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?).