortable with.).
As one of the boys said when I was silently panicking whether to stay or go, "Well, this is a day you'll remember. When your friends ask you what you did for Barbaraoba, you'll have a story to tell them."
(or something like that in Georgian.)
The day, for me, involved going to school and encountering classes of 4-8 students, then leaving school after 3rd lesson to go on a hike up the mountain to Barbara's church with most of the students.
Going there was okay. I ate more lobiani than I've ever eaten in a day. Lobiani's the traditional dish of the day and each of the students brought their family's own variety, so I had to try them all. And some cookies. And a mandarini (tangerine). And a blinchiki (fried pastry with cream). And some boiled pumpkin.
I also got to talk with some of the more talented students in English (and thus butchered my Georgian more than usual today).
In trying to come back, the students ridiculously decided to hike through the river bed rather than cross the bridge that we'd crossed in the first place (because the closer one is gapuchdabuli from the last big storm that came through, and Georgians are lazy). I protested and hiked farther north with some of the students, but eventually failed in my efforts and had to cross two makeshift log bridges rather than one. These kids are impressively adept at making log bridges, and one of the girls absolutely refused help in crossing and then told the boys, "See? I am clever!" (in English).
Now, I somehow ended up alone with this group of 7 seventh graders. While we were hiking back into town, one of the boys realized he forgot his bag, probably at the church. Which was like upwards of a half hour hike from where we were, one way. FML. Paula the indecisive is forced into the Responsible Adult role. What do we do? I, of course, was wishy washy. First we waited. I called the homeroom teacher of the class I was with who I'd gotten separated from (but not after calling my Georgian teacher of the same first name who was celebrating with her students in Baghdadi. Whoops.) and told her we'd be late. She told me the parents were worrying. So after more waffling, I decided to lead a group home. Partially because of the parents, and partially because I needed a bathroom due to the anti-constipation meds and digestive enzymes circulating my system. The boys stayed to wait for the other boy. When we got back, my host mom and the homeroom teacher both said the boys would be fine, and I know they would be, but it's the principle of the thing. When I asked the boys if they wanted to leave, and one said yes, the other asked him, "Are you heartless?"
Yikes! I don't want to be heartless. But I also didn't want to lose any remaining scrap of dignity. Whatev.
Then, naturally, it's the aunt's birthday today. So we went to her place for the party tonight (after stopping by the store last minute to pick out a present--a rose patterned cake plate, server, and plate set that cost 38 lari that the giftee probably does not need. Huzzah!). And the family commented I don't eat. Really. I'm getting sick of this. I was stuffed from earlier today, and I can't really eat bread, cheese, or alcohol, all of which were present and offered to me. But I accepted the homemade pickles, juice, pepper/tomato stuff, and preserved peaces. And a walnut nom nom square that wasn't that great. Hm. I'd say that's pretty good for being drugged up and worrying all day about school and then missing students. And Putin was on the news--his questionable orientation is in the spotlight, and the family collectively "ewwed" when the TV showed a picture of two men kissing (as my host bro affectionately snuggled with his uncle, arms and head resting on him, closer than most Americans would be comfortable with.).
As one of the boys said when I was silently panicking whether to stay or go, "Well, this is a day you'll remember. When your friends ask you what you did for Barbaraoba, you'll have a story to tell them."
(or something like that in Georgian.)
Tuesday, December 15
Medicine in the Great Land of Sakartvelo.
So. This shall be a small update, as I am feeling sicker than a dzaghls. So, I think an appropriate topic should be a step-by-step guide on how to take care of yourself in the wonderful land of Georgia.
1)Burns. Anything from a large burn covering most of your foot because you tried to can something with a used glass jar that has a crack on the bottom--to a small burn on your hand because you spilled scalding water from your teacup (if it's not scalding, it can't make tea. especially since you only stick the teabag in the water for a good three seconds, tops, then share the same chaisperi with the rest of the family.)
Should you receive such a burn, immediately cover your burn in oil, cry in pain while reluctantly applying aloe gel offered to you by your American boarder, and cut open any blisters formed. Then, cover with mysterious yellow mousse-like substance that resembles spray foam insulation. Call local doctor. Let American listen to doctor speaking on telephone, saying, "Yes, they already cut it," (or something like that in Georgian). Be prepared to be unable to walk for weeks and know that your work friends will ask the American about your health on marshutkas.
Should the burn be small, skip all steps except for the application of yellow spray foam.
2) Nutrition. There's a lot to be said here.
Basics include: look strangely at your American if he/she doesn't eat bread and potatoes and khatchapuri and other starches when they're all offered.
Drink 5+ cups of coffee a day; instant, Turkish/remain-y, and/or American brewed.
Eat plenty of cheese but never have constipation. (Riddle me this.)
Snack constantly.
To my family's awesomeness factor, they're totally cool with me limiting myself to one cup a day, though they still ask me every time if I want coffee. I think this is just the hospitality factor; it'd be rude not to offer.
3) Stomachaches.
Causes: Wearing thin slippers and getting cold.
Not wearing slippers and getting cold.
Not wearing a scarf and getting cold. (though I now realize I've never been yelled at for my lack of hat.)
Not wearing enough layers and getting cold.
Treatment: "tea" made of fruit muraba (syrupy jam). Mineral water. Warming up by the petchi.
4) Headaches.
Treatment: not Ibuprofen. That's only for shots.
I keep thinking I live in a different country than the rest of the volunteers. My counterpart (one of them) is motivated and wants to work. I eat fresh fruits and veggies, usually. Now, of course, it's a bit sparser pickins, but we've got plenty of muraba and compote (which also unnecessarily ups my sugar intake, cause I eat buttloads of chocolate and nom nom squares.) I get along with my family and spend a lot of time with them chatting and yukking it up over racking up frequent buyer points on pharmacy reward cards by bringing in real daisies (cause the cards have daisy pictures on them). My students say that girls can't always do what guys do because of physical inability. I'm inclined to agree with them to a certain extent, but managed to protest enough until they agreed that girls and guys could do "each others'" work if they had to. My counterpart and I talk about scrapbooking and taxis and xerox machines and good and bad advertising. Some of the teachers in the teacher's lounge rolled their eyes when I was interrupted from a normal conversation by a demand from a P.E. (read: male) teacher to say "bakaki tskalshi kikinebs" for his amusement. That same teacher also asks me every day, without fail, how I am and if I'm cold and when I want him to "warm me up" by feeding me wine. (not bad, it's winter, and after lessons).
Then there's the interactions in the store when I ask for the price of a glass pan that looks the right size for lasagna (40 GEL? Ew.) and actually get the "You're a foreigner? You speak Georgian? You teach English? Are you married? Oh, you should find yourself a nice Georgian boy." Ick.
But life in the village continues on rather normally. We have no heat in the school yet, because we're supposed to get central heating. By the middle of January. Normally, I wouldn't believe that date. Remember when my school was supposed to open a month earlier than it did? But they're working on the heating. During my lessons. I had a chunk of wall fall near my feet when I was trying to lead a failed impromptu game of pictionary/charades in seventh grade (brought into existence because the xerox wasn't working, so we couldn't make copies of the test scheduled for that day).
It's usual in Georgia.
1)Burns. Anything from a large burn covering most of your foot because you tried to can something with a used glass jar that has a crack on the bottom--to a small burn on your hand because you spilled scalding water from your teacup (if it's not scalding, it can't make tea. especially since you only stick the teabag in the water for a good three seconds, tops, then share the same chaisperi with the rest of the family.)
Should you receive such a burn, immediately cover your burn in oil, cry in pain while reluctantly applying aloe gel offered to you by your American boarder, and cut open any blisters formed. Then, cover with mysterious yellow mousse-like substance that resembles spray foam insulation. Call local doctor. Let American listen to doctor speaking on telephone, saying, "Yes, they already cut it," (or something like that in Georgian). Be prepared to be unable to walk for weeks and know that your work friends will ask the American about your health on marshutkas.
Should the burn be small, skip all steps except for the application of yellow spray foam.
2) Nutrition. There's a lot to be said here.
Basics include: look strangely at your American if he/she doesn't eat bread and potatoes and khatchapuri and other starches when they're all offered.
Drink 5+ cups of coffee a day; instant, Turkish/remain-y, and/or American brewed.
Eat plenty of cheese but never have constipation. (Riddle me this.)
Snack constantly.
To my family's awesomeness factor, they're totally cool with me limiting myself to one cup a day, though they still ask me every time if I want coffee. I think this is just the hospitality factor; it'd be rude not to offer.
3) Stomachaches.
Causes: Wearing thin slippers and getting cold.
Not wearing slippers and getting cold.
Not wearing a scarf and getting cold. (though I now realize I've never been yelled at for my lack of hat.)
Not wearing enough layers and getting cold.
Treatment: "tea" made of fruit muraba (syrupy jam). Mineral water. Warming up by the petchi.
4) Headaches.
Treatment: not Ibuprofen. That's only for shots.
I keep thinking I live in a different country than the rest of the volunteers. My counterpart (one of them) is motivated and wants to work. I eat fresh fruits and veggies, usually. Now, of course, it's a bit sparser pickins, but we've got plenty of muraba and compote (which also unnecessarily ups my sugar intake, cause I eat buttloads of chocolate and nom nom squares.) I get along with my family and spend a lot of time with them chatting and yukking it up over racking up frequent buyer points on pharmacy reward cards by bringing in real daisies (cause the cards have daisy pictures on them). My students say that girls can't always do what guys do because of physical inability. I'm inclined to agree with them to a certain extent, but managed to protest enough until they agreed that girls and guys could do "each others'" work if they had to. My counterpart and I talk about scrapbooking and taxis and xerox machines and good and bad advertising. Some of the teachers in the teacher's lounge rolled their eyes when I was interrupted from a normal conversation by a demand from a P.E. (read: male) teacher to say "bakaki tskalshi kikinebs" for his amusement. That same teacher also asks me every day, without fail, how I am and if I'm cold and when I want him to "warm me up" by feeding me wine. (not bad, it's winter, and after lessons).
Then there's the interactions in the store when I ask for the price of a glass pan that looks the right size for lasagna (40 GEL? Ew.) and actually get the "You're a foreigner? You speak Georgian? You teach English? Are you married? Oh, you should find yourself a nice Georgian boy." Ick.
But life in the village continues on rather normally. We have no heat in the school yet, because we're supposed to get central heating. By the middle of January. Normally, I wouldn't believe that date. Remember when my school was supposed to open a month earlier than it did? But they're working on the heating. During my lessons. I had a chunk of wall fall near my feet when I was trying to lead a failed impromptu game of pictionary/charades in seventh grade (brought into existence because the xerox wasn't working, so we couldn't make copies of the test scheduled for that day).
It's usual in Georgia.
Tuesday, December 1
Thanksgiving part 1: counterpart, family fun
Okay, so I should probably get on that Thanksgiving post that everyone else has already done like two weeks ago. Whatever. So I've been zarmatsi (lazy). I've also been busy.
And, you know, I've actually been enjoying life. In contrast to Spain (and much of the time afterward).
Let's examine the facts:
1) I've got a frigging awesome counterpart teacher.
"I want to be one of the best English teachers in the region."-My counterpart.
You probably won't hear this out of any of the other volunteers' counterparts' mouths. I've heard success with lesson planning, but it's more like a trip to the dentist; wheras my counterpart said, "We must plan the lessons together," when we first met. Granted, they're not perfect--what can you expect from lessons based on a book that's excellent albeit beyond the students' comprehension level?
Also, last week weplanned a Thanksgiving party pulled a party out of our asses in two days, complete with nuggets of info read by our 7th graders in both languages about the history of Thanksgiving (nuggets so enthralling that the teachers talked only QUIETLY throughout the whole thing), making of I-am-thankful-for hand turkeys, and feasting on pie made by yours truly as well as popcorn, nom-nom-squares (namskhwari aka cake/goodies), fresh berries, and coffee brought by the students and Magda. Everyone naturally applauded me and called me a "kargi gogo" (and it wouldn't be Georgia without an urging for me to get married. I love my director..). The whole thing turned out okay, but it was kind of a pain in the ass, and I didn't want it to be so much of a dog-and-pony-show as a time for the kids to learn the phrase "I am thankful for" and learn how to spell "pearents" right. Ah, well. What can ya do?
After the spectacle, my counterpart and I were cleaning up. I was carrying away the remains of coffee in a plastic cup, (the amount which, this time, I had managed to undermine the urgings to miertviet). I said to myself, "I don't want it anymore," to practice the newly learned Georgian word for "not anymore".
My counterpart said, "School or parties?"
I, stopped, did a double take, and we laughed. That's how cool my counterpart is.
Also, we had a slumber party at her house last week (lesson planning ran late and she didn't want me to go back in the dark and I didn't want to have her call my host mom to escort me). This culminated with us doing yoga on her bedroom floor while her 4-year old son played some racing game on the computer in Russian. Not very relaxing, but keep in mind that this was yoga in Georgia with a Georgian.
On to reason #2 I'm thankful and happy: The host family.
They're the most normal Georgians I've met in this whole country. And they've got a reputation in the village as people who get along with one another and are honest and giving and helpful. All true. These people give used clothing to the orphanage. The females still do 99.9% of the food prep, but the grandpa's been known to heat up a thing of beans when he wants to, and I swear my host bro made himself eggs the other night. And the guys DO work really hard; grandpa in the yard with the animals and crops and stuff, and the dad with his guard job. Not to mention all the guys (and my host mom, sometimes) are working on the house renovation now.
My host mom is something else. In addition to helping carry heavy things once in a blue moon, she stomped the grapes for the family because the dad was gone at work. Also, she is so patient with me, talks with me, and understands and corrects my poor grammar. She introduces me to people in the village, all of whom she's friends with/relatives with/godmother to/all of the above. She still thinks in the traditional Georgian manner that I'll catch cold if I walk around the house without wearing slippers, which I'm not sure I believe. (to quote Lauren, "I now wear socks all the time for reasons I don't understand!") But it is hella cold here. Like I said, we're doing renovations. The room with the pechi (wood stove) is being defloored and refloored. Thus, the pechi is outside. Solution? Go to the small room that's also been refloored and is half-put together and warm ourselves by the small pechi temporarily installed there.
I love my host kids/siblings, too. Last night at the family tutoring session, they successfully managed to make menus with practically every fruit in English, ask for coffee and vodka, and refuse to sell to one another, telling each other "shen khar stupid" and "shut up, ra." They crack me up.
Now it's khinkali-making night for the workers--my contribution will be some vashlis piure (apple's puree, aka applesauce). I'm gonna head to do that, but I'll catch you later.
I've got to tell you about me being a tamada (toastmaster) at a birthday supra, danceoffs with butt bombs, and also pie cooking escapades, if nothing else. I'll be back.
And, you know, I've actually been enjoying life. In contrast to Spain (and much of the time afterward).
Let's examine the facts:
1) I've got a frigging awesome counterpart teacher.
"I want to be one of the best English teachers in the region."-My counterpart.
You probably won't hear this out of any of the other volunteers' counterparts' mouths. I've heard success with lesson planning, but it's more like a trip to the dentist; wheras my counterpart said, "We must plan the lessons together," when we first met. Granted, they're not perfect--what can you expect from lessons based on a book that's excellent albeit beyond the students' comprehension level?
Also, last week we
After the spectacle, my counterpart and I were cleaning up. I was carrying away the remains of coffee in a plastic cup, (the amount which, this time, I had managed to undermine the urgings to miertviet). I said to myself, "I don't want it anymore," to practice the newly learned Georgian word for "not anymore".
My counterpart said, "School or parties?"
I, stopped, did a double take, and we laughed. That's how cool my counterpart is.
Also, we had a slumber party at her house last week (lesson planning ran late and she didn't want me to go back in the dark and I didn't want to have her call my host mom to escort me). This culminated with us doing yoga on her bedroom floor while her 4-year old son played some racing game on the computer in Russian. Not very relaxing, but keep in mind that this was yoga in Georgia with a Georgian.
On to reason #2 I'm thankful and happy: The host family.
They're the most normal Georgians I've met in this whole country. And they've got a reputation in the village as people who get along with one another and are honest and giving and helpful. All true. These people give used clothing to the orphanage. The females still do 99.9% of the food prep, but the grandpa's been known to heat up a thing of beans when he wants to, and I swear my host bro made himself eggs the other night. And the guys DO work really hard; grandpa in the yard with the animals and crops and stuff, and the dad with his guard job. Not to mention all the guys (and my host mom, sometimes) are working on the house renovation now.
My host mom is something else. In addition to helping carry heavy things once in a blue moon, she stomped the grapes for the family because the dad was gone at work. Also, she is so patient with me, talks with me, and understands and corrects my poor grammar. She introduces me to people in the village, all of whom she's friends with/relatives with/godmother to/all of the above. She still thinks in the traditional Georgian manner that I'll catch cold if I walk around the house without wearing slippers, which I'm not sure I believe. (to quote Lauren, "I now wear socks all the time for reasons I don't understand!") But it is hella cold here. Like I said, we're doing renovations. The room with the pechi (wood stove) is being defloored and refloored. Thus, the pechi is outside. Solution? Go to the small room that's also been refloored and is half-put together and warm ourselves by the small pechi temporarily installed there.
I love my host kids/siblings, too. Last night at the family tutoring session, they successfully managed to make menus with practically every fruit in English, ask for coffee and vodka, and refuse to sell to one another, telling each other "shen khar stupid" and "shut up, ra." They crack me up.
Now it's khinkali-making night for the workers--my contribution will be some vashlis piure (apple's puree, aka applesauce). I'm gonna head to do that, but I'll catch you later.
I've got to tell you about me being a tamada (toastmaster) at a birthday supra, danceoffs with butt bombs, and also pie cooking escapades, if nothing else. I'll be back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)