Countdown

Kristen,

I realize I've forgotten to formally announce my Christmas vacation dates. I'll be back in Canada from December 18 - January 17. This means I'm leaving Georgia in less than two weeks!

I'm really, really looking forward to a vacation. I was sick for the entire month of November, and I'm still nursing a congested chest and accompanying cough. I also chipped a tooth and have no idea how I did it. My hair is a split-end ravaged, scraggly mess. My clothes are stained, worn, and boring. I'm starting to grow a unibrow. Let's not even talk about my feet.

I also have moments where I suddenly remember something about home, some convenience or service or experience I'd forgotten exists. This happened most recently on Sunday, when I was watching a movie. Two of the characters ordered Chinese delivery. Chinese delivery! Cheap, delicious Asian food that comes to your house! Flabbergasted, I said aloud, "Oh yeah, that's a thing that exists!"

So clearly I'm looking forward to a return to cushy Canadian life. As I type this, though, I feel tremendously guilty for being able to just escape back to the developed world - my students and Georgian friends and family can't do that. If they want to use a microwave they have to invest a month's wages into buying one. If they want their freshly-laundered clothes to dry they have to hope it's not going to rain. I've had many conversations about quality of life, average income, and what middle-class Canadians possess - and it never fails to surprise Georgians. It's not just that Canadians have more; it's that our frame of reference is different. "How much does an average flat cost in Canada?" is a question I hear a lot. Putting aside issues of size and city and amenities, my answer has to re-frame the question: "Most Canadians buy houses. Apartments are generally rented." And how do I answer a question about people trying to bribe police officers out of traffic tickets? "It doesn't happen" doesn't sound like it can be the truth. But that's how these conversations go. No matter how livable, how modern one's life in Tbilisi is, Georgia is still a developing country. And so our conversations always start as a clash of perspectives.

Here's something to cheer us all up: this weekend, Georgia won the Junior Eurovision contest. (If you're not familiar with Eurovision, good grief, and also read this). Their entry was a five-member girl group called Candy, singing a song called "Candy Music" (this is about the level of sophistication you can expect from all Eurovision contestants, youth or otherwise). Here's the video of their winning performance:

Also, I'd like to thank the city of Tbilisi and all federal government buildings for putting up Christmas lights, trees and other decorations well over a month before Georgian Orthodox Christmas, because they're helping me get in the mood for Other Christmas.

A social experiment

Public displays of matrimonial commitment and their effect on incidences of sexual harassment: A case study

by AE Challinor

Introduction

Within the Orthodox Christian church and some East Asian cultures, it is tradition for married individuals to display their status with a band of precious metal worn on the third finger of their right hand ("ring finger"). This differs from non-Orthodox Christian and secular Western traditions, in which rings of commitment and legal or religious matrimonial status are worn almost exclusively on the ring finger of the left hand. When representatives of these two traditions meet, confusion as to an individual's romantic, social - or even economic - availability is possible.

The author (and subject) commonly wears a two-tone gold signet ring on the third finger of her right hand. (See Figure 1). In the past, this has led individuals from Orthodox or Eastern cultures to inquire as to her marital status and/or the whereabouts of her husband. As the author currently resides in the Republic of Georgia, an primarily Orthodox state, this confusion has been made acute. 

Figure 1

In an interview with a Georgian chiropractor in Los Angeles, California (conducted in August of 2010), the author was assured that "Georgian men will love you". This hypothesis has since been proven incorrect (paper forthcoming).

While the subject's peers have suggested the use of this ring as a form of "protection" against unwanted attention, this raises the question of the effectiveness of a ring on the "marriage finger" as a communications tool. Does a wedding band prevent uninvited romantic attention, sexual harassment or meddling from mother-surrogates? Similarly, does its absence encourage these same behaviours? This paper seeks to determine the effect of presumed wedding bands on the beliefs and attitudes of strangers in Orthodox Georgia.

Hypothesis

Subject will experience more romantic and/or sexual attention when the third finger on her right hand remains bare. The null hypothesis (H0) will be rejected.

Methodology

For a duration of fourteen days, subject removed ring from the third finger of her right hand, leaving no rings on any finger.

A control was previously conducted, for a duration of 2.5 months, during which the subject wore the stated ring on the stated finger in the stated state.

Observations

Subject observed no change in attitude from either acquaintances or strangers when compared to the control period. A small sample of car horns heard while the subject travelled along public thoroughfares was inconclusive, as car horns in Georgia are often utilized in place of brakes. 

Results

No incidents of sexual harassment or romantic interest were observed. Failure to reject null hypothesis.  

Subject also reported that the finger that previously held her ring felt "slightly weird", suggesting potential for follow-up research in phantom ring studies. 

Conclusion

Subject incapable of giving it away.

Fakesgiving

Kristen, I'm exhausted.

Thursday was American Thanksgiving (as you well know), and the Americans who took me in when I was homeless this summer hosted a dinner. Somehow, the Canadian was enlisted to cook. Or I volunteered. I can't remember anymore, it's been a long week.

As Canadian Thanksgiving proved, acquiring holiday-specific raw materials is difficult in Georgia. So we had some ingredients mailed from the US, and we scavenged and we hoarded and on Wednesday morning I was an accomplice in the killing of a turkey.

That day, one Canadian omnivore, one American vegetarian, and two Georgians (their preferences go without saying) drove to a market, inspected half a dozen birds, and chose one to be our dinner.

I'm going to tell you this story, but first a disclaimer: I eat meat. I love eating meat. I am not one of those omnivores who gets sad at the thought of animals dying and then eats meat anyway because they can't help themselves. I am not one of those pee-pants who says, "I know I should be a vegetarian but I just like bacon too much!"

No.

I have no moral, ethical, or health qualms with eating meat. It's not a default for me; this is something I've thought about and I do happily.

Some of the more militant vegetarians and vegans claim that if meat-eaters could only see where their food came from, they'd stop eating it. Well, I saw where my food comes from on Wednesday. And it only re-affirmed my commitment to eating stuff with a face.

Here's how it worked: We went to a market where people (mainly women) from nearby villages had set up their wares - chickens, turkeys, pigs, ducks and a few rabbits. We went from stall to stall, weighing and inspecting the turkeys, inquiring after their age and negotiating prices. Once we found a suitable one, the woman at the stall took it to a butchering stand, chopped off its head, let it bleed out, and dunked it in a pot of boiling water to release the feathers. She then stripped its feathers, and brought it back to her stall to remove the insides and feet. I watched all of this. It really wasn't that gross - and I cannot handle gory movies, or even listening to stories of other peoples' bodily harm. It was interesting! It prompted me to research turkey anatomy!

I told my turkey story to one of my classes, and they were absolutely unimpressed. They were like, "You've never seen a turkey butchered? *Scoff*" It reminds me of the time when my host family asked me why I wasn't eating any grapes. I don't like grapes in Georgia because they have seeds and so are more trouble than they're worth, even though grapes are the candy of the fruit world. I am completely pathetic, I know. So I explained this to my family by saying, "Life in Canada is very easy..."

(I also saw an enormous hog butchered, as well as a couple buckets of its insides. The two massive sets of ribs reminded me of my brother, who eats like Jethro Bodine and is a barbecued ribs monster. Hi John!).

Anyway, Thanksgiving Day. With plenty of help, I cooked a meal for a group that included Americans, Canadians, an Australian and a Georgian. Everyone had a great time and the food was largely a hit (including our turkey who, in all the excitement, I forgot to name). Two minor issues: The fully-cooked turkey went missing for approximately an hour and a half, and one of the large windows in the apartment shattered. So, a totally normal, insane day in Georgia.

Ho Hum II

A few more snippets from my everyday life...

I was at a party on Saturday night where I saw a 2-year-old drinking beer. Don't worry - it was his birthday.

I love the way that, when a parent with a small child gets on a marshutka, the other people on board grab the child to steady it, and often put it on a nearby seat or lap while the parent climbs aboard. This is completely normal, the parent never blinks an eye, and there are no howls of "THAT MOLESTER HAS MY BABY!". It's accepted that the people on the marshutka are going to make your child safer, rather than place it in harm's way. It is, I think, the sign of a healthy society.

A sign of an unhealthy society is the way some Georgians have concluded that the best place to count their change or check their cell phone is in store entrances or at the top of stairwells. No, it is not the best place to engage in those activities, so get the fuck out of my way. (I suppose it goes without saying that I walk much faster than most Georgians. I walk faster than most people, so obviously nothing is different here. To put it scientifically, if you and all Georgians and everyone you know under 6'4" walks at average pace - 5kph/3mph - then I walk at approximately the speed of sound).

There is a restaurant I frequent so often that all the staff recognize me. I'm a regular. I love becoming a regular of places (see also Osaka in Springfield, VA; Go Sushi in Milton, ON; Raavi Kebab in London, UK). Here's how often I'm there: one of the waitresses changed her hair recently, I noticed, complimented her, and she wasn't weirded out by this. (I also have a schwarma guy near work. Yeah, that's right, I have a schwarma guy. On a related note, I may eat too much schwarma).

The atrocious state of Tbilisi streets and sidewalks has nearly destroyed two pairs of my shoes (one, a pair of heels, may be too far gone to resole). That said, I have not, as of this writing, fallen down an unmarked sinkhole or hidden staircase.

I've gotten used to the toe-mangling speed of the Metro escalators; they seem slow to me now. I'm worried I'm going to have some sort of fit of impatience if I take an escalator in Canada. (Ha ha ha, I hear you laughing, when is Ashley not having a fit of impatience in Canada!).

The following video appeared in my facebook feed today, and it's reminiscent of the degradation of my own English. As much as I'm learning English grammar and sentence structure as I teach it, I'm also spending most of my time speaking slowly, simply and, sometimes, in a strange Georgian/English/Georgian-accent-in-English hybrid: I say "yes?" at the end of most questions I ask, I've picked up the Georgian habit of saying, "Of course, Eshli, of course!" whenever I say something obvious, I sometimes drop articles and pick up incorrect syntax in an effort to make new speakers understand me by using their own butchered English, etc. It's a dangerous habit!

Anyway, comedy:

Ho Hum

I found an article from the New York Times Travel section that is the closest representation I've found to my life in Georgia. Read it here. (The caveat being that is was written in 2006, which is practically a lifetime ago in post-Revolution Georgia).

I was going to write something about how I haven't been doing anything exciting lately, so have nothing to share with you on my blog. But that undermines the honesty and purpose of keeping this blog - I have a job, and a routine, but those things exist in Georgia - and so the mundane is just as important as the spectacular when it comes to explaining myself.

So here's some of the mundane:

I experienced a couple of blackouts this week, which is unusual in Tbilisi (or, unusual in the central, important parts of the city - no offense Avchala!). If I still had a Twitter account, I would have tweeted: "Blackouts in Tbilisi. What is this, 1994? #tasteless #postrevolutionentitlementsyndrome"

Also, if I still had a Twitter account, I would tweet at Joss Whedon and ask him why he's thanked in the Acknowledgments section of my Cutting Edge Starter textbooks. That's an out-of-left-field mystery if I ever encountered one.

I had a disastrous Tuesday, that culminated in a hat trick of Tbilisi nonsense - not being able to find a specific store because of a lack of street signs, building numbers, and a strong enough command of Georgian; having to cancel dinner plans because the restaurant we had planned to eat at was shuttered, all online evidence to the contrary; and a taxi driver who ignored my directions and took me to where he thought I wanted to go, as opposed to where I explicitly told him to go. I've decided that if most cabs weren't stick shift, I'd just tell the drivers to get in the backseat because three months of living in this city has given me a better understanding of its geography than their qualifications (being Georgian, having a car).

It's possible that there is video of me shooting a modified M-4 on Georgian reality TV. There's a reality show being shot at the police academy, and they were filming some scenes in the firearms training simulator when a few of us teachers dropped by to check it out. Hopefully they won't use the footage of me because the "Hollywood" group is so much more attractive and melodramatic.

I found a fruit that looks like a lime on the outside and a tangerine on the inside, that's wonderfully bold and tart, and that makes the perfect addition to a gin and tonic.

...and now I have to catch the Metro, to go to tutoring, because that's Friday night in Tibs, homes.

Photos IV: The Revenge

A handful of new photos are up on facebook; link here. A taste, from my trip to an archaeological dig outside Dmonisi:

Also, I came across this the other day, and I used it to demoralize (and amuse!) one of my classes:

*  *  *

In other news, I'm planning some trips for when I return in 2012. I'd love to get to Turkey before Christmas, to do some gift shopping, but I'm not sure that it's feasible. What I am devoted to doing is visiting Bakuriani in January or February, and going tobogganing. I'd also like to take advantage of some rumored cheap flights and visit Dubai - it's a three hour flight, and I'm sure will be a warm, impossibly decadent escape from frozen Georgia this winter.

True Tales of Teaching English to Legal Adults

Things I've said to my students on test day:
"If I tell you to shut up and you don't, I'm going to rip up your test and tell you to leave."
"Don't bother asking your friends for help; they don't know the answers."
"Stop talking! You're just giving him the wrong answers!"
"Please stop making my life harder."

Student: "Are you married?"
Me: "No."
Student: "Why not?"

Student: "Is that your real hair?"
Me: "Yes."
Student: "Can I touch it?"

Student, who has not bothered to show up for any class save the first: "You give us exam to look at?"
Me: "No!"
Student: "Why not??"

Me, to students talking during a test: "Stop cheating!"
Student: "But we were not talking about the test!"
My mind: (boggled)

Student: "I am not eating... I am on past for holiday."
Me: "Do you mean a fast?"
Student: "No, it is past."
Me: "You're confusing 'p' and 'f''; don't worry, a lot of Georgians do it."
Student: "Are you sure? I think it is past."

Student: "Putin is a mozerpucker."
Me: "If you're going to use that word, at least pronounce it correctly. Mo-TH-er-FU-ck-er."

Student: "T, U, V, W, SEX, Y, Z." (entire class giggles)
Me: (dies inside)

I love it when a plan comes together

Kristen,

I did something momentous last week.

I picked up the option to extend my contract. Rather than ending my term at Christmas, I'm staying on with the program through June 15, 2012.

I'm staying with the police program, although I don't know where I'll be working or in what capacity.

I'm staying with my host family, barring unforeseen events.

I'm continuing to tutor my wonderful private pupils.

I'm going to be in Georgia for an extra five months (at least!).

I'm really happy about this. I gave this extension a lot of thought, and went back and forth on an almost daily basis throughout October. Each day I weighed my options under the sway of my emotional state. That didn't work. So I tried to evaluate the big picture - do I want to continue teaching? Do I want to stay with the program?  Do I miss my own culture enough? Do I need to get back to socially-approved "real life"?

What eventually moved me, though, weren't my answers to these big questions.

Of course, I considered my options. But let's get really, really, real - I had no plan for my return to Canada. None. And I am a planner. I always have a Plan A, and am rarely caught without a Plan B. I plan for the most minor of externalities. Catch me at any consequential moment and I've usually got two plans and a lie already prepared. So I certainly don't make big life moves without a plan.

But if I were to leave Georgia in December it would be sans plan. I would move back in with my parents. I would "job hunt" (an increasingly hollow, ironic, and emotionally devastating term in this economy). I would pick up part-time retail work, or volunteer, or join a sports team just to keep myself busy. But that's not a plan. It has no deadline, no exit strategy, and is hardly under my control. I reject such "planning".

So I'm staying in Georgia. But I'm not staying because of "push" forces - unemployment, Canada, an aimless future. I'm staying because I love my life. I love my friends. I love my job (most of the time). I love my status. I love the daily challenges. I love the opportunities that catch me off guard. I love living in a culture that's not my own. I love the newness. I love the constant change. I love the insane, dangerous, exhilarating freedom. I love the energy. I love the people. I love Georgia.

It's a pull I can't - and don't want to - resist.

It's the little things

Clips from my life:

• Finally have all the ingredients for my famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies; minds will be blown this Tuesday
• A care package is on its way from Canada (and since this is me we're talking about, it's mostly filled with clothes)
• One of my classes has decided that the best strategy for test day is to not show up for test day
• Found a Goosebumps book in Hebrew, and now really wish I had a friend who reads Hebrew so I could give them the best gift of their life
• Thinking about the (upwards of $120) haircut I'm going to get when I'm in Canada at Christmas. Definitely bangs, definitely shorter, but that's all I have so far. I think my three year experiment with long hair needs to be wrapped up.
• Finally saw Contagion; little disappointed that this wasn't the explanation for the virus
• Possibly involved in a Georgian love triangle

And finally, really big news coming in the next week or so; stay tuned.

*  *  *

Heyyyy, also, while I have you (plural, i.e. everyone) here - why not send me an email when you get the chance? (Or, alternatively, make time. Seriously. I'm only on the other side of the world, here). I also accept (and reply to!) text messages, Skype voicemails, and all means of facebook communication. I don't have internet at home, but I will respond in a timely manner to any communique, from matters pop cultural, to big life events, to everyday bitching and moaning.

Sample topics:

- that crappy movie you saw last weekend
- which new TV shows have been cancelled already
- that idiot thing your idiot boyfriend did
- how insane your relatives are
- work is the worst!
- the cute new sweater you bought for fall
- gossip
- a fantastic book you just read, that you wish I'd read too so we could discuss it
- guess what building they tore down/which guilty pleasure chain store it was replaced with?
- Canadian politics (HA HA HA JUST KIDDING)
- my life is terrible and I miss you!

...and so on.

Thank you!

La Belle Langue

Kristen,

I'm sitting in a French-style cafe eating pain au chocolat and contemplating language. The signs identifying the pastries here are in French, so understanding what a food item is and what it contains was easier than it usually has been for me. Of course, this meant my brain short-circuited and I said to the girl at the counter, "ერტი pain au chocolat, si vous plait". She responded in English. I can't seem to think straight.

I've discovered that when I'm trying to think of a Georgian word or phrase my brain "runs home to mother" - provides me with the words in French. So being here may actually improve my French, and may also be the longest period I've thought in French since my last trip to Paris.

Of course, French still isn't much of an asset when English isn't an option. I wish I spoke Russian. Or really, since I'm wishing anyway, I wish I spoke Georgian! I pick up new words here and there, and some friends and students have been helping me, but what I really need is an intensive course like the one I'm being paid to inflict on my students.

*  *  *

I've started tutoring in earnest this week. I have five students, with another to come in November. I don't find tutoring as draining as teaching, and I've been able to be a bit more creative with my methods, rather than just stick to textbooks and tests. Plus, one-on-one time has allowed me to actually talk to people, make friends, and be treated to that Georgian hospitality I can't get enough of. I've had some crazy plans for staying in Georgia - open a consignment clothing store, start an English communications consulting firm, become Georgia's worst housewife - but maybe sticking around to be a professional adult tutor is the least crazy. (I'd ask that you refrain from inquiring after my qualifications, since they consist entirely of "native English speaker" and "generally not a simpleton").

*  *  *

Halloween is coming up, evidenced by the fact that "Monster Mash" came up on my iPod today and I didn't skip past it. I've been invited to two parties, and I need a costume for one - any ideas from the peanut gallery? Specifically, a costume I can make without access to face paint, cheap wigs, thrift stores, craft stores, or the Zellers/Targets/Wal-Marts of the world? (One Halloween miracle, please!)

*  *  *

This song has been on my new music playlist for a few weeks now, and I think it's a perfect fit for my state of mind:

On trying to be a "good girl"

What's new?

Lots. Always.

I tried schwarma for the first time and really liked it. I think it would be better with teriyaki sauce, though.

I saw boobs on the news one day. (Boobs on the News is my band name, don't steal it)

I learned that roast baby pig is a Georgian delicacy, especially around New Year's. I laughed out loud when my students told me this; of all the crazy, potentially offensive foods... roast. baby. pig.

I'm supposed to make a decision by October 30 on whether or not to renew my contract. Every day I go back and forth.

I made a Thanksgiving feast on Monday, with the help of a fellow Canuck and two Yanks. I'm pretty proud of myself, since I couldn't find any Thanksgiving ingredients with which to make the dinner - no sage, no celery, no cranberries, no pumpkin, and the only turkey was 110GEL. But one of my American friends made a turkey traced from her hand, so it was a festive evening nonetheless.

*  *  *

I've been having a lot of conversations recently, with both Westerners and Georgians, about the social rules governing male and female interaction in Georgia - courtship, sex, marriage, gender roles, and so on. I don't know if I have the right frame of mind (or time, or energy, or space) to get into it on this blog, but it has become a sticking point of culture shock. I've come to expect most of the differences between Georgia and Canada, and accept them, but I've bumped up against this one a few times lately, and it's left an impression.

Some examples after the jump...

Photos III: Photos With a Vengeance

I've posted an album from my trip into the mountains last weekend. They don't capture the majesty of the place, unfortunately, but there's some fun stuff nonetheless: check it out on facebook here.

I've also updated my Tbilisi album with some photos from my visit to the police academy firing range. I don't have photos of me up yet, though, but see them here.

Driven to distraction

Kristen,

I am alive, and so is this blog, I promise. I have had a week that defies description, swinging wildly from spectacular highs to devastating lows. There really is no such thing as a "normal" day in this country.

To summarize: I've been sick, dealing with a multitude of work problems, shooting Glocks and crappy Croatian knockoffs at the police academy, goofing off on the Russian border, spending three days in the mountains, taking midnight trips to Turkish outhouses, starting a new job, arranging my five (5!!) tutoring subjects, yelling at my superiors, neglecting my host family, mooching off American generousity, making new friends, seeing Saakashvili for a third time, and crushing on a Georgian spy. If I had internet at home, I might have been able to update you on this cryptic list in real time.

I have lots of photos to upload and stories to tell, and once I have time to sit in a wifi-enabled cafe for a few hours I'll share everything. (Well, maybe not everything - I don't want to incriminate myself).

At this very moment, I am without my laptop so I'm in an dark and musty internet cafe, surrounded by what a former co-worker who lived in the Ukraine described as "pubescent boy-scum playing violent RPGs and looking at soft-core porn". You nailed it, Joyce.

*  *  *

[NB: If you are my mother, please do not read this next section.]

My host father has driven me to work twice now. The first time, I got in the back seat and started to put on my seatbelt. "No, no, no," he said. "Is no problem!" while giving me a "Why are you being ridiculous?" face. I was in a bad mood that morning, so I declined to get into the "In my culture, we always wear our seatbelts" insult-fest. (In Georgia, it's sometimes considered an insult to wear a seatbelt, as if you don't trust the ability of your driver. I feel like the parent of a teenager in these instances: "It's not that I don't trust you, it's everybody else on the road I don't trust!").

So this morning I get in the car again, and don't bother reaching for my seatbelt (it was my host father who was in a bit of a mood today). He had just received a call that he had to be at work ASAP and so all his Georgian stunt driving skills were being put into play. He was speeding, of course, but he also did a move that I almost admire - instead of stopping behind a line of cars at a red light, he drives in the opposing lane and skirts in front of them when the light changes. He did this today before the light even turned green. 

So of course I surreptitiously reach for my seatbelt and start casually sliding under it. That's when I realize there is a belt but not a buckle. There's nowhere to stick the male end, essentially. (This is not the first time this has happened to me). I can't explain it, though. I don't think the fine people at Toyota or Nissan or Opel build cars with only the belt and not the buckle. Someone in Georgia is removing half the pieces. I can only do now what I did this morning: resigned sigh.

My host father also has a corporate car; by which I mean he has a silver KIA hatchback with the police academy logo on the side. Wocka wocka.

Sakartvelos Gaumarjos!

True story from one of my speaking exams:


Me: What other countries would you like to visit?

Student: America! America is wonderful country! Georgians love America, because America loves Georgia!

Me: Yeah, I've noticed.

Student: You are from America, yes?

Me: Actually, no, I'm Canadian.

Student: ...Oh. Canada is very nice country, too.

Me: [...]


Can I blame him, though? The last time Canada and Georgia had meaningful relations was when we killed one of their sons.

*  *  * 

The program organized a trip to Kakheti this weekend, a major wine-producing region and the place I was supposed to move to in August. I picked and stomped grapes, watched bread and khinkali being made by hand, personally made chuchkella (even though I didn't get to personally eat it - Georgia Wish List, I failed you!), and danced to the "police hymn" (the kids' version of that video, by the way, is the cutest thing YOU HAVE EVER SEEN OR WILL EVER SEE).

The photos of my day trip are here in a facebook album. Here's a taste:

I was also interviewed on Georgian TV. I'll post that video once it's online.

*  *  *

My 14-month-old host sister spends most of her time laughing, but when she cries I've noticed she looks like Patton Oswalt.

*  *  *

Speaking of Canada's popularity with foreigners, I'm going to engage in a little self-promotion (it's my blog, dammit!) and post a link to "Canada's Immigration Policy: A Focus on Human Capital", a brief I wrote for my former employer, the Migration Policy Institute.

In any language: An ode to Mickey D's, Maccas, and MacDo

Question: What is the best thing about any foreign country?

Answer: McDonalds.

Now please, unbunch your panties and hear me out. This is a sincere defense of the Golden Arches and its comforting presence in unknown lands.

Tell me, what is the greatest concern for any traveller? Greater than cultural difference, language barriers, or even safety? Finding a public toilet.

Imagine yourself in a strange land, traipsing around a foreign capital, far from the comforts of your hotel. It's an hour or so after lunch and suddenly that local wine is making its presence known in your nether regions.  Explaining your predicament to local shopkeepers through hand gestures and charades is out of the question, and that public pay-WC looks more like a homeless shelter. Not to mention the unfortunate surprise known as the squat toilet... You need to go, but where to go?

McDonalds. You find a McDonalds and you've found a toilet. A clean, free, Western toilet with soap and water. A toilet no one will ask you to make a purchase to use. A toilet you don't need a key to open. A toilet in a restaurant that most likely has English-speaking staff. And, of late, a toilet that also has free wifi.

McDonalds is a traveller's half-way house, oasis and personal saviour all in one. Seeing a McDonalds in a foreign country should not elicit scorn or shame, but relief. You can scoff at the way it brings the worst of American cuisine overseas; you can cringe at its lack of local "authenticity"; you can even complain about the cookie-cutter taste eerily present from Des Moines to Delhi. You are absolutely free to be a total cultural and culinary snob about the house than Ronald built. But you can't tell me that seeing his creepy clown face is anything less than the most beautiful sight in the world when you're far from home and about to wet yourself.

Bring McDonalds your tired, your hungry, your wifi-enabled masses, yearning to be free of overloaded bladders. And thank George Cohon while you're at it.

Borjomi, Batumi, let's call the whole thing off!

My god, Kristen, WHERE TO BEGIN???

Last weekend was completely insane. A few of my friends planned a trip to Borjomi, a city known for its mineral water (a.k.a. Georgian hangover cure). We left Tbilisi early Saturday morning, and took a 2GEL, 4 hour, Soviet train ride that had a blog post's worth of stories (horrifying toilets, Japanese-style door rushing, old women selling tchotches, a creepy guy in a leisure suit hitting on us, a sweet young man giving us fruit, and on and on).

So, we arrive in Borjomi, walk around, see some sights, take a cable car ride, eat well for practically no money - then I get a phone call.

"The President invites you to attend the opera with him in Batumi - tomorrow."

Being the awesome people that they are, my friends offer to cover my exam on Monday and rush me to the marshutka (mini-bus) station to catch the last ride back to Tbilisi. We're on our way back to the guest house when, one by one, everyone else starts getting the call...

So the next thing we know we're practically flying back to Tbilisi in this marshuka, frantically planning opera-appropriate dress, shoes, hair and make-up, and calling host families and co-workers in an effort to cover classes and arrange our quick turn-around back out of the city.

The next day almost 100 teachers (including people who had just arrived in the country!) are packed onto two coaches and we head off on the world's longest bus ride to Batumi, on the Black Sea. (Another blog post's worth of stories - scenery, feasts, no time to get opera-appropriate, etc).

The opera we were seeing was "Keto da Kote", a sort of Georgian Romeo and Juliet, but much shorter and with a happy ending. The music was fantastic, but I hated the costumes. (Sidebar: Georgia produces a disproportionate number of excellent opera singers, as well as wrestlers).

MORE IMPORTANTLY, I sat in the front row and a mere four rows behind me, and to the left, was Misha! And Prince Albert of Monaco! I didn't turn my flash on so all the photos I took of them are terrible! GAH!

After such an exciting evening, I retired to my room, crawled into Pillow Mountain (it was an excellent hotel), and slept better than I have in weeks. The next morning I went for a stroll, swam in the Black Sea, played "Is that a jellyfish or is that a plastic bag?", ate an incredible breakfast, and saw one of the opera singers from the night before. Everyone was in an excellent mood, even in the face of another seven hour bus ride back to Tbilisi (yes, we probably spent more time on the bus than we did in Batumi).

The entire weekend had ups and downs perfectly representative of life in Georgia - lack of planning, little attention to deadlines, and cultural frustrations mixed with once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, incredible generosity, and utter contentment. The only real disappointment was not being able to meet Misha; giving into my friends' dare to say, "I love what you've done with the place", and getting a facebook profile-worthy photo together (either with finger guns or thumbs-up, I haven't decided yet).

(As proof of my adventure, please see me on Georgian TV here, and check out my facebook album here)

*  *  *

In other news, I'm finally finished my classes and exams. I don't have my new schedule (although there's a rumor - there's always a rumor in this country - that my new classes begin Monday or Tuesday). I will be taking my current students (at least, the ones who passed the exams) up to the next level of instruction. I'm really excited about that, especially for my pre-intermediates, as they are all delights and conversations with them are usually entertaining, informative and a little ridiculous. I can't even begin to describe the romantic, political, tragicomic and amusing mini-essays they wrote for me.  

*  *  *

Speaking of students, a guy I had never seen before showed up to take the exams yesterday. He liked to joke around, and we had our fun, but during his speaking exam this happened:

Me: What do you like to do in your free time?

Him: Well, I'm gay, so I hang out with my boys.

My brain: Horseshit. If this guy were actually gay there's no way he'd be so casual and open about it. But wait... being gay is really tough in Georgia, even in Tbilisi. If I laugh and call him out, I might betray his trust and hurt a young man who's just looking for an ally. 

My face: *poker*

Of course, mere seconds after I finish his exam my assistant, Magda, drops by. I say, "GUESS WHAT!?!?" but of course she already knows, because Magda knows all. She confirmed that the student was totally screwing with me, but my sensitive little North American heart stopped me from reacting appropriately. Oh, culture clash!

*  *  *

One last thing (although there are more blog posts to come this week) - I've created a Georgia Wish List page. I'll be adding to it as time goes on, and crossing out items once they are accomplished. I'll also try to link to the blog entry that discusses their accomplishment. 

All the news that's fit to blog

Kristen,

I've been hoarding news. I don't have a lot of news, but I was waiting for most of it to come together so that I could write a blog post that was more than, "I think this might happen... or that... but I'm not sure when". (Those have been the answers to most questions posed to me about my future).

So it's official - I'm staying at the Ministry for the remainder of my contract. I'm conducting final exams this week, and then I'll have new classes. Ideally I'll be able to take the classes I have now and move with them up to the next level, but nothing has been decided so far. My Pre-Intermediates are especially keen on continuing with the program, as completion of the next level comes with a certificate. Also, they claim to like me - probably because I give them as much sass as they give me.

I've also been asked by three people to be their personal tutor. Two of them I know from my classes and they're very sweet, wonderful women who are enthusiastic and hard-working. They want to focus on  conversation, so I hope our sessions will also include some cross-cultural exchange!

Speaking of cultural exchange, I finally moved in with a host family. They're an incredibly nice couple in their thirties with a 14-month-old daughter whose favourite things are laughing and running around. It's a little jarring to be out of the comfort zone of the American teachers I lived with, their apartment, their neighbourhood, and all that independence. But - true story - I've introduced myself to more than one person who exclaimed, "Oh, you're Squatter Ashley, aren't you?". So yeah, I needed a home.

Besides having a permanent home - and a room to myself, and a bed, and places to put my stuff - one of the advantages of a host family is being able to watch Georgian TV. My host father and I watch the news, and he explains the gist of the stories to me. The past two nights, the news was mostly whatever Misha did that day (kiss babies, deliver speeches in tight jeans, get mauled by star-struck Georgians), and a good 10 minutes on the fact that John Malkovich was in town, as a member of the theatre festival's jury. Who says you have to be at TIFF to see all the celebrities?

Also on the news was a story about the first day of school (inexplicably, today, a Thursday). The other members of my orientation group are now getting a taste of karma - after spending the past month on vacation (spectacular, life-changing, unforgettable vacation, sigh) they're now starting work in public schools across the country. So far I've heard that a kid tried to set something on fire in class. My students may give me sass, but they never start fires.

Speaking of my students, let's discuss a major cultural issue for English teachers here - cheating. Or rather, what we perceive, culturally, as cheating, but what Georgians see as "helping". During tests, students regularly ask questions of their peers, show each other their tests, work on problems together, etc. In the school systems that we English teachers come from, that's cheating. That's SUPER CHEATING, actually. But not here. It's normal. It's just helping. How no one has figured out that all they're doing is unknowingly sharing the wrong answers is beyond me. Marking tests gets really boring when everyone is making the same mistakes, down to the spelling errors. But what am I supposed to do? They're not children, the grades don't really matter, and they're there by choice. I certainly can't turn to a class full of police officers, counter-intelligence types and heads of divisions and say, "Now Georgians, everything you think about helping is wrong; please change immediately, you silly foreigners."

This cheating vs. helping dilemma created an interesting little bit of cultural sleight-of-hand performed by my awesome Georgian assistant and I. We decided it would be best if she not be in the room for the exams, because she would be harassed by the students for both translations and answers. As these people are her colleagues, she couldn't just say no to them - socially, this would be unacceptable and may come back to haunt her if she needs something from them in the future, i.e. "You didn't help me then, why should I help you now?". So I played the mean teacher and "banned" her from the exams. If asked, she could shrug and say, "I'd love to be there, but Ashley said no..."

(I admit, I kinda loved being that mean teacher... even though I'm absolutely no good at it).

Stage Two

Oh, Kristen. It finally happened. I'd been waiting for this, eyes closed, cringing, ducking for cover - stage two of culture shock.

I've been (mostly) needlessly grumpy for almost a week now, sleeping poorly, dragging myself to work, not wanting to leave the apartment or explore the city. Everything - from grocery shopping to being a pedestrian to the way Georgians get off the Metro escalators (for the record - like cold molasses) - is stressing me out and causing me to lose my temper. To quote the repository of all human knowledge, "Language barriers, stark differences in public hygiene, traffic safety, food accessibility and quality may heighten the sense of disconnection from the surroundings". Not to mention the heat and humidity are wearing me down, making me feel fatigued, ugly, messy and generally worthless. I am so tired of sweating through the same six items of clothing every week.

I forced myself out of the house today and wandered aimlessly around Marjanishvili square (which, unbeknownst to me, is under major, dusty, confusing construction). It was unpleasant. I popped into a clothing store, where a sales lady said to me, "We have your size! Big size!" (sidebar: Sigh.) I tried on a pair of navy trousers that fit nicely and were pretty cool - unfortunately they were 120GEL (72CAD). Now I understand why my fashionable Georgian peers order online from Forever 21, Next, H&M and the like, and have their purchases shipped from the Western world via a middleman; selection is poor here and prices are ridiculous.

Speaking of fashion, here's something that absolutely delights me. Harem pants are all the rage among Georgian women. Not horrible drop-crotch, MC Hammer harem pants - tailored, slim-cut, incredibly stylish harem pants. Like these:

I want some.

That said, I know one of two things will happen if I make this dream come true:
1. I will try on a pair of harem pants, see how terrible they look on me, and be cured.
2. I will buy a pair of harem pants, celebrate that I finally have something to wear in the heat, and autumn will arrive the second I step out of the store. (I actually hope this one works out, because I am desperate for fall and will even resort to ironic trickery to get it).

Speaking of dreams, I had one that I moved into an apartment with you, Kristen. My room was huge and airy and fully-furnished in a wonderfully feminine, rustic-chic style. It had a big, soft bed and lots of storage space and a TV. Clearly, being a couch squatter is getting to me. Word on the street is that I have a host family here in Tbilisi, but they're renovating so who knows when I can move in. (I also had a dream that a McDonald's opened up within walking distance of my parents' house, and a dream about Ron Swanson. None of my dreams require much interpretation).

There are also rumours going around that I'll be staying at the Ministry for the rest of my contract (which would make sense if they're moving me into a home in Tbilisi). I heard about this from my assistant, who knows all. I, on the other hand, know nothing.

Photos II: Armed and Fabulous

I've updated my Tbilisi album with some prettier and more impressive photos, after a fantastic 3.5 hour walkabout on Tuesday. Link here.

I've been working a lot, meeting lots of fun, new people and generally having a great time. A few people from my orientation group were in town last night so we had a drink and caught up, which was great (although too brief).

There isn't a lot to report at the moment, as I'm in a holding pattern with regards to my work and home situations. I'm supposed to leave the Ministry on September 9, but yesterday this was pushed back to September 20. Presumably this means I'll continue to impose on the two amazing English teachers I'm living with, since the program has had no luck in finding me a host family in Tbilisi.

Ah, well. If there's one thing I've learned in Georgia it's that your situation can change dramatically without notice. And I don't have a problem with that.

* * * 

I had an awkward incident at work on Monday. My most advanced class derailed my lesson by asking me questions about Canada and Georgia. This derailment was entirely welcome until they started in on politics and religion. The program is clear and firm about teachers not talking about these things, and I explained this to them. I said I'd be happy to hear their thoughts on politics and religion (in fact, I'm immensely curious) but that I can't contribute to the discussion. They persisted, scoffing at the restriction and asking me completely inappropriate questions ("Do you believe in god?"). It would be one thing to have this conversation with a close friend in a private setting, but as a teacher in front of a half a dozen opinionated Georgian men... 

This. Exactly this.

Photos I

I've uploaded some photos of Tbilisi on facebook. I've been too busy to take a lot, or any that are really spectacular, but you can at least get an idea of where I'm living!


Here's the public link.


And here's a taste:

(NB: If we're friends on facebook, you'll be able to see the comments and tags by getting to the album through my personal page.) 

The good, the bad, and Misha

Kristen,

I apologize for all the heavy, reflective claptrap of the last two entries. Let's have some fun, yes?

First, a list of things about Georgia I find baffling:

• Although Georgians are far from the worst drivers I've seen, they still have some habits that make Western passengers blanch. They drive fast, sure, and don't stop for pedestrians, whatever. But they also change lanes like madmen and often drive on dividing lines when they have room to do so. Georgians aren't much for lining up on or off the road, and this manifests itself in drivers following the lane lines between two other cars - because hey, there's room, so why not use that space to pass?
• I understand and accept that I look very not Georgian, but it's still difficult to get used to being stared at. My assistant/class translator says that people in Tbilisi have grown accustomed to foreigners so it's not such a big deal to them anymore. Yet whenever I go out I feel like I have an arse for a face.
• The food is very good... but very salty. There's some kind of special Georgian salt (more of a browny-green colour than table salt, and a larger grain) that is very intense and savoury. I don't care for it... and may come home with the blood pressure of a 50-year-old man.
• Being on time is a foreign concept (although that is changing). I haven't gotten used to this, and so am my usual punctual self - which results in a lot of waiting. I don't do well with tardiness or with waiting. More ways I need to relax, and adapt!
• They call pop "limonati", even if it's not lemon-flavoured. (I'd say, on the absurdity scale, this is on par with those Southern U.S. states that call everything fizzy "coke").

Things I love about Georgia:

• I've mentioned this before, but the hospitality and care of friends and strangers blows me away. They will literally give you the shirt off their back. There's no stranger danger here - they are living embodiments of the aphorism, "A stranger is just a friend you haven't met". I'm so grateful for this every day (and not just because I usually have no idea what I'm doing).
• The escalators in the Tbilisi metro go really, really fast (I suspect because the stations are really, really deep). Also, the subway car doors open before the train comes to a complete stop. This is especially refreshing when compared to the D.C. metro, which has a pause of approximately a millennia between the train stopping and the door opening. The Tbilisi metro is also more reliable than the D.C. metro, even though it hasn't appeared to have been updated since the Soviets built it in the 1960s. I hate the D.C. metro.
• The water is fantastic. I live in a crumbling old Soviet apartment but can simply open the tap, fill a glass, and drink heartily. It doesn't taste weird and it hasn't affected my digestive system. Georgian spring water is bottled and sold in the region, so if you're in the neighbourhood I recommend it!
• You can see the country developing before your eyes. Alongside evidence of 70 years of Soviet rule, a devastating civil war, a revolution, and a recent spanking by Russia, there are modern buildings, public art, revamped institutions, happy people, new investment, rampant enthusiasm for life, and an increasingly loud civil society. The entire country seems to be trying its hardest to modernize and globalize - and wants the world world to notice. It's an incredible atmosphere to live in.
• More than one Georgian has told me about the dramatic change in the police force. After the 2003 revolution, the new government fired the entire police force, changed its culture and mandate, brought on foreign consultants, and radically altered the public perception of its officers. Where once policemen and women were not to be trusted, victimizing innocent civilians through "fines" (forced bribes) and in bed with criminals, patrol officers are now the second most trusted figures in Georgia (second only to the patriarch, the head of the Georgian Orthodox Church). Georgian children want to grow up to be police officers, and Georgians themselves no longer fear calling the police if they need help. It's heartening, and admirable.
• The fact that I've found myself getting a little protective and emotional over the country and its people. The South Ossetian War was a mere three years ago, and thinking about the people I know being put in harm's way, being afraid, evacuating, hearing rumors of an invasion of Tbilisi... it upsets me. It upset me too, in a very surprising way, to discover that one of my favourite students used to be in the Soviet army. The thought of him being the "enemy" during the Cold War, of men like him potentially being at the forefront of another world war... I don't know if there's a word for the feelings it brought up in me. Maybe there isn't one in English - is there a word for fearing something that could have happened, but didn't, while simultaneously understanding the smallness of the world and the oneness of humanity? 

Ack, sorry, I promised fun, not deep thoughts. Here's one last thing that absolutely delights me:

This is Mikheil "Misha" Saakashvili, current President of Georgia and leader of the 2003 revolution. He's a very theatrical figure, and there are a stack of amusing anecdotes about his antics. (There are also a stack of not-so-amusing criticisms of his abuse of government power in the name of the revolution, and hypocrisy when it comes to current Georgian opposition protests. But I digress.) 

Anyway, this video is of a press conference he held in October, to promote the seaside city of Batumi as an alternative to other Black Sea resorts. He had just completed a 3.5km swim in the sea (alongside the mayor of Tbilisi and an old man in a woman's bathing cap), and so popped out of the water clad only in his bathing suit (to compete with Putin, one imagines), whipped out an iPad, and started comparing the weather of rival resorts to that of Batumi, emphasizing that the humidity is lower there and that in Georgia you can swim from May to November, and even head into the mountains later that same day for some skiing. 

He did all this while heroically sucking it in. What a boss.

Wait, no, I mean Tbilisi

Hoo boy, Kristen. We have a lot to talk about.

As you read in my previous post, I was on the verge of moving to Telavi, meeting my host family, and then enjoying a month-long vacation. As of Wednesday night, that plan has been seriously altered.

On Wednesday, I was still at the orientation hotel. News came through that "one boy and one girl" were needed for month-long assignments teaching police officers, one in Tbilisi (me) and the other in the mountains near the Russian border. I volunteered immediately, not merely because I thought it would be fascinating, but because I'd originally been interested in teaching adults. Plus, as much as a month's "vacation" sounded nice, I did come to Georgia to work, and to contribute.

So on Thursday morning instead of being picked up by my host family, I was picked up by the police and taken to the new police academy compound in the west end of the city. There I was given a brief introduction to my new responsibilities, met my fantastic new American roommate, and shipped off the Soviet-style apartment we'll be sharing. My plans for Friday were to shadow her classes and prepare myself for my first day of work on Monday.

But at 8 o'clock on Thursday night I received a call asking if I could start Friday. I had no teaching experience, no books, and no clue. But I said yes, because that's what you have to do in Georgia - go with the flow, take opportunities as they come, and trust that the people around you will help you through. So yesterday I was taken to the Ministry of Internal Affairs, where I taught four classes of three different ability levels. And I survived.

"Survived" is an entirely appropriate word in this context. Let me put this in perspective: When I woke up Friday morning I didn't know my address, my roommate's phone number, where I was working, who was driving me there, who my colleagues were, what I was teaching, how many classes I was teaching, to whom I would be teaching them, how I would get lunch, when my day started or ended, or even how I would get home. I'm a planner, an organizer; I'm a over-prepared Boy Scout. To be in the dark, to be out of control, to have to rely entirely on other people and to be OK with asking for help - this is so far outside my experience it might as well describe another person's life. But you know what? Everything turned out fine. I performed my duties well, I enjoyed myself, I made new friends, numerous people went out of their way to help me, and I didn't cry. Temporarily losing independence and control didn't cause me to self-destruct.

I have four more months of this fundamental challenge to my personality, including another upheaval in mid-September when I move to Telavi. But I'm proud of my (mostly) calm reaction to Friday, and I'm sure that I'll only grow more confident in my situation and my abilities. (I say mostly calm because I may have ended every sentence yesterday with "?!?" and a squeak).

That said, when I get back to North America, I'll probably double-down on being a control freak just to make up for letting go in Georgia. If any of you are late to a movie, so help me god...

Telavi

Kristen,

This evening, I finally received my placement. In two days I will be moving to a small city in the eastern half of Georgia - Telavi, in the Kakheti region.

From what I understand, Telavi is notable for two reasons: first, it's located on a plateau, next to a green and subtropical valley, at the base of the Caucasus mountains. It's supposed to be a stunningly scenic place, and consequently has a healthy tourist industry.

Second, it's in a major wine-making region of Georgia, and the wine produced here is supposed to be spectacular. I've also been told that I'll be arriving during harvest season, so I may be able to observe (or participate!) in the wine-making.

But this evening has marked more than just the discovery of my new address. Everything's becoming so real now. Before my departure, I was never really able to wrap my head around the fact that I was moving to Georgia. I only began to feel something while on the plane last week. It hit me that I was perhaps making a mistake, getting out of my depth, and doing something that was truly crazy. I saw gates displaying flights to London and New York, and I considered bolting for those much safer international relocations. Since arriving in Georgia, though, I haven't had those feelings again, even as I've found myself reduced to near-illiteracy in a radically different geography and mystifying culture. I've had the cocoon of the hotel, of my English-speaking orientation group, and of the protective program co-ordinators to make me forget exactly how far away from my own culture, my own context, my own life I am.

That changed this evening. My new home has a name (and, if Wikipedia is to be believed, a beautiful face). I have one day of training - including one day of life-saving Georgian language lessons - left until I meet my host family and are whisked away to an even more remote and unfamiliar part of the world. Until now, I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that my presence in Georgia wasn't temporary - but I am not going home anytime soon. Everything familiar to me is packed in a hockey bag, and anything I miss will have to wait until Christmas. This week of orientation was merely dipping my toes in the water; my real endeavour is only about to begin.

The other side of the world

Kristen,

I'm here! I'm safe! I'm having a good time! I think I'm in the first stage of culture shock but that's OK because it's a good stage!

I start orientation today, including a walking tour of Tbilisi. Then five hardcore days of Georgian language, culture and pedagogy classes. I can't wait to get started! I want to learn as much Georgian as possible and become completely fluent and meet my host family and get to know my new home! CULTURE SHOCK IS THE BEST!

My first night here, I went out alone for dinner (khatchapuri and Georgian wine). I met three middle-aged Georgian men with OK English skills, who bought me an ice cream sundae and Georgian "champagne", taught me a little Georgian, and asked me all manner of personal questions. It was a fantastic introduction to the Georgian love of guests. (Have I mentioned the Georgian proverb, "An unexpected guest is a gift from God"? That was on full display.)

Bit of blog business: I've added a widget on the right-hand side that will allow you to subscribe to my blog. Enter your email address and you'll receive an email whenever I have a new post.

In conclusion, jet lag!

Listening Skills

Sneak attack

Kristen,

I was going to write a post about leopards. I was going to write, "Guess what Georgia has?" and you'd try to guess but you'd never guess because who would ever think that Georgia has leopards?

Surprise!

Actually, for a while, no one did. It was thought that the Near Eastern (or Persian) leopards in Georgia were extinct. Recently, an unmanned camera captured images of a male leopard, looking rather well-fed. Scientists named him Noah, and Georgia once again has leopards.

Well, leopard. It may just be Noah right now. But the World Wildlife Fund has begun a program to re-introduce leopards into the Caucasus, which sounds like a great idea.

Or rather, sounded like a great idea until a couple of days ago when I saw this photograph:

That is a man experiencing a leopard sneak attack in India earlier this week. In all, six people were mauled and the leopard was killed.

(Interesting fact: What's the difference between a leopard and a panther? Nothing! Panthers are all-black, sure, but it's the same cat.)

Anyway, I was going to write a whole post about leopards and how exciting they are, but then I got sneak attacked by circumstances, leopard-style, and there's bigger news to report.

My departure date for Georgia has been delayed. I was supposed to arrive in Tbilisi on July 30; now I won't arrive until August 10. I am not jazzed, but I'm learning to channel my anger into other things, like people driving under the speed limit, punk-ass teenagers, and Chris Brown's continued existence.

The email I received said I will need to start my journey two days before my arrival date. In my mind, this conjured up images of strapping my bags to a donkey, carefully descending a mountain, sharing a crowded bus with a bunch of tanned manual labourers, possibly catching a train, and then finally a flight to Georgia. I feel like I should be packing a steamer trunk and a wide-brimmed hat with silk scarf. If you look at a map on August 8-9, you'll see a red dotted line tracking my progress from Milton to Toronto to New York to a small refueling island in the Atlantic to Munich to Istanbul to Tbilisi. I'm sure a prop plane is involved.

Really, I'll probably just fly out late on the eighth, have an absurdly long layover on the continent, and hang around Canada long enough to see The Smurfs.*


*Wouldn't that be hilarious if I was serious? Get smurf'd, indeed.

Dress right and know where you are

Kristen,

Here is the blog you harassed me to start. I'll try to stay true to updating it, documenting incidents of culture shock, language mishaps, inappropriate come-ons, etc. Maybe also stories of cute kids, new friends, and mindblowing scenery.

Right now I'm twenty-two days from Georgia. I have multiple To Do lists, and want to get started on every item on every list immediately. Number one on any list is, of course, learning as much Georgian as I can. Here's my name: აშლე ჭალლინორ. Gorgeous, isn't it? The Georgian alphabet has a hard "ch" sound, so maybe strangers will finally pronounce my surname correctly.

Second on my list is creating a wardrobe. My friend Carole, who is more of a fashionista than I am, suggested I "dress like a Frenchwoman" - i.e., have a small stable of classic pieces in neutral colours that can be combined into any number of practical and chic outfits. Based on the requirements for dressing in Georgia (dark, conservative clothes) this is my best bet. Plain blouses, long skirts, and a rugged pair of hiking boots will be my new style.

(I really just want to dress like Rhianna most days but have yet to find a workplace accepting of that).