The End of the Road

It’s odd when a foreign culture begins to become your own.  It’s hard to tell when it happens exactly.  At this point so much of what was at first strange and novel to me is now just a part of everyday life.  I have adjusted and assimilated perhaps more than I anticipated and I wonder what my reactions will be to American culture upon my return home.  I worry that I will be contemptuous and resentful at first.  A strange concern to have, seeing as I am very ready to come home at this point, but I think about it all the same.  People in Georgia are so hospitable, patient, and laid back.  While people in America often tend to be the opposite.  Yes, there are a lot of you out there that might say, “Well they can afford those luxuries because we live much more demanding and fast-paced lives.”  And there is a great amount of truth to that.  Americans work hard, for the most part, and a lot of us leave hardly anytime for enjoyment.  Georgians, on the other hand, prefer relaxing.

There is an incredibly high unemployment rate in this country, and while in America we cry for jobs, literally taking the streets to demand them, it seems that a lot of Georgians don’t work by choice.  That’s odd for an American.  My Dad came to visit me a month or so back and one of his first observations was the fact that it was very apparent that a lot of people were not working.  They were just out and about in the capital (Tbilisi), not all that concerned about not being gainfully employed.  My Dad is an economist, so I figured he would be making these types of observations.  All the same, it is pretty disconcerting if one cares at all about Georgia’s future.  This is a developing country, and it certainly won’t continue to “develop” if everyone refuses to work.

I had a conversation with a few Georgian high school seniors (all of them females) in the city of Kutaisi a few weeks ago, they were friends with one my students.  They spoke fluent English, and they were very curious about my life in the States.  They asked me about my family, if I had a girlfriend, my friends, what I do for fun etc.  I was also asked about my future plans, and I told them I will be heading to graduate school in Scotland this coming September.  They were then curious about what I would do during the summer, in between Georgia and Scotland.  I told them I would do my best to get a part-time job, bartending, waiting tables, anything that will hire me.  They then proceeded to say that it would be very shameful for any Georgian to do this type of work.  They said they realized it was stupid to have this mindset, and as result they had no pocket money, but many of their parents refused to let them work such “menial” jobs.  This is a frustrating part of Georgian culture.  I know very few teenagers in America that do not have their parents pestering them to get a summer job.  Perhaps Georgia is an American teenagers dream in that regard.  It’s obvious to me, though, that the unemployment rate in this country is directly tied to its culture.  Does that mean the culture should change?  Definitely yes.  I just hope they don’t lose their zest for life in the process.

One of the girls also asked me if I thought Georgians were lazy.  I told her I was a guest in her country and it wasn’t my place to judge her people.  She then replied, “you don’t have to be so nice, I know that the people in my country are very lazy.”  Sadly, I have to agree with her for the most part.  A lot of students don’t seem to care about school (not that this isn’t common in America too), a lot of men don’t want to work, and a lot of people find basic jobs below their status.  I will say that Georgian women work their asses off, they are queens and goddesses – they hold down enormous households and take care of their farms/vineyards with great care and tenacity each and every day.  I have immense respect for homemakers as a result of my time in Georgia, it is really not an easy job, and in Georgia the women get barely any help from the men.  To illustrate the Georgian male work ethic: My buddy James and I were walking through a bazaar in Tbilisi early one morning, we saw a heavyset Georgian man with a cigarette in one hand, and a hammer in the other.  He was hammering away at something on the side of a building in the most lackadaisical manner possible, not even looking at what he was doing, probably still drunk from the night before, and struggling to smoke his cigarette.  While this was a humorous scene, it was all too typical.

Part of me wants to feel bad for being so critical of Georgia, but sometimes the truth hurts.  People need to get off their lazy asses if they want this country to improve.  They need to build roads, new schools, post offices, hospitals, airports and more.  So many buildings in this country look like something out of a World War II movie, they are just hanging by a thread, a gust of wind might blow them over.  Yes, yes, it’s a young country, with a tough history, and little money – but these should be reasons to work harder, no?

I gotta say though, Georgians enjoy the hell out of their lives.  Americans may work harder, but I’m not sure we really value the gift of life quite as much as many Georgians.  So perhaps our cultures should meet somewhere in the middle.  Georgians should work harder, and Americans should enjoy life a little more.  Georgians should learn the value of keeping a schedule, while Americans should learn the value of gently removing the sticks from our rear ends and enjoying our days a little more.

I’m not gonna lie, I’ve really enjoyed the Georgians nonchalant attitude towards work.  It’s actually a legitimate excuse to show up late to work, or even skip it, due to a hangover.  Could you imagine trying to pull that in America?  “Sorry, can’t come in today dude, got absolutely hammered last night, ate 4 double cheeseburgers at McDonalds around approximately 4:17 AM, threw up several times, I’m halfway through my first Gatorade for purposes of rehydration, but it doesn’t look as though I’ll be getting off the couch to come in today.  Probably going to watch a movie on demand and order some Dominos, catch ya later!”  Yeah, good luck with that, let me know how it goes.

Part of the reason it’s an acceptable excuse here is due to the fact that the supra is so important in Georgia.  How does one explain a supra?  It’s pretty difficult to understand if you’ve never been to one.  I remember being warned about them before my arrival in this crazy country, but like most naïve young men I did not pay heed to the advice I was given.  A supra literally means feast, but it is far more than that.  It is designed to be something of a recreation of the last supper in some ways, as if you are eating and drinking together for the last time.  Basically, a proper supra could be anywhere from around 5 to 200 people.  Tables will be stacked with food and wine (or chacha, but beer is not allowed).  Most of the time supras are held for weddings, engagements, birthdays, funerals, death anniversary’s, or just because its Tuesday night and its time to drink wine until the sun start to shine – or until you stumble into your bed fully clothed and wonder how you got there the next morning.

Part of the reason I love supras so much are because they are stacked with tradition.  There is a tamada, or toastmaster, who is chosen by the host, and this person will lead all of the traditional toasts.  The first toast is “Mshvidobas,” or “to peace,” which I now have tattooed to my left bicep as a testament to my time in Georgia.  One can literally not drink until a toast has been made, and then you are required to finish your glass entirely along with everyone else as you scream “Gaumarjos!” which means something along the lines of cheers/victory.  Typically the tamada will scream out “BOLOMDE!”  Which means “to the end,” thus one must finish their cup.  There are a great number of traditional toasts to be made at a supra – toast for women, children, parents, grandparents, the tamada, friends, Georgia, Georgia and Americas friendship, and also the host.  By the end of a supra you may have chugged close to 14 little glasses of wine.  Or you may have chugged wine out of a horn, or a clay bowl – chances are you probably don’t remember.

Like I said, supras can be held for any occasion, it could be a random Wednesday night and the guys just feel like getting together.  They bust out the homemade wine, begin the traditional toasts, and you’re off on another crazy Georgian adventure with your toothless neighbor and close friend, Tomaze from Abkhazia.  Sometimes when I come in late to school my co-teachers ask if I have been at a supra the night before.  It’s a completely legitimate excuse, and they are glad you are participating in their culture.  It’s going to be weird to return to a land where I must arrive to work sober and on time.  I have literally drunk at school with the principal and other teachers; this has occurred before, during, and after school hours – this would obviously never happen in America.  Drinking is such a cemented aspect of Georgian culture even the children participate at times.  I have literally been to an 11-year-olds birthday party where the children were chugging wine and doing the traditional toasts.  It was shocking how normal it was to me, and that was perhaps the moment where Georgian culture had finally gotten to me.   But rest assured, my future eleven-year-old son will definitely not be drinking at his birthday party.

It is also going to be weird to come back to a land where it is unusual to show public affection for males.  In Georgia, most people greet you with a handshake and a kiss on the left cheek, men and women alike.  It is also not uncommon for men to hold each other’s hands or arms as they walk down the street.  Part of this is due to the fact that Georgians are very cuddly and affectionate people.  But it is also rooted in their strict gender roles and the fact that it is assumed everyone is straight.  Homosexuality is very taboo and not accepted in this country – but things are changing in the bigger cities, thankfully, and hopefully gay people will have more rights in this country (and worldwide for that matter) in the near future.  At first it was a little uncomfortable to have toothless old Georgian men greet me with a kiss on the street, but I have come to admire the affection Georgians show for one another.  Today, one of my high school students greeted me in this way.  This happens quite a bit now.  It didn’t at first, but now that I have been here for a while and developed close relationships with them it has become standard, as it is with all Georgians.  I couldn’t help but think how inappropriate it would be for me to greet students with a kiss on the cheek in America, but I have just become so used to it now.  It’s how you say hello, and it’s impolite to do otherwise.  So what will I miss most about Georgia?  Acceptably kissing other men and walking arm in arm with them in the street will certainly be one aspect.

I said earlier that I worry about how I will react to being home, back in America.  What I really meant by that is that I’m worried no one will really understand, or care for that matter, about what I have to say about Georgia and my time here.  I think this will be very frustrating for me.  This place is so absurdly different from the United States, and my experiences here have been crazy, rewarding, and completely unexpected.  I know I will desire to share all of this with people when I return home.  But I have to remember – they have things to share as well.  Life didn’t hit a pause button when I left.  I’m sure they did exciting and fulfilling things as well in the past 6 months.  I just hope to keep that in mind when I’m desperate to ramble on about this place and my experience for hours on end.

I have a friend who has been here almost a year.  He went home for about a month and a half during the winter, as Georgian schools took their winter vacations.  I asked him how people responded to his stories about Georgia.  He said that most people asked, “How was it?”  And he would do his best not to get frustrated and would just reply “Good.”  I hate that question too.  “How was it?”  Really?  You couldn’t do any better?  You really want me to summarize a 6-month experience in a developing country via that question?  But then again, they weren’t here… how the hell are they supposed to know what to ask?  So, if someone asks me that question, I will simply reply, “How much time you got?”

I have begun my final countdown in Georgia.  June is a few days away, and my flight back to the States is quickly approaching.  I have planned a few more small trips, and hope to squeeze one more slightly large trip into the mix before I leave.  I can’t believe it’s almost over.  Why is it that we always say such things at the end of long journeys?  We knew they would come to an end, but perhaps the speed at which they occurred is more startling then we expected.  Time flies when you’re having fun, or so they say.  But does it really?  Or does life just fly by?  It’s probably a bit of both.  Time moves as you perceive it and life floats on in accordance.  I feel as though I arrived in Georgia yesterday – while at the same time I have changed immensely, developed close relationships/friendships, lived through several seasons, learned a fair amount of another language, and traveled to 3 different countries.  Could I do that all in one day?  Perhaps if I was a character in some abstract sci-fi flick, sadly I am just John Couch Haltiwanger III.  Still, that’s a lot to fit into just 6 months.  I feel very fortunate, and I hope that the rest of my life is as fulfilling as this outrageous half-year expedition.  It’s the end of the road.  But not really.

“Such is the way of the world

You can never know

Just where to put all your faith

And how will it grow?”

-Eddie Vedder

A Beautiful Disaster

My greatest enemy in the Republic of Georgia is boredom.  How do I fill up all of the hours in a day?  It is my constant struggle.  I believe my fellow volunteers would concur that the days here seem to drag on forever at times.  Paradoxically, time has simultaneously flown by whilst individual days seem to last an eternity – I guess that’s just life.  Some days I only teach for 90 minutes.  Then I have the rest of the day to myself.  What to do?  I try to fill the days up with exercise, reading, movies on my computer, playing with the children in my host family, helping with the daily chores, but I still find myself with a plethora of extra time on my hands.  I am 45 minutes from the closest city, and there aren’t exactly any spots to hang out in the village.  We have 3 small shops, and if I do decide to spend my extra time sitting outside of one of them I will inevitably be recruited to drink absurd amounts of chacha with the local village men.  And I’m pretty sure chacha takes ice cream scoops out of your brain.

I think the hardest part of being in the village is feeling cut off.  I come from America, thus I’m used to being constantly connected with everyone and everything.  At home I got my news, weather, sports, phone calls, text messages, e-mails, Facebook updates, and anything else one could think of on my cell phone.  One pocket-sized item seemed to harness the world for me – I’ll admit it, I was always on that thing, if I wasn’t checking scores on ESPNmobile I was getting my Angry Birds on or losing terribly in Words With Friends.  It’s incredible how far technology has come.  I remember when my parents first got their cell phones, back when good ol’ saxophone playing Billy Clinton was still our president and I was listening to my favorite tunes on a Walkman, not an iPod.  Those phones were enormous, and you probably could have used them as dumbbells (think back to Zack Morris and the phone he kept in his locker – yes, that is a “Saved By the Bell” reference).  Personally, I feel that we are over stimulated as a result of the incredible technologies we possess back home (not that people don’t have iPhones in Georgia, they just aren’t as common, and you don’t see any third graders walking around with them).  However, that does not mean one does not go through a bit of withdraw when those technologies are removed.  I am constantly reminded how privileged we are back in the States.  The lack of connection with the rest of the world is an immense reminder.  I can’t even write or receive letters where I am – that’s how cut off this part of the world is.  As I write this I am sitting in a McDonalds 45 minutes away from my village.  This is where I typically come to use the internet, and this is how I am able to reconnect with the outside world.  Its kind of funny actually, but at the same time its gotten a little old.  I am in the process of filling out paperwork for graduate school, and McDonalds is not the ideal setting for this type of work.  But hey, such is life.  At least I can destroy my inwards with the occasional Big Mac and McFlurry.

When I came to Georgia, I promised myself I would fight as hard as possible to be positive the majority of the time.  During orientation (my first week here), I was warned that some previous volunteers became consumed by their negativity/pessimism and not only ruined their own experiences, but also embittered the experiences of those around them.  I have met such volunteers.  They complain about the living conditions, the lack of infrastructure, the food, the widespread alcoholism, the crazy transportation, and basically anything else that might come to mind.  While we are all entitled to a few complaints, I pity those that have allowed their negativity to spoil their experience here.  Yes, life is not always easy here.  I froze my ass off through the winter months with no heating in my room.   I had food poisoning last week, and trust me that is not very pleasant when you don’t have a western style toilet around.  Sometimes my host mother throws a plate of bones with little more than skin on them on the table and says “Chame, Joni” (eat John) when I am starved and it seems like a cruel joke.  But I didn’t come here for life to be easy.  I came here to learn the value of comfort, home, and the conveniences of western society.  I came here to experience another culture, and to reflect upon the idiosyncrasies of my own.  I came here to see more of the world, to have an impact on the country (even if it is in a very minute way), and to grow as a human being.  There are so many people back home that complain about how much America sucks.  I feel like I will have the strong urge to choke those people when I return home from this experience.  Our quality of life far surpasses that of so many people around the world it’s not even funny.  Yes, we have done a number of shameful things throughout our history – and today we continue to make a number of mistakes.  But for the love of God, be grateful for what you have – there are so many people that would literally give a kidney to move to a western society like the United States.  Should we strive to change the United States?  Absolutely, we are far from perfect, but we should also be aware of the innumerable conveniences we possess.

Am I homesick at this point?  Yes, and I believe that was inevitable, and also something I desired.  To be honest I was a little tired of America when I left.  I had forgotten the value of home in some ways.  But that is part of the reason I came here, to redefine what home means to me.   It is in the absence of comfort and convenience that we learn their true value.  Some of what I miss are the little things – Old Bay seasoning, crab cakes, coffee that’s not instant, ESPN, Gatorade, Chipotle, Heinz Ketchup, being able to go to a bar to have a beer after a long day.  Then there are the big things – how much I miss my family and friends for example (and my dog, Junie, of course).  Value your relationships; in the end they are all you really have.

I have a little over a month left in Georgia, and not surprisingly I have begun to construct more broad reflections of my time here.  Has it been rewarding?  Absolutely.  I have developed a strong relationship with my host family, my school, and the village around me.  Just walking a block or two to the local shop I hear “Hello Joni!” from every direction – I will likely never experience this type of celebrity ever again.  I have been welcomed into this community, the village Rokhi, with open arms and warm hearts.  People, complete strangers, invite me into their homes all the time for food, wine, chacha, coffee, chocolate – you name it.  All because I am a guest in their village and their country.  America could certainly take a leaf out of Georgia’s book in that department.  I will miss this village and my host family very much when I leave.  I have also developed a number of close friendships that I am certain will last a lifetime.  I have seen things I could have never imagined, and learned more about the world and the nature of human interaction than I ever anticipated.  I feel very fortunate that I was given this opportunity.  The world is full of lessons and possibilities.

Has this experience been difficult?  Without a doubt.  There have been many frustrating moments.  I remember back in February when my space heater broke I wanted to curse the entire world.  I was very tempted to go “Office Space” on the little heater and smash it with a bat in my host families yard.  I had only had it for about 5 days and I had paid a whopping 70 lari for it (only about 50 bucks, but also about a quarter of my monthly salary here).  It barely spit out any heat at all but it was better than nothing.  And I was seriously walking around in 4 or 5 layers all day, as well as sleeping with gloves and a hat on.  I learned the true meaning of cold this winter.  I have lived without air-conditioning during the summer, but that was a cakewalk compared to living without central heating during the dead of winter.  I’d take heat over cold any day of the week.  And at the height of my misery in the middle of the night last week, when I had food poisoning, I thought about how wonderful it would have been to teleport to my home back in DC, just for the night.   I had no toilet, no medicine, nothing to help the situation.  The shops here don’t sell medicine; you have to go to pharmacies in the cities.  At 2 am that is not really an option in rural Saqartvelo.  When I woke up, my host father suggested I take a shot of chacha to settle my stomach.  I looked at him like he was insane, and thought to myself “Dude, I can’t even keep water down right now, you have got to be absolutely out of your mind.”  Alcohol seems to be the solution to all of Georgia’s problems.  So yes, there are little challenges everyday, but they do not dispel the overall incredible, rewarding, enlightening experience I have had over here.

I think a lot of the male volunteers struggle here because of the constant alcohol intake.  While I cannot speak for female volunteers, I can say that many I have spoken with agree that the male volunteers here are more often pressured by the Georgian men into drinking – this is partly because of culture, it is less acceptable for females to drink in general.  On the other hand, female volunteers have a number of separate issues they must confront in this place – for one thing, many Georgian men have the view that western women are sexually promiscuous and in a religious and sexually repressed society like Georgia one can imagine the harassment some female volunteers endure as a result.  But I digress; back to alcohol.  It’s constantly around you.  Almost every time my host father and I sit down for a dinner it becomes a supra, meaning we are making traditional Georgian toasts and chugging wine.  There are supras all the time.  You may think you drank a lot in college, but you don’t know anything about drinking until you come to Georgia.  These guys invented binge drinking, and they drink 140 proof (70%) chacha like its water.  I’m pretty sure they wash their faces and brush their teeth with it too – which might explain why so many of them are losing their teeth by 30.  At first it was very hard to say no – I saw it as part of their hospitality, and in a lot of ways it is.  They want you to try their wine (and chacha, which is also made from grapes), and enjoy it; they work hard at making it, as most people have vineyards on their property.  But it eventually gets old.  You become tired, and you realize you can’t keep up with this culture of alcoholism.  So you have to say no at a certain point, for your own health and sanity.

That’s not to say I haven’t enjoyed the Georgian wine and the hundreds of impromptu supras I have attended.  But literally, as a visitor in their country, you are offered alcohol everywhere you go.  I was walking down the street the other night in Zugdidi, a city where a lot of my friends teach.  It was Cinco de Mayo so naturally I was fulfilling my roll as a goofy American and wearing a sombrero whilst strolling down the avenue (along with a few other friends in similar garb).  No Georgians wear hats like that walking down the street, so we were not very inconspicuous.  There were a few men sitting on some steps outside of a maghazia (shop).  They looked somewhat perplexed by our appearance and yelled out “Saidan khar?” (Where are you from?).  I quickly replied “Amerikidan” (I am from America).   Their faces lit up, and immediately they insisted we come into the shop to have some chacha with them.  They gave us a double shot of the gasoline like substance, some cookies, and a Pepsi, and then sent us on our way within 10 minutes.  Situations like this have happened to me countless times.  Should I be complaining?  No, and that’s not exactly what I’m doing.  I appreciate the hospitality.  But I am also well aware of how entertaining it is for Georgians to get foreigners inebriated.  Thus, I have begun to learn the value of “ara” (no).

I have exactly 5 more weeks in Georgia.  It is hard to believe I have been here since January.  The time has flown by, even though certain days seem to drag on.  In a lot of ways I am ready to go home today, and in a lot of ways I don’t want to leave.  I have been given the opportunity to see a part of the world that was largely closed off until about 20 years ago.  I continue to think about how I will describe this place and my experience when I return home.  Obviously some people will want the long version, but most people will expect and desire a concise response (there’s only so much time in a day, I don’t take it personally).  For a kid that likes to talk (which is a polite way of saying I like the sound of my own voice), brevity is definitely not my greatest strength, but here’s my best shot at describing my Georgian adventure in a nutshell: It was a beautiful disaster.  I say that because of the physical condition of the country, and because it aptly describes my experience here, among other reasons.  Georgia’s epic and beautiful landscape is scarred by the remnants of its Soviet past and its present-day poverty – dilapidated and abandoned factories/buildings, broken down cars, the ruins of homes that are no longer occupied, not to mention rampant pollution.  Gandhi once said that “Poverty is the worst form of violence,” and I have only just begun to understand what he meant as a result of my time in Eurasia.  As a child born into a life of privilege I will likely never fully understand what it means to be impoverished, but I will do my best.  It’s tragically comic that it’s really just a matter of luck what standard of life one is born into, and I am well aware of how lucky I am.  We are at the mercy of the universe in that regard.  As for my experience being a beautiful disaster, I say that somewhat in jest, but there is a great amount of truth to it as well.  I have grown as a person, developed strong relationships, and learned more about the world, and myself – but that has not come easily.  I have struggled at times; I have had my moments of embarrassment, culture shock, confusion, anger, and sadness in this country.  Over all though, it has been a beautiful adventure.  It has renewed my faith in this crazy gift we call life, and I look forward to the many adventures to come.

A Tale of Two Cities

In the past two weeks I have been to two capital cities, swam in an ancient lake in the middle of the night, drank Churchill’s favorite cognac, explored countless monasteries, scaled a medieval cave town, visited Stalin’s birthplace, and watched my father give a talk at a university in Tbilisi.  And that’s the abbreviated version.  I’ve had quite the adventure since I arrived in this region back in January, but these past two weeks were particularly action-packed.  A couple of weeks ago, a few friends and I decided we would take a week off of teaching to visit Yerevan, the captivating capital of Armenia.  When I made the decision to do this, I forgot that my father would be visiting Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia, the following week.  There was no way I was going to miss my chance to visit Armenia, and it would have been absurd not to spend time with my father (and stepmother) after he traveled 6000 miles to the country in which I am currently residing.  But, I was still reluctant to tell my co-teachers and director (principal) I would be missing 2 weeks of school.  Nonetheless, it had to be done.  So I went into school with a guilty look on my face, and told them what was going down.  Instead of getting angry they called me a “good boy” in Georgian and told me to have a great adventure.  They were excited I was going to explore the region more and were very happy my father was coming to their country.  This is the best job ever.  Not only do they not get angry when you ask for half a month off of work, they congratulate you!

Thus, I packed my bags for a two-week excursion and I was on my way.  Before I headed to Yerevan, I backtracked a bit to the Georgian city of Zugdidi (Zugdidi is in the opposite direction of Tbilisi, from which I would depart for Yerevan), where a lot of my close friends live.  We planned it out that we would do one night in Zugdidi, and then ride the overnight train to Tbilisi the next day, arriving in the early morning to head to Armenia (most of the buses for Armenia leave from Tbilisi).  We spent that night celebrating the birthdays of two friends at the local American themed bar, Amerikidan.  A guy who was also in the TLG program opened Amerikidan a year or two back.  His name is Damon; he’s a scholar and gentleman.  He decided to make Georgia his home, marrying a Georgian woman and opening up a business which has now become a safe haven for travel weary American’s (and anyone else who happens to wander in, Amerikidan does not discriminate) in the Republic of Georgia.  They have pizza, chicken fingers, and among other things, Jagermeister – which to my great dismay can’t be found anywhere in this part of the world (turn away your judgmental eyes, yeah it taste like regurgitated gasoline but I happen to like it).  Long story short, Amerikidan never fails to show one a good time.

After a blurry evening at Amerikidan we awoke to a beautiful sunny day in Zugdidi, and I remember rejoicing in the fact that spring had arrived and was here to stay (after surviving winter in a developing country with no central heating you have no idea how excited I was for sunshine).  We had time to relax, as our overnight train did not depart until 10 pm.  It was a very laidback day.  Before heading to the train, we picked up all of the necessities for a 10 hour overnight train ride: vodka, Fanta, Snickers, Twix, Peanut M & M’s, and of course, Pringles (Sour Cream and Onion, obviously).  I wasn’t really sure what to expect in terms of the condition of the train, travel in this region is always full of surprises.  What I got was something I can only describe as the Hogwarts Express, Soviet Edition.  The train was decidedly Soviet, looking as if no work had been done on it since the 1970’s.  All of the signs on the train were in faded Russian, and the toilet was made out of steel, which at this point was more of a rusty bucket.  I dubbed it the Stalin pot.  Our compartment was cozy, with two beds on each side, stacked one above the other, and barely any room to move – and unfortunately there was no cart coming by with chocolate frogs or Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.  At first it was only me, my buddy Brennan, and my Canadian comrade James in the compartment, but a toothless old Georgian lady joined us after about an hour or two.  I had a nice conversation in Georgian with her before heading to “bed.”  She asked the general questions, where are we from, what do we do, etc.  And we found out she was a German teacher – most schools here teach Georgian, English, Russian, and German.  She then insisted that we should all find Georgian wives before we leave the country – I assured he we would do our very best.  She was very nice, I only wish someone had taught her about dental hygiene in her early life.

While by car or marshutka Zugdidi is only about 5 hours away from Tbilisi, by train it is closer to 10 hours.  One could honestly run faster than the overnight train to Tbilisi, but unless you are superhuman, or Kenyan perhaps, then you might tire before reaching your destination.  Nonetheless, we arrived around 8 am, found our marshutka to Yerevan, and after a nearly two-hour delay we were on our way.  Crossing the border to Armenia was uneventful, but the proceeding drive was a bit rocky, literally.  The first road you encounter after crossing the border is an uneven dirt path winding through a small village next to a heavily polluted river.  After about an hour you find yourself deep in the mountains, the marshutka going about 80 mph’s, swerving back and forth as you wind your way through the Armenian highlands.  The kicker of this ride was my chair was not securely connected to the vehicle; one or two of the bolts were loose, so my chair swerved back and forth every time the marshutka went one way or the other.  What ensued can be compared to a four-hour amusement park ride, which was very entertaining to the Georgian ladies sitting in front of me.  I must have fallen out of my chair at least a dozen times.  Lets just say that if you are prone to motion sickness – don’t ride a marshutka from Tbilisi to Yerevan.  Thankfully I have never gotten carsick in my life and despite the fact that I was thrown all over the place during the ride I really enjoyed the beauty and splendor of the scenery.  Armenia and Georgia both share the epic natural beauty characteristic of the South Caucasus region.  For miles one will encounter highlands, mountains, rivers, and plains.  This region is absolutely stunning.  People have been writing about the Caucasus and their beauty for thousands of years, and if you are lucky enough to gaze upon them you will soon understand why.

When we finally got to Yerevan I was happy for a number of reasons.  Number one, I was ecstatic to be in Armenia.  Number two, I was pumped to be out of that ridiculous marshutka.  Number three, the women in Armenia are absolutely heavenly.  I had heard they were beautiful, but I was not prepared for what I encountered.  Georgian women are beautiful too, but there was definitely something different about the females in Somkheti (Georgian for Armenia).  Thus, I nicknamed the Armenian women “Jasmine,” as a lot of them literally looked like Princess Jasmine from the Disney film Aladdin.  Yes, there is a danger in generalization there, but I meant it as a compliment.  Moreover, I renamed the main street of Yerevan, Mashtots, where I encountered the highest frequency of Jasmines, Agrabah Avenue.  Yes, I am immature, and yes I should probably seek therapy, but go to Yerevan and perhaps you will understand.

While I was in Armenia it was hard not to compare it to Georgia, and, specifically, it was difficult not to compare Yerevan with Tbilisi.  The two countries share a lot of history, whether they like to admit it or not (there is a bit of a playful rivalry between the two countries), thus they share a lot of similarities as well.  Geographically this is quite unavoidable as they are both located in the mountainous region of the Caucasus.  Yet, ethnically and culturally they are also quite similar.  This is not so surprising, as they are right next to one another and due to the fact that they had persistent relations throughout history.  The present-day boundaries of Georgia and Armenia are more of a product of World War I and the Soviet Union, before that there was frequent contact between Armenians, Georgians, and Azerbaijanis, all of whom resided all over the South Caucasus region for thousands of years (not just in their ancestral homelands).  In fact, at one point in history, the Armenian merchant class virtually ruled over Tbilisi.  The nationalistic tendencies of both countries are a relatively recent development, largely a product of the rough treatment they received over the course of the 20^th century.  Not surprisingly, countries that were once under the yoke of powerful entities such as the Russian Empire, the Persian Empires, the Ottoman Empire, and the Soviet Union now fight hard to prove what makes them unique, even if there are perhaps many things that make them similar.  I will say that Armenians did look slightly different than Georgians, which is probably due to the large Persian influence in the region – Yerevan’s population was majority Muslim and Persian until WWI, which changed the entire make-up of the Caucasus (There was also a strong Persian influence in Georgia, but even today Armenia still has strong Persian ties).  Yet both countries do have similar religions (both are derived from Orthodox Christianity, but they broke away from one another as the Georgian church leaned towards Byzantium and the Armenian church remained separate, which is part of the reason for the rivalry between the two countries), table manners/rituals, and concepts of hospitality.  Both Armenia and Georgia possess a fervent pride in the fact that they were the first two Christian nations, and Christianity is an inseparable aspect of their identity – nonetheless, both nations will insist upon their differences (this does not mean they are unfriendly with one another, they just have a lot of individual pride).

The Caucasus in general, however, is a region that is very difficult to make comprehensive conclusions about.  There is so much about this place that remains puzzling to me, which is likely a product of its complex history.  Sadly, the Caucasus is region that is often forgotten in the West, despite its strategic importance and rich history.  This is the bridge between Europe and Asia, Russia and the Middle East; yet many people couldn’t name the three capital cities of Georgia (Tbilisi), Armenia (Yerevan), and Azerbaijan (Baku).  It often seems that people (governments) come and go to this region at their own convenience, using it as they please.  At the moment, Georgia feels a lot like an American outpost.  Tbilisi is full of American soldiers, and apparently we have given the government significant funding since the 2008 war with Russia.  Georgia might be the only country in the world that actually likes George W. Bush.   In fact, they named a street after him in Tbilisi.  When Georgians “gaumarjos” (cheers) to him at supras I always say no, and try my best to explain why he is despised by virtually everyone with half a brain in my country and everywhere else for that matter.  Georgia is a very militarized nation despite a very tiny population.  I think America has had a lot to do with this, and hopes to use Georgia as a thorn in Russia’s side, and as a strategic base between Russia and the Middle East.  This is not to say we will necessarily have a large number of troops stationed here, but by providing funding for airbases and other military endeavors we have acquired a useful ally in the middle of a tumultuous region.  I just hope we don’t lead Georgia into any conflicts they do not deserve to be in.  Recently, the Georgian president visited our troops in Afghanistan, and I hear the Georgian military will soon be a presence there.  Even Georgia’s military commercials are identical to ours, just as corny and full of mindless propaganda (soldier arrives at airport and everyone gets up and claps – as if those in the military ever get the recognition they truly deserve).  I am not anti-military, and I support the brave men and women in our armed forces, I just don’t agree with unnecessary conflict – that includes influencing those who have no business in a particular conflict to join.

While none of the above has anything to do with the specifics of my trip to Yerevan, it was hard not to think about, particularly after my visit to the Armenian Genocide Memorial.  I couldn’t help but think about the tumultuous past of this region, and the complex array of forces that constantly converge upon it.  I am currently reading what is supposed to be one of the more comprehensive and objective histories of the Caucasus, perhaps when I am finished I will have a better understand of this place and its troubled past.

In a lot of ways, Yerevan seemed a lot more happening than Tbilisi.  Both capitals are very international; you can encounter people from anywhere in the world within the two respective cities.  Yet, Tbilisi seems keener on holding on to its Georgian essence than Yerevan does to its Armenian character.  Yerevan had more international restaurants, bars, etc… while Tbilisi is full of Georgian restaurants, and maybe one or two pizza joints, along with two McDonalds (to Georgia’s credit, there are only 3 McDonalds in the entire country).  I think there are several reasons for this.  Number one, Georgia is very sensitive about its national traditions.  Many of them were almost wiped out during the Soviet years, and as a result they have held on to their customs with a defiant ferocity.  Between the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union, Georgia was part of Russia for so long they likely feared they would be considered Russian rather than Georgian (after all, they share the same religion, and many Georgians share physical similarities to Russians).  Thus, their cuisine and wine have become important symbols of their nationality – they are what make them distinct and unique from Russians.  Hence, why bring American, Italian, Chinese, Persian, or French food to Georgia?  Armenia on the other hand, has had an enormous diaspora throughout the world – a large result of World War I and the Armenian Genocide.  The majority of Armenians outside of Armenia reside in California, while others live in France, Russia, and Iran among other places.  Not surprisingly, there seems to be more of an international influence in Yerevan.  I ate American food (KFC and Pizza Hut, oh yeah), Mexican food, Armenian food, Persian food, Lebanese food, and I could have had French and Chinese food but we ran out of time.  From what I was told, many Armenians that reside outside of their ancestral home send significant portions of their income to their families back home, or they move back and open up international restaurants such as the ones I ate in (one of my first jobs was at a soccer supplies store owned by Armenians, and they were very proud of their heritage).  Yerevan was also a very Persian city for centuries, which might also explain the different vibe I got while I was there.  While Armenia has one of the weakest economies in the world it was definitely not reflected in the condition of the capital, which was clean, beautiful, and full of parks, statues, and monuments.  Like Georgia, a large fraction of the populace lives in the Armenian capital – around 3.2 million people in Armenia, around 1.2 million in Yerevan; around 4.4 million people in Georgia, around 1.2 million in Tbilisi.

So, there were a lot of similarities and differences between the two cities/countries, which I continue to think about.  One thing that struck me about Armenians was they have a much friendlier disposition than Georgians.  Georgians rarely smile at strangers.  If you smile at a person walking down the street in Georgia they will likely be thinking, “what the hell is wrong with that guy?”  And if they aren’t thinking that, they are at least giving you a look that makes you think they’re thinking that.  Armenians smile a lot more, and glare a lot less.  Glaring is a national pastime in Georgia, they love to stare.  It’s not considered rude, it’s a cultural thing, but it’s hard to remember that sometimes when the same old lady has been looking at you for 20 minutes.  Both cultures, however, are extremely hospitable and go above and beyond for guests in their countries.

In all, I really enjoyed Armenia.  I spent the majority of my time in Yerevan, but I was able to travel all over.  I was traveling with 4 other people, 5 in total, which was a perfect number.  I have found that traveling in large groups really sucks.  For one thing, you are bound to find at least one or two people in a large group that you will likely have dreams about killing after spending long amounts of time with them in a confined space.  For another, it slows things down and people always disagree on stuff – it also makes everything really expensive and people try to hustle you.  Anyways, now that I have revealed that I am a grumpy traveler in large groups, I will go into the details of my Armenian adventure.  We accomplished a lot in a short time.  We went to an ancient Greek temple to the sun god at Garni, which satisfied the history nerd in me.  The next day we visited Lake Sevan, the largest lake in Armenia.  I think we were a little optimistic about this place.  We had heard it was like a resort town, but had made the mistake of forgetting that it was not summer yet, so when we arrived it was a little more like a ghost town post-Mongolian invasion.  We had heard that they had converted former cargo crates into private hotel rooms and of course that sounded really cool to us.  Turns out they were not so cool – they were moldy, had no running water, toilets that didn’t flush and no other option for bathroom or water.  Honestly, it really didn’t matter to me; I have become immune to such comforts.  I’m used to not having a toilet, and I lived without running water at my host family’s house for almost 3 weeks (and yes, I smelled FANTASTIC by the time I was able to shower again).  Overall, and I enjoyed the whole experience and it’s novelty – can you say that you’ve voluntarily slept in a cargo crate AND paid for it?  I think not.  The lake was beautiful, along with the monastery (Sevan Monastery) we climbed up to which gave us a spectacular view.  We spent the night drinking cognac in a tiny room with the caretaker, who spoke no English.  We played music on my iPod and tiny portable speakers, dancing like the Western idiots we are.  I ended the night by jumping into the lake, which was quite frigid thank you very much.  And I’ll end it at that.

For the rest of the week we explored Yerevan along with a few other sites.  We luckily had the guidance of the wonderful Kush, a dude from India who moved to Armenia about 10 years ago and is now a doctor.  While I stayed in a hostel with my buddy Jimbo, a few of my friends couch surfed at Kush’s place.  He was a very generous and fun-loving host, showing us all the best spots for the nightlife in Yerevan.  We ended up seeing a lot of live music with this guy, eating excellent food (both home-cooked Indian and at local restaurants), and we learned quite a bit about Yerevan and Armenia from a dude who can now call himself a local.  Most interesting to me was the fact that 8 mafia families basically run the country.  In fact, I took a tour of a cognac factory, the Ararat factory, which is apparently owned by the mafia.

One of my favorite sites in Armenia was Khor Virap.  Khor Virap can basically be credited as the birthplace of Christianity in Armenia.  It is the monastery where Gregory the Illuminator, the patron saint of Armenia, was imprisoned for 13 years before being freed and facilitating the conversion.  It also offers the best view of Mt. Ararat, the holiest mountain for Armenians – which currently resides in Turkey as a result of events during and after WWI.  The monastery is awesome, and you can even climb down into the pit where Gregory was held.  I highly recommend a visit there if you ever get the chance.

Armenia was a blast, and although I was exhausted from the fun, I was bound for another week of amusement in Tbilisi with chemi megobari (my friend) Brennan, my father, and my stepmother.  It was great to have them in Georgia, and even though it was a condensed visit, and we were in the city the majority of the time, I’m glad they at least got to have a taste of what I’m experiencing over here.  I often wonder how I will explain what I’ve seen and done over here.  It’s not as if I’ve been to war (although a supra is much like a war against your liver), but if you’ve never lived in or seen a developing country you really have no idea what it’s like.  Word’s cannot always accurately capture experiences.  At this point most of it has become normal and commonplace to me, but when I first got here I couldn’t help but think “What in God’s name have I gotten myself into?”  It’s hard not to develop a thicker skin and become more tolerant while you’re here, because if you don’t, you simply won’t survive.  You kind of just have to laugh at the things that make you uncomfortable.  I also have to remind myself – my host family and the majority of this country lives like this all the time, and I’m only here for half a year.  I was talking with a few Armenian girls in Yerevan about my experience here in Georgia.  They were city girls and had no idea what it was like to be in a village.  I explained we typically eat the same thing for 3 or 4 days at a time and I’m lucky to get 2 or 3 showers a week.  They thought it was disgusting that sometimes I can only shower once a week, and perhaps it is, but I’m used to it, and it’s a tiny aspect of my existence here.  I noticed that among other things, life in the villages seems to be quite comparable in both Armenia and Georgia – from what I’ve heard at least.

I remember when I first arrived in Georgia, I wasn’t sure whether I would rather have been put in a village with minimal comforts, or a city equipped with modern amenities.  Honestly, I am so grateful I was placed in a small village, because I don’t believe you can truly experience Georgia by living in a city here.  Tbilisi is a different world than the rest of Georgia, even smaller cities like Kutaisi and Zugdidi are not representative of what it is like in the rest of the country.  I’m sure one can say the same of most countries.  I remember when I worked at a summer camp in West Virginia with a few guys from the United Kingdom; they asked me one night “Is this what America is really like?”  We were in a small West Virginian town of about 1100 people, in which many of the locals lived up to the states stereotype – I looked at them, reminded them I was American, and asked them to think about the question they just asked me; they quickly realized that their inquiry had been a little ridiculous.  Its true that city life is always markedly different from rural existence, but I think it is more exaggerated in Georgia.

A few weeks back I met a fellow volunteer in a bar in Tbilisi.  I asked her were she was stationed, and she immediately replied, “Tbilisi, I really lucked out.”  I responded, in a skeptical tone, “I’m not so sure about that, I don’t really feel like this is the real Georgia.”  I didn’t mean for it to be insulting, but she took it that way at first, so I clarified myself.  I told her how I live in the village – losing power frequently, inconsistent running water at times, excessive alcohol intake at numerous supras, no internet, an unvaried diet, a spring bed from 19^th century, a family that speaks no English, had no heat in the winter etc.  This is not to convey that I think I’m better than her because I “suffered” more, but that I am very grateful for the perspective I have gained as a result of living in this environment.  Moreover, who’s to say that Western standards of living are better than those here?  My host family seems to be very happy with what they have and I really respect them for that.   Is this an instance where you can’t miss what you’ve never had?  Maybe, but regardless, they are happy and enjoying their lives, and I think that’s what matters the most.  I think she understood what I meant, but laughed and said she was still thankful that she got placed in Tbilisi.  For some people, the little comforts really do matter, and I say to that – to each their own.

Despite what I said above, my week in Tbilisi was particularly awesome for one reason – I stayed in a real hotel.  I had a real bed, a real toilet, a real sink and a real shower.  Not to mention, scrambled eggs for breakfast with orange juice.  That’s the life people.  Most of all, it was just nice to have my father and stepmother in Georgia – it was a nice break from my present reality.  We had a lot of fun together.  It was great introducing them to Georgian cuisine, which I think (and hope) they enjoyed despite the fact that it takes ones stomach a few days to adjust to it, and I think they found Georgia to be a very fascinating place.  We spent the majority of our time exploring Tbilisi, which was nice, because I honestly hadn’t seen that much of it yet.  We also took a day trip to Gori – Stalin’s birthplace.  Along the way, we visited a few epically beautiful monasteries, as well as a medieval cave town, Uplistsikhe.  Uplistsikhe was a history nerds dream, and even if you don’t enjoy the stories of our past it was visually captivating as well.  Four thousand people had once dwelled in that massive cave town, and it was a lot of fun running up and down the cave walls and viewing the ruins.

After Uplistsikhe, we visited the Stalin museum, which apparently, due to criticism, is to be renamed the Museum of Stalinism.  Evidently, the museum was accused of portraying Stalin in too positive a light, even in recent years.  Initially, the museum was established by one of Stalin’s henchmen in 1937, as a major piece of Stalinist propaganda/the cult of personality surrounding him.  The museum was literally built overtop the house that Stalin was born in.  I’m not sure how many people realize that Stalin was not born in Russia, but in Georgia, and in fact, Stalin is not even his real name (his real name is Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili).  When we arrived in the museum, we encountered a sign that explained that the museum was not there to glorify the memory of Stalin, but stood as a testament to the terrible atrocities that he and the Soviet Union committed.  It was hard not to read this with skepticism (and apparently the sign had only been placed there two weeks prior to my visit).  Stalin has a complex legacy in this country.  My own co-teacher credited him with basically single-handedly winning WWII for Russia (a conflict that Georgians fought in on behalf of the Soviet Union).  I’ve heard many people here call him a strong and brilliant man, and I wonder if that’s a result of the education they received whilst Georgia was still part of the Soviet Union.  Then again, after his death, Stalin was renounced by his successor, Khrushchev, during what is known as the de-Stalinization of the Soviet Union.  Thus, I would assume his legacy would have been tarnished in the schools as well.  Perhaps for Georgians, who constantly struggle to appear significant, having such a powerful historical figure come from their nation might be a point of pride.  Apparently, there were riots in Tbilisi in 1956 at the onset of de-Stalinization, so there were many people who loved him.  For those more educated on the atrocities he is responsible for, I think he is a shameful figure.  General education in Georgia is inconsistent, and while I do not mean to be insulting when I say this I feel it is important to acknowledge.  Nonetheless, it was very interesting to visit the museum, if for nothing else but it’s historical significance as a primary source of Stalinist propaganda.  I also stepped foot into the house in which Stalin was born in, which was quite surreal.

The day before Uplistsikhe my father gave a talk at the Free University in Tbilisi.  The name is a little misleading, the university is not free, and according to my co-teachers it is the best university in Georgia.  I have seen my father give presentations on his work before (he is an economist), but I must admit this was particularly interesting for me as he lectured in the foreign country I am currently living in.  It was a very interesting talk on job creation and destruction in relation to global developments in the job market, with specific focus on American developments but also in comparison to international statistics.  At the end of his talk, as at most academic lectures, there were a number of questions raised.  Not surprisingly, several questions were asked about the recession in the United States and how we (the people) let the government screw things up so bad.  My Dad kind of laughed, as if he was being held responsible for the economic crisis in our country, and did his best to describe what happened (economists will be debating over this crisis for decades, no one really understands what happened).  This is a question I have encountered over and over again while abroad.  “How could you let the government do that?”  It seems that a lot of people have the misconception that we have a much greater hold over the government in America than we really do.  In an earlier post, I claimed that many foreigners love America but dislike our government.  That may be true, but they also place a lot of the blame on us for our government’s decisions.  Honestly, it’s very logical.  We live in a federal constitutional republic, in which our elected officials are supposed to enact policies that reflect the people’s hopes and desires for the countries future (and in which our governments power over the people is intended to be limited).  Unfortunately, it doesn’t always work this way.  But perhaps we should take a lesson from this, and stop blaming the government entirely for all of our problems – I think I am often very guilty of this.  We have a role to play in our countries actions as well, and we must also take responsibility for Americas achievements and its failures.  Complaining brings light to an issue, but it doesn’t solve one.  American’s are often accused of discussing politics more than anyone else in the world (a fact that has been brought up by more than one of my Canadian friends in Georgia), and we can define “discussing” as an argument in which whoever is speaking loudest is obviously winning.  Perhaps we need to stop discussing and actually do (props to the people who were involved in the Occupy movement across America, take to the streets and be heard my friends).  Just a thought.

After two weeks of traveling, I finally returned to my village.  I had lived a somewhat pampered existence for two weeks (I got to shower everyday), so I was a little reluctant to go back to the village lifestyle.  But, all of that quickly dissipated when I walked through the gate at my host family’s house and the entire family ran out of the house to greet me.  My host sisters jumped on me and refused to let go.  The prodigal son returns.  Furthermore, within ten minutes I was dragged to a supra with my host father Aleko and I realized just how lucky I am to be in this part of the world as I drank homemade wine at a small outdoor table with a perfect view of the Caucasus mountains.

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.

Lettuce Leaves

While living in Georgia one will likely be surprised by a number of aspects of daily life in this tiny Eurasian nation.  A week or two back I found myself using the “restroom” at my host families house, the outdoor Turkish toilet.  After I got “comfortable” I used my flashlight (it was night and unfortunately this cozy little facility does not have a light) to make sure that there was toilet paper.  There was not.  Instead I found lettuce leaves hanging in the designated toilet paper spot, obviously meant to be a substitute.  I was not too disconcerted, as I had preemptively brought baby wipes along with me anticipating a lack of paper.  However, I thought to myself: “Why lettuce?”  Second of all, we have had absolutely no food with lettuce at all during all my time at my host families’ house.  That’s what bothered me the most, what a horrendous waste of good lettuce.   I have been on long runs in the woods before in which I was forced to use nature as toilet paper, but lettuce – never have I ever.

There are little things that happen every day that cause you to pause, laugh, and ponder; and the only option is to deal with it – there’s no use allowing things like this to get under your skin.  For example, on my first evening at my new abode I looked all over my house for the trash.  Finally, I gave up and asked my host mother where it was.   She quickly pointed at the fireplace.  They literally burn everything: plastic, diapers, Styrofoam, paper, bottles etc.   I couldn’t help but be bothered by this.  They were burning chemically infused products in a tiny room and inhaling all the fumes, not to mention doing a lot of damage to the environment (not that American’s are any less guilty of this in their own way- we are definitely more wasteful and have without a doubt done more damage to the environment).   I quickly realized that it would be ludicrous for me to expect my tiny village to have a trash collecting service; there are barely any quality roads in this country.  Imagining a trash truck driving down one of the bumpy and muddy village roads is comical; it would literally take weeks to complete its task.  This country needs to dramatically improve its infrastructure before a great number of services can be provided.  Daily mail delivery in this country is non-existent, also a result of a lack of infrastructure.  So you just have to suck it up and accept that there are many practices in this society that you might not be comfortable with, but tough- deal with it.  You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes… You know how it goes.

There are also a number of things that occur daily within the schools in Georgia that would likely raise concern among those accustomed to Western educational practices.  Don’t get me wrong, my schools director, co-director, and both of my co-teachers are all wonderful people and certainly dedicated to their jobs, but it is hard not to observe certain things without feeling bothered.  The first thing one would probably notice about my school is how rundown it is.  Schools in the most impoverished sections of the United States don’t hold a candle to this ailing edifice.  It has obviously not been renovated in years.  The floors are old wood, and completely uneven.  Most of the classrooms have light, but as power is so inconsistent in these parts light can come and go during lessons.  The school is also absolutely freezing.  There is no heat anywhere except for the teachers’ lounge, which is provided by a space heater mounted on the wall.  The first thought that came to my head during my initial tour of the building was “God, American’s are such wimps.”  We cancel school for the tiniest little snowflakes (in D.C. at least) and if there was no power or heat (or precious air conditioning) there is not a chance in hell that school would take place.  These Georgian kids go through school wearing their winter clothing all day without a single complaint.  Guess you can’t miss what you never had.  The classrooms aren’t so cold due to the fact that every single one is equipped with a tiny stove in the corner fueled by wood, but the hallways are frigid. That also made me think – those stoves would be considered enormous fire hazards in a lot of Western countries, but the concept of a fire-drill is as foreign to Georgians as running for enjoyment is to obese people (which is funny because Georgians do not ever jog and instances of obesity seem low in this country- guess a lack of fast food joints doesn’t hurt, there’s less than 5 McDonald’s in the whole country).  Not everything about the physical layout of my school is bad, however.  We do have a gym; in which soccer, volleyball, and basketball often occur.  I have had some great times playing indoor soccer in there, and I really enjoyed a volleyball match during school in which literally every male in the village seemed to be there- there was literally 60-year-old dudes chilling on the sidelines watching us play and sometimes randomly joining in.  The school is also equipped with a computer lab with decidedly modern equipment.  The computers have Internet and there is also a printer.  Unfortunately the Internet is slow and many of the websites are blocked – ESPN, Facebook etc. – but it is nice to go in there and send e-mails from time to time and chat it up with Dato, the computer technician.

In terms of discipline, and classroom management, there is also a multiplicity of things that many Westerners might find problematic in Georgian schools.  Number one, the hallways in Georgian schools are a war-zone – absolute pandemonium.  The younger kids are having races, screaming at the top of their lungs (these screams are difficult to take after a heavy night of wine drinking with my host Dad and could easily shatter glass), and fighting (playfully but rather physically).  It’s not much different for the older students; they often wrestle, chase each other, and scream at one another from across the halls.  I also hear “Hello Joni” about 5000 times as I meander through the hallways.  The teachers walk by as if absolutely nothing is going on, like Neo in “The Matrix” they navigate their way elegantly through the chaos.  My school has about 250 students, and includes every single grade.  I teach every grade (paired with a Georgian co-teacher), 1 through 12, so I’ve had the opportunity to see how the teachers interact with all the age levels.  One of the most common forms of behavioral problems in class is simply talking.  While this is also a problem in American schools it’s typically one or two kids chatting it up in the corner.  In Georgia you often find that the entire class is talking throughout the lesson, and not about anything regarding the subject matter.  It drives me insane when kids are talking while another student is reading a passage, struggling through every word, and I can’t hear them whatsoever.  The teachers rarely do anything about this, there seems to be no form of substantial punishment.  Sometimes my co-teachers will yell, and other times the most common form of punishment is to pinch the students or pull their hair.  From what I’ve heard this is fairly common throughout Georgian schools.  They aren’t beating the students, but physical punishment is occurring nonetheless.  You may call me heartless, but this actually doesn’t bother me so much.  I did find it troublesome at first, but it is a cultural thing, and it is not my place to tell Georgians how to discipline their children (I have witnessed it at my house families home as well).  On a personal level I do not agree with it and it is not something I would ever do, but to be honest the kids often laugh about it and it doesn’t seem to hurt them much at all – it really just lets them know they are misbehaving.  Sometimes it actually gets the students to behave like normal human beings in a classroom.  But kids here don’t get detention, don’t get suspended, and certainly don’t get expelled.  I never realized until I came here how much all of those practices really are an incentive to not be a complete pain in the ass during school.  This is not to say that the students are doing anything terribly wrong, they are all very nice kids, I am just trying to emphasize how lax the discipline seems to be.  Honestly, kids in Western society are typically up to a lot worse, so perhaps this is explains the disparity in disciplinary tactics.

Student’s cheat quite frequently in a few of my classes (particularly the 7^th graders). They literally talk at full volume to each other during quizzes and tests, blatantly pull out scraps of paper from their pockets, or have all of the answers written up their legs and arms.  Yeah, kids in America do this too, but it’s usually one or two idiots that stick out like a sore thumb.  My teacher likes to grade students quizzes as they hand them in, not realizing that while she is looking down all of the students are handing each other their quizzes, whispering answers, even getting out of their seats to go talk to other students.  As someone who recently taught in America I can’t help but feel pissed off when I see this.  Fortunately the other day my co-teacher began to be stricter about this, asking the students to bring their book bags to the front of the classroom before a quiz and monitoring their work while the quiz was in progress – perhaps because of a small comment I made to her about the cheating in a prior class.  These are all unfortunately things you just have to accept.  It’s all part of a much larger problem, and you have to pick and choose your battles while here.  I focus more on really helping the students with their English and building relationships with them rather than disciplining them.  Yes, sometimes I lose it and scream “CHUMAD” at the students, which means “be quiet,” but it often doesn’t work and they just simply smile and think it’s exciting or funny I’m speaking Georgian.  Stern looks are a lot more effective – I just happen to suck at them (you’d think I’d be better since I got them so often as a student).  One thing I must say is that while I don’t agree with a lot of the ways my teachers manage their classrooms I still believe they are dedicated professionals doing an effective job.  Most of the older students speak decent English and are well behaved, which is obviously a reflection of the jobs my co-teachers have done (they are the only English teachers in the school and teach every grade).  My co-teachers treat me incredibly kindly, and they truly care about their students’ welfare and progress – their practices are just a product of culture and one must be aware of that, but in no way a reflection of their overall character.

Overall, my experience at my school has been positive, it is just difficult to ignore the negative aspects.  But I was welcomed with open arms and I have been treated like family since my first day.  The director, who speaks maybe 5 words of English, treats me like a son and even told my co-teachers she sees me as one due to the fact I am so young.  My two co-teachers are also wonderful to me and constantly inquire about my health, my family, my weekend activities, and what I like and dislike about Georgia.  They are incredibly blunt with me, and that is also a product of their culture.  For example, in one class my co-teacher had no problem telling me the family backgrounds of various second grade students- “Her father is in jail” or “His parents are alcoholics and he is being raised by his older sisters” or “Her mother ran out on her family and her father struggles to raise her.”  Not sure how any of that information was relevant to the job I am trying to do here but that’s how Georgians are – they cut right to the chase (I should also note that she was saying this in front of seven-year-olds who barely know how to speak Georgian properly let alone English.  Thus the likelihood that they understood what she was saying is slim.).  Today my co-teacher had no problem telling me my own host father is an orphan and was raised by his uncle.  She also went on to say “this is why he is very poor and you are living in a house that is low quality.”  No disrespect was meant by any of this, she was simply stating the nature of things.  It’s actually very refreshing.

Having recently taught in a high school in the DC area it is hard not to compare my experiences there with what I have encountered here.  For the most part, I really enjoyed teaching high school students.  I was teaching history, a subject I am very passionate about, and I found that teaching teenagers was very stimulating.  Most of them actually appreciate the knowledge I was bestowing upon them, and that was a great feeling.  I did not enjoy every part of the job, however.  Honestly, my least favorite aspect of teaching in America was the parents.  Parents can make a teachers job absolutely miserable.  It seems that a lot of parents today are more willing to place blame for a child’s poor performance on the teacher rather than their precious little angel- because obviously it would be impossible for their offspring to be an underachieving pain in the ass.  Thus, many of America’s schools have become over -accommodating institutions in which students are walked through each grade by the hand learning nothing about operating independently.  Students also find a number of ways to take advantage of their accommodations, and in a completely dishonest way.  I’m not saying that schools shouldn’t accommodate student’s specialized needs at all, because many students do learn at different rates and need a specific environment to foster their growth and development.  I just worry that perhaps we have gone too far, and that this is part of the larger reason why our society has become self-entitled, lazy, and underachieving.  On the other hand, in Georgia there are no accommodations.  When a Georgian child does not perform well in school their teachers label them as “lazy” or “stupid.”  Teachers here seem completely unaware of developmental disorders, ADHD, dyslexia, and the concept of learning disorders all together.  Some of these kid’s are barely 6 and they are being expected to learn Georgian, Russian, and English simultaneously.  Mind you, all of these languages have different alphabets and characters.  It’s difficult to hear a child being called lazy or stupid when you can tell they obviously want to learn but something just isn’t clicking.  I guess what I’m saying is perhaps education around the world needs to meet somewhere in the middle, don’t over-accommodate your students but also be aware of their individual needs and learning styles.  If they are performing poorly academically place some of the blame on them, but also realize how difficult a specific subject may be for them (without automatically assuming the teacher has some personal vendetta against them and is failing them for this reason, proceeding to call them multiple times throughout the week and flooding their inbox with petulant and ridiculous e-mails).

One thing that I must note is that my specific experience here is in no way a reflection of what other foreigners may experience while living in Georgia.  The program I am doing is a government subsidized program known as Teach and Learn with Georgia, or TLG.  We (the participants or volunteers in the program) call ourselves TLGer’s.  No TLGer will have an experience exactly like another.  I have met TLGer’s whose living standards far surpass that of mine, as well as those whose living standards were shockingly destitute.  Some volunteers have fantastic relationships with their host families, while others face a number of difficulties in their everyday interactions.  I’ve heard of many Georgian families that demand the volunteer they are hosting return home while they are out for a night, or follow them everywhere because they are worried they might get lost.  Everyone’s experience is different, and that’s both the beauty and challenge of this program.  Many Georgians are not even accustomed to the various modes of living volunteers experience here.  While I was in McDonald’s yesterday, utilizing the fantastically free Wi-Fi, a woman approached me and asked me a question in Georgian.  Believe it or not, a lot of Georgians mistake me for being one of their own and I have been told by other Georgians that I look as if I am from here – guess being a generic looking white boy doesn’t hurt.  I quickly responded to this woman’s question with “Ver gavige, me var Amerikeli” my go-to statement in this country (which means “I don’t understand, I am American”).  Luckily, she spoke English, and just wanted to know if I had a good Internet connection.  We got to talking and she asked me what I was doing in Georgia.  I told her about the program, yada yada yada, bada bing bada boom.  She said she thought it was funny I chose to come to McDonalds and eat American food and avoid Georgian restaurants.  While it’s true I have consumed a shocking number of double cheeseburgers since my arrival in this country, I have also grown quite fond of Georgian cuisine.  I told her that I actually wasn’t there to eat (which was true in this instance); I was there to use the Internet.  She found it shocking that I had to travel 30 km to find decent Internet.  She was a city woman, and used to significantly higher standard of living than what one might experience in a small Georgian village.  All I’m saying is, even in a small country like Georgia, one should never generalize.

One of the most amusing things about being here is witnessing and hearing about Georgian reactions to Western culture.  One thing that seems to confuse Georgian’s unanimously is running or jogging for exercise.  They just don’t do that here.  They will stare, they will stop and ask you what you are doing, and they will even stop by your host families’ home to see if everything is okay.  One of my fellow volunteers literally had the police come to her house the other night while she was jogging to ask her family if she was okay – they probably thought she had gone completely insane and was running aimlessly around the village.  I went running today, and had similar reactions.  “Joni, what were you doing?” Asked my young neighbor Giorgi.  “I was seeing how many times I could run around the soccer field before getting dizzy,” I responded.  This elicited absolutely no response, so I said “exercise” and flexed my muscles as if to show him that running will make you stronger.  He smiled and started running circles around his yard.

It is also somewhat amusing, and somewhat unsettling, how little some Georgians know about the rest of the world.  When I told my class that America had a population of around 300 million people even my co-teacher was surprised.  Georgia has a population of about 5 million, thus my own nations population seems staggering and impossible to many of them.  Georgia’s knowledge of geography is quite lacking (at least this is what I’ve experienced in my school and I’ve heard similar things from other volunteers); ask them to point New York City out on a map and they would probably point at Florida.  One of my co-teachers seemed to think that geographically the United States is the largest nation in the world, when in fact their favorite neighbors (the Russians) live in the largest nation – something you would think they might be aware of.  Geography just doesn’t seem to be that important to them.  Then again, the majority of people I talked to in the United States prior to my departure had no idea Georgia even existed before I told them I was going there.  Many people would say, “Why are you going to Atlanta to teach English?” Study a map, open a history book – it’s good for ya and if nothing else it makes for good conversation.

Thus, I continue to survive and find this country and my experience here challenging, amusing, and exciting.  Yes, there are difficult moments.  Particularly when my host mother kills a chicken in the yard, I get excited for meat, and then she throws a bowl of meatless bones on the table and says “Chame Joni” (Eat John).  I attempted to chew on one of the bones but quickly gave up and moved on to bread and cheese.  Apparently they suck the marrow out of the bones, but that’s about as appetizing and filling as it sounds.  Most of the time the food is good, but we often eat the same thing for every meal two days in a row, or until it disappears.  Accordingly, eating as much of one thing as possible is to one’s benefit in this household if variety is desired.   These are little, insignificant challenges, however.  Negativity and self-pity are the two most worthless human abilities, and they won’t do anyone any good.  They don’t change a situation; they simple make it more depressing – and who wants that besides nihilistic morons.  All in all, life is good.  Spring is coming.  Here comes the sun, and I say – it’s all right.

Ah, to be young…

What can I say about Georgia?  That’s a very difficult question.  I believe an even better question was posed by my close friend and confidant, Brennan Davis, early one morning as we awoke in the comforts of a hotel in Zugdidi, a city in western Georgia- “WHO INVENTED THIS PLACE?!”  Well put my friend.  It is an absurd country in a lot of ways, but also incredibly hospitable, beautiful, and amiable.  I live in a small village in the Imereti province known as Rokhi (pronounced Ro-key, gotta get that phlegm going too, phlegm is crucial whilst speaking Georgian).  I am about 2 hours from the beach, which will come in handy when it finally get’s warm here.  Everyone in Rokhi treats me like gold and I am a virtual celebrity.  It’s difficult to walk anywhere without someone screaming “HELLO JONI HOW ARE YOU?!” from across the street.  Everything you do in the village also seems to be monitored.  A few days ago I went to the local maghazia (shop) to buy some American comforts (Snickers bars and a Coca-Cola) as well as some ludi (beer).  I spoke to no one on my short walk back to my host families house, yet somehow all of the teachers at my school knew the next day that I had purchased beer.  They were not upset, they were excited.  “Joni, you like to drink?!”  Drinking is the national pastime in this country and if you don’t like to drink, you can’t drink (well), or you have any type of liver problems, stay very far away.  Every family makes their own wine and they will be very upset if you don’t drink it with them.  My host father, Aleko, loves his wine and we frequently speak garbled English and Georgian to each other as we literally chug an entire jug (about 3 Liters) over dinner (and sometimes lunch).  The men in this country drink like God’s and I challenge anyone to attempt to keep up with them.  On a cold day they believe fervently that it is necessary to consume as much alcohol as possible – in order to keep warm of course.  A few weeks ago we got quite a bit of snow; so much that school was cancelled for 3 days which is quite rare in this country.  My host sister’s, Lile (6) and Ilene (9), woke me up screaming “Joni, ara skola!!”  Meaning of course, “John, no school.”  To be honest I was just as excited as they were.  I slept in til’ lunch and woke up to a wonderful home cooked meal from my host mother, Khatuna.  My host father immediately whipped out a bottle of cognac and pretending to shiver he grinned at me like a 5-year-old in a candy shop – this is his way of saying “It’s cold outside so we must drink,” we do a lot of pantomiming in our house as the 9-year-old is the only one who speaks any English (very basic) – I will be a master at charades by the end of my time here. Who could resist his enthusiasm?  We finished the bottle within the hour (it was a small bottle, don’t worry Mother dearest) and I slept the rest of the day.  That’s a typical day in the village for ya.

A lot of things in this country are very backwards, and I believe that is a generous way of putting it.  For example, my family has an indoor toilet but they don’t use it, it simply sits there untouched.  Instead, we go outside and use the Turkish toilet, which is a fancy way of saying a hole in the ground in a wooden shack covered in cobwebs.  Like in any sport, positioning is key, and my quads are getting really strong from frequent visits to that lovely and accommodating facility.  Perhaps I will take up softball upon my return to the States, play some catcher, I’m really getting that squat down.  Moving on… We also have a refrigerator in our kitchen, but they never use it – they put everything in a cupboard next to the fridge and leave it there for days at a time, whipping it out for lunch or dinner whenever they please.  Thus, one’s stomach does have to take some time to adjust to this routine.  It can be quite frustrating the way things are done here, but you constantly have to remind yourself that every culture has it’s own traditions and one must be understanding.  Things are very traditional here, women stay at home and raise the kids, cook, clean, and take care of the animals in the yard.  Men are the bread winners, and in a village they often disappear for days at a time- typically working in a city nearby.  My own host father is a policeman, working in the nearby city of Kutaisi.  It would be strange for a man to cook in this country; in fact most of the time they won’t even let men near the kitchen.  I stayed at a homestay a few weeks back, owned by an adorable old lady named Leila.  It’s much like a bed and breakfast without the breakfast.  My friends and I asked her if we could use her kitchen to cook our own breakfast and she was happy to let us do it.  Scrambled eggs are not a common dish in Georgia, so when I began to mix the eggs together she screamed “No! What are you doing to them?!”  As if I had committed some terrible crime.  I quickly replied “Amerikeli style” (American style) and she seemed confused but satisfied enough to let me continue.  One might think that this style of living subjugate’s the women here, forcing them into the lives of homemakers, but in fact the women perpetuate these traditions just as much as the men do.  Marriage is incredibly important here and if you aren’t married by 30 you’re basically a worthless old spinster.

It’s hard not to laugh at a lot of what one see’s over here.  I wake up every morning to turkeys, roosters, chickens, and a type of bird I have yet to identify.  The other day a rooster wandered into the “bathroom” as I was taking a shower.  I asked him if he would like to join me, he squawked and quickly ran out.  We have an incredible number of fowl in our yard.  There are random cows wandering the streets, as well as pigs, dogs, horses, and pretty much any animal you may find on a farm.  I was very confused by this at first, wondering “Who own’s these animals?”  I quickly found out that their owners simply let them out in the morning, they wander the village during the day, and at night return home.  It’s common to see 5 or 6 cows waiting patiently outside of the front gate of a village home in the evening.

Village life can be tough.  We have no heating in our house and it is incredibly cold in my room.  I would guess that it is typically around 40 degrees Fahrenheit inside my living quarters.  I sleep in 3 to 4 layers, often wearing a hat and gloves.  I bought a space heater a few weeks back, but to my great dismay it broke a few days ago.  Luckily spring will arrive soon, and I can’t wait.  We also have no internet and often lose power as well as running water.  Recently, we were out of running water for about 2 weeks.  I am lucky if I get one shower a week, but being the dirty and gross young man that I am that’s not much of a problem for me.  I try to think of this experience as one big camping trip.  Things move slowly here, and exercising patience is key to one’s sanity (patience is a quality I have never really possessed, as my dear Mother often reminds me).  There is a concept here known as GMT, Georgia Maybe Time, and it rings true each and every day.  Don’t ever expect things to happen on time, because you will be sorely disappointed.  Relax, take it slow, and let the good times roll.

All in all, Georgia is a wonderful place.  It is a country very much trapped by its tumultuous past, desperate to move forward and acquire the comforts of Western society.  To call Georgia a developing nation is somewhat generous.  It is decidedly third world in a lot of places and there is little to no infrastructure.  The sidewalks are typically rubble, and bumpy dirt roads are commonplace in villages.  In some ways I feel somewhat guilty being here.  Being an employee of the Georgian government I am in a lot of ways being offered a paid vacation during my time here, when their money might better be invested in rebuilding their country and improving the living standards here. Georgia struggled quite a bit during the Soviet years, and things only got worse after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.  They experienced a civil war which lasted until 1995 and the rest of the 90’s were extremely chaotic.  While I was watching Ninja Turtles and eating Froot Loops children here were doing their homework under candlelight.  It certainly puts things in perspective.  We live very privileged lives in the West and if you aren’t aware of that open your damn eyes.  It’s inspiring how friendly and hospitable the Georgian people are, they’ve invited hundreds of random crazy Westerners to live in their homes for 6 months to a year.  Beautiful, unadulterated cultural immersion – it’s one hell of a time over here.

It’s not only in my home that I have experienced the amiable disposition of the Georgian people, it’s everywhere.  Last night, for example, I went to a restaurant in Kutaisi where my friends and I are always welcomed with open arms.  Before I could even sit down at a separate table a large group of Georgian men insisted I come over and drink wine with them at their table.  They offered me some of their food and I chugged delicious ghvino (wine) out of a huge clay bowl with them for hours.  We screamed “Saqartvelos Gaumarjos,” (Cheers to Georgia) and “Amerika Gaumarjos,” (Cheers to America) all night.  There was a large group of Georgian girls sitting at the table across from us.  In broken English one of the Georgian men insisted I go dance with them due to the fact that I am not married and must find a wife as soon as possible.  I found out that the men were prison guards, and they were easily the happiest and most inebriated prison guards one might ever encounter.  In that very same restaurant, about 2 weeks ago, I made great friends with a large group of Georgian rugby players.  These guys were absolutely nuts, we danced the night away with them and a Georgian family sitting at a table in the corner.  Whipping out ridiculous dance moves and laughing hysterically the entire time.  At one point, I was sitting with one of the rugby dudes at his table.  He looked at me with a toothy grin and smashed a glass on his forehead – and this was a very solid little glass.  He grabbed me by the back of the head and locked my forehead to his, screaming at the top of his lugs and laughing a deep raspy laugh that reminded me of a pirate.  The most amazing part of witnessing this was that he had no cuts or marks on his head whatsoever.  After the glass smashing we proceeded to dance to loud techno music playing from his car in the middle of the street with all of his friends.  They attempted to kidnap me for the rest of the evening but my friends quickly came to my rescue.

Positivity is contagious, and Georgia is an optimistic and energetic beast.  It’s hard not to become captivated by the beautiful mountains in the distance, which I can view quite easily from my back porch.  Waking up to those epic peaks every morning makes living in a frigid room completely worth it.  Georgia is full of natural beauty, particularly in terms of its female population.  I love women, I have all their albums.  But, sadly, it is very difficult to love Georgian women, due to the fact that dating implies interest in marriage in this country.  Thus, one can only glance at the menu, but never order (unless you want to stay here forever or be beaten/stoned to death in the streets by the women’s brothers and uncles).  There are many things that make up for this, however, and in my short time here I have made lifelong friends from all over the world- Syria, Canada, Iran, Uganda, South Africa, Poland, England, Ireland, and from many of the states in that lovely little nation we call America.  I am kept very busy between school, weekend adventures, and phekburti (soccer) games with the students at my school.  Time has flown by, as it often does.  I look forward to all the coming months have to offer – skiing, hiking, warm weather, beach excursions, shenanigans in Armenia and Turkey, and random spontaneous adventures.  Ah, to be young.