More of Poti

I guess you could say that this week has been pretty quiet so far, compared to the last couple!  This past Wednesday, Ben and I went back to the nice cafe that has wi-fi, and I snapped a few more Poti shots for all of you...

The street I live on.

And the house I live in.

My school is the big red brick building.  800 students!

Thursday was a pretty spectacular day.  On Thursdays, I finish with school at 1:00, which is always pretty awesome.  I took my bike down to Kolkheti National Park and rode it all around, ending up at the Black Sea.  Unlike the area near the port, this area actually has a beach.  It would be lovely, and very cool with all the black sand, but unfortunately this was the dirtiest and most trash-filled beach I have ever seen in person.  Very sad.

Black Sea beach.  Could be a beautiful spot if Georgians stopped treating it like a dump.

My bike trail.

 

Riding through the woods was just amazing.  Before coming to Georgia, I hadn't ridden a bike in a long time because I have terrible knees unfortunately.  Bad knee genes inherited from my father (thanks Dad), and aggravated by a couple of sports injuries about seven or eight years ago.  But Poti was so flat and I was frustrated with my lack of driving ability that I thought I'd give it a try.  So far the knees have held up great, although they did start to bother me right at the tail end of this long ride. 

After the park, I rode across town to Oscar's, and met Mark and Julie.  Not long after we arrived, two drunken Georgian men swaggered up to our table and were being a nuisance.  The waitress tried to rescue us, and I'm sorry to say that things got a little ugly for a little bit there.  It ended with the police taking away the worst of the two men, and then coming back in a little bit to get a statement from the restaurant.  The three of us weren't involved in any of the unpleasantness thank goodness, just tertiary observers.  But it shook us all up enough that the Americans actually bought a small bottle of vodka for the first time since coming to this wild country...

And we bought our tiny bottle just in time to share it with two awesome people from Austria, Nora and Roman.  They were walking by and we introduced ourselves just as the shit went down... so all five of us got to take a calming vodka shot from a bottle that turned out to be just the right size.  Nora and Roman are biking around the world and had just come to Poti via a ferry from the Ukraine.  Two nicer people you'll never want to meet anywhere.  We had a great time and Mark, Julie and I were even able to teach them some emergency Georgian.  They were headed for Kutaisi tomorrow on their bikes -- we wished them luck on the roads with these insane Georgian drivers!

Journal Excerpt, June 2, 2011

"I look at this water and find I cannot wait to see the Black Sea."

I wrote that on August 26, 2010.  Seated beside my pool in beautiful Old Town Alexandria, staring at the blue of the Potomac.  Mimosa and dinner from Balducci's doubtless by my side.  The process had just begun.  I had no idea of the ride that I would be in for -- the months of frustration and waiting and heartbreak, of poor decisions and second chances, and saying goodbye again and again, knowing that it would never be enough.

But nine months later, here I am.

And today I looked at the Black Sea and remembered what I had written, one short lifetime ago.  I remembered feeling full of fear and apprehension and excitement, and sheer desperate determination to somehow find a way out of the empty life I found myself living.  Crosby, Stills, and Nash singing to me -- "Think about how many times I have fallen."  How many grand plans have I laid that never saw the light of day?  How many times have I given up, or been too afraid to start?  Think about how many times I have fallen.  But this time -- this one life-changing, crucially important time, I followed through.

The other night as I was falling asleep, I realized my stomach hadn't hurt in well over a month.  I'm not talking about "normal" stomach pains, of course.  I've definitely had my share of TD and one truly regrettable evening due to some improperly stored leftover fish.  But this was something far worse.  I affectionately called this my "morning sickness," although it had nothing to do with being pregnant.  But I still woke up nauseous every day.  I'm talking about the gut-wrenching, insides-twisting nonsense that can only come from being in an emotionally and mentally abusive relationship.  Which is exactly what being in my job felt like to me.

It's hard to believe that every day and night for over a year, I lived with my stomach in knots and my mind a stressed out, strung out mess.  "Business is business; don't take things personal."  That's every corporate motto, right?  But being in my position, the way I was treated, made it personal.  "I'm breaking up with Ursula on Friday," I said half-jokingly to a co-worker as I confided my intentions to put in my notice.  Breaking up with her.  That's how it felt.  I wasn't leaving a job.  I was leaving a malicious individual who had turned me into a living wreck.  And that kind of situation is not business, good business or otherwise.  That is something else entirely.

"I'm leaving you, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.  You can't hurt me anymore."

And before it even got that bad, I still hated being there.  That job with the horrid commute, the long hours, and overall the bullshit work.  I'm not protesting my needing to work hard.  But in that place, the work that I was asked to do was something that I could take no pride in.  I was helping to perpetuate an ugly and unsupportable cycle, aiding and abetting the bad habits of people -- of one particular person -- that I absolutely could not respect.

I can't remember when I first started thinking of "The Meathooks," but I know it was well over three years before I finally quit.  I would walk to my car in the morning, through the garage under my office building, back  from lunch, and imagine I could feel meathooks sunk into my flesh, physically pulling me back into that office.  It got so that I could feel where exactly they were, and their position would change from day to day.  "Mmm, the hooks are in my shoulders today," I would say to myself.  Or scraping under my collarbones, through the backs of my knees.  Between my eyes.  Dragging me, twitching my limbs like an unwilling puppet.  That's what it felt like walking into that building every day.  It felt like fucking torture.

Now that I am here, I have no earthly idea why I didn't pull those hooks out of my skin a long time ago.  I can feel myself starting to heal.  I'm getting stronger and healthier from daily walking and riding my bicycle.  I take deep breaths and find that the tightness around my chest -- the tightness from non-relenting stress, is gone.  And my stomach no longer hurts.

Where I Live

Some of you (my Mom) have been asking to see more of Poti.  I really should take my camera and actually take a few photos of the inside and outside of my house, and my school and neighborhood, but in the meantime, here's something.

Last night (Monday), I met Ben and Mark at Oscar's, one of our local watering holes.  We like it because it has outdoor tables, even though their Turkish toilet is atrocious.  Should take a picture of that too, so you can see what I have to deal with.  And beer makes me pee a LOT.  Ben and I were joking that that's maybe why Georgians prefer vodka.  Less trips to the Olfactory Wonderland Hole in the Ground.

It was a beautiful day, so after a beer or two Ben suggested a walk.  Mark had to take his leave shortly, but Ben and I ended up at a new place -- also with outdoor seating! -- that made a delicious kebab.  I feel it worthy to note that "kebab" here for some reason can mean about four different things.  This kebab was deliciously shaved and seasoned chicken served with sauteed onions and peppers on thick white bread.  Loved it, and found another place in Poti that actually adds a little heat to their food.

After our snack, we walked down to the seafront.  Poti's seafront is nothing to write home about, but it IS the Black Sea.

It'll do, right? :)

Art Shot

 

Ben and I channelled our inner kid and just had the best old time jumping around on those rocks.  We made it all the way from that pier down into the port proper, a walk that would have taken a third of the time on the sidewalk which was about 15 feet to our right.  But what's the fun in THAT?

The port in the distance.  We'll make it!

Art Shot x2

We walked out to the end of that thing.  Safety is for other countries.

Me at the end of the pier.

Soviet bloc housing, and cows

Abandoned Soviet factory

When we reached the port, it was time for another sit-down, so we found our third place in one evening that had outdoor tables -- and hooked ourselves up with more Natakhtari and more Georgian food.  Maybe I am finally getting a little acclimated, but it definitely seems that my palate is coming around a little.  I still miss SO MANY things back in the States that I simply cannot get here, like Indian, Thai, and sushi, for a start.  But I do feel that these days I've been a good bit more into my meals.  I'd worry about gaining weight, what with all the oil, potatoes, and cheese, but I'm also probably more consistently active than I've been in years.  So hopefully it will balance out!

Big Weekend

Bit of a strange afternoon and evening... Nana has been out since before lunch and I haven't seen Rezzo (host Dad) since Sunday, although that last isn't that unusual.  Nata is missing too.  Took advantage of the rare solitude and spent a very nice hour nursing a glass of homemade white wine and reading my kindle on the roof deck, then went inside and fell asleep.

I woke up as it was getting dark, to the very loud baying of some animal and with an upset stomach.  Still no one home as far as I could discover, except that I found Eldari (host Grandpa) alone in the kitchen, watching football in the dark.

Do unexpected naps make other people feel all disoriented and out-of-time?  I've got that going on in a big way.  Add in, of course, that I am in Georgia...

So I walked to the corner store for a beer, which I've found to fix most problems.  Dire Straits are serenading me softly, and it is pretty nicely novel to be beginning a blog post before midnight.

When we last left our intrepid hero....

This past Saturday I went with Mark and Julie to Zugdidi, a city about an hour east of Poti.  I was extremely proud of myself that morning, as I got up early, walked to the Bazari, exchanged dollars for lari, communicated my desire to go to the bus station AND negotiated the fare with a cabbie, and bought a marshrutka ticket for Zugdidi upon reaching the station -- ALL without a hitch.  Julie and Mark arrived, and we rattled and bumped and sweated our way down the Georgian highway.  You can't beat a marshrutka for cheap transport to pretty much anywhere in Georgia, but I sure am not looking forward to my first really long trip in one.

Zugdidi is really pretty, and certianly more Western and modern than Poti.  The three of us arrived with only the vaugest idea of what to see (wikipedia and a single short entry in my guidebook).  We wandered down the main street, and stopped randomly into an art gallery and asked about the Dadiani Palace Museum.  Turns out it was exactly in the direction we had been going.  Bonus.

Me and Julie in Zugdidi -- pretty fountian shaped like the Georgian flag

The Dadiani Palace was the home of David Dadiani, the last king of Mingrelia (region of Georgia).  His family had ties with Napoleon, and as a result one of Napoleon's three death masks is there.  That was pretty cool to see.  The Shroud of the Mary is there too, but as Mark astutely observed, the "shroud" looked an awful lot like it was just painted on a larger piece of clean canvas.  Maybe they don't actually want the real one exposed to light and the public?

Dadiani Palace Museum

 

After the museum, we walked around the very pretty grounds for a bit.  I had one brief but extremely unpleasant experience -- an older woman staggered up to me with her hand out, saying something.  I said "Arra, bodishit," (No, sorry), and tried to step around her, but she kind of cornered me against the wall of a building and then she siezed my left arm in both hands, talking loudly the whole time.  This woman was strong!!  I began to shout "arra! arra!!" and tried to get her off, but she had me good.  Mark had to step in and literally tear this woman's hands off me.  Once I was free she didn't try again, but I didn't look back and I was SO glad I wasn't there alone!  I love traveling solo, but let's just hear it for friends who are ready and willing to pull crazy people off your ass at a moment's notice.

After THAT, well, we all decided we could use some refreshment.  After some false starts, we found an utterly perfect cafe set a little above street level, that had superb shady outdoor seating.  We ordered beers and kebabs and some meat "curry" and the ubiquitous tomato and cucumber salad -- everything was really tasty and it was just so damn pleasant to relax outside and talk about any old thing... After our beers were empty, Mark came up solid twice in one afternoon, and pulled a two-litre coke bottle from his backpack... that was filled with his family's red wine.  Being Georgia, the establishment couldn't care less that we were adding our own refreshment to the party.  We lingered a good long time at our table.  The plan wasn't to return to Poti until late evening, so we figured we had plenty of time.

After lunch, we decided to at least locate the bus station, and find out when the last bus was, so we could enjoy the rest of our afternoon and evening free of worry.  After a long hot trek, we arrived at the station to discover that NO buses left after 5:00, and it was 4:30.  We sighed, shrugged, and got on one more hot-ass marshrutka for the bumpy ride back to Poti.  Everyone was really disapointed that our day was cut short, but at least it worked out that we weren't stuck in Zugdidi overnight.

Back in Poti, Julie invited us to her host family's house.  We ended up hanging out outside again, on her front steps, polishing off the last of Mark's wine.  Later we went out for food, and found one of those lovely little family-run, out-of-the-way cafes without a name but likely serve the best food in town.  We asked for gvhino, and for four lari (less than three dollars), we got a huge pitcher filled with their very own white wine.  Love it.  Food was delicious and actually a little spicy which shot me straight into heaven.

Wonderful day and evening with good people.  I can't wait to travel all over this incredible country.


So, that was Saturday.  Sunday then, I decreed would be quiet.  I'd come down with a mild case of ick the day of Nata's birthday, and while I wasn't going to let that stop me from something like a day trip to Zugdidi, I also thought that a day of downtime, with the host family, might be in the cards.

In the evening though, I went with Rezzo into the City Center to watch an outdoor concert of traditional Georgian dancing.  My host Dad speaks only two or three words of English, and I don't speak much more Georgian, but we've always gotten along great.

That's Rezzo at the close of Nata's birthday, after we had danced to Beyonce's "All the Single Ladies" together.  So I was pretty okay at the idea of him and me hanging out one-on-one.  He's a cool dude.

I really enjoyed the concert.  It turned out to be a kids' performance, but those little guys and girls can really move it.  The costumes were amazing too, and it was really fun to see all the diversity in the different styles of traditional Georgian dancing and costuming, which varies significantly by region.

BUT, this concert was four hours long.  That's four hours of standing in the street, no facilities, no nothing.  I really enjoyed seeing the dancing, but I would have enjoyed it more with a lawn and a blanket and a beer with some chicken fingers, and maybe even a porta-potty.  We had to stay until the end because my younger host sister Anna was performing, and she was going... last.  Of course.  But I really did want to see her and her troupe, so was willing to clench down on the bladder and wait it out.  Due to a tall guy with a camera being a douche, I only have a few very crappy photos of Anna's dance.

When we finally got home it was 11:30, and I was wiped.  Georgia sure has a  lot of culture for a very tiny country that's spent quite a lot of time over the centuries being ruled by outsiders.

Here's a video that shows a pretty decent example of Georgian dancing.  If you're impatient, the good stuff starts up around 2:45.

Gaumarjos.

Yesterday -- May 26 -- was the Georgian Independence Day.  Interestingly, May 26 is the day that Georgia first (and briefly, temporarily) won its independence from Russia in the 20s, not the day that the country won its independence most recently, following the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 90s.  And that was only a very short twenty six years ago.

There is something very different, and very humbling, about witnessing a culture where most people alive can remember their Independence Day.  This isn't like the 4th of July in America, where our independence happened 200+ years ago and we've pretty much dominated wherever we wanted to ever since.

The schools were closed on Thursday, of course, and I slept late, took a hot shower (woot!), and made it downstairs a little after noon.  My family had a big spread going on, and extended family over.  We toasted and ate and toasted, and slowly it began to dawn on me a little what this holiday meant to the people who were sharing their table with me.  There were no fireworks.  No barbecue or beer.  But we lifted our glasses filled with homemade wine and said gaumarjos! to Georgia, to Sakartvelo.  Gaumarjos literally means "Victory!"  We say "Cheers!" or "here's to you."  Georgians say "Victory."  What they have won, and the cost of that victory, is always in their minds.  And we toasted our families -- my mother and father, my sister and brother-in-law, my grandpa and grandmas, my aunts, uncles, cousins.  We toasted my Georgian host family, and Obama, Saakashvili, and the collective future of Georgia and America.

In the evening I went with my host sisters and host cousin into the City Center to watch Poti's Independence Day outdoor concert.  It was a lot of fun, and my favorite part was an interpretive piece by a theatre group.  They dramatized Georgia's struggle against Russia, and it was a surprisingly moving performance.

Georgian singers in traditional dress.  I love Georgian polyphonic singing.

The beginning of the interpretive piece.

Georgia trying to get out from under Russia and being pushed back down...

Free!!

But aw crap, Russia's back.

And finally, Victory!  Gaumarjos.

I can't imagine having my country taken over and ruled by a larger foreign power, and watching my people subjugated.  I can't imagine witnessing my country win its freedom from that larger power, only to fight for years against that power's economic and political bullying, and occasional willful invasion.

The most recent invasion happened not quite three years ago, during the South Ossetian conflict.  As in every war, there is truth and there are lies on both sides.  But I think it goes without saying who is the underdog here.  And I think about Russia's invasion of Georgia, and how it compares with my own country's all-too-frequent military presence in other countries.  Was Russia acting to protect the South Ossetian people?  Possibly.  But just as in all political actions -- including the U.S., there is always more than we see on the surface.

Hollywood has decided to make a movie about the 2008 war, called Five Days of August.  It will premiere on June 5 in Georgia, and hopefully will come soon to the States.

This is not my country.  I miss Whole Foods, "History Will Be Made" commercials, mimosas, screens on windows, my Corolla, my family and friends, and direct answers to questions.  But I feel privileged to be here nonetheless.  This is a country reinventing itself while holding fast and true to traditions that have survived thousands of years and countless invasions.  Here's to you, Sakartvelo.  Victory.

The Week So Far...

On Monday, more shenanigans at Aragvi.  Ben's host dad Gia came along, which of course meant we couldn't just have a beer or two and something small...  Ah well, fun was had, Georgian style.

The Poti Gang!!

On Tuesday though, Ben and I went out for dinner with another volunteer, Todd.  Just us Americans this time, which meant there was no vodka.  We tried a new cafe downtown.  The food was decent but the menu was only in Georgian, and a complication with the Language Barrier meant I never actually got what I ordered.  Then when the bill came (always not itemized and only in Georgian), there was some confusion and subsequent discussion over the amount.  Awkward... and all that adds up to my probably not going back to that particular cafe.  Too bad, because Poti only has but a few of those to start with.

But the GOOD part of the night is that after dinner, Ben took us to this really wonderful little gem that he'd discovered.  This place is incredible.  Really nice, tastefully decorated, English menu.  Food and coffee and booze -- they had Teliani Cellars!!  I love Teliani Cellars, because that is the very same brand of Georgian wine that Whole Foods carries back home.  I am aware that this is a retarded reason to like something, particularly Georgian wine when I am in Georgia.  But I had been craving a taste of home, after all.  And in this place I got it.  An atmosphere that could have been Old Town, and Teliani's Tsinandali white wine, which is the very same wine I had five years ago, when I first bought a bottle of Georgian wine on a lark from Whole Foods.  Only difference is that this bottle cost 15 lari, which is about nine dollars.

And there is free wi-fi.  I think Ben just showed me the single coolest place that Poti has to offer.

We didn't get any food because we'd just been to the other place (I'd sampled the guys' stuff so wasn't hungry even though my kebab never arrived).  But I have high hopes.  It's just on the side of an unreasonable walk from my place, but a completely doable bike ride.  I have a feeling I'm going to be popping in and out a lot.

Wednesday was a very special day -- my host sister Nata's 15th birthday!  The family was throwing her a party which was a very big deal... they rented a reception room downtown to accomodate the 50+ people that were showing up.  After work, I left right from school to go with Nata and her friends to the hall so we could decorate.  A couple hours there, then home to change and to make punch.  About a week ago, I'd offhandedly remarked to Nata about how much I would like a cocktail.  I had to explain what a cocktail was, and she said she'd really like to have some of those for her party.  Well, as I'm sure you know by now, it's really freaking hard to make a cocktail in Georgia, let alone cocktails for 50 people. 

Over the next few days, the idea of cocktails for Nata's party kept coming up.  I kind of had a feeling that this wasn't going to work out with me holding a vodka cran with a twist (and ice that wouldn't make me hate life later), but now that it was out there I didn't know how to shut it down.  On request, I gave a list of (very basic) things we'd need to make cocktails, like vodka and juice.  The day of the party, I was presented with a giant jug of the family's home-made alcohol, and several other jugs of their various home-made juices.

So I attempted to make punch.  Only problem was that this alcohol was most definitely NOT vodka.  It was something else entirely that Bo and Luke would be proud to transport inside the noble General Lee.  And it had a presence that was pretty much impossible to disguise, even with multiple kinds of juice and even some pureed strawberries.  We hauled it off to the party anyway, where the teenagers (mostly) drank it, but I wasn't happy at all with my first offering of a "cocktail" to my Georgians.  Oh well.

But the good news is  that the party was hardly going to stand or fall on the success of my punch.  And it was a great time.  My host Mom and her volunteer army of assistant cooks put out an incredible, professional spread.  The kids all danced their butts off.  And I was very generously allowed to invite the Poti Gang, which meant I had people to talk to, and also people my own age!  Bonus.

Julie getting her groove on with some Georgian teens. :)

My host sister Anna getting her grove on, dancing on chairs with her friends to Queen's "We Will Rock You".

Today was Georgia's Independence Day.  I have a lot to tell you about that too, but I came down with some kind of sickness yesterday/today and feel like crap.  So it is off to bed with me, and hopefully tomorrow I can catch myself up!

And this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart

I have a thing.  It is small, and light, and probably not worth much to a stranger who might think to take it from me.  They would be wrong.

It is a heart.  My sister gave me this thing in honor of her marriage, in 2008.  It is silver, and beautiful, and it comes in half so to store other important heart-treasures inside.

There is a tradition associated with this thing.  In Celtic tradition, the Friendship Heart is passed pack and forth among women, to celebrate a lifetime milestone.  Eve gave it to me when she was married; and I gave it back to her when she moved with Brad to Okinawa.

And when I decided to move to Georgia, she gave back it to me.

It sits on my table now.  In Georgia, in Poti, a lifetime and a world away from everything I have ever known or loved.  I don't regret any choice or happenstance that helped me on the road to come here.  But sometimes it is hard.  It is hard, and I know it will only get harder before it is better.  But I look at this heart, and at the ring my mother gave me, and at the beautiful walnut shaker boxes my father made.

It is strange to me that something I should want so much comes at such an unfathomable sacrifice. What would I give to have a night grilling with my sister and brother-in-law, drinking cosmos and watching the 6-hour BBC Pride and Prejudice.  What I would give for a hockey game on VS, with wine and sushi to compliment the goals and penalties.  What would I give for 50 of my closest friends around me, laughing to a Nice Peter Picture Song?

What would I give for one more night listening to the best of rock 'n roll and grilling steak, drinking wine and laughing and talking with the freedom that only comes with the people that truly understand you, and love you.

These people that see you for who you are, and love you anyway.

This post is for you, and you know who you are.  I miss you.  I wish you were here.  Gaumarjos.

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-- e.e. cummings

Poti Shenanigans, Part 2

Finally reached this week!  This past Monday, Ben and I met after work (which is early afternoon for us, sorry office people), at a place near the Bazari called Oscar's.  (I will do a separate post on the Bazari soon -- truly Lewis Carrol-esque in its very foreignness.)  Julie called me and I invited her to join us.  She didn't make it out for about two hours though, which meant that Ben and I had plenty of time to do justice to more kachapuri and kinkhali (seriously getting a lil tired of these, but Oscar's does not have an English menu so we had to stick with what we knew they had,) and also a fair couple of beers.  It was the first really beautiful day I'd seen since I got to Poti -- there wasn't a cloud in the perfect sky and the sun was like a welcome, long-lost friend.  I was super jazzed to be just sitting outside and enjoying everything, from the company and English conversation to the warm breeze and Georgian passers-by and even Oscar's horrible Turkish toilet (these horrid travesties will also get a post of their own at some point).

Ben and Julie, lovely outdoor table at Oscar's

 With everything, we ended up hanging out at that table for... quite a long time.  The beer got switched out for wine eventually, and we did justice to two bottles before Ben called his host dad to pick us up.  Only... Gia didn't exactly want to take us home.  And we ended up at another, far nicer, restaurant/bar with a Turkish flair.  We sat upstairs, at one of their extremely cool semi-private tables that could be drawn off with red curtains if you felt the need to remove any wayward eyes.  And... this, of course, is GEORGIA.  And we are now with a Georgian man.  You know by now what that means -- more bottles of wine and platters of food!  Of course!  Naturally!

Our "private" table at the Turkish place.  Me, Julie, Ben's host dad Gia

This place had live music downstairs, playing the typical eclectic mix of Georgian, Turkish, Russian, and Western classic rock.  We danced and lots of Georgians thought we were just the coolest things ever.  I was having a fantastic time but eventually had to put my foot down and ask Ben to convince Gia to take us home.  For reals this time.

As I needed to make up some good graces with my host family, Tuesday and Wednesday were mostly quiet.  I did successfully buy a bike on Wednesday, with Nata's very appreciated translation assistance.  I rode all around on Wednesday afternoon, finding the beachfront.  There's really not much to Poti's beachfront, but I enjoyed a half hour or so sitting on a crumbling sea wall and reading Game of Thrones on my kindle, watching the sun slowly set over the Black Sea to the west, and magnificent snow-capped mountains in the distance to the east.  Breathtaking.  I can't believe I've gone my whole life and never seen real mountains like this until now.

But on Thursday, I got a call from Misha, one of the Georgians from Aragvi's last week.  He wanted to take me out, and I accepted, making sure it was okay to bring a friend along.  I called Julie for support and she graciously came along, which turned out to be VERY good because Misha brought along a friend as well, David.

This was supposed to be coffee, initially.  Then it turned into "a drink."  But -- where are we, boys and girls?  Oh right, this is Georgia.  David and Misha took us to the nicest restaurant I've been to in Georgia so far.  It was right on the water and they had a huge wall of glass windows looking out over the port.  Awesome!  Plus, they had an English menu, which included a page of cocktails!

Let me just tell you one thing about Georgia, and really Europe in general.  They don't do ice here.  I am a huge fan of ice.  They also don't do cocktails.  I am a huge fan of cocktails.  For instance -- a proper vodka cran with a twist... and plenty of ice.  Does.  Not.  Exist.  Here.  Up until this point, I had yet to see either a proper mixed drink or a single goddam ice cube.  Which made the below all the more incredible...

I have a COCKTAIL!  With ICE!!!

This was supposed to be a screwdriver.  It really wasn't a screwdriver, but those two cubes of ice pretty much sent me skyward.

Julie and me, cocktails with ice.  Woot.

Our Georgian companions for the evening, Misha and David

Misha and David did some "cocktail" ordering of their own -- a bottle of vodka and a pitcher of peach juice.  Georgians drink their vodka in shots, followed (sometimes) by a chaser.  As far as I'm concerned, this can get to be a tad overwhelming, pretty fast.  Especially if you're also eating and want to maybe actually enjoy what you're drinking rather than just aim to get drunk as fast as possible.  Don't get me wrong -- I absolutely loved taking those cha-cha shots with my host dad (I think it helped us bond some), but I don't want to do shots all the time.  So, emboldened by our cocktail success, Julie and I made our own custom mixed drinks with the vodka and peach juice.  This was extremely strange to Misha and David.

"You drink very... little."  Misha commented.  I tried to explain that most Americans, especially girls, tend to drink slowly, particularly during a meal.  And that shots are usually reserved for special occasions, like weddings and college.  (Those of you back home will probably find my comments hilarious, based on my well-known love of a good stiff drink.  But seriously people, these Georgians take it to a whole new level.  My host grandpa honestly got a touch upset with me the other day because I wouldn't down my entire glass of wine in one gulp after a toast.  Dude speaks no English, so my plaintive explanation that I prefer that my wine actually serve as a compliment and  accompaniment my food, and that I actually like to taste and to enjoy my glass of wine rather than knocking it back like one gigantic shot, was kind of wasted.)

Both Misha and David spoke pretty good English but there was still a language barrier, but they seemed happy enough as long as our glasses were never empty.

They also -- of course -- ordered a ton of really good food.

There's really no such thing as "grabbing a beer" in Georgia.

Still treading lightly from my late-night transgression on Monday, I made sure that the boys took us home at a reasonable hour.  I had a really fantastic time at this place.  Misha and David were utterly wonderful and gracious gentlemen, and I definitely wouldn't mind them taking us out for dinner again. :)

On Friday, after work and dinner with the host family, I called Ben and suggested a walk.  Low-key, innocent, and free.  We walked and chatted and ended up passing Aragvi.  I'm sure it comes as no surprise what happens next.  It wasn't our fault.  We walked past it, without even a glance.  But one of Ben's students came boiling out the door and all but physically dragged us inside, where we met a full baker's dozen Georgian teenagers, full-steam ahead in tying one on.  In less than 30 seconds I had a beer in my hand and Ben had already done a vodka shot.  We had our picture taken about 20 times, so I'm sure that awesome face I made with my first vodka shot is now all over Georgian facebook.

But after a beer and couple of shots, the boys had been pretty much on their way out when they spotted us so they were ready to go.  We left.  But as we were on the sidewalk saying Nahkvamdis, a very nice man with impeccable English came out of the bar and asked where I was from.  This man's name was Walter, and he was a Georgian who'd been living in Ohio for the past 12 years and was just back for a visit.

You're starting to get the pattern here now, for real.

Up the stairs we went, to join his six very jovial companions at their outdoor table.  They'd already eaten, but the guys ordered a full spread for us before we could even blink, and a new bottle of vodka.  I had a LOT of fun with these dudes, but was determined to get home before midnight as I was still feeling awkward about Monday... and I mean, hell.  I'd told my host family that I was going for a walk... like, five hours ago.  Also, no pictures again.  Dumb of me.

They wouldn't hear of us helping to pay, of course.  And hailed a taxi for us, and one of them rode with us to make sure we got where we needed to go.  We have plans to meet again on Monday.

I love Georgia.

Poti Shenanigans, Part 1

This past week and a half has included quite a few liquid adventures.

Last week I met Ben, a fellow volunteer with my Program who teaches one school over and lives very close to me.  He came by my school at the end of my first day teaching to introduce himself, which I thought was extremely cool of him.  I suggested going out for coffee, which ended up being lunch at this really cool restaurant/bar called Aragvi.  I am learning (really far too slowly), that Georgians NEVER just go out for "a coffee," or "a beer."  There is ALWAYS food, and lots of it, and usually vodka, especially if it's the evening or if your companions are men.

Ben's host dad Gia came with us, and also called Nana so she could join us.  No vodka this time, but the food at this place is excellent, especially their kinkhali, for which they are locally famous.  One of my favorite Georgian dishes is meat seasoned and then cooked on a spit like a kebab, but then taken off the spit and served in sizzling hot clay bowls.  I've had chicken, beef, and pork all served this way.  It's been harder for me to make the Mammals Adjustment with pork than with beef (the exception, of course, being bacon), but I really like the chicken and beef ones.  Besides that, we had the Georgian staple -- kachapuri, as well as their tomato and cucumber salad and plenty of bread, cheese, and kinkhali.  If you come to Georgia, this is exactly the meal you will eat, without a single doubt.

The next day, Ben and I made plans to go out without the benevolent protection of our hosts, and ended up back at Aragvi again.  I called Mark and Julie, the volunteers from my group who also ended up in Poti, and Ben called Pierre and Todd, volunteers that he knew.  So it ended up being quite a party, but I didn't take a single picture for some reason.  Oh well.  More kinkhali, kachapuri, Georgian salad... and plenty of beer and wine, this time.  Towards the end of the night, we all got drawn in with a group of Georgian men making a night of it... and got invited to a picnic they were having the next day because it was a school holiday.  The picnic ended up not happening, but the story with these young men doesn't end here...

Then the weekend in Batumi happened, which you already know about in detail.  And on Sunday afternoon I got piled in the car to drive an ~hour east to the city of Zugdidi, to pick up Ruda.  In Zugdidi, my host dad Rezo brought out the cha-cha, which is homemade or home-doctored vodka.  This particular cha-cha was fermented with grapes and came in a gigantic mason jar.  It was now about 7:30 in the evening and I had yet to eat that day... but in the name of International Relations I manfully knocked back four shots of this stuff.

The liquid courage that comes with four shots of vodka came in handy, because on the way home I had to ask Rezo to stop so I could pee behind a tree.  Was kind of hoping to have the relationship a little further along before something like that happened, but whatevs.  Also on the way home, our car, Rezo's friend's Geo Metro, ran out of gas just outside of Poti.

That's one for the travel memoir.

Got home and put away another vodka shot along with four sandwiches furnished by the host mom.  Hell, by then it was 10:30 at night and the only thing in my poor body was half an apple (gratefully eaten in Zugdidi), and a whole bunch of cha-cha.  I think Nana thought I had been body-snatched, the way I was finally putting food away the way I apparently should have been all along. :)

Host Pup

Meet our new puppy, Ruda.



I have no idea if that's how it's spelled; it's Russian.  And my host sister wasn't able to tell me what it meant in English.  This pup is pretty much the most adorable thing ever.  He's very young, about 4 weeks they tell me.  Although in Georgian time that could be anything from 2 weeks to 2 months, estimating conservatively.

Sadly, I'm afraid he's going to have a bit of a harder life than the one puppies typically get where I'm from.  Georgians keep their animals pretty much outside, and Ruda lives in a shed in the backyard with a woochip-covered floor and a bowl that gets filled with table scraps periodically.  It's hard for me not to say anything but I have to remember always, of course, that this is not my house and not my culture, and it sure as hell isn't my place to be telling them how they should be treating their animals.  They all love him and I'm sure everything will be fine... I just want to spoil the lil guy with a ton of stuff from PetSmart and it bugs me that I can't.

Georgian housetraining.  The hat is just 'cause it's awesome.