Once again, it's Russia. A few alert and caring friends have forwarded articles about the latest situation and inquired as to the effects here on the ground. Rather than ignore the situation like I did the last ten times Russia decided to start some sh**, I thought I'd put some carefully chosen words down here about what's going on. However, it's important to portray all sides of the issue and not to let on where my opinion lies, since that's against Peace Corps rules. Here we go...
Russia (may have / absolutely did not) shoot down an unmanned Georgian spy plane over the airspace of a Georgian breakaway province. There's a video circulating that documents the attack, which was (obtained / doctored) by Georgian authorities. Georgia has raised a fuss about the issue, especially since Russia has built up troops near its border in an attempt to (protect itself / scare Georgia).
There has been a worldwide reaction, since the issue was taken straight to whoever (would listen / was Western-oriented), including NATO, the UN, and Condoleeza Rice. Even the three US presidential candidates, showing their (concern for new democracies / assistants' Wikipedia capabilities), released statements that support the territorial integrity of Georgia.
Despite the provocation, President Saakashvili delivered an address on Wednesday that calls for a peaceful resolution and the normalization of relations with Russia. He also called for discussions with the opposition parties about the issue in advance of the May 21st parliamentary elections. The opposition, sensing that his intentions were (self-serving, especially considering the timing of this "incident" / to accomplish something productive, and thus not of interest to them), has refused to participate, choosing instead to concentrate on (campaigning so they can hold a parliamentary majority against the over-powerful president / holding protests every ten seconds).
To me, this doesn't feel as severe or threatening as the time last year when (Russia / Georgia) dropped a bomb on an empty field near Gori, or the year before when a Russian helicopter (did / didn't) shoot up a field near the breakaway province of Abkhazia. However, my host family and my counterparts seem to be more worried this time around than last time. It's clear that (they know something I don't / they like to worry about things).
In any case, we'll see how it goes. (No one / Everyone) I've talked to seriously thinks that Georgia would take Russia on, seeing as Georgia would obviously (receive massive military assistance from NATO / lose). To tell the truth, though, all everyone involved really wants is (peace / land). With any luck, (cool heads / I) will prevail.
Oh, by the way-- it doesn't at all matter when placed next to the aforementioned conflicts, but to be evacuated from Peace Corps Georgia at this point would really, really (suck / blow).
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Aww
In just a few words, before we return to our regularly scheduled posts, I'd like to use this blog to congratulate a certain bald friend of mine and his Texan girlfriend on their engagement. I feel like this is a necessary step, seeing as I just wrote a giant post about the multitude of faults this bald man has, since the fact that someone as good as Paige has thrown in her lot with him suggests that perhaps my masterpiece did not tell the whole story.
Paige and Ryan in an amphitheater.
We thought they'd get engaged back during their two-week vacation in Paris over Christmas, but you know what they say about Tbilisi-- the City of Love. For reasons as yet unclear, Mr. Nickum chose to propose to her in the quaint, cozy loveliness of Old Town, rather than in the Peace Corps hostel. Don't laugh; that's where everybody else gets engaged.
Paige and Ryan in Samtredia.
I don't think it's an overstatement to say that their engagement has restored my faith in marriage (not to put any pressure on you guys or anything). After two boyfriendless years of turning down unwanted marriage proposals, you could say that the idea of relationships and weddings had taken on a rather noxious, festering, enslaving, life-ruining picture in my mind. Then along came Ryan and Paige, bringing light to the world like a halogen bulb reflecting off Ryan's head.
Paige and... wait a second...
Side note to my engaged friends in the US: Don't worry, your engagements will brighten my life, too, but it's just that the effects are somewhat dulled by our 6000 miles of separation and the fact that I'm e-hearing about your relationship developments by e-mail. 83 days, guys!
In any case, one last gilotsav to Ryan and Paige! You can find their views on this latest turn of events here and here. That is, if you don't trust my version, or you find my blog insufficient. And thanks to Google Analytics, I'll know who you are if you click from my blog to theirs. And I will find you.
Paige and Ryan in an amphitheater.
We thought they'd get engaged back during their two-week vacation in Paris over Christmas, but you know what they say about Tbilisi-- the City of Love. For reasons as yet unclear, Mr. Nickum chose to propose to her in the quaint, cozy loveliness of Old Town, rather than in the Peace Corps hostel. Don't laugh; that's where everybody else gets engaged.
Paige and Ryan in Samtredia.
I don't think it's an overstatement to say that their engagement has restored my faith in marriage (not to put any pressure on you guys or anything). After two boyfriendless years of turning down unwanted marriage proposals, you could say that the idea of relationships and weddings had taken on a rather noxious, festering, enslaving, life-ruining picture in my mind. Then along came Ryan and Paige, bringing light to the world like a halogen bulb reflecting off Ryan's head.
Paige and... wait a second...
Side note to my engaged friends in the US: Don't worry, your engagements will brighten my life, too, but it's just that the effects are somewhat dulled by our 6000 miles of separation and the fact that I'm e-hearing about your relationship developments by e-mail. 83 days, guys!
In any case, one last gilotsav to Ryan and Paige! You can find their views on this latest turn of events here and here. That is, if you don't trust my version, or you find my blog insufficient. And thanks to Google Analytics, I'll know who you are if you click from my blog to theirs. And I will find you.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
4 Hours of Mind-Blowing Entertainment
I've just arrived home after a long morning of student language presentations at the eleventh school, which offers four foreign languages-- French, German, Russian and English-- for four times the lengthy annual language show! Four times the poems! Four times the skits!
Here's a brief rundown of the highlights you missed while you weren't attending:
10:00 Spectacle is slated to start.
10:10 My counterpart and I arrive.
10:15 The women next to me say that I stole the director's chair. I tell my counterpart, who tells me to ignore them. They insistently pull at my arm and talk among themselves about how rude the English girl is.
11:05 The spectacle starts.
11:20 The French students begin with a dance between a boy and a girl that seems somewhat sensual, but no one else looks embarrassed. Perhaps the audience is certain that two little 14-year-olds couldn't possibly be aware of the sexual undertones of their movements.
11:35 The French poems begin. Funny, the dead, vacant look of incomprehension in the students' eyes is the same one the English students wear as they read the homework that their tutors did for them.
12:10 Ze Germans take advantage of their country's musical tradition to throw some Beethoven into the presentation. I approve, especially since it's Moonlight Sonata on piano and not on synthesizer.
12:25 The English part of the program starts. Or maybe it's still the German part... I can't really tell.
12:35 First-year English students begin their rendition of the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. I disapprove of making first-year English students learn the words "wherefore" and "thou."
12:40 A few students recite poems by the Georgian poet Galaktioni which were translated into English. To my counterpart's delight, she realizes that they're using the translations that her aunt published in Tbilisi. Her criticism of the school's language programs, students, hallways, et cetera cease.
12:45 The Russian students come out and speak with a fluidity and fluency that puts the first three programs to shame. Apparently, their Russian teacher is actually a Russian, which helps.
12:55 A boy in Georgian clothes and a girl in Russian clothes dance for the friendship of Georgia and Russia. It was actually kind of cool, since they each did the traditional dance of that country, but with each other. Usually it's heresy to mess with a traditional dance.
1:05 Now that the students are done, it's time for 100 people to get up in turns and say how great the students are and how great Georgia is and how great the teachers are and how wonderful Samtredia is. Anyone who wants the microphone can come up and take it; anyone who thinks they haven't gotten the attention they deserve during the last 3 hours can make themselves seen and essentially repeat what the last person said. There's a phrase for this that I don't think would be caught by Peace Corps censors, but I do think Mom would disapprove... the first word is a round shape, and the second is the insulting name that Uncle Frank calls Kevin in Home Alone when Kevin dumps milk all over the plane tickets.
1:20 Think you're leaving? HA. Supra time!
2:15 Thanks to the magic of someone having died the day before, the supra is cut short so people can go pay their respects. The End.
I know. You're all jealous.
Here's a brief rundown of the highlights you missed while you weren't attending:
10:00 Spectacle is slated to start.
10:10 My counterpart and I arrive.
10:15 The women next to me say that I stole the director's chair. I tell my counterpart, who tells me to ignore them. They insistently pull at my arm and talk among themselves about how rude the English girl is.
11:05 The spectacle starts.
11:20 The French students begin with a dance between a boy and a girl that seems somewhat sensual, but no one else looks embarrassed. Perhaps the audience is certain that two little 14-year-olds couldn't possibly be aware of the sexual undertones of their movements.
11:35 The French poems begin. Funny, the dead, vacant look of incomprehension in the students' eyes is the same one the English students wear as they read the homework that their tutors did for them.
12:10 Ze Germans take advantage of their country's musical tradition to throw some Beethoven into the presentation. I approve, especially since it's Moonlight Sonata on piano and not on synthesizer.
12:25 The English part of the program starts. Or maybe it's still the German part... I can't really tell.
12:35 First-year English students begin their rendition of the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. I disapprove of making first-year English students learn the words "wherefore" and "thou."
12:40 A few students recite poems by the Georgian poet Galaktioni which were translated into English. To my counterpart's delight, she realizes that they're using the translations that her aunt published in Tbilisi. Her criticism of the school's language programs, students, hallways, et cetera cease.
12:45 The Russian students come out and speak with a fluidity and fluency that puts the first three programs to shame. Apparently, their Russian teacher is actually a Russian, which helps.
12:55 A boy in Georgian clothes and a girl in Russian clothes dance for the friendship of Georgia and Russia. It was actually kind of cool, since they each did the traditional dance of that country, but with each other. Usually it's heresy to mess with a traditional dance.
1:05 Now that the students are done, it's time for 100 people to get up in turns and say how great the students are and how great Georgia is and how great the teachers are and how wonderful Samtredia is. Anyone who wants the microphone can come up and take it; anyone who thinks they haven't gotten the attention they deserve during the last 3 hours can make themselves seen and essentially repeat what the last person said. There's a phrase for this that I don't think would be caught by Peace Corps censors, but I do think Mom would disapprove... the first word is a round shape, and the second is the insulting name that Uncle Frank calls Kevin in Home Alone when Kevin dumps milk all over the plane tickets.
1:20 Think you're leaving? HA. Supra time!
2:15 Thanks to the magic of someone having died the day before, the supra is cut short so people can go pay their respects. The End.
I know. You're all jealous.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Laughing at Students
Everyone likes to laugh at the mistakes of others. Here's some English mistakes that my students have made over the past two years which are particularly dirty/entertaining...
1) He has on blue pants and brown sh**.
This is why we shouldn't teach British English: the kids have to make the R disappear from "shirt" ("shehhhht"), but they sometimes do that a little too successfully.
2) She is my lover teacher.
Call the cops? No, this student is confused because Georgian uses the same word for "lover" and "favorite." I didn't really pick up on this until one of them wrote about their friend's father having two "favorites."
3) I poured oatmeal into my bowel.
Just a mispronunciation, but it leads to the least appetizing mental picture ever.
4) I was fart of a singing group.
She means "part," of course, but the whole entire year she kept saying "fart" despite my alternating giggles and scolding. Some Georgian children confuse P and F because the letter F is used in text messages for the Georgian soft P, while the P is used for the hard P. A lot of fart, farents, haffiness and such results.
5) Do you like cock?
You might wonder why this isn't bleeped out like the first entry was. WELL, it's because this is not a mistake, except for on the part of the books that are ignorant of the better word, "rooster." Drop your articles, and you have a very forward inquiry, indeed. See runner-up: "I have a large, nice cock." ROOSTER, children. ROOSTER.
And lastly, my favorite...
6) We go to the seaside and get ****anned.
This one was written on the board by a student and then read aloud by my counterpart, much to my chagrin, but I really can't write any part of it here. To form this nonexistent and extremely dirty-sounding word, you should know that the word the student is looking for is "suntanned." You should also know that they learn Russian from the second grade here, and sometimes they confuse the Russian and English alphabets. In the Russian alphabet, the "s" sound is made by the letter C. See where this leads?
1) He has on blue pants and brown sh**.
This is why we shouldn't teach British English: the kids have to make the R disappear from "shirt" ("shehhhht"), but they sometimes do that a little too successfully.
2) She is my lover teacher.
Call the cops? No, this student is confused because Georgian uses the same word for "lover" and "favorite." I didn't really pick up on this until one of them wrote about their friend's father having two "favorites."
3) I poured oatmeal into my bowel.
Just a mispronunciation, but it leads to the least appetizing mental picture ever.
4) I was fart of a singing group.
She means "part," of course, but the whole entire year she kept saying "fart" despite my alternating giggles and scolding. Some Georgian children confuse P and F because the letter F is used in text messages for the Georgian soft P, while the P is used for the hard P. A lot of fart, farents, haffiness and such results.
5) Do you like cock?
You might wonder why this isn't bleeped out like the first entry was. WELL, it's because this is not a mistake, except for on the part of the books that are ignorant of the better word, "rooster." Drop your articles, and you have a very forward inquiry, indeed. See runner-up: "I have a large, nice cock." ROOSTER, children. ROOSTER.
And lastly, my favorite...
6) We go to the seaside and get ****anned.
This one was written on the board by a student and then read aloud by my counterpart, much to my chagrin, but I really can't write any part of it here. To form this nonexistent and extremely dirty-sounding word, you should know that the word the student is looking for is "suntanned." You should also know that they learn Russian from the second grade here, and sometimes they confuse the Russian and English alphabets. In the Russian alphabet, the "s" sound is made by the letter C. See where this leads?
The Big 2-4
With the uneventful yet enjoyable passing of my 24th birthday, I've decided to take a quick look back at the changes in perspective that come with each passing year in Peace Corps, from the blind ignorance of age 22 to the jaded cynicism of age 23, now being replaced by the contented enlightenment of age 24. Maybe.
Here's a helpful, informative chart:
(22) Tomatoes and cucumbers for lunch? How foreign and exotic!
(23) Oh good, this again. Let me guess—a side of cheese?
(24) When will tomato and cucumber season get here?! I’ve got a hankerin’.
(22) This school will be transformed by my hard work!
(23) Nothing can save this school.
(24) I’ll teach the kids who want to be taught.
(22) Khachapuri—the word just rolls off your tongue.
(23) No, I don’t like khachapuri. Stop asking.
(24) Where will I find khachapuri in New York?
(22) I’m going to get married when I’m 27 or thereabouts.
(23) I’m going to get married when I’m 60 or when someone puts a gun to my head.
(24) I’ll get married either when I’m good and ready, or when I want to go gold digging.
(22) There’s no “right” or “wrong” when it comes to cultures—just differences.
(23) Everything here is wrong.
(24) Everything everywhere is wrong.
(22) Georgia is a land of mystery and enchantment.
(23) It’s funny how things become so commonplace when you’ve been there a while.
(24) How have I still not been to Vardzia and Signaghi?
(22) It’s gonna be so cool just to rough it for two years!
(23) You know what would be good right now? Netflix.
(24) I may be fooling myself when I say that I’ll line-dry my clothes when I get back home.
(22) Those little boys are talking to me. How friendly!
(23) Those stupid street kids are swearing at me again.
(24) Those street kids are swearing. 93 more days.
Happy birthday to me…
Look! I have friends and a birthday party! It's not all made up!
Here's a helpful, informative chart:
(22) Tomatoes and cucumbers for lunch? How foreign and exotic!
(23) Oh good, this again. Let me guess—a side of cheese?
(24) When will tomato and cucumber season get here?! I’ve got a hankerin’.
(22) This school will be transformed by my hard work!
(23) Nothing can save this school.
(24) I’ll teach the kids who want to be taught.
(22) Khachapuri—the word just rolls off your tongue.
(23) No, I don’t like khachapuri. Stop asking.
(24) Where will I find khachapuri in New York?
(22) I’m going to get married when I’m 27 or thereabouts.
(23) I’m going to get married when I’m 60 or when someone puts a gun to my head.
(24) I’ll get married either when I’m good and ready, or when I want to go gold digging.
(22) There’s no “right” or “wrong” when it comes to cultures—just differences.
(23) Everything here is wrong.
(24) Everything everywhere is wrong.
(22) Georgia is a land of mystery and enchantment.
(23) It’s funny how things become so commonplace when you’ve been there a while.
(24) How have I still not been to Vardzia and Signaghi?
(22) It’s gonna be so cool just to rough it for two years!
(23) You know what would be good right now? Netflix.
(24) I may be fooling myself when I say that I’ll line-dry my clothes when I get back home.
(22) Those little boys are talking to me. How friendly!
(23) Those stupid street kids are swearing at me again.
(24) Those street kids are swearing. 93 more days.
Happy birthday to me…
Look! I have friends and a birthday party! It's not all made up!
Monday, April 14, 2008
The Chiatura Mini-Documentary Series
Nothing quite portrays life in another country like a video clip does. Yessir, it's that special blend of audio, video and subtitles that shines a new light on all aspects of a situation, while simultaneously scaring off blog visitors who'd rather not waste their bandwidth on that kind of multimedia crap. If you find yourself reading this using a broadband connection, however, maybe you'd like to watch one of the clips below from Chiatura (see this post and this post), none of which runs more than a minute and a half. If you only choose one, go with the first.
This is a clip of what it's like to ride the air gondolas in Chiatura, a town which is situated in a gorge and whose angular setup necessitates this skilift-esque transportation option. This particular gondola is the manganese miners' gondola, which is the rustiest, creepiest, and steepest one. Mom, you may want to wait and watch this one after I'm safe at home.
Here's a short introduction to the Pioneer Palace. I talked more about it in one of the posts linked above, but 90% of you were not yet reading this blog when that was up. Complete with cliffside view of Chiatura and the charred, crumbling echo of communist idealism!
And lastly, an illustration of how far volunteers' health standards have fallen. I'll give you a hint: it involves spaghetti and bathwater.
This is a clip of what it's like to ride the air gondolas in Chiatura, a town which is situated in a gorge and whose angular setup necessitates this skilift-esque transportation option. This particular gondola is the manganese miners' gondola, which is the rustiest, creepiest, and steepest one. Mom, you may want to wait and watch this one after I'm safe at home.
Here's a short introduction to the Pioneer Palace. I talked more about it in one of the posts linked above, but 90% of you were not yet reading this blog when that was up. Complete with cliffside view of Chiatura and the charred, crumbling echo of communist idealism!
And lastly, an illustration of how far volunteers' health standards have fallen. I'll give you a hint: it involves spaghetti and bathwater.
Friday, April 11, 2008
8 Facts About Ryan Nickum
Despite our many months of service together, one Ryan Nickum got it into his head to write a slanderous blog post about his dear friend Jen. Now that all his friends hate me, it's time for the truth to come out about Ryan Nickum. Since he began his blog entry with the worst picture he could find of me, I shall do the same with this shot of an apparent brain aneurism in progress.
Now, here's several facts which were inaccurate or omitted from Ryan's post:
1) Dimi was a hotbed of English fluency before Ryan Nickum arrived.
During his pre-service interview, Ryan in his infinite laziness insisted that he be placed in a site where all the children already knew GRE-level English. Fortunately for him, such a site existed in Dimi. Upon his arrival, dozens of children rushed to greet him, shouting in unison, "We welcome you and embrace the practical simplicity of your modern teaching methodology!" After three months of Nickum reign, only twelve percent of students could spell their own name.
2) Ryan Nickum wears the same plaid shirt with pearl buttons every day.
Several volunteers have asked him why he refuses to change his clothes. Some theorize that he likes the faux-midwestern appeal of a plaid shirt, especially when paired with a ragged TWA hat, and that it takes him back to his days of burning cars at WTO protests and throwing rocks at the windows of his local Starbucks.
3) Ryan Nickum is bald.
It can never be said too many times. He may, in fact, have mentioned it in his own post, but it still needs to be said.
4) Ryan Nickum cares more about beer than about Paige.
Countless are the canceled dates and postponed evenings that poor Paige has had to face on account of her boyfriend's love affair with Natakhtari. She has tried to leave him repeatedly, only to be drawn back in by his heartfelt pleas that he'll give up beer for her as soon as they arrive in Seattle, where the temptress Kazbegi will have no power over him, and where he'll only have to resist the weaker pull of microbrews.
5) The person who smudges Ryan Nickum's glasses is Ryan Nickum.
Never in my entire life have I used my fingers, forehead, or nose to put oily smudge marks on another person's glasses. I find it disgusting and completely disrespectful to obscure the vision of someone who requires glasses to see; it's no better than distracting a seeing eye dog. As someone who wears reading glasses occasionally, I sympathize with the victims of glass-smudge attacks, and the fact that Ryan Nickum would stage something so abhorrent on himself just so he could blame it on innocent bystanders is despicable, frankly.
6) My life has been threatened repeatedly by Ryan Nickum.
Knives, guns, strangulation, poisoning... if it kills people, then Ryan has threatened me with it. Perhaps he can't stand the idea that his long, winding life is in its sunset years while I have decades left to explore the Earth.
7) Ryan Nickum is a liar.
He insists in his post that I'm derisive of his writing skills, despite the fact that he researched and wrote an entire 365-day desk calendar called "This Day in Bald History" (see #3), because I'm a published author. Well, Mr. Nickum, if I'm a published author successful enough to be criticizing others, where's my best-seller? Or, let's top that-- where's my royalty check, hmm? I didn't think so.
8) Ryan Nickum omits anecdotes that are very embarrassing in favor of ones that are only a little so.
He decides that the time I made ten kilos of disgusting fried rice is more shameful than the time I made guacamole with unpeeled avocados, bearing in mind that avocados are highly rare and expensive here, and that our neighbors' friends had brought those avocados all the way from Israel so that they could be mangled by my expert hands. What's with that, Ryan?
I think I've made my point. Take both of these blog posts into consideration before you form any judgment on myself or Mr. Nickum, though you will probably come to the conclusion that neither of us wins this battle, since blog battle decisions have little precedence. And also, if you find yourself interested in the Georgia-related musings of a bald, smudgy-glassed murderer, then you'll enjoy this link.
Now, here's several facts which were inaccurate or omitted from Ryan's post:
1) Dimi was a hotbed of English fluency before Ryan Nickum arrived.
During his pre-service interview, Ryan in his infinite laziness insisted that he be placed in a site where all the children already knew GRE-level English. Fortunately for him, such a site existed in Dimi. Upon his arrival, dozens of children rushed to greet him, shouting in unison, "We welcome you and embrace the practical simplicity of your modern teaching methodology!" After three months of Nickum reign, only twelve percent of students could spell their own name.
2) Ryan Nickum wears the same plaid shirt with pearl buttons every day.
Several volunteers have asked him why he refuses to change his clothes. Some theorize that he likes the faux-midwestern appeal of a plaid shirt, especially when paired with a ragged TWA hat, and that it takes him back to his days of burning cars at WTO protests and throwing rocks at the windows of his local Starbucks.
3) Ryan Nickum is bald.
It can never be said too many times. He may, in fact, have mentioned it in his own post, but it still needs to be said.
4) Ryan Nickum cares more about beer than about Paige.
Countless are the canceled dates and postponed evenings that poor Paige has had to face on account of her boyfriend's love affair with Natakhtari. She has tried to leave him repeatedly, only to be drawn back in by his heartfelt pleas that he'll give up beer for her as soon as they arrive in Seattle, where the temptress Kazbegi will have no power over him, and where he'll only have to resist the weaker pull of microbrews.
5) The person who smudges Ryan Nickum's glasses is Ryan Nickum.
Never in my entire life have I used my fingers, forehead, or nose to put oily smudge marks on another person's glasses. I find it disgusting and completely disrespectful to obscure the vision of someone who requires glasses to see; it's no better than distracting a seeing eye dog. As someone who wears reading glasses occasionally, I sympathize with the victims of glass-smudge attacks, and the fact that Ryan Nickum would stage something so abhorrent on himself just so he could blame it on innocent bystanders is despicable, frankly.
6) My life has been threatened repeatedly by Ryan Nickum.
Knives, guns, strangulation, poisoning... if it kills people, then Ryan has threatened me with it. Perhaps he can't stand the idea that his long, winding life is in its sunset years while I have decades left to explore the Earth.
7) Ryan Nickum is a liar.
He insists in his post that I'm derisive of his writing skills, despite the fact that he researched and wrote an entire 365-day desk calendar called "This Day in Bald History" (see #3), because I'm a published author. Well, Mr. Nickum, if I'm a published author successful enough to be criticizing others, where's my best-seller? Or, let's top that-- where's my royalty check, hmm? I didn't think so.
8) Ryan Nickum omits anecdotes that are very embarrassing in favor of ones that are only a little so.
He decides that the time I made ten kilos of disgusting fried rice is more shameful than the time I made guacamole with unpeeled avocados, bearing in mind that avocados are highly rare and expensive here, and that our neighbors' friends had brought those avocados all the way from Israel so that they could be mangled by my expert hands. What's with that, Ryan?
I think I've made my point. Take both of these blog posts into consideration before you form any judgment on myself or Mr. Nickum, though you will probably come to the conclusion that neither of us wins this battle, since blog battle decisions have little precedence. And also, if you find yourself interested in the Georgia-related musings of a bald, smudgy-glassed murderer, then you'll enjoy this link.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
A Place for Honey
It's not often that we get to go see something completely new in Georgia anymore. Sure, there's always one more 6th-century church, or yet another healing mineral spring, but unless you're an architect or a springologist, you probably can't tell much of a difference after the first ten or so have gone by. It was with this mindset that a group of volunteers finally mustered the willpower to take a ten-minute taxi ride from their site to a point of archaeological and spelunkerific interest.
Sataplia-- "a place for honey" (though I saw no honey)-- is located ten kilometers from the city center of Kutaisi, or so the 10th form English textbook tells us. Its two primary features are a cave and dinosaur footprints, two distinct attractions in the category of Naturalists' Paradise. Having been to so many aforementioned mineral springs and churches, we told ourselves to expect an afternoon of mild interest, the kind where you take pictures just for the sake of it and then delete them afterward.
First stop: the cave. Clever, jaded travelers as we are, we strode straightaway to the trail down to the cave, ignoring the protestations of the charlatan Sataplia employee who insisted that we needed a guide. Having successfully navigated the paved path to the cave entrance, we realized that the door was locked and it was thus necessary to wait for the guide. Our plan to ditch him as soon as the lock unclicked was undone when we noticed that the interior lights installed in the cave were nonoperational, and we would need someone to walk ahead of us and lower our chances of getting stabbed in the eye by a stalactite. He didn't even end up charging us anything, which only proves that we know nothing about Georgia.
Turns out that the cave was really cool. We lit our way with light from our cell phones and with camera flashes. Sataplia cave amenities include a small waterfall, stalagmites galor, and according to the guide, the world's largest heart-shaped stalactite. We didn't doubt it for a second. Take that, Luray Caverns!
Being Peace Corps volunteers, we took a break after the cave excursion to relax in the woods on wooden benches and unpack a picnic from our Kelty backpacks. Our lunch was catered by Populi (remember this post?), which makes me wonder why I chose nuts and raisins like a hippie while the others had fried chicken.
Next up: the dinosaur footprints. The most noticeable aspect of the footprint area was that it also contained a Soviet footprint-- acres of concrete. The fence was open, so we stomped around on the marked footprints, certain that future chances to legally disturb archaeological sites would be few and far between. It was a leap of faith to trust that the labeled footprints were genuine dinosaur prints, while the unlabeled ones were accidental indentations in the concrete, since they all looked the same. I wonder what led the Soviets to see a plain of fossilized footprints and then to decide that what it needed was a flood of concrete to give it that historical touch. In any case, it was lame.
Thus concluded our sojourn to Sataplia, and thus disappeared another entry from our list of unique things in Georgia left to see. I still have high hopes for Signaghi, a renovated town in the far east of the country with a French restaurant. There's also the breakaway republic of Abkhazia, but once passports start getting stolen, I think the line between tempting and forbidding has been crossed. Maybe South Ossetia is where it's at...
Sataplia-- "a place for honey" (though I saw no honey)-- is located ten kilometers from the city center of Kutaisi, or so the 10th form English textbook tells us. Its two primary features are a cave and dinosaur footprints, two distinct attractions in the category of Naturalists' Paradise. Having been to so many aforementioned mineral springs and churches, we told ourselves to expect an afternoon of mild interest, the kind where you take pictures just for the sake of it and then delete them afterward.
First stop: the cave. Clever, jaded travelers as we are, we strode straightaway to the trail down to the cave, ignoring the protestations of the charlatan Sataplia employee who insisted that we needed a guide. Having successfully navigated the paved path to the cave entrance, we realized that the door was locked and it was thus necessary to wait for the guide. Our plan to ditch him as soon as the lock unclicked was undone when we noticed that the interior lights installed in the cave were nonoperational, and we would need someone to walk ahead of us and lower our chances of getting stabbed in the eye by a stalactite. He didn't even end up charging us anything, which only proves that we know nothing about Georgia.
Turns out that the cave was really cool. We lit our way with light from our cell phones and with camera flashes. Sataplia cave amenities include a small waterfall, stalagmites galor, and according to the guide, the world's largest heart-shaped stalactite. We didn't doubt it for a second. Take that, Luray Caverns!
Being Peace Corps volunteers, we took a break after the cave excursion to relax in the woods on wooden benches and unpack a picnic from our Kelty backpacks. Our lunch was catered by Populi (remember this post?), which makes me wonder why I chose nuts and raisins like a hippie while the others had fried chicken.
Next up: the dinosaur footprints. The most noticeable aspect of the footprint area was that it also contained a Soviet footprint-- acres of concrete. The fence was open, so we stomped around on the marked footprints, certain that future chances to legally disturb archaeological sites would be few and far between. It was a leap of faith to trust that the labeled footprints were genuine dinosaur prints, while the unlabeled ones were accidental indentations in the concrete, since they all looked the same. I wonder what led the Soviets to see a plain of fossilized footprints and then to decide that what it needed was a flood of concrete to give it that historical touch. In any case, it was lame.
Thus concluded our sojourn to Sataplia, and thus disappeared another entry from our list of unique things in Georgia left to see. I still have high hopes for Signaghi, a renovated town in the far east of the country with a French restaurant. There's also the breakaway republic of Abkhazia, but once passports start getting stolen, I think the line between tempting and forbidding has been crossed. Maybe South Ossetia is where it's at...
Friday, April 04, 2008
Superior Post 100!
If I had been posting every other day, then this hundredth post would mean that I've been in Peace Corps for 8 months. But that's not the case.
And if I had been posting twice a week, it would mean that I've been in Peace Corps for almost a year. But that's not accurate, either.
As of this one hundredth post to this Peace Corps blog, I've been in Georgia for nearly 22 months. Unbelieveable.
Perhaps the time to go into all this would better fall closer to the close of service, but it's doubtful that such an auspicious post number will be reached again before I leave. Maybe the blog will enjoy a brief afterlife as a chronicle of the day-to-day existence of a returned volunteer, a shadow of its former culturally-enlightening self, but that's like celebrating the 150th episode of X-Files when you know that the series should have ended a whole season earlier.
Much has changed between post 1 and post 100, and not only the quality and length of posts. Most of this "much" is pretty obvious, and probably too cheesy and personal to go into. Instead of making a giant list of cheesy, personal changes, I'll just go ahead and mention the cheesiest, most personal change in the hope that I can hang onto one or two readers through the end of the paragraph, bearing in mind that I'll leave out pretty much every detail and unnecessary word that I can. No adverbs, I promise!
This week, I ran a project design workshop for a group of the new volunteers, most of which with I had only a passing acquaintance beforehand, and I managed not to spend a single second hiding alone in my room. 22 months ago, I was petrified that I would pass my Peace Corps time completely devoid of friends, except for a select couple who I'd attach myself to like a barnacle. This was an improvement over freshman year of college, when I would leave my room ten minutes before my roommate arrived so it wouldn't look like I'd spent the whole evening inside alone, and even more so over high school, when I went an entire year without saying a word in Civics class because I didn't know any of my classmates. I suppose the one word that sums that up is CONFIDENCE! I suppose that another phrase of summation would be NO LONGER A PSYCHO! Told you it was cheesy. But you read anyway, didn't you. Which means I win.
And if I had been posting twice a week, it would mean that I've been in Peace Corps for almost a year. But that's not accurate, either.
As of this one hundredth post to this Peace Corps blog, I've been in Georgia for nearly 22 months. Unbelieveable.
Perhaps the time to go into all this would better fall closer to the close of service, but it's doubtful that such an auspicious post number will be reached again before I leave. Maybe the blog will enjoy a brief afterlife as a chronicle of the day-to-day existence of a returned volunteer, a shadow of its former culturally-enlightening self, but that's like celebrating the 150th episode of X-Files when you know that the series should have ended a whole season earlier.
Much has changed between post 1 and post 100, and not only the quality and length of posts. Most of this "much" is pretty obvious, and probably too cheesy and personal to go into. Instead of making a giant list of cheesy, personal changes, I'll just go ahead and mention the cheesiest, most personal change in the hope that I can hang onto one or two readers through the end of the paragraph, bearing in mind that I'll leave out pretty much every detail and unnecessary word that I can. No adverbs, I promise!
This week, I ran a project design workshop for a group of the new volunteers, most of which with I had only a passing acquaintance beforehand, and I managed not to spend a single second hiding alone in my room. 22 months ago, I was petrified that I would pass my Peace Corps time completely devoid of friends, except for a select couple who I'd attach myself to like a barnacle. This was an improvement over freshman year of college, when I would leave my room ten minutes before my roommate arrived so it wouldn't look like I'd spent the whole evening inside alone, and even more so over high school, when I went an entire year without saying a word in Civics class because I didn't know any of my classmates. I suppose the one word that sums that up is CONFIDENCE! I suppose that another phrase of summation would be NO LONGER A PSYCHO! Told you it was cheesy. But you read anyway, didn't you. Which means I win.
Lame Post #99
So the only post I brought with me to put up here was one entitled "Post 100," but to my chagrin it's only time for post 99. I suppose I could BS something about last week's project design conference, or I could make yet another reference to my impending close of service, but instead I'll just put this lame little placemarker in with a promise to post something better on Sunday. If not better, then at least more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
