The Challenges of Adapting

It has been almost a month since I arrived in Georgia, and two weeks since I arrived in the village.  I have been pondering this post for a couple of days, and I still haven’t come to a conclusion as to whether or not life in Georgia is becoming easier to navigate. 

The biggest challenge by far, especially living outside the major cities, is the language barrier. Initially, I assumed I could effortlessly live in Georgia with my knowledge of Russian and English; however, in my experience, this isn’t the case. First off, there is a group of people mid to early 20s that don’t know either English or Russian (these people would be considered potential friends and young taxi drivers). Additionally, for those who may know English, confidence issues and vocabulary limitations inhibit our ability to communicate. In regards to Russian, I have no more confidence issues, if something needs to be said I will try, but then again my vocabulary limitations hinder those conversations. All in all, I have come to the conclusion that it is necessary to learn Georgian. For some reason, I have really resisted, but sitting around the house and hanging out with my family’s friends with a blank stare on my face while everyone else is laughing or deep in thought is really quite depressing. 

The second issue is not sharing the common knowledge that everyone (aka all the Georgians) inherently understands. This problem is most prominent when it comes to transportation. Fares are hardly posted, except for a few marshutkas, and the prices change depending on the time of day. Of course, Georgians know how to navigate the seemingly unregulated transportation system, but it isn’t until you are shouting in English/Russian at a taxi driver about the fairness of their prices that you realize you might be missing something that everyone else knows. Another bit of common knowledge I seem to be missing is table etiquette. Apparently, one should always set the table for everyone, even if you are the only one eating. Also, I’ve noticed that all the food placed on the table isn’t meant to be eaten- the abundance is just meant for show and being able to resist eating all the food is a source of personal pride. Additionally, it is seen to be rude/odd if you just sip your wine when no one is toasting (but in my defense, the tamada takes way too long to toast especially if he is in a drunken stupor) and god forbid if your wine glass goes empty during a supra (which can be a fun/sad expat game to see how many times you can empty your glass before people realize). Clearly, the only answer to this problem is to make mistakes and ask questions. 

Finally, the physical adjustment of my body getting used to Georgian food and water has taken a long time.  Having been sick twice already, I would just like to be able to eat and drink without contemplating the health risks (which would be many by American standards) of my meals. On the other hand, I must admit my experiences at the medical clinics (in Tbilisi) have been really positive. 

Clearly, adapting just takes time and patience, but coming from a culture of instant gratification, I would really like to finish adapting to the culture right now.

Batumi and Back

Last week several volunteers from my region and I traveled to Batumi. We took 7hr marshutkas (public minivan) to and from Tbilisi and taxis from our region to Tbilisi. We stayed in a hostel located in the center of the city. 

The main attraction of Batumi is the boardwalk and the pebbly (the pebbles are an inch or bigger) beaches of the Black Sea.  But for me, Batumi had something else better than a potential tan. I spent most of my time walking from one café to the next sampling Batumi’s lattes. “What a peculiar activity? “ you may ask, but when the nearest espresso drink is an hour and a half away from your home-sipping espresso everyday then becomes an activity of luxury only to be experienced on vacation.  

One café called the Boulangerie was a stellar commercialized (at least it seemed so) café that was the closest to an American café. To be honest, it is actually a bakery that just happens to sell lattes and European hot chocolate (the kind that resembles a thick pudding rather than a liquid). Obviously, I frequented it daily.

The cafés of Batumi not only fed my addiction to caffeine but it also quelled my craving for internet (at least for a few days). Living without wifi has definitely been the biggest challenge since entering the village. Back home in the US, I could instantly wiki an answer to a question, or constantly know what all my friends are up to via Facebook, but here, I have to wait and make a daily list of things that I want to search on the internet.

Overall, the most enjoyable part of the trip was being able to communicate in English with people who shared the same cultural literacy as me; therefore, our conversations were colored with jokes and familiar references that communication in the village is often lacking.

Domavoi for Sale/Adoption/FREE

Alas, the domavoi, Russian house sprite, is harassing me so I am putting it up for adoption/sale/giving it away. Yes, I know my house is in Georgia, but the house was made during the Soviet period, so I am going to assume it has one.

Several frustrating scenarios have occurred since I have arrived. For instance, the other night, I was walking down the stairwell, which has no lighting, when I stepped on a random cactus. I have no clue from where this cactus came.   Luckily, I only had three big thorns that could easily be taken out by tweezers, but why did it have to happen?

Eventually, I fell asleep last night deciding to be proactive by going running in the morning.

Up until today, I have been too worried to exercise. Exercising doesn’t really exist here. Although my host cousin tells me that she does yoga in her apartment back in Tbilisi and runs in the yard while in the village. Previous volunteers warned me about the hassles of exercising outside of the yard. Some advice included a list of inappropriate clothing one should not wear, reasons why you will always be stared at (because people wonder to where are you running and why so quickly), and to watch out for village dogs who will chase you.  But after talking to another volunteer who lives several villages away about the inevitability of gaining weight if we didn’t do something now, I decided to give running a try.

So this morning, I went running/walking and gasping for air up the mountain (it could have been a really big hill, I don’t know) to the peach orchards that my family owns. My run was frequently halted by herds of sheep, getting hit by figs falling from the sky, and rocky paths that were too dangerous to run.  But I managed to get a work out, and headed back home proud of conquering my fear.

Then the domavoi struck. I went into the bathroom to take a shower, and there was no electricity. This meant I couldn’t take a shower. I am now used to not having electricity during the day, but not when I want to shower. My host mother and father explained that I would have to take a bucket bath. When hearing the sound of those words strung together, I wanted to cry. I wanted to find the small panjuri hammer and throw a tantrum like my little friend. However, since I am not a one year old, I told myself to save those tears for a time when I would really need them, and drink coffee instead.  I drank two cups of coffee and had breakfast while I waited for the 10 liter bucket to boil. I dreaded every moment that went by, praying to all the world’s deities that the electricity would turn on, but alas no one listened; I had to take the bucket bath.

I managed to take the bucket bath. In order to have a bucket bath, you need two buckets of water, one that is cold and one that is hot. You have to mix the two in a pitcher and bathe accordingly. Let’s just say, I survived and was proud once more that I had conquered yet another challenge. As I was walking up the stairs to my room, I was pondering how these moments of great satisfaction, like running in the peach orchards, are always followed by another challenge, aka the bucket bath. And as I walked into my room, the electricity turned on.  ….Not cool, Mr. House Sprite. I really needed to wash my hair today.

So if anyone has literature about how to get rid of domavois or the rules of switching them to another house, I send it my way. I would love to know. 

Georgian Eggplant Side Dish Recipe

4 eggplants

1 head of garlic

2 table spoons of water

3 tablespoons of salt

2 cups of rapeseed oil

1.    Mince garlic in pestle and mortar. Place in small bowl and add water.

2.    Add rapeseed oil to deep frying pan and place on high heat.

3.    Peel eggplants with a striped pattern (keep some peel on the eggplant). Cut off top and bottom. Then cut strips a centimeter thick lengthwise. Sprinkle the eggplant slices with salt.

4.     Place eggplant slices in the pan when oil begins to boil. Flip slice when underside is brown. 

5.    Once both sides are brown, strain slices. Let sit until room temperature. Before serving, pour garlic mixture over the eggplant. 

 Enjoy!

One is the Loneliest Number…

Today is a sad day. My best friend (of five whole days) in the village is leaving me for better things in Tbilisi. She is one fourth my size with curly brown hair in ringlets and huge light blue eyes. When there is music playing, which there frequently is in this household of musicians, she throws her hands up in the air, puts on a big smile, and begins to dance on her tiptoes. We eat sunflower seeds together and scribble on scrap pieces of paper (although, I am actually trying to write the Georgian alphabet). She knows about as much Georgian as I do (ara-no, modi-come, daeda-mom, mama-dad, baba-grandmother/father…eh, she knows that one better than I do). She doesn’t care if I speak English to her, and I don’t care if she speaks Georgian baby talk to me. We make do with charades. Grant it at times, she had a tendency to eat her dresses and terrorize the dog with a small panjuri (Georgian guitar) hammer, but we all have our moments. Yes?  I am told I will see her again soon.  Hopefully, by then we can carry on simple conversations like ‘hi’ and ‘bye,’ but for now, I will just continue to study in the village without my joyful little friend.

Mean Trick

The grown-ups played a trick on my little friend today before she left.

She was playing with her bucket and shovel, when she began screaming and pointing to inside the bucket. Someone had placed the unthinkable in her toy, two carrots.

Her confused mama (father) picked up the carrots and gave them to her, but she let them fall on the couch and inched toward them, still screaming, with her pointer finger stretched out. She touched the carrot and quickly backed away. I can’t say that I am in expert in Georgian baby talk, but I am pretty sure she was pissed.

As traumatized as my host niece was about the situation, my host mother was thrilled. She, the culprit of the trick, was giggling in the corner. She walked over to my host niece and showed her how to eat a carrot. Warily, my host niece approached the carrot, nibbled, and ran to her mother. 

Luckily for my little friend, the carrots did not make it back to Tbilisi.

This Is How We Go Out

While my host brother is visiting with his wife and cousin, my host sister and I go out with them to different parts of the nearby city at night. They meet up with their friends, buy snacks, play the guitar and sing songs. For anyone who has received my texts during this time, this is what I call the “sing-a-longs.” The first night we went to the town cultural center (theater) and hung out on the steps for a couple of hours. My host niece sometimes comes with us. Of course, she just dances to the music until she falls asleep. Last night we went to a monument park dedicated to a soldier who had fallen in battle while looking for his son.  The park included an amphitheater, where our groups’ singers and guitar players performed. Most of the songs are in English like pieces from Green Day, Adele, Johnny Cash, and a special rendition of Elvis Presley’s "Heartbreak Hotel." One Georgian song, called “You Are My Queen,” from a famous Georgian film, The Toy Soldiers Are Laughing is quite popular among the group.  It’s interesting to see just how many people there are out at night. It’s mostly young people hanging out with their friends around town.