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.

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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.

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.

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:

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.

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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").

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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!)

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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:

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).