It's 3:15 a.m. - Happy 2011!

After getting home last night from the first part of my Christmas break travels, I slept in late this morning. It was wonderful to wake up in my own bed - what I have come to call my own bed, anyway! I spent the morning unpacking, washing, and hanging out my clothes. Since it has been raining all day, I hung them on the line on the porch - they may be dry in a couple of days. I went for a nice run and showered, then I finally got to cook! I have offered to help Tea in the kitchen over and over again, but she always smiles and says, "No, you sit down" - the Georgian way of making a guest comfortable. But I love to cook, and I don't love to sit! Maybe someday the Georgians that I am getting to know well will understand these things about me..... maybe. So, anyway, I was so excited to have my hands in the food-prep business today! New Year's here in Georgia is all about the food, and Tea had so many things to make today, she was finally willing to let me help. It's not that she doesn't want me to help, it's that she doesn't want to make me work. Hopefully after today's foray into the cooking territory, precedent will have been set strongly enough that she'll feel comfortable letting me help on a regular basis. The things we made are nothing like American food.... Here's what we made:
Vinegreti - this is the closest to anything I make in the States - It's a salad made from boiled carrots, potatos, and eggs - finely chopped with pickles, cilantro, dill, mayo, salt, and pepper.
Stuffed carrots - boiled carrots with the centers hollowed out, stuffed with a mixture of cooked, shredded carrot, onion, cilantro, chili paste, and hazelnut paste.
Stuffed peppers - sauteed sweet peppers stuffed with the same stuffing in the carrots.
Cabbage salad - cooked, shredded cabbage, carrot, onion, chili paste, and I'm not sure what else....
Pelamushi - grape juice, sugar, and corn meal. I was out for my run when Tea made this, so I still don't know how to make it.....
Khachapuri - thin bread dough patted into a pan, sprinkled with fresh cheese and brushed with egg, then baked - Tea makes the best in town.
Gozinaki - roasted hazelnuts, crushed, mixed with honey - boiled for a few minutes, then cooled.
Fresh bread - a daily (or every-other) ritual.
Fresh cheese - ditto.
Chicken, Cow, Pig - I didn't help with the killing, butchering, or cooking of any of these.
Bazhe - a sauce made from ground hazelnuts and spices.
Cake - a huge, two-layer chocolate cake with golden raisins and caramel frosting, drizzled with coffee.

At midnight we sat down to eat - and eat - and eat..... Now it's 3:48, and I'm going to sleep until I wake up.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Surprise!

When I said in a couple of earlier posts that I never know what a day in Georgia may bring, I meant it. Today was no exception.

The organization that I am teaching through, Teach and Learn with Georgia (TLG) asks that we teachers let them know anytime we travel outside of the country. A couple of weeks ago I emailed the staff at TLG to tell them that my fellow-teachers James and Katherine would be going with me to Turkey during our school break. Data from TLG replied asking for the dates of our travel and just to let him know when we get back to Georgia. So, when the three of us along with another fellow-teacher, Brad decided on a whim to go to Armenia a few days ago, I again emailed TLG to let them know that we'd be out of the country and told them when we would be back. Data replied, this time asking for our hostel's contact information in case he needed to get ahold of any of us. I didn't really think anything of the request, and I sent along the information. (By the way, if you ever go to Yerevan, Envoy Hostel is a great place to stay!) Data also said that I was invited to a "formal meeting" at the Ministry of Education and Science in Tbilisi on Thursday to be a "volunteer representative from TLG." Well, there were a few reasons I thought of immediately for backing out of the invitation. First of all, I had planned to be on a bus back to Zugdidi at 10 a.m. Thursday. Secondly, I had nothing with me that I would consider wearing to a "formal meeting." Thirdly, I hate meetings. But after talking it over with my friends, I decided to ask Data if the invitation was open to all of us and what time the meeting was. That was on Tuesday morning. In the afternoon when we got back to the hostel after being out, I had an email reply from Data saying that they had called the hostel to talk to me, but we had been out - the invitation was only for me, the meeting was to be at 11 a.m., and they looked forward to seeing me there. Okay. I guess I'm getting back home to Shamgona later than I'd planned!

I probably should've guessed that the meeting was something relatively important when Data actually called me at the hostel in Armenia. But I'm not always that bright.

This morning, back at the hostel in Tbilisi (Old Town Hostel - another good one, if you are ever in Tbilisi), I got up after a great night's sleep and poked around eating breakfast and packing - I still didn't really want to go to the "meeting." And suddenly it was past time for me to leave - I didn't have time to take the metro like I had planned, so I went out to the main road and caught a taxi to the Ministry building - a beautiful old building that had been a hospital at one point in history. When I arrived, I called Data in the TLG office and he came down to meet me. We went up the marble stairs to the TLG office, and I got to see Tamara, Shorena, and some of the others who had led our training week. It was then that Data told me why I was there: I was being awarded a medal as one of the Teachers of the Year! What?? Crazy!! I was completely shocked and didn't know what to say. I managed to stammer out a "Thank-you" and asked how in the world I was chosen for this honor out of over 600 teachers who are here with TLG. Data and Tamara told me that I was chosen based on the reviews that my school and Educational Resource Center had sent back about the work I am doing.

Data had kept it a surprise because earlier in the week the meeting day and time was not certain. The Minister of Education and Science, Dimitri Shashkini had been stranded at JFK airport in New York!

My head was still spinning as they led me into a beautifully decorated room with a restored fresco on one wall -- and a whole army of TV cameras and reporters, officials, and the other recipients of the awards (Student, Public School, Private School, Principal, Resource Center, etc. - the "Best" of each for the year). As I lined up behind a podium with the others being honored several thoughts went through my mind:
     "What in the world is going on?"
     "How lucky that I happened to be in Tbilisi today!"
     "I'm glad I packed a skirt and something other than hiking boots!"
Minister Shashkini stepped up to the podium and read a descriptor of each person being honored, shook our hands, and gave us each a certificate and a medal. There were lots of flashes, microphones, cameras, and applause. I gave a couple of brief interviews after the ceremony, and went back to the TLG office.

Me shaking hands with Minister of Education, Dimitri Shashkini

A little of the surroudings

When I finally arrived home at 7:30 p.m., everyone at the house came out to greet me and congratulate me - they had seen me on the evening news. Tea was beaming. Our school principal had called to say that she had seen the news, too. (I tried to find the video of the newscast online, but no luck. This is an article about all the winners: http://www.onlinenews.ge/index.php?id=5906&lang=eng). 

I am so glad to be able to bring this honor to them. It's not just my honor - it is for the school, Lika and Tea, and my students. Without them, I would not have the opportunity to do this. My experience is directly related to each of those with whom I work. It is a testament to the amount of work they put into school, just as much as me. Together. 

That sounds like a good toast for a New Year's suphra!

How many browns are there?

While driving back to Georgia today, I was struck by how many browns there are in the landscape in Armenia. Actually, I was completely enthralled by the variations of just one color. A monochromatic landscape can be dreadfully dull, but the textures made up for it.

I made a list of the colors that I could name as we drove:
      Ochre
      Sienna
      Umber
      Beige
      Cream
      Terra Cotta
      Tan
      Putty
      Chocolate
      Rust
      Ecru
      Khaki
      Henna
      Sepia
.....and Brown.

I also kept thinking that in the spring and summer, the whole drive would look entirely different. Most of the dingy drabness would have color to it, and the colors must look striking against the natural grays of the rocks. But, it isn't summer or spring. It's winter, and everything is brown.

The two most prevalent textures in brown were the rocks and grass. Armenia is mostly mountainous, and the rock formations, textures, and colors varied as we drove. In some places, the rock was more smooth and putty-colored, then it changed to rough and terra cotta, then to bumpy and umber. Sometimes there were chalky, cream-colored layers in the rock. Other places had rusty pockets in the rock face. The grasses that grew last summer stood dry and feathery waiting for the spring rains to make them green again.

Most of the countryside that we drove through was treeless, but in the villages there were apricot orchards and other trees. The gnarled khaki and tan trunks and main branches ended in straight sienna twigs. Here and there in the orchards, neat piles of freshly cut wood stood stacked and waiting to be taken inside. Any tree that had passed its time and usefulness was cut down and cut up for its final use. The small stacks of wood had some of the brightest browns in the landscape - sienna and ochre.

Alongside many of the orchards, and sometimes within them, haystacks dotted the field. The ecru and sepia straw stacks looked like little huts - just like in Monet's paintings. Well, the shape was the same - the color certainly was not! Monet's haystacks have much more yellow, green, blue, and red. These were just brown.

Here and there under a tree or on the side of the road, a piece of a car offered some kind of shelter for someone. The steel had oxidized leaving rust and chocolate colors mixed with the paint that was left in places. I'm not sure it the shell of metal was supposed to offer shade from the hot summer sun or just a place to sit with a roof of sorts. But the texture of rusty metal was cool addition to the landscape.

I shot a few pictures, but from a moving vehicle, I couldn't get the textures in the photos to match how I felt about them in what I was seeing. What I can tell, is that there was a lot of brown.

There's just not enough time... so let's eat crepes

(This will be a short post. It's been a full day, it's 1 a.m., and I am getting up at 7 to run before the drive back to Georgia.)

I am feeling a bit overwhelmed by my day here in Yerevan. For one thing, I wish that we were staying in Armenia longer. There is a lot to see and learn here. For someplace that I knew so little about two days ago, my experience here has piqued my interest and I want to learn as much as I can about this small, previously Soviet country. For one thing, I didn't realize that it had been part of the USSR. Call me ignorant - I just don't have much experiential knowledge about Eastern Europe. But there is a wealth of culture here in the city and in the rest of the country that I wish I had time to see and experience. But we leave tomorrow morning to go back.

Today Katherine, James, Brad, and I went on a tour that our hostel's tour division is just starting to give - "Soviet Yerevan." They give other walking tours of the city, but this is a new one they are trying out - we were the first group. I am going to write a blog post about it after I have time to process my thoughts on it all. This topic is one that I want to explore more in the coming days - in Georgia, too - that is, the experience of living through Soviet times. But I need some time to think about today's tour before I write about it. And when I am back in Georgia, I want to talk to some people about those days. I'll write about it a few times, I am sure.

After a full day of exploring Yerevan and eating really good Armenian food and drinking Armenian wine with some other ex-pat Americans who teach in Moscow, James, Katherine, and I walked to the outdoor ice-rink a couple of blocks away to skate for a little while. We stood in line and looked at the signs on the little house where tickets were sold and skates were rented. Of course, we couldn't read anything and we realized that we didn't know how to tell anyone what skate size we needed. My plan was to take off my boot and just hand it over for measuring. Good plan, right? But as we stood there, we realized that the line wasn't moving anywhere. There was someone inside the little skate-rental hut, but no one was getting any skates. After about 15 minutes, we got sick of standing in line and decided to go back to the hostel and try the Armenian apricot wine I had bought earlier (which was delicious, I might add!). On our way back, we passed a crepe stand that we had passed several times. It was cold out, and the idea of a hot, steamy, fresh crepe was too tempting to resist. So we didn't!! With a little Nutella, they were scrumptious! Walking back to the hostel, hot, sweet crepe in hand - it didn't matter that we didn't skate. We'll go skating another day...

Katherine and James at the crepe stand with English and Armenian signs

Sometimes it's about the destination

I am very familiar with the saying, "It's about the journey, not the destination." I have said it many, many times. And usually I hold to that philosophy. But today -- by the end of the day -- it was about the destination. But let's start at the beginning of the day....

Tbilisi on the Mtkvari River - pre-dawn

I got up for my pre-dawn run to a cold, clear morning. The lights in the city were amazing. I grabbed my little camera on my way out the door so that I could shoot a few pictures of Tbilisi lit up. Tbilisi is a much more beautiful city when the sun is not shining. I like it in the daylight - the run-down stone and rusted metal have character - but in the dark, it's really beautiful. I ran out to the main square beneath the citadel and took the steep, narrow cobblestone road that winds up through the multi-storied, balconied houses that cling to the hillside. The incline is so steep that in a couple of places, it was tough to keep going even at a jog, but the climb was well-worth the view! After snapping a couple of pictures, I thought that I would try to find my way to the church that sits on a pinnacle across a small valley from the citadel, so I ran part-way back down the hillside and took the first road that I found that went in the right direction. I kept following the roads that led alternatively up and east - the two directions I needed to go - but I kept running into dead ends. Literally. (The running part, not the dead part!) I ended up backtracking all the way back down the hill without getting to my destination. I would've kept exploring until I found my way there, but I had only 30 minutes to run. Katherine, James, Brad, and I planned a road trip today, and we were meeting at 9 a.m.

The citadel just before dawn

While I was winding my way back down the way I came, the sky started to lighten. The blue changed from midnight blue to Prussian blue. The citadel was still lit up, and the golden light contrasted against that distinct blue was gorgeous! I couldn't help stopping to shoot another few photos. I got back to the hostel in time to shower, pack, and have some breakfast just before 9. The four of us met in a plaza and grabbed a taxi to the bus station to find a mini-bus to Yerevan, Armenia.

I know very little about Armenia. I know there was a genocide that took place around 1915, but that's all I know. In my Lonely Planet guide book for Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan are also included, I have read a little about the other two countries, but nothing really piqued my interest. But, since I love going to new places - and my fellow-TLG teachers do, too - we decided to take a couple of days to check out the capital of Armenia.

We had planned to take a marshutka to Yerevan - a 5-hour drive south - but ended up getting a cab instead for only 5 lari more per person (not very much money). The cab was a Mercedes van that already held three passengers - some very nice college students from Armenia on their way back to Yerevan. The girl spoke pretty good English, so we talked a bit about Yerevan and Armenian language - she taught us a few words. The alphabet is another unique one, so we can't read it. But we weren't really concerned about lacking that skill. Since we'd only be in Armenia for two nights, how much trouble can we get ourselves into not being able to read??

Armenian no-man's land - well, it may belong to whoever lives
in those houses in the lower right corner...

After crossing the border into Armenia, the terrain changed completely. We entered a rough river valley called the Debed Gorge. The road was narrow and windy and rough - and our driver, being Georgian, treated it as if it were a newly paved, perfectly straight highway. I just didn't look out the front window! The cliffs and river and mountain sides held my attention. I kept seeing places that I wanted to explore and climb. Then we came to the Ararat Plain - a large, elevated expanse of high. rolling hills and smooth, treeless mountains that extends through much of the center of Armenia to Mount Ararat in the south near Turkey. (According to the Armenians, they have the "real" Mt. Ararat - not Turkey.) There was almost no civilization for hours. Every now and then we passed a small village tucked into a valley or an industrial plant of some sort, but overall, for mile after mile after mile after mile there was nothing but brown mountains. There was some snow as we climbed higher, but even the snow was brown. The air was brown, We were starting to feel brown. Our moods got a little drab as the nothingness dragged on and on and on. I found myself wondering what it would be like to live there. What did these people do everyday? How do they spend their time? What is normal life like for them? How different is it from my life in Shamgona? These musings entertained my mind for a while as the dreary scenery dragged on. The four of us were beginning to wonder what we had gotten ourselves into with this un-investigated adventure! When it seemed that we couldn't take anymore brown, more appeared on the horizon, but there was some civilization in it - Yerevan! We had made it. We drove through the city to our hostel and were very excited to see a city that is vibrant, European, young, and much cleaner than Tbilisi.

After enjoying a night in the city - lights, color, Armenian wine and cognac, hummus and pita, olives, pedestrian-right-of-way, clean bathrooms, the list could go on - we decided that Armenia was fast-becoming one of our favorite places! Or, rather, Yerevan, specifically. I'm not sure I would like spending much time in the brownness of the "journey" that we took through the country. Today, I like my destination.

City mouse, country mouse

I think the original fable by Aesop is actually entitled, "The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse," but Tbilisi is more city than town, so I've used the word "City." The moral of the story is that it is better to have less and live in peace than to have more and live in fear. Fear is not a factor for me; I am not afraid of anything - city or country - but the striking contrast between the two has been on my mind since I've been in Tbilisi, and it has been a common topic of conversation with my fellow-TLG teachers. Four of us gathered together yesterday - James, Katherine, Brad, and I spent the day hanging out, catching up, and comparing stories from our respective schools and living arrangements. Katherine lives and works here in Tbilisi; Brad is in a good-sized town about 20 kilometers away; James and I live in small villages. There is a very big difference between the city/town life and the village life. I know that I am stating the obvious, but when I stop to really think about it, each area has its own sub-culture within the national Georgian culture. And I've discovered which I prefer - surprisingly, it's the village!

Don't get me wrong - I love the city. I loved the few months I spent living in Vancouver. There is always something to do and someplace to go. I think that in the U.S. or Canada, I prefer living in the city (or, at least, very close to one). But here in Georgia, I am very glad that I am in a village. I had requested to be in a more urban than rural area for my TLG placement, but because of my temperament, personality, and travel experience I was placed in Shamgona. Basically, TLG thought that I could handle living so close to the Russian-occupied territory.

After spending a couple of days in the city and comparing notes with my friends who are living and teaching in urban areas, I am glad that I live in the village. I am spending much less money, for one thing! If there is nothing to buy or do, then I don't spend any money - and my marshutka drivers know me by name and won't take my money, so I don't even spend money on public transportation. The sense of community is much stronger in the village. Although sometimes it may feel a little stifling to have everyone know everything about me and what I am doing, I would rather have that experience while I am here than have no one I interact with or pass on the street know me. Traditions are held strongly in the village, and though I wouldn't say that they have been abandoned by people in the city, the traditions are not readily evident. In the village, tradition is as visual as it is lived. Dress, habits, housing, livelihood, food, possessions - from a visual standpoint, I know I am in Georgia when I see these things in the village. In the city, I could be in any previously Soviet city in this part of the world - the visually evident culture is much less specifically Georgian. In the city there are so many more choices of entertainment, food, and activities, but I kind of like having nothing to choose from. For the time being, I am happy following the same routine every day, having ambling cows and pigs in the road instead of speeding taxis and busses, seeing the same people every day, having only dance class as an option for group recreation.

In the village, life is less comfortable, but warmer - not temperature-warm, but heartfelt-warm. The cultural experience that I am having in Shamgona is much richer than I would experience if I were in Tbilisi. As nice as it is to be in Tbilisi for break to see the sights, eat something other than Georgian food, and be able to walk down the street to find something to do, I am glad that I will be going back to my village for daily life and work. Just like the country mouse, I am happy having "less" -- although, in this case, I think that less is more.

A meaningful Christmas morning

Sunrise on the Mtkvari River, Tbilisi

After waking up on a cold Christmas morning in the hostel in Tbilisi, I went out for a run as the sun was rising. That makes it sound like I was up early -- it was almost 9! The morning dawned bright and clear, with a pink tinge to all the stone buildings. I ran along the river (one of my favorite locations to run anywhere I am), and watched the city wake up. The sun rose behind some of the churches whose spires rose into the dusky light, pointing toward heaven. The morning was very cold - cold enough to have put frost on the ground. I took my camera with me and snapped a few pictures when I was so arrested by the beauty of what I was looking at that I had to stop.

Back at the hostel, I got ready for the day and had breakfast. During breakfast, I started reading the Christmas stories written in Matthew and Luke -- then I heard the bells. One of the nearby churches rang the bells to call the worshippers for a service. "I heard the bells on Christmas Day...." played in my mind, and I decided to answer their call. I put my New Testament and phone in the pocket of my coat, pulled on my gloves and a hat, and walked to Sioni Church. I stepped inside to find a service in progress. The congregation, many of whom were holding candles stood gathered around three or four ministers. I stepped up to the edge of the group and found myself beside the women singing in response to the minister. The service was conducted in Georgian, I think, or maybe Latin - the tone of the minister's voice was very low, and I couldn't understand his words. People in the congregation wrote things on slips of paper and passed them up to the secondary ministers who opened them and read them, and I think, prayed for each one. The minister went into a long lecture, so I took out my New Testament and opened to Luke 2 to finish reading the Christmas story. I had just read the words, "The angel said, 'Fear not, for behold, I bring good tidings of great joy which shall be to all people...'," when the ladies broke into song again. The tempo of the song exactly reflected the mood of the words I had just read. I stopped reading and listened to their song.  When they stopped, I resumed reading, and got to the "heavenly host praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest, on Earth, peace and goodwill to men!'" The song started again - it was as if I had my own personal service happening in the middle of the one I was observing! I was moved by the combination of words and song, and a tear came to my eye. I finished reading the passage, and the minister swung an censer that had bells on it - more Christmas bells! The smoke from the incense rose in wreaths of prayer and worship up into the dome of the church. I stood, looking at the frescoes, the icons, the candles, the sunlight streaming through the high, narrow windows and thanked God for His blessings -- for the greatest Blessing of all -- the reason for worshipping this Christmas morning!

Peace on Earth, goodwill to all!

'Twas the night before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the hostel, not a creature was stirring because I was the only guest and I had a headache, so I went to bed.

This morning I left Shamgona at 9:30 to catch the 12:00 bus to Tbilisi. Tea went into Zugdidi with me to see me onto the correct bus. We stood out in front of the school waiting for the marshutka, and after the first class, several of the kids ran out to say goodbye to me. I told them that I'd be back on Thursday. They were relieved! The marshutka was as crowded as ever -- another "free sardine ride" -- as my cousin called them. In Zugdidi, we ran a couple of errands, then walked to the bus station. I got on the bus and sat beside a sweet lady who patted my knee and fed me cookies. It was a long ride - over 5 hours. I read a little, but I like looking around more than reading, so most of the hours were spent watching the scenery go by. When we arrived in Tbilisi, I got off the bus and found a taxi who took me to the hostel I had reserved in Old Tbilisi. James was supposed to arrive today, too, but he couldn't get away from school early enough to catch the bus. By the time I got to the hostel, I had a raging headache. Maybe it was from the lack of movement, maybe from the lack of water, maybe just from traveling. Regardless of what caused it, the headache was killer. I thought that some fresh air would help, so after settling in to my space, I went out for a walk.

The Old Town Hostel is appropriately named. It is in the old section of the city, very close to one of the churches that I had been by during training week - Sioni Church. It was cold out, and there were people going in and out of the church, so I decided to step in and see what the inside looked like. I put my scarf on my head, and opened the beautifully carved wooden doors. The interior was dimly lit, so I could not see the frescoes very well, but I could see that the walls and ceiling were covered with them. Several prayer stations were set up around the center the of the church, and there were some people lighting candles and praying. I sat down on a bench at the back of the sanctuary and looked around. I wanted to stay longer, but my head was still hurting, so I decided to go back to the hostel and maybe come back in the morning to see the church in the daylight.

Back at the hostel, I made a cup of tea - and in the meantime, missed a call from Mom and Dad. I logged onto Skype and called them back. It was nice to talk with them. It's always nice to talk with them! And, so the hostel is quiet and there are no mice stirring. Just my keys clicking as I finish typing my post. And when I am done, there really will be no creatures stirring when I lay down for my long winter's nap. Hopefully my dreams of sugar plums won't be interrupted by any clatter!
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Counting my blessings

All of the things I want most are out of reach. I am struggling to stay positive and count my blessings instead of letting myself dwell on what I can't have. I find myself staring into space thinking.....I must have a haunted look in my eyes. I can feel it. When I realize that I'm spacing out, I do my best to shake the feeling and the ghost, and turn my thoughts to the positive side of my present situation and surroundings. So, more for my own sake than yours, I am going to put my blessings down in black and white. Getting my thoughts out in a tangible way will help me to remember them when I am plagued by my desires. And being in Stage Two of culture shock (irritability and annoyance with everything different) makes me more susceptible to negative thoughts. Enough of that.

My blessings:

1. A job -- It may only pay $300 a month, but it is more than enough for what I need while here.

2. Skype -- I could kiss whoever invented the program. I am able to see my family - or just hear them when I need to.

3. A computer -- A week before I came to Georgia, I bought a laptop. It is the first computer I have ever owned. I've always had computers at my disposal, so I never had to spend the money for one. Now I cannot imagine how I would be keeping my sanity if I hadn't gotten it. Connecting to my own culture is a necessary part of my daily routine.

4. A gift for language -- Although many people where I live speak Megruli, I am learning more Georgian every day. Picking up language easily helps me to connect with those I live with and around.

5. Students -- My beautiful, inquisitive, impressionable, hard-working students are a constant source of motivation and inspiration for me.

6. Health - It's something that I don't usually think about unless I feel badly, and being sick away from home is the worst.

7. Confidence -- Although I have moments when I don't feel confident, I know that I have ability to do anything I want to.

8. Fearlessness -- My mom may not think of this one as a blessing, but I like not being afraid of anything (except spiders). Living about half a mile from the border of the Russian-occupied territory and being surrounded by Georgian police in fatigues carrying semi-automatic weapons doesn't scare me.

9. A romantic view of life -- In reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, I have gained a name for the way I see the world. I've called myself a "hopeless romantic" before, but never really understood what that meant. Now I know that it is the way I see things - namely, as they appear. I love beauty and things that take my breath away. I don't usually care about how things work (the classical view of life), I care about the look of them. That's a romantic view of life. I like seeing the world from that perspective.

10. Support -- What would I do without the support of my family and friends? I would be more of a mess then I am, that's for sure! The daily emails, facebook communication, skyping, phone calls, and prayer that I receive from those who love me keep me supported in the good moments and most importantly, the bad!

11. Faith -- For me, to have faith is to recognize that I am not alone in this Life. I have the greatest support and love from God. My faith gives me the strength to go on when I don't want to. My faith allows me to keep going when I feel like all is lost. My faith sustains me when I despair. My faith helps me to remember Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Those are my blessings today.

Contrasting Experiences

Unrelated occurrences, when viewed side-by-side, often mesh together in the most poignant ways.

After class with my eighth graders today, a few of the kids waited for me to ask if I could come to dance lessons at four this afternoon. I hadn't planned on going. I told them that I wasn't sure since I was going to make up the conversation group that we missed yesterday. They looked so disappointed, so I said that I would try to make it - that brought smiles and nods of approval. (Their smiles are so beautiful.) My conversation group was small, and we were all hungry, so we talked for only 30 minutes and then called it quits. I walked home with two of the girls from my group (so we got in 10 more minutes of English) and ate a quick bite before changing my clothes and walking back to the pavilion. I made it there just at four o'clock. The dance teacher wasn't there yet, so my girls, Mari, Mari, and Tamuna led me through the steps that I had learned on Saturday. The steps that I learned are not complicated, nor are the arm-motions -- but putting them together and keeping my hands in the proper position are tricky. "Georgian hands," as one of the Mari's called them, are very specific. All of the fingers remain straight with the middle and ring fingers in line with the lower arm. The first and pinky fingers angle back, away from the palm, with the thumb partially closed over the palm, parallel to the two middle fingers. Every time they corrected my hand-position, I kept it right for about 15 seconds until I focused on my feet or arms, and lost the fingers! I'll have to walk around for a few days with my "Georgian hands" until it feels natural! We floated across the floor, moving as smoothly and delicately as possible. It's not easy to dance keeping your head in a perfectly level line at all times - no bouncing, no jerky motions - just smooth grace personified. It is a good thing my muscles are strong - from my feet up! The steps are all done on tip-toe - I'm thankful for runner's feet and calves! When the dance teacher arrived, I sat down to watch the kids practice for a show they are putting on for New Year's. I watched the girls' positioning very carefully. Most of them have been dancing since they were very small, so they are lovely to watch! And the boys -- they dance with such vigor and gusto! I don't know how they move so fast - and they keep their heads in one level line, too.

My phone rang. I had put it on the stage when I started dancing, and one of the students ran it over to me when it started in. I saw that it said, "James," so I took it outside to answer it. (James is another TLG teacher that was part of my intake group.) He called to tell me that he had just seen a house burn down in his village. How awful! He didn't think anyone was hurt, but he said that there were some very upset ladies in front of the house. There wasn't really anything that could be done since any fire department is quite far away, and the water pressure, if there is running water is not strong enough to shoot across the lawn, let alone battle any flames. People filled buckets of water from a ditch and threw them on the fire, but that didn't really help. So he stood there with the others and watched the house burn. He was shaken up from the experience, and rightfully so! He said that he was thankful that there wasn't much wind today, otherwise more houses would have caught fire, for sure.

Unrelated occurrences: Georgian dance and a house fire. During my run after dance lessons, I thought about these two things. At the same moment that I was floating across the floor with my students, James was watching a house burn down with his. One of us was witnessing the building of the community and the other, the destruction of it. One of us felt the connection to past tradition, and the other, the severing of a connection. I felt the hope of the future dancers; James felt the sorrow of a lost home. The duality of life is always present around us everywhere, but we often lack the vision to see it. Connecting these experiences gives me a wider view of reality and a greater appreciation for the great gifts of Life and Breath.

Where I live may not be beautiful, but I find beauty where I live.

A few days ago, I posted on my facebook wall, "Where I live may not be beautiful, but I find beauty where I live." It's true -- Shamgona is not a beautiful place. Even though this is a semi-tropical climate, many of the trees have dropped their leaves. All the crops and vines are nothing but brown twigs right now. There are some hardy roses blooming, and the citrus trees still have fruit that has not yet been picked; but those are the only bursts of color in the yards that line the flat village road. Other than that, there are only dusty, barren fields and grey-green cedars and some scattered palm trees. The sun doesn't climb high enough in the sky right now to fully light the day. But amid the dust and dingy grey-ness, I have zero-ed in on some gems.

Yesterday as I ran, I thought about this concept of finding beauty in a place that is not beautiful. And as I looked around I had a thought -- if I took a photograph looking down my road, you would see only a brown stretch of mud/rocks/pot holes/animal droppings lined by rusty fences and bare trees. Not a pretty picture. However, with a zoom lens, I could find small treasures that are hidden in the whole dismal scene. I made a list of some of those treasures that I noticed today - each is a "snapshot" in which I have abandoned the wide-angle scene to focus on a moment or thing of beauty.

This morning when my alarm went off, I thought I had set it for the wrong time. The sky outside was still pitch-black, and the moon was shining brightly into my window. The light from the moon was so bright, it beckoned to me to get out of bed and look at it. The winter solstice full moon hung in the sky like a silver pendant glowing with light so bright, it cast shadows. I stood blinking in my half-awake state, wondering if I had ever seen the moon shine so purely (if it were a pendant and I could have turned it over, it surely would have a stamp of "925" on it). It seemed to be the only thing that existed in that field of black. (My alarm wasn't wrong. I had to get up.)

About an hour later as I walked to school, the sun was finally rising. The salmon-tinged horizon in front of me was interrupted by the snow-capped mountains in the distance. The mountains were still in shadow, so they looked like flat, grey cut-outs set against a backdrop. But as the sun climbed slowly higher, its rays hit the peaks and lit the snow with a pink fire. The bright spots grew and spread from the tops, tracing paths of light down the slopes, creating depth in the masses of rock and snow. By the time I arrived at school, I was so awestruck by the slowly spreading light, I had to stop for a minute to watch the sunlit snow spots grow just a little bigger.

An eleventh-grade student asked if we would have conversation group after school today. I told her that I couldn't have it today because I had to go to a workshop in Zugdidi, but that we would have it tomorrow instead. Her eyes and smile lit the room. She had dance class after school, so she couldn't have come if I had the group today. She was thrilled to be able to come tomorrow.

I still can't have much conversation with the teachers at school who don't speak English. Today, as one of the ladies was walking by me, I smiled at her. She reached out and affectionately patted my cheek.

Tea, Lika, and I went to a teacher's workshop at the Educational Resource Center in Zugdidi. There were 14 national teachers in attendance to learn more about teaching speaking skills. As I listened to everyone speak, I was filled with pride for my two co-teachers - their English is the best around!

When the workshop was over, I left the Resource Center with a few of the teachers. While walking down the sidewalk, one of them started singing a line of "Jingle Bell Rock" in very broken English. I joined in and we walked along singing away.

In a garden, perfect white roses on deep green stems stood in contrast against a rusty fence.

Driving back into Shamgona, we approached the bridge into the village. An older man was walking away from the river carrying a fishing rod. The tweed hat that he wore matched his sport-coat. The rubber boots that his pant-legs were tucked into looked a little funny in comparison with the rest of his outfit, but what drew me to him, were his eyes. He had kind, gentle eyes. Eyes that told a hundred stories about life and love.....and maybe fishing.

Against the late-day azure sky, the disused, rusted railroad bridge looked particularly striking.

We had to stop in the middle of the road for some cows who were waiting for their gate to be opened. The last rays of sunlight shone from behind them, outlining them in feathery wreaths of fur.

The sun went down behind a stand of bare trees. It glowed through the filigree of branches like an drop of liquid gold.

While I was sitting at the kitchen table drawing some pictures to use in class tomorrow, Elene (my 7-year-old shadow who was in a sour mood most of the evening) came and leaned against me, watching me work. The warmth and solidity of her presence filled me with joy.

Throughout the rest of this dark, dreary winter, I want to continue looking through the figurative "zoom lens" instead of the "wide-angle lens." Beauty is all around, if I only focus on it.

Tradition (part 1 of who-knows-how-many)

Ever since the day I compared Shamgona to Anatevka (from Fiddler on the Roof), I have often pictured Tevya dancing down my road singing, "Tradition..... tradition..... tradition!" Tradition is very, very important in Georgia. Every older person here in Shamgona probably has similar soliloquies to Tevya's regarding the importance of keeping their traditions. And, as with Tevya, I imagine only the pigs or cows get to hear these monologues. I'd love to hear someone go on and on about their difficulties, Tevye-style, but with my limited Georgian, I wouldn't understand much other than, "Bevri problemaa" ("There are so many problems" - a common answer to, "How are you?").

The traditions here in Georgia have been kept for centuries....some for millennia (hard to fathom, I know!). I have experienced some of the Georgian traditions already (suphras, toasts, wine, hospitality, dance, church), and as we are entering a holiday season, I will be witnessing more first-hand. Living among such deeply-rooted traditional people has made me reflect on my own traditions.....or, rather, lack of traditions. For the last several years I have rid myself of anything I considered a tradition. I'm not exactly sure why. My therapist and I didn't get to this topic before I left Pennsylvania....I'll process it more and write about it when I have some ideas. I know that "tradition" will be a common theme in my posts while I am here. But I digress -- in the classes with my older students, we have talked about Christmas and New Year's celebrations, and after they've told me what all of their practices are, they always ask what mine are. I have had to think back to when I was young and tell them about those days - Christmas stockings, caroling,  Dad reading the Christmas story to us, drinking eggnog, Mom cooking an amazing dinner, decorating the Christmas tree, giving gifts (not necessarily in that order). But now my traditions are nil. My tradition has been to be as untraditional as possible.

I am not going to get into the purpose of tradition (not in this post, anyway), nor why they are important -- but I have realized that they are. Tea and I have had some very good conversations on the topic. Georgians are changing some of their traditions, and we've discussed the good and the bad of the changes. And in our discussions, my observations, and my own processing, I have decided that it is important to have traditions. So what are mine? I don't know yet. I haven't gotten that far in my thought process. But through my many recent life-changes (divorce, moving, job-change, moving again) and therapy I have gotten back in touch with my emotional self. This is the part of me that missed all the wonderful things about holidays that I had rejected. The part of me that is moved by music. The part of me that now cries at my sister's facebook post of her choir singing the "Hallelujah Chorus" in the mall. The part of me that is deeply moved by a friend's post of the Celtic Women singing "O, Holy Night." The part of me that loves the sparkle of Christmas lights as much as the sparkle in the eye of a loved one. The "ghost of Christmas past" has come to visit me. (Yes, I switched from Fiddler to A Christmas Carol.)

And, (back to Fiddler), here I am, "far from the ones I love." Is it just part of culture shock that I miss things that I didn't miss even though I wasn't doing them in the U.S.? Culture shock is an emotional stress. Missing the holidays and my loved ones is magnified not only by the difference in culture, but also by the distance between us. Even though I saw my sister this morning on Skype before I went to school, I am still very aware that 6,000 miles and nine time zones separate us. I am having some rough moments lately with culture shock (stage 2: irritability and annoyance at the new culture). I want snow, not palm trees. I want the songs I know, not ones I don't. I want pumpkin pie, not pelamushi. But if going half-way around the world has helped me to realize that I need to re-embrace some of my lost traditions, then it has been a worth-while trip in my own personal growth.

New adventures on the horizon, right? That's the name of my blog. Now I'm embracing the new adventures and opening my heart to some old ones.

A lovely day in Zugdidi

Zugdidi apartment buildings with Christmas lights
strung across the road from the palm trees

Before I came to Georgia, I bought two travel guides about the country. I do this every time I travel abroad. I like reading about the place that I will be seeing to get an idea of the history and culture before I experience it first-hand. The guide books that I have for Georgia don't say much about the small city of Zugdidi. There is a short description of the central "boulevard," the Dadiani family palace and church, and the botanical garden. One of the books actually says that there is "no reason to linger overnight" due to the many unemployed men who sit around smoking all day and the large number of military police on constant patrol. Well, it's my closest civilization, so that's where I spent this beautiful Sunday. As far as beautiful places go, on the whole, Zugdidi is not beautiful. But it does have some redeeming qualities. The three places that the guide book described are the three nicest things in the city - and the market is pretty entertaining.

The Dadiani Palace built in the 17th century now houses a museum.

The last time I went to Zugdidi with Tea, I demonstrated to her that I knew where I was going - I knew where the market was, where to get off the marshutka, where to get back on the marshutka (most importantly), and which direction to go for the garden and church. She was satisfied that I would not get lost and said that she would feel comfortable letting me go into town by myself. At last!! So after another miscommunication this morning about time, I ran to catch the marshutka into town at 11:30. (For some reason, Georgians call "11:30," "12:30." Every time Tea tells me the time that I need to be ready for something, she names the time one hour later than I really need to be ready. I finally figured this out a couple of days ago, but this morning we misunderstood each other again. Nevertheless, I caught the marshutka just as it was coming to the house.) The ride into town was just as crowded as always, and the driver, Badri wouldn't take my money. He never lets me pay, but I always try!

Zugdidi's Christian Orthodox Church

The first place I wanted to go was the church - it was built in 1838 as the personal church of the Dadiani family who ruled Samegrelo (the region Zugdidi is in) from 1046 to 1857. The small stone church named "Church of the Icon of the Mother of God" is a typical Christian Orthodox church - no seats inside, just open space with stations to light candles and some religious icons here and there around the interior. I was hoping to catch a service of some sort, and as I approached the building, I knew I was in luck. I could hear the minister inside and the doorway was crowded with people. I pulled my scarf up onto my head (not my belief, but out of respect for theirs), pushed my way inside, and stepped over to one side where I could see some of what was going on. The church was as packed as the marshutka always is! I could just see the minister at the center of the interior. He was speaking softly - in Georgian, so I couldn't understand the majority of what he said. While he talked, some in the congregation read from their Bibles, others lit candles, and most just stood and listened. When he was finished speaking, a group started singing - I couldn't see them from where I stood, but the sound was lovely. The voices echoed up into the dome. As the group sang, I noticed shafts of light pouring in through two of the windows on the east side of the building. It looked like God's glory streaming in through the windows. I snapped a picture as discreetly as I could - it was too beautiful to resist.

Christmas lights and palm trees

I spent the next few hours walking around the palace (built in the 1700's) and the botanical garden (1800's) and the central "boulevard" - a narrow, tree-lined park with benches and lampposts. I sketched and photographed and watched people. The day was warm enough to be comfortable and sunny enough to soak up the warmth. It was nice to walk around by myself and have a few hours of quiet with my own thoughts.
Well, relative quiet with the general city noise.
Actually, it was not quiet at all.
But I was quiet.

Arched doorway at the palace entrance

This beautiful lady was sitting on the pathway to the church selling candles. Her eyes were very kind.

In the botanical garden, there are several ruined buildings. I shot several photos in this one. 

It doesn't feel like winter with some flowers still blooming.

Christmas lights strung across the road to the palace and church.

The central boulevard in Zugdidi

Sitting in the marshutka in the "bus station" waiting to go back to Shamgona, this is what I saw.

This is the view from the bridge into Shamgona. The mountains are in the region called Svaneti
which I am hoping to see before I leave. The moon was almost full last night.

Animals here and there

On my facebook page a week or so ago, I wrote on my wall that I had seen a pig strung up by the back leg in a tree, ready to slaughtered -- the week before I had seen a cow there. That post elicited a few comments regarding the treatment of animals. I promised on that post that I would write about the cultural view of animals here, at least in the villages -- things are always a little different in the cities. I thought about the topic for a few days, observed the way animals are treated, and on Thursday in my conversation group we talked about animals. In our group my theory was confirmed.

One of my first questions to the students on Thursday afternoon was, "Do you have any pets?" I knew full-well that every single one of them has a yard full of animals, but I wanted to differentiate between farm animals and pets. Their response immediately confirmed the conclusion I had come to after thinking and observing --
"What is a pet?"
"You know, an animal that you have just because you like it."
Blank stares. One student said, "I like my dog."
To which I replied, "But is that the only reason you have your dog - just because you like it?"
"No, we have dogs to protect the house and the family."
"And do you have cats just because you like them?" I asked.
"No, I hate cats, but they catch mice."
One student who is very astute said, "We have the animals that we have because they are useful."
Bingo.
At that point I explained to them that in the U.S. I had cats, but not because I had a problem with mice. I had them just because I liked them. We talked for the entire 45 minutes about animals and the difference between their having animals here and my having animals back in the U.S.

I have been here in Shamgona for four weeks, and in that time, the only animal mistreatment I have witnessed was to see some boys throwing rocks at a dog to make it leave a cow alone. Other than that, every human interaction I have seen with animals has been humane. At the same time, I have seen very little affection from people to animals. "Our grandmother" is always chasing the cats with the broom to shoo them out of the kitchen. I scratch them on the ears and catch the kitten when I can to hold it and pat it. Elene loves it when I hold the kitten. "Our grandmother" says "Oooooh?" (Yes, that's a question.) The people here have animals because they are useful. Cows and water buffalo give milk and some are raised for meat. Pigs are raised for meat. Hens give eggs and are used for meat. Turkeys and ducks - meat. Dogs - protection. Cats - mousers. Horses - labor. This culture does not have the luxury of having anything that isn't useful. Life in the village is a difficult life, and their subsistence off the land includes animals. So, even though I am vegetarian and I don't like seeing anything hurt, let alone killed, I understand that for the people living here in the villages, raising animals for food is a necessity -- the way things were in the U.S. not so long ago (and still are in some places).

The day that I saw the pig hanging from the tree, I was reminded of a day when I was eight years old when I saw the same thing. I lived in central Maine, and my best friend lived on a farm. One day when I was playing at her house, the men slaughtered a pig, and all of us kids watched the whole thing -- except I didn't look when they shot it. But once it was dead, I watched the men hang it from a tree by a back leg, slit its throat to let the blood drain out, cut it open, take out the insides, skin it, and then cut it up to put in the freezer. I remember not really liking what I was watching but understanding the necessity of it. Life there was not so different from life here. On that farm, we milked the cows, churned butter, made ice cream in the summer, and killed and plucked chickens -- but we also played with the animals. We rode the horses - and sometimes the cows, but they are really bony. Once we rode the pigs. Bad idea. In one house that I lived in, the only stove in the kitchen was a wood cook stove just like Tea uses here. My mom made the best biscuits on that stove. We had a garden, and in the summer and early fall, Mom canned and froze everything she could for the winter months. Dad hunted and fished. I loved growing up in Maine. To me, it was all fun and adventure in the garden and on the farm and in the woods. Now I understand what hard work it was (Thank you, Mom and Dad for your tireless work!), just like life here in the villages.

Thursday when I went running after school, I ran by the house where I had seen the cow and the pig in the tree. There was nothing hanging in the tree, but one of my students, Lika (there are many "Lika's" here) was standing in front of the gate. She waved me to a stop, and told me that this was her house. I was saying something about seeing animals hanging from her tree, as a man walked up to us - Lika introduced me to her father - the town butcher. People in town bring their animals to him to have them slaughtered and the meat prepared correctly for cooking and curing. Today when I ran by, there was a cow's tail still in the tree, the head was sitting on a post, and he was working at finishing cutting up the meat. I waved and said "Gamarjobat," as I tried hard not to look at the pieces of necessity.

The Teacher becomes the Student

I'm an athlete. Ever since I can remember, I've preferred moving to being still. I played some sports in high school, but I was not very good at them - except for one - cheerleading. I know a hot debate is going to erupt somewhere as soon as these words are read to argue that cheerleading is not a sport. I am not here to debate the topic, nor to even talk about cheerleading - just to say that when it comes to learning moves put to rhythm, I am relatively talented. Which brings me to my topic for today: dancing. 

I love dancing. It doesn't matter to me if I'm contra-dancing at a Grange Hall in Maine, dancing to techno at a club in Massachusetts, or doing salsa at a little restaurant in Guatemala - I love all forms of dance. I feel fortunate to have landed in a country with a long tradition of dance. Almost everyone here knows at least some of the traditional dances, and many people take dance lessons regularly. At the first suphra I attended with my colleagues, a couple of the ladies led me through some of their dances. My students here love dancing (if you read about my excursion with them, you read about the Georgian dances that took place in the aisle of the bus) -- anyway, they asked me a couple of days ago if I like to dance. Of course I said, "Yes!" And the natural Georgian reply was, "Would you like to learn our Georgian dances?" And my natural reply was, "Of course!" So they invited me to join them at their dance lesson at four o'clock today. 

Three of my students that I usually walk home with are some of the dancers. After school today, we walked home together and they said that they would be back at 3:30 to walk to the dance lesson with me. I ate a little lunch and put on some leggings with a skirt, a top with a fleece vest, and flats. It's cold. Tea ooo-ed and aaah-ed that I looked just like a dancer. (She's so sweet, and skirts are the best for dancing.) As promised, the kids stopped by at 3:30, and we went together to my first Georgian dance lesson. I had no idea where the lesson was held, because as many times as I have walked, run, or ridden up and down the only road in Shamgona, I have not seen any buildings other than houses, the schools (new and old), the tiny stands that are our "stores," and one building that some Abkhazian refugees live in. When I asked where the dance lessons were, the answer I got was, "the pavilion." Right. Nothing I have seen yet fits that description. I walked with the kids past the schools.....to the building where the refugees live. I never would have guessed that there was a small auditorium complete with a stage in that building. We stepped into the room, and I saw a group of students spread out across the room following the teacher through some warm-up moves. The wooden floor was covered with old, dusty vinyl flooring (which is actually perfect for this type of dancing). The high ceiling held a half-dozen lights that may have had 40-watt bulbs in them - or maybe they were 25-watt. It was dim, but as my eyes adjusted to the light, I recognized several of my students in the group already warming up. They all clapped and cheered when I came in. I met the instructor, a very kind, genteel lady, and she welcomed me to class. She doesn't speak English, but with dance, showing is better than telling. I lined up in the back with the older girls, and for the next hour, I learned how to float across the floor like a butterfly. I know that my calves will be sore tomorrow! (YouTube has several videos of Georgian dance - this link is a short video of some of what I am learning: http://www.youtube.com/.)

When the music fills the room and we all smile as we dance, the dingy-ness of the room doesn't matter. The love of culture that is being taught to these kids is very special. They are carrying on the traditions of countless generations. And it means so much to me that they want to teach me something that is such a revered part of their culture. I enjoy the dances, and I know with 6 more months of lessons, I'll learn the steps - the graceful hands may take a bit more time and practice. When class was over today, the kids wanted to know if I would be back at the next lesson .....tomorrow morning at 11. I may be.... if my calves will let me.

Peace, but not quiet...

The Georgian words for "good morning" (dila mshvidobisa), "good evening" (saghamo mshvidobisa), and "good night" (ghame mshvidobisa) translate to "peace this morning," "peace this evening," and "peace tonight." Peace is highly valued in this country that has seen so much unwanted conflict. At every gathering of family and friends, the first toast to be given is always for peace. But when I think of "peace this morning," I think of the other kind of peace - like peace and quiet. But peace and quiet is something that is hard to find here.

The average decibel level for a Georgian voice is....well, I don't know decibel levels, but it's high - that is, loud! In a previous blog I mentioned that if I didn't know better, I would think that everyone was always fighting and arguing all the time. They aren't - they're just very loud.

The school building here is new - it is made of concrete, tile, and marble. Not one of these surfaces has any sound-absorbing qualities, whatsoever - believe me! Every day at school as I walk through the halls, I cannot hear myself think; and sometimes the noise is so loud, I feel like I can't see, either! My sense of sound is so super-saturated, that my other senses quit in sympathy for the sound-sense working overtime! And the noise is just the kids being kids during their break between classes. Even in the teacher's room, when everyone is there, and everyone is talking, each one wants to be heard, so the noise level rises and rises and rises until no one can actually hear anyone else, nor themselves above the din. If it were possible to see the sound waves reverberating off the concrete walls and tile floor, it would probably be like a crazy-fast laser-light show. We could charge admission and make a killing!

Something I noticed the other day: there are no doorbells in Shamgona. When someone arrives at someone else's house, they stand outside the front gate and holler the name of the person that they are there to see until someone comes out of the house. I actually did this today. On my run this afternoon, I stopped by Eka's house to drop off my telephone number. As I came up to the house, I was hoping that someone would be out in the yard so I wouldn't have to yell - I don't like raising my voice, let alone yelling! But no one was visible. I stood there for half a second feeling very conspicuous, and then decided, "When in Rome (or Shamgona)...." So I hollered Eka's name. The first holler wasn't very loud. I think my voice dropped away somewhere in the middle of the apple trees in the front yard. My voice is not Georgian-strong. I took a deep breath and hollered again - louder this time. I was pretty sure my voice had made it to the house, but had it made it inside? I was just wondering if I should holler again, when I heard Eka's father call her - that's the sign that you have been heard. He hollered her name again from some unseen part of the house, and a second later, Eka came around the house and down the front walk. So, the vocal doorbell works - even for me!

Whether someone is calling for another family member from another part of the house, trying to get someone's attention across a room, or students are answering a question in class, the concept of an "indoor voice" is not common. But, thankfully, Tea likes quiet as much as I do! So in the moments when the kids are outside (or at least elsewhere, playing), we have lovely moments of quiet. We can have quiet conversations or enjoy silence - well, as silent as a farm can be. Peace and quiet! Ghame mshvidobisa!

A Touching Moment

One of these days when I have my thoughts together on the subject I am going to write about the educational system here in Georgia. Right now all I can say is that it is in desperate need of help - at least the language-teaching aspect does! I can't write about it yet, because while I know that there's a problem, I'm not entirely sure what that problem is. I've been talking with Tea about it quite a bit, and when I have a better grasp on it and can write about it more intelligently, I'll post on the subject. But, for all it lacks, the Ministry of Education is doing some things right. By the year 2014, the Ministry wants all Georgian teachers to be certified in their field. To become certified, the teachers have to take tests in their subject area. From what I've been told, the tests sound a lot like the Praxis tests in the U.S. Each teacher has to pass a general educational skills test as well as the test that covers his/her subject matter. The teacher can take the test multiple times if he/she fails it the first time. Lika took her English certification test this past year and missed passing it by one point. She will be trying for it again in the spring. Tea will be taking the test for the first time this spring. ......and she is very nervous about it.

One day last week when Tea and I were writing some lesson plans for our classes the next day, she showed me a sample test that she was given to use as practice for her upcoming certification test. We looked through it together and she identified the areas that she knows she struggles with - speaking and writing. I told her that we could practice both of these skills in preparation for the test. Of course, we talk to each other every day, but the test format is very intimidating. On the test are written a situation prompt and brief guidelines for the answer. Thirty seconds are allowed for planning one's answer, and then one minute is allowed for the answer to be given. That time constraint is the kicker! We did a couple of practices, and we'll do more in the future. Tea doesn't like doing it, but she knows she'll improve the more she does it. She does like writing. She asked me to give her some topics about which she can write short essays. The first one I gave her was to compare the summer and winter seasons here in Shamgona, to say which she preferred, and why she preferred it. She wrote a page and a half (long-hand) and I read it and made corrections. We talked through the corrections so that she could hear the right word order and learn some of the rules for writing. I gave her a second essay topic a couple of days ago, and this evening she produced her notebook with her new essay. She handed me the essay and a red pen. The topic was family. I started reading her essay in which she described her family - talking about her husband, her children, and "our grandmother." Then she wrote, "There is one more member of my family - her name is Stephanie and she is our guest." She went on to write that they are all very happy to have me here and feel comfortable enough with me living in their house to consider me a part of the family. I looked up at Tea and smiled - she was beaming. I told her that it means so much to me for her to feel that way.

And it does. I realize that I am here to teach English - that's my job. But there is so much more to my being here than just a job. These are people that I am building relationships with - and that's what really matters in this life - people. Relationships. That's what Life is about. I realized today that Tea is more than my co-teacher. She is my friend. I am here to teach English to her and to my students, but what is most important is the friendship that is being built by spending time together day after day. For Tea and her family to think of me as a part of their family means the world to me - especially right now when my family is a world away.

Blank Stares and Randomness

Today started like any other day - with the roosters crowing all over the village, my alarm going off before the sun is up, and my cocoon too warm to want to emerge. But emerge I must - I have lots of children who want to talk to me today. And who knows what the day may hold? I certainly didn't!

When I arrived at school, I took one look at my co-teacher Lika and asked her why she wasn't home in bed. She looked terrible. She had a horrendous headache and a fever. I told her that I would take her classes, and that she should go home, but she said she needed to be at school. I didn't press the issue - I didn't have to - all the other teachers descended on her like a flock of mother hens and insisted that she go to the doctor. Georgians are very, very insistent. Lika went to the doctor, and left her classes to me. All the classes went along fine, although I did get some blank stares now and then. But the students know more than they think they know, and it was nice to hold class in English without Lika translating too quickly when someone doesn't immediately respond to me. Of course we didn't get as much done as I had planned, but I think that getting through the lesson is secondary to making the kids think! There are a couple of students in each class who excel, and they have picked up their teacher's habit of translating at any pause. I quickly shushed anyone who started to speak Georgian - they caught on and let their classmates work it out for themselves. Now if I can only get my co-teachers to do the same!

Something I learned today: the "hairy eyeball" (as my dad calls it) works just as well on Georgian students as it does on American ones!

Since it is getting colder and the mornings are especially cold, I have switched to running after school instead of before. Today was my day to run, so I went out for a nice 40-minute run to the bridge and back. Since it was "rush hour," I had to run around a lot of cows who were on their way home. They all looked at me as I ran by - their eyes held no clue as to what they were thinking - they all gave me blank stares. I received a handfull of flowers from a student - so sweet! - but it is a little tricky to focus on my workout while holding flowers! I have decided that the whole idea of a "workout" is not a Georgian idea. Today's experience proved this theory. I had just turned around at the bridge and had passed a few houses when I saw two of my students standing on the side of the road with a couple of women. They waved to me to stop, and I did, killing my stopwatch at the same time. One of the women, Eka, introduced herself to me in relatively decent English and said that she had been wanting to meet me, and this was her house, and wouldn't I like to come in. Of course I didn't want to go in - I was in the middle of my run, sweaty, and not wanting to stop and get chilled - but, this is Georgia, and refusing an invitation is rude - and, like I said, Georgians are very, very insistent. So I told her that I would come in for a minute. She introduced me to her in-laws and her little daughter. We sat at the table and her mother-in-law set out plates, forks, and a bowl of fruit and started cutting up an orange. At least it was fruit, not cookies or khachapuri! I can take oranges mid-run! I thanked her and ate a few sections of the orange. But when she broke out the glasses and started pouring me some cognac, I declined - insistently. She couldn't understand why I didn't want any, and even though Eka speaks English, she didn't really understand either. I tried to tell them that I was in the middle of my run - I still had about 18 minutes to run back home, and cognac would not be good to drink while running. They both looked at me with blank stares (I got a lot of those today). Eka wanted to spend time talking in English. I told her that we could plan another day to have some English conversation. She couldn't understand why I didn't want to just sit and talk at that moment. I tried to explain again that I was in the middle of my workout - I was sweaty and starting to get cold since I was wet and I still had to finish my run before I could get warm and dry. Finally when I said that I didn't want to get sick from being wet outside in the cold, she understood. I promised to drop off my phone number (which I still don't know) on Thursday so we could set a day to talk. She took English classes in college, but doesn't get to use it very much. I told her that we could get together every week so she can practice. She walked me out and kissed me on the cheek as I went out the gate to finish my run.

While contemplating what had just happened, I noticed two pigs on the side of the road. Seeing pigs is very normal, but I thought their "pig-pile" was a little different. Then I realized they were mating right there on the side of the road. They watched me run by with .....blank stares!

Kitchen Culture

It's been cold and rainy the last 24 hours. In a house that has only a wood cook stove for heat, the kitchen is the warmest place in the house. On a day like today, that's the place to be! And there is a culture that happens in the kitchen - an attitude of duty and comfort that make it my favorite room in the house, even if it is not the most comfortable one.

This afternoon in a break from the rain (or so I thought), I put on an extra sweater and a scarf and went out for a brisk walk in the cold dampness. I made an extra cuff in the bottom of my jeans to keep them from soaking up the water on the road - fashion is nothing of importance here in the village! I got only ten minutes away from the house when the rain started to fall again - big, fat drops fell a few at a time, but I knew that they would soon multiply. I turned around and picked up my pace. As the rain fell more steadily, I pulled up my hood to keep the cold rain off my head - I still have a bit of a cold, and I don't want it to worsen. By the time I got home, my wool sweater was pretty wet, and I was getting cold. I went into the upper house to my room, grabbed my book (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance which may just be one of my favorites), my sketch book and pen, and Georgian language workbook and went to the lower house to sit by the stove and dry out. I took off my wool sweater and scarf, hung them on the line behind the stove alongside the random socks, stockings, towels, and coats already there drying, and sat down on one of the wooden benches.

The kitchen is small, but packed with necessities. The room measures about 10 feet square and holds a wooden table with two chairs, two low, narrow benches, a row of cabinets and counter, a TV (sitting on an electric stove not in use), and the all-important cook stove. The cabinet doors are covered with a red-orange plastic veneer -- mounted against the pepto-bismol-pink cement walls, the room is certainly not devoid of color!

Despite the color scheme, I love the kitchen. There is always a fire in the stove that is fed by the wood or corn cobs piled next to the wall. Most of the time Tea has either bread or cheese in some stage of production that fills the room with a thick, homey smell. The cats join the drying shoes under the stove until their fur is blistering hot, then they make their way under the table to cool off. I love watching them stretch out to their full length under the hot cast iron, basking in the warmth of the fire blazing inches above them. The kitten is my favorite - it drapes itself across everything under the stove - wood, shoes, the other cats - and squints its little eyes in absolute contentment. That is, until "Our Grandmother" grabs the short straw broom and makes a racket trying to shoo them all out of the room. They usually dodge her swats at them and hide under the table until she isn't looking, then they slink back underneath the stove.

Sitting in the kitchen is like sitting in all the warmest memories of childhood. It is a room full of food, family, warmth, and conversation. I remember spending hours upon hours in various kitchens that I knew growing up eating, taking with family, watching food preparation, or just observing the goings-on. Sitting in Tea's kitchen reminds me of those times. Even when I don't understand what's being said, it doesn't matter. I can just read my book and hear the murmur of the words that speak to me beyond the comprehension of language - the meaning of the conversation is universal - it is "kitchen conversation." When Tea has a free moment and we are able to talk, we sit with our cups of tea or coffee and have our own "kitchen conversation" - about the things that are around us - the family, the food, what's on the TV - or about school or culture. The tone and tenor of "kitchen conversation" is as warm and pleasant as the bread baking in the stove. Relationships are built in the kitchen. Friendships are formed. And when the bread is hot out of the stove and broken apart, still steaming, to share with anyone in the room, not only is the body satisfied, but the soul is also.

One museum, zero caves, two monasteries, and one amusement park make for one great day.

Marie, Lika, me, Oxana, Miranda outside
State Museum in Kutaisi

In the pre-dawn darkness, my alarm went off. It was Saturday, and I really wanted to sleep. But Tea had told me that we had to meet the bus for our field trip at 8:30, and knowing that 6th-9th graders are not quiet even in the morning (when I really need some quiet before starting my day), I got up at 7 so I could have an hour or so to wake up before meeting everyone. When I went into the lower house a couple of minutes later, I was surprised to see Leban (in 7th grade) up already and eating breakfast. I sat down to eat at 7:15 and asked Tea what time we needed to leave. She said, "At 8:30 - after 15 minutes." I looked at my phone as the realization of what she meant sunk in. I showed her my phone and said, "You mean in 15 minutes, at 7:30?" She laughed - "Yes! 7:30!" Okay - no quiet waking up this morning! Flexibility!! Thankfully I had gotten all of my things together the night before, so all I had to do after gulping down my coffee was put on my boots and grab my bag that was waiting by my bedroom door. Leban and I opened the gate, stepped out onto the road, and made our way in the dark to the group waiting for the coach.

Kutaisi

For our field trip, we went to the city of Kutaisi. Kutaisi is the second-largest city in Georgia and was once the capital of the country; it spans the Rioni River with water that appears bright green in the white limestone river bed. The age of Kutaisi is staggering for my New-World brain. In the U.S., we have no sense of ancient things - "age" may span 200 years, if we're lucky. But the city of Kutaisi has documented history that dates back to the 7th century BC - that's almost 3,000 years - and it is believed that it was actually founded almost 4,000 years ago! Apollonius of Rhodes names the settlement in his poem about the Argonauts written in the 3rd century BC. Jason sailed to Colchis to capture the golden fleece, according to legend. "Kutaia" is mentioned in the poem as the capital of the region.

The city has seen plenty of war and destruction in its history. In the Byzantine - Persian war in the 6th century, Kutaisi was in the middle of the conflict. The Arabs destroyed it in the 730's. It was burned by the Ottomans in 1510 and by the Turks in 1666. But during the 1100's, when David the Builder was king, the city and its surrounding area gained its most beautiful attractions - one of them (a church and monastery) was one of our destinations for the day, along with another church, a museum, and one of Georgia's ancient cave settlements.

Outer walls of Nokalakevi

The cave settlement was our first stop for the day. After driving about an hour west of Zugdidi, we turned off the main road and up into a group of hills with a river running between them. As soon as we crossed the river, we saw huge walls that ran along the road and back into the hills - Nokalakevi. The bus parked across the street from the new museum situated alongside the imposing walls, and we all got off. After snapping a couple of photos of the outer walls, I walked over to the other teachers who were along to ask what we were waiting for. (Silly question, I know!) We were waiting for whoever runs the place to open it. Ten minutes later we were told that they weren't going to open the gates today. Okay. We all got back onto the bus - no one seemed to think this was out of the ordinary. Flexibility and spontaneity! Lika said that we could come back in the spring. Off we went again toward Kutaisi.

On the porch of the State Museum

We stopped on the main plaza of the city in front of the State Museum of Kutaisi. I would love to have had a couple of hours to look at everything in the museum more thoroughly, but we were rushed through by a tour guide who talked about only a few pieces in the exhibit. Since I didn't understand the guide, I just looked at everything myself (reading the tiny tags that had some English on them) and felt okay with hanging back from the group to look at what I wanted to see. There were artifacts that date back to the Stone Age that were found in some of the cave dwellings in the mountains and stone carvings of a minotaur and a beautiful fertility god from the 7th century BC. The exhibits of the pottery and jewelry were extensive, as were the ancient frescoes, stone and metal religious icons, and intricately worked metal Bible cases. There were also more modern pieces including the first telephone used in Kutaisi, photographs from the city during the late 1800's that looked much the same as today, and winemaking implements.

Inside the church at Gelati -
the center image of Mary, Christ,
and the angels is a mosaic of over
2.5 million stones

From the museum, we drove out of the city a few kilometers to the church and monastery that were built by King David the Builder in 1106-1125. The stone buildings are perched on a hillside - a common placement for churches and castles here in Georgia. The name of the monastery is Gelati (which instantly made me want some pistachio gelato in Rome). This church was my favorite part of our excursion. The interior of the church is covered with frescoes and a mosaic of Mary and the Christ-child. No other Orthodox church in Georgia has such extensive artwork on the walls and domes. To one side of the church stands an academy also built by King David. This academy was the first to built in Georgia, and was first reserved for the members of the royal court. Several of the kings and Georgia's only ruling queen are buried on the grounds of Gelati. 

Frescoes on the walls and dome of Gelati

Inside the academy building at Gelati

The church at Gelati

Side doors to the church at Motsameta

At our next destination, we stopped for a picnic of khatchapuri, mandarini, and fig torte - delicious! Strengthened by our lunch, we walked out along the top of a ravine to Motsameta - another church and monastery perched on the side of hill over a river. Motsameta is much smaller than Gelati, but just as beautiful. The monastery was built in the 8th century to commemorate the deaths of two brothers, David and Constantine Mkheidze. Because they would not convert to Islam, in 720 Arabs threw them off the cliffs into the gorge. A legend says that lions carried their bones back up the mountainside and the bones are now kept inside the church.

Motsameta

Our final stop was back in Kutaisi - Besiki Park. This amusement park sits on top of a hill overlooking the city. The kids had a great time running around and going on as many rides as possible - some of them to the point of sickness! I went on the ferris wheel to have a good look at the city, but my headache kept me off the other rides. When we teachers were sufficiently tired out, we dragged the kids off the rides, herded them back onto the bus, and headed home. They kept us entertained on the ride home by singing along with the Georgian MTV playing on the TVs mounted in the coach and dancing in the aisles. The driver put on a disc of traditional songs and the kids went nuts! The love their traditional music and they all know Georgian dance. The boys and girls paired up and everyone who could fit in the aisle danced as the bus carried us all home. Headache aside, watching the kids dance and sing was a nice way to ride back!