Now on to a recent weekend in July, when I was invited to a dacha outside Tbilisi for the night, even though I had to be back at the office at 8 the next morning. It was near Tbilisi Sea, which I had no idea existed, and which looked more like a lake to me, but the dominating feature of that landscape was the rows of Soviet apartment blocs rising in the background as Tbilisi fell behind us. It may be the one angle I've seen that makes Soviet apartment blocs seem picturesque.
It was getting dark already, and my host brother was driving his friend Keti and me. I was admiring the view when I caught her telling him that they should probably wait for the SUV carrying the rest of her family, since it wasn't a good idea to drive alone on this stretch of road. I found this implication discomforting. A little bell rang in the back of my mind that there were places near Tbilisi that were restricted to volunteers, but I couldn't remember quite where, or whether it was okay to go such places with your host family. To cement the fact, my host brother decided to tell me how this road was 10 years ago, when Shevardnadze was president.
"In Shevardnadze's time, on this road-- BRACHHH!!" (punctuated by mime of execution)
To add to this, a truck drove by slowly while we were waiting alone on the empty road with the car turned off, and Keti noted that our situation was somewhat like the movie Jeepers Creepers. For the uninitiated, there's a truck in Jeepers Creepers that stalks the protagonists as they drive across the state, ramming them occasionally and then bloodily ending their lives. After texting noted Jeepers Creepers fan Laura Griffith, I sat back to wait for the truck to return and kill us.
Instead, Keti's family's SUV appeared, and we rolled on up to the dacha in the village. It'd be great if I remembered the village name, but it sounded Russian, so I couldn't. In fact, Keti's whole family-- down to the small children-- were more fluent in Russian than in Georgian and were jumping back and forth between the two languages all evening, to the effect that I understood even less than usual. At least most of them knew some English, too... Keti, especially, but also her little nieces, Mari and Ana, who dragged me around the house by the hand and explained things to me in English that I think outpaced my Georgian. Trilingual children make me insecure in my intellect. Ana, who's 7 years old, picked up on this and remarked to her mother Natia that I understood Georgian, but very very little. Mari asked me if I liked billiards, and she scolded herself for forgetting the verb "to rock," as in chairs. I think Mari's 8 or 9. Neither of these girls are yet old enough to study English in Samtredia's schools (we start in 5th grade).
That was pretty much it. We ate expensive sausages (9 lari!) and wheat bread, and the house caretaker busted out a bottle of Gomi vodka (adjectives do not exist to describe the awfulness of this beverage, but "keroseneian" will have to do), with which we toasted to my host brother's imminent departure for London (who, btw, I won't see again during my service, since his visa in London outlasts mine in Georgia). I mentioned in my toast that he might not like London sometimes, since it's difficult to immerse yourself in another culture, and he looked surprised. We'll see how that goes.
We finished our sausage around 1AM, and after apologizing for taking me to a place that only has an outdoor toilet, the Tbilisians and I headed off to bed. They didn't know that their immaculately-clean sit-down toilet that happened to be outside was far removed from my definition of roughing it after training in the village, which was cute. I suppose talking about toilets is an awkward way to end this post, but sometimes Jen is awkward.
*Clearly if you're reading this blog, you know that Tbilisi is the capital of Georgia. If you don't, I encourage you to keep returning to this blog and upping the hits on my map counter, and I've provided this little asterisk explanation so you can pretend you knew where Tbilisi was. Don't feel bad about it-- before I came here, I thought Georgia was a region in Russia. Turns out that's insanely wrong and offensive. Oops.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
We pretend to work, they pretend to pay us
I can't take credit for that quote (so you can't censor me for it!), nor can I claim it was originally about Peace Corps, and a further nor to the idea of using it to describe Peace Corps being mine. Actually, we do work sometimes...
I know I posted that ridiculously-long post about what I do during the day, but looking at my day-to-day schedule is unduly unfair to me. Shame on myself. Now we're going to look at what I do on a project-to-project basis, and not only will it be a much shorter post than the summer schedule one, but it will make me look like a better Peace Corps volunteer, too.
6th grade textbook:
The textbook I used this year for the 6th grade class was the bane of my existence. Just so people (read: government censors) don't assume I'm defaming the most popular textbook series in Georgia, I'll clarify here that this is not the same textbook as everyone else uses. It is, in fact, worse. Never in my life have I seen a book that can use up 2/3 of its pages teaching nothing. Rather than whine about it (or in addition to whining about it), a group of us is writing new 5th and 6th grade textbooks. I'm one of the lucky workers on the 6th grade book, as I have ample motivation to pilot a new book this year. Unlike the volunteers who are writing the 5th grade book, we 6th grade-level functionaries have accomplished a grand total of nothing so far, save for outlining. This is probably due to all three of us having scheduled America visits this summer... as soon as one member got back from the US, the second left, and he gets back this Friday, after which we will have about 4 weeks to write the book in its entirety before I leave. Oops.
Writing Olympics handbook:
Since you either read or purposely skipped the Writing Olympics entry from earlier in this blog, I'll leave out the main project description here. It suffices to say that Writing Olympics is currently dependent on the memory of the previous year's director, who guides the current director with sample emails and files and such, offering tips and reminders on occasion. After the overachieving Azerbaijan Writing Olympics committee created a 52-page handbook, last year's Georgia director suggested that it might serve us well to follow suit, though more along the tree-saving lines of 20 pages. So she and I are putting that together now, though just like the above project, it has only made it to the outline stage so far (I sense a theme...). In deference to the Azerbaijan committee, I should mention that their project turns out a lot more complicated than ours, since the Embassy pretty much takes care of the awards ceremony for us.
Writing Olympics anthology printing:
This is the last step in the part of this project that involved a grant... and I can't close out the grant and deliver the final report until this gets done. I've got all the files and stuff, so now we just need the permission of all three (Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan) country directors, and we're set to go! I will heave a giant sigh of relief when this book gets printed. Special thanks to the overachievers in Azerbaijan for designing the whole thing.
Computer classes:
You may have noticed in my summer schedule post that these classes didn't turn out the way I wanted them to. WELL, I'm going to try the main idea again in September, but in the meantime I'm using some of the flexibility that working in Georgia necessitates, namely that I'm teaching a grand total of two students, both during the time in which I'd slotted for the teachers' class. Special thanks to the six teachers who signed up for the class and never showed up, by the way. Flexibility has actually come in handy every day of this class. First day, the school computer room was being used for computer tests, so I had to move to the English classroom. That, and only one student came. Second day, the computer room was available, but I realized that it's not easy for me to teach computers that are powered by Kubuntu (not a typo, I know what Ubuntu is), some Linux derivative. Third day, the school was locked, not to mention that another student appeared and asked to join the in-session class, so I took them both back to my house where my host sister and I did some team teaching. Same for the fourth day. But now, they can both use Microsoft Word and also make mix CDs of their favorite B-level American pop music.
SELF Camp:
Since this camp (formerly Girls' Sports Camp) got completely funded a couple weeks ago, all there is to do with this is make sure I have the curriculum all straightened out before I leave, since I'll probably be going straight from the airport to the camp site. I cross my fingers as tightly as I can that all the campers come regardless of our repeated date changes-- at least the Samtredia one will be there, since there's only one, I have her phone number, and I have the means to phone-stalk her until she agrees to go, despite the fact that none of her friends will be there.
Imereti Reads:
Some volunteers in Kutaisi and Baghdati are running this one, but us Samtredia mignons are duly participating. It consists of creating a reading incentives program in our region (Imereti) to get kids to read more Georgian and Russian books, and to encourage them to join and use their local libraries. Chilluns who read a certain amount by the end of the school year-- as demonstrated by how many book reports they've turned in-- will be invited to an ice cream party in May.
English book donation:
This is partially my role in the Imereti Reads project, but I'll separate it here since it'll happen regardless of the success level of the former. We're working to attain a donation of 20,000 books (one crate) from an organization in the US, and those books will be split among Imereti volunteers, with perhaps some sharing to the school libraries of volunteers who help us cart these things around. The application is due in August, so we'll see how that goes. Our local library in Samtredia informed me that if I give them books, they'll give them away, so the first item of business is to figure out a place to put these things. Also to contemplate why any library with 0 English books would want to keep it that way in the presence of an offer of 4,000 free English books.
That's about it, I think. I loaded my summer with secondary projects so I wouldn't be bored, and yet here I am with ample time to write a blog entry about my secondary projects. 20 days til I leave for the US.
*any inconsistencies in time and number countdown are to be blamed on the fact that I wrote this post over a week before I published it
I know I posted that ridiculously-long post about what I do during the day, but looking at my day-to-day schedule is unduly unfair to me. Shame on myself. Now we're going to look at what I do on a project-to-project basis, and not only will it be a much shorter post than the summer schedule one, but it will make me look like a better Peace Corps volunteer, too.
6th grade textbook:
The textbook I used this year for the 6th grade class was the bane of my existence. Just so people (read: government censors) don't assume I'm defaming the most popular textbook series in Georgia, I'll clarify here that this is not the same textbook as everyone else uses. It is, in fact, worse. Never in my life have I seen a book that can use up 2/3 of its pages teaching nothing. Rather than whine about it (or in addition to whining about it), a group of us is writing new 5th and 6th grade textbooks. I'm one of the lucky workers on the 6th grade book, as I have ample motivation to pilot a new book this year. Unlike the volunteers who are writing the 5th grade book, we 6th grade-level functionaries have accomplished a grand total of nothing so far, save for outlining. This is probably due to all three of us having scheduled America visits this summer... as soon as one member got back from the US, the second left, and he gets back this Friday, after which we will have about 4 weeks to write the book in its entirety before I leave. Oops.
Writing Olympics handbook:
Since you either read or purposely skipped the Writing Olympics entry from earlier in this blog, I'll leave out the main project description here. It suffices to say that Writing Olympics is currently dependent on the memory of the previous year's director, who guides the current director with sample emails and files and such, offering tips and reminders on occasion. After the overachieving Azerbaijan Writing Olympics committee created a 52-page handbook, last year's Georgia director suggested that it might serve us well to follow suit, though more along the tree-saving lines of 20 pages. So she and I are putting that together now, though just like the above project, it has only made it to the outline stage so far (I sense a theme...). In deference to the Azerbaijan committee, I should mention that their project turns out a lot more complicated than ours, since the Embassy pretty much takes care of the awards ceremony for us.
Writing Olympics anthology printing:
This is the last step in the part of this project that involved a grant... and I can't close out the grant and deliver the final report until this gets done. I've got all the files and stuff, so now we just need the permission of all three (Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan) country directors, and we're set to go! I will heave a giant sigh of relief when this book gets printed. Special thanks to the overachievers in Azerbaijan for designing the whole thing.
Computer classes:
You may have noticed in my summer schedule post that these classes didn't turn out the way I wanted them to. WELL, I'm going to try the main idea again in September, but in the meantime I'm using some of the flexibility that working in Georgia necessitates, namely that I'm teaching a grand total of two students, both during the time in which I'd slotted for the teachers' class. Special thanks to the six teachers who signed up for the class and never showed up, by the way. Flexibility has actually come in handy every day of this class. First day, the school computer room was being used for computer tests, so I had to move to the English classroom. That, and only one student came. Second day, the computer room was available, but I realized that it's not easy for me to teach computers that are powered by Kubuntu (not a typo, I know what Ubuntu is), some Linux derivative. Third day, the school was locked, not to mention that another student appeared and asked to join the in-session class, so I took them both back to my house where my host sister and I did some team teaching. Same for the fourth day. But now, they can both use Microsoft Word and also make mix CDs of their favorite B-level American pop music.
SELF Camp:
Since this camp (formerly Girls' Sports Camp) got completely funded a couple weeks ago, all there is to do with this is make sure I have the curriculum all straightened out before I leave, since I'll probably be going straight from the airport to the camp site. I cross my fingers as tightly as I can that all the campers come regardless of our repeated date changes-- at least the Samtredia one will be there, since there's only one, I have her phone number, and I have the means to phone-stalk her until she agrees to go, despite the fact that none of her friends will be there.
Imereti Reads:
Some volunteers in Kutaisi and Baghdati are running this one, but us Samtredia mignons are duly participating. It consists of creating a reading incentives program in our region (Imereti) to get kids to read more Georgian and Russian books, and to encourage them to join and use their local libraries. Chilluns who read a certain amount by the end of the school year-- as demonstrated by how many book reports they've turned in-- will be invited to an ice cream party in May.
English book donation:
This is partially my role in the Imereti Reads project, but I'll separate it here since it'll happen regardless of the success level of the former. We're working to attain a donation of 20,000 books (one crate) from an organization in the US, and those books will be split among Imereti volunteers, with perhaps some sharing to the school libraries of volunteers who help us cart these things around. The application is due in August, so we'll see how that goes. Our local library in Samtredia informed me that if I give them books, they'll give them away, so the first item of business is to figure out a place to put these things. Also to contemplate why any library with 0 English books would want to keep it that way in the presence of an offer of 4,000 free English books.
That's about it, I think. I loaded my summer with secondary projects so I wouldn't be bored, and yet here I am with ample time to write a blog entry about my secondary projects. 20 days til I leave for the US.
*any inconsistencies in time and number countdown are to be blamed on the fact that I wrote this post over a week before I published it
Monday, July 16, 2007
Why I'm afraid of America
I leave for the US in 26 days. In case it's not apparent enough by the fact that I have a countdown this far in advance, perhaps it's worth mentioning that I have this countdown at the ready every second of the day, so should anyone choose to ask me if I'm excited about going to the US, I regurgitate that day's countdown number to them.
I hadn't originally intended to visit the US at all, but Mom's graduating from grad school and asked me to come cheer her on as she dons a cap and gown for the first time in almost 30 years, this time with shorter hair and a much higher GPA. Her grad school's in Minnesota, and then I'll roll over to New York and see all my NYU friends, and then it's down to Maryland to see my Maryland friends, and of course Dad, who will be holding the 26th Annual Pig Roast on September 1st (just my luck that I missed the 25th anniversary blowout).
This isn't really blogworthy, as you've probably noticed. The actual purpose of this post is the next few sections, to share with you a sentiment that you may not have experienced if you've never lived abroad-- especially in a developing nation-- or if you have, that I hope you can relate to, else I am crazy (what else is new?).
There's several reasons why I'm nervous about my return. The first is the most menial, and it's not really something I'm dreading: culture shock. Since my starting point on my Tour o' America is New York City, I expect that there will be some adjustment difficulties, especially regarding my plan to travel into Manhattan 12 hours after I get there and take a Metro North train to visit my Great Great Aunt Lolly. There's tons of cars and people in Tbilisi, of course, so what I think will freak me out the most is the tall buildings. I also heard of another volunteer who, while in America, attempted to cross the street the Tbilisi way-- wherein you move through traffic one lane at a time, standing in between lanes while traffic speeds by-- and got confused when the American drivers screeched to a halt instead of continuing on their way. I've also heard of two or three volunteers who were overwhelmed when they first set foot in an American grocery store; most Georgian grocery stores aren't much bigger than my bedroom. Volunteers in America have also been known to stare in awe at things like circular door knobs and gallon-bottles of milk.
Like I said, it's not really that which concerns me, since it seems easy enough to get over, and people can laugh at my idiocy, so it'll bring joy to others. What I'm worried about is the fact that I've been experiencing my friends' and family's lives in America via email. It's all well and good to hear about the various stuff they've been doing, but it doesn't really register as strong as it would if I were living there (what's more, things that I count as new news in my mind turn out to have happened weeks earlier and are no longer interesting to those I communicate with). The problem with this is that I'll step off the plane and I bet I'll expect to see the same world I saw when I left, like it's been on pause. After all, I'm the one who left. How much could have changed?
It doesn't help that 2006-07 has been an especially change-filled year, either. Since I sat down on the train to staging in Philadelphia on June 13, 2006, the following has happened: three of my friends have moved away from where they lived for most of the last 10 years, my family moved out of the house I grew up in, my stepsister had a baby, my mom moved out of the state, my dad and my stepmom have separated, and I've lost my dog and my boyfriend (only the former of which died).
Will I get into a car and accidentally drive to my former house? Will I wait for my dog outside Mom's house when I arrive? Will I call up my friends to go out on a Wednesday afternoon, assuming that they're on summer break when they're actually at work? Will I tell old jokes and reference anecdotes that they stopped talking about months ago?
Probably. I'd like to clarify here-- since apparently every post I make that doesn't contain a joke in every other second is viewed as a mental crisis on my part-- that I'm not too worried about this, either. I just thought it would make an introspective post, and would thus fulfill my introspective post quota for the next six months or so.
I just want to take this opportunity to apologize to my friends in advance for being out of touch, and for bringing up old stories too often, since that's the latest common ground I'll have with you. I apologize in advance for using the occasional Georgian phrase instead of English, and for starting too many conversations with "In Georgia..." I apologize for showing the same disinterest in domestic American news and stories as you'll show in my Georgian stories. I apologize for thinking of the salary of my counterpart teacher when you show me the new cell phone you've bought; that'll wear off when my service finishes, I think (and I'll be due for a New Every Two! thanks, Verizon!). And finally, I apologize for assuming that you've had as much spare time to think about me as I've had to think about you.
I also apologize for my new taste in crappy Russian pop, which I will make you listen to.
I hadn't originally intended to visit the US at all, but Mom's graduating from grad school and asked me to come cheer her on as she dons a cap and gown for the first time in almost 30 years, this time with shorter hair and a much higher GPA. Her grad school's in Minnesota, and then I'll roll over to New York and see all my NYU friends, and then it's down to Maryland to see my Maryland friends, and of course Dad, who will be holding the 26th Annual Pig Roast on September 1st (just my luck that I missed the 25th anniversary blowout).
This isn't really blogworthy, as you've probably noticed. The actual purpose of this post is the next few sections, to share with you a sentiment that you may not have experienced if you've never lived abroad-- especially in a developing nation-- or if you have, that I hope you can relate to, else I am crazy (what else is new?).
There's several reasons why I'm nervous about my return. The first is the most menial, and it's not really something I'm dreading: culture shock. Since my starting point on my Tour o' America is New York City, I expect that there will be some adjustment difficulties, especially regarding my plan to travel into Manhattan 12 hours after I get there and take a Metro North train to visit my Great Great Aunt Lolly. There's tons of cars and people in Tbilisi, of course, so what I think will freak me out the most is the tall buildings. I also heard of another volunteer who, while in America, attempted to cross the street the Tbilisi way-- wherein you move through traffic one lane at a time, standing in between lanes while traffic speeds by-- and got confused when the American drivers screeched to a halt instead of continuing on their way. I've also heard of two or three volunteers who were overwhelmed when they first set foot in an American grocery store; most Georgian grocery stores aren't much bigger than my bedroom. Volunteers in America have also been known to stare in awe at things like circular door knobs and gallon-bottles of milk.
Like I said, it's not really that which concerns me, since it seems easy enough to get over, and people can laugh at my idiocy, so it'll bring joy to others. What I'm worried about is the fact that I've been experiencing my friends' and family's lives in America via email. It's all well and good to hear about the various stuff they've been doing, but it doesn't really register as strong as it would if I were living there (what's more, things that I count as new news in my mind turn out to have happened weeks earlier and are no longer interesting to those I communicate with). The problem with this is that I'll step off the plane and I bet I'll expect to see the same world I saw when I left, like it's been on pause. After all, I'm the one who left. How much could have changed?
It doesn't help that 2006-07 has been an especially change-filled year, either. Since I sat down on the train to staging in Philadelphia on June 13, 2006, the following has happened: three of my friends have moved away from where they lived for most of the last 10 years, my family moved out of the house I grew up in, my stepsister had a baby, my mom moved out of the state, my dad and my stepmom have separated, and I've lost my dog and my boyfriend (only the former of which died).
Will I get into a car and accidentally drive to my former house? Will I wait for my dog outside Mom's house when I arrive? Will I call up my friends to go out on a Wednesday afternoon, assuming that they're on summer break when they're actually at work? Will I tell old jokes and reference anecdotes that they stopped talking about months ago?
Probably. I'd like to clarify here-- since apparently every post I make that doesn't contain a joke in every other second is viewed as a mental crisis on my part-- that I'm not too worried about this, either. I just thought it would make an introspective post, and would thus fulfill my introspective post quota for the next six months or so.
I just want to take this opportunity to apologize to my friends in advance for being out of touch, and for bringing up old stories too often, since that's the latest common ground I'll have with you. I apologize in advance for using the occasional Georgian phrase instead of English, and for starting too many conversations with "In Georgia..." I apologize for showing the same disinterest in domestic American news and stories as you'll show in my Georgian stories. I apologize for thinking of the salary of my counterpart teacher when you show me the new cell phone you've bought; that'll wear off when my service finishes, I think (and I'll be due for a New Every Two! thanks, Verizon!). And finally, I apologize for assuming that you've had as much spare time to think about me as I've had to think about you.
I also apologize for my new taste in crappy Russian pop, which I will make you listen to.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Reading is for Losers
Admit it, you're tired of reading this blog. There's been some long, unpictured posts lately, and despite the cute little map app I just added that tells me where the readers are from (I hereby proclaim my unhealthy interest in anything and everything that involves e-stalking... you heard me, Twisted Misters), I think everyone deserves a break from words. Thus, this post will be made entirely of pretty pictures that you can browse and read/not read the captions.
This is my cluster, the love of my life. We all trained in Kheltubani under the guise of Bella (lower left), our accomplished and lovely Georgian instructor. One quick fact about each (clockwise from me): Heidi got pulled over in Texas because the cops thought she was a Mexican running the border; Ryan was captain of his high school football team because the first captain was put into rehab; Nicholas-- my twin, for reasons that shall go unnamed-- objects to the celebration of July 4th because it commemorates bombs, violence, and the cultural destruction of the American Indian; Van didn't miss Chinese food like I did during training because she spent the year before backpacking through Vietnam and southeast Asia; and Bella teaches us swear words. She's also engaged!
The bus from Kheltubani to Gori was only 70 tetri (about 50 cents), but it was also sometimes crowded to the point of being unboardable. In such instances was a six-person-stuffed taxi ride necessitated, at an outlandish 8 lari ($5.50). The buses are, of course, Soviet.
Also Soviet are the many statues of Uncle Joe Stalin. He was, of course, born in Gori, and his namesake street, square, and museum greeted us every day. Earlier this week, I noticed that they put up a nice statue of him at the newly-renovated train station, so there went my assumption that his ubiquitous presence was due to bureaucratic inertia.
Here's what a supra looks like. Georgia's always ready for guests, which is why you should come visit me.
Pretty, pretty Kutaisi. I contend that Kutaisi is prettiest when viewed from afar, but that may be bitterness resulting from having 10 lari jacked out of my pocket on a Kutaisi bus.
Some toasts are done as "vakhtanguri"s, which is where you link arms, drink to the bottom ("bolomde"), and then kiss three times on the cheek. Bolomde toasts can also be done without linking arms. Drinking to the bottom represents your affirmation of whatever the toast is for, so if you only drink half a glass for... say, God... you're doing your hosts a disservice, to say the least. Some toastmasters will declare every toast bolomde-worthy, from peace to sweet memories.
The heart of Samtredia is the train station. These ladies are waiting for the next train so they can hop on and sell whatever deep-fried wares they happen to be carrying-- cheesebread, bean pastries, potato pastries, sweet buns, etc. These ladies are also found in bus and marshrutka stations, calling out that they're selling tasty, hot, fresh whatevers.
My family has persimmon trees in their yard ("karalioki"). I'd never had persimmon, and other than eating it straight, I can't really figure out what to do with it. Any recipes?
This may be the only time it snowed in Samtredia; within 6 hours, it was gone. Right now, it's about 1000 degrees every day (actually about mid-90s).
I can't tell if this picture is actually as cool as I think it is. It's a break in the trees that lets you see that the river below (Tskaltsitela River, I believe, which means 'red water') is like 100 feet down. Interesting? Not?
Sometimes when you've not seen meat for a while, you go to a 4th of July party and smuggle some leftover grilled pork home in an empty Pringles can. Don't judge me.
Frescoes are my favorite parts of Georgian churches. Somehow, pictures like these survived not only centuries and centuries (and centuries... some are from the 500s) of wear and tear, but also escaped the Soviet whitewashing of religious paintings.
Parliament equals pretty. It was changing colors every few minutes, which took me back to the days of walking back to the dorm in New York and watching the Empire State Building change colors-- purple for graduation day!
This is the drive to Tbilisi, as seen from a couple hundred feet up. I suppose the dark side of the road where it's been newly paved is indicative of Georgia's infrastructual improvements or something.
Jvari is one of those really old churches I was talking about. This would be a better description if I remembered any statistic about it at all... maybe it was built in the 6th century?
My host mom in Kheltubani, doing her laundry in a Soviet washing machine. We were pretty lucky to have a washing machine, in spite of the fact that it tore holes in my new clothing. Serves me right for bringing new clothes to Peace Corps.
Now we get into the pretty pictures that I'm just including because they're pretty. This is the moon over Kheltubani.
And last but not least, lovely Mtskheta, where two rivers meet whose names I don't know. Mtskheta was the old capital of Kartli (before-Georgia land), and there's two mega-old churches there, one of which has the body of one of the Zurab kings, and one of which has a drawing of Queen Tamar. Of course you know who those are. Like Lela told me, all Americans study Georgian history, and I'm a big slacker for only taking 10 years of it in high school. Sarcasm will serve her well in the US (she's gonna study at a US high school for a year; anyone from Texas?).
This is my cluster, the love of my life. We all trained in Kheltubani under the guise of Bella (lower left), our accomplished and lovely Georgian instructor. One quick fact about each (clockwise from me): Heidi got pulled over in Texas because the cops thought she was a Mexican running the border; Ryan was captain of his high school football team because the first captain was put into rehab; Nicholas-- my twin, for reasons that shall go unnamed-- objects to the celebration of July 4th because it commemorates bombs, violence, and the cultural destruction of the American Indian; Van didn't miss Chinese food like I did during training because she spent the year before backpacking through Vietnam and southeast Asia; and Bella teaches us swear words. She's also engaged!
The bus from Kheltubani to Gori was only 70 tetri (about 50 cents), but it was also sometimes crowded to the point of being unboardable. In such instances was a six-person-stuffed taxi ride necessitated, at an outlandish 8 lari ($5.50). The buses are, of course, Soviet.
Also Soviet are the many statues of Uncle Joe Stalin. He was, of course, born in Gori, and his namesake street, square, and museum greeted us every day. Earlier this week, I noticed that they put up a nice statue of him at the newly-renovated train station, so there went my assumption that his ubiquitous presence was due to bureaucratic inertia.
Here's what a supra looks like. Georgia's always ready for guests, which is why you should come visit me.
Pretty, pretty Kutaisi. I contend that Kutaisi is prettiest when viewed from afar, but that may be bitterness resulting from having 10 lari jacked out of my pocket on a Kutaisi bus.
Some toasts are done as "vakhtanguri"s, which is where you link arms, drink to the bottom ("bolomde"), and then kiss three times on the cheek. Bolomde toasts can also be done without linking arms. Drinking to the bottom represents your affirmation of whatever the toast is for, so if you only drink half a glass for... say, God... you're doing your hosts a disservice, to say the least. Some toastmasters will declare every toast bolomde-worthy, from peace to sweet memories.
The heart of Samtredia is the train station. These ladies are waiting for the next train so they can hop on and sell whatever deep-fried wares they happen to be carrying-- cheesebread, bean pastries, potato pastries, sweet buns, etc. These ladies are also found in bus and marshrutka stations, calling out that they're selling tasty, hot, fresh whatevers.
My family has persimmon trees in their yard ("karalioki"). I'd never had persimmon, and other than eating it straight, I can't really figure out what to do with it. Any recipes?
This may be the only time it snowed in Samtredia; within 6 hours, it was gone. Right now, it's about 1000 degrees every day (actually about mid-90s).
I can't tell if this picture is actually as cool as I think it is. It's a break in the trees that lets you see that the river below (Tskaltsitela River, I believe, which means 'red water') is like 100 feet down. Interesting? Not?
Sometimes when you've not seen meat for a while, you go to a 4th of July party and smuggle some leftover grilled pork home in an empty Pringles can. Don't judge me.
Frescoes are my favorite parts of Georgian churches. Somehow, pictures like these survived not only centuries and centuries (and centuries... some are from the 500s) of wear and tear, but also escaped the Soviet whitewashing of religious paintings.
Parliament equals pretty. It was changing colors every few minutes, which took me back to the days of walking back to the dorm in New York and watching the Empire State Building change colors-- purple for graduation day!
This is the drive to Tbilisi, as seen from a couple hundred feet up. I suppose the dark side of the road where it's been newly paved is indicative of Georgia's infrastructual improvements or something.
Jvari is one of those really old churches I was talking about. This would be a better description if I remembered any statistic about it at all... maybe it was built in the 6th century?
My host mom in Kheltubani, doing her laundry in a Soviet washing machine. We were pretty lucky to have a washing machine, in spite of the fact that it tore holes in my new clothing. Serves me right for bringing new clothes to Peace Corps.
Now we get into the pretty pictures that I'm just including because they're pretty. This is the moon over Kheltubani.
And last but not least, lovely Mtskheta, where two rivers meet whose names I don't know. Mtskheta was the old capital of Kartli (before-Georgia land), and there's two mega-old churches there, one of which has the body of one of the Zurab kings, and one of which has a drawing of Queen Tamar. Of course you know who those are. Like Lela told me, all Americans study Georgian history, and I'm a big slacker for only taking 10 years of it in high school. Sarcasm will serve her well in the US (she's gonna study at a US high school for a year; anyone from Texas?).
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Pretty Rocks
A common pasttime of Western Georgia PCVs is to head to the seaside. It's also a common pasttime of Georgians, as is manifest by the 30,000 times I've heard the answer, "In summer, we go to seaside or village," as a response for homework, classwork, busywork, etc. Apparently, this exodus doesn't occur til August, as I was informed by my friend Paige's host sister today.
Let's take a hopefully-brief look at a typical day at the beach, except replace typical with "short and rainy with the kind of waves you've seen on Tropical Storm reports." Hmm, mental side note: I miss the Weather Channel. Local Forecast, on the 8's of every hour! I mean, they do national weather here at 9:10 PM, but it's hardly the same; I'll admit that it would have behooved me to watch the weather at 9:10 the night before we went to the beach.
The three favorite seaside sites (not including breakaway-republic superstar Sokhumi) are Ureki, Kobuleti and Batumi. While Ureki has black, magnetic sand with healing powers, and while Batumi has a newly-renovated airport that offers flights to Istanbul for $80, we decided to go with Kobuleti because it has pretty rocks. I'm sure Batumi has pretty rocks too, but everytime I wear my swimsuit to Batumi, people suddenly develop a case of work ethic and leave to go have meetings instead of swimming. I think I'll start to be offended by this soon.
So me, Paige, Irina (my host sister, if you'll recall), Paige's host sister, and special guest star Host Mom Rusico-- who felt compelled to come because Irina is not yet old enough to travel 45 minutes away; it's not wrong or right, it's just different-- hop aboard a nearly-empty marshrutka toward Kobuleti. It is, of course, empty due to the menacing storm clouds that develop into a downpour and generally bode well for a day at the beach. I have resigned myself to visiting the US with pasty white legs (August 11th, baby!).
A quick inspection of the beach reveals it to be just as empty. Since it was raining already, though, we saw no harm in plunging into the menacing yet pleasantly warm waters. As Paige demonstrates in these three pictures, we quickly established that perhaps the waves that seemed entertaining at first (figure 1) may have been bigger than we'd estimated (figure 2), a theory which was confirmed when they started throwing us around (figure 3, if you can find her).
We took cues from our hosts sisters, who had planted their butts on the rocky shore where the waves could slap at them with foam but probably not drown anything. Here we had much gravel driven into our bathing suits. As an additional bonus, the foam was sometimes carrier of rocks that the Sea Gods used to stone us for our death-defying impudence. I would occasionally look down the beach to where my host mother stood alone, drenched in rain and sea spray, trying to unfold her umbrella that had been blown inside-out by the wind. I expressed some trite words of sympathy to my host sister, who assured me that her mom was fine and wouldn't mind staying for a few more hours.
After a grand two hours of swimming and sitting, we gave in and packed to leave. There was a pit stop for coffee and pizza (without mayonnaise!) at a cafe before we plopped into an east-bound marshrutka to leave stupid rainy Kobuleti behind. See how succinct that was? And I have no meandering cultural commentary to make either, other than to say that I drank all my water on the way home and since I couldn't get to my filter that evening, I've just drank about 250 mL of unfiltered water. I place this on the record so I can refer to it in the likely event of future parasites.
UNRELATED SIDE NOTE!!! If you're in the US, make sure you're watching VH1 at 9/8 Central on Tuesday (the 10th) if you want to see my nerdiest friends geeking out on the VH1 World Series of Pop Culture, season 2. Go Twisted Misters!!! I apologize to anyone reading this blog out of genuine interest in Georgia or Peace Corps; this kind of groupie-esque plug for a pop culture quiz show team is completely out of place and unwarranted, and in fact brings down the integrity of this blog in its entirety. Well, you know what? Your face. That's what.
Let's take a hopefully-brief look at a typical day at the beach, except replace typical with "short and rainy with the kind of waves you've seen on Tropical Storm reports." Hmm, mental side note: I miss the Weather Channel. Local Forecast, on the 8's of every hour! I mean, they do national weather here at 9:10 PM, but it's hardly the same; I'll admit that it would have behooved me to watch the weather at 9:10 the night before we went to the beach.
The three favorite seaside sites (not including breakaway-republic superstar Sokhumi) are Ureki, Kobuleti and Batumi. While Ureki has black, magnetic sand with healing powers, and while Batumi has a newly-renovated airport that offers flights to Istanbul for $80, we decided to go with Kobuleti because it has pretty rocks. I'm sure Batumi has pretty rocks too, but everytime I wear my swimsuit to Batumi, people suddenly develop a case of work ethic and leave to go have meetings instead of swimming. I think I'll start to be offended by this soon.
So me, Paige, Irina (my host sister, if you'll recall), Paige's host sister, and special guest star Host Mom Rusico-- who felt compelled to come because Irina is not yet old enough to travel 45 minutes away; it's not wrong or right, it's just different-- hop aboard a nearly-empty marshrutka toward Kobuleti. It is, of course, empty due to the menacing storm clouds that develop into a downpour and generally bode well for a day at the beach. I have resigned myself to visiting the US with pasty white legs (August 11th, baby!).
A quick inspection of the beach reveals it to be just as empty. Since it was raining already, though, we saw no harm in plunging into the menacing yet pleasantly warm waters. As Paige demonstrates in these three pictures, we quickly established that perhaps the waves that seemed entertaining at first (figure 1) may have been bigger than we'd estimated (figure 2), a theory which was confirmed when they started throwing us around (figure 3, if you can find her).
We took cues from our hosts sisters, who had planted their butts on the rocky shore where the waves could slap at them with foam but probably not drown anything. Here we had much gravel driven into our bathing suits. As an additional bonus, the foam was sometimes carrier of rocks that the Sea Gods used to stone us for our death-defying impudence. I would occasionally look down the beach to where my host mother stood alone, drenched in rain and sea spray, trying to unfold her umbrella that had been blown inside-out by the wind. I expressed some trite words of sympathy to my host sister, who assured me that her mom was fine and wouldn't mind staying for a few more hours.
After a grand two hours of swimming and sitting, we gave in and packed to leave. There was a pit stop for coffee and pizza (without mayonnaise!) at a cafe before we plopped into an east-bound marshrutka to leave stupid rainy Kobuleti behind. See how succinct that was? And I have no meandering cultural commentary to make either, other than to say that I drank all my water on the way home and since I couldn't get to my filter that evening, I've just drank about 250 mL of unfiltered water. I place this on the record so I can refer to it in the likely event of future parasites.
UNRELATED SIDE NOTE!!! If you're in the US, make sure you're watching VH1 at 9/8 Central on Tuesday (the 10th) if you want to see my nerdiest friends geeking out on the VH1 World Series of Pop Culture, season 2. Go Twisted Misters!!! I apologize to anyone reading this blog out of genuine interest in Georgia or Peace Corps; this kind of groupie-esque plug for a pop culture quiz show team is completely out of place and unwarranted, and in fact brings down the integrity of this blog in its entirety. Well, you know what? Your face. That's what.
Monday, July 02, 2007
A (Summer) Day in the Life of Jen
9:00 Wake up. I briefly consider rousing myself out of bed in a timely manner so I can run before my community computer class, but this thought dissolves into about an hour of daydreaming. The thunderstorm from the night before is still rattling my windows. The power's probably out.
10:30 Finally get out of bed and confirm my hypothesis about there being no power. My host family's in Tbilisi, so I go downstairs to make breakfast like an independent woman.
10:40 There's three different valves on the gas pipe. I find that the first one releases a stream of gas into my face, which in hindsight makes sense, since there's no pipe attached to it. The second one turns out to be the lucky winner, and I am free to fry some eggs. Looks like the third one is attached to the gaslight, which I suppose I could be using now since it's dusk-dark in here from the thunderclouds, but since I already fear that the second of gas that came out of the open pipe is going to dissipate throughout the house and then explode and end my life, perhaps I don't trust myself enough to turn it on.
10:45 Eating some eggs with soy sauce I bought in Tbilisi a few months ago. It's Russian soy sauce, but it still livens up the monotony a bit, like that week where I had a pack of American cheese.
10:55 I go to do the dishes, but there's no dish sponge or soap. I avoid thinking about the implications of that. I decide to check the outside faucet for some cleaning supplies, but unfortunately the back door is gated and locked, like the other doors in the house, and I don't know where the key is. Great.
11:15 A break in the rain comes, and I head out to the grocery store for some food, being that there's none in the house since we were in Tbilisi for like a week.
11:20 I tell the first storelady that I want the 10-lari pack of chicken in the freezer, to which she tells me that, no, I don't want it because it's old. Never mind.
11:25 Sweet Nikora has a whole chicken for me, presumably not old. Nikora is one of the more successful chain stores in Georgia, selling meats mostly, but also yogurt and American cheese. My host family likes to buy wrapped hot dogs from Nikora. Boy, wrapped hot dogs. Mmm.
11:30 The lady at the next store is the same one who wouldn't sell me any matsoni (Georgian yogurt) yesterday because I didn't bring her a jar. Nonetheless, she hooks me up with the rest of the stuff on my list, and a Diet Coke. Time to swing by the school and see who signed up for my 2-week computer course that starts today. This class is for the trainers, and then the next two one-week classes are for regular community members and will be co-taught by the trainers. See how that works? Sustainability? Capacity building? The total four weeks of class also carries me over clear until Eco Camp in Ratcha, which is a week and a half before I leave to visit the US, so I can thus avoid the situation I was in last September, wherein common tasks were spread throughout the week so I had a reason to get up every morning ('I need to go to the bazaar and to mail these letters. I'll go to the bazaar tomorrow, since there's a concert this afternoon, and I'll mail the letters the next day.').
11:40 Strangely, someone has typed up the handwritten sign I made in Georgian and printed it out for me. The next thing I notice is that, while the community one-week classes are full, no one has put their name down for the trainer's class. Thus, I am now committed to teach a bunch of non-English speakers computers two weeks from now, without any capacity building or skills transfer to trainers. Great! At least I have something to do in two weeks. I'll try the trainers' thing again in September. It's probably better this way, since I have to go speak at the new volunteers' hub day in Gori this Friday, and I have a girls' sports camp meeting in Batumi on Wednesday. I hang my head and walk dejectedly from the school, the computer room's generator growling in the background.
11:50 I head to the bazaar for cucumbers and tomatoes. I'd like to buy them from the group of ladies who always give me free cherries, but I can't find them, and I realize I'm not exactly sure what they look like individually, since there's usually eight or nine of them that shout, "Gamarjoba Jane!" when I walk by (Jane is a name that they learn in the really old English textbooks for 5th graders, so about 40% of people call me Jane, 15% of people call me Jen, and 45% of people call me America).
12:00 I sit in the kitchen. Some things tend to get done when you have more pressing things at hand. For example, I found out last week that I'm ineligible for next year's Rhodes Scholarship competition, so I have to turn in my application this week, two and a half months late, to NYU (don't laugh at me-- my chances are .0001% greater of winning if I try than if I don't). I also gotta write a lesson plan for talking to the new volunteers about transportation safety this Friday, and I should also be starting on a handbook for next year's Writing Olympics competition and working with Bald Ryan in Dimi to draft an English textbook for 6th graders, as well as attempting to secure a donation of 20,000 English books from an American donation company for our regional public libraries.
12:05 I scrub the candles of my water filter. They don't look any cleaner when I finish.
12:15 I change my clothes for no reason and then head off to the post office to mail a letter to Mom, a thank you letter to Darien Book Aid for sending our class library new books, and a pack of letters for Aunt Lynn's 6th grade class, who were my students' pen pals.
12:30 The woman in the post office greets me as "good girl" as her coworkers sit around a table behind her. There's always a herd of women there, and I haven't figured out what they do yet, but maybe it's like the pony express, and as soon as I leave one of them grabs my letter and runs it to Tbilisi on foot. Things take an annoying turn as she pokes the large pen pals' envelope and asks what's in it. I tell her it's letters and pictures, but she keeps poking it, since apparently it has the texture of contraband. She has her friend poke it, and then they agree (out loud) that I'm sending something that I'm not telling them about, but that they should okay it anyway. She weighs and prices all three envelopes and praises me for giving her 17.20 lari in exact change.
12:45 Seeing as I've decided to institute a policy of sanitation during my stay alone in the house, I stop at a small store and buy dish soap and scrubbies. There's something on the shelf that looks like packs of American cheese, but with pictures of fruit on it. It piques my curiosity for a second (usually, you know in advance everything that's going to be in a Georgian store), but not enough to buy it. It could be fruit cheese. Ew.
1:15 I've nearly run out of ways to postpone working on the Rhodes application or the security session lesson plan. My sitemate's in Kutaisi for the day, and while he did leave his Iraqi bootleg James Bond collection DVD here (very high quality, seriously, and it has every single movie on four disks... we're on Thunderball), it'd be polite of me not to watch them all while he's not here, I guess.
1:20 With the pretense of copying down the Rhodes essay requirements, I turn the computer on, only to write a blog entry (this one! my God!) for thirty minutes, despite the fact that I have another unpublished entry on my jump drive already (the Writing Olympics one! my God!).
1:50 I finally buckle down and work on the Rhodes app for a little while.
2:50 The power goes out. Fortunately, I anticipated this and saved the document approximately every thirty seconds. I head downstairs to make tuna salad with the last pack of sweet 'n' spicy tuna my sister sent me in a care package.
3:15 Tuna salad + cucumber + tomato turns out to be delicious. Time to use the extra beans and rice in the cabinet to make... beans and rice. To avoid the debacle that was my crunchy-bean chili, I decide to boil the beans for several hours, playing Donkey Kong Country 2 on the Game Boy that Andrew gave me in the meanwhile.
6:30 Still no power, but the beans are decent. The rice has somehow become a mashed-potato-esque white blob. I'm surpremely glad that my host family isn't here to see this and tell me that I'm making lobio da brinji wrong. They always guess that I'm making something Georgian, despite the fact that I have yet to do so. Then they add a handful of salt to it.
7:15 I'm sauteeing chicken in mayonnaise since it turns out that there's no oil in the house. It doesn't seem to be working. I add a handful of salt to the concoction in the hope that my host family knows something I don't. The chicken carcass is boiling into what I hope will become soup, or at least that was my intention when I threw the noodles in there. Or are you supposed to skim the fat first?
8:00 I dine on chicken (with more Russian soy sauce), beans, and rice-blob. I debate turning on the fridge and storing the leftovers in there, but it's not that hot this week; they'll keep.
8:30 The power comes on, so I get to working on the Rhodes resume and activity list. Somehow this list makes me look more like a dilletante than a focused student of international relations who wants a prestigious scholarship. I don't think College Bowl is going to earn me any extra points... but at least I know who MC Skatkat is.*
9:40 An NPR podcast launches itself in the midst of my work. Or perhaps I turned it on. In any case, it turns out that 'Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!' is my new favorite podcast, behind 'Foreign Dispatch.' Can I include listening to 'Foreign Dispatch' on my Rhodes list of substantial activities?
10:25 Back to work.
10:35 The power goes out again. I slump in my chair and unplug the computer.
10:37 After feeling my way into the bedroom and grabbing my flashlight (reserved for such occasions), the power comes back on. I return to the computer and my incomplete application.
10:40 The power goes off again. Must be fate. I re-unplug the computer and change into my pj's for bed, despite the fact that it's not even 11 and I woke up late in the first place.
10:50 I lay down in bed, only to notice that the light in the next room is on: the power's back. Rather than tempt fate, I turn the light out and return to Donkey Kong Country 2 and the delicious escape of my off-brand mp3 player. The same kind of tree-felling thunderstorm as last night is raging again outside. I fall asleep counting my meager accomplishments for the day, determining a plan to space out tomorrow's meager accomplishments, and hoping that the backyard water tower doesn't blow over and fall in through my window.
*MC Skatkat is the cartoon cat who sings with Paula Abdul in the "Opposites Attract" video, who went on to have a solo album sans Paula. I've often said that it's the only thing I learned from College Bowl.
10:30 Finally get out of bed and confirm my hypothesis about there being no power. My host family's in Tbilisi, so I go downstairs to make breakfast like an independent woman.
10:40 There's three different valves on the gas pipe. I find that the first one releases a stream of gas into my face, which in hindsight makes sense, since there's no pipe attached to it. The second one turns out to be the lucky winner, and I am free to fry some eggs. Looks like the third one is attached to the gaslight, which I suppose I could be using now since it's dusk-dark in here from the thunderclouds, but since I already fear that the second of gas that came out of the open pipe is going to dissipate throughout the house and then explode and end my life, perhaps I don't trust myself enough to turn it on.
10:45 Eating some eggs with soy sauce I bought in Tbilisi a few months ago. It's Russian soy sauce, but it still livens up the monotony a bit, like that week where I had a pack of American cheese.
10:55 I go to do the dishes, but there's no dish sponge or soap. I avoid thinking about the implications of that. I decide to check the outside faucet for some cleaning supplies, but unfortunately the back door is gated and locked, like the other doors in the house, and I don't know where the key is. Great.
11:15 A break in the rain comes, and I head out to the grocery store for some food, being that there's none in the house since we were in Tbilisi for like a week.
11:20 I tell the first storelady that I want the 10-lari pack of chicken in the freezer, to which she tells me that, no, I don't want it because it's old. Never mind.
11:25 Sweet Nikora has a whole chicken for me, presumably not old. Nikora is one of the more successful chain stores in Georgia, selling meats mostly, but also yogurt and American cheese. My host family likes to buy wrapped hot dogs from Nikora. Boy, wrapped hot dogs. Mmm.
11:30 The lady at the next store is the same one who wouldn't sell me any matsoni (Georgian yogurt) yesterday because I didn't bring her a jar. Nonetheless, she hooks me up with the rest of the stuff on my list, and a Diet Coke. Time to swing by the school and see who signed up for my 2-week computer course that starts today. This class is for the trainers, and then the next two one-week classes are for regular community members and will be co-taught by the trainers. See how that works? Sustainability? Capacity building? The total four weeks of class also carries me over clear until Eco Camp in Ratcha, which is a week and a half before I leave to visit the US, so I can thus avoid the situation I was in last September, wherein common tasks were spread throughout the week so I had a reason to get up every morning ('I need to go to the bazaar and to mail these letters. I'll go to the bazaar tomorrow, since there's a concert this afternoon, and I'll mail the letters the next day.').
11:40 Strangely, someone has typed up the handwritten sign I made in Georgian and printed it out for me. The next thing I notice is that, while the community one-week classes are full, no one has put their name down for the trainer's class. Thus, I am now committed to teach a bunch of non-English speakers computers two weeks from now, without any capacity building or skills transfer to trainers. Great! At least I have something to do in two weeks. I'll try the trainers' thing again in September. It's probably better this way, since I have to go speak at the new volunteers' hub day in Gori this Friday, and I have a girls' sports camp meeting in Batumi on Wednesday. I hang my head and walk dejectedly from the school, the computer room's generator growling in the background.
11:50 I head to the bazaar for cucumbers and tomatoes. I'd like to buy them from the group of ladies who always give me free cherries, but I can't find them, and I realize I'm not exactly sure what they look like individually, since there's usually eight or nine of them that shout, "Gamarjoba Jane!" when I walk by (Jane is a name that they learn in the really old English textbooks for 5th graders, so about 40% of people call me Jane, 15% of people call me Jen, and 45% of people call me America).
12:00 I sit in the kitchen. Some things tend to get done when you have more pressing things at hand. For example, I found out last week that I'm ineligible for next year's Rhodes Scholarship competition, so I have to turn in my application this week, two and a half months late, to NYU (don't laugh at me-- my chances are .0001% greater of winning if I try than if I don't). I also gotta write a lesson plan for talking to the new volunteers about transportation safety this Friday, and I should also be starting on a handbook for next year's Writing Olympics competition and working with Bald Ryan in Dimi to draft an English textbook for 6th graders, as well as attempting to secure a donation of 20,000 English books from an American donation company for our regional public libraries.
12:05 I scrub the candles of my water filter. They don't look any cleaner when I finish.
12:15 I change my clothes for no reason and then head off to the post office to mail a letter to Mom, a thank you letter to Darien Book Aid for sending our class library new books, and a pack of letters for Aunt Lynn's 6th grade class, who were my students' pen pals.
12:30 The woman in the post office greets me as "good girl" as her coworkers sit around a table behind her. There's always a herd of women there, and I haven't figured out what they do yet, but maybe it's like the pony express, and as soon as I leave one of them grabs my letter and runs it to Tbilisi on foot. Things take an annoying turn as she pokes the large pen pals' envelope and asks what's in it. I tell her it's letters and pictures, but she keeps poking it, since apparently it has the texture of contraband. She has her friend poke it, and then they agree (out loud) that I'm sending something that I'm not telling them about, but that they should okay it anyway. She weighs and prices all three envelopes and praises me for giving her 17.20 lari in exact change.
12:45 Seeing as I've decided to institute a policy of sanitation during my stay alone in the house, I stop at a small store and buy dish soap and scrubbies. There's something on the shelf that looks like packs of American cheese, but with pictures of fruit on it. It piques my curiosity for a second (usually, you know in advance everything that's going to be in a Georgian store), but not enough to buy it. It could be fruit cheese. Ew.
1:15 I've nearly run out of ways to postpone working on the Rhodes application or the security session lesson plan. My sitemate's in Kutaisi for the day, and while he did leave his Iraqi bootleg James Bond collection DVD here (very high quality, seriously, and it has every single movie on four disks... we're on Thunderball), it'd be polite of me not to watch them all while he's not here, I guess.
1:20 With the pretense of copying down the Rhodes essay requirements, I turn the computer on, only to write a blog entry (this one! my God!) for thirty minutes, despite the fact that I have another unpublished entry on my jump drive already (the Writing Olympics one! my God!).
1:50 I finally buckle down and work on the Rhodes app for a little while.
2:50 The power goes out. Fortunately, I anticipated this and saved the document approximately every thirty seconds. I head downstairs to make tuna salad with the last pack of sweet 'n' spicy tuna my sister sent me in a care package.
3:15 Tuna salad + cucumber + tomato turns out to be delicious. Time to use the extra beans and rice in the cabinet to make... beans and rice. To avoid the debacle that was my crunchy-bean chili, I decide to boil the beans for several hours, playing Donkey Kong Country 2 on the Game Boy that Andrew gave me in the meanwhile.
6:30 Still no power, but the beans are decent. The rice has somehow become a mashed-potato-esque white blob. I'm surpremely glad that my host family isn't here to see this and tell me that I'm making lobio da brinji wrong. They always guess that I'm making something Georgian, despite the fact that I have yet to do so. Then they add a handful of salt to it.
7:15 I'm sauteeing chicken in mayonnaise since it turns out that there's no oil in the house. It doesn't seem to be working. I add a handful of salt to the concoction in the hope that my host family knows something I don't. The chicken carcass is boiling into what I hope will become soup, or at least that was my intention when I threw the noodles in there. Or are you supposed to skim the fat first?
8:00 I dine on chicken (with more Russian soy sauce), beans, and rice-blob. I debate turning on the fridge and storing the leftovers in there, but it's not that hot this week; they'll keep.
8:30 The power comes on, so I get to working on the Rhodes resume and activity list. Somehow this list makes me look more like a dilletante than a focused student of international relations who wants a prestigious scholarship. I don't think College Bowl is going to earn me any extra points... but at least I know who MC Skatkat is.*
9:40 An NPR podcast launches itself in the midst of my work. Or perhaps I turned it on. In any case, it turns out that 'Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me!' is my new favorite podcast, behind 'Foreign Dispatch.' Can I include listening to 'Foreign Dispatch' on my Rhodes list of substantial activities?
10:25 Back to work.
10:35 The power goes out again. I slump in my chair and unplug the computer.
10:37 After feeling my way into the bedroom and grabbing my flashlight (reserved for such occasions), the power comes back on. I return to the computer and my incomplete application.
10:40 The power goes off again. Must be fate. I re-unplug the computer and change into my pj's for bed, despite the fact that it's not even 11 and I woke up late in the first place.
10:50 I lay down in bed, only to notice that the light in the next room is on: the power's back. Rather than tempt fate, I turn the light out and return to Donkey Kong Country 2 and the delicious escape of my off-brand mp3 player. The same kind of tree-felling thunderstorm as last night is raging again outside. I fall asleep counting my meager accomplishments for the day, determining a plan to space out tomorrow's meager accomplishments, and hoping that the backyard water tower doesn't blow over and fall in through my window.
*MC Skatkat is the cartoon cat who sings with Paula Abdul in the "Opposites Attract" video, who went on to have a solo album sans Paula. I've often said that it's the only thing I learned from College Bowl.
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