Tbilisi Files -- Day Four

My fourth day in Tbilisi, Thursday the 21st, was a very special day.  That is because I got to eat sushi with my very excellent friend, Dani.

The sushi bar didn't open for another hour after we met up, so we agreed to pay a visit to Prospero's.  I got a Cold Mint Coffee.  And let me just tell you...

A very happy girl.

After lunch, Dani had to go, but I visited both Tbilisi's Art Museum and National Museum.  I am a complete Museum Nerd, happily dedicating whole days to the Smithsonian back in DC.  I've really missed the quiet serenity that always accompanies a leisurely, solitary stroll among beautiful and ancient things.

By the time I finished, it was mid-afternoon and really incredibly hot, so I ended up retreating back to my very wonderful hostel for a little while.  I got a beer -- the hostel includes a fridge and stocks beer, water, and soda (for a fee, of course, but still so convenient and thoughtful), and hung out in the common room, reading Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything.  Gradually, I made friends with Max from Sweden, Kafil from Israel, another gentleman from Turkey who'd recently scored British citizenship, and a couple other folks drifting in and out from all over the world.  What was supposed to be a short rest stop turned into an extremely fulfilling couple of hours as we talked about all manner of things.  I had one of my "Damn, I am one lucky girl" moments -- because seriously, how freaking awesome is it that I got to find myself in Tbilisi, sipping a cold Georgian beer and talking with lovely people from across the globe?

After a while, Max's father Magnus made an appearance, joined the conversation, and invited me to dinner with him and his son.  We went down one of Tbilisi's wonderful twisty back alleys, that look like this,

And ended up at a hidden restaurant tucked away in a tiny square.  I was so happy because it was one of those places that you have to be taken to -- the chances of someone just stumbling on this place were almost nonexistent.  It was so tucked away, as a matter of fact, that Magnus had to excuse himself to go and rescue/guide Tina, a friend of his and native Tbilisian.  Magnus ordered wine and encouraged me to to do the same.  I ordered "grilled beef and mashed potatoes," which was not exactly a steak but close enough to bring very real tears of joy to my eyes.  For a moment I contemplated whether I could get away with ordering an entire second entree.  I mean, I have really missed steak.

Some day, I will really learn better, but for now I still forgot to take pictures of this amazing evening and these incredible people I was lucky enough to run into.  So you will have to trust me that my companions were the height of hospitality and pleasantness, the Saperavi-Cabernet blend was rich and dark and velvety, the atmosphere perfect and the evening a 100%, all-around success.

After dinner, we went back to the hostel and continued our conversation out on the front porch until the wee hours of the morning, where the hostel staff, Kafil, and the guy from Turkey/England joined us.

Life is good, folks.

Tbilisi Files -- Day Two and Three

Argh, internet has been down or spotty all week.  Makes it hard to post.  The good news is that nothing has happened all week other than it being really, really, impossibly hot and uncomfortable, so I have nothing to report on other than my fantastic time in Tibilisi.  (In Poti's one internet cafe right now -- service keeps going in and out and the music is terrible, but it's the only game in town.)

So -- Tuesday morning the 19th, I met my second Tbilisi doctor, and finally, finally got the examination I'd been looking for.  He actually laid hands on me for more than five seconds.  He inquired about my medical history, and my family's.  I got an ultrasound and an EKG.  Eventually he pronounced the chest pain Myositis, or muscle inflamation.  It's probably a side effect of the bronchitis -- because he looked at my x-ray and said it was unlikely I ever actually had pneumonia.  The bad news is that he said it could hang around for a while, but wouldn't be as bad.  (That's good, because even as I type this, it's definitely not gone, but the intensity is significantly less.)  He started to prescribe more pain pills -- but a fortunately-timed coughing fit actually let him see the level of discomfort I was in, and switched it up to three days of injections in my butt.  I also got pain pills to start after the injections were over, and something new to help with my cough.

But the result of the three days of injections... plus the fact that he wanted to see me again on Friday... meant that I was granted permission to stay in Tbilisi.  For the rest of the week.

Finding that out almost made all the pain worth it.  Almost.

K helped me fill the prescriptions and then actually shot me up herself in the hostel.  She's got a medical degree and was truly fantastic about the entire thing, agreeing to come by the following two mornings to do the rest of the injections.  I know I've said this before, but I really cannot take my hat off enough times to the people from my Program who helped me during this week.  I was genuinely humbled by their compassion and concern, and willingness to do whatever was needed to see me better.  Of course my teaching of Poti's police was put on hold for the week, but they were so utterly gracious it was like it didn't even matter.  It really made me wish I had made my desperate Sunday call a lot sooner.  I could have saved myself a lot of touble.

And now -- it was early Tuesday afternoon and, other than a brief morning appointment each day, had nothing to do for the rest of the week but see Tbilisi, relax, meet interesting new people, and maybe even catch up with some friends.  I was officially On Vacation.

I celebrated by eating lunch at McDonalds. :)  And it was awesome.

After lunch, I stopped into Prospero's Books and Caliban's Coffeehouse, on Rustaveli Avenue.  Prospero's is an English-language bookshop -- a lovely, quiet western oasis, tucked in a pristine courtyard down a brief alley and so secluded from Rustaveli's bustle.  I had a caramel latte.  Those of you back home probably don't realize the significance of those words.  For three months my coffee has been either Turkish or instant.  Milk -- let alone heated and frothed -- has been nowhere in sight.  By necessity, I've developed an affinity for Turkish coffee, but have missed my iced skim chai lattes, my white mocha macchiatos.

I sat in Caliban's quiet, clean, peaceful air conditioning and sipped my latte.  And all of a sudden, I realized something.  I was breathing without pain.  I did an experimental tiny little cough, and there it was -- but a shadow of itself, lacking any ferocity or bite.  The shot had worked.  I took my first deep breaths in days and breathed in the sweet comforting smell of caramel.  It felt so good, it felt like I was home.

And then I went to meet Zaza.  Which was a separate post.  :)  I did get to see plenty of Tbilisi, at least, plus a kitten investigating a hedgehog.

Old Tbilisi at Night

 

While at the Fortress, I'd gotten a call back from my friend Dani, who was in our intake group in Tbilisi back in the beginning of May, and who'd had the luck to be posted in the city.  She invited me to come with her host Mom and brother to Tbilisi's Aquapark the next day!

Morning of Day Three -- I woke up in about as much pain as I'd been in pre-shot.  This was really extremely disapointing, but K was on her way over to fix me up again.  If I didn't start feeling a lot like yesterday, it was going to make waterslides a bit impossible.

Fortunately, the shot did kick in again, although not as comprehensively as yesterday.  So I had an utterly fantastic afternoon riding the waterslides and swimming in the pool with Dani and her excellent family.  I didn't get many photos of the park itself though, which is a shame.

Dani, her host mom hiding behind Dani's head, and her host brother Giorgi

Tbilisi's Aquapark is the full deal -- huge awesome swimming pool, a bunch of different slides, even a tiki bar and an outdoor cafe.  I got a pina colada!  Later on we had pizza at the cafe.  Fantastic time with awesome people.  If someone four days ago told me in Poti that I'd be having a poolside cocktail in Tbilisi, I'd have called them a liar.

Tbilisi Files -- Day One

I arrived in Tbilisi at 7:30 on Monday morning, having gotten on the train in Poti at 2:25 AM.  I had been warned the Night Train was a hellish experience; in fact, it was surprisingly pleasant and I realized about an hour in that, despite the truly wracking pain that had put me on this train in the first place, that I had that pleasant little thrill inside that I only get when traveling.

I was on the train because earlier in the afternoon I'd reached a breaking point with the amount of pain I was in.  It honestly felt like I had shattered ribs on both sides of my chest.  It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to lay down.  And it really, really hurt whenever I coughed -- which I was still doing with disturbing frequency.  My latest plea for help to Poti's doctor's had netted me some pills for allergies, and Noshpa-forte, which apparently is most often prescribed for kidney stones and to ease the pain of cervical spasming during childbirth.

So, on Sunday afternoon I called one of the higher-ups in my Program.  I literally told him that "I'm calling you because you actually seem to have your act together, and I need something to move on this."  I went through my whole depressing history of the past month -- the multiple fruitless doctor visits and 12 ineffective medications.  He called me back in less than half an hour and told me that if I could get myself to Tbilisi, I could see a doctor there first thing Monday morning.  Well.

I do need to say right off the bat that my Program really did go above and beyond to help me through this.  At the Tbilisi station, K from my Program met me with a driver, and we went straight to the doctor as promised.  I had a new blood test and a new chest x-ray... but the doctor herself did not actually seem to be very vested in finding out what was wrong with me.  I expressed my concerns to K after the appointment was over, and she agreed that we would see a different doctor the next day.

Then they drove me to my hostel.  I'd never stayed in a hostel before so was a little nervous about sharing a room with strangers and all.  But these people were great.  Old Town Tbilisi Hostel -- 100% Mary Recommended.  Staff were incredibly friendly, the place was very clean, and the location couldn't be beat -- maybe a ten-minute walk from Freedom Square and even closer to Chardin Street, a windy pedestrian walk lined on either side with truly excellent restaurants and cafes.

I checked in and realized -- it was 12:30 in the afternoon and I had nowhere to be, no one to account myself to, until 9:45 the next morning.  The rush of freedom was almost intoxicating.  So despite the heat, despite the fact that I was still in quite a bit of pain, I packed my backpack for a day trip and headed out.  I passed Art Gallery Line, a small contemporary gallery, and spent the best 30 minutes walking around at my own pace through the air conditioning.

I rode the high of my unexpected freedom right into an adorable outdoor cafe on Chardin Street called Casablanca.  I ordered a glass of chardonnay (first non-Georgian wine since I got here!), and a salad nicoise.

Okay, it wasn't exactly a salad nicoise, but the grilled tuna was warm and nicely seasoned and the dressing was tasty.  Plus it was Western!  I like Georgian food just fine, but after almost three months in Poti, I'd been getting pretty freaking tired of khachapuri and kinkhali.  I decided I would try to not eat any Georgian food my entire time in Tbilisi (which at this point I expected to be maybe 36 hours at most).

It was just so damn good to be out on my own, to be walking in a beautiful city, to be sipping chardonnay that I could tell really was chardonnay.  If I sat very still and remembered to breathe shallowly, I could almost have moments that were nearly pain-free. :)  I wrote in my journal and watched the parade of tourists.  Tourists!  People not from Georgia!  It was amazing! :)

I hadn't bought my Georgian guidebook, because somehow I just didn't see myself having this kind of freedom.  So after lunch, I just ended up walking around Old Tbilisi for a while.  I really, really fell in love with this city.

Gorgeous Tbilisi in hazy summer.

Unfortunately, walking around is not the same thing as sitting quietly in a cafe, not to mention I'd had about an hour of sleep on the Night Train.  Defeated by pain and heat, I retreated back to my hostel and crashed like a stone for about three hours.  You know how sometimes you have a pain or an illness, and it hangs around until exactly the time when you finally see a doctor, at which time it disappears.   Yeah, that wasn't a problem I was having.  Every cough or unexpected movement brought tears to my eyes.  It was getting really freaking old, and I was pretty intent on getting it fixed.

I woke up at around 7:00, feeling about as okay as it was possible for me to feel, given the circumstances.  I did what no proper traveler should ever do, and I did it without shame or hesitation.  I walked up the road to the Courtyard Marriott on Freedom Square, and I went into their lovely, tasteful, modern, western restaurant.  I was approached by one of their staff, and I did what I usually do, which is gesture to a table and say "Sheidzleba?", which is "May I?"  She answered "of course" in impeccable English, and that was when I realized I wasn't in Poti anymore.

"What can I get for you?"
(Hardly daring to hope) "Can you do a gin 'n tonic?
(Looking surprised) "Yes, of course."
"... With ice, and lime?"
(Smiling now)  "Yes, of course."
"Bless you."

Welp, it turned out to be a lemon slice instead of a lime.  Whatever.  I still finally had my second-favorite summer cocktail in hand, and was staring at a menu that was like to make me cry.  I mean, should I get the chicken fingers?  The quesadilla?  The bacon cheeseburger?  The buffalo wings???  It was a sad irony that one of the side effects of my illness was that my appetite had utterly crashed.  Here I was, presented with all the American comfort food a girl could want, and I wasn't hungry for any of it.  Eventually I got the hummus... and it was amazing.  I love hummus -- I mean that I really love hummus, and this was perfect, with toasted pita and carrots and cucumbers.

So I fail at gritty ex-pating, but as I wrote in my Journal, this trip simply could not have come at a better time for me.  Obviously my health issues were not going to go away on their own, and were beyond the expertise of Poti's medical.  But I also needed the break emotionally -- needed the touch of a few things familiar, things that I loved and had left behind to pursue this adventure.  Barring the touch of a friend or my Mom's special, all-body hug, hummus and an excellent gin n' tonic was going to have to do.

And I sucked it up like oxygen.

How (Not) to Date a Western Girl

There are reasons why I don't date very often.  It is because when I do, all too typically the evening ends up going a lot like this...

I meet Zaza my first evening in Tbilisi.  I was walking around not doing much of anything, and had actually just decided to head back to my hostel and maybe grab a beer in the Common Room.  A decent-looking Georgian man stopped me and asked for the time -- "Romeli saatia?"  (Okay, he had some serious male-pattern baldness and truly terrible teeth, but that's kind of like saying men in China are usually Asian.)  I told him it was ten o'clock -- "Ata saati," and as soon as he heard I was American, all bets were off.

At the onset, he seems like a decent enough fellow (they always do).  We chat on the street for a few minutes, pretty much the usual script I can recite more or less by heart now.

"Yes, I'm from America.  Washington, DC.  Yes, that's the Capital.  I'm living in Georgia teaching English... yes, for a whole year.  I came to Georgia to experience a new culture.  Yes, I like Georgia very much.  Yes, I like Georgian food very much.  Yes, I like Georgian music very much too.  No, I have not been to Svaneti yet.  Yes, I know I have to go.  I am thirty-one.  No, I am not married.  Why not?  Because no one ever made me want to be.  Oh... we'll have to see."  (That last is in reference to the assertion that I should marry a Georgian man and stay here forever.)

After all that's out of the way, he wants to go for a walk with me through the Botanical Gardens.  Now, it is 10:30 at night at this point, and as luck would have it, I've been to Tbilisi's Botanical Gardens.  It's not so much a garden as it is a park -- a large, lovely, and wooded park on the top of a hill.  It's isolated, and has plenty of twisty paths that seem to be seldom-traveled.  With a big smile, I tell Zaza that I don't think the Gardens are a good idea tonight, but suggest getting a beer at one of the dozens of lovely outdoor cafes that pepper Old Tbilisi.  He agrees after some reluctance (after all, the Gardens are soooooo beautiful at night) and we start to walk.

After finally finding a cafe (he keeps trying to go off the main drag to God knows where, while at least twice more bringing up how beautiful the Gardens are at night; I really do need to see them, and shouldn't we go), I order a beer and he orders... mineral water.  Okay, awkward, but there's nothing that says he has to drink if he doesn't feel like it.  Still, I have to question saying Yes to a drink when you aren't going to have one, thus setting your partner up for the uncomfortable situation of drinking alone while you look all virtuous and pure, over there with your mineral water.

But after we get settled, it actually turns into a pretty decent conversation.  We chat about travel, and literature, and our families.  He tells me he sometimes runs tours up in Svaneti, and I ask if he might be able to help out with something for me and my friends.  He buys my beer, I consent to handing over my phone number, and he walks me back to the hostel.

I suppose all warning signs were there from Night One, so I should not have been terribly surprised at the next 24 hours.

In the middle of the afternoon I get a call.
"Mary!  Where are you?  What are you doing!?  I want to see you!  Can I see you now?"
Big sigh.  Great start, dude.  "Hi Zaza."
"Mary!  What are you doing!  I want to see you now!"
"Well, I'm afraid you can't see me at this very moment."  (I resent the idea of coming on command with no prior request or even warning, and also am on my way to McDonald's and an English-language bookshop/coffeehouse.  I'm not putting that aside for anything.)  "I have no plans this evening.  How about we meet at 7:00?"
"7:00?  You cannot meet now!?"
"No.  I cannot meet now.  I can meet at seven."
"Oh... okay!  I will pick you up at your hostel, yes?"
"No, not at my hostel.  I won't be there.  Meet me at the glass footbridge, okay?"
"I cannot come to your hostel?  Why not?"
Sigh.  "Because I will not be there.  I am out.  Meet me at the glass bridge.  All right?"
".... Okay!  I will meet you!  I am very excited!"
"I can tell.  Okay, see you at 7:00.  7:00 on the bridge."

At 6:55 that evening, as I am walking towards the bridge, my phone rings.
"Mary!  Where are you!"
"I'm wallking towards the glass bridge, Zaza.  To meet at seven.  Like we talked about, right?"
"Oh!  You are at the bridge?!"
"No.  I am not at the bridge.  I am walking towards the bridge.  I will be there in five minutes.  At 7:00.  Like we talked about."
"Okay!  I will go to the bridge!"
Holy Christ.

At 6:59, my phone rings again.  I do not answer.

At 7:01, I reach the designated Meeting Spot.  Against all odds, Zaza is already there and waiting, wearing the same outfit he had on yesterday.  We do the awkward Georgian kiss-on-the-cheek-Hello, and right from Minute One, things start to go south.  He wants to take me  to a lake, approximately 3 miles outside of Tbilisi.  He is extremely proud that he can tell me this distance in miles, because:  "Americans, you cannot understand the metric system."

For my part, I have the same problem with the lake as I did with the Gardens yesterday, and tell him I'd rather stay in the City Center. So instead we walk up the hill to Tbilisi's ruined Fortress.  It's truly beautiful up there, with panoramic views of the city below.  Zaza and I make our way to the very top of the ruined tower.  There's a strong breeze and our hearts are pounding from the climb.  It is here that Zaza takes both my hands in his, gazes deeply into my eyes, and says:

"Mary.  I think it will be very good for you to be my girlfriend."

I tell him that is very sweet, but remind him that he has known me a total of maybe three hours.  I know nothing about him, or him about me.
"But... you like me.  Yes?"
"I think you're a nice guy, yes.  But I am just getting to know you.  We are not at boyfriend/girlfriend stage here.  Nowhere near, I'm afraid."
"But... but.  But I like you so much.  You will be so good for me, Mary."
Uh-huh.

Skeptical face.

At that point I suggest heading back down into town.  For his part, Zaza has decided to show me what a good boyfriend he would be by refusing to let me climb down the mountian and ruins by myself.  After ducking and evading his grabbing hands for ten minutes, I try to explain that he is seriously throwing off both my balance and concentration, and he needs to leave me the hell alone so I don't fall.  We get to the bottom, but now that physical contact has been initated, Zaza wants to hold my hand.  I pull away gently, and say something like "I'm not much of a hand-holder, I'm afraid."  (I'm really not, by the way.)  This does not deter him.  I realize I have accepted a date with someone who happens to have the emotional maturity of a 14-year-old.

At this point, I'm looking forward to being bought dinner and maybe a very strong cocktail for this ordeal, but instead, Zaza suggests a trip on... the city bus. 

Yep.  My date has progressed from humpin' it up a mountain to... the bus.

I ask him where he plans on going, on the bus.
"Oh, just through the city.  Then we can walk back.  It will be good for you to see Tbilisi."
At this point, I realize part of the reason I am continuing to stick this out is because I have a great story in the works.

Zaza does not have any change so I pull out the tetri for both of us, and we wait for the bus.

The bus arrives, and we ride it.  Zaza continues to try and hold my hand, and I continue to bat him away.  Eventually I don't see much of anything familiar, and realize I've reached the limit of my being able to find my way back on my own.  I tell him I think we should get off at the next stop.
"Oh, is not so far.  We can ride a bit longer."
"Yeah, this is far enough."  The bus stops and before more discussion can happen, I stand and get off.  He follows me.

And so we walk.  For a long time.  The conversation is exclusively on the topic of me becoming Zaza's girlfriend, which let me tell you, got old about an hour ago.

"Tell you what.  We can have this conversation again when you can tell me ten things about me."
"Oh, no.  Is okay.  We can get to know each other after you are my girlfriend."
"Doesn't work that way Babe.  Sorry to break it to you."

At one point, we sit down on a park bench to rest, and he zooms in to try to kiss me.  I get a hand on his chest to keep the distance, but he keeps trying.  I have never in my life had to bodily fend off a grown man -- a sober man -- from trying to kiss me after I have made it well and truly clear that his advances are not welcome.  After a few seconds of this standoff, where I am so well and truly astonished that I cannot speak, I say:

"Sorry, my friend.  I don't kiss people I just met."  Sigh.  "So... cut it out.  This isn't going to work for you."
"Oh.  I am sorry.  It's just that you are so good for me.  I like you so much."
"You don't even know the first thing about me!  What can you tell me other than I am American and you think I'm pretty?  Thanks for that, by the way, but those two things are not something you base an adult relationship on."
"You are angry with me."
"No.  I'm just... Let's just walk back, huh?"

We continue back.  Perhaps trying to win his way back into my good graces, Zaza finally suggests food.  We are on Rustaveli Avenue, Tbilisi's main street, that is covered with restaurants and cafes of every description.  Rustaveli is home to a sushi bar, for pete's sake.  It's home to the Tbilisi Marriott AND the Tbilisi Courtyard Marriott, both with excellent in-house Western restaurants. 

However, Zaza takes an abupt left and leads us through a very random park.
"Where are we going, Zaza?"
"For food.  There was nothing back there."
On Rustaveli?  No food, huh?  I sigh, my 150th sigh of the night, and let it go.

Eventually we reach the place of Zaza's choice.  It is a literal hole-in-the-wall bakery/shop selling Georgian fast food -- assorted bread-based goods that have probably been in the window all day.  It is then that I 100% just give up.

He buys me a lobiani, which is bread with beans baked in the middle, and we sit on a park bench and eat.  He still wants to talk only about how good it will be -- good for me, that is -- if I were his girlfriend.  I thank him for the food and tell him I need to be heading back.  He tells me he likes astronomy, but cannot name his favorite constellation.  But now will I be his girlfriend?

I have been polite all evening, even friendly.  I have said not one of the acerbic comments that have begged to be let free.  But on our final walk back, Zaza makes more more detirmined grab for my hand.  I've had it.

I pull away with more force than necessary. "Freaking stop it!  I do not want to have to tell you No one more time this evening, do you understand?  I don't want to hold your hand and I do not want to be your girlfriend."

At this, Zaza gets very sulky.  Apparently he is not used to his dates of bus rides and fast food on a bench, not to mention the constant unwanted pysical attention, to have the desired effect on the object (apt word choice) of his affection.

He won't walk me all the way back to the hostel (SO fine with me), and says:
"You are angry with me."
"No, I am not angry.  I am frustrated with saying No all evening.  I mean, no offense -- but I seriously do not think you have the first clue about how to date a western girl."
"Well, you can call me if you want."
"I have your number.  You called me, remember?  Three times."
"Will you call me?"
"Afraid it doesn't look good.  Goodnight, Zaza."

We part ways on that note, and I go into my hostel to have a shower and a beer.  I really, really need both.

You feel all right when you hear the music ring

Whoa, so behind...

In the week or so since I last posted, a LOT has happened.  So much I want to give each episode the writing it deserves, and not blow it out in one mega-post.

But first -- I got better.  A call of desperation to one of the higher-ups in my Program netted me a trip on the Night Train (literally) from Poti to Tbilisi Sunday night/Monday morning.  Two doctors, a bunch of tests, some bloodwork, another x-ray, some new meds, and three injections into my butt, and I am a new woman.

The extra bonus upshot was of course that I got to spend a week in beautiful Tbilisi.  I fell in love with this city a little, enough so that I felt I might be cheating on my number-one all-time love of my life, Bella Roma.

I had a very full week, but tonight I just want to share with you something that happened my second-to-last-night.  I went out for Indian food (fucking transcendent), then went to hear a bar band at an Irish pub, then retreated to another quiet cafe, sat outside, nursed a glass of sauvingon blanc, and wrote this.

Excerpt from my Journal, 7/22/11

I have surprisingly few true and clear memories of the first part of my life.  For instance, I can barely remember the first house I lived in with my family -- on Benson Place in Westfield, New Jersey.  I remember it being comfortable, and home.  I remember that the carpet in my bedroom was bright red shag, and that my Dad had built a sandbox for me out in the backyard.  (I also -- with crystal clarity that only comes with the instances of life-changing importance -- remember the first time I watched He-Man.  I even remember what episode it was.  But that is another story.)

When I was four and a half, my parents moved us -- our family of them, me, and my brand-new, two-week-old sister Eve -- from our house in Westfield to a new home and a new life in Springfield, Virginia.  The new house was a wonder -- easily twice as big as our Westfield home.  Not long after we moved in, I watched Pollyanna with my parents.  As Haley Mills walked up to the giant foreboding mansion that was to be her new home, I looked with confidence at my father and said "Our house is bigger."  That's how it felt to me.

The house was so big -- comparatively -- that we could not fill it, would not fill it for years.  For a long time in my childhood memory, the large living room on the ground floor lay vacant, marked only by its truly remarkable "harvest gold" wall-to-wall carpeting, one couch, and an impressively giant stereo, the latter perhaps proving that my parents were in fact cooler in 1984/5 than my five-year-old self was willing to give them credit for.

It was in this naked room, on the massive stereo, that my parents would sometimes play rock n' roll.  This was always a giant treat for us kids -- as of course I assumed always that they were playing it only for me.  It never entered my brain that my Mom or Dad would play music purely because they liked it -- to a 6-year-old, parents are not allowed to enjoy things, or to have any fun at all as a matter of fact, beyond the sort of fun that is garnered at a roller-skating concert staged in the basement, tickets 25 cents, soundtrack Jem and the Holograms.

I was, in an 80's version of Hannah Montana, fatally into Jem and the Holograms.  I was also a big fan of Barbie and the Rockers, to make matters worse.  Even at age six, I should have goddam known better, but there you have it.  My parents, as fully functioning adults, were no doubt driven to good-natured distraction by my poorly-informed choices, and were eager to embrace any opportunity to show me music that was not created by a toy company.

Mom and Dad played The Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, The Cars, and Billy Joel, the Pointer Sisters, and Gloria Estefan, to name a few.  But for some reason, what I remember most clearly is when they played Dire Straits.

Eve -- aged two or so -- loved the Straits as much as I did.  Her favorite song was "Walk of Life" ("Whoo-hoo!").  She'd go down on one knee and throw her arms out.  It was adorable.  And mine -- mine was "Money for Nothing" ("color TeeeVEEEEEE!"), followed very closely by "Sultans of Swing."

My sister and I would tear that empty living room UP, dancing with the enthusiasm that can only come from not knowing what embarrassment is yet.  Even as I got older, and forgot Dire Straits, I always remembered the melodies and snatches of lyrics.  It made it easy -- and wonderful -- to re-discover the songs later on.  Hearing Dire Straits means fun, and innocence, and always -- always -- reminds me of my parents.  When I hear these songs now, regardless of actual lyrical content, I think of family, and love.  The ties that bind, and all that.

Tonight in Tbilisi, I stepped into an Irish-themed pub to enjoy a Jack n' Coke.  There was a bar band doing their thing-- nothing uniquely special -- just a Georgian bar band in an Irish pub in Tbilisi.

When they hit the first chords of "Sultans of Swing," I thought I was hearing things.  They played it through, and I sang along softly under my breath, not caring that I was alone at the bar mouthing words to myself.  After their break, the band opened with "Walk of Life," and then closed out the night with "Money for Nothing."

It was One of Those Moments.  Mom, Dad, Eve -- I wish you were there.

We are the Sultans.

"You get a shiver in the dark
It's raining in the park but meantime
South of the river you stop and you hold everything
A band is blowin' Dixie double four time
You feel all right when you hear the music ring"

Oh wait, I did have some fun recently...

In between my bronchitis turning into pneumonia, I DID manage to have some fun... apologies for the belated posting.  I've been very blah and unmotivated for far too long.  (Come ON body, GET BETTER!)

My very excellent friend Mark turned 24 two Wednesdays ago.  His family had a wonderful traditional Georgian supra and invited Julie, Pierre, and me.  Superb evening.  His family is great, and their homemade wine isn't bad either.  Happy Birthday Mark!

The next day, Mark wanted to go to Ureki Beach to celebrate, so that is what we did.  MUCH awesomeness and hilarity ensued!

George bought me these seashell sculptures.  I named them Dato and Giorgi.

CLASSIC.

The Georgians think Ureki sand has health properties.  The guys not buried are on cigarette duty.

Our Tasty Beverages

Julie wanted to try the sand-burying trick.

Birthday Boy War Face

This past Tuesday, I got a call from my English co-teachers that I work with during the school year.  They wanted to take me out for lunch, and I was feeling good enough on my brand-new meds (from Monday), that I could say yes.  We went to Aragvi and had a really great lunch of kinkhali and khachapuri.  Very nice of them to take me out, and really great to catch up.  They are cool people.

Also on Tuesday, our friend and fellow voluteer Blessing called up Julie and wanted to come to Poti for the day.  He's posted in Zugdidi.  So they met up with us at Aragvi, then we walked down to Poti's beachfront.  Clouds rolled in so we just sat on the crumbling sea wall and watched Georgians and their antics.

Georgian Man Water Pyramid

Mark, Julie, Blessing

After it began to get dark (and rain), we went to Mark's family's house once again to be fed an incredible dinner.  Trying to be a good girl and get better, I called it a night around 10:00.

Now it is Friday night, and so far the highlight of the evening was remembering I had bought a package of Skittles earlier.  So Bored.  So.  Ready to not be SICK anymore!!  The pain in my chest which had so happily faded to almost nothing earlier in the week is back.  Only now, it is on BOTH the left and right side, and the right side is even a little worse.  Big sigh.  I decided halfway through teaching today that I really didn't want another weekend like my last one, and called to make an appointment with the doctor this afternoon.  Result?  I have THREE new meds, and another appointment to see him first thing Monday morning.  This means that as of today, I am taking SIX different medications, and will continue to do so for the next couple days until the original meds they prescribed me on Monday run out.  I am convinced they really don't have any clue what is wrong with me... because if it really is just pneumonia, you'd think they would at least have a pretty standard regimen to knock it out.  Pneumonia isn't exactly something weird and unknown.

One more weekend of staying in, reading my kindle and checking Facebook every ten minutes.  When this is finally over, I am SO taking a holiday.

One good thing -- I finally got around to registering for my online TEFL course this evening.  If I am to be house-bound, I may as well do something with it.  Just as long as I'm still on that fence of "too sick to go out," but not "so sick that all I want to do is stare at the ceiling."  Be nice to get something out of all this.

Cheese with my Whine

So... instead of being all cured like I should be, my bronchitis has progressed into full-blown pneumonia.  The last several days have not been fun.  But, I have four new meds now, some orange Fanta, and 12 new pocket-packs of tissues.  So we will see.  Candidly, I am quite over this whole affair.  Being sick is no good no matter where you are; being sick in a foreign country where neither the doctor nor the pharmacist speak your language and they keep on asking you to take your shirt off with the goddam door open is another.  I really hope these meds work because I am very ready to be out riding my bike and enjoying Georgia again.

"Do you want Washington?" my host Mom Nana asked, half-jokingly after I returned from my doctor visit this morning.
"No, of course not," I lied.  What the hell was I supposed to say?

Yes, I want Washington.  I miss it like a physical ache that's added onto the very real physical aches I already currently have.  I want my Mother to comfort and fuss over me; I want my Father to tease me and make me laugh, and my dog to fall asleep next to me on the couch.

I want a Costco-sized bottle of Advil, tissues that don't smell like tampons, and diet Sprite.  I want to watch House Hunters International and the National Geographic Channel.  I want Thai food, roads that are paved, and I want to see a movie in a movie theatre.  I want to have more than five t-shirts to choose from.  I want to take a shower without first having to test and see if by chance there is hot water today (and today, there isn't).  I want to read a book with pages; I want a fillet of fish that doesn't include a head, tail, scales, or spine (this is really gross).  I want milk with my coffee, and I don't want that coffee to be instant.  I want to be prescribed medicine that I don't have to look up on wikipedia upon coming home to make sure they haven't given me something with "permanent and serious side effects" (this happened).  I want air conditioning, and I don't want to have one more awkward conversation about how leaving my window open or drinking cold water will make my pneumonia worse.  I want to play Rockband and drink some good Virginia cabernet sauvingon and visit the Monets at the National Gallery of Art.

And yeah, I would like some cheese -- some good Irish cheddar or smoked gouda or havarti with dill -- with all of that.

But especially with that Virgina cab sauv.

Ugh.  Now is when I remind myself that I had a whole lot of fun my first six weeks here in Georgia.  When I am finally healthy again, I think it will be time for a trip.  I have yet to go off on my own for even a day trip.  For all that there is so few of us, we expats hang together.  I love my friends here; it is no question that they have kept me sane(r) these past two months.  But I think I could use some silence.  Whether that takes the shape of a one-night splurge cocooning in Aeetes Palace, or a hike in the mountains remains to be seen.  But it will be nice to have something to look forward to.  Maybe I'll take my bike on a long overnight ride!  I fear no crazy Georgian drivers.  (Well, yeah, I hella do, but as they say here -- "What can I do??")

4th of July

Pretty damn great, actually.

First though -- health.  I have bronchitis.  It could be worse.  I went in yesterday afternoon; the doctor was extremely nice and friendly and even spoke a little English.  She listened to my chest and pronounced it bronchitis, but wanted me to come back today for bloodwork and a chest x-ray.  When I arrived today at 10:30, she was waiting for me.  How many doctors can you name back in the States that will make TWO appointments on time, back-to-back, no waiting?  Yeah, I drew a blank too.

The lab work itself was a little draconian... used to the supercareful levels of sanitation and sterility in the States, it was a little surprising when the bloodwork lady pricked my finger without even bothering to put gloves on.  The x-ray room was equally spartan... the best part was when I was asked to take my shirt off and there was a little boy still in the room, plus the door was still open to the hallway.  I asked that both these things be corrected, and they were.

But all in all, I was extremely pleased with my experience.  I left with prescriptions for three different meds, which were filled at the local Apotheka for just under 30 lari, or about $20.  I really don't know of any insurance in the States where two visists, an x-ray, bloodwork, and three prescriptions all come to a grand total of $20 out-of-pocket.  Pretty grand.

But now the fun stuff!

Despite the odds, our little group of Poti expats (and some Georgian co-conspirators) managed to pull together a pretty fucking fabulous 4th.  Pierre knew a Georgian friend who actually had a grill, Mark found hamburger meat AND fireworks, he and Julie made potato salad, and I brought a watermelon, cheddar cheese slices and condiments.  Pierre also brought hot dogs and pretzels, and we all gathered in Lavani's backyard for a very American cookout.

Amazing spread!

THAT is my very own cheeseburger, with some of Julie and Mark's very excellent potato salad to the side.

Yesterday was one of those times when the best of Georgian hospitality just shines through.  These guys were 100% great.  Besides just letting us us their yard and grill, everyone was incredibly friendly and generous.  There were plenty of toasts celebrating America, and Georgia, and friendship.  I had a wonderful time from start to finish.

One of many Georgian toasts, well into the evening.

Mark brought his mandolin, so I got to do one of my favorite things ever -- drink just enough to forget that I can't sing and then belt out some classic rock!  (This is usually reserved for Rockband.)  But Mark and I sang "Hotel California" to a round of applause from the Georgians -- that was pretty cool. :)  Three of the Georgian guys were actually pretty accomplished singers; they did a few traditional songs in that always-awesome polyphonic singing that I love.  Not to be outdone, Julie, Mark, and I sang "The Star-Spangled Banner."  Thank you, countless hockey games, for ensuring that I knew all the words to my country's anthem.

Because hamburgers, potato salad, and songs by mandolin were clearly not awesome enough, Mark also came up with two Roman Candles.  Here's the best shot from the first one we set off.  I don't have any pictures of the second one, because I was holding it. :)

Later, we turned the porch into a dance party.  I think Michael Jackson's "Smooth Criminal" was the most popular, although it might have been "Bad."  Gotta love classic Michael.

Later, Mark and I sang REM's "Losing My Religion," which I have always wanted to sing along to a mandolin.  We did some Fleetwood Mac and tried for "Seven Bridges Road," but sadly our harmonizing skills are not up to the Eagles' standard.

I taxied home and got to chat with my family over skype.  FANTASTIC 4th.  I hope yours was every bit as wonderful.

The Week in Review

Due to my really very frustrating cough, this week has been really quiet.  Quiet enough that I think I can knock it out in one go.

This past Sunday, I went with my host family to an outdoor concert to see my host sister Anna dance.  Weather was overcast and damp, but the rain held long enough for her troupe to do their set.

On Monday, I went out with my friend Ben and his host, Gia.  Gia took us to a really great restaurant on the water.  My bugspray (98% DEET, gratefully shared) kept the hordes of mosquitoes at bay, and the food was really fantastic.  I want to take Mark and Julie here, but we will need to cab it because it's a little far to make it on foot.

The next day, Ben and I made plans to hang out again, and he and Gia ended up having lunch with my host family (there was a mini-keg of Lowenbrau, just on coincidence), and then Gia invited me to his house for wine, cake, and Cognac.  I met Gia's wife and his son, and the five of us passed a very pleasant evening.  I was happy to get to spend some time with Ben, because dude has since taken off to backpack around Eastern Europe for the summer.  I am quite jealous of both his independence and solitude right now, not to mention all the wonderful things he is seeing.

On Wednesday, I went to Julie's house to hang out with her and Mark and celebrate the eve of Julie's birthday.  Quiet and fun; we sipped the Georgian Cognac I bought her for her birthday, swatted mosquitoes, and chatted.  I showed them a few NicePeter Picture Songs.

On Thursday, I got up "early" and met Julie and Mark and the bus station.  We were going to Batumi for the day to celebrate Julie's 26th.  When we got into the city, I mentioned that I had gotten a sandwich at a restaurant called Press Cafe the last time I was in Batumi.  An actual sandwich sounded pretty good to everyone, and I was super proud of myself for finding the place after on being there once before, over a month ago.  But... their kitchen was closed, for some unexplainable, doubtless very Georgian reason.  So we went to the Ukrainian place just next door for simplicity's sake and had a pretty good meal.  Susan and Suzanne joined us there, as well as Michelle, who'd hitchhiked here from Kutaisi.

After lunch, we got cake and pastries at a lovely bakery, then went to hang out on the beach for a little bit.  Mark had bought Julie a bottle of Johnny Walker Red for her birthday, so we cracked that and had a toast.

Happy birthday Julie!!

Well, then it started to rain.  It was also pretty much time to head back to the bus station, because the buses in Georgia stop running absurdly early.  We said goodbye to Susan, Suzanne, and Michelle and headed back to Poti.  Back on home turf, we stopped in at a local place to sample their pizza (pretty damn tasty), and then I said goodnight.

Because I had to head home to be sure I got to talk to my Number One Favorite Girl -- my sister Eve, who also had a birthday on June 30.  Happy 27th my Love!!!  Had a great phone call with her and Mom and Dad.  They're having a blast in Maine.  I can't wait to hear more about their adventures!

Due to my cough not knocking off even a little, I decided to lay low this weekend.  Didn't go out once, unless you count my daily walk to make sure my blood is still flowing and my limbs all work.  I think the downtime did me good, but two days of amoxicillin capsules have not made a dent in the cough itself.  Meg's warnings on my last post made me stop and think, and eventually I called our Program's insurance hotline and made an appointment to see a doctor on Monday.  So... we'll see how that goes.  My host sister Nata volunteered to go with me.  Nata's a pretty awesome girl.

Tomorrow is also the 4th of July.  First major holiday away from home.  I was feeling rather apathetic about the whole affair, but this evening Mark called to say he was making potato salad.  Wha????  He found the ingredients to make potato salad??  Not only that, he found ground beef!  And our friend Pierre knew of a friend who has a grill, and would love to have us over.  And... Mark found fireworks.  We're gonna have a bonafide barbecue with fireworks tomorrow.  To put it lightly, my man Mark pulled a genuine solid, and I could not be happier.

My contributions are to be sliced bread, ketchup, mustard if I can find it, tomato, lettuce if I can find it, and watermelon if I can find it.  I also found a surprise bonus today that I can't wait to whip out -- individual slices of cheddar cheese.  Oh yeah Baby.

Looking forward to tomorrow.  Looking forward to maybe finally getting this cough kicked, looking forward to a good cheeseburger and laughter and fireworks (!!) with friends.  Things are good.

Bitchin'

And no, not the good kind.

You knew you were going to get one of these eventually.

So... I've been sick, in some form or fashion, since my host-sister Nata's birthday.  That was back in the middle of May.  That was almost six fucking weeks ago.

It started with a classic sore throat -- swollen tonsils with white patches.  I get this pretty often, so came to Georgia armed with one precious dose of a week's supply of amoxicillin pills.  14 months in the second world, one Hail Mary.  One I did not want to use up before I'd even been here a month.

So I waited it out, and it got better on its own.  (Bonus, sometimes it definitely does not no matter how stubborn I am about hoarding my antibiotics.)  But then I got a cold.  That turned into a sinus infection which lasted a while, and a sore throat on and off, just for kicks.  After that finally worked itself out, I actually felt pretty okay for maybe a week, but all my recent outdoorsy activities caused my arms to flare up in a sun allergy, or in other words -- a hideous gross splotchy itchy red rash.

The allergy finally faded maybe on Sunday night.  Pretty much right in that same hour, I started coughing.  I haven't stopped since.  Have you ever thrown up from coughing so hard?  I have.  Twice now.

I've been doing my best to not let all these varied inconveniences stop me from all the assorted fun to be had (and there has been a LOT, you have to admit).  But this cough -- along with associated throat pain, headache, and dandy pulled muscle under my left rib -- has finally worn me down.  First amoxicillin capsule, 3:30 this afternoon.  Three pills a day, for seven days.

I am just praying that whatever crap is in my body is in fact bacterial.  This is my last resort before I need to cave and see a Georgian doctor.  And THAT, I do not want to do, not one tiny little bit.