Everything happens twice: Hiking and goodbyes.

SURPRISE!!!! Whoops, did I skeeer ya? Bet you weren't actually expecting to hear from me again, ever. Truth to be told, I'm no longer in the land of the Kartveli, but I am forever a White Crow, whether I like it or not. More on that later.
I never actually covered the trip to Svaneti, other than a meager post on Stalkernet with an urge for you to Wikipedia the place to see how beautiful it is. Now you can do the same, but with pictures from yours truly!
I'm also thinking about making this a more regular thing, although as I transition, I should probably create a new blog, and maybe even try to make a living blogging and choose a focus that will actually be interesting to a wide variety of people, not related to me.
But there's still some unfinished business from Georgia coupled with all my culture shock. So, instead of doing things purely chronologically (numbers are my wolfsbane [or, you know, this], and time's wicked hours are no exception), I'll completely ignore my post-service jaunt in the UAE and Thailand with the lovely Cara Bragg and do a rundown on my thoughts on two things: hiking and saying goodbyes.

Hiking/traveling in general.

Mestia, Svaneti vs. St. Mary, Glacier National Park, MT
Observations:

• Things don't always turn out as you plan them. Helicopter flights can be postponed and cancelled in a moment's notice, and the cheap, long way home may turn out to be the more reliable one.
• Certain old Megrelian women need to learn a) what a line/queue is, b) what people standing in front of her look like, and c) how not to mouth off to people when questioned about their blatant disregard for both a) and b).
• My dad is not the conversationalist on topics of my/PCV and guests' interests such as how cool glaciers look, stressing about landing a job, what love means, or bowel movements, but I did learn about how polyethelyne is made and what his favorite car he ever owned is (and how to revive failing pistons). The man also hiked 10 hours with me on 13+ miles of trail, over trees and glaciers and shit (literally-- there was bear scat). Not only did he keep up, he hiked about 3/4 of the way back with a toe the color of Barney blushing and a blister the size of South Dakota. He deserves heaps of street cred. Props to my pa.
• Hiking up to and on glaciers is sweet. It's a lot easier with proper gear. (Thanks, online shopping. But, by the same token, it's hard not to feel like a dork-in-snob's-clothing when you're wearing something with THE NORTH FACE promulgating its superiority from your chest.
• 1500 mL of water is not enough to take for oneself, when one's hiking companion has only brought 1/3 that amount. Thanks, Peace Corps issued potable water tablets.
• Waterfalls are pretty.

Conclusion:

• Even though I didn't grow up doing it, (Iowa?) hiking's rad.
• I'm going back to Glacier. Look out, Cracker Lake, there's a storm comin'.

Saying goodbyes

Observations:

• -Easier when you just don't let thoughts like, "I'll probably never see you again, and if I do it won't be the same," creep in.
• That said, leaving my host family was probably the hardest thing I've done. Some waterfalls are pretty, some are disconsolately sad.
• Drinking large quantities of alcohol and toasting one another can bring "closure", but it can also be dangerous territory for emotions of all kinds.
• When you have time to prepare for goodbyes, you have to deal with the whole impending thing for weeks/months where people get all passive aggressive toward one another to make parting easier, even though it's a dumb solution. When goodbye's unexpected, you have to deal with the whole pain-like-a-battle-axe-hack-at-your-heart thing.

Conclusion:

• Goodbyes hurt.
• If all else fails, take my bidzashvilishvili (first-cousin-once-removed) Paul's lead: Hug the people you think are nice, but refuse to speak to or look at the person you think is coolest in the hour of parting. Remember, if you don't say goodbye, they don't leave.

Bonus!  Blathering philosophical metaphor about life!!!!!!!!11111!!

The time, love, memories, life I've shared with those I met in Georgia can't be undone-- until I become senile or get hypnotherapy, of course. Part of them lives in me, and I live in part of them. It's like if I had been living in the same, clay-ridden soil my whole life, and I shoveled my sprouts into a pot and took them to Georgia, and the people I met had other things-- good peat moss, exotic sand used to growing different types of plants, apathetic rocks, and smelly but kinda useful manure, and it got all mixed up in my little mound. Some of them threw some seeds in there that I'd never seen before, some of them showed me alternative sources of light, some treated me more like a chamber pot. I tried my best to cultivate love, but sometimes I was just too tired and sick of the the scratchy plants and the sun beating down on me.

I know I need to get back to tending my little bit of earth, though. The time I spent in Georgia will nourish me in the future in ways I can't see, and most of all, I hope desperately that I've done something that's mattered, that's good to other people's garden's, too. I just hope it don't get raked away or burned up.

danit etxoba...

So, it's been a while again. (That seems to be my catch phrase here.  Maybe I've found myself a new subtitle.)

I don't know if I've been busy or lazy to update.  (Sub-subtitle?)

Either way, it's been coupled with a general feeling of listlessness and worthlessness and worrying.  (Again, nothing new under the sun.)

So what has been new?  Last week was Easter.  I was invited to go to Batumi with some of the other guys, but I stayed home because it was the host sister/niece's b-day and Easter.  Cool stuff: watched paska being baked.  Paska's like 8 times the work of babovka to yield an inferior product; dry and without scrumptious poppyseed filling.  Also, Eteri (mom/grandma) took off everything but innermost shirt, so host mom/sister glanced at my camera and said: "Make sure to get a picture of her chest and tell everyone it's traditional; you HAVE to prepare paska with cleavage."  I'll post pics later. ; D

All Sunday I helped prep food for Supras 1 and 2 last week Monday and Tuesday.  List: fried meat roll things, boiled meat in cabbage leaves, and 3 types of mayonaissey salads.

Supra #1 was kind of a failure because we prepared for like 25 guests and got maybe 10, an hour after the proposed starting time.  Maybe it's because everyone decided that day they were going to have guests.  Because it was the day after Easter.  Just maybe.  I ducked out early and talked with some awesome peeps on Skype.  You know who you are.  Holla at ya.

Supra #2 was a bit of a shit show.  Like I said before, 13-year-old's b-day.  Parents and I ate downstairs and left the kids upstairs in the supra room to their own devices.  There's no drinking age here.  We were chomming down and having a good time when one of my fourth graders burst in, hoists her wineglass, yells "TO THIS FAMILY!!!!", downs the glass, and runs out again to wreak some mystery mischief.

Other highlights of the night include being told I'm awesome by tipsy family members, passably reciprocating (some of the "you're awesome" was "you stylishly handled that chacha when we had the Chiakokonoba outside-night-picnic"), eating decent coffee-flavored torti, and getting a little too excited about talking to people online.  You also know who you are.  Holla at ya.

Also, Part of the Fam Test 1:
You're casually drying your stack of silverware with your dishtowel, glance at a knife, and ask, "This isn't ours, is it?"  When the answer is a laugh and an "ara!", you know you're in.

Mokle List.

The Sucky:

• Rainy weather makes our water yellow.  Good thing we have those handy-dandy PC issued filters!
• Rainy weather also makes for less-than-ideal trips to the toilet in the middle of the night in a path that falls right underneath the edge of the roof and ends in a mud patch.
• Rainy weather also makes me want to feel sorry for myself, (more than usual).
• 2 Georgians now have said my Georgian isn't good enough.  Also, apothecary lady when I went to get Mono cards for Internet told me I need to start an English club so her son can go, and proceeded to yell at him for not studying before I could escape.
• Trying to reassure my counterpart she's not a bad mom because she works hard and doesn't have a lot of time for her son.  She is the bomb.  And I don't mean the ones brought to mind by a certain TV station who cried "war with Russia."

The Good:

• My host mom, telling me my Georgian is understandable and that I don't need to work on it because I won't need it after I leave.  Which will be a good and bad time for me, and not really a good time at all for the fam because I'm not annoying.
• Hair cuts that make me feel cute.  All for the low low price of conversation and a gift of tights given to me for women's day by my secondary counterpart (the one who worked with "Lizzy" from Montana [read:not too keen on the newcomer who is notlyssa]), size large (for people 60-80 kilos, or something ridiculous like that).
• A new ring, that I don't need.  Georgian people don't understand the concept of "I want it, but I don't need it."  Thus, when the ring lady comes a knockin', Cara and I yield to temptation to buy ourselves the first things we've bought ourselves in a long time.
• Successful journey to Tsinandali, complete with marshutka "layover" in the middle of nowhere.  Woot!
• Nettles are delicious vittles.  Cluny the Scourge adds his seal of approval.
• Also, a neighbor gave me a pear when I was walking home the other day.  Because he could.  It was delicious.
• Today, I used the fam's old Singer and a pair of the host bro's old jeans and reconstructed the awesome denim skirt that I burned a hole in the butt in out of distractedness (and putting it on a heater to dry.  Oops.).  SEW GOOD!

The Usual in Georgia:

• Breaking resolutions to train for the 2016 Notrunning Team.  My left leg HURTS LIKE AN EMPTY BOX OF CHOCOLATES.
• Study time with host fam consists of a lot of impatience on the part of the kids with the cousin, who learns at a slower pace than they do.  But the host bro reprimanded the sis for laughing, keeping things back on track.  *proud of subtle signs of maturity*

And, it's probably about time I explained my blog's name.  The guys in the family are known as "Kwavebi" = "ravens" or "crows" (not sure), because they're dark skinned with raven hair.  My official last name, as host unc informs me, is Schmid-Mosulishvili.  Thus, I'm a Kwavi, too.  One with significantly different plumage than the rest of the family.  (Tetri = white.)  Tetri Kwavi.

Ra xdeba?

You may now finally rest easy.  News from the old and glorious land of Sakartvelo, which has been long due, finally comes your way!  Now you have something to read while you're on your nice, sit down commode in your centrally-heated houses.  Jerks.
So, the holiday season is coming to a close.  Next week.  Sort of.  The first day after break is the eighteenth.  Or maybe the twentieth, because the nineteenth is a Georgian holiday.  These are the words of my counterpart.

Let me tell you, I have just about had it up to my yurebi (ears) in Georgian keipi (feasting) and culture.  And my waistline can't really take too much, either, since it's turned to the FREEZING season and I've lost all will to exercise and/or leave the room with the petchi.

A review of the holidays I've celebrated since Christmas ("Catholic Christmas," that is):
New Year's Eve:
  Supposedly the most anticipated, hyped up celebration in the country.  Really just an extended, low-key family supper where we watched TV for slightly longer than we usually do and drank Christmas liqueur and my babo's coffee liqueur (made with the family chacha.. so it tasted of rocket fuel).  And some nut job was singing while the clock actually struck 12, so I kinda missed it.  Whatev.  There were some fireworks, but kids have been setting them off in the streets for weeks now.  Also, we visited the brother-in-law's place (because my host sister was their first-footer, the first guest after New Years who must bring a plate of nom nom squares and other sugary delights for a "delicious" year).  There I was urged to marry in the village by some intoxicated Georgian men and then made fun of because I don't know how to milk a cow.  So it goes.

New Year's Day:
   Slightly more involved.  Family members from all around gathered at the grandma's parent's house in Gremi and feasted with such once-a-yearly culinary delights as chicken in walnut sauce, honey-walnut granola bars (minus the granola), and more chocolate and nom nom squares than even I can eat.  And that is saying something, because I inherited my dad's sweet tooth.  At least I got to exchange glances with the Ukranian sister-in-law (I don't speak Russian, and she doesn't speak Georgian or English very well) about the massive quantities of food, the constant comments about how "sad" the non-Georgians were (really, just bored and tired of being told to eat the food), and the 90-something-year-old great-grandpa downing two full-sized glasses of Georgian wine of the highest quality for some toast or another.

Pig slaughter at Tom's celebrating his return:
  Pretty much self-explanatory.  You can look up videos and pictures on his and Johnny's FB if you'd like the scream of a dying pig to haunt your dreams for the rest of your life.

New Year's party with host family friends later that night:
  Which may or may not have involved me drinking a bit too much Telani Valley red wine (probably some of the better wine I've tasted in Georgia) and talking about gender roles with the friend (who makes more than a few measly tetri at his Important Job in Tbilisi).  Other highlights include making up an Italian boyfriend (he plays the organ in the Vatican and is kinda ugly, but I love him anyway, and mom approves.) and refusing to drink amaretto with him at noon or so the next day.  Also trying to make his son say "please" instead of demanding me to draw things for him.

Getting vaccinated for swine flu:
  This was definitely a party in itself.  Getting to see a bunch of PCVs, chat it up about our ridiculous holiday experiences, and eat at the awesome Shenghai Chinese Restaurant.  What more could you ask for?  We also said "see you in a few months" to the guy who broke his heel on the Kazbegi excursion--he's sent back to the states for a consultation and possible surgery before he can come back, hopefully, to continue service.

Feast at our house:
  With the sister-in-law and her husband who live on the other side of the village.  The husband interrogated me on my job and we watched the kids' dance concert that was in Tbilisi when I was gone for Telavi Thanksgiving.

Orthodox Christmas:
  Not a whole lot happened this day, either.  I made chili (successfully) and cornbread (unsuccessfully).  I would blame it on the crappy Georgian corn, but a) it was from a can and thus probably not from Georgia, and b) I added too much salt and c) I didn't have milk, so I used sour cream that may or may not have been still good.  At least the "American bean soup" was good, if the "American mchadi" was a failure.  This time.

  Also, the kids sang "alilos" and we gave them eggs so that they could feast the next day. (I think).

  And I thought the family went to church at 11, but they really went to bed, and I stayed up until 2 waiting for them to come back.  I thought they'd left without inviting me since I'd been on the computer all day, so I was feeling abandoned.  Silly me.

Dual pig slaughter at our place:
  This went down Saturday.  I have been feeling incredibly anti-Georgian lately, so was in a foul mood all day, even though I got to bathe for the second time in three days and had my hair straightened for me.  I was also grumpy because I couldn't make any food, so when the 30 Georgian guests were here, I fought for kitchen space and tried to orchestrate Chinese-style rice and veggies (lack of soy sauce and overcooking FAIL) and brownies (lack of doubling recipe for pan quasi-fail.  At least they were tasty.).

  I was pretty much successful in persisting in my blue funk and ignoring the Georgians and tried to find my happiness that night in the bottom of a bottle.  I was somewhat successful, though I had to search through a few before I found the right one-- kahlua made with starbucks coffee and family chacha? nope.  (Though it was nice to vaxtanguri with my host mom in a toast to friendship.)  Amaretto from a factory in/near Tbilisi?  nope.  (It was from the loaded family friend's wife's friend, too.)  Store-bought vodka based Bailey's? Check!  The forced wineful of horn in a toast to love also helped a bit.  Surprisingly, it's been my first horn of wine in Georgia.

Also, the tamada this night was the sister-in-law's husband, who lives on the other side of town.  By the end of the night, I marveled at his ability to stand.  He was teetering back and forth like a Mexican jumping bean, but the man was standing.  What a man.  He sure can pack away his wine.

Brunch supra the next day:
  I successfully skipped this one out by taking a nice long walk to the bottom of the village and back. While helping my host mom with the squintillion dishes, she commented on the Georgian tradition of men feasting and women cleaning up (as my host dad, a generally cool guy, was sleeping his hangover off on the couch).  I slipped a bug in her ear about the unfairness of this.  The host dad later accused me of committing a technical foul; actually, he accused me of going over the tamada's head by toasting to something the tamada didn't say, the punishment of which is drinking a full glass of wine to what the tamada actually said.  I forget the Georgian word for this.

English "tour" (aka test/competition) today in Kwareli:
  I woke up at 8, got ready and ate breakfast, scooted out the door a little late (but was still the first one at school), waited for an HOUR for the marsh to come, urged my counterpart to stay home with her sick kid (really, I can go places by myself.), and regretted saying "fine, how are you?" to 12th grader, who was embarrassed because he didn't understand it, even though he goes to a private tutor in Kwareli.  He's really a good kid, and my neighbor, too.  He definitely has a mind of his own--he slept during class once because he had a headache (but I don't blame him--it was a read and translate class), but he's got a good heart.
Still mulling over this awkward exchange, I drank coffee with a couple Russian teachers (one of them's actually a Russian lady) in the Kwareli school's cafe while we waited for the students to finish.  I listened to them talk about politics being dirty and then they talked about food and scolded me for not liking meat.  I'm in GEORGIA, I have to try and LOVE mtsvadi!!  (never mind the visiting relative from Tbilisi refused mtsvadi today.)  Whatever.  At least I got the chance to mail a birthday card to my grandma while I was in a thriving metropolis.  And I footraced (on my high heeled boots) one of the 12th grade boys to warm up while we were waiting for the marsh.

Next weekend, I'll be headed to Cara's to help prepare her birthday bash.  Though it is another party, it will be with many Americans and include many American foods.  (And there's a whole Nalgene-ful more where that Bailey's came from, just crying out for consumption.)  I hope we can make it an enjoyable time, for Cara's sake. : )

So, in sum, I've been going through the neverending holiday slump, getting sick of Georgian culture, being fed up that I'm not living healthily or conscientious of others, and worrying about my future, Life After Peace Corps.  If anyone has any bright ideas, let me know...

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 we planned 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.