New Eyes

Because Matt makes me insanely stupid happy.

I notice Georgia has still not merited a visit.  Come to Georgia, Matt.  And I'll dance with you.

Home. Breathing.

Home.

That simple word encompasses so much.

I have driven a vehicle.
I have eaten Mexican food.
I have watched Star Trek: the Next Generation.
I have sat on the deck and crisped my knees in front of the chiminea.
I have fallen asleep on the porch.
I have joined a gym.
I have gotten lunch from Whole Foods.
I have consumed way too many Roasted Garlic flavor Triscuits.
I have sat at the Round Robin bar at The Willard and ordered a mohito.
I have hugged friends and told my best stories to an appreciative audience.
I have wiped away tears at the Dulles Airport arrival gate, as the three people who mean the very most to me wrapped their arms around me one by one, and presented me with a Starbucks latte.

I have not unpacked, still.

Home has settled around me, as comfortable and familiar -- and right -- as if I had never been away.  Home smells the same, sounds the same.  I breathe here and feel the walls settling around me, like house-shaped moleskin.  The slightest variations -- a new basket on the counter -- is cataloged, logged, processed.  I touch familiar things and speak, josh, joke, with the familiar people that live here.  If I don't think too hard, if I don't remember to remember my other new, foreign life -- old patterns and mannerisms ride confidently to the front, pushing the Georgia-Me away as if she had never been.

I guess that's why I haven't unpacked.  Georgia has nothing to do with here, with home.  It was an entirely different, completely separate life, with its own set of costumes and props.

It would be very easy to fall back into place here.  Already Kazbegi and Svaneti seem like something I did in a dream, or read about somewhere.

I am going back, of course.  Or heading off somewhere equally not-home.  As nice as here is, the eventual reality that I would have to face should I stay is abhorrent.

But man oh man, it is nice to be able to Play House for a while.  (Of course, my room currently looks like it exploded, because here is the only tangible collision between Georgia and home, and the two occupying one space is like matter and anti-matter colliding.)

It's good to be here, while I can.

So kiss me and smile for me.

Well, it's almost over.  Hard to wrap my head around.  A year, a month, and 15 days.

I will not miss having to check the weather before I do laundry.  I will not miss windows without screens.  I will not miss a shower that hasn't had a single day of proper hot water since I came back from Armenia.  I will not miss the "Foreigner's Markup", or temperamental taxi drivers who believe it to be their right to lie, bully, and con their way to a few extra lari at their passenger's expense.  I will not miss awkward cheek kisses, home remedies, and "yes" meaning "no".

I will miss all the amazing people I have met here, all the friends I've made.  A few are coming back, or live here permanently.  But most I will never see again.  That makes me sad.

I will miss my students -- both my kids and the adults at the Ministry.  And Blair of course, who never stops surprising me.  We had an excellent last (for a time!) lesson yesterday, watching a biography of one of her heroes, Steve Jobs.

One of my 4th grade classes, doing an end-of-year production of what I think was Animal Farm.

Georgian Animal Farm includes the dance scene from Pulp Fiction.

I will miss this amazing, stunningly beautiful landscape.

And I will miss my family.  It hasn't been a perfect relationship.  There have been misunderstandings and wee little acts of passive-aggressiveness whenever they felt I had transgressed in some way.  And for some reason, they refuse to put toilet paper in the bathroom, so I need to remember to carry a roll in and out with me whenever I go in there.  Then there's been the ongoing hot water issue.

But, all that minutiae aside, these people have been incredibly good to me.  I regret that my crazy schedule prevented me from being around the house and hanging out with them more, but then again, they were often not home either.  Busy folks all around.  But that just made the things we did do together that much more memorable.  I have such good memories of our dinners together, when my host dad would so proudly present the night's libation of choice.  Did you know that it is very bad to eat strawberries with beer, or pickles with wine?

My favorite things we did together is doubtless the spring and summer supras outside in the yurt.  Last week (so happy I was home!) I got a surprise call in the evening from my host dad.  "Mary, modi!"  All the men from our building had gathered in the yurt for wine and mtsvadi.  I don't know if it was because it was hot, or because there weren't any women (until I showed up of course), but about half the men had decided to go shirtless.  There was a great spread, as always, and they made me feel so welcomed.  The Tamada (who spoke pretty passable English) did a very touching toast to me, and of course I promised to come back.  Easy promise to make, and one I have every intention of fulfilling.

Shirtless supra in the yurt

Drinking to my toast!

Just now, in my last evening with them, Marina gave me a parting gift of a beautiful pearl bead necklace. Just incredibly, incredibly touched.  I'd bought them a big box of chocolates for my parting gift, now I wish I'd opted for the extra-huge box!!  I really must make sure I don't let these awesome people fall through the cracks of my life when I make it back to Georgia.

It seriously is hard to believe that I fly in just eight hours.  Saying my goodbyes to my family in four and a half.  Leavin' on a jet plane.  Another page turned in this life of mine, which after 31 years I seem to have finally figured out a little.

Right now I'm a little surprised how close I am to a tear or two.  This past year has given me more than I would have ever thought possible, and somehow by the grace of God I'm being allowed to come back and do it all again.

But right now, I'm going home.  Here.

"What are four walls, anyway? They are what they contain. The house protects the dreamer. Unthinkably good things can happen, even late in the game. It's such a surprise." *

I'll be seeing you soon.



* From the movie Under the Tuscan Sun

This Wonderful Gift

So... there's something I'd like to share with y'all.  Please note, I haven't cleared this with the author in question, because this is purely one of those impulsive things you feel you have to do before the moment is lost or you just plain forget.  I hope he's not mad at me for this.

My family has been so intrinsic to my time here.  To my sanity, my center.  My constant reality checks.  For every freak out, every cathartic bitch, they were there, and they never once told me to shut the fuck up and man up, even though I'm sure they wanted to.  I tell everyone that my family also happen to be my best friends.  Some of them get it, and some are just like... "oh, that's... nice."

Tomorrow, I will leave my newly adopted homeland for an entirely necessary three-month sabbatical back home.  What began as a half-cocked experiment has turned into a new lifestyle, a new existence.  Barring the unforeseen disaster, I cannot think of anything that would make me want to move back to America on a permanent basis.   Been there, done that.  Got the ulcers.

This past year has unequivocally been the best year of my life.  There's not really even any contest.

This is really a very long, windy introduction to the whole point of what was originally supposed to be a very short post.  Do you all remember the last night I spent in America, with the people that mean the most to me?

When I landed in Georgia, this was waiting for me.

_________________________
Dear Mary,

Well, Mom is happily watching the royal wedding and I am not interested in that at all.  So, here’s my first email to my expatriate daughter.  You’re almost there.  It’s 10:15 as I write this.  Perhaps you’ve already boarded.  I know you are apprehensive and a little worried.  Such huge changes in your life are underway.   But wow, Mary, what changes.  Your life will forever be changed by the next 12 months.  You will grow stronger, more confident, more adaptable.  You will see and do things I will never do and I am happy for that.   Love life and embrace this opportunity, this wonderful gift.

I enjoyed our time in front of the fire listening to so many great songs.  But most of all I’m thinking about how you’ve become a special friend.  That’s truly a wonderful gift for me.

Be well, eat well (if that’s possible in the land of tripe breakfast soup), drink well (in moderation, of course), dance, laugh, make friends and stay single.

All my love,
Dad
_____________________________

This is what I gave up to come here. This is what I miss every day.  This is what I'm willing to put aside for the chance to live abroad, to stretch out my Peter Pan Complex for a couple more years.

But this is also what I know I will come home to tomorrow.  This is why, no matter how awesome or crazy or exciting my life gets, I will never not come home.  No matter how exciting or interesting or fun this crazy life abroad becomes.  Nothing will ever match, ever beat, what I have back waiting for me in Springfield, VA.

My Mom often signs her emails "Be well, do good work and keep in touch," channeling Garrison Keillor.  I hope I have done well in all of these this year (well, maybe not the "be well" part!).

SOON.  It's been a long wait.  I'm ready.

Calling All Curious People

Hello gentle readers!

My third post on the TLG blog is up!  This is a particularly cool one if I may say, about a very interesting program in Georgia called Radarami.  Looking forward to hearing everyone's thoughts on this one.

Book Review: The City and The City

Yeah, I haven't done one of these in ages.  I've been reading un-review-worthy fluff, or just plain not reading due to busyness.  The exception, of course, is 100 Years of Solitude, which I did finally finish and liked immensely, although probably not as much as I should have.  But this isn't a review of Solitude, as that would kind of be like writing a book review on The Grapes of Wrath, or Macbeth, or The Bible or something.  (Am I supposed to underline The Bible?)

When I was in Kazbegi, one of my biggest worries was that my kindle (which I had forgotten to charge) would run out of batteries before I was able to finish The City and the City, by China Miéville.

I'd picked the book at random the other week off of that miraculous library that is my kindle, and I can safely say that this is the first new fantasy I have genuinely enjoyed in a long while.

But before I launch into the actual review -- I need to say that when reading his Wikipedia entry, this guy succeeded in thoroughly pissing me off through his unwarranted bitchiness and lack of respect to one J.R.R. Tolkien.  I don't care if you dig his writing style or not -- the guy invented 14 languages and an entire world including a complete history and mythology.  He was a genius, a gorgeous writer, and he became largely responsible for how the fantasy genre looks today.  Again, if pipe-smoking hobbits and talking dragons are not your thing, fine.  But all the same, respect is due here.  Calling Tolkien "a wen on the arse" of anything only serves to make you look stupid.  And kind of petty.  Also -- I do find it hilarious that someone who loves D&D can be so condescendingly dismissive of Tolkien.  You are aware that there wouldn't BE any D&D without Tolkien's influence, right?

But anyway.  Ahem.

So, the guy himself might be a bit of a prick, but his book was pretty decent.  I do love a good "weird Earth" premise, wherein the world as we know it is mostly the same, except for several minor but crucial differences, these being the main plot points and/or setting of the story.  In TC&tC, this alteration to our world comes in the form of two cities, Besźel and Ul Qoma.  These two cities don't like each other much, and what complicates matters is that these cites are right next to each other... and often occupy the same exact space.  Citizens of each city are trained to "unsee" the other city, to basically ignore it like it doesn't exist.  There are certain mannerisms, colors, styles, and architecture that each city uses to identify its buildings and citizens to each other.  "Seeing" the other city, or interacting at all with the other city except in the most strictly controlled circumstances, is the worst crime a person can commit, called "breach."  When a person breaches, the secret, accountable-to-no-one secret society/secret police known as "Breach" swoop in and disappear the person.  They're never heard from again.

Oh, and this is also a murder mystery.  And you guessed it -- the murder involves parties and conspiracies stretching across both cities, and Besźel Inspector Tyador Borlú has to enlist the aid of the Ul Qoman militsya to try and unravel what turns into a very complicated situation indeed.

If there is one complaint I have, it's that the suggested mystery is way more interesting than the actual ending.  I find this happens so often in these types of "weird Earth" novels, Exhibit A being The Somnambulist, the ending of which was the most catastrophic letdown I can remember in a book of its type.  The ending here wasn't bad, it was just that he'd spent the whole book setting the reader up to expect more.  The final "twist" is completely and utterly predictable, and I was left just feeling sort of "meh."  I'd been led to believe there would be some sort of historical connection, some sort of explanation -- even a teaser -- as to how things ever got to be the way they were.  But there wasn't any of that.

Oh yeah, and the ending also has quite a plot hole.  Due to the cities being unable to "see" the other city, police in both cities have to know you're "in" their city before they can arrest you.  Well, the Bad Guy in question decides to take advantage of this, walking and dressing so neither city can identify him.  His plan is to walk straight out over the border, and since neither side can claim him, he won't be stopped.  But my question is this.  Even if neither city (they're also each sovereign countries btw) is willing to stop him... don't you think the other country on the other side of the border would stop him, and not let him cross??  I mean, for not having a proper exit stamp on his passport, if nothing else.  Also each city should be able to pull records on file, finding out which was the last city he'd entered into legally... but whatever. :)

So -- interesting premise like I said, but it does kind of fall apart a little bit at the end.  I got the feeling of everything just sort of being cut short, with lots of aspects left unaddressed.  All the same, it kept my interest and kept me reading, and despite the less-that-satisfactory ending, I enjoyed it enough to try and chew my way through the first book of  Miéville's trilogy, Perdido Street Station.  I recommend checking him out.

Movin' Up to Higher Ground

To be honest, I don't particularly feel like blogging tonight.  I'm tired, and frustrated at a thwarted evening because... this is Georgia.  But holy moly, I have FOUR MORE DAYS.  There's a lot of blogging I want to get done before I fly, not to mention people to see and a drinking horn to buy.  The next week is going to be redic.  It's crunch time, people.

Besides, it's sheer laziness to not want to talk about my wonderful weekend, my Big Solo Trip.  Kazbegi.

Which damn, I almost didn't make it to.  Friday night was my last (for a while) happy hour at the wonderful Betsy's Hotel.  By accident, I ended up meeting a lot of TLGers there, and it was cool to see everyone -- probably the last for a very long time, or forever.  Cool folks.  I'll miss them.

I had every intention of an early night, but the night turned into just one of those evenings where drinks appeared in front of me as if by magic.  When I finally dragged myself away, I had no fewer than two beers and a tequila shot waiting for me, which I hope got put to good use after I left.

Good people Helene and Matt.  Will miss these guys!

  However, needless to say, my alarm at 7:00 the next morning was not welcomed.  I eventually got out the door shortly after 9:00, and decided to cab it to Didube because Tbilisi mass transit for an hour was just asking a little much of me at that point.  This proved to be a super investment because -- as I've mentioned -- Didube is huge and confusing.  But my cabbie actually drove all around the station, shouting "Kazbegi!?" out the window, which was great because it meant I didn't have to do this, all by my foreign girl self, and whilst walking.  We eventually found the bus, witnessed a truck gently sideswipe a marshutka, and I discovered I still had half an hour before my marsh was due to pull out.  While I waited outside (no need to get a numb butt any sooner than necessary), I ran into TLGer Laureene, who was on her way to Zugdidi.  I hadn't seen her since the Poti days, so good to catch up for five minutes at least.

One of the first cautionary tales I ever heard about Georgia is that the marshutkas are chronically lax in their departure times.  Once a friend apparently waited something like six hours for the driver to make the decision to actually drive the bus.  Fortunately, I can say that this has never happened to me, and yesterday did not kill my record.  We fired up on the dot of 10:00, and began our bouncing and jostling three-hour ride to Stepantsminda, known to locals and foreigners alike as Kazbegi.

I've said it before, but Georgia has simply the most breathtakingly beautiful landscapes I have ever seen.  The tree-covered hills around Tbilisi gave way to stark green mountains with naked jagged peaks looming in the distance, streaks of snow still reaching far down their slopes.

So, Kazbegi is really tiny.  Tiny, and rather nondescript.  So much so that when the bus finally stopped, my fellow passengers and I did not know that we had arrived.  The driver had to stick his head back in the bus with an annoyed "Finishi!"  Well, the Georgians weren't getting out either so I refuse to feel dim about this one.

My friends had told me that every marsh entering Kazbegi is mobbed with Georgians all barking "Guesthouse!  Guesthouse?"  So I was sort of counting on this, and not made any accommodation arrangements in advance.  When I got off, there was no mob, and I had a heart-sinking moment of (non) plans going awry.  But then a lady in a bright red shawl walked up to me and said calmly "Guesthouse, yes?"

Her name was Nino, and her guesthouse was super.  Clean and nice, big rooms, good furniture and warm comfy beds.  Each room has a separate private entrance to the communal bathroom (two shower/toilet rooms), although in my case I did have to actually go outside for just a second to get to the bathroom door.  No biggie.  Out front is a small table and chairs for relaxing with beer or coffee after a long day.  She let the house's other guests watch European football on the TV.  20 lari for one night, no food.  (She also offers food for an additional cost if you're inclined.)  Nino's Guesthouse.  If you happen to be in Kazbegi, and she comes up to you, you could do a lot worse than go with her.

View from the back door.

But I am getting ahead of myself.  Nino had also collected two Polish backpackers who were also on my marsh, so the four of us made our way together.  Oh -- and Kazbegi was COLD!  The sky was overcast and angry, clouds hanging low and obscuring the mountains.  I had not expected this, as it is balls-hot in Tbilisi.  In my outfit of t-shirt and lightweight cargo pants, I was very, very glad I had decided at the last minute to throw that extra-extra layer in my backpack!

The Polish backpackers and I chatted as we got settled in.  They were in Kazbegi to hike Mount Kazbek, and looking at that peak, they have my admiration!

Yeah, that's something I'll never do.

I just pretty much dropped off my stuff, said "Didi madloba" to Nino and her mother, and headed out again in search of a quick meal and then to hike up to Gergeti Trinity Church.  Not really feeling up to a restaurant hunt, I went into the first one I saw, a very nice place right in the main square where the bus let us off.  The staff were incredibly friendly, spoke great English, and even had an English menu!  Unfortunately, it became clear all too soon that all these things were true because this was a place that catered to tourists in a different tax bracket than I.  A bottle of Kazbegi beer cost FOUR LARI 20.  This might well be the very most I have ever paid for a bottle of Georgian beer, and of course because beer wasn't on the menu and I didn't have this very necessary information until it came time for the check, ordered two of them.  With my one entree (including some tkmali sauce which I requested and later found out cost three lari), my bill came to a mighty 22 lari.  Yikes.  The staff were truly fantastic, so it was a very pleasant meal, but 22 lari?? I can eat dinner at The Hangar for that. :)  But whatever.  This was supposed to be a vacation, right?  You're supposed to pay ridiculous prices for things on vacation.  Right?

Fortified with expensive calories, I set out to do the hike that most people come to Kazbegi to do (who aren't beasty mountain climbers up for the four-day adventure to Kazbek's summit.)  I'd been told by both my guidebook and by people who have been there that this is a very popular hike.  I was not, however, prepared for the throngs of nonstop, loud-as-all-fuck Georgian schoolkids.  They were everywhere.  Like giant shrieking, giggling, shouting, arguing, smoking ants.  I guess it is the end of the year, and this would be a popular excursion destination.  But what I love best about hiking -- the silence, the solitude -- that was never going to happen on this particular trip.

Typical Georgian "bridge" to start off the trek.

Rather like a giant Mtatsminda, there's no one single trail up the mountain to the church.  The hillside is crisscrossed with all manner of paths and trails, along with the one main dirt track (road?) which gets its fair share of traffic, Georgians and taxis who don't feel like making the walk.  Georgians are very fond of the paths that go straight up... they almost all take these, and just go up them very... slowly.  I found myself opting for the longer flatter trails much of the time, simply because they had less traffic.

A flat stretch, blissfully empty of fellow hikers.

Maybe halfway up.

It was a pretty challenging hike, but nothing near like the Hike to The Cross back in Svaneti, which remains the hike against which all other hikes will forever be judged.  After about an hour and a half, I emerged onto the bald mountaintop and the final stretch.

Gergeti in clouds

 As you can see, here another problem was about to make its presence felt.  Enormous crazy fog rolled in, turning the mountaintop into one gigantic white-out.

I think there are mountains somewhere over there.

A foggy Gergeti, complete with crowd.

There were signs all over the place warning folks not to take pictures inside the church, and also that women had to wear a skirt inside.  "If necessary, we provide dress for women."  This they did, in the form of long elastic-waisted drawstring things.  Strictly hilarious, and I wish I had a photo of me wearing one, but I didn't want the Georgians to think I was making fun of their culture by asking a stranger to take a photo of me in my borrowed outfit.  I did get one photo of me outside.

I was slightly bummed by the total, complete lack of a view.  Fortunately Kazbek itself became at least partially visible for a minute or two.

My guidebook had told me that I could continue my hike past the church, for another hour and a half, to get to a glacier.  I could find this path by -- I swear -- "turning left at a pile of rocks."  I have some words for this book's author and his directions.  Needless to say, I picked a path which turned out to be the wrong one, as 20 minutes in it petered out next to a tiny cowherd community.

More disappointment, as now for sure I did not have enough time to find the right path, hike it, and get back to town before dark.  I set my sights for home.

It's not the end of the world I didn't make it to the glacier, because I stumped back into Kazbegi pretty damn tired and footsore.  Adding almost twice as much hiking time would likely not have been all that fun near the end.  I picked up a beer (NOT for four lari!) and headed back to the guesthouse with the plan of relaxing for an hour before going back out for dinner.

I met the Polish backpackers at the guesthouse; they had also hiked up to Gergeti for the afternoon -- much faster than I had, no doubt!  We hung out on the porch together and had a good conversation before they headed in to watch their football, and I headed out for dinner.

Very conscious of the day's earlier 22-lari expense, I was determined to find a local place off the main drag. Kazbegi is tiny.  Much smaller than Poti, smaller even than Mestia.  There's limited options in terms of restaurants, especially those that do not charge top Tbilisi prices for beer.  I finally found a little hole-in-the-wall -- no menu, maybe four tables, one of which was occupied by old Georgian men in camo drinking vodka.  Beer was three lari.  Sigh.  I ordered a Kababi and four kinkhali, since my host Mom had made a point of telling me that Kazbegi kinkhali were exceptionally good.  My kababi came quickly... but my kinkhali took forever, and when they finally arrived, it was obvious they were the frozen-from-the-store kind.  They kind of sucked.  But the bill was nine lari.  Good food and service for 22 lari, shitty food and service for nine lari.  Take your pick, I guess.

I headed back to the guesthouse at around 9:30, just as full dark was setting in.  The Polish guys were engrossed in their football, so I cocooned in my room (the chilly night meant I got to use a blanket!) and managed to finish my novel before my kindle battery died.  (Win.)  Turned out the light around midnight.

The next day I was supposed to get up at 8:00.  Yeah, that did NOT happen.  Even though I'd gone to bed early, my bed was really comfy, it was quiet, and it was so nice to snuggle under blankets after not even being able to use a sheet back in Tbilisi.  Besides -- vacation, right? :)  I got out of bed around 10:30, and said my farewells to Nino at 11:00.

I checked out Stepantsminda Church in town, and the Kazbegi Museum.  The church was tiny, and I didn't get in past the door as there was a service going on.  The museum was small but had some interesting exhibits and artifacts.  A sign said admission was three lari, but I saw no one to give said fare to the entire time I was was there, so walked through for free.

Stepantsminda Church

Kazbegi Museum

I did the museum and the church in under half an hour, and that left me with utterly no plan for the rest of my time in Kazbegi before I had to catch the marshutka.  After a few minutes, I decided to try the "Arsha Hike" from my guidebook, despite a less than stellar track record in following dude's instructions.  But he called it "a very pleasant and easy stroll," and I was really unenthused about going up anything that day.

Well, lo and behold, the path actually was where he said it would be.  The Arsha Hike is so named because eventually you get to the village of Arsha.  You walk along the Tergi River, although the valley soon widens into a floodplain and the path goes kind of far from the water.  It's a flat hike, and the immediate topography is pretty boring -- grass and trash.  But you are surrounded on all four sides with truly impressive mountains, which is pretty cool.

Can you spot tiny Gergeti?

I had to cut the Arsha Hike short, because I wanted to catch a marshutka no later than 2:00 to make sure I was back home by 6:00 to tutor my host family.  I got back to the  main square by 1:30; there was a marsh and a driver right there.  I asked when he was leaving, and he said five minutes.  Just long enough to pee at the expensive restaurant and claim my seat, and we were off.

On the way home, we ran into some traffic.

I had an amazing time in Kazbegi, despite the little setbacks and momentary disappointments.  Most importantly, I found that solo travel in Georgia is easy.  Easy, and I had a lot of fun rolling with everything.  It was really nice to just be able to kick back with my book and some quality silence on Saturday night, and actually go to bed early.  No distractions.  It was nice to sleep in a bit because I felt like it (although if I had gotten up as planned I probably could have done the Arsha Hike).  It was nice to make decisions, and change them on the fly.  I'm going to be taking many more trips like these come September.

This song kept me good company this weekend.  I know this was a long post, but just listen.

There's nothing we can't face...

Except for bunnies.

It'll make sense in a minute.  (Unless it doesn't, in which case you need to watch some DVDs, stat.)

Back in January, I made a list.  (Remember how I LOVE lists!?)  As of last Saturday evening, the list looked like this:

• Kazbegi/Khevsureti (overnight [long weekend?])
• Gori/Uplistsikhe (overnight)
• Kakheti/Telavi (overnight)
• Mtskheta (day trip)
• Davit Gareja (day trip)
• Rustavi (day trip)

Now, that's a hell of a lot better than it looked at the beginning of May, but with the end drawing nigh I was determined to not let a weekend go by without being able to cross something off.  Unfortunately the end drawing nigh is coinciding with the money wearing thin, so a hired cab out to Davit Gareja is not going to be in the cards.  (Also apparently right now is not the world's best time to visit Davit Gareja, as I might find myself rather awkwardly in Azerbaijan.)  My last weekend in Georgia is ironclad-set for Kazbegi, although the original plan of including one extra night and a trip to awesome Khevsureti is not going to happen either.  That left Kakheti, which I did just see (albeit quite briefly), or Rustavi.

Day trip to Rustavi!  Wooo!

As luck would have it, my very excellent friend David One (from the epic hike to the Mestia Cross fame) was going to be in Tbilisi for his last weekend before shipping out, and he agreed to accompany me on a very unplanned, unresearched Sunday trip to Rustavi.  "What will we do there?"  David asked.  "I don't know," I said.  "But I'm sure there will be some ancient ruined thing on the top of some hill that we can walk to."

Before heading out (as in, in the ten minutes before I had to leave), I looked up Rustavi on wikipedia and wikitravel.  And... oh my goodness.  An industrial Soviet-era town partially built by German POWs?  Great.  A whole variety of steel plants and factories?  Super.  To quote from wikitravel:  "there's a river, and plenty of crumbling apartment buildings to wander past. "  Damn, sign me UP.  Nonetheless, it was on the list, so to Rustavi I would go.

First though, I had to meet David at Didube.  This proved uneventful, although of course we still had to navigate around the sharks and sheisters trying to tell us that every marshutka in Georgia had been compromised by aliens, and would we by any chance like to take his taxi?  (Taxi drivers have really been pissing me off lately, there might be a whole separate post forthcoming about that.)  As with the trip to Mtskheta, it takes twice as long to actually get to Tbilisi as it takes to actually get to the town.  Southeast Georgia is surprisingly flat, and treeless.  Down even further south by Davit Gareja, the land turns into full-on desert.  It's pretty in a stark, barren sort of way, but at least the hills and fields are still green.  We passed a couple giant auto lots, and then out in the distance, rising out of nowhere was this gloomy collection of Soviet-era apartment blocks.  "Wow," I say to David, indicating the grimy buildings rising forlornly into the naked haze.  "Can you imagine coming out here to Georgia and finding out you'd been posted there?"

And then the driver makes a turn and I realize that those very apartment blocks are in fact... Rustavi.

I'm not gonna lie.  Rustavi is hella depressing.  My friends and I joke about how Georgians always tell you "there's nothing there!"... but here... there kind of is nothing there.  David and I rode along down the main drag looking for... something to make us want to get off the bus.  Finally I saw something that might be a restaurant, so we got off and began our forage for food.

Odd modern art steel sculpture, and three of Rustavi's six trees in the background.

There are no trees in Rustavi.  Well, maybe a couple, that have obviously been deliberately planted there.  I thought Poti was flat and lacking in both character and viable shade, but Rustavi takes the prize.  All in all, it was a hot and uninspiring trek down the road.  Eventually we did spot an open restaurant around the corner from the Elit Electronics shop, and plunked down at one of the two outside tables.  The restaurant was surprisingly good, although the menu was only in Georgian and the toilet was both smelly and Turkish.  (It reminded me so much of being back in Poti!)  We ordered a ton of food and a couple drinks, but at check time the bill only came to 13 lari each, which also reminded me a whole lot of being back in Poti!  Almost worth the trip right there, it would have easily been at least twice as expensive at any restaurant in Tbilisi.

After food though, we had to decide what to do next.  Up on a nearby hill, there was indeed something we could hike to, unfortunately nothing interesting like a church or a ruin though -- it was a giant steel cross built by Rustavi steel workers.  Some friends of mine had hiked up there recently, so it was on my mind, and after seeing the town I sure didn't know how else we would fill our afternoon.  David was unsure.

"Will it be fun?"

"Well... no.  But we can hike up a treeless mountain and get a view, or walk around a treeless town and find... something else.  It's gonna be hot either way."

With that stellar and implacable argument in place, he agreed but decided we would need to take some cognac with us to fortify ourselves for the adventure.  Hot-ass hike up a steep hill with no shade in sight?  Hard liquor is clearly the key to success!

And we were off.

That is a lot of open space.  Tiny cross in the distance, growing out of David's head.

I will say, hiking straight uphill, in summer, where there are no trees and no flat stretches to catch your breath is a freaking chore.  About two-thirds of the way up, we did find this one clump of bushes that offered shade, and we cowered there for about 15 minutes, regaining our strength and resolve with sips of sun-warmed cognac.

But eventually, re reached the top and took refuge in the shade of a concrete skeleton that appeared to be a bombed-out building, possibly all that was left standing after an unpublicized nuclear attack.

We found where Georgians had stacked up some rubble in an approximation of a stone table and benches -- never underestimate a Georgian when there is a supra at stake! -- and fortified ourselves with more cognac and delicious Georgian cherries.

Then it was time for more exploring around the ruin, and the final push up one last hill to the cross itself.

David had been providing marching music with his iPhone, and while at the cross we discovered that both of us were huge Buffy fans -- specifically, of the musical episode!  So we got to stand and gaze out at this incredible view, while singing along to "Once More with Feeling."  Utter, complete win.

Not a tree in sight!  Or... anything else.

Capturing Rustavi

We explored more building shells, then it was time to slip, slide, and skid our way back down the mountain, which sure beat the hell out of staggering up it.

You better believe we went up.

Does not capture the steepness.

Back in town, we stopped at the World's Saddest Playground before a quick beer-and-fries pit stop, and hopping a Tbilisi-bound marshutka back home.

Yep.

I had a really good day with my friend; we had a lot of laughs and I was pretty happy we got to hang out before he flew.  In a way it was kind of fitting that we pushed ourselves hiking up some random mountain to some random metal cross for no other reason than we had nothing better to do.  After all, that was how our friendship started!  That said, I am very glad I didn't attempt to make Rustavi a solo trip, because I would have been quite bored.  Well, one more for the checked column.

This weekend is Kazbegi, eastern Georgia's Svaneti.  I hope I have saved the best for last!  More humping it uphill... cannot wait!  At least Kazbegi boasts an old church or two.  Although I'm sure they have plenty of random metal crosses too.

Hiking Mtatsminda, Part 2: Turtle Lake

After Tbilisi's legendary winter that I'm sure you're all tired of hearing about, it seems that about two months of spring is what can be expected as a reward.  Welp, those two months are over.  It's June, and it's hawt.  I'm not sure I feel up to another Extreme Temperature Georgian Experience, so am blessing the good timing that's going to fly me out of here right as summer gets into its fighting stance.  Seven more days, folks.  Seven.  Holy hell.  You do realize that means in one week, it will be my last day in Georgia?  Well, for three months anyway.

With home -- and family, and friends, and steak, and cocktails with ice -- so loomingly close, I feel like I've kind of slipped into a holding pattern.  I'm no more than maybe three-fourths really here.  The rest of me is  already on a plane, on the porch, in Old Town, at the Smithsonian, sipping cab franc at Fabbioli Cellars.

But if there is one thing that drives me crazy, it is wasting time.  So I have been trying my damnedest to make the most of these last days here in increasingly sunny Georgia.  On Saturday, I crossed off another thing on the Georgia Bucket List and hiked up to Turtle Lake, hidden away up on Mtatsminda.

Several months ago, I visited Vake Park with Blair, the girl I tutor.  Up behind the top of the big cascade fountain, I pointed to a path and asked if she knew where it went.  She said "Turtle Lake, I think."

Intrigued by the idea of a lake hidden away up on top of a mountain, I made a mental note to check it out sometime.

As I discovered the other week when hiking up Mtatsminda to the TV tower, the mountainside does not do much boast "trails" as it does a completely un-navigable honeycomb of crisscrossing trails, paths, and occasionally even a paved road.  It makes following any one path nigh impossible, so the "path to Turtle Lake" very quickly became "winding my way gradually up the mountain".  I didn't have a map, not that it would have done me a rat's ass worth of good anyway.   I knew I was supposed to be going vaguely up, and for some reason I had it fixed in my head that Turtle Lake was somehow "to the right" of Vake Park.  So with that in mind, I just sort of shrugged and mentally switched the day's task from finding Turtle Lake to simply exploring.  If I found it, awesome, but I wasn't going to exhaust, frustrate, and second guess myself in the pursuit.

I followed a path along a stream for a while, then when the path disappeared I kept along on the side of the stream itself, only getting mildly wet feet in the process.  Then the water went where I could not follow and I ended up following a now-dry stream bed, until I came to one of Mtatsminda's paved roads.  I picked a direction -- right -- and set off.  And within five minutes, I began to see a lot of cars parked along the side of the road.

I'd walked to Turtle Lake.  Seriously, what are the odds? :)

The lake is surprisingly small; I walked around it in maybe 15 minutes at a pretty slow pace.  There are paddle boats for rent, a couple playgrounds for the kiddies, and an array of restaurants and cafes of varying niceness.  The place was packed with Georgians.  I selected a midrange-looking cafe (the cheapest-looking one had no free tables), and rewarded my leveling up in Ranger with a beer and a ham and cheese sandwich.  While staring at this.  I've had worse afternoons.

Also, I got to see a pair of nuns on their day off.

Then I walked back down the mountain.  Of course, following my original trail was impossible, but this time I knew I was going down and vaguely left, and found my way back to the cascade fountain without a hitch.

Turtle Lake is very pretty, and worth stopping by.  However, unless you particularly want to play paddle boat chicken with Georgian teenagers, or watch them play paddle boat chicken with each other, there's not a terrible lot to do up there besides exactly what I did -- walk around the lake once and then grab something to eat.  I think there is supposed to be swimming here once summer officially starts (either after school lets out, or July 1 depending on who you ask, no matter how bloody hot it is beforehand).

But I do so love crossing things off lists.  Also sitting in the perfect sunshine for as long as I feel like, sipping on a cold beer and watching nuns play.