50 Words or Less: January 23

I have recently found myself thinking of experiences in terms of potential status updates. I realize that’s ridiculous, especially since I don’t have immediately, daily, or even bi-weekly access to Facebook. However, such is life. Tonight (as I’m laying in bed with two bottles filled with hot water to keep me warm, two jackets, leggings, sweatpants, socks, and a hood), I decided to write them down to help me keep track of random things throughout the week as well as countdown the remaining weeks of my time here in Georgia (mainly, my time in the winter).

Since I have internet access once a week, I’m going to start posting these pseudo-Facebook statuses each week so that you, my readers (aka…mom and dad and the others they force to read this), can follow along with me in a typical week of Georgian experiences. Congrats; feel free to consider yourself lucky to have stumbled upon this delightful new addition to your life.

Week 1: Week of January 23 (Yes, I’m starting with Mondays because that’s the first day of the week for me…the first day of school)

Monday: There’s nothing like being greeted by my director after the holidays by signing two papers saying that I’ve received the president’s gift of wine, champagne, chocolates, and a card with various Georgian government buildings on the inside.

Tuesday: I know a student isn’t paying attention when she peers at me for two minutes over her book that she’s stood on her desk.

Wednesday: The teacher black market today consisted of 30 toothbrushes, 30 tubes of toothpaste, hand towels, and wash cloths; it was great watching teachers, one by one, walk over to the English-labeled toothpastes, unscrew the tops, and taste the contents to see if it is mint or not.

Thursday: I didn’t realize that Georgian students use snowball fights as training to become assassins.

Friday: When a group of men buys me cake, what are your suggestions? If I eat it, does it mean I’ll sleep with them, or would I be better off throwing it to the ground and yelling, “I will not sell my sexuality for a very large piece of cake!”

Saturday: A snow day in America means cuddling up in sweatpants by the fire with a good book; a snow day in Georgia means cuddling up in sweatpants, leggings, two shirts, a sweater, socks, and slippers by the pechi with one of the two books I brought with me.

Sunday:Never again will I spend at entire winter weekend with an 11-year-old; by 3:15 on Saturday, I have reached my whining, card game playing, and attention-seeking behavior quota.

Snow Days in Georgia

After 5 weeks of vacation, 1,300 pictures (that survived the cut), 3 boats, 4 countries, 1 rental car, 11 hotels/B&B’s/lodges/hostels/guesthouses, and 5 packages of Duo cookies, I am back in Shashiani.

I trudged through 8” of snow with a large duffle bag, a carry on, my computer bag, and a coat to get back to my house, all the while cursing the winter and its consequences. However, less than a week later, I realized that 8” is nothing compared to 14”. Granted, these are rough measurements; I have no way of actually knowing how much snow we have, especially because most of the surfaces are uneven, so it’s not as simple as just looking at a few tracks in the snow and approximating. However, I think my estimates are fairly accurate for the majority of my experiences.

My students’ favorite question for me as of late has been, “You like snow?” My reply is typically something like, “I like the snow because it is beautiful, but I do not like the cold.” (Me miqkhvars tovli imitom rom is lamazia magram me ar miqkhvars tsiva.)

By the time I got back to the village, the snow had been there for a few days and had been fairly packed down in most areas. However, after Friday’s snow, there was nothing but cold feet, wet boots, and several layers of socks. As I left school on Friday, I was greeted by snowballs whizzing through the air; I’m happy to join in when I am not the sole target. I found solace with the 3^rd graders and walked home in slush.

I had dinner with Jenny’s family Friday night and got in a taxi around 6:30 to get back to my village. However, the roads were bad, and I was a bit concerned at the reliability of the driver’s car. We went slowly through Vazisubani and eventually reached the bottom of the hill entering Shashiani. My road lies toward the top of the hill, so I gave him a better marker of the “first shop”. However, as we crawled up the hill, I realized we were not going to get that far. I got out as he backed down the hill and swung the car around. I was greeted by students sliding down the road in old toboggans or just sliding down on their feet and watched for a few seconds before I continued on down my road. I eventually ended up back at the road and played with Ani and a few younger students outside, dodging cars and pulling toboggans.

Saturday proved to be the ultimate snow day; it was cold, and I felt lazy. In America, a snow day infers a blazing fire in the fireplace, sweatpants, a good book, and a cup of hot cocoa, with a snowman or two thrown into the middle. In Georgia, however, a snow day infers a seat by the pechi, sweatpants, leggings, two long—sleeved shirts, one sweater, a pair of fuzzy socks, and slippers, one of the few books I brought with me to Georgia, and a cup of fruit juice from whatever compoti we have open, with a snowman and 3 snowball fights thrown into the middle. 

An Entirely Different Perspective

Nearly 4 months ago, I was sitting at Gate 213 in the Istanbul airport writing in my journal, desperately trying to feel better about moving to Georgia. At one point, I had to stop writing because I was getting teary-eyed in front of all my new friends and fellow TLG volunteers. Throughout the whole process, I had convinced myself that, in a way, I was above the effects of moving overseas. However, siting in the airport, I could no longer deny the doubts and fears facing me. I wrote as much as I could, admitted my concerns, and played cards.

Today, in a very different set of circumstances, I am sitting in the Istanbul airport writing in my journal (which is my computer since my journal is tucked away somewhere), gaining excitement about the prospect of being back in Georgia. I will admit that it is a strange feeling to have left the country and to be now going back to it instead of going home to the States. It seems that since I've left, I shouldn't be going back. I can’t help but thinking of Georgia as a means to the ends – flying home. In 5 months, I will be back here; if I make it through 5 months, I will be flying home.

I’m struck, though, by how different my frame of mind is after 4 months. I am no longer stressing out about the little details – getting to the hotel, finding our luggage, meeting people, being placed in a family, teaching classes. Instead, I am confident of where to catch the bus (#37) and where to get off (Avlabari station), and I have no concerns about getting my luggage. I am not worried about meeting people because I have a lovely set of friends in and around my village. Teaching is a constant concern, but I now know what to expect. No longer am I sitting in the airport with a general fear of the unknown; I know what I’m going back to, and I like it.

The more I think about it, the more I get excited about being back in the culture I've become accustomed to. I've spent so much effort learning the language, adapting to new situations, and becoming involved in my surroundings that I cannot imagine having left in December. I realize this post is a bit convoluted, but that's how I'm feeling; I miss my life in Georgia, but I miss my friends and family in the States. I'm looking forward to the next 5 months in Georgia, but I'm looking forward to the end of the next 5 months. And since this is my form of "journaling" today, those who are reading this get the pseudo-journal ramblings. I realize it's not as ...light-hearted...as it usually is; I promise I'll get back to my version of humor in my next post. Enjoy.