100% Shenanigans, Part the First

A little over a week ago, my friend Dani (Aquapark and sushi in Tbilisi!) came with her host family to vacation in nearby Kobuleti.  So last Tuesday, Mark, Julie, and I marshrutkaed down to say Hi and to take a look at pretty Kobuleti.

Dani's host family is truly amazing, and they made us feel right at home.  We got to know everyone over some delicious ice cream coffees (like a coffee float!) and then the four of us went out in search of food.  We found... BURGERS!!!

And after that, it was time to swim.  Kobuleti's water and beach are incredible.  The water was so clear!  The pebbles are not the funnest to walk on barefoot though.

Time flew by, and too soon we were being called back to the Guesthouse.  Dani's family had set up a fantastic mid-afternoon picnic on their balcony -- fresh fruit and Georgian wine and Cognac.  Very... Georgian.  :)  VERY awesome.

Dani's mom and Dad (Khatuna and Lexo) also gave the four of us these traditional Georgian wine bowls as gifts.  It was actually my first Georgian souvenier since I got here and I was really quite touched.  We hung out on the balcony for a while, and then it was time to head back to the beach.

 

Mark, Julie, and I caught the last marshrutka home and crashed.  Awesome day in Kobuleti!

Me and Bilbo Baggins

 "I wish I was at home in my nice hole by the fire, with the kettle just beginning to sing!"

We all know that was not the only time Bilbo wished that, nor would it be the last!  And much like Bilbo, I find that my "I wish" home fantasies to be centered around one or two very precise and specific moments.  Now, I'm sure Bilbo would not always want his kettle to just be beginning to sing; sometimes he'd like to have his tea already in front of him and steaming.  Sometimes he'd rather be outside in the warm Shire sunshine, smoking his pipe and blowing smoke-rings.  Sometimes he'd rather be asleep, warm and cozy in his own bed.  Sometimes he'd rather be eating.

The point is -- that when you are away from home, and away from everything and everyone that you love, your fantasies do tend to gravitate not so much  to the abstract but to one moment in time.  One instance that struck a chord with you and caused you to stand back and think: "This is home.  This is happiness.  Right here."

As my father always used to say at such moments:  "Well Mary, take a picture."

Take a picture.  Take a mental snapshot of this moment -- because you know it damn well will probably never come again, and even if it does, it won't be with these people, at this time.

I wish I was home on my parents' screened-in back porch.  I wish I had a proper gin 'n tonic -- in fact, that I had made proper gin n' tonics for all three of us, the way we like them.  The Papa, Mama, and Baby Bear GnTs, I used to say.  Mine was the Papa, of course.  I wish my Boo was asleep on my lap, Mom was on the loveseat swing and Dad was in his place next to the picnic table, where the breeze from the overhead fan always hit he strongest.  We'd be snacking on crackers and good cheese, and listening to Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion.  Lake Wobegone maybe, or my personal fave -- Dwayne.

I wish I was home in the Raintree House apartment that I shared with Eve and Brad.  We'd have had a massive cookout on my tiny charcoal grill, indulged in banana daiquiris and cosmopolitans, and then settled down to watch the full six hours of the BBC's Pride and Prejudice.

I wish I was home in my apartment in Old Town.  Matt would have brought supper from Balducci's, and we would be settling in to watch some hockey.  Later there would be a Gargoyles drinking game.

I wish I was soaking in a giant tub of bubbles while Ping! reads me e.e. cummings.  "tiny,angels sharpen:themselves (on air)..."

I wish I was playing Candyland and drinking superb wine with Will and Ally.

These moments.  Moments that define us, that give us strength.  These moments that remind us who we are.

And now, I am in Georgia.  It hasn't been all roses.  It's been a giant, un-fun pain in my ass recently, to be exact.  I'm kind of tired of it.  I want to go home.

But I'm here now.  I'm exactly where I wanted to be, learning all those lessons I wasn't sure if I had the strength and patience to learn.  Heh, well, turns out I don't have that strength.  Or the patience.  Definitely not the patience.  Never was my strong suit, that.  But I got myself into this -- a Wizard kicked me in the ass and sent me down this road for a reason.  As much as I want my home and my ice and my people and my comforts, this is where I am.  I worked hard to get myself here.  I have that on Bilbo, at least.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing here.  But maybe that's okay.

In the immortal words of Jean-Luc Picard -- "Make now always the most precious time.  Now will never come again."

You should always listen to your Captain.

My creepy texting stalker

6/28 1:10 AM:  Hello
6/29, 7:01 AM:  Good morning!

7/29, 7:17 AM:  Good morning :)  how are you?
7/30, 10:39 PM:  Good night if you want!

(Me) 7/31, 1:34 PM:  Hi.  :)  So sorry, who is this?
7/31, 1:58 PM:  My name is Irakli, I saw you one month ago and i would like to meet you :)
7/31, 3:32 PM:  I will be glad if you find a little time for me.
(Me) 7/31, 6:56 PM:  I do apologize but I don't recall where I met you.  Through a friend?
7/31, 7:12 PM:  You were in the restaurant when I saw you and i asked your mobile number.  I think they were your friends.
(Me)  7/31, 7:48 PM:  You are going to have to help me here.  When was this?  Which restaurant?
7/31, 7:57 PM:  You were in Oskar with friends. it was about one month ago.  excuse me for my english, i studied it when I was in school :)
7/31, 8:30 PM:  I would like to invite you when you will be free.
7/31, 8:58 PM:  Mary are you still in poty?
7/31, 9:11 PM:  Ok.  I do not want to bore you but i hope sometimes you write answer! :)  good night!

8/2, 12:57 AM:  Hello mary, how are you?
8/2, 9:28 AM:  Good morning!

8/6, 1:10 AM:  Mary are you slipping? (I assume he means sleeping -- suuuuuuper creepy.)

8/9, 8:50 PM:  Good evening Mary.  How are you?
8/9, 8:59 PM:  I do not know what do you think about me.  But i just want to talk with you.  maybe it is little strange for you but it is true!
8/9, 9:08 PM:  Maybe you afraid of people who live here :)  we do not like eat people :)

8/10, 2:43 PM:  Hello again.  Today is very hot day, is not it?
8/10, 4:44 PM:  I will not write message to you if you answer me on one question.

8/11, 8:06 AM:  Good morning!
(Me)  8/11, 10:52 AM:  Please stop texting me.  I don't know who you are and don't think we met where you claimed.
8/11, 11:14 AM:  I am working now and please do not think any bad about me.  I would like just talk with you, because I like english language but i nobody have to talk.
8/11, 12:35 PM:  I know my thinking is different then your because we live in different place but i hope sometimes you answer on my massage.
(Me), 8/11, 1:01 PM:  Stop texting me.

And so far, he hasn't.  It's only been an hour and a half, though.

SOOO creepy.  Let's start with sending someone vague messages really late at night and then very early the next morning, saying nothing about who you are or what the hell you want.  Do this multiple times without a response, which is usually a pretty good indicator that the person does not want to be texted.

Yeah, I probably should have told him to stop it a long time ago, but frankly I'm not used to someone not being able to take a freaking hint.  In the States, when a guy messages a girl once -- let alone a dozen times -- without a reply, that means she is not interested.  (There are, of course, exceptions.  Creepy stalkers live all over.)  But seriously.

It is an important point that I have no idea where I supposedly met this guy or how he got my number.  I certainly don't remember giving out my number to a random guy in a restaurant, although of course I could have forgotten.  But the timing for this is all wrong.  The end of June was when I came down with my Bronchitis.  I was not going out pretty much at all, unless it was something specific like for Julie's birthday.  More importantly, he deliberately mentioned Oskar's.  I frequented Oskar's when I first got to Poti, but had not been back since mid-May.  So -- pretty good chance we did not meet in a restaurant like he said, and we most definitely did not meet at Oskar's.  Besides, "We met at the restaurant," is about the vaguest bit of clarifying information I can think of, and weird that I had to press him three times before he came up with anything like a definitive answer -- inaccurate though it was.

As soon as I realized he was not being up front with how he knew me, I stopped replying and hoped that he would go away.  Until today, that is.  When it became apparent that I was just not going to get that lucky.

SO -- Georgian men, if any of you happen to read my blog (creepy stalkers), let me offer up a bit of free advice.  It's pretty clear that you are used to dogged, irritating persistence eventually getting you what you want, especially when it comes to pursuing women.  I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but pulling crap like this is not going to work with me, just as it's not going to work with any American, British, German, Canadian, or Australian girl I've met while in Georgia.

I hate that I even have to go here, but believe me on this one point: No means No.  It does not mean Yes; it does not mean Maybe Later.  It doesn't mean I'm looking for attention, and it sure as hell does not mean I want you to try again in five minutes.  Bullying or harassing, even when done with smiley emoticons and politeness, is not going to get you a date.

So just... Stop it.

Tbilisi Files -- Day Five and Six

Okay, let's knock this out.  Pretty lucky that nothing post-worthy has gone on since I've been back, huh?  Just sweat.  Lots and lots (and lots and lots and lots) of that.  I bought an electric fan.  Best 35 lari I ever spent.  I've going to enjoy thinking back on this God-forsaken summer in a few months, when my excuse has switched over to "it's to COLD to post!"  Ha.

Friday, July 22.  Day Five in beautiful Tbilisi.  I had my follow-up appointment with the doctor, which was uneventful.  I reported that the shots had been miracle drugs, and now that I was on my first morning without one, the pain was definitely present but considerably reduced.  And that was pretty much that.

I said goodbye to wonderful K, thanking her about ten times and still not nearly enough.  They dropped me off at the McDonald's (Hoooray!), and once again I was free.  Quick burger for lunch (so. awesome.), and then I set off in search of the post office.  Yesterday afternoon in my hostel had also included my penning about ten cards, and I was determined to get them in the mail while I was still in civilization.  After a long, hot, and sunny search, I ended up a few blocks from my hostel.  Success!  Four lari and 80 tetri per postcard!?!?  Fail!  Once I picked up my jaw from the floor, I forked it over.  God knows when I will have a chance to mail a postcard again.  Might as well make this time an occasion.

I really wanted to visit Tbilisi's sulphur baths, but with it being as damn hot as it was, just couldn't justify now being the time.  That's something you do on a freezing rainy day in November.  So, I just walked around.

Back on Chardin Street, I stopped into a wine shop and had a winetasting.  One more thing I've really missed doing!  Escaped the heat in another quietly tasteful bar and had...

That's a vodka cran with a twist.  That twist is actually a lime.  Remember how I said gin n' tonic was my second-favorite cocktail?  Well, you're looking at the grand prize.  I've thought about this particular drink way more than I should, these past few months.  And Tbilisi had one for me.  You do realize Poti doesn't have limes, right?  Or cranberry juice?  Or ice?  This thing was so damn pretty I almost didn't want to drink it.  Almost.

After my break, it was late enough in the day that I could start off on my pilgrimage... across town to an Indian restaurant that I had seen when we drove past it this morning on the way to the doctor.

Indian food.

When I found myself stopping on the way, into Prospero's for an iced double caramel macchiato, I realized I really was starting to behave a bit like an addict on a bender. :)  My desperation for all things western -- for all things clean and air-conditioned and tasty and modern, with ice -- had turned me into a bit of a crackhead these past few days.  I was loving every damn second of it, too.  In fact, I decided I would come back to Prospero's for lunch tomorrow, to try their chicken salad with pineapple and grapes on a croissant.

The only thing I can say about my dinner of Indian food was that it was so yummy I forgot (again) to take any pictures.  My Tbilisi vacation was about comfort and familiarity and not about being adventurous, so I checked the menu only to make sure my two favorite Indian dishes were present before ordering chicken samosas and chicken tikka masala.

It was spectacular.

After dinner, I stopped into an Irish pub that had live music, and listened to a Georgian bar band play the songs of my childhood.  They were pretty decent, too.

 Walking home, I took some pictures of the city I had fallen 100% in love with.

One of the city's many fountains

 

Presidential Palace

Parliament

Finding myself once again at the lovely Chardin Street, I took a seat at an outdoor cafe to write up my experiences and memories of the night, lingering until they were clearly closing.  And then, not willing to bring the amazing evening to a close just yet, found another cafe that was open even later, and ordered some creme brulee for dessert.  You know -- because my day obviously needed more delicious calories. :)

And finally, I went back to my hostel and had yet another great conversation on the front stoop.  Not bad for my last full night in Georgia's capital.


So, compared to the sheer awesomeness that was Thursday and Friday, my last day in Tbilisi proved to be rather low-key.  I slept late and then walked with Kafil from Israel over to Prospero's to have lunch like I planned.  I of course had the day to do with whatever I wanted... but my chest and cough were acting up again, so what I wanted ended up being a walk right back to the hostel, some extra painkillers, and a nap.  Woke up to pouring rain.  This was distressing because the plan had been to walk across town again, this time for Mexican.  After waiting an hour, the rain let up slightly and I decided to risk it.  This choice led to my being stranded in Tbilisi's cool but small Minerals Museum for 45 minutes.  At which point I made another dash for it... but ended up retreating into a conveniently-placed British pub.  So, oh well.  Had a proper steak-and-onion sandwich for dinner instead, including steak fries with balsamic vinegar.  Life could be worse.

But ironically, after dinner the rain really DID let up, finally.  I walked to another bar I'd seen near the Indian place, Buffalo Bill's. 

Damn fine American saloon, also complete with live music and a couple of very cool American Marines to chat with.

But all too soon, the clock hit Pumpkin O'Clock and it was time to pack up, say goodbye to all the amazing people I'd met, and hail a taxi for the train station to catch my 2:05 AM train back to Poti.

I think it goes without saying that I had a very much-needed Time of My Life that week in the capital.

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.