I love it when a plan comes together

Kristen,

I did something momentous last week.

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

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

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

I'm continuing to tutor my wonderful private pupils.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's the little things

Clips from my life:

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

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

*  *  *

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

Sample topics:

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

...and so on.

Thank you!

La Belle Langue

Kristen,

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

*  *  *

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

*  *  *

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

On trying to be a "good girl"

What's new?

Lots. Always.

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

Some examples after the jump...

Photos III: Photos With a Vengeance

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

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

Driven to distraction

Kristen,

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

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

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

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

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

Sakartvelos Gaumarjos!

True story from one of my speaking exams:


Me: What other countries would you like to visit?

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

Me: Yeah, I've noticed.

Student: You are from America, yes?

Me: Actually, no, I'm Canadian.

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

Me: [...]


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

*  *  * 

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

*  *  *

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

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

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

Answer: McDonalds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My god, Kristen, WHERE TO BEGIN???

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*  *  *

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

*  *  *

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

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

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

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

My face: *poker*

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

*  *  *

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

All the news that's fit to blog

Kristen,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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