It’s a little more than a week ago now that I hopped into a car with a police officer in Tbilisi and drove out to Sighnaghi to meet my host family. It was nice to have a couple days to recover after the all-nighter watching the sunrise at Udzo, and staying at the hostel I met a number of interesting people…
I Met Cheryl, a skinny little black girl from Ohio, another TLGer, and she described her living situation in the village, before she was transferred. It seemed every time her host mother brought something to the table she sneezed on it! In the basket where the bread was kept, there was a cloth that was never changed- underneath there was mold. At some point she got really sick. They took her to the hospital in Zugdidi, apparently it had been recently renovated, but there was no evidence of this. She saw the specialist for the region. He was dressed in plain clothes, smoking a cigarette. He put the cigarette in his mouth, grabbed her tongue with one bare hand, and smacked it with the other. Then he declared that she did not in fact need surgery- she had no idea that she was being considered for surgery! She was forced to use the toilet for tests, but found that in the bathroom there was no toilet paper, no soap and no running water! Thankfully she was transferred to a private facility in the capital, and is well now, staying with another family. Bacterial food poisoning sounds like no fun, especially in the village!
I met Jilly at the hostel as well. She was in her 30’s from England. She left there on her bicycle a couple months ago, and she’s making her way to China! She was laid off from her job managing logistics for a shipping company, and decided to undertake this adventure and hope for an improved job market when she gets back from traversing the entire Eurasion Continent! Amazing.
I also met Met Mehmet at the same hostel, a Turkish man in his early 30’s, an artist and carpenter. He was open and generous, and made food for everybody at the hostel, insisting that everybody at least try what he had prepared. He created a wonderfully familial atmosphere as eight of us gathered around a table. Seeing his generosity and the way he reached out to everyone he met was inspiring. I would like to able to create community in the way he did. I’m sure I can, it’s just a matter taking initiative. Inspiring.
I was picked up my Tamara the training coordinator on the morning of August 1st. I had a meeting at the police academy that was not terribly informative, but I received the materials that I would be using for the police English course. Then it was back to the Ministry of education and around 1pm I was picked up by an officer. I thought he was going to be my host father, but gathered on the drive that he was a friend. I would be staying with someone who had two little boys. We never came into Sighnaghi. Shortly we turned onto a road that might have been paved at some point. I would later discover the name of this little village is Nukriani. We bumped up and around and then turned down a short drive over-hung with vines. I was greeted by a short, sturdy man, with a light complexion- Zaza, chief of Police in Sighnaghi. I met Nika and Luca his sons of 11 and 7 respectively. His wife Nona speaks English very well. His mother was there too. We ate. Fish, fried liver, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese, pickles, bread and watermelon. “Chami, chami!” (“Eat, eat!”). Zaza was able to express to me that he was leaving. “You stay here and rest; or you want to come?” “No, I don’t need to rest; yes I would like to come.”
Police station in Sighnaghi: a handful of big friendly men in plain clothes with firm handshakes. Up to the office- an escape from the heat in glorious AC. Coffee, nice. I sent John a text. Told the cops I had friend, American, in Sighnaghi, Joni. In Georgian: “You want to go?” “Yes.” “Ok, we send you in car.” I didn’t really know where we were going, but had some idea- pointed in the right direction. We were real close. We called John, he turned around and went back and around, asked directions, called John again, came back to where we were before. “Hey John” “There you are!” Later on, 9 or 10 o’clock, Zaza calls, “Kris! Tsavidet! Politsia, modi.” “Ok, kargi.” Headed back for more food, and a comfy bed.
Wednesday- First Class: Totally unprepared. No markers for the white board. They’ve already gone over this material. Uh, what do I do? Shit. “Write your name, where you were born and your job.” Ok, uh. “Let’s sing the alphabet.” “We’re cops, not children.” Oh god, this is embarrassing. Whatever, laugh it off. “Hmm, ‘to be’. Yes? I am, you are, etc. Oh, good. Ok, ok. Let’s open the book. Um, read this. Yes you read this. Use your name instead. Ok, good, exactly. Um. Jobs. Who can tell me what this man is? Man, katso, so use he, not she. Good, right. Oh now, in English there are little words called articles- he is a doctor. Good. What do you want to learn? Toasts, great! Talk to tourists? Cool.” Shit, let’s call it a day. You can leave an hour early. “Get out of here we’ll have a test next class.”
Already after three classes things are much better now. I come a little more prepared. I have a better idea of how long things take and I’m getting better at filling an hour + with something at least half-way meaningful, but I feel totally unqualified. I would love to observe a good teacher, to somehow have some support, mentorship or guidance. For now I’ll just do my best, and try to make every lesson a little better than the last.
The host-family situation is really good. Yea, it’s kinda far from Sighnaghi, and there’s no internet, but considering the possibilities when it comes to downsides life is rather excellent. They are friendly, welcoming people. And yet they respect my space. Nona speaks English really well. The kids are fun. I am comfortable. My room is fine. I am well fed. The bathroom is nice- I don’t have to heat up water on the stove and pour it over myself (the situation for one of my friends!). Zaza’s mother, Neli, says “Shen, chemi Shvili” “You, my son.”
For the weekend I was hoping to make it out west to Black Sea town of Batumi and meet up with some friends from orientation. John had to drive out to pick up Eka at a conference so we planned to do the drive together. It took a good while before we finally left Sighnaghi on Friday. We tried to grab a quick bite to eat on our way out and it turned into a bit of a feast with seasoned fresh tomatoes, a really interesting omelet of sorts, stewed meat, spectacularly spiced sautéed mushrooms, cheese and fresh bread. John was excited about taking a different route out west. We called one of his friends at the Vardzia Monastery who put us in touch with the monks at Zarzma. We made it there around 9:30pm. Even in the dark it was evident that we had arrived at a special place, at once ancient & fresh, beautiful & functional. The 16th century frescoes inside the impressive church were surprisingly well conserved. We were invited into the living quarters and met the 17 monks - big men in black robes with massive beards. We got them singing- and we were subsequently floored. Three of them had been professional singers at a restaurant in Tbilisi before joining the monastery, and their voices were tremendous! After some songs and conversation it was soon late and we were shown some comfortable beds. We were up at 7 for the morning service. A couple of the monks then took John and me for a walk up into the hills. The monk explained that some people are surprised that such young men choose this way of life, but for him, he has everything- song, food, nature and the truth. Everything is in harmony he said, gesturing around the spectacular valley. Here in Georgia it is easier to see the glory of god, the truth of orthodoxy, it is not so easy in other places. Everything is in harmony here. Everyone in their life has one chance to see the truth, he said.
John translated for me when I was asked about where I am on my life journey, on my path. “I have just finished University where I studied agriculture, and now I am here to have some adventures and new experiences.” And what do you want to do after this time? “I want to work in my field of study. I am interested in the journey from the soil to the plate. In America the system for producing and distributing food needs a lot of help.” But you produce so much and land is so cheap. “Well, that may be the case, but the system is now controlled by a desire for profit not so much a desire to do good. The motivations are shortsighted, and we need to institutionalize ways to consider the longer-term, the future, the generations of our children, and their children.” The monks seemed to like these words, or at least the way John translated them.
We came back to the monastery and we asked to attend a short, unexpected funeral service. We shared the morning meal and some more songs before continuing on our way. The drive on Saturday was spectacular. It took a little longer than the 2hrs the monks predicted as the road degenerated into a single lane dirt track winding sharply through the Acharran Mountains. We saw little wooden houses scattered around the slopes. It looked as though the bottom floor of these houses was reserved for livestock! We could look over the steep edge of the river valley as we came out of the mountains. We went around hairpin curves where there was no guard rail. We passed semis that had no business on a road like that. We had to avoid the cows that wandered out into the road or simply sat down in the middle of a bridge. As the land finally flattened out it was like we were in another country. There were massive eucalyptus trees and then palms, a semi-tropical climate.
I met up with my friend Erika from training, found a hostel and hit the rocky beach. We hung out and caught up, saw a random brass band playing by the water, and got some food. It was nice to see her again, but as we got to talking I wasn’t super excited about hanging out. She was so negative about her experience here so far. Sure there were some good reasons for her negativity, but coming from a pretty happy place myself it was challenging to meet her attitude. I did my best to make her laugh, and put a positive spin on things, but I think she’ll keep counting down the days. As for me I’m just trying to make the days count! Given my work schedule and the cross-country travel time my stay in Batumi was short. I woke up early and found a great breakfast- coffee, pastry and yogurt all for the equivalent of $1! At the Marshutka headed for Tbilisi, I negotiated down from 20 to 16 Lari and left we at 11am. I had some Fresh Air podcasts to occupy the hours, but I was tired and dozed most of the way. It was 5pm by the time we arrived in the capital. A metro to the other side of the city and a 6 Lari Marshutka for Sighnaghi. So eight and half hours later I had pretty much crossed the entire country for about $12.
This last week- crazy that it’s only been a week- it was really nice to spend a bunch of time with John. We hung out at his house, we went to a birthday supra for the other John’s wife, we demolished his stone garage and we went on a bit of a road trip. I feel so lucky to have experienced his generosity. Having him around felt like having a big brother that was ready to do anything for me, that always would have my back. It wasn’t like I asked him for too much, but he was always ready to give, to try and make my experience here better. A pretty excellent man. Now he’s in Tbilisi and soon in America. I’ll miss his company, and his pushing me to get the most out of this time, but it’ll also be good to feel on my own a little more.
I found out early on that Zaza’s father, Zorbegi, has some land and some animals. I was excited to see what he was growing and how he was managing the land. Yesterday I came back earlier in the afternoon than I had been when John was around to hang out with. He asked if I wanted to come see his land and I was happy to! We hopped into his ancient white car. It wasn’t starting so we had to give it a bit of a push and hop in the rolling car to head off. We bumped along dirt tracks through the fields outside Nukriani. He pointed out his cows and an old farm building that’s his “Chemia” “It’s mine.” We drove out through rows and rows of grapes, until we came to his, Katsiteli variety. 25 rows, 60 meters long, 40 years old. We drove out by his wheat field, and to more of his grapes, and to some of his young vines, only two years old, intercropped with potatoes. He dug one out of the loose, dark earth to show me. I’m looking forward to the harvest in October- there will be tons (literally) of grapes to harvest, and a lot of wine to be made!
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