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.