The End

I haven't been able to sort through my emotions this week (although they swung between contentment and crying at the Academy twice). It may be a month or more before I'm able to assess my near-year here. That may come out as a blog post. If not, thank you for reading. It's been a vaguely narcissistic blast.

                                                                      *   *   *

Things I'm going to miss about Georgia (an incomplete list):

• Marshrutkas. They're like buses, but faster and they stop wherever you want them to! Unlike buses,  the mentally ill, substance abusers, and punk-ass teenage boys don't get up in your face. Also, marshrutkas have a social code of conduct that is strictly abided by - no smoking, if you're standing and carrying bags someone who's sitting will hold them for you, children will be looked after, etc.
• Entreé. A French café chain that is super delicious, super convenient, and carries my (second) favourite English newspaper, Financial. If I was ever going to eat bread again, I'd want to bring all theirs home with me.
• The mountains and hills of Tbilisi. Tbilisi is snuggled between mountains, in the valley of the Mtkvari River. Having a a view of both those things outside my bedroom window made me feel incredibly lucky. (On top of all the other things that regularly made me feel incredible lucky).
• Nabeghlavi. My favourite Georgian mineral water and cure for most stomach-related illnesses - not to mention hangovers, if you're so inclined.
• The Messenger. It was a pleasure going to work most days, thanks to my fun-loving and generous co-workers. I learned so much about Georgian politics and society - this job was absolutely invaluable. 
• The Police Academy. There was heat and air conditioning, a pool and gym, internet, and good friends. I practically lived at this place.
• Black currant juice. The best.
• Payboxes. A paybox is a machine, found usually in convenience stores and Metro stations, where you can pay your bills, top up your Metromoney card, place bets, buy rail tickets, put credit on your phone, and do a million other things. I'm not looking forward to returning to my cumbersome pay-as-you-go phone in North America, which requires a credit card, the last four digits of my (now non-existent) social and a phone call to T-Mobile to top up.
• Luca Polare's hot chocolate. Basically a chocolate bar and some cream melted in a pot.
• Using Georgian words in text messages. Instead of writing the finger-cramping "tomorrow", I write kval. Instead of "the day after tomorrow"? Zeg.
• The jewelry at Kinos Sakhli. In between the souvenirs and questionable art on the steps of the old cinema house, you can find wonderful, eclectic and often handmade jewelry for excellent (and negotiable!) prices. 
• The feeling of bliss upon entering Batumi. The beach atmosphere is instantly calming - no wonder it's the most popular vacation spot in the entire country.
• Platinum Popcorn's creamy dill flavour. There's no better accompaniment to second-run movies and rock-hard seats at the Kolga English theatre.
• Roasted mushrooms with cheese, peasant salad with walnut paste, shotispuri, strawberries from Kakheti, Adjaruli khatchapuri...
• Maniacal dreamboat Giorgi Targamadze. Hellooo, nurse!
• Georgian hospitality. Of course. Of course! What else is there to say about the family that took me in for nine months, the colleagues who pay for my marshrutka ride without saying a word, the friends and students who force-feed me, the strangers who help me with my bags, the innumerable people who took me under their wing when I was an overwhelmed Georgia newbie... it's unparalleled.

And then there are the people. A few thank-yous:

U.K. - role model; recipient and source of awful jokes

T.H. - rival in a fashion cold war; sounding board for my girliest pursuits

H.G. - a source of strength when I had none; an unlikely kindred spirit

C.R.O'N. - muse for the goofiest aspects of my personality; unfailing listener

M.H. - force of nature; source of wisdom

R.E. - salvager of my 2012; intellectual font for a parched mind

P. (MLR) - sparring partner; blog encourager

And to my host family, my colleagues at both the newspaper and the Academy, my students - thank you for building me a new home.

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:

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...

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.

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.