Three American’s and a Syrian

I have now survived two full months in Georgia.  It has been a fantastic time thus far.  I have embarked upon a great crusade, and its barely halfway finished – a fact that pleases me immensely.  I learn more and more every single day, not just about Georgia but also the nature of human interaction in general.  Living in Eurasia has also given me substantial time to reflect on the idiosyncrasies of my own nation, the United States.  It’s hard not to compare the culture of this world with that of my home.  Obviously this region is extremely different from America.  In my short time here I have traveled a great deal – I have been to both the west and the east, explored a great deal of the south, and have even gone to other countries (Turkey).  There is still a lot more for me to see, however, but the winter has made that somewhat difficult.  During the warmer months I will explore every nook and cranny of this country, to do anything else would be an absolute waste.

Every single time I go somewhere new I can’t help but compare it to the other regions in Georgia, as well as America.  It’s pretty incredible how geographically diverse Georgia is, seeing as it is barely the size of South Carolina.  Yet, this country has beaches, mountains, rivers, vast forests, and plains – at times you see all of these at once.  It’s incredibly scenic here, long marshutka rides are never boring for that reason; I spend the entire time looking out the window like a blind man who has suddenly been given the gift of sight.  Last weekend I went to Turkey, which was quite a long journey.  I hitchhiked half of the way there.  I was with 3 other friends for that part of the journey, and we had a great time.  Sure, we had to do a fair amount of walking before we got picked up, but it was a gorgeous day out – perfect hitchhiking conditions.  Hitchhiking in Georgia is much safer than in the United States; the crime rate is surprisingly low in this country, and people just like to do each other favors.

One of the most endearing characteristics of Georgian people is their friendliness and openness to other cultures.  When Georgians hear that you are from another country they bend over backwards to make sure that you are enjoying your time here.  On the way to Turkey we stopped at a beach resort town called Batumi for the evening.  Batumi is one of the more famous cities in Georgia; it has always been a tourist attraction, and was once a popular destination for high-ranking Soviet officials.   Batumi was definitely my kind of place.  It is right on the Black Sea coast and is absolutely beautiful.  I have never been to a beach where you can see snowcapped mountains in the distance, and it was pretty breathtaking.  It was obviously too cold to swim in the water, but as General MacArthur said of the Philippines, “I shall return.”

My one night in Batumi was pretty wild.  I wandered into a random restaurant with my two friends that seemed to be right up our alley – traditional Georgian food with loud Georgian folk music playing in the background.  We immediately began to drink Georgian wine in the traditional style (chug it from a 3 ounce glass whilst screaming GAUMARJOS) and it attracted the attention of a group of men sitting in the corner.  They bought us a second bottle before we had even introduced ourselves to them, it seems that Georgians really appreciate when you participate in their traditions, and they invited me over to their table for some food and chacha.  I made friends with a Georgian man named Mindia who told me he would drive to Kutaisi (the city I live near) and kill anyone if I ever had any problems – my kind of dude.  I found out the men I was sitting with were the sports ministers of Batumi; we spoke about rugby and football (soccer) in half-broken English and Georgian.  There was a group of Georgian women having a bachelorette party in the corner as well, and they requested my presence on the dance floor.  I did my best to dance in the traditional Georgian style and by the end of our dinner they were taking pictures with my companions and I – Sydney and Sylvie.  We proceeded to continue to explore the city and ended up in a karaoke club in which we were invited to the table of the owners.  By the end of the night a group of Georgian men were attempting to kidnap me for further adventures while Sylvie and Sydney fought them off (sounds backwards – right?).  These guys literally followed us almost the entire way back to our hotel.  God, I love Georgia.

We went to Turkey the next day – we were headed for the city of Trabzon, also located on the Black Sea coast.  I found that Turkish people were just as hospitable as Georgians, if not more so.  I had a phenomenal time in Turkey.  We stayed with a really nice guy from Trabzon named Otkur.  Turkish people in general were incredibly polite, friendly, intelligent, fun-loving, and generous.  I can say nothing but good things about Turkey.  For one thing, Otkur allowed 5 people (in addition to Sylvie and Sydney my friends James and Amir came as well) who are essentially strangers to stay in his small flat with absolutely no hesitation.  He was one of the most genuinely friendly people I have ever met – he’s welcome at my house anytime.  His friends were great people too.  We had an excellent time exploring Trabzon with them.  We ate doner, went to Kemal Ataturk’s Trabzon villa, had a traditional Turkish breakfast, drank an excessive amount of tea (I was hyped up on caffeine for days), visited Trabzon Sports stadium, did some shopping at the mall (the grocery store had Powerade – it was like Christmas morning, they don’t have sports drinks in Georgia), and drank some good Turkish beer.  I have never been in a majority Muslim country before and I really enjoyed experiencing some of that culture.  The mosques were beautiful and I enjoyed hearing the call for prayer as well – I have always found Islam to be a fascinating religion with a captivating history.  One morning we ate breakfast on a cliff overlooking the Black Sea next to an old mosque, it was picturesque and an impeccable way to begin ones day.

I had a number of interesting conversations about the relationship between Turkey and the United States with my new Turkish friends.  I emphasized to them how important it is for the U.S. to perpetuate amiable relations with their country, but also went on to say I fear that many American’s don’t realize this.  It is absolutely essential that we stay on good terms with Turkey.  It is a progressive, powerful, intellectual, secular Muslim nation located at the center of the globe.  Turkey is at the crossroads of Asia, Europe, and the Middle East – a region that has always been at the center of our world’s history.  I cannot stress enough how crucial it is for America to keep Turkey as an ally, as our popularity continues to dwindle around the world (particularly as an American soldier just drunkenly murdered 16 villagers in Afghanistan – terrible news).

One of the biggest misconceptions I held before coming abroad, however, is that everyone hates Americans.  Other countries don’t hate America, they just have a strong disdain for a number of the shortsighted selfish decisions made by our government – Team America – understandably so.  That has been a heartwarming aspect of my experience in Eurasia – most people love Americans because many of us have a curiosity for the world and want to learn about and enjoy other cultures.  Our government has made decisions that have made many foreigners very upset (as well as many of us), but they understand we cannot always be held responsible for the choices of those in positions of power.  Thus, I have received a warm welcoming in every region I have traveled to, I have made friends everywhere, and I have gained an even greater desire to travel the world and meet other peoples.

I continue to worry, however, that America is becoming an increasingly closed off country.  The nation seems divided on the issue of immigration, and since 9/11 we have become decidedly less welcoming to the rest of the world.  It is literally impossible for most foreign people to obtain a visa to visit or live the U.S.  Yet, here I am, gallivanting around Eurasia like a frolicking elf – it seems unfair.  In a nation built on the backs of immigrants you’d think we might be a little more welcoming.  When you really think about it though, when has America ever really been friendly to our immigrants? Throughout our history whenever a new people arrived they were almost always discriminated against.  This happened to the Pennsylvania Dutch, the Irish, the Italians, and countless other ethnic groups – and do I really have to mention how those brought over from Africa were treated.  I remember thinking about the irony of the racist slogan, “GO BACK TO AFRICA,” when I first saw a picture of a man holding a poster bearing those words in a history book – well, your ancestors forcibly brought them here, so how does that make any sense you jackass?  But, I digress, what I’m really trying to say is: how can people in our country ignore our history and be so selfish about our land and the opportunities it offers?  It infuriates me when idiotic rednecks make statements like “These Mexicans are taking our jobs.”  No they aren’t you ignorant waste of space – they are doing the jobs that no one else wants.  They are cleaning toilets, housekeeping, doing manual labor, landscaping, backbreaking farm work – when you are willing to stop being so self-entitled and do these jobs yourself then perhaps you can complain that immigrants are taking “your jobs.”   On the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty there is a plaque engraved with the famous sonnet The New Colossus, “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”  When have we truly lived by these words?  If America is meant to be the land of opportunity shouldn’t that “opportunity” be offered to all people?  I ask Georgians all the time if they will come visit us in America; they always reply that getting a visa is far too difficult and expensive.  I have been treated like family in this country and I will likely never be given the opportunity to repay the favor.  This is because our country has closed its doors (it’s not so simple as this but it does often seem this way) – it’s distressing.

Today I was discussing the visa issue with my close friend Yahya Abdullah.  He is from Syria, and is a fellow volunteer here in Georgia.  I would absolutely love Yahya to visit me in the United States, but the chances of this are slim to none.   One would be more likely to encounter Rick Santorum in a gay club simultaneously smoking marijuana and advocating women’s rights than to obtain a visa to the United States as a Syrian national.  This is somewhat understandable at the moment due to the chaotic situation there (it’s very difficult to leave in general at present), but Yahya said it was also very difficult prior to the onset of all this strife.  Yahya then went on to say something I really respected.   Here is a man that was recently forced to flee his beloved country due to the immense turmoil occurring there presently, a situation I can barely begin to fathom, and he can still put things in perspective with effortless wisdom and grace.  In essence, he said he understands that America cannot completely open it’s doors, because then 50 million people would rush to our shores all at once.  I felt that this was incredibly insightful of him, and I hadn’t been thinking about it with that much depth at that moment – I just wanted my foreign friends to be able to visit.  It’s just frustrating – we agreed that America has to be somewhat cautious in terms of who’s allowed to cross our borders and who’s not, but we both desire more leniency.  Obviously America felt the need to be more cautious after 9/11; I just don’t want this to go overboard.  Growing up I always felt that America prided itself on its diversity and cross-cultural exchange; I was taught about our nation being a multicultural “Salad Bowl” in school – it would be a great misfortune for this to cease.

I am not naïve enough to believe America should let anyone and everyone just come on by, but the more I discuss the visa issue with foreigners the more I feel for them.  It’s very expensive to get an American visa, this is partly for pragmatic purposes; the U.S. wants to make sure one can support their self and contribute to society if they are to come there.  I am clearly no expert on the visa issue, but as someone who has never had to deal with the problem of obtaining an American visa (for obvious reasons) I am intrigued by the perspectives of foreigners.  Perhaps one day, when the world is a safer place, we all agree on everything, and we live in utopia – everyone can come by and we’ll have a nationwide block party.  Callin’ out around the world are you ready for a brand new beat – the time is right for dancing in the streets.  All we need is music, sweet music.

I have essentially just bashed my home country over the last several paragraphs, but don’t get me wrong – I love America.  I am a patriotic American and I feel very fortunate to come from there.  I have a lot of faith in my country.  We are a dynamic people, living in a diverse arena – we have epically diverse geography and an equally diverse populace.  Yes, there are moments in our history that I am not proud of – but we are a country that always strives to be better, and that is a beautiful thing.  We are a country that allows our people to speak their minds, to participate in politics, and advocate their own beliefs and principles.  I have met many foreigners who comment on this – they admire and envy these aspects of our society.  We often don’t realize how much freedom of expression is rigidly restricted in other countries, among other things.  America has its flaws, and some of them are big, but at least we are aware of them.  I believe in balance in the universe – dualism if you will.   Nothing is perfect; there are good and bad aspects to everything, dark and light – yin and yang.  I think America just needs to find a little more balance.

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day, one of my very favorite days of the year – right up there with Turkey Day and July 4.  I spent the day in Tbilisi, Georgia’s beautiful capital.  Being in Tbilisi felt kind of strange, it’s such a modern city in a country where many things are, well, not modern.  It’s much like any other European capital – cobblestone streets, beautiful government buildings, hotels, bars, restaurants, clubs, sports stadiums etc.  I had not been to Tbilisi since January, so coming back to such a modern city was somewhat surreal (I had a similar sensation in Trabzon).  It was comforting, in fact.  I rode the metro to get to most places, and that reminded me a lot of my dear home, Washington D.C. – and this metro is a thousand times cleaner than our decrepit public transit.  I ate street shawarma like 15 times (hyperbole, but seriously I ate a lot of shawarma, most of which ended up on my clothes, 23-years-old and I still eat like a 2-year-old in a high chair) and I ran into a lot of English-speaking people’s as well.  Far more people speak English in Tbilisi than anywhere else in Georgia, not surprisingly.  I found myself speaking half Georgian and half English a lot of the time, due to the fact I’m so used to speaking Georgian in the rest of the country and in my village – I sounded a bit like a malfunctioning robot.

The best part of my St. Patrick’s Day was going to the Georgia vs. Russia rugby match, part of the European Nations Cup.  If you know anything about the history of these two countries then you know that this game meant everything to the Georgian people.  It is almost mandatory to dislike Russia whilst living in Georgia (not saying I dislike Russia, I just don’t want to be stoned to death in the streets here as a result of being uncooperative – sometimes it’s useful to be a slave to fashion.  Like many foreigners feel towards America, I disagree with many of the decisions made by the Russian government and hold nothing against the people).  Obviously, the relationship between Georgia and Russia is very complicated, as Georgia was once a satellite state of the Soviet Union and also recently fought a war against Russia in 2008.  Thus, this game was like a war itself.  People were decked out in Saqartvelo gear, faces painted, screaming at the top of their lungs – LELO LELO SAQARTVELO (let’s go Georgia – or something of the like).  I had no plans to go to the game when I arrived in Tbilisi on Friday evening, I figured it was sold out, but somehow we obtained scalped tickets.  No plan is the best plan; things always work out to your benefit when you live by this motto.  The game was exhilarating and enthralling.  Georgia won 46-0.  If you know anything about rugby, you know this means Georgia absolutely destroyed Russia.  I was in the crowd surrounded by Georgian people; we were high-fiving and hugging after every try (touchdown for those unfortunate people unfamiliar with rugby).  On a day when I was supposed to be celebrating my Irish heritage I felt decidedly Georgian.  I felt a lot of pride for Georgia that day, and I get goose bumps thinking about how happy all of those Georgian people looked in that stadium.  After the game we encountered celebration in the streets, cars draped in Georgian flags, and everyone was honking their horns – it was an awesome day (imagine D.C. if the Redskins were to win the Super Bowl – a long shot in the near future I know, but I can always dream).

In the evening we went to a local Irish pub, called the Hanger Bar.  It’s owned by a half Georgian, half Irish women who went to UVA.  This place is a great time.  I discovered it with my buddy Brennan during our very first week in Georgia.  We were exploring Tbilisi one night and had absolutely no idea where we were going.  We decided to just walk down random alleys and see where they would lead us.  It was serendipity… we encountered an Irish flag draped over the doors of a bar at the back of a random alley after about 10 minutes of arbitrary strolling.  We decided that night that we would return for St. Patrick’s Day.

My St. Patrick’s Day evening was just as good as the day.  I had car bombs, hung out with good friends, listened to live Irish music and smiled like a 5-year-old boy on his birthday the entire time.  At the pub, I hung out with a bunch of Marines.  They were awesome guys.  It was nice to reminisce about the United States with them, hear about where they come from, and hear about their experiences in Georgia.  They love Georgia just as much as I do.  They’re here training the Georgia military, and typically stay about a year.  I have a lot of respect for the military, and these guys were great people.  They laughed when I described village life to them (their experiences in the city are obviously much different), and we shared stories about our experiences at Georgian supras – large Georgian dinner parties in which chugging wine is mandatory.  Supras are typically held for weddings, funerals, engagements etc.   But a lot of the time people have supras just because.   A Tuesday night could be reason enough for a supra.

After the Irish pub my friends and I went to a few other places.  One of which had a Georgian cover band playing western favorites (Hey Jude – my personal fave), and I lost my voice singing classic rock tunes at the top of my lungs (didn’t help that I had been screaming like a madman at the rugby match either).  We made friends with these two English-speaking Georgian guys who recommended we go to a good club with them.  Before we headed over they sang us traditional Georgian folk music in the middle of the street as we all stood arm and arm in a circle – celebrating Georgia’s victory earlier in the day.  We ended the night dancing to loud techno music in a club that reminded me of a place in D.C.  At one point my friends and I got a little carried away and removed our shirts, swinging them in the air and laughing like giddy schoolchildren.  We were promptly asked by the club staff to put our clothes back on, and the fun continued.  It was a FANTASTIC St. Patrick’s Day, we did the motherland proud.  By the end of the day I felt American, Irish, and Georgian all at once – a hodgepodge of remarkable cultures.  I had spent the majority of the day with my friends Eddie, Brennan, and Yahya.  I couldn’t help but think – who would’ve thought that three American’s and a Syrian would be celebrating St. Patrick’s Day together in Tbilisi, Georgia?  Life is beautiful and random, and I’m happy to be alive.

Coffee, Chocolate, and Cognac

Traveling in Georgia is always an adventure.  I have discovered that the best way to travel here is to choose a destination, without giving any particular consideration into how one will get there, and set out for it.  Don’t worry about the means of travel, because it will always work out.  One way or another, you will arrive.  Whether hitchhiking, traveling by car, taxi, marshutka (bus), or train – you will get there.  If you have ever truly traveled then you know very well that the best part is always the journey and not the arrival.  Without the journey it is hard to get a sense of where you are going and where you have been.  As Emerson once said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.”  Moreover, as my wise and illustrious comrade, Brennan Davis, once said, “The adventure is in the journey, not the destination.”

This past weekend I traveled to Bakuriani with a few friends.  Bakuriani is an epically beautiful resort town, famous for it’s skiing.  It is a winter wonderland in every sense of the phrase, and it bears an uncanny resemblance to Narnia.  Every inch of the ground was covered in snow or ice.  Naturally, I ate it within the first five minutes and fell directly on top of my digital camera, crushing it.  I was as giddy as a schoolgirl to be there and in my over-zealous state I attempted a 180-degree spin while screaming “I love Georgia and all of you!” I assure you, this is very imprudent to attempt on an icy surface while holding an electronic device.  I guess my camera breaking is karma for being a moron – but I’m a happy moron so I can live with that.  No excuses, play like a champion.

Bakuriani is surrounded by picturesque mountains, is full of hotels and restaurants, and there are endless snow-related activities to be had.  Apparently, Bakuriani is a top destination for the president of Georgia, Mikheil (Misha) Saakashvili.  From my arrival in Georgia, I have continuously heard about the beauty of this place.  Bakuriani is located in one of the most stunning regions of Georgia, the Borjomi district.  Borjomi is particularly famous for its National Park and it’s delicious mineral water, as well as Bakuriani.  One of the best parts of this region is how clean it is in relation to the rest of Georgia.  Around a lot of the more populated and urbanized regions there is rampant pollution.  There is no real system of garbage disposal or recycling in this country so littering is unfortunately the precedent in many places.  Luckily, this is not the case in Borjomi, which is likely because it is the location of a protected National Park and with several resort towns it is an excellent source of revenue.

Traveling with me to Bakuriani were 4 friends, and our journey there was nothing short of entertaining.  We set off from Kutaisi, a city in Western Georgia close to the village I am currently living in.  We met up at McDonald’s, which is a landmark in Kutaisi – particularly for Westerners who want some comforts from home (and there is free Wi-Fi, not too shabby).  There is one McDonald’s in the entire city, and I believe 4 in the whole country.  This is easily the most immaculate McDonald’s I have ever stepped foot in.  They literally have someone on mop duty that follows people around and wipes up the mud behind their feet.  There is also a hostess, who hands little kid’s balloons upon their arrival.  I got a bone to pick with Ronald McDonald.  All I want to know, Ronald, is where is my balloon?  How is it that in a developing country they get better McDonald’s than America?  No joke, the burgers and Big Mac’s come out actually looking like they do in the pictures.  I must say – it’s fantastic.  As I have no Internet in my village I frequently come to this Mac Don’s to fill up on double cheeseburgers and utilize the wireless.   Hence, my companions and I loaded up on McDonalds and set off on our adventure.

Like I said before, the best way to travel in Georgia is to choose a destination and just go.  Don’t worry about the particulars.  Particulars are tedious. Before we left McDonald’s we encountered another group of TLGer’s also heading to Bakuriani.  They had apparently rented a marshutka for the weekend for a group of 25 people.  To me that sounds more like an organized field trip – boring boring boring and more boring.  Not to mention a group of 25 Westerners stick out like a sore thumb, and how can you experience the culture of Georgian travel with such a large force at hand.  Thus, I like to take the stealth approach, and travel in small numbers.  Kudos for being prepared I guess, but personally I feel that there’s more excitement in the unknown.

So, we set off for the “bus station” – which is more of a muddy patch of ground behind McDonald’s in which hundreds of marshutka’s (mini-buses) and taxis are packed – and looked for a marshutka heading to or in the general direction of Bakuriani.  We were forced to settle on a marshutka heading towards Tbilisi, the capital.  One nice thing about Georgia is it’s incredibly small (roughly the size of South Carolina), so if you head in the general direction of a place you will eventually find a way there.  At Georgian bus stations, there are men whose sole job is to stand outside all day and scream a cities name – if you happen to desire an excursion to this city they will lead you to the correct marshutka if they are not already standing in front of it.  Negotiating prices with these men can be amusing, but it’s never very expensive.  We promptly negotiated a price with the insane man who led us to our marshutka and we were on our way.   Along the way to Tbilisi we would need to get out at a city that is basically north of Bakuriani, known as Khashuri.  From there we would have to find a way to get to Borjomi or Bakuriani, which are only about 30 km apart.

Marshutka travel is always entertaining.  Before departing it is not uncommon for people to hop on and try to sell you things – candy, credits for your mobile phone, water, bread etc.  You name it they got it.  Georgia also has a significant gypsy population.  Gypsies love to send their deprived looking children onto marshutkas to beg for money.  Most Georgians simply laugh at their theatrics, and some pay up if they are amused enough.  If the gypsy child fails to collect any money from one marshutka they will hop off and walk over to one parked right next to it.  I have had gypsy children pull on my coat and hang on me as I walk, and once witnessed a gypsy child wrap their body around a friend’s leg and wail dramatically.  Still haven’t paid up though – their hustle needs some work.  Sometimes you will even see gypsy children in wheelchairs on the side of the road begging for money.  No joke, I have seen the very same child walking around the next day.  They have spots where they like to post up, and you will begin to recognize the turf of specific gypsy groups.  Marshutka stations are popular gypsy hangouts.

Once a marshutka is finally on the road you are in for the ride of your life.  If you have ever seen the movie Goldeneye, then you might recall the scene in which James Bond commandeers a tank and chases the bad guys through the streets of St. Petersburg.  Well, everyone in Georgia drives as if they are the bad guys desperately trying to escape the tank.  They drive at top speeds, swerving in and out of lanes and driving head on into oncoming traffic – not surprisingly, the use of the horn is quite popular among Georgian motorists.  At first this is incredibly unnerving, but eventually you get used to it.  However, there are times, particularly during heavy snow or rain, when you wonder if you will reach your destination in one piece.  I’m still alive today though, so that’s got to be a good sign – right?  If nothing else, one can enjoy the eclectic music selection of marshutka drivers- Georgian folk music, techno, Eminem’s absolute angriest songs, and quite often Selena Gomez or Justin Bieber (I had never heard a Justin Bieber song until coming to Georgia – it was as terrible as I’d always imagined.  And I’m furious that after traveling 9000 miles I still can’t escape his atrocious music.  He is a musical abomination, and his albums should be burned in the streets while he simultaneously receives a prison style haircut).   Georgia also has fantastic scenery, and entertaining roadblocks – cows, pigs, sheep, inebriated Georgian men etc.

Our marshutka ride to Khashuri was uneventful.  Upon arriving to the city limits we had no idea where to go, but we got out at what looked like a reasonable area.  In order to get out of a marshutka one simply yells “GAACHARET,” meaning, “stop.”  There are not typically any designated stops for marshutka’s, people get on and off of them pretty much everywhere.  Random people flag them down from the sides of the most deserted roads.  We got off in Khashuri near some taxi’s, and luckily the first one we approached was willing to drive us to Borjomi – about 30 km away.  I sat in the front and had a short convo with the driver in Georgian; I’m talking very basic here folks.  I asked for his name, which I can predictably not recall at this moment, but let’s just say it was Giorgi (the most common male name in Georgia).  He asked where we were going in Borjomi – I told him I didn’t know and asked if he knew a good hotel.  He literally took us to the most expensive hotel in the entire town.  I quickly told him we needed cheaper accommodation and he drove us to one or two other expensive places before we gave up and told him we would proceed on foot.  Mind you, we had already paid him after the first hotel and he was still willing to drive us around to look for another one.  When we told him we would continue on foot he seemed worried and tried to convince us to get back in the car.  This is how the Georgian people are, the epitome of hospitable.  They go out of their way for people all the time, particularly foreigners.  If you make even a small attempt to speak Georgian with them they light up like you’re Santa Claus on Christmas morning and treat you like an old friend.

The hospitality of the Georgian people never ceases to amaze me.  After walking around Borjomi for close to half an hour, we finally found an affordable homestay – Vitoria’s Hotel.  This place might as well have been the Four Seasons – central heating, wireless, a working shower, comfortable beds, and of course our lovely hostess Vitoria.  For 50 Lari (about 30 bucks) a night this is the best place I have stayed in Georgia since my first week in the hotel in Tbilisi.  The middle-aged couple who owned this place were obviously well off by Georgian standards, and they were incredible generous and good to us.  They not only directed us to a good restaurant to eat dinner at, but also gave us free homemade wine to bring with.  In Georgia most restaurants have no problem if you bring your own wine – in fact it seems to be encouraged.  Their generosity continued into the morning as the husband whipped out a bottle of chacha (Georgian vodka) while his wife made us Turkish coffee.  Thus, we got a complimentary breakfast of chacha and coffee – the breakfast of champions.  Needless to say, 4 shots of chacha for breakfast is an extremely nutritional way to begin a day of skiing.  After breakfast, the husband insisted on driving us to the bus station from which we would catch a marshutka to Bakuriani.  It was the beginning of a perfect day.

The marshutka ride to Bakuriani was beautiful.  As we winded up mountain roads the view became increasingly spectacular.  There were snow covered pines and mountains in every direction.  Words cannot capture the beauty of this region.   We arrived in Bakuriani after about 45 minutes.  In all it had taken us about 4 hours to get there, not including stopping in Borjomi for the night.  Bakuriani has a plethora of hotels, but I had heard about a cheap and accommodating “inn” from an acquaintance named Jonathan in Kutaisi.  Jonathan is originally from Columbia but speaks fluent English, having lived a large portion of his life in the United States.  He is an all around nice guy, and literally every TLGer in Georgia seems to know him.  By cellphone, he directed me to the basic location of this so-called inn.  He told me there would be a girl around 16-years-old that helped run the place, claiming she spoke decent English.  Instead of a teenage girl, I encountered a confused elderly lady who spoke not a word of English – she had about 3 teeth left (I have found that a lot of Georgians aren’t big on dental hygiene).  We were just as confused as her – we had walked through a random gate, at a random house, that looked nothing like an inn, hotel, or homestay.  In Georgian, I told her we wanted a room.  While still acting befuddled, she led us to the back of her house and up some stairs into a room with 5 beds.  Perfect – 5 beds for 5 people.  Except, she seemed perturbed that there would be males and females sleeping in the same room.  Georgia is very conservative in most places as it is a devoutly Christian Orthodox nation.   After assuring her it was no problem she seemed satisfied enough and left us to do our thing.  The room resembled an infirmary in a World War II POW camp – not that I was ever in one, but you get the picture.  There were old spring beds with mattresses not much thicker than your basic comforter – but it was cozy, and only 10 Lari a night per person (about 6 or 7 Dollars).  Heat was provided by an old wood burning stove in the corner, which would prove to be absolutely essential come nighttime.  We quickly changed into our ski clothes and were off.

By the end of the day we all agreed that we’d had an impeccable experience.  All together, a day of skiing cost about 20 Lari, which is around 15 Dollars – almost too good to be true in comparison to prices in other parts of the world.  We started out on fairly relaxed slopes, but eventually made our way over to Mount Kohta – which is about 2200 meters (7,216 feet) above sea level and part of the Trialeti Range in the Lesser Caucasus Mountains.  The view up there was absolutely incredible, and also somewhat daunting.  You could see for miles, and it felt like we were on the top of the world.  It was exhilarating.  As we got off the ski lift, the slope before us was so steep that we couldn’t see what lay immediately before us – we just had to have faith that one way or another we would make it to the bottom.  There was also no one to meet us at the top, neither staff nor fellow skier, which was somewhat eerie.  All we found was an abandoned shack with no doors and rubble floors.  Nevertheless, we were there and there was nowhere to go but down.  It was definitely a very challenging run, but completely worth it.  We ended our day eating an excessively large meal at a local Italian restaurant- easily the best meal I have had in Georgia so far (didn’t hurt that all we’d had for lunch was a little bread and some Snickers bars).  Back at basecamp, we dried our wet clothes over the stove and watched a movie on my computer – it had been a perfect day.

Returning back to my village on Sunday I couldn’t help but reflect on how excited I was to see my host family again.  I have really started to develop a strong bond with these people.  This is quite extraordinary to me in a lot of ways, particular because we can barely communicate.  Communication is certainly a catalyst for human connection, but it is not everything.  Human bonds can form in the most unexpected ways.  Most of my interactions with my host family involve pantomiming and grunting, yet we genuinely enjoy our time together.  We laugh together, eat together, sing together, drink together, and sometimes just sit back and relax together.  My 1-year-old host brother, Mirian, is a constant form of entertainment for all of us and it’s a joy to watch him discover new things every day.  The other day he started dancing on his own with my host sisters – my host father screamed “MAGARIA!” (Meaning cool), and I couldn’t help but agree; it was cool.  I hope they know how grateful I am for letting me live in their modest home for these six months.  It’s interesting how much I’ve been able to learn about them despite the fact we only speak a basic level of each other’s native languages.  The other night, my host father explained to me through basic Georgian and gestures that his parents had died when he was a young child, he had grown up poor and he still struggles to provide for his family and his home today.  We both laughed about how much money run’s the world.  I found out he loves boxing and Muhammad Ali is one of his favorites.  His children simultaneously danced and giggled around us to music playing from my host mothers’ cellphone.  I may not be living in the most comfortable setting here, but my host family has gone completely out of their way for me time and time again.  They don’t have a lot, but they are still far more generous than many of the wealthiest people in the United States.  I think everyone could learn a lesson or two from them, and from many of the people of Georgia.  Ah, speak of the devil – my host mother summons me to the kitchen for coffee, chocolate, and cognac.  I must oblige this request.  Until we meet again.