First off, I totally believe in doing things because everyone else is. It's a great authenticator and makes you feel good about yourself afterward, especially if the crowd mentality persuaded you to do something against your guiding principles or even just something you didn't really want to do.
From a Spanish soap: "Paula is not a happy person, she is a depressive person." D : And I thought there was no truth in these stupid things!
Although I'm working for change. Little by little. I keep thinking about how our habits really are who we are, because if we do something enough times, we and others abstract it into a permanent personality trait. Continuity of self is an interesting concept, but I don't quite buy it. Thus, it's a hard battle to change who I have been, because the more something has been built into me, the more likely I am to do it in the future. In other words, the more times in the past I get frustrated and put myself in a foul mood and don't enjoy a day, the harder it is to simply tell myself to be in a good mood, because it's probably not a big deal anyway, and people don't actually find me annoying (except when I'm in a bad mood. oops.).
Also, it's hard not to worry about the future when you don't know what you enjoy doing most of all. Hm. Even thinking about it makes me want to curl up into a ball and ignore the rest of the world for the rest of my life.
Maybe I can get paid for being a Renaissance Woman. Alex, that totally has already worked out for you, right? <_<
In current events, I got to be in the same room as the Secretary of State yesterday for like 15 minutes after being locked in that same room for like an hour and being free to move between that room and the hall for about 2. WIN!
Also, it was 50 degrees Celsius yesterday. For those of you too lazy to get out your converters, that's 122 degrees Fahrenheit. On top of that, we didn't have water for a couple days. Fun. And good smelling!
At least the Fourth was filled with fun and freedom. I got to watch the Georgian girls softball team play some 'mericans. Others have better accounts of how intense this was, but let me say they're the only softball team in the country. And the victory was an easy one. About as easy as learning how to conjugate the verb "bring" in Georgian, taking into account giver, receiver, tense, and whether the object being brought is alive or not. After the game was delish salad and Turkish coffee and Hearts at the Bavarian place.
Much traveling has been going down to Borjomi and back again these past few weeks, one of which included a stay at an "orphanage," many which included walks in Borjomi Spring Park, and all of which made me want to stay there in the relatively cool temperatures and mosquitoless nights. One also included a four-hour train ride from Borjomi to Tbilisi, after which I tried to meet up with partiers celebrating a volunteer's birthday. When I got off the metro, feeling pretty low after anticlimactic events of the weekend, I pulled out my phone to ask about the location of the bar everyone was at that I'd never been to and didn't remember the name of, only to discover that it had died. Fantastic. I walked around in a tizzy, weighing the option of going back to the hostel before the public transportation stopped going for the night, and finally asked the clerk at the local Populi supermarket if they had a charging station (found at some of them). Failing that, she arranged for her coworker to charge it on her personal charger for five minutes while I waited at a table with a sketchy Georgian dude. I finally met up with the others, and went for a stress-shwarma run. There, when I ranted to a curious young Georgian couple about the ludicrousness of conjugating the verb "to call", they bought me my shwarma! Win! Also hanging out with the birthday girl was pretty sweet.
With a cross-Georgian and Czech Republic trek with the parents coming up, it's pretty safe to say I'm PUMPED. Can't wait to see you, mommy and daddy. <3 Modit!!!
Okay, off to do my second attempt at yoga at the stadium. First time, last week: no constituents, so I left. This time, I'm doin' it, whether other people are interested or not. Gotta keep my weird American status, somehow ya know?
Peace!
Showing posts with label talking with georgians. Show all posts
Showing posts with label talking with georgians. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 7
Tuesday, June 22
Have you ever peed on a bee? And other tales of a Georgian summer.
Aaaand it's like a week later again and I never finished my blog post. But I think that's an accurate representation of what I've been feeling lately: bits and pieces cobbled together, seeing how long I can hold out before going to the bazari again for a 40 tetri screw (since I'm missing a few of those) to make me last for a few more weeks.
So it goes.
Speaking of which, went to a samdzimare (wake) this month for the 10th grade homeroom teacher's husband. He was only like 60. I also helped with food prep for the neighbor guy who died a week later, former friend of my host grandpa and grandpa one of my 5th graders (and probably one of my 4th graders?)
To clarify: when I say I got robbed at the Nike store, I'm referring to the criminally high price. No actual forceful taking of money by guns has happened to me.
The "job shadowing" last weekend went okay. I feel like I really live up to being called "Mas" after Friday: 5% CP support
+ 0% CP informing on where students are in book ever
+ 30% concrete followed lesson plan
+ 100+° F weather.
You can imagine how much learning went on. The one redeemable thing from the lesson, which featured an attempted future-with-will fortune-teller roleplay:
6th grade boy: "Will I be womens' liker?"
Good things from the visit include:
So it goes.
Speaking of which, went to a samdzimare (wake) this month for the 10th grade homeroom teacher's husband. He was only like 60. I also helped with food prep for the neighbor guy who died a week later, former friend of my host grandpa and grandpa one of my 5th graders (and probably one of my 4th graders?)
To clarify: when I say I got robbed at the Nike store, I'm referring to the criminally high price. No actual forceful taking of money by guns has happened to me.
The "job shadowing" last weekend went okay. I feel like I really live up to being called "Mas" after Friday: 5% CP support
+ 0% CP informing on where students are in book ever
+ 30% concrete followed lesson plan
+ 100+° F weather.
You can imagine how much learning went on. The one redeemable thing from the lesson, which featured an attempted future-with-will fortune-teller roleplay:
6th grade boy: "Will I be womens' liker?"
Good things from the visit include:
- pizza, brownies, and ice cream cake. For breakfast.
- wine tasting.
- chillin' and morale talk on Ilia's Gora (hill).
- Polish horseshoes in the Kwa park.
Not Desirable Things Ever include:
- Truth or Dare
- Bustin' a move with the seniors on their banqeti (banquet) on Friday and hurtin' my left foot. It's hurt for about a week and a half. Daily ibuprophen, muscle gel, and an ankle brace later, I think I'm finally ready to run again.
In other news:
The students of this village are incredibly talented, dramawise. 4th graders had a "zeimi" (event) for their graduation today, which was cute. And we had a "kaveini", sort of like a variety show, in Kvareli a couple Thursdays ago. Bless the 10th graders' hearts, they don't study English worth a damn, but their comedic timing is amazing. The first schools' piece was also better than Kvareli me-2 skola and Shilda, which was mainly a couple-kid-spotlight with the rest just there. Which goes to show how things go down here: One or two star pupils, who know all the answers in two seconds, are encouraged and participate in the lesson, and to hell with the rest of them. The strong get stronger, the weak get weaker, and the teachers wonder why they're cursed with stupid children. Betcha can't resolve that apparent discrepancy.
Sorry, I'm starting to try to study for the GRE. Can ya tell? I'm thinking maybe linguistics, something about how we use different language for stories, aka we have some kind of a "storytelling mode." You can tell when someone's gonna launch into a long-winded anecdote. Usually even if you don't know the language they're speaking. I think that's cool. So I wonder if there's something universal to it; tribes used to have master storytellers and stuff. And today there are still people in every neck of the woods who haz l33t yarn-spinnin' 5killz (and those who don't). Hmm.
Also, health translator sounds like something I could get into. That or maybe Fulbright. Or maybe going back to school for nursing. Or maybe going to school for computer things. Or maybe just being a student for life.
I'm interested in health, but I'm kind of feeling sickly all over. Gimp ankle, sore throat, digestive things, mosquito bites complementing my tattoo and everywhere, and just a general feeling of blah. I think it's the I've-just-spent-a-whole-year-in-Georgia-and-what-am-I-gonna-do-this-summer blues.
Speaking of which, I've finally let it slip to my host mom and counterpart teacher that I've got a tattoo. Responses varied from "People have those in the capital and not here, but don't worry about hiding it," to "Hah! And the older teachers think you have ankle problems because you always wear socks or tights."
I'm gonna keep wearing socks to school because it's a professional setting (relatively speaking) and you can't show off tattoos in the states in professional settings, either, generally. But walking around the village is fair game.
Speaking of which, I'm pretty much done being cordial to everyone I meet. Whoops. While at first conversations like the following are charming:
Georgian: Are you Georgian?
Me: No. I'm American
Georgian: Do you understand Georgian?
Me: A little. I'm learning.
Georgian: Maladets (Good job, in Russian.) Why are you going to Akhalsopeli?
Me: I live there. I work as a volunteer; I teach English to children.
Georgian: Wow. How much is your salary?
Me: I get a stipend, for my host family.
Georgian: You should get married and stay here.
etc....
Now, they go more like this:
Georgian: Are you Georgian?
Me: No.
Georgian: Do you understand Georgian?
Me: (NO. I CLEARLY AM NOT RESPONDING TO YOU RIGHT NOW.) Yes, I know what's necessary.
Georgian: Maladets. Where are you from?
Me: The U.S.
Georgian: Ah. You should marry a Georgian.
Me: (Because that's the only goal one should have in life. Especially foreign women here.) Nope, not interested.
Georgian: You don't like Georgian men?
Me: (I LOVE misogynist drunkards who can't pour a glass of water for themselves.) I'm not interested.
Georgian: (clearly offended) Oh, be careful what you say!
Me: (WHY are you offended?) I'm not interested in Georgian OR American men.
Georgian: (astonished) Well, how old are you?
Me: 22. I have plenty of time.
Georgian: Oh, how small! (Her clock is a-tickin'. She'd better get on that before her childbearing years are over.)
Why are you going to Akhalsopeli?
Me: I'm going home.
Georgian: You live in Akhalsopeli?!
Me: Yep.
Georgian: What do you do? Teach?
Me: Yeah, English, to children. (When they show up. With one out of two partner teachers.)
Georgian: What's your sal-?
Me: (REALLY?) I'm a volunteer.
Georgian: -ary. But you have to have money. How much do you get?
Me: (PLEASE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!)
You get the picture. I'd like to be a good diplomat, but unlike Cara, who has the patience of a rock, I just don't have it in me anymore. So maybe a future in foreign relations isn't for me. Fair enough.
I know I'm leaving you with a novel, but I have one more item of disgust to be discussed-- the title of this post.
I do not want to find out what happens if you pee on a bee, but I am scared to death that I will be privy to this knowledge by the time the summer's over. Seriously, guys, what is so tantalizing about our outhouse that you have to be buzzing around from early in the morning 'til the sun don't shine, filling me with fears of stings in the place of the same? I am trying my best to not upset you, so please don't get riled up if I make a mistake. I'm not perfect.
Love, Paula.
Thursday, April 22
Nothing to Write Home About... ?
So, as I was breaking my notrunning team training program this morning, something occurred to me which has been percolating since yesterday or so. I greeted one of my 6th grade boys who usually hangs around the stadium the same time as me.
Turn on my jammin' tunes. I've got some new ones, thanks to a certain charitable donor. And the words seem to reflect my line of thought for the past few whatever-periods-of-time. Let me illuminate.
Yesterday I had a chat.
Rick: "You know, you should keep writing. You've got good stuff."
Me: "Most of the time it's like, 'Today I picked chinchari. Hooray.' Nothing really interesting."
By interesting, I mean writing style. Like, I just word vomit on the keyboard and whatever comes out is what you, my zillions of loyal fans, are stuck reading, if you make it to the end of the entries. Sorry I'm not very entertaining. I seem to have lost that in the shuffle of everyday life in the Twilight Zone. (That along with patience. There's only so many times I can handle "Does she like xinkali? What's her age? Do you like Georgia? You don't like meat? [finally realizing, after asking my CP and listening to me answer for myself multiple times that, I do understand simple questions. Then...] American people are cold," without losing all willpower against clumping all Georgians into one category, that of ridiculous goimi, and answering their questions with the same tone they are asked. That tone would be the one you use with slow children.
But anyway. I also met a Fulbrighter yesterday when picking up some ice cream before getting on the marshutka headed the opposite way of Ortachalla station, where I wanted to go to catch the marsh home. He was amazingly helpful in providing resources and had really cool research, and encouraged me to look into Fulbright. But... as I stop and think, I really haven't done much to impress people I will solicit employment from except "put a good effort in going through the motions of teaching, even though the best of her students still write things like 'I will poor. I will not steal because I will not like steal.'" No extra activities, not for Earth Day (local bio/geo teacher/host fam member planned that on her own), no SPA grant or progress since Project Design and Management training... no nothing. I barely manage to keep up with visiting the neighbors and helping the FFG advisor teacher download flash to get Farmville to work. And I've felt like I've been off gallivanting with my friend Ana a lot and neglecting the fam. More stress on myself.
So why was I in Tbilisi on a weekday in the first place? Well, this past weekend I've been chilling at home. So I decided I'd help out with some of the garden work. I learned გამარგვლა (gamargwla [weeding]). I also planted potatoes. A whole friggin field of potatoes. Mind you, I really don't like potatoes. I'll eat them when I haven't had enough bananas for the potassium, but, really, my starch needs are covered. Whatever. The point is, the day after weeding, my pinky slowly swelled up to the size of a hefty cigar, with the same amount of flexibility. Also there was a red line from my pinky to my elbow.
Called the doc, got a blood test, an x-ray from the cool Russian guy who x-rayed me before, spent the night at the PC-approved hostel (if I knew it was gonna be an overnight, I would have brought extra underwear...), and got put on antibiotics. But my finger was starting to heal itself, so whatev.
I became the impromptu PR for the docs to get G9s to present at PST sessions. I may participate in a couple of their sessions as well as (hopefully) "Host Family Integration" and "Avoiding Unwanted Attention."
I also got to see my old LCF and awesome friend Ana, which made my indeterminable period of time. And met some PCVs from Armenia and Azerbaijan who were in town to judge Writing Olympics, trans-Caucasus level.
Also, ice cream is back in a maghazia near you. Praise be to-- well, you know.
Speaking of which, I was Baptismnapped today while attempting to plan lessons. My CP was asked to be an emergency godmother, because the grandfather died so the kid needed to be Baptized STAT (or something like that), so we went to the baptism, at which the child screamed bloody murder when the priest brushed oil on her forehead/cheeks/feet. We then went to the obligatory supra. Neither of us really wanted to go, but it's tradition and The Right Thing To Do. And when the natural progression turned to the unique topic of "You Should Marry a Georgian," I calmly explained to them that I would only marry a man who "knows house's work, like washing the dishes and cleaning, because there are men like that in America, and we usually share the chores." Usual rounds of laughter from the men, and a "Georgian men--UGH!" from like the main lady there. Hooray!
So, like I said, nothing remarkable going on in my life.
Turn on my jammin' tunes. I've got some new ones, thanks to a certain charitable donor. And the words seem to reflect my line of thought for the past few whatever-periods-of-time. Let me illuminate.
Yesterday I had a chat.
Rick: "You know, you should keep writing. You've got good stuff."
Me: "Most of the time it's like, 'Today I picked chinchari. Hooray.' Nothing really interesting."
By interesting, I mean writing style. Like, I just word vomit on the keyboard and whatever comes out is what you, my zillions of loyal fans, are stuck reading, if you make it to the end of the entries. Sorry I'm not very entertaining. I seem to have lost that in the shuffle of everyday life in the Twilight Zone. (That along with patience. There's only so many times I can handle "Does she like xinkali? What's her age? Do you like Georgia? You don't like meat? [finally realizing, after asking my CP and listening to me answer for myself multiple times that, I do understand simple questions. Then...] American people are cold," without losing all willpower against clumping all Georgians into one category, that of ridiculous goimi, and answering their questions with the same tone they are asked. That tone would be the one you use with slow children.
But anyway. I also met a Fulbrighter yesterday when picking up some ice cream before getting on the marshutka headed the opposite way of Ortachalla station, where I wanted to go to catch the marsh home. He was amazingly helpful in providing resources and had really cool research, and encouraged me to look into Fulbright. But... as I stop and think, I really haven't done much to impress people I will solicit employment from except "put a good effort in going through the motions of teaching, even though the best of her students still write things like 'I will poor. I will not steal because I will not like steal.'" No extra activities, not for Earth Day (local bio/geo teacher/host fam member planned that on her own), no SPA grant or progress since Project Design and Management training... no nothing. I barely manage to keep up with visiting the neighbors and helping the FFG advisor teacher download flash to get Farmville to work. And I've felt like I've been off gallivanting with my friend Ana a lot and neglecting the fam. More stress on myself.
So why was I in Tbilisi on a weekday in the first place? Well, this past weekend I've been chilling at home. So I decided I'd help out with some of the garden work. I learned გამარგვლა (gamargwla [weeding]). I also planted potatoes. A whole friggin field of potatoes. Mind you, I really don't like potatoes. I'll eat them when I haven't had enough bananas for the potassium, but, really, my starch needs are covered. Whatever. The point is, the day after weeding, my pinky slowly swelled up to the size of a hefty cigar, with the same amount of flexibility. Also there was a red line from my pinky to my elbow.
Called the doc, got a blood test, an x-ray from the cool Russian guy who x-rayed me before, spent the night at the PC-approved hostel (if I knew it was gonna be an overnight, I would have brought extra underwear...), and got put on antibiotics. But my finger was starting to heal itself, so whatev.
I became the impromptu PR for the docs to get G9s to present at PST sessions. I may participate in a couple of their sessions as well as (hopefully) "Host Family Integration" and "Avoiding Unwanted Attention."
I also got to see my old LCF and awesome friend Ana, which made my indeterminable period of time. And met some PCVs from Armenia and Azerbaijan who were in town to judge Writing Olympics, trans-Caucasus level.
Also, ice cream is back in a maghazia near you. Praise be to-- well, you know.
Speaking of which, I was Baptismnapped today while attempting to plan lessons. My CP was asked to be an emergency godmother, because the grandfather died so the kid needed to be Baptized STAT (or something like that), so we went to the baptism, at which the child screamed bloody murder when the priest brushed oil on her forehead/cheeks/feet. We then went to the obligatory supra. Neither of us really wanted to go, but it's tradition and The Right Thing To Do. And when the natural progression turned to the unique topic of "You Should Marry a Georgian," I calmly explained to them that I would only marry a man who "knows house's work, like washing the dishes and cleaning, because there are men like that in America, and we usually share the chores." Usual rounds of laughter from the men, and a "Georgian men--UGH!" from like the main lady there. Hooray!
So, like I said, nothing remarkable going on in my life.
Saturday, February 13
To do without.
Just because, post's composition lack of action words for point. Possible.
And lots of down time.
Wednesday, after ice without footing and head WITH bottom stair, anti-azeri-not-knowing-georgian ambulance driver's 30 minute tea at the homestead with my head and blood all over the couch, much time.
Time in ambulance half reading A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, half kartuglish with other doctor in ambulance (Gurian, war experience, English so-so, coworker/friends in Haiti relief).
Finally Tbilisi, swanky hospital, and CT scan. No amnesia, no loss of consciousness, no brain damage (maybe). Head cleaninPAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!!!!!!
Educated doctor: "Shes name Salome." (The nice night nurse.) (And doctor's name...? : / ) Buttload of food. Butt pain + elbow pain + head pain + drugs = sort-of-sleep + not-quite-coherent conversation with sister
Thursday:
Hospital Ritz's check-out. Hostel Nika's check-in. More checkups. House arrest. Surprise!! Visitors! Online conversations with sister, G9, and G10-to-be.
Friday:
Still house arrest. The Office catch-up. "Sunday best" Paula, minus shower. Phone interview for FLEX program-- ise ra. Blegh for phones. But with 11 other friend applicants, nonplussed. Rest of day: online nonsense, talkin' with Kyle-i, Georgian lasagna, shower from neck down.
Summary:
Visits from non-medical personnel: 3
Phone calls/texts from Akhalsopelians about my health: 6
Comfortable sleeping positions: 0
Time from village to Tbilisi: with blood on your head, longer than necessary
Future plans: 2 books, 3 Office episodes, James Bond movie, chocolate, showers (multiple, hot).
Demands for dance lessons.
Reclamation of thwarted plans to visit neighbor/friends.
T-shirt-- front: "Life is like Eurasia." back: "Your mom is like Eurasia."
Grad school for linguistics?
Recent brushes with death and realization that my life < aprovechado : 1
And lots of down time.
Wednesday, after ice without footing and head WITH bottom stair, anti-azeri-not-knowing-georgian ambulance driver's 30 minute tea at the homestead with my head and blood all over the couch, much time.
Time in ambulance half reading A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, half kartuglish with other doctor in ambulance (Gurian, war experience, English so-so, coworker/friends in Haiti relief).
Finally Tbilisi, swanky hospital, and CT scan. No amnesia, no loss of consciousness, no brain damage (maybe). Head cleaninPAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIN!!!!!!!!!!
Educated doctor: "Shes name Salome." (The nice night nurse.) (And doctor's name...? : / ) Buttload of food. Butt pain + elbow pain + head pain + drugs = sort-of-sleep + not-quite-coherent conversation with sister
Thursday:
Hospital Ritz's check-out. Hostel Nika's check-in. More checkups. House arrest. Surprise!! Visitors! Online conversations with sister, G9, and G10-to-be.
Friday:
Still house arrest. The Office catch-up. "Sunday best" Paula, minus shower. Phone interview for FLEX program-- ise ra. Blegh for phones. But with 11 other friend applicants, nonplussed. Rest of day: online nonsense, talkin' with Kyle-i, Georgian lasagna, shower from neck down.
Summary:
Visits from non-medical personnel: 3
Phone calls/texts from Akhalsopelians about my health: 6
Comfortable sleeping positions: 0
Time from village to Tbilisi: with blood on your head, longer than necessary
Future plans: 2 books, 3 Office episodes, James Bond movie, chocolate, showers (multiple, hot).
Demands for dance lessons.
Reclamation of thwarted plans to visit neighbor/friends.
T-shirt-- front: "Life is like Eurasia." back: "Your mom is like Eurasia."
Grad school for linguistics?
Recent brushes with death and realization that my life < aprovechado : 1
Thursday, November 12
Blast from the past, part 3
2 Sectemberi 2009
otxshabati
So much has happened since I last wrote! Sorry, avid readers! I have been busy like none other. I got that little time when I visited the PC office in Tbilisi last weekend, but I just responded to some FB messages. It's only a little ridiculous that I went from checking that thing multiple times a day to maybe once in about two months. And I was under a time crunch because I was going to go out to eat with some peeps.
So... Tbilisi Weekend #1! Much hiking and city seeing and chaming was to be had. We found this cute little hotel in Old Tbilisi and shelled out about 30 bucks each to stay in rooms with classic yet tasteful furnishings (some people got a fireplace!), and have a nice little breakfast of tomatoes + cucumbers, bread, cheese, muraba, tea, coffee, and omelette-esque eggs. The best part, though, was getting to talk with an old German dude in Georgian (and Russian, for those in our group who know it). He told us that he grew up in the area, that his children did, too, and he showed us this old Soviet victory/unity flag that his son could have sold in Czechoslovakia for a buku amount of money; at least a couple hundred. He was so excited to talk to some of his guests, I think, and he talked really fast, and I could barely understand him. But the gist I got. (P.S. Apparently, he wants to sell it. If anyone wants a bit of old Soviet glory, just wire me some money, and it can be yours for the low, low price of $100 US dollars! Shipping and handling not included.)
That's how it generally goes. I've been talk talk talking away with whoever I meet, wherever I go, whenever I can. A bebia who sat next to me one day on the marshutka back from Kvareli thanked me for coming to help the country. Two women who gave me a ride home from Kvareli asked if I knew any tsudi sitxuebi in Georgian, then proceeded to use a few to swear at a couple of crazy drivers (relatively speaking) along the road. The guy at the shwarma stand asked if I was in Tbilisi as a tourist, then asked if I had a big salary and if I liked Sakartvelo. A boxing trainer on the Axalsopeli marsh who lives in Tbilisi told me that America is like ajaptsandali (a mix of sautéed badrijani (eggplant), green peppers, tomatoes, onion, etc. etc) because he said Bush was Irish and I said my family was German and Czech; I told him that we say America is like a salad. Another lady on that same marshutka, a mother of probably one of my future students, told me that school is going to be on Saturdays because it's starting late (Oct 1) because of the remonte (rennovations). Later, at the parents-of-kids-in-dance meeting, I stood by her and she reworded a few things for me (the kids are making costumes, they're going to Turkey, there's H1N1 in Turkey, and the roofs at the school are bad). And my host mom is very upset (and reasonably so) that even though there are two kids from the same family, they don't get a discount. It's a lot of puli to be shelling out.
Speaking of puli being shelled out, I haven't been able to pay my family yet. Why? Well, there was definitely excitement on Saturday. I put the wrong pin in 3 times and my card got shecham-d by the ATM. Crap. But it's okay; I got it back today while in Tbilisi, waiting for the official office people in the Georgian bureaucracy
Soo... tired... from.... gza. I'll finish up some tomorrow, heizleba.
9 September 2009
(early in the morning, before going to sleep)
Greetings from the older, wiser Paula at the ripe old age of 22! Now that I'm older than dirt, surely the people in the village will respect me and not be amazed at how young and little I am! Well, maybe not. But all the same, it's good to reflect at birthday time.
Two years ago, I reluctantly sipped a shot in a bar in Spain with a bunch of strangers.
Last year, I relaxed in a hot tub at night and then bought a bottle of wine with my mom the next day.
This year, I woke up to roses outside my door and finished off the day by listening to people talk about family problems in Georgian, then going home for a nice supper of tea, tapli, and chocolate.
(looking back to last entry...) There were more bank issues. I went to Kvareli to take out some money, put the RIGHT PIN in, and it was eaten on the first try. Since the last marsh for my village left in five minutes, I couldn't go into the bank and get my card back. And since the next day I was traveling to Sighnaghi with the kids for my summer camp, I couldn't get it back then, either. So Saturday I went back to Kvareli to get my card back. I did so. Now, I couldn't reactivate it there because it wasn't a Sakartvelo's Bank. Why didn't I use the Sakartvelo's Bank, you may ask? Well, because the Sakartvelo's Bank branch is way out by the edge of town, balls far away from anything else of interest in the city. But that day I had time, so I walked to the bank branch.
I put the card back in action with the help of Lika, a bank employee who formerly taught English at my school in Axalsopeli. She walked with me to the ATM to withdraw my money, I put the right PIN in, and CHOMP! The damned machine shecham-d my card again.
Why did all this happen in the first place? Well, after my card was eaten for the first time in Kvareli (the second time overall), the slip of paper that the ATM spit out at me said “Rustaveli” on it. I suspected that the main bank hadn't freed/reactivated my card. I was right. Lika had to send an e-mail to the main bank in Tbilisi to free my card. And she finally just withdrew money inside the bank (even though there's a more expensive charge to withdraw from inside than from an ATM). Now I'm left with even less of a desire to ever deal with money and/or ATMS ever again. I wonder what'll happen next time I step up to an ATM.
Give me back the bartering system... I'll trade you my shoelaces for that cow! Really, though, the other day my family paid for some new clothes in honey. I'm not really sure how it works, but I think this is how it goes: Someone from the village goes to Tbilisi and buys a bunch of clothes to bring back. I think they usually have people in mind, though I'm not 100% certain. You get a big bag of clothes to bring home to try on, and a slip of paper with the prices is included. If the clothes fit and you like them and aren't daunted by the hella high price tag, you go back to the person's house and pay for what you want and take back what you didn't. It's a pretty sweet deal, joke or no joke. Also, when we went over, they gave me a shirt (which is a little too big for me, but it's rather cute. And it's in style in Georgia, FTW). I believe it was a gift for my birthday. I hope my family didn't have to pay for it, but I'm never entirely certain what's going on, so there you go.
Hm. We've been going to school the past couple days for teacher prep-work things. But it's on Georgian time. We're supposed to go to school at 10. But the past two days, we didn't make it until about 11. Why? Well, we had to eat breakfast, then wash dishes, then change clothes. You have to look spiffy whenever you leave the house.
Anyway, I'm a bit nervous because there are SO many teachers and so many faces and names that I don't know but everyone knows MINE. Also, my age is not impressive at all. At least I have the fact that I'm a philologist going for me, that's what Shorena (my host mom) told me. Yesterday the teachers were vying for their hours, which I don't have to do because I have to decide who I'm going to work with. Which may be a difficult dilemma, as I've discussed with Shorena and some of the other teachers, but I'll just have to wait and see when I get there.
Which won't be until October. I don't know if I mentioned this or not, but I'll remind you if I have. The school is under renovations, so classes don't start until October 1. After which I have Shabati-skola for a trimester. Ew. But, depending on who I work with, I'll have different days off. Not that I'm in love with lesson planning or teaching when I'm not exactly sure of what I'm doing and the students probably want to be there but not necessarily, but at least my life will have a purpose again.
Some things I'd like to get started up, though, include an English club for kids or older people,
helping get funding for the dancing school,
helping start more after school sports? Not that I'm super into that or know what I'm doing.
maybe a yoga class for busy parents? (and for me... I've been lazy since getting here)
maybe funding for a kino (movie theatre)... they used to have one when my host mom was younger, but now there's a stadium. And the school has a stadium. But the kids, as far as I can tell, are artsy. At least, my kids. They're into dance and music and Eto likes drawing. Which, that would be a good present for her—a how-to-draw book (which I'd have to hunt down here, maybe when my language skills improve) or art supplies.
But yes. Thus it goes.
Oh! I want to tell you all of my cooking adventures!!
First of all, it impressed my host family that I want to help with cooking, like cutting tomatoes in prep for preserves/ketchup. But my reasoning is, I eat here, I'm going to want to eat during the winter, why wouldn't I want to help? (also, there's the whole “cultural exchange” aspect of Peace Corps, I'm interested in learning food prep, and what else am I going to do in the village?) So now I'm called sometimes when they're doing stuff (like shelling hazelnuts). I've cut cucumber tomato salad a couple times and potatoes for fries once. Little by little, I'm getting independence in the kitchen. I'm fairly incompetent as of yet, partially because I didn't practice much in Chailuri, partially because cooking is a little more skilled here than buying frozen pizzas or brownie mix and popping it in the oven.
But Shorena's super supportive, and so's Eter (the bebia). One night, out of the blue, Shorena asked me to make an omelette for the family for supper. I was all over that! Too bad I didn't put in enough salt and forgot the cheese. It was still okay, but she hasn't asked me to make it again xD.
Also, I've made brownies a few times, which I jokingly call kakaosperebi—cacao-coloreds. Even though they've been not up to snuff any time I've made them (I have to get used to this Turkish oven deal : |) they've been a hit.
I've also made salsa (which my family thinks is too mzhave—spicy, but say it's delicious [though I think they'd say everything I make is delicious, even if it's obviously a disaster]) and tortilla chips. The salsa didn't turn out too badly, despite lack of lemon juice and sugar (which I forgot). And the chips were not a complete failure. I had to make tortillas and then cut them and then fry them. The tortillas turned out okay, but I'm not sure about the frying thing; I might try baking next time. Either that or deep frying instead of pan-frying. Also, I'd really like to get corn flour. We'll see. Oh, and shout-out to Geoff for teaching me to flip things in a pan without a spatula. That really impressed my family and made me seem like I actually knew what I was doing. ; )
I'm still kinda shy about going to the stores here, because I know they think I'm kind of a freak, and because my family thinks I shouldn't have to go so they send the kids, but I'm slowly getting to the point where I assert myself and just go. Not that there's much that I need from the store except oil and sugar and flour and salt and those sorts of things. We bought some cheese yesterday from some dude. It'll be a while before I catch on to who makes cheese and whatnot and where to get milk and where to buy things. Shorena said the store on 3rd street is pretty good.
For my birthday party this Friday, I'm going to make some brownies, pizza, salsa, and tortilla chips. There may be milkshakes, and there may be French toast the next day. I think Shorena wants to do xatchapuri, this tasty cabbage/pepper/mayo salad, and buy a big cake for me from someone in the village. I'm not sure what else. Hopefully there'll be wine, as well. Om nom nom!
And I'm gonna get my hair done by my aunt, who's a music teacher and also works at a salon. Lauren said her host mom also wants to have Lauren's hair done for my party, so she's going to have someone do Lauren's hair for her. Lauren is thrilled. : )
Also, last night was fun because we got out a book of riddles and such after supper. It was super fun! Even I understood some of them because I knew some of the basic premises in English, or I could just figure out the words. For example, there are two kids and a dad who are hunting and want to cross the river in a boat that can carry 100 kilo. If the kids are each 50 kilo and the dad is 100 kilo, how can they all cross?
Figure it out? Next, you have a 3-liter bottle and a 5-liter bottle and a sink. You want 4 liters of water. How do you accomplish that?
And, this, apparently is from a kids TV show: What's tall on a person, short on a pig? (which, if I'm not mistaken, is one translation from the Georgian phrase that also means what's taller than a person and shorter than a pig.)
Oh, and Lauren is going to stay for two nights. I really hope people get back to me, though. I only know for sure that 9 are coming. Seriously, people, let me know. I won't be hurt if you say no, I just need to know how many pizzas and brownies and salsa to make for the people that actually care about me ; D
(Stuck on the riddles? Okay, here you go.
1) both kids cross
one comes back
dad goes across
other kid comes back
both kids cross again
Next: 1) Fill the 3, pour into the 5.
2) Fill the 3, pour 2 into the 5-er to fill it.
You have 1 in the 3-liter bottle. Dump out the 5 and pour the 1 in there.
Fill up the 3. This, with the 1 in the 5-liter bottle, is 4 liters.
And finally, a hat.)
Have a good one!
1 October 2009
Well, here we are, October already. School should have started today, but didn't. The renovations aren't finished yet. So I'm still living day-to-day, trying to figure out what to do with myself. Obviously, I've kept busy, because I haven't been writing. Mostly, I've been preparing food and eating food and drinking coffee and trying to catch marshutkas.
I think I'll transcribe a letter I wrote to my family here for you all, when I make time. Other than that, big events:
my birthday party
Trip to Tsinandali and Lagodekhi
The pizza-party disaster
the grape harvest
Kyle's birthday party
Trip to Katchreti
Trip to Tbilisi for doctor's appointment
EAP practice consolidation meeting
Mostly, these happen on weekends. The rest of the time, live is rather uneventful. But I'll get to that later. For now, know that you all have my love. And special thanks to Mary for the lovely birthday box. I'm gonna chame that peanut butter like none other. : )
Okay, so the birthday party. The day after I wrote that entry I was sicker than a dog. I caught a virusi from my sister, Eto. Thus, I had many impositions: no washing dishes because my hands would get cold, no even thinking about going around without slippers on because my feet would get cold, no cold water because I'd get cold, no bread because it was refrigerated to keep it longer so they went out and bought icky store bread for me so that I wouldn't get cold... also I forced myself to drink glass after glass of water, all day, so I was constantly making trips to the outhouse. I took a nap and later fell asleep snuggled on the board stiff bed/couch thing downstairs watching TV with the g-rents, which was actually rather comfortable. The next day I felt LOADS better, but was still not allowed to wash dishes for fear of catching cold. But! We went shopping together. An interesting experience.
So. We'd made a list of the foods we wanted to make, partially based on requests from people who RSVP'd, partially based on “these are guests coming to our house for a supra, this is Georgia, this is what we must make for them.” That list was khatchapuri (of course!), khinkali (meat dumplings), zhonzholi (pickled capers), charkhali (beets; they're boiled, crinkle cut, and doused in oil and greens), cabbagey-carrot-pepper-mayonnaise salad, badrijani niorit [or nigovsit] (fried eggplant with garlic [or walnut sauce]—my family here makes them the best I've tasted because they do long fry-like slices rather than folding them over a thick layer of walnut sauce), namsquari (cake), torti (birthday cake [yes, there IS a difference]), and, naturally, fresh bread and cheese. There would also be Georgian meat-eggrolls, due to a mistranslation in a request for a Russian food consisting of bread with meat inside.
My host mom made the salads, a cream namsquari, and the meat-eggroll crepe-like skins the night before; I made salsa and brownies and pizza sauce and tasted the cabbagey salad and the charkhali.
The next day I got up early to start preparing more food. Shorena was already making coffee for us and Eter was making bread. Shorena and I directed traffic; we simultaneously spoke on the phone with marshutka drivers and volunteers to coordinate rides to the house from Tbilisi and various towns along the way. It was magical; I'm constantly grateful for my family's hookup with the marshutka drivers (2 in the family, host dad used to be one—all the drivers know the family).
Then I tried to make tortilla chips using corn flour, which was the opposite of a pleasant experience. For about an hour or two, I frantically messed with the oil and flour proportions and could only produce pan after pan of crumbly, fried pieces of hardtack. So we took a lunch break and then I made a batch of plain flour ones that turned out much better. Slowly, the guests began to arrive, and I became a part-time hostess, part-time escort, part-time chef, and basically ran around like a katami with its head cut off until forced to sit down and start partaking in the feast. Even then, the pizza was still coming out of the Turkish oven. Good thing there was plenty of good family wine, white and black, and an ambrosial liquor from Tom and Lauren! There was much vikeipot-ing (we will feast-ing) and fun to be had. Everyone took turns being tamada and made a toast in my honor, volunteers and family members. The rest of the evening was a weird blur of events including music on the panduri, piano, flute, and the instrument of instruments, the good ol' human voice.
Special thanks to Jefferson and Katie for helping with the tortilla chip frying, Katelyn for helping my host mom in various ways, Tom L for ice cream and chocolate covered cherries and taking charge of my phone while I made pizza and chips, Johnny and Katelyn for chocolate and Barf (washing your clothes in Barf really does make them clean!), and everyone who's taken the time and/or money and sent me cards and letters and Facebook congrats. <3
The next weekend I decided to pull a crazy one and go to both visit Cara and Tom L. Friday I got the marsh hookup from here to Kvareli, where I would catch the Telavi marsh, then from the station there get the Tsinandali marsh. I wanted to get a host present for Cara's family of Kindzmaruli wine because we've got a friend in the biz. I should have gotten out at the winery and then walked up to the station. However, I didn't know what time the marsh was leaving, and I didn't feel like trying to speak in my broken Georgian with the marsh driver to try to coordinate that, so I just waited until everyone got off and he stopped past the station. I tried to get off, but he told me to wait, he'd take me to the station. So I twiddled my thumbs, took some pictures, studied some flash cards, and finally he got done with his shopping and drove me a block to the station. And the marsh would leave in 10 minutes. Which was not enough time to walk anywhere and choose a good present, but plenty of time for me to pace and get annoyed for not asserting myself more.
So, the fun didn't stop once I got to Telavi. I was on the phone with Cara, trying to figure out where to go next, then I just asked the driver where we were going and how to get to Tsinandali. He asked around and told me he'd alert me to when the Tsinandali marsh was there—it was in just enough time to slip into a store, select a box of chocolates, and contemplate looking for a place to sit in the hustle and bustle of the station. I got standing room (luckily) on the marsh there, and again didn't feel like alerting everyone that I was an American going to visit her friend, so I didn't know exactly where to stop. Eventually, though, I had to open my mouth because I couldn't see where we were and didn't know where to stop because I'd never been there before. I was escorted to Cara by someone on the marsh, one of the students at her school. Gotta love small town (or, rather, village) life.
Once there, we had a pretty sweet time. But this rant is about my inability to use public transportation, so let it suffice to say that the Alexander Chavchavadze museum was pretty sweet. The gardens include a “labyrinth” of short hedges, a beautiful view, a church, several expensive-looking houses, and a pavillion that must have been used for a wedding, as the museum gardens apparently serve as the site of many a millionare's wedding. There's also a tree that people hid in when the place was invaded by the... somethings... anyway, by hiding (literally) in the tree, they escaped kidnapping. Also, we got free wine samples because one of Cara's counterpart's husbands was working the wine counter. Of course, this was on top of the chacha we'd had at lunch (and, naturally, they wanted to feed us more at dinner). And at dinner, in response to the usual “get married in Georgia” comment, I replied that I'd want a man who helps around the house. Cara's host dad joked that I need to marry a Russian man rather than a Georgian man, because apparently Russian men are more helpful around the house?? Whatever. I am NOT going to get into a relationship the next two years. Does one really count if I'm living in the Twilight Zone? : |
Okay, so nice visit aside, my transportation troubles don't end there. I caught a marsh back to Telavi and the “helpful” marsh driver guided me into a marsh that said Lagodekhi... and some other things. I wondered why I didn't want the marsh that only said Lagodekhi, but figured that they weren't going to leave as soon or something. Anyway, I was distracted because an Azeri lady started talking to me in the marsh. So, turns out this marsh goes to Lagodekhi after going through Gurjaani and Tsnori. For those of you not familiar with Kakhetian geography, Telavi and Lagodekhi and Gurjaani/Tsnori form a sort of obtuse triangle, with Gurjaani/Tsnori sitting on the obtuse angle. So it took forever and a half to get there because marshutkas always make 5,000 stops, and this one took a 10 minute break in Gurjaani and a 20 minute break in Tsnori.
Joy of joys, I finally arrived at Tom's, giving up on trying to coordinate meeting up with a girl I'd met from my village who lives in Tbilisi and had studied abroad before so knew how I was feeling. Ah, well. We had a good hike in the beautiful Lagodekhi nature reserve and a nice picnic by the sulfur springs. I still don't like beer, but it might be growing on me, especially if it's the only thing to drink and there are peanuts involved. While we were hiking back, the girl called me and had managed to make it after all. We met at the entrance and agreed to meet an hour later in the center. After much needed rest time, Tom and I made our way to the center. We didn't see them, so we walked around trying to brainstorm how to pump money into the small towns and villages in Georgia so that there wouldn't be all these run-down buildings everywhere, like the huge theater that may have been awesome had it not been abandoned partway though construction.
We dined, played Egyptian Rat Screw, and were treated to a once-in-a-lifetime live soap opera performance, with American state spoons as actors and Russian cookies as props. I believe the plot was something like this: The guy asked the girl to a cafe, slept through the date, then showed up at her house to apologize and propose, which the girl accepted. Then the guy got drunk and beat the girl to within inches of death at the wedding supra (after saying he only married her because of her looks). The guy played possom when the police came, but the were eaten by bears or wolves or shot themselves or something. The guy went to jail anyway, and the wife went to the hospital on a stretcher of Russian cookies. He had amnesia and didn't remember beating his wife to an inch of her death; he just remembered how much he loved her. When the wife visited, he convinced her of this, she begged the guards to let him go, and they had two kids and lived happily ever after in their house of Russian cookies.
But that's not the last of my transportation adventures on this journey. The last marshutka from Lagodekhi to Kvareli left just as I was pulling into the station. Rather than take a taxi for 20 lari, I hopped the Lagodekhi-Tsnori-Gurjaani-Telavi marshutka, got off at Gurjaani, and with the help of a couple of taxi drivers in Gurjaani, caught the Akhalsopeli marshutka coming from Tbilisi. Whew!
That is certainly not the last of my adventures, but will be for now, because it's already quite late and I must travel to Tbilisi again for the third time this week for a follow up on my medical appointment. I probably have some intestinal parasite. I hate parasites. Luckily, school's not going to start until almost the end of October, so I have plenty of time to get better.
I'll write more often, I promise. You'll get to hear these stories yet, whenever I get the chance to post them. I can't promise I'll post more often, but I'll try to make them more interesting.
As always, <3
otxshabati
So much has happened since I last wrote! Sorry, avid readers! I have been busy like none other. I got that little time when I visited the PC office in Tbilisi last weekend, but I just responded to some FB messages. It's only a little ridiculous that I went from checking that thing multiple times a day to maybe once in about two months. And I was under a time crunch because I was going to go out to eat with some peeps.
So... Tbilisi Weekend #1! Much hiking and city seeing and chaming was to be had. We found this cute little hotel in Old Tbilisi and shelled out about 30 bucks each to stay in rooms with classic yet tasteful furnishings (some people got a fireplace!), and have a nice little breakfast of tomatoes + cucumbers, bread, cheese, muraba, tea, coffee, and omelette-esque eggs. The best part, though, was getting to talk with an old German dude in Georgian (and Russian, for those in our group who know it). He told us that he grew up in the area, that his children did, too, and he showed us this old Soviet victory/unity flag that his son could have sold in Czechoslovakia for a buku amount of money; at least a couple hundred. He was so excited to talk to some of his guests, I think, and he talked really fast, and I could barely understand him. But the gist I got. (P.S. Apparently, he wants to sell it. If anyone wants a bit of old Soviet glory, just wire me some money, and it can be yours for the low, low price of $100 US dollars! Shipping and handling not included.)
That's how it generally goes. I've been talk talk talking away with whoever I meet, wherever I go, whenever I can. A bebia who sat next to me one day on the marshutka back from Kvareli thanked me for coming to help the country. Two women who gave me a ride home from Kvareli asked if I knew any tsudi sitxuebi in Georgian, then proceeded to use a few to swear at a couple of crazy drivers (relatively speaking) along the road. The guy at the shwarma stand asked if I was in Tbilisi as a tourist, then asked if I had a big salary and if I liked Sakartvelo. A boxing trainer on the Axalsopeli marsh who lives in Tbilisi told me that America is like ajaptsandali (a mix of sautéed badrijani (eggplant), green peppers, tomatoes, onion, etc. etc) because he said Bush was Irish and I said my family was German and Czech; I told him that we say America is like a salad. Another lady on that same marshutka, a mother of probably one of my future students, told me that school is going to be on Saturdays because it's starting late (Oct 1) because of the remonte (rennovations). Later, at the parents-of-kids-in-dance meeting, I stood by her and she reworded a few things for me (the kids are making costumes, they're going to Turkey, there's H1N1 in Turkey, and the roofs at the school are bad). And my host mom is very upset (and reasonably so) that even though there are two kids from the same family, they don't get a discount. It's a lot of puli to be shelling out.
Speaking of puli being shelled out, I haven't been able to pay my family yet. Why? Well, there was definitely excitement on Saturday. I put the wrong pin in 3 times and my card got shecham-d by the ATM. Crap. But it's okay; I got it back today while in Tbilisi, waiting for the official office people in the Georgian bureaucracy
Soo... tired... from.... gza. I'll finish up some tomorrow, heizleba.
9 September 2009
(early in the morning, before going to sleep)
Greetings from the older, wiser Paula at the ripe old age of 22! Now that I'm older than dirt, surely the people in the village will respect me and not be amazed at how young and little I am! Well, maybe not. But all the same, it's good to reflect at birthday time.
Two years ago, I reluctantly sipped a shot in a bar in Spain with a bunch of strangers.
Last year, I relaxed in a hot tub at night and then bought a bottle of wine with my mom the next day.
This year, I woke up to roses outside my door and finished off the day by listening to people talk about family problems in Georgian, then going home for a nice supper of tea, tapli, and chocolate.
(looking back to last entry...) There were more bank issues. I went to Kvareli to take out some money, put the RIGHT PIN in, and it was eaten on the first try. Since the last marsh for my village left in five minutes, I couldn't go into the bank and get my card back. And since the next day I was traveling to Sighnaghi with the kids for my summer camp, I couldn't get it back then, either. So Saturday I went back to Kvareli to get my card back. I did so. Now, I couldn't reactivate it there because it wasn't a Sakartvelo's Bank. Why didn't I use the Sakartvelo's Bank, you may ask? Well, because the Sakartvelo's Bank branch is way out by the edge of town, balls far away from anything else of interest in the city. But that day I had time, so I walked to the bank branch.
I put the card back in action with the help of Lika, a bank employee who formerly taught English at my school in Axalsopeli. She walked with me to the ATM to withdraw my money, I put the right PIN in, and CHOMP! The damned machine shecham-d my card again.
Why did all this happen in the first place? Well, after my card was eaten for the first time in Kvareli (the second time overall), the slip of paper that the ATM spit out at me said “Rustaveli” on it. I suspected that the main bank hadn't freed/reactivated my card. I was right. Lika had to send an e-mail to the main bank in Tbilisi to free my card. And she finally just withdrew money inside the bank (even though there's a more expensive charge to withdraw from inside than from an ATM). Now I'm left with even less of a desire to ever deal with money and/or ATMS ever again. I wonder what'll happen next time I step up to an ATM.
Give me back the bartering system... I'll trade you my shoelaces for that cow! Really, though, the other day my family paid for some new clothes in honey. I'm not really sure how it works, but I think this is how it goes: Someone from the village goes to Tbilisi and buys a bunch of clothes to bring back. I think they usually have people in mind, though I'm not 100% certain. You get a big bag of clothes to bring home to try on, and a slip of paper with the prices is included. If the clothes fit and you like them and aren't daunted by the hella high price tag, you go back to the person's house and pay for what you want and take back what you didn't. It's a pretty sweet deal, joke or no joke. Also, when we went over, they gave me a shirt (which is a little too big for me, but it's rather cute. And it's in style in Georgia, FTW). I believe it was a gift for my birthday. I hope my family didn't have to pay for it, but I'm never entirely certain what's going on, so there you go.
Hm. We've been going to school the past couple days for teacher prep-work things. But it's on Georgian time. We're supposed to go to school at 10. But the past two days, we didn't make it until about 11. Why? Well, we had to eat breakfast, then wash dishes, then change clothes. You have to look spiffy whenever you leave the house.
Anyway, I'm a bit nervous because there are SO many teachers and so many faces and names that I don't know but everyone knows MINE. Also, my age is not impressive at all. At least I have the fact that I'm a philologist going for me, that's what Shorena (my host mom) told me. Yesterday the teachers were vying for their hours, which I don't have to do because I have to decide who I'm going to work with. Which may be a difficult dilemma, as I've discussed with Shorena and some of the other teachers, but I'll just have to wait and see when I get there.
Which won't be until October. I don't know if I mentioned this or not, but I'll remind you if I have. The school is under renovations, so classes don't start until October 1. After which I have Shabati-skola for a trimester. Ew. But, depending on who I work with, I'll have different days off. Not that I'm in love with lesson planning or teaching when I'm not exactly sure of what I'm doing and the students probably want to be there but not necessarily, but at least my life will have a purpose again.
Some things I'd like to get started up, though, include an English club for kids or older people,
helping get funding for the dancing school,
helping start more after school sports? Not that I'm super into that or know what I'm doing.
maybe a yoga class for busy parents? (and for me... I've been lazy since getting here)
maybe funding for a kino (movie theatre)... they used to have one when my host mom was younger, but now there's a stadium. And the school has a stadium. But the kids, as far as I can tell, are artsy. At least, my kids. They're into dance and music and Eto likes drawing. Which, that would be a good present for her—a how-to-draw book (which I'd have to hunt down here, maybe when my language skills improve) or art supplies.
But yes. Thus it goes.
Oh! I want to tell you all of my cooking adventures!!
First of all, it impressed my host family that I want to help with cooking, like cutting tomatoes in prep for preserves/ketchup. But my reasoning is, I eat here, I'm going to want to eat during the winter, why wouldn't I want to help? (also, there's the whole “cultural exchange” aspect of Peace Corps, I'm interested in learning food prep, and what else am I going to do in the village?) So now I'm called sometimes when they're doing stuff (like shelling hazelnuts). I've cut cucumber tomato salad a couple times and potatoes for fries once. Little by little, I'm getting independence in the kitchen. I'm fairly incompetent as of yet, partially because I didn't practice much in Chailuri, partially because cooking is a little more skilled here than buying frozen pizzas or brownie mix and popping it in the oven.
But Shorena's super supportive, and so's Eter (the bebia). One night, out of the blue, Shorena asked me to make an omelette for the family for supper. I was all over that! Too bad I didn't put in enough salt and forgot the cheese. It was still okay, but she hasn't asked me to make it again xD.
Also, I've made brownies a few times, which I jokingly call kakaosperebi—cacao-coloreds. Even though they've been not up to snuff any time I've made them (I have to get used to this Turkish oven deal : |) they've been a hit.
I've also made salsa (which my family thinks is too mzhave—spicy, but say it's delicious [though I think they'd say everything I make is delicious, even if it's obviously a disaster]) and tortilla chips. The salsa didn't turn out too badly, despite lack of lemon juice and sugar (which I forgot). And the chips were not a complete failure. I had to make tortillas and then cut them and then fry them. The tortillas turned out okay, but I'm not sure about the frying thing; I might try baking next time. Either that or deep frying instead of pan-frying. Also, I'd really like to get corn flour. We'll see. Oh, and shout-out to Geoff for teaching me to flip things in a pan without a spatula. That really impressed my family and made me seem like I actually knew what I was doing. ; )
I'm still kinda shy about going to the stores here, because I know they think I'm kind of a freak, and because my family thinks I shouldn't have to go so they send the kids, but I'm slowly getting to the point where I assert myself and just go. Not that there's much that I need from the store except oil and sugar and flour and salt and those sorts of things. We bought some cheese yesterday from some dude. It'll be a while before I catch on to who makes cheese and whatnot and where to get milk and where to buy things. Shorena said the store on 3rd street is pretty good.
For my birthday party this Friday, I'm going to make some brownies, pizza, salsa, and tortilla chips. There may be milkshakes, and there may be French toast the next day. I think Shorena wants to do xatchapuri, this tasty cabbage/pepper/mayo salad, and buy a big cake for me from someone in the village. I'm not sure what else. Hopefully there'll be wine, as well. Om nom nom!
And I'm gonna get my hair done by my aunt, who's a music teacher and also works at a salon. Lauren said her host mom also wants to have Lauren's hair done for my party, so she's going to have someone do Lauren's hair for her. Lauren is thrilled. : )
Also, last night was fun because we got out a book of riddles and such after supper. It was super fun! Even I understood some of them because I knew some of the basic premises in English, or I could just figure out the words. For example, there are two kids and a dad who are hunting and want to cross the river in a boat that can carry 100 kilo. If the kids are each 50 kilo and the dad is 100 kilo, how can they all cross?
Figure it out? Next, you have a 3-liter bottle and a 5-liter bottle and a sink. You want 4 liters of water. How do you accomplish that?
And, this, apparently is from a kids TV show: What's tall on a person, short on a pig? (which, if I'm not mistaken, is one translation from the Georgian phrase that also means what's taller than a person and shorter than a pig.)
Oh, and Lauren is going to stay for two nights. I really hope people get back to me, though. I only know for sure that 9 are coming. Seriously, people, let me know. I won't be hurt if you say no, I just need to know how many pizzas and brownies and salsa to make for the people that actually care about me ; D
(Stuck on the riddles? Okay, here you go.
1) both kids cross
one comes back
dad goes across
other kid comes back
both kids cross again
Next: 1) Fill the 3, pour into the 5.
2) Fill the 3, pour 2 into the 5-er to fill it.
You have 1 in the 3-liter bottle. Dump out the 5 and pour the 1 in there.
Fill up the 3. This, with the 1 in the 5-liter bottle, is 4 liters.
And finally, a hat.)
Have a good one!
1 October 2009
Well, here we are, October already. School should have started today, but didn't. The renovations aren't finished yet. So I'm still living day-to-day, trying to figure out what to do with myself. Obviously, I've kept busy, because I haven't been writing. Mostly, I've been preparing food and eating food and drinking coffee and trying to catch marshutkas.
I think I'll transcribe a letter I wrote to my family here for you all, when I make time. Other than that, big events:
my birthday party
Trip to Tsinandali and Lagodekhi
The pizza-party disaster
the grape harvest
Kyle's birthday party
Trip to Katchreti
Trip to Tbilisi for doctor's appointment
EAP practice consolidation meeting
Mostly, these happen on weekends. The rest of the time, live is rather uneventful. But I'll get to that later. For now, know that you all have my love. And special thanks to Mary for the lovely birthday box. I'm gonna chame that peanut butter like none other. : )
Okay, so the birthday party. The day after I wrote that entry I was sicker than a dog. I caught a virusi from my sister, Eto. Thus, I had many impositions: no washing dishes because my hands would get cold, no even thinking about going around without slippers on because my feet would get cold, no cold water because I'd get cold, no bread because it was refrigerated to keep it longer so they went out and bought icky store bread for me so that I wouldn't get cold... also I forced myself to drink glass after glass of water, all day, so I was constantly making trips to the outhouse. I took a nap and later fell asleep snuggled on the board stiff bed/couch thing downstairs watching TV with the g-rents, which was actually rather comfortable. The next day I felt LOADS better, but was still not allowed to wash dishes for fear of catching cold. But! We went shopping together. An interesting experience.
So. We'd made a list of the foods we wanted to make, partially based on requests from people who RSVP'd, partially based on “these are guests coming to our house for a supra, this is Georgia, this is what we must make for them.” That list was khatchapuri (of course!), khinkali (meat dumplings), zhonzholi (pickled capers), charkhali (beets; they're boiled, crinkle cut, and doused in oil and greens), cabbagey-carrot-pepper-mayonnaise salad, badrijani niorit [or nigovsit] (fried eggplant with garlic [or walnut sauce]—my family here makes them the best I've tasted because they do long fry-like slices rather than folding them over a thick layer of walnut sauce), namsquari (cake), torti (birthday cake [yes, there IS a difference]), and, naturally, fresh bread and cheese. There would also be Georgian meat-eggrolls, due to a mistranslation in a request for a Russian food consisting of bread with meat inside.
My host mom made the salads, a cream namsquari, and the meat-eggroll crepe-like skins the night before; I made salsa and brownies and pizza sauce and tasted the cabbagey salad and the charkhali.
The next day I got up early to start preparing more food. Shorena was already making coffee for us and Eter was making bread. Shorena and I directed traffic; we simultaneously spoke on the phone with marshutka drivers and volunteers to coordinate rides to the house from Tbilisi and various towns along the way. It was magical; I'm constantly grateful for my family's hookup with the marshutka drivers (2 in the family, host dad used to be one—all the drivers know the family).
Then I tried to make tortilla chips using corn flour, which was the opposite of a pleasant experience. For about an hour or two, I frantically messed with the oil and flour proportions and could only produce pan after pan of crumbly, fried pieces of hardtack. So we took a lunch break and then I made a batch of plain flour ones that turned out much better. Slowly, the guests began to arrive, and I became a part-time hostess, part-time escort, part-time chef, and basically ran around like a katami with its head cut off until forced to sit down and start partaking in the feast. Even then, the pizza was still coming out of the Turkish oven. Good thing there was plenty of good family wine, white and black, and an ambrosial liquor from Tom and Lauren! There was much vikeipot-ing (we will feast-ing) and fun to be had. Everyone took turns being tamada and made a toast in my honor, volunteers and family members. The rest of the evening was a weird blur of events including music on the panduri, piano, flute, and the instrument of instruments, the good ol' human voice.
Special thanks to Jefferson and Katie for helping with the tortilla chip frying, Katelyn for helping my host mom in various ways, Tom L for ice cream and chocolate covered cherries and taking charge of my phone while I made pizza and chips, Johnny and Katelyn for chocolate and Barf (washing your clothes in Barf really does make them clean!), and everyone who's taken the time and/or money and sent me cards and letters and Facebook congrats. <3
The next weekend I decided to pull a crazy one and go to both visit Cara and Tom L. Friday I got the marsh hookup from here to Kvareli, where I would catch the Telavi marsh, then from the station there get the Tsinandali marsh. I wanted to get a host present for Cara's family of Kindzmaruli wine because we've got a friend in the biz. I should have gotten out at the winery and then walked up to the station. However, I didn't know what time the marsh was leaving, and I didn't feel like trying to speak in my broken Georgian with the marsh driver to try to coordinate that, so I just waited until everyone got off and he stopped past the station. I tried to get off, but he told me to wait, he'd take me to the station. So I twiddled my thumbs, took some pictures, studied some flash cards, and finally he got done with his shopping and drove me a block to the station. And the marsh would leave in 10 minutes. Which was not enough time to walk anywhere and choose a good present, but plenty of time for me to pace and get annoyed for not asserting myself more.
So, the fun didn't stop once I got to Telavi. I was on the phone with Cara, trying to figure out where to go next, then I just asked the driver where we were going and how to get to Tsinandali. He asked around and told me he'd alert me to when the Tsinandali marsh was there—it was in just enough time to slip into a store, select a box of chocolates, and contemplate looking for a place to sit in the hustle and bustle of the station. I got standing room (luckily) on the marsh there, and again didn't feel like alerting everyone that I was an American going to visit her friend, so I didn't know exactly where to stop. Eventually, though, I had to open my mouth because I couldn't see where we were and didn't know where to stop because I'd never been there before. I was escorted to Cara by someone on the marsh, one of the students at her school. Gotta love small town (or, rather, village) life.
Once there, we had a pretty sweet time. But this rant is about my inability to use public transportation, so let it suffice to say that the Alexander Chavchavadze museum was pretty sweet. The gardens include a “labyrinth” of short hedges, a beautiful view, a church, several expensive-looking houses, and a pavillion that must have been used for a wedding, as the museum gardens apparently serve as the site of many a millionare's wedding. There's also a tree that people hid in when the place was invaded by the... somethings... anyway, by hiding (literally) in the tree, they escaped kidnapping. Also, we got free wine samples because one of Cara's counterpart's husbands was working the wine counter. Of course, this was on top of the chacha we'd had at lunch (and, naturally, they wanted to feed us more at dinner). And at dinner, in response to the usual “get married in Georgia” comment, I replied that I'd want a man who helps around the house. Cara's host dad joked that I need to marry a Russian man rather than a Georgian man, because apparently Russian men are more helpful around the house?? Whatever. I am NOT going to get into a relationship the next two years. Does one really count if I'm living in the Twilight Zone? : |
Okay, so nice visit aside, my transportation troubles don't end there. I caught a marsh back to Telavi and the “helpful” marsh driver guided me into a marsh that said Lagodekhi... and some other things. I wondered why I didn't want the marsh that only said Lagodekhi, but figured that they weren't going to leave as soon or something. Anyway, I was distracted because an Azeri lady started talking to me in the marsh. So, turns out this marsh goes to Lagodekhi after going through Gurjaani and Tsnori. For those of you not familiar with Kakhetian geography, Telavi and Lagodekhi and Gurjaani/Tsnori form a sort of obtuse triangle, with Gurjaani/Tsnori sitting on the obtuse angle. So it took forever and a half to get there because marshutkas always make 5,000 stops, and this one took a 10 minute break in Gurjaani and a 20 minute break in Tsnori.
Joy of joys, I finally arrived at Tom's, giving up on trying to coordinate meeting up with a girl I'd met from my village who lives in Tbilisi and had studied abroad before so knew how I was feeling. Ah, well. We had a good hike in the beautiful Lagodekhi nature reserve and a nice picnic by the sulfur springs. I still don't like beer, but it might be growing on me, especially if it's the only thing to drink and there are peanuts involved. While we were hiking back, the girl called me and had managed to make it after all. We met at the entrance and agreed to meet an hour later in the center. After much needed rest time, Tom and I made our way to the center. We didn't see them, so we walked around trying to brainstorm how to pump money into the small towns and villages in Georgia so that there wouldn't be all these run-down buildings everywhere, like the huge theater that may have been awesome had it not been abandoned partway though construction.
We dined, played Egyptian Rat Screw, and were treated to a once-in-a-lifetime live soap opera performance, with American state spoons as actors and Russian cookies as props. I believe the plot was something like this: The guy asked the girl to a cafe, slept through the date, then showed up at her house to apologize and propose, which the girl accepted. Then the guy got drunk and beat the girl to within inches of death at the wedding supra (after saying he only married her because of her looks). The guy played possom when the police came, but the were eaten by bears or wolves or shot themselves or something. The guy went to jail anyway, and the wife went to the hospital on a stretcher of Russian cookies. He had amnesia and didn't remember beating his wife to an inch of her death; he just remembered how much he loved her. When the wife visited, he convinced her of this, she begged the guards to let him go, and they had two kids and lived happily ever after in their house of Russian cookies.
But that's not the last of my transportation adventures on this journey. The last marshutka from Lagodekhi to Kvareli left just as I was pulling into the station. Rather than take a taxi for 20 lari, I hopped the Lagodekhi-Tsnori-Gurjaani-Telavi marshutka, got off at Gurjaani, and with the help of a couple of taxi drivers in Gurjaani, caught the Akhalsopeli marshutka coming from Tbilisi. Whew!
That is certainly not the last of my adventures, but will be for now, because it's already quite late and I must travel to Tbilisi again for the third time this week for a follow up on my medical appointment. I probably have some intestinal parasite. I hate parasites. Luckily, school's not going to start until almost the end of October, so I have plenty of time to get better.
I'll write more often, I promise. You'll get to hear these stories yet, whenever I get the chance to post them. I can't promise I'll post more often, but I'll try to make them more interesting.
As always, <3
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