Well, another week in Georgia, another million stories that
I forgot to tell you. This past weekend I made a very whirlwind trip to Batumi
on the Southwest coast near the border with Turkey. I mentioned to my host
mother Thursday evening that a friend was having their birthday over the
weekend in Batumi. Within about 3 minutes my host father was on the phone with
mashrutka (these are buses that go between towns and within bigger cities and
are used as transport since few people have cars and the trains don’t go nearly
everywhere) drivers , looking for one trustworthy enough to take their young
charge. There aren’t any direct ones this late in the tourist season so it was
arranged that I would get on the mashrutka to Tbilisi and be handed off to a
mashrutka to Batumi by the driver. It left at 6 am. The last remnants of
Westernness left in my soul made me set my alarm for 5:15. I knocked on the
door downstairs and Gocha, my host father tried to shoo me off, thinking that I
was Roy, the big scary dog. As soon as I spoke he opened the door and welcomed
me in. Lasha appeared out of the early morning mist with the car (no idea where
he had been, my family keeps the strangest hours sometimes) and whisked me to
the city center and got me onto the correct bus. I was there well within time.
I got on and waited. And waited. We filled up and finally set off at 7am, with
me cursing under my breath the punctual part of me that had gotten up as early
as I did. We picked up various people leaving Svaneti as we went, listening to
the driver’s rocking playlist (remixes of the current top 40, which he had a
flashdrive, gotten from goodness knows where). He eventually pulled over at the
side of the road, flagged down a mashrutka to Batumi and got me on it. I was in
Batumi by 1pm and wandered the town a little before the rest of my friends
arrived (we have been here long enough to be working on Georgian time).
 |
| A park in Batumi |
We had a slightly overdramatic reunion on the seaside
boulevard in which we laughed hugged and cried out in a way that is utterly
ridiculous given that I’ve known these people for a month and yet entirely
correct given how well we already know each other and the fascinating
experiences we are sharing. It was great to speak to other teachers about their
everyday lives and see how they are both similar to and different from my own.
My school seems to be the normal amount of organized but I seem to have lucked
out with my co-teachers who allow me to run some things in the classroom
without completely abandoning me to my fate with the 6th graders. My
family, having dealt with crazy foreigners before, gives me far more personal
space and independence than most of the families which is much appreciated. We
made our way to the beach in Batumi while chatting and I went for a delicious
swim in the Black Sea with my friend Hannah from the program. We are known
respectively as Perfect Hannah and British Hannah to tell us apart. At dinner
we discovered just how Georgian we had become when with a little food left on
the table we all started gesturing and yelling at one another “Chame!!!!
(eat)”, this being a several times a day experience for all of us. I stayed in
Batumi for only about 24 hours and caught mashrutkas to Zugdidi and then
Mestia. I was given a pair of British tourists to essentially guide through the
process by the tourism office in Batumi. Given how basic my Georgian is I
wasn’t exactly qualified to translate but I think we did just fine. The weird
thing was that as we left Zugdidi I heaved this massive sigh of relief as the
road started to climb. I felt like I was going home, which I suppose I am, but
it’s amazing to me that in only a month Mestia truly is a place I am glad to
return to. The road and the mountains embraced us and I felt entirely at ease
even as the driver careened about. I suppose I’ve been adjusting pretty darn
quickly.
 |
| Batumi's Sunset on the Black Sea |
I also had my first Svan lesson this week! My geography
teacher Murtaz wrote down a bunch of words in Svan and then in Georgian. He
wrote them in the Latin alphabet though, rather than in Georgian so it was kind
of difficult to figure out what was what. I came home and transferred it to
another notebook and my host family helped me since they all speak at least
some Svan, which is spoken by fewer than 15000 people and is estimated to die
with this generation. While it might seem like a useless thing to be learning,
I find the death of a language and the cultural knowledge that goes with it
heartbreaking. Speaking Svan also gives me incredible street credibility here
in Mestia so well worth it. I tried it out with a little old lady who saw me
running and you’d think she’s died and gone to heaven. She grabbed my cheeks
and almost dragged me inside to stuff me full of food. I was able to escape and
continue running but it was funny to keep seeing people and students I know.
Some tourists were also walking along the road and I could tell that I confused
the heck out of them because they just stared at me, trying to see what was
going on. I am starting to feel as though I belong to the community here, which
is a wonderful sensation.
We had a supra at my house on Wednesday night because… wine
was ready? We don’t really seem to need a reason which I appreciate. There was
maybe a real reason but most of this stuff goes right over my head so whatever.
It was my host uncle, host parents and two neighbors. I got to join in because
I was at home. The conversation seemed to float between Georgian and Svan, but
at least I can sort of recognize the latter now, or at least pick out the words
and made an educated guess as to which language it is. Several rather amusing
things happened. First of all I drank, but my host father didn’t. Another honorary man night. I only had 3 or 4
glasses of wine, this being a school night and all. One neighbor, the father of
host brother Lasha’s friend Lasha, gave me a pocket knife as a present. I have no idea if this is normal or what it
could possibly mean. He was the tamada and only spoke Georgian or Svan to me so
while we could kind of chat it wasn’t 100%. The other slightly, not concerning,
but perhaps interesting item was that the other neighbor, Lasha (yes everyone
is named Lasha) asked me about marriages in the US and whether large age gaps
(10 years) are possible. I said yes. Turns out he’s 30 and unmarried, which it
seems his friends tease him about rather a lot. Oh and he wants an American
wife. Time to backpedal like a boss. This week one of my 12th
graders, named, you guessed it, Lasha, asked me about my training. I figured
out he meant running, and then he asked me about where I went and why. Turns
out he’s training too. Interesting note: I’ve never seen him while I was
running. So did someone mention it to him, or did he ask? I’m not kidding when I say all I have to do
to be desirable and interesting as a potential spouse (or other) here in Mestia
is breathe.
I got mail from the US this week as well. Rather hilariously
I was eating lunch when there was a knock at the door. Nini went to answer it
and all I heard was a male voice ask “Where’s the English teacher?” in Georgian.
It was the postman! My mom had sent me a card and it arrived in only 2 weeks.
The postman had to get my passport number before he could give it to me, but it
was so exciting. People don’t get mail very much here so whenever stuff comes
the postman just brings it around to the houses. I’m not sure if he even read
the address, it was in Latin script so he just figured it was me.
 |
| The view from my House |
And just to finish off this blog post there was a sunshower
during my run today and what should I see on the mountain above me but a double
rainbow! Mestia is truly an amazing place, and one that I feel privileged to
call home for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment