Vignettes

Dracula came up in one of my classes recently. A student said that he admired the real Dracula - Vlad the Impaler - because he was a great warrior who fought for his religion. I told him that was the most Caucasian thing I'd ever heard.

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On April Fool's Day, my host father told me that one of the higher-ups at the Police Academy had called, saying "something about Eshli's visa being revoked...?". I briefly fell for it even though I don't have a visa, but in my defense I'm still scarred from my experience in the US.

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A topic I find fascinating is the way that each generation interacts with technology in new ways, and how that technology influences their brains. There's a good reason why young people find touchscreens, smartphones,  video games, and internet searches effortless - we've been raised on those patterns and so our brains instinctively know how to "solve" the mystery of usage. The same goes for previous generations with technologies that were new then. See Stephen Johnson's Everything Bad is Good for You or Lewis Padgett's "Mimsy Were the Borogoves".

Anyway, one day I saw my 20-month-old host sister expertly remove the SIM card from her mother's phone and I was terrified. I wonder if that's the way my mother felt when she first watched me use a PC as a child.

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On the E60, the highway between Gori and Tbilisi, there are a number of signs that tell you how many kilometres until you reach any number of notable cities. Tbilisi is never on those signs. Instead, as I wonder how much longer until I'm home, I'm informed of the distance to Baku, Yerevan, and Tehran. (It's only 1200km from Tbilisi to Tehran, if you're curious).

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I went to Turkey over Easter, and toured the Black Sea coast there. It looks very similar to Georgia, but is greatly improved by the lack of Soviet bloc apartment buildings. Also, lentil soup. Is it weird that one of my favourite foods is lentils? 

In Turkey, seven people asked to take photos with me (mostly young women wearing headscarves). The Blonde Mystique at work!

     ///

I spent ten days in Egypt and a day in Jordan last month. I rode a camel and a 4x4, went snorkeling and scuba diving, saw the Pyramids and the Sphinx, drove under the Suez Canal, hiked Petra, got a tan, and was notified, vigorously and often, of my deviant sexual proclivities by angry Egyptian hustlers and taxi drivers when I refused their services. When informed of a particular oral activity that I supposedly partake in "all day long", I really wanted to turn back to him and say, "Buddy, who has the time?"

     ///

Returning to Tbilisi from a recent trip to Batumi, I was overcome with a strange feeling. Although I'm content to leave Georgia in two weeks, I'm very much looking forward to coming back. I don't know when or under what circumstances, but I really want to visit Tbilisi again and be overwhelmed with the memory of my time here - my routine, my haunts, my friends, my Georgian life. I want to bring someone along with me and point out the monuments to my year here. I want to see what's changed, and what's stayed the same. I want to feel at home again, even after an absence. I can't wait. 

How I pay the bills

I'm back from an extended absence once again, although this one was a little less intentional. I've had a surprisingly dark return to Georgia which, in concert with a broken laptop screen, has conspired to keep me away from my blog.

I've also been stupendously busy. And I don't mean busy in that, "SIGH, I AM JUST SUCH A BUSY PERSON" way, which implies an utter lack of time management skills and a disregard for other people, but in an "I work four jobs" way.

My second term in Georgia has been marked by a burst of ambition that saw me tell more than one person I was going to pick up yoga. I don't make New Year's resolutions, but I do tend to say stupid shit in January, which is essentially the same thing.

This ambitious kick has prompted me to add, in addition to my teaching position at the Police Academy, an editing position at an English-language newspaper, regular tutoring, and freelance English stylist work. Oh, and I'm a voice-over artist now, too.

So I'm getting to know the marshrutka system really well, and walking a lot, and filling the time I'd otherwise spend surfing the internet or watching videos on my laptop. (Which isn't to say that there's not a laptop screen-sized hole in my heart. Because dammit, I was in the middle of season 3 of Scrubs!).

I had a delightful exchange with a cab driver last week. It was very Georgia. I had caught a taxi home from a friend's apartment, when he hit a big pothole and completely blew out a back tire. He tried to get me to wait for him to change it, but it was late, and snowing, and we were stopped in the literal middle of the embankment highway. So I hailed a new cab.

Normally taxi drivers like to test the limits of my Georgian, but this guy was silent. It wasn't until we got to my place when this exchange took place:

Me: რამდენი ლარი? (How many lari?)

Cabbie: шесть.

Me: шесть?

Cabbie: шесть.

Me: ბოდიში, ვარ ენგლისური. რამდენი? (Sorry, I'm English. How many?)

Cabbie: English? I thought you were Russian! Six lari.

The only English-speaking taxi driver in Tbilisi and we sat in silence the entire ride.

Normally, I would have taken a marshrutka from my friend's apartment home, but the last time I tried to do that I was mistaken for a prostitute. I was waiting by the side of the road (first mistake), looking absolutely ravishing in my winter coat and plastic grocery bag (second mistake), when a Jeep pulled up beside me and the two men inside asked me something in Georgian. Thinking they were asking for directions (sidebar: Obviously the blonde girl is the best person to ask in Tbilisi, oy), I asked them if they knew English. The younger one did, and asked if I'd like a ride. Thinking to myself that Georgians are such nice, thoughtful people, I politely declined and went back to waiting for the marshrutka. A few seconds later, the driver got out of the Jeep, and approached me, saying in broken English, "$100".

I didn't quite get it.

"Uh, no, no thank you," I said, a tad confused.

"$150."

"No..." It started to dawn on me.

"$200."

Now I got it. And I was pissed. I told him no again but he wouldn't leave. That's when I snarled "შენი დედა!" (literally, "Your mother", a vulgar Georgian curse and delightfully appropriate in this situation).

Now he was confused. Like it never crossed his mind that I wasn't a prostitute. I pointed towards his car and told him to fuck off. He ambled away.

Later, my host mother told me she had been propositioned at the same intersection.

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.

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:

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)

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...

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.

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.

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...