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.