I have finally begun to realize how much I will miss Georgia once I leave in 2 short weeks.  This place has affected me more than I could have ever anticipated.  It has truly penetrated my heart and soul, and I love this place like a second home.  When people in Georgia ask me where I am from I say the village Rokhi, instinctively.  Of course I am not from there originally, I am a DC kid, but I feel such a deep connection with that place and its people it truly is my home now.  What will I do with myself when I get back?  What will my daily routine be like?  In Georgia, I typically wake up and do what all people do in the first 5 minutes of their day – I relieve my bladder.  But in the village, this is a little different.  It means I have to walk outside to a small wooden and stone shack known as a Turkish toilet.  I do this in a robotic fashion.  I roll out of bed, hop over the fence on my porch that blocks my one-year-old host brother Mirian from stumbling down the stairs, and I dodge chickens, ducks, turkeys, and a cow to get to my bathroom.  I wonder if this robotic tendency will continue in America?  I imagine myself wandering out into my parent’s backyard and searching anxiously for an outhouse, only to realize I have arrived back in America, and I can now use an indoor toilet.

When I first got to Georgia I was a little boy in a brand new exciting world.  I arrived in Tbilisi in the cold bitter month of January, and had a week of orientation in a reasonably nice hotel equipped with heating, Wi-Fi, showers (you would think this is standard, but come to Georgia and you’ll see this is not always so), and free meals.  This was in no shape or form a representation of what I would be experiencing in Georgia.  After 7 long days of orientation I was shipped off to a village.  I remember when my host father came to pick me up at the hotel it was like they were just giving away free foreigners.  “I got 6 Canadians here… Who wants one?  No, you want an American?  Okay, no problem!”  They called your name, you shook hands with your new family member(s), and they shoved you out the door.  My host Dad speaks absolutely no English, and at that point asking me to speak Georgian would’ve been like asking George W. Bush to point out Baghdad on a map or tie his shoes without assistance.  Needless to say I was a bit terrified.  I had not ridden a marshutka at that point, and I had not been outside of Tbilisi.  When I arrived in the village, I have to admit, I was a bit panicked.  I spoke no Georgian, there were alcoholic toothless men walking around mumbling to themselves and attempting to greet me with kisses on the cheek, there was no heat in my house in the dead of winter, no indoor toilet, the hot water heater was broken, and I had no internet or contact with the outside world.  Pardon my French, but the first thought that came into my head that first full day was, “F***ing hell, what have I gotten myself into?!”

My God how far I have come since that first week in the village. This experience has made me so confident in my ability to travel, and it has made me so faithful in people.  It has inspired in me an unquenchable thirst for adventure and I know now that I have to see the entire world and meet as many people as possible, whatever the cost.  I have truly realized that the world is my community as a result of my time in Georgia.  It is more lucid now than ever.  And that is an irreplaceable gift that this country has given to me.

I have fallen deeply in love with Georgia.  Everything about this country is just so epic.  The landscape, the people, the music, the wine (and chacha, can’t forget that, but you often forget when you drink it), the beautiful women, the alcoholism, the transportation, the lack of infrastructure, the villages, the traditions, the language… I could go on and on.  I have had so many rich and insane experiences I could tell stories for days.  I will cherish these memories my entire life and I will retell the stories with great joy time and time again.  I am so grateful to be alive and to have had this opportunity.

The other day two of my friends came to stay at my house for a bit of a last hurrah.  We had a small supra with my host father and host uncle, and I was the tamada.  So much of it was so routine, but at the same time, I started to realize how Georgian I had become.  I knew all of the traditional toasts, and I was having a full conversation in Georgian with my host uncle and host father.  I started to realize that these traditions, this language, and moments like that, would soon be behind me.  And I have to admit, it was very sad to come to this realization.  I am a nostalgic guy, which is probably why I love history so much, and man will I feel it hard when I leave this country.

So thank you Georgia, thank you for this crazy ride.  I am almost certain I will cry when I say goodbye to my host family and my adorable host siblings, and I thank them too for bringing me into their home and treating me like a member of their family.  My host siblings call me chemi dzma (my brother), and I will always regard them as family too.  Gaumarjos Bubuteishvilis!  (Cheers to the Bubteishvilis, the surname of my family).  I also thank my village and my school, and the people of Georgia for being such gracious hosts.  If you want to experience true hospitality come to the Caucasus.  I hope this is not a goodbye Georgia, but only a “see you later.”  I couldn’t image a life without at least one more supra in Saqartvelo.