Today, while enjoying a late breakfast, I heard a knock on the door. Since my host mom had already left for work, I answered it. Standing outside were two men in crisp dress shirts.  We said hello to each other … Continue reading →

Today is May 16. Hard as it is to believe sometimes, Sam and I have been living here in Georgia for 25 months. The end of our Peace Corps service is now galloping towards us, and as hard as it is going to be to leave here, we're starting to also get that rush of excitement about heading back home. Leaving will mean wrapping up all the projects that we've put our time and effort into over the past 2+ years, and saying lots of goodbyes that I'm not actually prepared to think about yet. These approaching sad moments, combined with the sheer fear of the unknown that is the next step in the life after Peace Corps have made me put off thinking about the future in a lot of ways. But many of you have been asking us what we'll be doing and where we'll be going, so here's our breakdown, as far as we know.

Sam's got more concrete plans than I do. Here's what he'll be doing over the next 3 months:

June 15: Officially close his Peace Corps service and depart for a 3-week archaeological field school.

What an archaeological field school may or may not entail

July 6-8: Spend 3 days in Kiev on a layover. I'm guessing he'll try the chicken.

July 8-August 3: Spend 4 weeks studying German intensively in Vienna. Sacher torte will be eaten, and socks will most likely be worn with sandals.

Last year's Sacher torte

August 4-August 8: Travel to Copenhagen, Denmark. Hopefully there won't be anything rotten about it.

August 8-August 17: Head to Iceland to see puffins (and baby puffins, which are apparently called "pufflings") and pretend to be a viking.

Puffin!

August 17: Arrive in Washington Dulles airport at 7pm. Drink some root beer.

August 17-September 15-ish: Visit friends and family!

September 15-ish: Move to Chicago.

October 1: Start a PhD at the University of Chicago in their Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, focusing on Bronze Age Mesopotamian Archaeology. He'll study cuneiform, Sumerian, Babylonian and maybe dabble in Akkadian. There may be some digging in the dirt involved. I'm not sure exactly where fighting Nazis and learning to wield a whip fall in the curriculum.

2022: Dear God, hopefully he'll be done with this PhD by now.

Soon, Sam will be reading these things

My plans aren't quite as focused, but here's what I've got so far:

July 16: Finish my Peace Corps service and head out on a 2-week solo trip to Helsinki, Finland; Tallinn and Parnu, Estonia; Riga, Latvia; Vilnius, Lithuania; and Warsaw, Poland.

I'm hoping Tallinn is warmer this time around (all though, to be fair, February wasn't the best time to visit. On the other hand, Tallinn was a whole heck of a lot warmer in February than St. Petersburg was, so it made sense to go then)

July 27-ish: Meet up with Sam in Vienna. Eat some (ok, lots of) Sacher torte.

This year, I won't just order one piece

August 4-8: Copenhagen

August 8-17: Iceland. Try to resist the urge to smuggle home any pufflings.

August 17: Arrive in Washington at 7pm. Drink some beer and eat some Chipotle.

August 17-September 15-ish: Visit family and friends and eat. And eat. And eat.

September 15-ish: Move to Chicago. Hopefully find some employment.

November 3: Run a marathon in Indianapolis. 'Cause, why not?

Will they make t-shirts for this one? Is the pope Catholic?

So that's what we've got right now. If anyone has any other suggestions, give us a shout. And if anyone has any meaningful, productive employment in the Chicago area that they might want to offer to a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, let me know.

Before I left the USA Peace Corps wanted a full medical checkup. So, I was going back and forth to the doctor’s office. It’s interesting that despite all my albinism, nystagmus, extra wisdom teeth, and ADHD my medical clearance only took a few weeks. Definitely NOT the norm for most Volunteers—it takes up to a year in many cases. Then again, I told them in my interview to put me on a plane and just let me go now. I digress. In one of my doctor’s appointments the nurse who was about to give me a half-dozen shots asks me what this was all about. This was the conversation:

Nurse: “So, why do you need all these tests and shots?”Tom: “Well, I’m applying to the Peace Corps.”Nurse: Strange look and a raised eyebrow “You know they get sent to the middle of nowhere, right?”Tom: “Yep, that’s what I want.”Nurse: “Why?”

At this point I probably gave my awkward *shrug* that I do when I don’t want someone to talk to me anymore. I didn’t really think completely about the “Why?” I was content just knowing I was f’in leaving New Jersey and not facing another hard year of school interviews and being let down by a shitty job market (“shitty” is a Microsoft Word recognized word, by the way).

Here in Georgia I get asked this question a lot, too. “Why did you come here? We are poor and don’t have anything? Why would you leave a rich country like America and come to poor Georgia?” I mean or some variation of the question. I usually just say how great Georgia is, and how the people are so nice, and I just came to help. I usually just get a strange look and a shrug, then they get fed up with my poor language skills and switch back to the simple questions like: “Do you like to drink wine or tchatcha [jet fuel]?”

I haven’t focused enough on the “Why?” If you asked my older brother “Why?” he’d probably give you a spiel about protecting the things you love (maybe me?), protecting those who cannot protect themselves (me), and the strong defending the weak (me again). In a way, I joined Peace Corps with the same attitude, but after a few months in Georgia I realize I’m not protecting or serving anyone (quite literally the women try to do everything for me). I never thought too seriously about the three simple Peace Corps goals:

1) Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.2) Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.3) Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

Well, hell, I look at these goals and I actually feel pretty good. The first goal I touched on the lightest, in my opinion. I didn’t do as much in school as I would have liked, but between FLEX, my fitness center, and numerous smaller projects I feel pretty good. Goal 2 I really let fly, maybe to an extreme amount. My host mother loves to brag that she has had over 12 Americans, 1 Pole, 2 Chinese, 1 Ukrainian, 1 Iranian, and numerous other nationalities come through her house. I’ve certainly tried to show my host family, and all of Keda the diversity of America, and our values and beliefs. All of Keda knows I do my own laundry, clean my own room, and am an independent person mostly. Goal three I’ve tried to demonstrate as well as possible in my blog and in personal conversations with friends and family. It’s harder, but it makes me really excited to be a teacher and talk to my students about my experiences in Peace Corps, and about Georgia itself. Heck, maybe I’ll have a supra in one of my classes—don’t worry we’ll replace the wine/tchatcha with water or apple juice. But, the traditions in Georgia are centuries old, and deserve their place in a World History class alongside European, Chinese, or American history.

So, why did I do it? I did it for me. I did it for people I didn’t know. They didn’t NEED me, or even WANT me, but they [mostly] appreciated my presence and caring. I had a discussion with a Georgian guy the other day who was talking about China becoming the next world’s superpower and overtaking America. He added the one caveat, though. “Americans are coming to Georgia to help Georgians with little or no benefit to themselves (he’s talking about TLG and Peace Corps). Other countries are coming to Georgia to only make money.” I had this exact discussion with my friends in Tbilisi last weekend. Peace Corps is a resource drain on the American economy. Not just in the federal budget, but also in the working man hours all 8,000 Volunteers worldwide could contribute. Peace Corps is truly a selfless organization (not perfect), and all of us here gave up parts of ourselves and our time for other people we didn’t know.

I think that’s what really makes America special. We aren’t a perfect country, but there are thousands of us who will willingly put ourselves out there for the common good. I just hope that nurse out there is reading this (she isn’t)

This post is a little difficult to follow, but thanks for reading.

During my first eleven weeks in the Peace Corps, I am not an official volunteer, but rather a trainee. In order to become a volunteer, I must complete the rigorous pre-service training (PST). So far, PST has been challenging and the days are long and exhausting, but I love it. To give you an idea … Continue reading »

We’re in America!  We’re succeeded in surprising (or, more accurately, totally shocking) both our mothers, which has been really fun.  …Continue reading »

There's a vulture perching right offscreenIt's bitter and whispers chaotic thingsAnd the weeps turn quick into bullyingIt's so easy to see everyone can agree stop listening

I know you've heard it beforeBut then it wasn't enoughYou don't want to be held back from the substitutionI know you've seen this beforeAnd now enough is too muchYou don't want to be set back when the substitution comesI'm sorry

You're a marionette in the center ofThe twisting of strings coming from aboveIt may seem too deep to recover fromIt's so easy to see everyone can agree just let it go

I know you've heard it beforeBut then it wasn't enoughYou don't want to be held back from the substitutionI know you've seen this beforeAnd now enough is too muchYou don't want to be set back when the substitution comesI'm sorry

When the voices start spitting just be awareI've brought enough stones for us to shareThat one's grinning that one's burning aim for the throatLet em choke on the stones that we have to throw

It's the great downfallThe big overthrowIf we shoot them downIt'll make you soar

When reactions turn into hurricanesAnd the middle ground feels a little tameWhether full or empty it's all the sameIt's so easy to see everyone can agree you're not to blame

I know you've heard it beforeBut then it wasn't enoughYou don't want to be held back from the substitutionI know you've seen this beforeAnd now enough is too muchYou don't want to be set back when the substitution comesI'm sorry

Until mid-July, when I become an official Peace Corps volunteer, I am living in the small village of Ruispiri. A few kilometers to the west of the city of Telavi, Ruispiri is a quiet farming village. It’s one of those towns where everyone knows everyone and people on the street will identify me not by … Continue reading »

For just a few weeks every spring we have strawberries here in Georgia. They’re the most delicate things and you have to be careful not to smoosh them while rinsing them. And they’re so sweet. No sugar needed. They remind me of … Continue reading →

Just dropping a note to let you all know I am alive. I have been taking picture but I do not have time to post them now (sorry, Liz). All is well. My host family ran into unforeseen circumstances so I will be moving into a new one today. No worries, it happens. The language is slowly (and not always surely) coming along. My old host family is great and I expect the same will happen with my new one. PST is still really intense (as all of us PCTs[Peace Corps Trainees] will agree). I get overwhelmed from time to time but I'm surviving. Met a lot of great people (American and Georgian). The food is great. I live near mountains and surrounded by farm animals. Already had many awkward moments where nothing but hand signals and a few Georgian words were used to get my ideas across. Hopefully it won't have to stay like that.

I only get one day off so don't expect much from me unless it is on Sundays. And even then, everything is iffy. Only 10 more weeks to go before I become a REAL volunteer (hopefully).

State of the Union Address: Speech by President Clinton (1995)

thefilmarchive.org The 1995 State of the Union address was given by President Bill Clinton to a joint session of the 104th United States Congress on January 24, 1995. This was the first speech delivered to a Republican-controlled Congress since 1954. This was also the first time a Republican Speaker sat in the chair since 1954. The Speaker was Newt Gingrich of Georgia. The president discussed his proposals of a New Covenant vision for a smaller government and proposing tax reductions. The president also discussed crime, the Brady Bill and the Assault Weapons Ban, illegal immigration, and the minimum wage. Regarding foreign policy, he urged assistance in Mexico's economic crisis, additional disarmament in cooperation with Russia and other international treaties, stopping North Korea's nuclear weapons program, legislation to fight terrorists, and peace between Israel and its neighbors. Discussion of the failed attempt to overhaul health care was refocused on more limited efforts to protect coverage for those who have health insurance and expand coverage for children. The speech lasted nearly 1 hour and 25 minutes and consisted of 9190 words. In terms of word count it is the longest State of the Union speech in history. The president acknowledged many Americans of past and present in his speech. Among them were: Newt Gingrich, the new Speaker of the House Ronald Reagan, who similarly had been president while Congress was controlled by the opposing party; also in the past <b>...</b> From: thefilmarchived Views: 34 2 ratings Time: 01:22:52 More in Education

Wednesday, May 9 was a holiday here in Georgia, so we got the day off from school. (It's Victory Day for Soviets, but I learned it as being Victory in Europe Day in my high school history class.) Sam and I wanted to make one more trip together out to the west of Georgia before he heads off (our next post will be all about next steps), and we each only have a few classes on Mondays and Tuesdays, so we made a loooooong weekend out, leaving for Kutaisi (our third trip to the city) on Friday after school. We spent Friday evening and Saturday tooling around the city, loving the warm weather and green everywhere. We stayed with another PCV, Tami. She's only been in Kutaisi for a year, and Kutaisi is the second largest city in Georgia, but it seemed like every 2 minutes she ran into another person that she knows. She's obviously been a winner at integrating into her community and doing all the great things that PCVs are expected (and hoped) to do!

There's an impressive new fountain in Kutaisi that was opened for Kutaisoba

An old Kutaisi movie theater, apparently celebrated as the birthplace of Georgian cinema

Me, a new Kutaisi statue, Tami and Caitlin

On Saturday morning the weather was so beautiful that we decided to go out to the Motsameta Monastery just outside of Kutaisi and walk around and soak up some more greenery. When we visited a neighboring monastery last year (Gelati), there were hiking trails that purported to lead between the two monasteries. We were hoping to find the trail pick up from the Motsameta side, but had no luck. Regardless, we walked in the woods some, saw a wedding party entering Motsameta and had a really nice time overall.

Me and Sam enjoying the beautiful weather and green scenery at Motsameta Monastery near Kutaisi

Motsameta

The view from the Monastery

On Saturday night we hopped a marshrutka for a village, Dimi, about 30 minutes from Kutaisi to stay with another PCV, Caitlin (she's up in the picture above). Caitlin came to visit Sam and me in March because she'd been itching to start a fitness club for girls at her site since arriving, but faced some challenges and wasn't quite sure how to attack the project. While she was in Akhalkalaki, she came to my fitness club and picked my brain about how we worked things out here, which helped her to get back to Dimi and start her own club. On Sunday, I got to go with her to her club's meeting, where 8 girls from her 8th and 9th grade classes showed up to jump, run, do sit ups and push ups, and just have a good time while exercising. Caitlin has done a fantastic job and walking around her village it was clear that she's had a huge impact there already, too.

A beautiful spot just near Caitlin's host family's house in Dimi

Dimi

Dimi's summer hot spot, the river (Caitlin is a former college swimmer and lifeguard, so her community definitely benefits from having her there in the summer!)

On Monday, our hooky day, we left the Kutaisi region behind to head to the coast. We arrived in Batumi on a foggy, drizzly mid-morning, found our hotel and did the only sensible thing one can do when arriving into Adjara.

First things first in Batumi: eating an Adjaruli khachapuri

After surviving the cholesterol bomb that is an Adjaruli khachapuri (but seriously, these things are delicious--just don't eat more than one a year), we went walking around to burn off a fraction of the butter-cheese-egg-dough goodness. A lot has changed in Batumi since we've been in Georgia, and a lot is still under construction, so we saw a lot of new things or things previously obscured by torn up roads or scaffolding. Sam said (and I think he's right) that it'll be interesting to come back to Batumi in another 2-3 years and see what the city looks like then.

We wandered through the "zoo" and past the biting zebras

Then we spent too much time with Sam being freaked out by the pelican...

...which is understandable, because look at those soul-stealing eyes! Gaaaaaghhh!

In the museum of Adjara we wished they had a gift shop with the old town flags

Every time Sam sees or thinks of something that would have made our wedding better he says we need to have a second wedding. So far, our second wedding will include an accordian, Elvis Costello, Chipotle catering and these outfits.

Cool, weird new building in Batumi. Looks like it's either plotting world takeover, or belongs on the MIT campus

Beautiful Batumi

On Tuesday, we had plans to continue our travels into mountainous Adjara, but we managed to sneak in a visit to Gonio, a town just a few kilometers from Batumi that boasts an old fortress. I'm so glad we made it, because it was definitely worth the trip. (Mom, Dad and MaryBeth--I'm sorry we didn't take you here when you came to visit! When you come back to Georgia, you can be sure to go.)

Gonio fortress, outside of Batumi

Sam, looking at archaeology

Fortress ruins

Pipes!

Fortress walls

What's a Georgian ruin without some old wine vats?

I'm hoping Sam can one day find a little clay cross-eyed dude, too!

Little castle crawl space

After a quick turn-around in Batumi, we loaded back onto a marshrutka and headed up away from the sea and into the mountains. Our first stop along the road was a village called Makhuntseti, where a PCV from our group, Jen, lives. Jen has set the bar high on community integration--she recently got married to a Georgian man she met from her village! They're a wonderful couple and have a fantastic plan--they'll be heading to America when Jen wraps up her service (his immigrant visa paperwork just came through yesterday, on Jen's birthday--that'd be a tough present to top!), and have said they want to spend 2 years in America so they're on equal footing, then they'll make a decision about where they want to live, in Georgia or America.

In Makhuntseti, in addition to seeing Jen again, we wanted to see the big attractions, which understandably draw tour buses. First, there's the waterfall. Now we've heard some stories here and there in Georgia about places having incredible waterfalls and then shown up to find a little trickle. This waterfall was impressive, though, and Jen says it's a godsend in the hot, humid summers, since it's always cool and nice sitting by the bottom of the falls. The other big site is a reconstructed stone arch bridge, that's really beautiful. Jen says it scares her in the summers because kids jump off the bridge into the river and the men like to have some evening wine drinking on the far side of the bridge, walking home across it after imbibing.

Makhuntseti waterfall

This was a serious waterfall, and none of my pictures seem to do it justice!

Makhuntseti bridge--guardrails are for wimps

After too-short a time catching up with Jen, Sam and I piled back onto a marshrutka to head a little further up the mountain to the next town of Keda. Tom, another PCV from our group, has just finished one of the biggest-scale projects our group has attempted. He raised funds and built a fitness facility at the local sports school for folks in his community to use. Cooler still, he's convinced the facility's manager to dedicate two nights a week for use for women only. Tom, being a male volunteer, asked me to come to run a training for the women on the benefits and importance of exercise. I held the training on Tuesday evening for 13 women and girls, discussing exercise and health and showing the group 10 exercises they can do at home with no equipment on days when they can't make it to the fitness center. I think it went really well, and I loved the community. Tom's hard work and dedication have really paid off and energized people in Keda, which was really great to see.

Keda was another really pretty Adjaran town

Wednesday morning came too quickly, and we had a long road ahead of us--a 1 hour marshrutka ride from Keda back to Batumi and a quick change to another bus for a 6-hour marshrutka ride to Akhaltsikhe, followed by one more quick change to a third and final marshrutka for our last hour-and-a-half ride back to Akhalkalaki. It was a tiring way to finish up our journey, and we'd had a busy couple of days, but it was a trip well worth the efforts. I have been, and continue to be, absolutely impressed and amazed by my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers, and was excited and proud to be able to see their sites and projects and help out a little.

We had the third of our NGO training series last Wednesday, this one on marketing organizations to donors and stakeholders.  …Continue reading »

I have a month left in Peace Corps. ONE MONTH. It’s a surreal experience to think about where I came from and how I ended up here. I’ve thought about everything I’ve done in the two years I’ve been here. I am thinking about the G12 group that arrived last week; they are in the beginning of pre-service training (PST). I remember my first week of PST. I didn’t completely understand the rules and went to visit other trainees in a neighboring village without notifying my coordinator. I got caught and feared for my future in Peace Corps. I honestly thought they’d kick me out then. They didn’t. I signed some form and then went back to normal. I remember being terrified, though. Ever since then I’ve followed every Peace Corps protocol about informing them of my whereabouts. I swear I’m not a trouble maker!!!

Then of course I think about the things I thought were important in my life two years ago. I think about how I didn’t have anything to really be proud of. Sure, I had a Masters in Teaching, but no job. I really didn’t do well in my undergraduate studies, and I felt my life just passing me by. The two years in Georgia gave me a lot of perspective on my life and future. I’ve thought more about caring for other people and doing things that don’t give me any direct benefit. For example, my host mother came to me today and told me that she had an argument with another person who didn’t believe I designed the fitness center. At one point in my life I’d be offended and hurt; I would have needed the external recognition to know I did a good job. Not anymore. Now, I’ve received plenty of external recognition; from Peace Corps, other Volunteers, a Peace Corps newsletter, community members, family, and the local government. But, it doesn’t mean as much as the happiness and pride I feel from within. I know I did it, and I know it’s a great project. That one community member may not know I made the fitness center happen, but she still uses it, and that’s all that really matters.

Two Volunteers, a married couple, came to Keda yesterday to conduct a fitness training. The girl is one of our groups most accomplished Volunteers. She organized Volunteers in the past to do activities across the country. Plus, she is a very physically active person, and knows her stuff. I think 13-15 women showed up, and apparently it went “swimmingly”. My host mother went and really loved it, and this morning after the Volunteers left, a guest came over and asked if she could come back today. It was great having her come, because I would not have been able to lead a fitness and healthy lifestyles training with women. They wouldn’t ask me the important questions. They wouldn’t feel comfortable with my presence.

Back to me leaving…

The relationships I’ve formed in the past year have also meant a lot to me. I’ve made a lot of great friends here. I got a call from a friend who got Fulbright in Indonesia a few weeks ago. She called at 1AM and goes, “Tom, wake up! I’m going to Indonesia! You’re the first person I’m telling after my boyfriend, because we’re best friends.” Then my other friend is going to Russia on a State Department program. I mean, we’re all going places here. We’ve all accomplished so much, and we’ve trudged through the same frustrations together. We’ve experienced the same winters, and have all been through similar marshutka experiences (I have not been thrown-up on in a marshutka yet, knock on wood).

It’s not just the other PCVs I’ve made friendships with. There are plenty of Georgians that I will continue talking with and remember forever. From my host family, my counterparts, and my personal relationships, I will remember them; as they will remember me. I have a bit of a reputation in Keda now, and most won’t forget me anytime soon. I could come back to Keda in 5-years or 10-years and walk off the marshutka and people would stare at me just the same, but they will know who I am.

I’ve been writing a lot recently about my nearing departure. What I really need to think about now is trying to find a job when I get home. If any of you reading this has an open position for a CEAS secondary education social studies teacher please contact meJ. I’d really appreciate it. I’ll write more on that later, though.

While all of this supra-ing was going on last week, my friend Mike came to visit me in Georgia. He's currently living in Ukraine and had already been to Georgia, but not village style, so he came over for a few days. We haven't seen each other in almost 3 years, so hopefully we can meet up again in a less random spot! While he was here, we spent the weekend in my village, went to Kamran's supra, spent the next day (miraculously NOT hungover) picnicking on the river that goes thru my valley, and then headed into Tbilisi to spend a day in Gori and see the Stalin museum before he went off to Batumi to catch a boat home.

some men waiting to be fedKamran's host uncle who takes pushy host to a new ultimate level

prom pose

Kamran's direcor's son

The table is almost ready

Dato showing us his proud work

Mike and I

pouring the wine - a designated and important role

Danielle and I went thru four plates of olives, all stacked here for proof.

Gela and Mariana

Zura and Dato

______________________________________________ Also, funny story: I like to make fun of Mike for telling bad stories, and repeating them to me years on. he tried to tell my host sister Nino one about George Washington. Without even getting two sentences in, she interupted him with "I don't care, stop talking!" Nino earned major cool points.

Tina fishing. She caught a fish about 3 inches long. Besides that the water was too muddy for anything

meanwhile Mike was off catching lizardsand Inga was busy cooking up some Mtsvadi (pork bbq with onions)

eating!me and Mike

Nino, me and Inga

family portrait Georgian style

more laughing at Mikewaiting to hitch-ike back to the village on the bridge Next up was Tbilisi - we climbed up on the fortress and got some good pictures and also walked around a nice little park near Old Town. The next day we headed to Gori, the birthplace of Stalin and the point at which the Russians invaded, so I needed special permission to go in for the day. The Stalin museum just announced that they are going through a renovation of the entire museum, because up to now, it has remained largely the same since Beria, one of the other members of the Soviet politburo, founded the museum in honor of Stalin way back when. The new museum will address more of his atrocities. (Interestingly too, when telling Georgians I was heading to the museum, most seemed to like the guy - he was often cited as a genius who had to do what he had to do, it's not like he killed people while trying to take over the world like Hitler, right?) The museum was mostly just random photographs of the guy with kids: Stalin at the Future Husbandry Workers meeting, Stalin at the Future Tractor Drivers' Meeting, Stalin at the Future Steel Mill workers' meeting, you know, the usual meetings you went to as a kid. They also had his house under another building, and the train car which he used to travel around in. The problem there, though, was that they only had one key to each place, so we were lucky enough to chat up a guy who worked there while passing through, and he turned out to be the beholder of the elusive key, so we got a private tour of each.

me in front of his train car. I had heard a rumor it was also the car Nicholas II used with his family and was excited to see it, but I was told it wasn't true. Oh well. Stalin was kind of a hottie back in the day.

I need to get me one of these. A lamp, complete with tassels, golden tank, ashtray, clock, secret lock box, and it's probably magical too. It's smart they have it in a protective case, I bet everyone wants it. I'm being totally serious, though, no sarcasm. I want one.

Stalin with the Future Leaders of Something Something

his house. within a house.

And to finish off today's photograph extravaganza, I give you Tbilisi at Night

This is Matchakhela, Samekitno, and Jaffa, all chain restaurants here, in one 24 hour place. cheap food, good beer, and hummus. I kind of love it here.

Peace Bridgewalking up to the fortress

And, if that wasn't enough pictures for you, check more out here

I keep on abiding and waiting. I should never have expected her to come immediately running back to me, dropping everything, simply because I came back. I had told her to move on when I left and I shouldn't have been so surprised that she was busy moving on; I had been trying to move on as well but I had failed miserably at it. While crossing the Continent, my mind always drifted back to her. I could have gone the part of my for-a-while travel companion, who wanted to just shag a few girls in every city, but I opted against it, since I was still – with no explanation – reserving feeling for my dearest love. I couldn't get over her. She was too great a companion, too fierce a character, too amazing a woman. And now I came back so quickly, as such a surprise to her. I waited for her for six months, though she didn't know it, what is another month or two of waiting? She is worth it. If waiting one minute earns me six minutes with her in the future, then that one minute is worth it. But one minute without her is like an eternity of fire – it's a trial, but it's a price I'm willing to accept and I've come to terms with this. So I sit and wait, sit and wait, looking at the phone and constantly reminding myself that she needs time. I can't just jump back into where we were. And though, I've always had this uncanny ability to pick up with old friends like I had never left, I have to remember that not everyone has this ability.

I found a job through my friend Tom and an elusive sms he had sent me one day. “How would you like to make some money?” Outside of emails from Nigeria, the question is often a welcome one. So I took the bait. He helped me find an English language teaching school not too far from where I lived. “I've gotten too busy with my current job,” Tom explained to me while we were sitting at a beer garden, “so I had to give up teaching at the school and am looking for a replacement.” I became the replacement.

When I have attentive students who are in class to learn, I enjoy teaching. It's been one of my favorite professions. I've never made a load of money from it – though by Georgian standards, I'm now making a load of money from it – but it's been infinitely more pleasurable than doing series of statistical analyses at a desk for which I was making a load of money. It was a good opportunity for me to ease the pain on my bank account of living here – now there's no pain on my bank account – and even better, it would help my patience, since now I'd have something to keep me distracted from my thoughts that would always wander inevitably to my love.

Even more interesting to me though was the mile and a half path I had to take to get to my new office. I walked down from on top of a hill, past the zoo, then back up past a McDonald's to the office. Where the path neared the zoo, it lifted up and gave a fantastic cat's eye view of the big cats and bears. I've been making it a habit to start walking to work early so that I can just stand at the rail and zone off, watching the beasts pace back and forth. The enclosures were small and littered with what appeared to be left over material from construction sites – giant concrete slabs of different shapes that only augmented the misery of the animal's existence. But at least they paired the animals with mates, as I discovered one day while watching two brown bears humping for about thirty minutes. An interesting scene, since the female bear seemed completely uninterested in what was happening and kept trying to saunter off.

This wasn't the only love in the air in Tbilisi now. Outside my window, there's a forested hillside, where there must be a hundred cats living from the sound of it at night. Once the sun sets every day, a loud cacophony of cats – a catophony – begins. Shrieking and wailing rise up in the wind, as female felines moan and beg to be mounted by their male counterparts, who pace back and forth pretending to be big cats but not locked in small concrete cages. I wouldn't mind a bit of kitty love going on outside, but really, did they have to be so loud? What was really interesting though, is that life in Georgia, even in a city as dense as Tbilisi, has never led me to hear humans being so loud. Yet back in Denver, once evening set, people were doing it like they do it on the Discovery Channel, moans echoing down every alleyway one walked past.

I keep on abiding and waiting. I should never have expected her to come immediately running back to me, dropping everything, simply because I came back. I had told her to move on when I left and I shouldn't have been so surprised that she was busy moving on; I had been trying to move on as well but I had failed miserably at it. While crossing the Continent, my mind always drifted back to her. I could have gone the part of my for-a-while travel companion, who wanted to just shag a few girls in every city, but I opted against it, since I was still – with no explanation – reserving feeling for my dearest love. I couldn't get over her. She was too great a companion, too fierce a character, too amazing a woman. And now I came back so quickly, as such a surprise to her. I waited for her for six months, though she didn't know it, what is another month or two of waiting? She is worth it. If waiting one minute earns me six minutes with her in the future, then that one minute is worth it. But one minute without her is like an eternity of fire – it's a trial, but it's a price I'm willing to accept and I've come to terms with this. So I sit and wait, sit and wait, looking at the phone and constantly reminding myself that she needs time. I can't just jump back into where we were. And though, I've always had this uncanny ability to pick up with old friends like I had never left, I have to remember that not everyone has this ability.

I found a job through my friend Tom and an elusive sms he had sent me one day. “How would you like to make some money?” Outside of emails from Nigeria, the question is often a welcome one. So I took the bait. He helped me find an English language teaching school not too far from where I lived. “I've gotten too busy with my current job,” Tom explained to me while we were sitting at a beer garden, “so I had to give up teaching at the school and am looking for a replacement.” I became the replacement.

When I have attentive students who are in class to learn, I enjoy teaching. It's been one of my favorite professions. I've never made a load of money from it – though by Georgian standards, I'm now making a load of money from it – but it's been infinitely more pleasurable than doing series of statistical analyses at a desk for which I was making a load of money. It was a good opportunity for me to ease the pain on my bank account of living here – now there's no pain on my bank account – and even better, it would help my patience, since now I'd have something to keep me distracted from my thoughts that would always wander inevitably to my love.

Even more interesting to me though was the mile and a half path I had to take to get to my new office. I walked down from on top of a hill, past the zoo, then back up past a McDonald's to the office. Where the path neared the zoo, it lifted up and gave a fantastic cat's eye view of the big cats and bears. I've been making it a habit to start walking to work early so that I can just stand at the rail and zone off, watching the beasts pace back and forth. The enclosures were small and littered with what appeared to be left over material from construction sites – giant concrete slabs of different shapes that only augmented the misery of the animal's existence. But at least they paired the animals with mates, as I discovered one day while watching two brown bears humping for about thirty minutes. An interesting scene, since the female bear seemed completely uninterested in what was happening and kept trying to saunter off.

This wasn't the only love in the air in Tbilisi now. Outside my window, there's a forested hillside, where there must be a hundred cats living from the sound of it at night. Once the sun sets every day, a loud cacophony of cats – a catophony – begins. Shrieking and wailing rise up in the wind, as female felines moan and beg to be mounted by their male counterparts, who pace back and forth pretending to be big cats but not locked in small concrete cages. I wouldn't mind a bit of kitty love going on outside, but really, did they have to be so loud? What was really interesting though, is that life in Georgia, even in a city as dense as Tbilisi, has never led me to hear humans being so loud. Yet back in Denver, once evening set, people were doing it like they do it on the Discovery Channel, moans echoing down every alleyway one walked past.

Hello dear readers, it’s been a while. I feel bad for neglecting you. All five of you. Especially since there are so many things I’ve been wanting to share. Over the past month I enjoyed my first Orthodox Easter, traveled … Continue reading →

So I guess the most important thing to mention is I have experienced my first very, very personal loss while serving in the Peace Corps. It is not my first loved one to die since I've been here, a dear friend's mother, to whom I was also very close, passed away when I was still in training. That was devastating enough, even though we weren't technically related. This time, I had to say goodbye to my Grandma Leree. People say that because this is the natural order of things that it is somehow easier to deal with the loss. Intrinsically, I know this must be true, but when it is my own grandmother to whom I must say goodbye, it isn't as simple as the acknowledgement of the circle of life. This is one of the greatest challenges individuals face when joining the Peace Corps and also our greatest fear. We all dread the call informing us that something terrible has happened to someone we love back home. There is nothing I could have done to have prevented this, again, a fact of which I am well aware. However, being here, without friends or family it yields a sense of powerlessness and isolation that can never really be anticipated until one is in the situation. I do not say these things to solicit sympathy or to scare off potential volunteers. It is a fact of life as a volunteer that I simply wish to point out. I knew when I joined and departed America there was a very real chance one of my grandparents, and maybe even others would not make it through the 2 years. An unfortunate consequence of going off and seeing the world and pursuing one's dreams is the inevitable missing out on so many milestones, both good and bad. I was not there to see my nephews' Christmas pageant, or my baby sister go to the Neches River Festival, or help her get ready for prom, I missed the birth of my best friend's first baby, will not get to attend and be a bridesmaid in a lifelong friend's wedding, was not there for another life long friend's mother's passing, and I was not there to see my Grandmother in her last year on Earth, or to tell her goodbye. I am happy with the path I have chosen for myself, and I knew what I was giving up when I joined, but it doesn't make the loss any easier. I guess, for me, one of the greatest challenges with coming to terms with this loss is that I had every intention to go to Kansas and spend some real quality time with my family, as I have not been able to do in years past in university in New York and as a child growing up in Texas. Sure, I have spent time with my family, and my grandma even got to attend my graduation from NYU (the last time I saw her), but I was so looking forward to the little bit of free time I would have after my service ended and the next chapter of my life began where I could learn where it is that I came from, all about our family's history, and just get to know them better. Of course I have plenty of family to still do that with, but there is something about Grandma that was kind of the glue of the operation, and the vacancy she left with always be felt. I wasn't ready to tell her goodbye, but in the end it wasn't really my choice, nor were the circumstances under which she departed. At leas with modern technology I was able to speak to my family before she actually passed, and even if for the briefest moment, I did not feel so alone in this difficult time.

Now on a much lighter note, I would like to inform you, dear reader, that today I experienced a 5.7 earthquake. The epicenter was in Azerbaijan, which as most of you now is the border on which I live. At around 8:40 this morning I was startled from my sleep from an intense rattling, and in my delirium felt the Earth shake for I'm guessing close to 30 seconds, but I could be wrong. It is a bizarre thing when your whole world literally shakes beneath you. I have in my life been through hurricanes, tornadoes, a flood, an ice storm, a record breaking blizzard, and now a relatively significant earthquake. It was not significant enough to cause severe damage, but according to this site which tracks earthquakes, it was on the scale to cause some.

This is the local map of where it originated from and Lagodekhi is in the picture.

http://www.emsc-csem.org/Images/EVID/26/265/265439/265439.local.jpg

Here is all of the information on the quake, should you be interested.

http://www.emsc-csem.org/Earthquake/earthquake.php?id=265439#

Last weekend, I was in Tbilisi for several committee meetings. On Sunday, the U.S. embassy hosted a concert with Terrence Simian's Zydeco Experience performing. It was a free concert as a celebration marking 20 years of American, Georgian relations. It was honestly one of the most exciting times I have had in the country! There were quite a few Americans there, but there were also loads of Georgians, especially younger Georgians. It felt even more special since Zydeco music feels so close to home, given the strong Cajun influence in Beaumont. For hours,Georgians and Americans alike let lose and danced and just enjoyed the care free atmosphere all together! It truly was a wonderful celebration!

As part of the evening, Goodloe and I decided to get dressed (I dare not say up, but more up than normal), and go to dinner to feel like normal people for a night. As we were leaving the restaurant, a man ran out after us and stopped us. He informed us he is a director and is directing a commercial soon, which he wanted us to be in! It was very tempting, and he called Goodloe later so we could go to the studio. However, the commercial was for a casino- given the economic issues already plaguing this country and the devastating effects casinos can have on people's lives from the individuals to the entire society, and in our positions as volunteers here to promote peace and understanding, we thought it might be a conflict of interest, so we opted out. The main things to take from this story are: I am still a diva, even when showers are few and far between for me, people still recognize my star power, I'm kind of a big deal, and I've still got it! :)

Mt. Kazbegi and the village of Stepantsminda

At the beginning of May, Sam and I headed up from Tbilisi to the Georgian village of Stepantsminda (St. Stephen). This is a big destination for tourists of all stripes. It's got beautiful hiking, challenging climbing, tall mountains, unique plant and bird life and, maybe the key attraction, it's not too far afield from Tbilisi. Minibuses go regularly, north up the Georgian Military Highway, through some striking scenery that winds up and up through the Caucasus. Mount Kazbegi is the big landmark (and most people refer to the area just as "Kazbegi"), a 5000+ meter dormant volcano right near the Russian-Georgian border that dominates the skyline (when it's not too foggy to see).

When we got in, we had some light rain and lots of fog, so we did the the logical thing--stopped into a restaurant and ordered some khachapuri and limonati. (Limonati is usually translated as "lemonade," but is actually just a carbonated fruit-flavored cola. Some of the most common flavors in Georgia are pear, lemon, grape, and tarragon. There is a brand called "Kazbegi," but this was surprisingly not the brand carried in the restaurant we went to in Kazbegi.)

Sam, checking out our hiking route as we waited on our lunch

After lunch, our skies cleared enough for us to risk the climb. We headed out for a hike up to the Gergeti Trinity Church. Like most Georgian churches, Gergeti Trinity is impossibly sited. Situated at the top of a cliff-hill with Mt. Kazbegi in the background, it's hard to imagine a more beautiful spot. It's so pretty, it's often used as the cover model for books about Georgia (it's the cover picture for the current Lonely Planet on Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan).

We started our hike by scrambling up to the ruins of a watchtower

We really thought we'd get rained on as we climbed

But we made it to the church!

There are some really intricate carvings and masonry on the church

Around the church were more hiking trails, but many were still closed by snow. Others led up to some prayer spots, where people light candles and say prayers.

A blustery (but thankfully rain-free) self portrait

We waited around up at the top of the hill near the church for a while before hiking back down, thinking all the time that it would rain. Finally we gave it a shot and ambled down another way, happily running into a group of Swedish bird watchers who were excited photographing a bird.

As we came down to the bottom, we saw the cows hanging out right near the butcher's shop. Cows aren't the smartest animals, are they? (The sign by the door just says "Meat")

At sunset shy Mt. Kazbegi finally started to come out from behind the clouds for us to see (just a peek)

On Sunday morning, the sky was clear and we finally had some of the beautiful views that the area is famous for. We spent some time walking along the Terek River bank, soaking in the pretty weather and craning our necks up for another look at the mountains.

Finally, a picture worthy of a book cover!

The sun rose, cresting over the mountains on the other side of the village

Not sure what this head is, but it looked pretty cool

One more look of the village and its surroundings

By midmorning, we had to leave Kazbegi behind. Our last minibus from Tbilisi to Akhalkalaki leaves at 5pm, and we didn't want to miss it. The drive back toward Tbilisi, which had been obscured by rain clouds on our way to Kazbegi, was almost as impressive as anything else we saw.

Sometimes the landscape was almost lunar

Other times it was Antarctic

But it was always impressive

I was glad our driver didn't take any of the bends too quickly and that we didn't go careening off any cliffs

We did a short pit stop. The women were selling homemade churchkhela and pastegh, as well as knitted socks and hats

About 40 minutes away from Tbilisi, we got off the bus to see Ananuri, an old castle/church complex. Again, we really thought we were going to be rained on, but our luck held out and we just had a moment of sprinkles before the rain passed.

Impressive even from the road, but it gets even better inside

The walls had Georgian squiggles engraved on them

Lots of cool masonry work here, too

There's a pretty impressive reservoir below the Ananuri

It was (I think) a beautiful combination of reconstructed, still-standing, crumbling, and tumbled-down

The towers of the two churches against the friendly, thoughtful rain clouds

Everything was so lush and green

We wandered down towards the banks of the rivers by the reservoir...

...in order to take one more happy self portrait without rain

Back up in a tower of Ananuri

This was the view I was looking at

There were some incredible frescos in the church

When we'd had our fill of Ananuri, we waited patiently for another minibus to come take us back to Tbilisi. And we waited. And we waited. Tons of kids showed up at the castle for a performance of some sort. The vendors selling souvenirs outside of Ananuri wandered over and asked us if we didn't want to sit at their booths and rest some. We waited. Finally we caught a ride back to Tbilisi, just in time to eat a quick dinner and catch our bus back to Akhalkalaki. A trip well worth it!

My organization has a lot of trainings.  In fact, I think all non-governmental organizations in Georgia have a lot of …Continue reading »

I'm trying to figure out how to best spend my last five weeks in Georgia, and I'm torn. Do I spend it with my host family and friends in the village, but possibly go stir crazy and lock myself in my room alone after a few days? Do I spend it with my volunteer friends, who I've gotten so close to but will probably see again in the near future? Do I spend it with new friends who I've only recently made and I want to get to know better before leaving and not having the chance again? There's just too much to do, and too many people I want to see.

Last weekend was a nice opportunity though to be in my village with other volunteers. Kamran's girlfriend Rachael was coming, and his family threw them a big supra because they are getting engaged! The supra was awesome - a perfect mix of Georgian traditions but enough English speakers to not leave me bored. Then came a big announcement from Kamran - since Rachael is a G11 (the group after ours) and will be a here a year longer, and his organization in our village might not get a new volunteer, he is extending his service for a year and staying in Georgia. It was great to see the complete elation on everyone's faces, we were all happy for him and Rachael, but it was amazing to see just how many Georgians he had touched and were excited to see him stay.

BUT... it hit a couple of us G10 a bit hard and we ended up crying almost non stop the rest of the night, and making toasts which I'm sure were just great with the combination of tears, wine, and Georgian. We were just as ecstatic for him, his organization, and Rachael, but we realized that we would be saying goodbye soon. Two years is not a short time. We've all made lives for ourselves here, carved out our own niches, and had so many people to support us during the low points. There's absolutely no way I would have made it these two years without my host families, the awesome teachers at my school, and my volunteer friends. I wanted to stay with these people another year too, I didn't want to say goodbye. I went home and was talking about it with my host grandmother the next day. She told me to tell Peace Corps I was staying too, it would be just that easy. If only life worked that way. I don't want to leave, but I also don't want to keep doing this, and staying longer doesn't mean I won't still have to say goodbye at some point. I won't be sad to leave behind the job and the village lifestyle, but I think leaving behind the people is going to be one of the hardest things I ever do.

the sunrise in the village putting together the gingerbread house my parents sent for christmas – with my counterpart and her daughter badri putting together the tabletop christmas tree BAH! SNOW! staying cozy by the fire – with the cat grade 1 – they’re cute, but it’s deceiving the cat being his adorable self   [...]

We have not yet been to a Georgian wedding. This is fairly remarkable, as it seems that someone we know …Continue reading »

It’s been a wonderful past few days but a plethora of information being thrown this way.  In other words its nice to get out for some fresh air before studying more

The Dude abides. One of my favorite movies is Big Lebowski and it's because the hero, no matter how messed up everything gets, no matter how many times people pee on his rug, continues to abide. He teaches us zen and how to deal with things that don't really matter. That's what I'm doing now, I'm abiding. A girl who doesn't want a guy who's never stopped loving her and has come back across the world for her doesn't really deserve the guy. She shouldn't matter. And that's what I've been struggling to achieve and develop, this Dude Zen. The girl succumbs to her new boyfriend's demands – not to talk to me, to chat with me, to even be facebook friends with me. It means that she values me so little and so I should begin to learn how to value her so little. I have to accept that she never loved me, but only used me for my experiences as a person uses a car or a job – to get from one place to the other.

The Dude abides. It is a mantra, a focal point. When I get off track, I've got to remember it and to live it. My carpet may be pissed on, German Nihilists might continually try to confront me or strange artist chicks try to swing on me, but I have to stay centered and focused and with a White Russian in my hand while channeling my impeccable bowling game – keeping my eyes off Jesus and the dream of a restored rug. What then, is my proverbial White Russian and bowling?

The first week after The Incident Vaguely Mentioned In The Previous Post, I stayed with Lado and his girlfriend, Karina. Karina was originally from Estonia and they met in a volunteer romance in Romania, staying together for four long years – long because it's been long distance for most of that time. I had my hand in long distance relationships and didn't want to suffer another one after it, part of the reason I had decided to leave Keti back in August thinking that would be the better route for us (little did I know, my heart would suffer the torments of a de facto long distance relationship, while she wasted no time in getting over me). Karina's mom and grandmother had come to Tbilisi, so while she worked it was Lado's duty to show them around a bit of Georgia.

Lado had enlisted the help of his Rustavi friend Lasha in driving them around. I joined them myself for a few days, looking for some way to keep my mind off the situation at hand. My mind has a tendency to be imaginative and dark, especially when it has no reason to be light. Driving around the countryside was probably a better solution than following my friend Tom's advice: getting as drunk as possible and sleeping with as many chicks as possible. Of course, I was up for Tom's first part, but I couldn't bring myself to the second. I didn't want to be with any other girls, I wanted to be with Keti. Hell, even spending time every now and then drinking coffee with her and getting to know her again would have been okay – but she wasn't even the slightest interested in that. Lado also wasn't that happy about my jump off the deep end on that first night. “Seriously Shawn, if you ever do that again, then I'm going to kill you.”

“Do what again?”

“Getting drunk is one thing, but just don't do that.”

“Do what? I don't remember.”

“What you did on Friday,” he said.

“Lado, if he doesn't remember what he did, then he can't promise not to do it again,” Kalina said.

“Yeah, Lado,” I said.

“You were talking about rounding up a bunch of crazy Svans and doing a raid on Rustavi and killing her boyfriend. That wouldn't be the best idea.”

“Well, I was drunk. Probably I wouldn't actually do something like that. But now that you mention it, it's not overly a bad idea. Of course, perhaps I need to start toning down the – uh – romantic gestures. They haven't seem to have gotten me too far.”

“And you were talking about jumping off a bridge.”

“That's just talk, I'm not inclined to actually be suicidal. It'd be a waste of so much potential future beers that I'd never get to drink.”

“Well,” Lado said, “just don't do that again.”

“Right.”

We drove to Mtskheta and did the typical Georgian “Let's see how many churches we can fit in before wanting to destroy all of Christianity” tour of the area. I had seen most of the churches before, the few on mountaintops in the area and the big one and the little one in the town of Mtskheta itself. My mind was becoming more focused on food when they had the idea of driving out of town and hitting up some isolated monastery some twenty miles down a dirt and rock road.

“I'm hungry, ra,” I said in Georgian.

“Just one more church,” they said. It's like when you've been hiking a mountain all day long and you're just about ready to collapse – but you're almost there! - so you push harder and harder and harder and – what's that? - that was just a false peak. You get over the peak and come to realize that you're not even a quarter way up the heaving bastard of granite and sandstone. “Just one more church, just one more church, just one more church.”

This last one was called Shiomghvime and is nearly unpronounceable on the lips (and throats) of non-Georgians. The monastery complex was nestled at the rise of a valley, just underneath the terraced cliffs above it. On the terraces, monks had built gardens and honeycombs to keep themselves supplied so that they wouldn't have to make contact too often with the outside world. However, Georgians did often come to volunteer and help the monks with their work and prayer, and the beauty of the buildings and care of the upkeep showed. In the interior of the main chapel, bright paints lit up the entire chapel, from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, busts of Mary, angels and saints wrapping around columns, giant four winged angels with flaming swords stood watch between the windows.

“Maybe I can buy some honey,” Lasha wondered, and found a monk to ask. But there was no honey for sale.

There we also saw a group of Polish tourists who we had also seen at several of the other churches. “They're on the same route as us,” I noted. When we finally made it to a restaurant, the Polish tourists arrived again to sit nearby us. “God may have abandoned me in my pursuit for redeemed love,” I said. “But at least the Polish tourists haven't.”

The Dude abides. One of my favorite movies is Big Lebowski and it's because the hero, no matter how messed up everything gets, no matter how many times people pee on his rug, continues to abide. He teaches us zen and how to deal with things that don't really matter. That's what I'm doing now, I'm abiding. A girl who doesn't want a guy who's never stopped loving her and has come back across the world for her doesn't really deserve the guy. She shouldn't matter. And that's what I've been struggling to achieve and develop, this Dude Zen. The girl succumbs to her new boyfriend's demands – not to talk to me, to chat with me, to even be facebook friends with me. It means that she values me so little and so I should begin to learn how to value her so little. I have to accept that she never loved me, but only used me for my experiences as a person uses a car or a job – to get from one place to the other.

The Dude abides. It is a mantra, a focal point. When I get off track, I've got to remember it and to live it. My carpet may be pissed on, German Nihilists might continually try to confront me or strange artist chicks try to swing on me, but I have to stay centered and focused and with a White Russian in my hand while channeling my impeccable bowling game – keeping my eyes off Jesus and the dream of a restored rug. What then, is my proverbial White Russian and bowling?

The first week after The Incident Vaguely Mentioned In The Previous Post, I stayed with Lado and his girlfriend, Karina. Karina was originally from Estonia and they met in a volunteer romance in Romania, staying together for four long years – long because it's been long distance for most of that time. I had my hand in long distance relationships and didn't want to suffer another one after it, part of the reason I had decided to leave Keti back in August thinking that would be the better route for us (little did I know, my heart would suffer the torments of a de facto long distance relationship, while she wasted no time in getting over me). Karina's mom and grandmother had come to Tbilisi, so while she worked it was Lado's duty to show them around a bit of Georgia.

Lado had enlisted the help of his Rustavi friend Lasha in driving them around. I joined them myself for a few days, looking for some way to keep my mind off the situation at hand. My mind has a tendency to be imaginative and dark, especially when it has no reason to be light. Driving around the countryside was probably a better solution than following my friend Tom's advice: getting as drunk as possible and sleeping with as many chicks as possible. Of course, I was up for Tom's first part, but I couldn't bring myself to the second. I didn't want to be with any other girls, I wanted to be with Keti. Hell, even spending time every now and then drinking coffee with her and getting to know her again would have been okay – but she wasn't even the slightest interested in that. Lado also wasn't that happy about my jump off the deep end on that first night. “Seriously Shawn, if you ever do that again, then I'm going to kill you.”

“Do what again?”

“Getting drunk is one thing, but just don't do that.”

“Do what? I don't remember.”

“What you did on Friday,” he said.

“Lado, if he doesn't remember what he did, then he can't promise not to do it again,” Kalina said.

“Yeah, Lado,” I said.

“You were talking about rounding up a bunch of crazy Svans and doing a raid on Rustavi and killing her boyfriend. That wouldn't be the best idea.”

“Well, I was drunk. Probably I wouldn't actually do something like that. But now that you mention it, it's not overly a bad idea. Of course, perhaps I need to start toning down the – uh – romantic gestures. They haven't seem to have gotten me too far.”

“And you were talking about jumping off a bridge.”

“That's just talk, I'm not inclined to actually be suicidal. It'd be a waste of so much potential future beers that I'd never get to drink.”

“Well,” Lado said, “just don't do that again.”

“Right.”

We drove to Mtskheta and did the typical Georgian “Let's see how many churches we can fit in before wanting to destroy all of Christianity” tour of the area. I had seen most of the churches before, the few on mountaintops in the area and the big one and the little one in the town of Mtskheta itself. My mind was becoming more focused on food when they had the idea of driving out of town and hitting up some isolated monastery some twenty miles down a dirt and rock road.

“I'm hungry, ra,” I said in Georgian.

“Just one more church,” they said. It's like when you've been hiking a mountain all day long and you're just about ready to collapse – but you're almost there! - so you push harder and harder and harder and – what's that? - that was just a false peak. You get over the peak and come to realize that you're not even a quarter way up the heaving bastard of granite and sandstone. “Just one more church, just one more church, just one more church.”

This last one was called Shiomghvime and is nearly unpronounceable on the lips (and throats) of non-Georgians. The monastery complex was nestled at the rise of a valley, just underneath the terraced cliffs above it. On the terraces, monks had built gardens and honeycombs to keep themselves supplied so that they wouldn't have to make contact too often with the outside world. However, Georgians did often come to volunteer and help the monks with their work and prayer, and the beauty of the buildings and care of the upkeep showed. In the interior of the main chapel, bright paints lit up the entire chapel, from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, busts of Mary, angels and saints wrapping around columns, giant four winged angels with flaming swords stood watch between the windows.

“Maybe I can buy some honey,” Lasha wondered, and found a monk to ask. But there was no honey for sale.

There we also saw a group of Polish tourists who we had also seen at several of the other churches. “They're on the same route as us,” I noted. When we finally made it to a restaurant, the Polish tourists arrived again to sit nearby us. “God may have abandoned me in my pursuit for redeemed love,” I said. “But at least the Polish tourists haven't.”

After travelling for 13 hours of flights, many hours for layover and numerous bus rides- we have arrived! Now it is time for the real fun to begin. Besides getting acquainted to the 8 hour time change, my fellow G12 and I … Continue reading →

Gamarjoba! I am here safely in Georgia after pre-departure orientation in Philadelphia, a very long travel day, and several days of training outside of Tbilisi. Upon the new Peace Corps group’s arrival at the Tbilisi airpot, we were greeted by current PCVs and whisked away to an area roped off by the media. We were … Continue reading »

i realize that i haven’t posted since january, but as my mother knows, my blog creative process involves a lot of thinking about what i’m going to write before i write. plus, i’ve been an emotional wreck lately and i didn’t really know how to contain some of my more nastier emotions. on the bright [...]

Well, I had big plans to write a nice blog post all about our trip last weekend to Kazbegi, but got bogged down in way a lot of projects and visiting and so on and haven't gotten around to it yet. In the meantime, here are a few random, mostly unrelated pictures we've taken recently, none of which would probably get around to getting a full blog post, but all of which are still worth sharing!

We went to Ninotsminda, the small town/village 20 minutes south of Akhalkalaki a few weekends ago to visit with some other volunteers and got to sit in on a performance of little drummer boys.

Even though the sky was threatening rain (and dropped some on us, too), we hiked out across a big field at the edge of town.

In Akhalkalaki, I bought a Coca-Cola with a Canada Dry cap. I wish they sold ginger ale here! I have no idea where this rogue cap came from.

Tbilisi is already bright and green, and this guy just doesn't know what to do about it.

In an ice cream shop in Tbilisi (gelato, actually), I peer pressured Sam into buying a sundae called "Hot Love." It was way pricier than our usual double scoop cones, but was tasty and worth it, if only for the picture

April 24 was Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day, so people in town all went to the church to light candles and put out flowers near the memorial. I went pretty early in the morning (like at 11am or some extremely early hour like that), so the pile of flowers wasn't too big yet, but by evening (when I'd left my camera at home) the whole churchyard was littered with flowers.

After a 2+ hour bus ride from Philadelphia to JFK, 10-hour flight to Istanbul, a 2-hour flight to Tbilisi, and countless hours in airports; I am now an hour or so outside the capitol, Tbilisi. We are staying in a former-Soviet compound...or so Tengo tells us. Don't worry. It's not as shady as it sounds. The living conditions will only go down from here.

The food is good. The people (staff and trainees[aka future volunteers]) are really nice. I had my first language session today. One word describes it all: intense. My training will consist of 5 4-hour sessions. I'm in way over my head.

I'll keep you all updated!

I’m off to Philly today to meet my fellow G12s and participate in staging, the Peace Corps’s pre-departure orientation. And then tomorrow we finally leave for Georgia! The past two weeks have comprised of length to-do lists, spending quality time with some of my favorite people, eating and doing every thing that I’ll miss for the … Continue reading »

Being in love with someone is more of a curse than a blessing. I broke up with a girl I didn't love – though greatly respect, she was a wonderful girl – traveled across the world and landed in order to reunite with my last love. But despite all of her crying and despair when I left last August, she was nothing but ice and stone when I saw her. She changed, but I think it had to do with her new beau than my leaving her; an imp whispering lies of how I used her into her ears (what kind of a player comes back across the world to reunite!) for the past seven months. She would rather be in an unsatisfying relationship with a controlling cop – with a very typical Georgian profile – who would undoubtedly leave her once he finds a more culturally acceptable and marriageable mate. Georgians, despite them making hour long toasts about love, don't really believe in it. They'd rather suffer reality with a grim face and bent back than live in any fancy that might take them to freedom. She doesn't really love the guy, but for whatever reason, to punish me or herself, she'd rather stay with him than go with someone with whom she had an incredible relationship with in the past and, the only reason for breaking up, was that I didn't know what I was doing in life last September. Now I more fully understand my place and can assure her no more pain, but again, she would rather take the suffering of an empty life. I guess she wants to build character. At least she told me to give her a month to think about things – a month which she will spend with the cop. It's not likely she'll see him for what he is, or us for what we actually were, so I'm not compelled too much to wait. If a girl doesn't want a good life, you can't force a good one on her. You can force a bad one on her though, which is what this cop has done – and forcing a bad life on someone is often far more successful at keeping her in chains than the offer of gold.

But wait I will, since I love her. For a month. I've tortured myself over this girl far too long.

I assume though, the story is over. Long live the story! I was hoping for a more romantic ending of reunion and love. But in this story, Prince Humperdink wins. Our hero, defeated at first by reality, moves along to seek his fortunes across Europe. But after meeting hundreds of people, suffering a freezing winter, and visiting a dying grandmother, realizes the mistake he made and goes back to live life with meaning and love. He travels back across the world and finds his love taken, unwilling to be redeemed. Our hero, defeated again by love, must learn the ultimate lesson of all. Love means nothing. She told me life is easier now, nothing's so serious. A message I've always fought. Everything has meaning. Love and life are everything. But maybe I've been wrong all along. Maybe it is best to suffer reality with a grim face and bent back than live in any fancy that might take them to freedom. We are not freemen. We are slaves to culture, society and the gods. Let the chains bear you down and whither you into the sand. We are not gods, we are nothing but dust and ashes.

I need a trip reset. I'm living solid in Tbilisi now, with a nice apartment and a job teaching English. I have plenty of friends. There's enough cheap beer here to keep my belly full and Tbilisi has made a lot of improvements since I was last here – including a giant statue of the greatest American president ever, Ronald Reagan. I get on more to what's going on Tbilisi in my next blog. More importantly, now I have isolation. I can refocus on my work, on my writing. If only I could get someone to publish my books from here.

This is the last of my personal blog sequence. The last few days have had more with the book than the blog. I'll be returnign now to something more travel oriented, as per usual. I'll be back once or twice a week, but will be focusing more on the upcoming novel. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Being in love with someone is more of a curse than a blessing. I broke up with a girl I didn't love – though greatly respect, she was a wonderful girl – traveled across the world and landed in order to reunite with my last love. But despite all of her crying and despair when I left last August, she was nothing but ice and stone when I saw her. She changed, but I think it had to do with her new beau than my leaving her; an imp whispering lies of how I used her into her ears (what kind of a player comes back across the world to reunite!) for the past seven months. She would rather be in an unsatisfying relationship with a controlling cop – with a very typical Georgian profile – who would undoubtedly leave her once he finds a more culturally acceptable and marriageable mate. Georgians, despite them making hour long toasts about love, don't really believe in it. They'd rather suffer reality with a grim face and bent back than live in any fancy that might take them to freedom. She doesn't really love the guy, but for whatever reason, to punish me or herself, she'd rather stay with him than go with someone with whom she had an incredible relationship with in the past and, the only reason for breaking up, was that I didn't know what I was doing in life last September. Now I more fully understand my place and can assure her no more pain, but again, she would rather take the suffering of an empty life. I guess she wants to build character. At least she told me to give her a month to think about things – a month which she will spend with the cop. It's not likely she'll see him for what he is, or us for what we actually were, so I'm not compelled too much to wait. If a girl doesn't want a good life, you can't force a good one on her. You can force a bad one on her though, which is what this cop has done – and forcing a bad life on someone is often far more successful at keeping her in chains than the offer of gold.

But wait I will, since I love her. For a month. I've tortured myself over this girl far too long.

I assume though, the story is over. Long live the story! I was hoping for a more romantic ending of reunion and love. But in this story, Prince Humperdink wins. Our hero, defeated at first by reality, moves along to seek his fortunes across Europe. But after meeting hundreds of people, suffering a freezing winter, and visiting a dying grandmother, realizes the mistake he made and goes back to live life with meaning and love. He travels back across the world and finds his love taken, unwilling to be redeemed. Our hero, defeated again by love, must learn the ultimate lesson of all. Love means nothing. She told me life is easier now, nothing's so serious. A message I've always fought. Everything has meaning. Love and life are everything. But maybe I've been wrong all along. Maybe it is best to suffer reality with a grim face and bent back than live in any fancy that might take them to freedom. We are not freemen. We are slaves to culture, society and the gods. Let the chains bear you down and whither you into the sand. We are not gods, we are nothing but dust and ashes.

I need a trip reset. I'm living solid in Tbilisi now, with a nice apartment and a job teaching English. I have plenty of friends. There's enough cheap beer here to keep my belly full and Tbilisi has made a lot of improvements since I was last here – including a giant statue of the greatest American president ever, Ronald Reagan. I get on more to what's going on Tbilisi in my next blog. More importantly, now I have isolation. I can refocus on my work, on my writing. If only I could get someone to publish my books from here.

This is the last of my personal blog sequence. The last few days have had more with the book than the blog. I'll be returnign now to something more travel oriented, as per usual. I'll be back once or twice a week, but will be focusing more on the upcoming novel. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

Since my last post was so long-winded, I figured I'd go in the opposite direction with this one... At the end of March I met my dear grandparents down in Marrakesh We had orange juice for breakfast every morning It was delicious

Two months ago, I ended up in Italy for a conference. (You know, my glamorous librarian lifestyle.) In a misguided effort to save money, I flew a discount airline to Bergamo, rather than straight to Milan where the conference was. And you know what? That ended up being one of my best travel decisions ever. The trip was off to an excellent start with the continuation of my favorite Madrid airport tradition. (Favorite tradition, not favorite airport. Madrid-Barajas is a soulless warehouse of an airport, with vast, fluorescent-lit hallways and overpriced amenities, cunningly designed to rob travelers of all hope and vigor.)

Back in Lousiana at my uncle's house. The evenings we would retreat from the retirement home, retreat from the shallow breathing sound coming from my grandmother's throat, from the hum of the breathing machines. We met with other family members in the evening to eat crawfish or gumbo or whatever delicious piece of Acadian food could flow from the pots of my relatives – nobody ever made crawfish et touffee like my grandmother, but I knew she would like to know that her family was eating good. The spicy delicious foods were accompanied by titanic quantities of Busch Light beer, a beer that, even to get a buzz, you have to drink titanic quantities of. Soon the red crawfish shells lay empty on the table, covering the wet newspaper. Aunts and uncles reclined in lawn chairs, too stuffed to move. When the extended family finally disappeared, and only my cousin, her husband, my uncle and parents were left – with the sun gone, the light low, the mosquitoes flying in swarms over the porch lights and the booze finally taking affect – the real heart to hearts began.

“What are you doing?” my mom asked. “What are you doing in life? What do you want?”

“I want Keti,” I told her. “After seeing grandma, I can't think of anyone else but Keti.”

“Then what are you doing?” she asked again.

“She didn't come to me in December,” I said. “I wanted her to come to me in December.”

“She couldn't, it was because of her work.”

“But her work makes her miserable. And she wouldn't come for me. Then she said she'd never come for me.”

“Because she didn't want her heart broken again,” my mom said. “She didn't want you to use her as a fling.”

“I wouldn't have used her as a fling. I was thinking of marrying her then,” I said. I got up, my beer empty. “Another beer?”

“Sure,” she said.

I came back with two more blue cans of Busch Light beer and handed my mother one. “Then she said she'd never come to visit. I wanted to marry her, but she kept breaking my heart. Then when I thought I could financially make it feasible – because of the book deal – to go to Georgia and marry her and take care of her, she ended things altogether with me. She sent that text. She deleted me on Facebook and on skype. I was crushed. Torn apart.” I started to cry. “I can't stand the idea of never seeing her again.”

“Then go to her,” my mother said. Though she probably won't remember saying that, since the rest of our visit she was griping about me getting a job and I was replying to her that I couldn't get a job when I didn't know if I could get back with Keti or not and what did Keti want. “My priority in life now is Keti, mom. I have to plan everything around her.”

“She doesn't want me though. She proved that. She hates me.”

“She doesn't hate you. Keti loves you. She just doesn't want to be hurt again.”

“I would never hurt her again. I can't hurt her again. Hurting her is hurting myself. And I can't keep doing that either. You're right though, I have to go back to her. I'll never forgive myself. I have to see her again. Even if she hates me. I hurt her so much. But she doesn't know I hurt just as much. I have to see her just one last time. No, I have to see her always, I don't want it to be one last time. But what if it is?”

My mother took another sip of her drink. “She still loves you.”

I had become resolute. I would focus now on the trip. I wanted to surprise Keti, to just show up on her doorstep and say, “I was just nowhere near the neighborhood,” like that scene in the movie Singles. The girl instantly realizes that she needed the guy back and they just start immediately kissing. Of course, real life doesn't happen like that. Usually there are no instant realizations. Usually things take work and discussions and time, affection might grow and wane even if love is always there. I broke down though, I had to send her an email, telling her essentially, “I'm coming for you.” But being the blabbering fool that I am, especially when writing emails, I wrote about three long paragraphs that could have been easily paraphrased into those four words. What I got back made my heart leap, “I still love you and always will,” she wrote. But then, the ultimate drop, a rollercoaster, Texas Titan drop sending my stomach into my mouth: “But there's this other guy.”

I boarded the plane, knowing that there was this other guy. The same other guy who showed up fifteen minutes after I came to Keti's house on her invitation and who wouldn't even shake my hand. What did he know of Keti and her love? He couldn't know anything. Keti and I were meant to be, not Keti and him. I was planning on having time to spend with her, begging her forgiveness and then trying to ease back into her life. But now how to do this, when she wouldn't even give me the time? I came all that way for my heart to get crushed and rendered, to be sacrificed at the hand of an Aztec, his hand holding my beating heart up to be eaten by the vulture's of evil gods, and my body to be borne to the bottom of the Mtkvari River, covered in mud and sludge, my bones resting at the bottoms on the top of the ancient dead.

But I can not get enough of Keti. Even if it means death. Even if it means I've turned into some weird obsessive freak. But isn't that why they call love?Each day passed, after that fateful day with Keti, like an eternity. Minutes ever expanding outward into eternities, like cosmic bubbles creating their own universes. My mind running in tracks, expanding out to every probability but focusing in on everything negative, afraid that if I expected something positive, my own once well protected heart would be crushed only again. She's trampled it enough already, why not another time? - I thought to myself.

As I was beginning to slowly remember the things I loved about Georgia – my friends and all the natural beauty of the landscapes, I tried to learn to relax. I went up to see an old Bolnisi friend who was now living in a tower in Saburtalo. “It will be all right,” he said. “It's so funny to see you so in love. That's what love does, Shawn. It drives people crazy.” He laughed as I sighed. I ignored his laugh and looked out across the view, at the huge church of the Trinity, glowing bright in it's night lights, and the overhead radio tower, flashing up in different color combinations.

“Whatever, man,” I told him. “I'm ruined. After all this time in my life of trying to be unaffected by love, it finally hits me when everything is absolutely in jeopardy. Wouldn't it have been easier just to move on? But I can't. I just can't. And now I'm here.”

I got an email from her. “Gocha! She agreed to talk!” I couldn't quit the smile from my face for the rest of the night.

Back in Lousiana at my uncle's house. The evenings we would retreat from the retirement home, retreat from the shallow breathing sound coming from my grandmother's throat, from the hum of the breathing machines. We met with other family members in the evening to eat crawfish or gumbo or whatever delicious piece of Acadian food could flow from the pots of my relatives – nobody ever made crawfish et touffee like my grandmother, but I knew she would like to know that her family was eating good. The spicy delicious foods were accompanied by titanic quantities of Busch Light beer, a beer that, even to get a buzz, you have to drink titanic quantities of. Soon the red crawfish shells lay empty on the table, covering the wet newspaper. Aunts and uncles reclined in lawn chairs, too stuffed to move. When the extended family finally disappeared, and only my cousin, her husband, my uncle and parents were left – with the sun gone, the light low, the mosquitoes flying in swarms over the porch lights and the booze finally taking affect – the real heart to hearts began.

“What are you doing?” my mom asked. “What are you doing in life? What do you want?”

“I want Keti,” I told her. “After seeing grandma, I can't think of anyone else but Keti.”

“Then what are you doing?” she asked again.

“She didn't come to me in December,” I said. “I wanted her to come to me in December.”

“She couldn't, it was because of her work.”

“But her work makes her miserable. And she wouldn't come for me. Then she said she'd never come for me.”

“Because she didn't want her heart broken again,” my mom said. “She didn't want you to use her as a fling.”

“I wouldn't have used her as a fling. I was thinking of marrying her then,” I said. I got up, my beer empty. “Another beer?”

“Sure,” she said.

I came back with two more blue cans of Busch Light beer and handing my mother one. “Then she said she'd never come to visit. I wanted to marry her, but she kept breaking my heart. Then when I thought I could financially make it feasible – because of the book deal – to go to Georgia and marry her and take care of her, she ended things altogether with me. She sent that text. She deleted me on Facebook and on skype. I was crushed. Torn apart.” I started to cry. “I can't stand the idea of never seeing her again.”

“Then go to her,” my mother said. Though she probably won't remember saying that, since the rest of our visit she was griping about me getting a job and I was replying to her that I couldn't get a job when I didn't know if I could get back with Keti or not and what did Keti want. “My priority in life now is Keti, mom. I have to plan everything around her.”

“She doesn't want me though. She proved that. She hates me.”

“She doesn't hate you. Keti loves you. She just doesn't want to be hurt again.”

“I would never hurt her again. I can't hurt her again. Hurting her is hurting myself. And I can't keep doing that either. You're right though, I have to go back to her. I'll never forgive myself. I have to see her again. Even if she hates me. I hurt her so much. But she doesn't know I hurt just as much. I have to see her just one last time. No, I have to see her always, I don't want it to be one last time. But what if it is?”

My mother took another sip of her drink. “She still loves you.”

I had become resolute. I would focus now on the trip. I wanted to surprise Keti, to just show up on her doorstep and say, “I was just nowhere near the neighborhood,” like that scene in the movie Singles. The girl instantly realizes that she needed the guy back and they just start immediately kissing. Of course, real life doesn't happen like that. Usually there are no instant realizations. Usually things take work and discussions and time, affection might grow and wane even if love is always there. I broke down though, I had to send her an email, telling her essentially, “I'm coming for you.” But being the blabbering fool that I am, especially when writing emails, I wrote about three long paragraphs that could have been easily paraphrased into those four words. What I got back made my heart leap, “I still love you and always will,” she wrote. But then, the ultimate drop, a rollercoaster, Texas Titan drop sending my stomach into my mouth: “But there's this other guy.”

I boarded the plane, knowing that there was this other guy. The same other guy who showed up fifteen minutes after I came to Keti's house on her invitation and who wouldn't even shake my hand. What did he know of Keti and her love? He couldn't know anything. Keti and I were meant to be, not Keti and him. I was planning on having time to spend with her, begging her forgiveness and then trying to ease back into her life. But now how to do this, when she wouldn't even give me the time? I came all that way for my heart to get crushed and rendered, to be sacrificed at the hand of an Aztec, his hand holding my beating heart up to be eaten by the vulture's of evil gods, and my body to be borne to the bottom of the Mtkvari River, covered in mud and sludge, my bones resting at the bottoms on the top of the ancient dead.

But I can not get enough of Keti. Even if it means death. Even if it means I've turned into some weird obsessive freak. But isn't that why they call love?

Each day passed, after that fateful day with Keti, like an eternity. Minutes ever expanding outward into eternities, like cosmic bubbles creating their own universes. My mind running in tracks, expanding out to every probability but focusing in on everything negative, afraid that if I expected something positive, my own once well protected heart would be crushed only again. She's trampled it enough already, why not another time? - I thought to myself.

As I was beginning to slowly remember the things I loved about Georgia – my friends and all the natural beauty of the landscapes, I tried to learn to relax. I went up to see an old Bolnisi friend who was now living in a tower in Saburtalo. “It will be all right,” he said. “It's so funny to see you so in love. That's what love does, Shawn. It drives people crazy.” He laughed as I sighed. I ignored his laugh and looked out across the view, at the huge church of the Trinity, glowing bright in it's night lights, and the overhead radio tower, flashing up in different color combinations.

“Whatever, man,” I told him. “I'm ruined. After all this time in my life of trying to be unaffected by love, it finally hits me when everything is absolutely in jeopardy. Wouldn't it have been easier just to move on? But I can't. I just can't. And now I'm here.”

I got an email from her. “Gocha! She agreed to talk!” I couldn't quit the smile from my face for the rest of the night.

Day five in Armenia started off with a teeny tiny kitty. Sam made fun of me for a while based on the way I acted, but look how cute this thing is. (He specifically referenced this comic in doing so.) Teeny tiny animals just aren’t fair and no one should be held responsible for the stupid things they say when confronted with a teeny tiny animal. Also, yes, this kitty was eating its breakfast from a plastic bag. No further comment.

While our guidebook had tempted us into taking some extra journeys by bus or taxi around the area of Dilijan to see Molokan villages or more churches or monasteries, the beautiful weather convinced us that a nice, relaxed, long walk was a better way to spend the day. We stocked up on some picnic supplies and walked 6 kilometers up to the ruins of an old church called Jukhtakvank. That one was a mouthful to get out as we asked locals if we were headed in the right direction, to be sure. As we got up to the ruins, we saw a sign informing us that we were at the beginning of a 4-5 kilometer nature trail through Dilijan National Park that would be well marked and take us past another really old ruined church.

We did find the ruins, despite the hard-to-say name

A map!

We could tell it would be way prettier in a few more weeks, when all the trees turned green, but the weather was just perfect

This was a very cool thing. There was a sign next to this that said it was a nature bed, and inviting us to just stretch out and really let nature sink in, to listen to the birds, to look up at the sky, and to smell the smells. All parks need this!

Pretty sky

We picnicked at this nice shaded table, looking out at the valley below

There was just this one questionable crossing point

The final ruined church at the end of the hiking trail

Boy was the walk the right call. We hiked our way along, constantly remarking at our luck on the weather. It was gorgeous out. Our long hike left us happily tired and we made it into Dilijan just before dinnertime. We ambled along through the remnants of a kids park/fair/amusement park and up to the rather impressive and cool World War Two monument. After thoroughly wearing ourselves out, we headed to a nice Armenian restaurant in the newly restored old town and sat out on the balcony watching the sun set.

World War Two monument in Dilijan

Broken down kiddie coaster

Another view of Dilijan

The restored old town

Another look, restored old town in Dilijan

The next morning we got up early to start our massive commute back to Akhalkalaki. We took a rickety old bus that somehow managed to get started and move to a neighboring town (40 kilometers in 60 minutes), where we managed to smell out the lies of the taxi drivers (there aren’t any buses going to Gyumri! You’ll have to take a taxi! My taxi!) and find a bus going to Gyumri, where we just had enough time to eat some lunch before hopping on our minibus back across the border.

Inside bus number one... it was a close one, but we made it!

In all, it was a fantastic trip (as my obsession with posting way too many blog posts about it probably shows), but it was again especially rewarding to get a chance to really speak a lot of Armenian and feel like we’ve accomplished some language learning here. We don’t really get too much of a chance to speak Armenian in Akhalkalaki (or rather, I don’t; I guess Sam does at school). People know we know Russian way better than we know Armenian, and it’s asking a lot to have the patience to listen to us figure out what we want to say, when we can say it without thinking in Russian. Also, in a completely un-Peace-Corps twist on things, we really still have a hard time speaking the local dialect of Armenian and are way more comfortable with the standard literary language. It means that even though we spent a lot of time and frustration in studying a language, I often feel like I don’t know anything in it and get really down about things. Traveling to Armenia (where most people tend to speak a language way closer to what we studied) helped me feel a lot better about things. So in addition to just having a great time, it was a feel-good experience that made things overall better. Oh yeah, and Sam ate a soft pretzel.

On our fourth day in Armenia, we headed a bit further afield. We left Yerevan for Dilijan, a pretty little town nestled in the hills and mountains and boasting more forest coverage than most of the rest of the country. After arriving in Dilijan and chatting with our very nice guesthouse owner, Nina, we took a taxi ride to see two old Armenian monasteries. First stop was at Goshavank, a very pretty old rambling complex of churches and a library. There were some extremely delicately carved, intricate khachkars there, probably the prettiest we’ve seen. In a funny bit of it’s-a-small-world-ism, we ran into two other Georgia PCVs who were also vacationing in Armenia for spring break. (It was our second unexpected run-in, actually; in Yerevan we randomly crossed paths with our host mom’s sister, who came into town for two days to do some shopping.) We had a good time talking until their tour bus driver started honking for them and they had to run off.

Goshavank

Really impressive khachkar

Thanks to our fellow PCVs for this pic!

Spring was already on its way...

So we did some good ol' fashioned sittin' and enjoyin'

The second monastery on the list of must-sees in Dilijan was Haghartsin, a beautifully sited place. It was an interesting church-monastery complex to see. It was obviously very old, and rich with history, but it was also very much a currently in use church, which meant that it had been renovated to keep it usable. Of the two, I was more impressed by the look of Goshavank and the surroundings of Haghartsin.

Haghartsin

Inside the monk's refectory

Not quite as impressive a khachkar as at Goshavank, but still pretty cool

There were lots of ruins all around

Lots of archaeology!

Back in Dilijan

We came back into the main part of Dilijan and wandered around the town a little before heading back to our guesthouse for dinner. We sat and talked for a while with the other guests, Erfan from Iran, traveling with his girlfriend Nora and her mother. Erfan, it seems, is a big traveler, working as a travel agent and tour leader. But his real thing is mountain climbing, so he showed us pictures of some of his crazier travels and we really had a great time talking and sharing stories. It turned out that his love for adventure tourism is something he wanted to share, and had convinced his girlfriend and her mother to do their big trip across the Caucasus by hitchhiking. Nora’s mother seemed remarkably good humored about the whole experience, although her first question to Sam and me was “Are you traveling by hitchhiking too, or do you travel like human beings?”

Nina (the guesthouse owner) had hosted Erfan on a previous trip to Armenia and his extremely effusive personality made him a big hit with her, so for our group dinner she had planned lots of special foods. Nora’s mother cooked an Iranian stew dish, Nina’s husband Misha made chicken horovats on their special indoor fireplace-grill, there were lots of salads and trimmings and homemade oghi for toasting guests and hosts alike. Sam and I were tasked with lots of translating, but really enjoyed it. We joked that we had a mini-UN going on at our dinner feast. Nina and Misha and their family members would say toasts or make comments or ask questions in Armenian (and sometimes Russian), we’d translate it to English and Erfan would translate into Persian for his girlfriend’s mother.

Getting ready for some feasting

Chicken horovats... mmmmm

Our mini-UN

Turns out that the day we chose for our trip and meeting all these great new people was also Efren’s 33rd birthday. Nora surprised him with a big cake, complete with giant roman candles burning on top. It was such a nice, unexpected part of our trip. Our bellies overfull with delicious food and our cheeks sore from smiling and laughing, we headed to bed.

Happy birthday, Erfan!

Growing up travelling all the time, one would think I would have the packing thing down by now. I do, to some extent, but the problem is that I love fashion and trying new and different outfits. This generally leads to overpacking as I throw in items that I think I may wear, but don’t … Continue reading »

We’ve got a pretty good thing going here in Akhaltsikhe.  Last spring, Sean and I went from being pretty much …Continue reading »

There's nothing like getting out of a rut of self-loathing like meeting a complete bad ass. While busy trying to get over the failure of my initial meeting with Keti, I spent the weeking in Sighnaghi and my friend Andrew's hostel – Hostel Tura. Sighnaghi is one of the main tourist towns in Georgia, recently renovated to some attempt to look like it did a hundred years ago, with cobblestone streets and red tiled rooftops. Hostel Tura is isolated on a mountaintop, with forests surrounding his yard and only a few other houses littering the string of summits. From his house, you can see the massive, rocky wall of the Greater Caucasus, along with the other surrounding tree capped ridges. Sighnaghi itself is about a 20 minute walk downhill, so though it's not overly far, the hostel keeps a good since of isolation and quiet. I spent my days with my beer in hand and practicing accordion, while the evenings we often had guests over from the city, mostly other volunteers who were at a training in the town.

We were having some trouble with the water for the few days I was there. The water line had broken, so we were waiting to have someone to fix it. In the meantime, it meant we had to find drinking water. We drove down to a place near Bodbe's Monastery – a place where St. Nino, the woman who brought Christianity to Georgia, had found water just as she was about to die of thirst. Now a place renown for its holy water, we drove past that, weary about how holy water might react on our stomachs. We continued on into the forest and hiked down a short path to a stream, where we filled up several twenty gallons of water and brought it back up the hill. After that, we decided to spend some more time drinking on the patio.

That's when we met the Lone Wolf. A Georgian with a huge staff came into the yard, asking for the owner of the house. “That's me,” Andrew responded in Georgia. The man, who had white hair and a white beard and wore somewhat loose clothing, went on to explain how he had just moved in and was wanting to meet his neighbors. Also, his place had no water or gas, so he was wondering if he could use the same lines. Andrew told him it'd be no problem and the Lone Wolf explained that he could deal with any problems brought up by the local government – if any additional permits needed to be filed or what not.

We talked a bit about the Lone Wolf's history, being the friendly neighbors that we were, and I suppose since he knew there was going to be a language barrier, he had brought some photographs. Most of the photographs were of him in a Spetznatz outfit, training other troops. “That's me in Afghanistan, in Kosovo, in Moscow, with President Saakashvili,” he said as he pointed to the different photos of him with giant heaving muscles. I looked again at how his loose clothing set on his shoulders and realized he still was a man of huge stature, despite his height. This was when we discovered his name: Vaja, the Lone Wolf.

“Do you want a drink?” I said, pointing at the beer on the table.

“No thank you,” he said, “I don't drink or smoke. I try to stay healthy. Listen guys, I'm setting up a badminton court and once I get it done, you should come over and play.”

“Awesome.”

The next day, while we were out eating, we ran into the Lone Wolf again. He came by for another visit, this time just to chat. He had for some reason come with his nunchucks, two pieces of polished wood connected by a steel chain. We never got an explanation as to why he was just walking around in the forest with a pair of nunchucks, but I assumed it was just in case he ran into a dog or a bear and needed to pull out some whoopass. He leaned back, eyes behing black sunglasses, his blue jean shirt open to reveal a tight black shirt. He seemed to be enjoying the time he spent with this motley crew of foreigners that were eating outside, occasionally regaling us with a tale of how he could snatch a fly off of someone's head without touching a hair. These short visits with the Lone Wolf made me want to get back on my feet again, cut back on the drinking again and figure out the next step of what to do.

There's nothing like getting out of a rut of self-loathing like meeting a complete bad ass. While busy trying to get over the failure of my initial meeting with Keti, I spent the weeking in Sighnaghi and my friend Andrew's hostel – Hostel Tura. Sighnaghi is one of the main tourist towns in Georgia, recently renovated to some attempt to look like it did a hundred years ago, with cobblestone streets and red tiled rooftops. Hostel Tura is isolated on a mountaintop, with forests surrounding his yard and only a few other houses littering the string of summits. From his house, you can see the massive, rocky wall of the Greater Caucasus, along with the other surrounding tree capped ridges. Sighnaghi itself is about a 20 minute walk downhill, so though it's not overly far, the hostel keeps a good since of isolation and quiet. I spent my days with my beer in hand and practicing accordion, while the evenings we often had guests over from the city, mostly other volunteers who were at a training in the town.

We were having some trouble with the water for the few days I was there. The water line had broken, so we were waiting to have someone to fix it. In the meantime, it meant we had to find drinking water. We drove down to a place near Bodbe's Monastery – a place where St. Nino, the woman who brought Christianity to Georgia, had found water just as she was about to die of thirst. Now a place renown for its holy water, we drove past that, weary about how holy water might react on our stomachs. We continued on into the forest and hiked down a short path to a stream, where we filled up several twenty gallons of water and brought it back up the hill. After that, we decided to spend some more time drinking on the patio.

That's when we met the Lone Wolf. A Georgian with a huge staff came into the yard, asking for the owner of the house. “That's me,” Andrew responded in Georgia. The man, who had white hair and a white beard and wore somewhat loose clothing, went on to explain how he had just moved in and was wanting to meet his neighbors. Also, his place had no water or gas, so he was wondering if he could use the same lines. Andrew told him it'd be no problem and the Lone Wolf explained that he could deal with any problems brought up by the local government – if any additional permits needed to be filed or what not.

We talked a bit about the Lone Wolf's history, being the friendly neighbors that we were, and I suppose since he knew there was going to be a language barrier, he had brought some photographs. Most of the photographs were of him in a Spetznatz outfit, training other troops. “That's me in Afghanistan, in Kosovo, in Moscow, with President Saakashvili,” he said as he pointed to the different photos of him with giant heaving muscles. I looked again at how his loose clothing set on his shoulders and realized he still was a man of huge stature, despite his height. This was when we discovered his name: Vaja, the Lone Wolf.

“Do you want a drink?” I said, pointing at the beer on the table.

“No thank you,” he said, “I don't drink or smoke. I try to stay healthy. Listen guys, I'm setting up a badminton court and once I get it done, you should come over and play.”

“Awesome.”

The next day, while we were out eating, we ran into the Lone Wolf again. He came by for another visit, this time just to chat. He had for some reason come with his nunchucks, two pieces of polished wood connected by a steel chain. We never got an explanation as to why he was just walking around in the forest with a pair of nunchucks, but I assumed it was just in case he ran into a dog or a bear and needed to pull out some whoopass. He leaned back, eyes behing black sunglasses, his blue jean shirt open to reveal a tight black shirt. He seemed to be enjoying the time he spent with this motley crew of foreigners that were eating outside, occasionally regaling us with a tale of how he could snatch a fly off of someone's head without touching a hair. These short visits with the Lone Wolf made me want to get back on my feet again, cut back on the drinking again and figure out the next step of what to do.

After spending the fall climbing the Great Wall, swimming in Halong Bay, watching the sunrise at Angkor Wat, washing elephants in the river, going on more harrowing bike rides on dirt roads than I would like to remember, feeding quokkas, and seeing the Sydney Harbour Bridge once again, life has been nothing out of the … Continue reading »

After two months of traveling, our journey is finally drawing to a close. We’ve had a great last few days in Sydney taking in the city sites and hanging out in the northern suburbs. On Wednesday we went into the city and began our day at Darling Harbour, the city’s newest harbor. From there, we … Continue reading »

On Saturday, Stacy and I left Perth and flew to one of my favorite cities: Sydney. I only left about two years ago after studying here for five months and it feels good to be back again. We’re staying with my family friends, the Lorgians, and like Perth, it’s nice to be in a home … Continue reading »

Today we had a big day out for our last full day on the west coast. Stacy and I went along with Lorraine (our host) and a group of her friends to Swan Valley, the winery area in Perth. Lorraine’s dad has a driving service, so we even toured the valley in style– in an … Continue reading »

Today we ventured to Rottnest Island, a popular day-trip and short vacation island for the people of Perth. We drove to Fremantle early this morning and then took the Mega Blast boat, which was basically like a speed boat, to Rotto in 30 minutes. The highlight of the ride was seeing dolphins as we left … Continue reading »

Hello from Oz! After almost two months of eating rice and noodles, treating toilet paper as a luxury, and getting eaten alive by mosquitos all over Asia, it’s nice to be back in a “western” country. Stacy and I arrived in Perth late Monday night and were picked up by our gracious host, Lorraine, Stacy’s … Continue reading »