As usual, I have struggled to find the time to keep this blog updated. Therefore, I will bring it to a close with this post.

First, the name of the blog is no longer apropos. I am no longer in Georgia, although I would love to return. It was the most interesting time of my life, full of fantastic times and stories and even better friends.

It's been a tough year and a half for Georgia since I left, and this fills me with sadness. Not only for the people there whom I miss, but also for the country, which deserves better, and its future, which shines less brightly now. But more than that, I feel sadness for the changes that have taken place in the global attitude. The invasion forced a change in perspective in viewing the post-Soviet space, and for this the world (and not just the world allied with the USA/EU) is worse off.

I remember leaving Georgia in the morning and taking the long bus ride to Istanbul. I arrived there a day later and my friend Cuttino met me for a meal. He mentioned the war and I was dumbfounded. Had it not been for the detail he provided, I wouldn't have believed him. I was just there, 24 hours ago, and there had been peace. And my first instinct was to get back on a bus and go back to help. Not to fight, obviously, but to try and assist those who were losing everything during that horrid time. I still think about my decision not to go back, but that's another topic for another time.

The next few days I was glued to the news, like I never had been before. As the disparity in forces became evident, and Georgia's fate sealed, I was dumbstruck. I would sit there, staring at the words but not reading them, wondering if it was really real. How could the images on tv, of the place I had just left, be true?

I always smile to myself when I look at someone else's photos of Georgia because I can usually recognize from the photo the exact spot where they were standing. I guess it's like being able to walk around your house in the dark – it's just so familiar. And I knew where the cameras were perched, too, as they captured the tanks going by and the bombs blasting. The tanks were rolling past the countryside that I had rolled past so often, gazing out the window of the marshutka at the land that Georgians say god had reserved for himself. To know something that well, and then see it invaded... - - -

The other reason I mention moving on is because I'm starting a new adventure soon. Next week I will (finally!) begin work for the State Dept., at the Consulate in Monterrey, Mexico. To be sure, Georgia has set a high standard, but I still think I will enjoy myself. I've been itching to get abroad again, and the opportunity has finally arrived.

Despite numerous requests, I haven't decided yet whether or not I will keep a blog for my time in Monterrey. I realize the advantages, but there are also many differences between Monterrey and Gonio. The most obvious is that, as a State Dept. employee, I am more in the public eye than a Peace Corps volunteer. This is both good and bad, of course. But, on balance, it's a disincentive for blogging. On the other hand, though, getting to know a country from the level of its citizens, like I did in the Peace Corps, is one of the fundamental reasons that I joined the State Department. And blogging allows me to really pursue that side of living abroad with more curiosity and vigor. Getting caught up in the diplo-bubble is something I fear, as I know it's not the lifestyle I would find most enjoyable. - - -

To bring this back to where I started – don't all stories seem to end that way? – I know I'll never really be able to move on from Georgia. Some cynical people say that you never forget and will always think highly of your first second-home – the first place you live abroad – just because it was the first. There might be a little bit to this, but I will dismiss it anyway and hope it's something more. Not because I really loved it there the majority of the time or because I chose to put on the rose-colored glasses when I loved it a bit less (although both of those are true), but because adopting cynicism displaces you from the moment – and what is our memory but for a collection of moments? Having pleasant and vivid memories is not something that should make you want to move on, but rather want to move again. And, with fortune, I'm moving again.

Sorry to have delayed so long in updating about such a sad, sad situation. As you have undoubtedly heard by now, the Georgia/South Ossetia conflict escalated to proportions that I (and many others) did not fathom possible. The escalation of the conflict into normal Georgian territory has brought countless harms to Georgia's infrastructure, economy, and - most imoportantly - people. I have a shred of good news, though. I have finally gotten in touch with my friends and old host family near Gori, which was the center of the Russian occupation, and they are all unharmed and have moved back into their houses. Contrary to news reports that I had read, they told me that Russian troops did not enter the village of Sveneti, where they live.

They also said that many of the news reports about pillaging and revenge crimes were true. They did not know exactly who was perpetrating them, although news reports have blamed Russians, Ossetians, and hired mercenaries from Chechnya and other regions. I have thought about this post for some time but still cannot find the words to express my disappointment and sadness regarding this development.

And, as I am now a private citizen and no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer (unfortunately, the program in Georgia has been shut down due to the conflict, shortly after I finished my service...) I can express my anger towards Russia in this medium. The child-like nature of Russia's actions have caused substantial, tangible harms to real lives - they are not the abstractions that Russia portrays them to be in the international diplomacy forum. In addition, bombing Georgia's railways, airports, seaports, roadways, and national parks (!) has pushed Georgia back countless years in terms of development. It is despicable that Russia sees the strangulation of Georgia as in its national interest.

But where to go from here? The West can and must take a stronger role in defending Georgia. Georgia's development is worth defending. The economic growth and democratic progress are, as it stands now, completely beholden to Russia's whim, and it has been made obvious what Russia's intentions are. The tragedy and fallout are still unfolding as the wounds Georgia has suffered are slowly emerging.

If you want to help Georgia's rebuilding effort, there are multiple ways to do so. Perhaps the easiest is by going here. This was created by several Georgia Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, and provides information on many different agencies that are involved in the humanitarian effort that is underway in Georgia.

Like Cuttino, I have apparently been too busy to update my blog. But, I am no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer, and I left Georgia the night that the fightıng began. There, now you are caught up.

But, before I left Georgia, I went to the remote and mountainous region of Svaneti. Here are some photos.

The church is aflame during a festival ceremony.

One of the ubiquitous Svan towers.

Our mode of transport to Ushguli.

A view from our trip on mountain bikes.

Ushguli, the highest continuously inhabited place ıin Europe.

An old man celebrates at a festival in Ushguli.

The festival in Ushguli.

More from the festival.

Some other people with too much time on their hands are writing posts about Tom Schreiber, one of our colleagues in Peace Corps Georgia. To aid in your Tom Schreiber education, you can view Jen's article about Tom Schreiber and Ryan's article about Tom Schreiber. But I am above doing that. Sure, I appreciate Tom Schreiber as much as everyone else, probably just slightly more than everyone else...with the possible exception of the wife of Tom Schreiber. But, some people have taken their adoration too far. For example, if you type "Tom Schreiber" into google, you come up with other people's blog entries about Tom Schreiber before you come to Tom Schreiber's blog about Tom Schreiber. I am not into that kind of frivolous thing. Instead, I just want to say that Tom Schreiber's blog about Tom Schreiber should be read at every opportunity. But no more often than mine. Tom Schreiber and I can both track this - the internet is more powerful than you think!

So, enough about Tom Schreiber. And not enough about...not Tom Schreiber!

I've been meaning to write for a while now about how thrilled I am that you can buy nearly anything in Georgia singularly. Now, this might seem to be something very trivial, but few people are more frugal than Peace Corps Volunteers. I reached the pinaccle of purchasing twice - both this month and last. My shoes are...well-worn. Finally, as you might expect, a shoelace broke. I cringed when it happened. I definately did not want to buy two shoelaces. Selling shoelaces only in pairs is one of the sillier things about America, if you ask me (and many people do). So, I proceeded to the bazaar, wearing one shoe with half of a shoelace, grinning hopefully. This day was unusual because - as it turned out - I wasn't just grinning stupidly for no reason. For on this day I found the object of my affection - a solitary shoelace. I found the shoelace seller and plucked a single lace from his line. It was even a better color than the original shoelace. I was in capitalist heaven.

In America, my purchase would have produced waste. I did not need two shoelaces. I've never met anyone who broke two shoelaces at the same time. And, in Georgia, the shoelace sellers realize this!

The next month, my other shoelace (at long last) broke as well. So, I proceeded to the exact same man and, smiling knowingly, purchased another single shoelace to complete the pair. The perfect solution! Yes, this could have been accomplished by purchasing both shoelaces at the same time, but who was I to say that my other shoelace would also break!? And maybe some people will stare at me questioningly regarding how happy I was to purchase two identical solitary shoelaces. But really, your life is less rich if you can't take pleasure in buying your shoelaces individually, and in appreciating the country that makes this small feat possible. America has many nice features, but it doesn't have this! And it should.

I have decided to start a contest…you have two weeks to submit questions (about Georgia, the Peace Corps, my time here, etc.) to my email (link at left) and I will answer the most interesting one here, on my blog. In addition to being mentioned by name and hometown (unless you instruct me otherwise) on my blog, which is read by at least 3 people – you and my parents – the winner receives an inconceivably interesting photo gallery of Georgia delivered expressly to their email inbox. So think long and hard and creatively! Fame and immortality await…

As many of you may know, I have campaigned passive-aggressively against bottled water for years. And, I am pleased to learn, my efforts have finally paid off! To celebrate the new year, my hometown of Chicago has imposed a new 5 cent tax on all bottles of bottled water to discourage their use. The main rationale isn’t that bottled water is silly (although it is – Chicago’s tap water is exceedingly healthy), but rather that it causes much environmental and economic waste. The bottles are often left on the ground, not reused, or discarded in the garbage despite being recyclable. Like the London tax on driving in the city center, this new legislation should be publicized at every opportunity. However, unlike the London initiative, I doubt that Chicago’s effort will be successful. It is already silly to pay a dollar or more to purchase something that you can get elsewhere (like your tap or the water fountain) for free or nearly free. Adding a meager 5 cents to the cost is unlikely to do anything to curb consumption. But, this is an important first step. Chicago: Bravo!

The newest sin tax.Exchange rate notes: When I arrived in Georgia in June 2006, 1.82 Georgian lari were required to obtain 1.00 American dollars. Now, in January 2008, you can buy 1.00 American dollars for the low low price of 1.58 lari. In terms of US dollars, I get paid more and more every day, which is quite nice. Additionally, due mainly to my absence from the economy, the Canadian dollar surged ahead of the U.S. dollar. I find this mildly amusing. Are people in America at all concerned about this?

In another side note, when I checked my gmail account today, the ad that appeared at the top of the screen advised me to immigrate to Canada. This might seem simply accidental and strange, until you consider that google has some of the most advanced and specific ad-placing software around. They likely know things about me (and you!) that they have no business knowing. So why are they suggesting that I move to Canada? I for one have no idea. I receive many emails from official .gov addresses – which google should realize, since it handles my email – so it should be obvious that, at the very least, I am well-connected with my current government. Additionally, google recently partnered with blogger, the site where I publish my blog entries, and so I’m sure that google is also aware of my blog chronicling my Peace Corps experience. Perhaps google is making value judgments here – it can likely surmise that I was previously living in America, am currently living in Georgia, and is proposing Canada as a sort of middle ground.

I often wonder if the internet is becoming too smart for us – or at least too smart for me. I think that there comes a point in each person’s life when they reach their technological threshold. At some point, nearly everyone becomes so overwhelmed by new technologies that they simply do not understand new technologies anymore. They either do not use these new, magical technologies, or they use them very reluctantly and with low levels of competency.

A strange thing to note is that technological prowess seems not to decline over time. If I know how to program my VCR, I will likely always know how to program that same VCR, barring severe senility or other mental disease. People are less able to perform physical functions as they age – sportsmen slow and retire, bending over is more painful and time-consuming than it used to be, some people require the aid of a cane to maneuver bipedally – but the technological portion of the mind does not seem to slow down in such a visible manner. It does seem to have a maximum capacity, however.

This phenomenon has a long history. It began as fear of new technology. For example, when railroad technology was advancing rapidly in the 19th century and railroads became more and more accessible to the public, many were afraid to ride them. They feared that traveling at such speeds (faster than a man on horseback) would cause damage to the internal organs. It was mainly the young that began using railroads, and eventually fears about them diminished. The young, who had not reached their capacity to welcome new technologies, embraced railroads and the old, who had reached their capacity, were afraid and reluctant.

A contemporary example exists here in Georgia. Cell phones are all the rage – nearly everyone has one. Yet people use these phones in different ways. The young use their phones for a plethora of activities – playing music and games, sending messages to friends, taking photos, transferring files, and even talking on them. The middle-aged, who were acquainted with land-line phones, use them nearly exclusively for talking, and the old generally do not use them. The old are aware of cell phones and, when handed a phone that has been dialed, can speak to the person on the other end. But, they are generally unwilling or unable to initiate this action without help – even though they can do exactly the same thing on a land-line phone independently.

So why do I bring this up? I fear that I am reaching my technological threshold. I fear that, when I return to America, there will be several new technologies – too many new technologies – for me to absorb. Blackberries and podcasts existed before I left, but as a poor college student without an ipod, I never absorbed these technologies. Couple that with all the new things that have appeared since I left – iphones and whatever else – and I may be overwhelmed and incapable of adapting to all of them. By not needing or really even wanting any of these technologies while in Georgia, I fear that I may have lowered my threshold. At least, though, I will only become technologically dumber in relative terms, and not in absolute terms.

One note about Georgian cell phones – they are ridiculously fancy. My Nokia 1100 scrapes the bottom of the barrel. Perhaps my growing fear of new technology is one of the reasons that I love it so. But, for all their technological modernity, Georgian cell phones universally lack voicemail. While I have no idea why this is so, it may explain why a few of my not-so-favorite students find it prudent to answer their phones during my class.

My school recently executed its first English-language Christmas party. My students sang songs, recited poems, told jokes, and described Christmas traditions in both America and Georgia. I think everyone had a good time. Here are some photos of the event.

Vazha dons the ugliest Santa mask I have ever seen (let alone purchased).

We even teach shapes and colors!

The singers.

The students wish all of you a happy holiday season.

The author - looking festive, as always.Even more excitingly (at least for me), was meeting with several intrepid students on the first day of winter vacation. They gathered with me in my classroom to make Christmas cards, take some Christmas candies, and receive free of charge the most sought-after gift of this holiday season - the Happy Holidays Verb Packet!

My intrepid students and me.

My students browse our English library (thanks to all of you who have sent books) for some holiday reading.

Nino and Vazha, my favorite 8th graders. If your monitor has extraordinary resolution capabilities, you can even see part of "happy new year" written on the board, as well as our classroom rules. Although you might claim to be uninterested, I can see you squinting!Happy Holidays!Tim

As I now have a camera cord, I can more easily post pictures for your viewing. Enjoy. It had been a while since I'd seen a one-horse open sleigh.Taken only 4 days ago! It's like yesterday!

David sleds uphill with assistance from the rope-pull.

Primed to cascade down the hill dangerously.

Evidence that I did, at least, put on ski boots in the vicinity of other skiers.

A Georgian wedding. (from August)

How I don't get around.

A Georgian man decanting his homemade wine into the Fanta bottle for my purchase in his cellar.

A garage full of mandarins in my village.

The crates the mandarins would eventually fill.

A friend and I recently spent far too long on a bus and got to talking about McDonalds and Ferris wheels. After exhaustive research that challenged my counting skills, we concluded that Georgia has 4 Ferris wheels and 2 McDonaldses. We expended considerable mental energy again before arriving at the postulate that, of all the countries that contain at least one Ferris wheel and at least one McDonalds, Georgia is the only country to contain more Ferris wheels than McDonaldses. I strongly believe this to be true, and will go around asserting it as fact until it is proven otherwise. McDonalds, however, is not pleased. There are rumors that they are building a third franchise in Georgia. Mr Ferris and his descendants seem unfazed, and are holding steady at 4. Finally, I want to point out that Ferris wheel translates to "devil's wheel" in Georgian. God only knows why.

I have moved into a separate living space. Generally this is called an apartment, but in my case this is not actually true. I now live on the second floor of a house. The second floor of this house is located above the first floor, a 4 minute walk from my school, and a similar walk to the village's ancient Roman fortress. It is nice to avoid walking up and down the mountain daily, as the newer, more central location allows for increased interaction with my students. the place has a bathroom with shower (shower used loosely but affectionately, there is a showerhead but nowhere to affix it to on the wall, so you must hold it above your head yourself) and occasional hot water (when the electricity isn't out and when you think enough ahead to turn the water heater on), a bedroom, and a kitchen with washing machine. The part that I'm most excited about and scared of is the kitchen.

As you might know, if you have had the unpleasant experience of watching me "cook," I am not talented with the frying pan (or most other kitchen implements, for that matter...I can, however, do mean bar-tricks with a blender, owing to my days working at the ice cream shop). To me, cooking consists of two parts - theory and practice. In practice, I cannot cook well. I couldn't quite execute the right concentrated-tomato-sauce to water ratio the other day, despite reading on the jar that it should be 1:1 . I also recently discovered that, in theory, I cannot cook well. For example, the same day, I surmised that garlic bread would go well with my spaghetti. I went to the store, bought garlic and bread, and put them together. But garlic + bread ≠ garlic bread. The problem here wasn't my execution (although maybe that was poor, too), but it was my theory. This needs to improve.

I realize that I haven't written much recently about my work. There are a few reasons for this. First, as you all know, I am saving the world. This has been somewhat successful, but it's not finished yet. When compared to this rather ambitious goal, the rest of my smaller projects seem somewhat...less important by comparison. Second, and perhaps I am wrong about this, I feel that my work-related successes and/or failures here don't particularly translate well to an internet audience because you (the audience) can't really know the starting point. For that matter, I have a tough time determining the starting point myself. It is sometimes hard to tell where or when my influence began and where or when it stops. And finally, when I talk about my work, I like to go into a lot of detail, much of which is quite boring. But I do talk about it with some of you via email or other means. That said, I feel that it is about time that I provide an update about what I've actually been doing here as part of my job.

The textbook I am co-writing is nearly finished, it is in the translating phase now. Additionally, several Volunteers from the newer group (arrived June 2007) have expressed interest in working on this project, so the chances of it becoming sustainable have increased.

Actually, I think this is getting boring already. But anyway, I shall press on. I am teaching at the Constitutional Court, which is really cool. I get to walk up a carpeted staircase in the Court building whenever I teach, which makes me feel more important than I am.

Also, my primary project, teaching in my village, is going much better than it did last year. Homework completion is up by about 30%, the children are learning, and, just as importantly, they are gaining confidence. To some of my students, English is no longer what you speak when someone asks you a question in English - instead it's a living language that can be used to communicate with foreigners, get a good job, study abroad, improve self-esteem, do any number of things. The initiate conversations with strangers/tourists in English. This is the most fulfilling part for me.

The holiday season is in full swing. I nearly forgot about Thanksgiving, not remembering it until around 8pm. I then realized that I had celebrated by eating a hamburger. Close enough. There are many more public Christmas decorations on display in Georgia this year. I don't know what to make of this. I remember remarking on how different it was last year to be away from all the decorations and commercialization and everything. I still don't know if this was good or bad. In either case, this year is not the same.

Happy Holidays.

Tim

I think there are four kinds of people who visit my blog – people who are interested in Georgia, people who are interested in the Peace Corps/Volunteerism, people who find me to be a particularly fascinating individual, and people who were misdirected here while looking for something else. If you belong any of the first three groups, I should tell you that some very important and captivating things have been happening in Georgia that will have a large impact not only on Georgia but on the rest of the post-Soviet space. And I, of course, was here to witness it all. If you would like to know the impressions and interpretations of someone who is living and working in Georgia (specifically, me) during these most interesting of times – tear gas, riot police, elections, and rumors, oh my! – send me an email (link at left) and I will happily provide them to you. If you are fortunate enough to be on the list of people I irregularly correspond with via my listserv, you will get these thoughts – solicited or otherwise. But, as I currently don’t know anyone in Africa, Argentina, or Australia – and yet these locations appear on my ClustrMap – I think some unknown interlopers have arrived to my blog. If “unknown interloper” describes you, feel free to send me an email requesting my thoughts or commenting about my blog. And finally, a big and heartfelt thanks to you, unknown reader.

Now, back to what I was originally going to write about.

I don’t crave McDonalds. I never have, and hopefully I never will. Of course, when I lived in America, I enjoyed the conveniences that it offered. I possess the cooking skills of a broken toaster, so the thought of someone else broiling my patties always appeals to me. Additionally, I could glean those precious few nutrients from McDonalds at any hour, which fit well with my young-person’s lifestyle. Of course, McDonalds didn’t really stay for long within my digestive tract, which was perfectly fine with me. Garbage in, garbage out – and preferably as soon as possible. But, aside from as a hunger satiation station with low-yet-still-too-high prices, I never thought too deeply about McDonalds. I don’t know why this was. I detested Starbucks and Walmart, although for different reasons, but McDonalds passed through my ideological filters unscathed – or maybe just unnoticed. But recently, McDonalds has been on my mind more and more.

McDonalds is in Georgia. There are two franchises in Tbilisi. And I even have eaten there. It was exactly (exactly!) the same as in America. I know I shouldn’t have been surprised by this – the reason McDonalds is so successful and ubiquitous is because it streamlined and homogenized the process of making a hamburger so that it tastes the same in Chicago and Colorado and China, after all – but I was. How do they do this? I wouldn’t be surprised if they made the burgers and fries in America, froze them, and flew them to Georgia to be reheated. Obviously, though, this isn’t how it works. But you’d think that the beef or the bun or the sauce or something would taste at least marginally different, would remind you that you are not, in fact, at home. But there isn’t. And this wasn’t the only thing that was exactly the same. I could get the funny salads, the weird parfaits (what exactly is a parfait, anyway?), and the happy meal with a toy – and it was just as expensive as in America. This part really threw me. I could understand if prices were much cheaper or much more expensive – either you can find the products locally (much cheaper, as Georgian prices are not American prices) or you have to import them from another place (much more expensive, because if Georgia doesn’t have it, Armenia and Azerbaijan likely don’t have it either) – but I cannot fathom how the prices are almost exactly the same. It was as if someone went to a McDonalds in my hometown, multiplied the price by the lari-dollar exchange rate (1 dollar = ~1.60 lari), and put these prices in the Tbilisi McDonalds. I’m guessing that the Tbilisi McDonalds is operating at a profit margin unheard of at American McDonaldses. And nobody seems to mind this at all.

While outwardly appearing the same, however, there are distinct differences between the McDonalds experience in America and the McDonalds experience in Georgia. They are differences that only an American or someone who has been to America would notice, I think. Like movies and music, McDonalds is an insight into American culture. And, just like music and movies, it provides a view that isn’t exactly wrong, but isn’t exactly right, either. And it is in this respect that I think the experiences differ. To most of the rest of the world, McDonalds is, more than anything else, a symbol of wealth, speed, and efficiency – qualities more associated with America than with anywhere else. And, of course, McDonalds is a distinctly American creation. But the cultural impact and symbolism of McDonalds in the USA now is much different. It’s not a highly desired dining option. It is convenient and unhealthy, of course, but that does not make it one's first choice for a meal prepared by a professional food preparer.

That is not really true in Georgia. McDonalds is not just a place to dine, it is a means of expressing yourself socially and politically. It is not the McDonalds we know in the USA, even though it has the same taste and the same prices. It is a desired destination for food and a place to see and be seen. Georgian hipsters regularly hang out around the McDonalds at night.

In the end I think this is a good thing. I think it improves America's image abroad and lets us know that we still have friends and admirers. But, when a country is inundated with McDonalds, this appeal will fade. The view abroad will begin to converge with the view in America. Of course, eventually, Georgia will obtain a third McDonalds, and then a fourth, and so on. Who knows where it will stop. But hopefully it will. I'm glad that Georgia has McDonalds, but I don't think it would be good for Georgia to become Fast Food Nation. The one McDonalds in Tbilisi that I've been to does not have a drive-thru. It currently has a walk-thru express window. Here's hoping it stays that way.

I had the great pleasure of talking with some of my (still living in America) friends on my cell phone last week. During the course of our conversation, as we discussed my imminent move to an apartment, my friend said "Why Tim, I thought you had become a minimalist!" Later, after our phone call had finished, my mind returned to his remark. My first thought was "Oooo, a minimalist, how exciting and exotic!" This seemed like the kind of personal change and growth that one expects to receive from the Peace Corps - an entirely new way of viewing life. It is certainly more appealing than increased chest hair.

But am I a minimalist? Was I? Should I be?

I think I can say safely that I am not currently a minimalist. I possess many useless things, such as books I've already read, a flyswatter that I never use, a travel iron (well-intentioned, but disagreeable with my clothing style), and 3 pairs of shoes (plus sandals!). And, while I was extraordinarily careful with money (aka cheap) when I lived in America, I don't think you could call anyone who owned a sports-bag designed specifically for frisbee a minimalist. This leaves only the third question.

[Since too much philosophy at once is a bad thing, I want to digress for a moment. This is almost (really almost) related. It couldn't get more almost-related without actually being related. So anyway, "minimum" is my favorite word to write in cursive script. Go ahead, try it. Now, stare at it for a second. It's all humps or upside-down humps, especially if you, like me, seldom dot your i's. Isn't it great? It looks just like a scribble, or like you were testing the pen to see if it worked. But it's a word, too. I think that's wonderful, especially since everyone says that my writing looks like scribbling anyway. But in reality, I don't scribble, I just write "minimum" over and over and over again.]

So, should I be a minimalist? I suppose that, in the Peace Corps, it couldn't hurt. I already have less money, fewer clothes, and fewer "needs" than I ever had before. But still, despite the stereotype of a Peace Corps Volunteer, I am not living alone in a hut writing in my journal all the time (when I'm not saving the world, of course). Instead, I try to vary my activities, and this requires (for me at least), a bunch of stuff. Invariably, it's stuff that I sometimes don't need or want. Like a romance novel. I don't need a romance novel. I don't even want a romance novel. But, somehow, I have one. Actually, I know exactly how this bizarre scenario came to pass. Sometimes, when somebody offers you a romance novel, the prospect of saying no is too daunting. You need to then explain why. And for me, this is a long ordeal. I really dislike romance novels. Invariably, after I finish my diatribe, I seem like a literary snob. Next, my conversant usually asks that, since I don't like romance novels, what kind of books could I possible like? I mention that I like sociological nonfiction and spy novels. This doesn't help, as spy novels are romance novels for men. Then, I end up looking like a hypocrite. Sometimes I'd rather just say yes, take the romance novel, and be done with it. So now I have a romance novel.

I guess the romance novel example means that I should be a minimalist.

Romance-Novel-Junkie: "Tim, would you like to read a romance novel? This one is my favorite. It's Danielle Steele."

Tim: "No, not really."

Romance-Novel-Junkie: "Oh, that's too bad. Why not? I think you'd like it."

Tim: "Actually, I'm a minimalist. I'd love to take the book, but I don't want anything extra in my life right now."

Romance-Novel-Junkie: "Oh really, you're a minimalist? That's so cool! Do you want to go out to dinner? My treat..."

Actually, I guess that means I shouldn't be a minimalist. Romance-Novel-Junkies aren't really my type. On the other hand, I think that me dating a minimalist would be a good idea. Think about it...no need to buy gifts, a Big Mac is an extravagent dinner, and for once I'm not the cheap one. It would be wonderful!

By the way, if you are a female minimalist, please contact me.

In other news, I have decided to move to an apartment. Also, Halloween occurred, and I received no candy. My students enjoyed seeing pictures of me in costume, however. As Georgia doesn't have Halloween, the photo of me in 1992 with green hair, a multi-colored painted face, and a large black cape was (and who can blame them for thinking this?) the strangest thing ever for my students. I earned many cool points for that one.

If you dressed in costume this Halloween and have a digital photo, please send it to me. My students would really enjoy it. I'll even send you their comments and guesses as to what you are.

Tim

I normally don't attend weddings, mainly because I'm never invited to them. I think I've been to three weddings in my life. And one of them was last month in Sveneti, the village where I had my pre-service training. As you can surmise, I'm not exactly qualified to compare Georgian and American weddings, but since I can, I will compare them. So there's the church ceremony, which I didn't really follow very much. This, I think, is pretty similar to what happens in America.

The party, though, was a bit different. The wedding feast was "small," with only 400 people attending. This meant that about 20% of the village was crowded into one person's front yard under a completely unnecessary tent. There was a live band (accordian, keyboard, and something else) as well as a DJ. The Tamada (toastmaster) wore a pink shirt and a pink tie. Hopefully men wearing pink will be out-of-style again when I return to America. Anyway, at a regular supra the Tamada presides over the table and offers various toasts, which are then expounded upon and then the beverage is consumed. This, as you might guess, is more difficult when professing your love of the bride and groom to 400 people. But never fear, the problem can be solved with microphones! Lots of microphones. When the Tamada made a toast, he stood up, stumbled towards the bank of seven microphones, and delivered the toast. To my silly American mind, it appeared that he was giving a press conference.

Pink-shirted man at microphones: "May you create a delicious family! Your marriage is among the best examples of the triumph of love in Georgian society. (Three more minutes on the same theme...) Cheers to a potent man and his wife!"

Between toasts, the band played. It was really pleasant. I was unaware that an accordian and an electronic keyboard could jive so well. Luckily, this misconception was quickly and profoundly corrected. After the toasts were finished, the DJ took over and dancing ensued. This is where my night turned bizarre. For reasons unknown, 15 year old Georgian girls find me to be a desirable dance partner. This alone isn't too bad; I can fake my way through a Georgian traditional dance while only looking mildly retarded. This is what I expected to take place when a giggling teenager led me to the dance floor. And oh how I would have preferred it! Instead, Tupac (he of never-ending Georgian popularity) graced the painfully loud (of course) speakers. And what do you with a 15 year old girl when Tupac comes on? Yes, that's right. You slow dance with her. I guess this wasn't the worst thing that could have happened. We could've been grinding or perhaps she could've expected me to sing along with her (she, of course, knew all the words) while doing so. Those might have been marginally worse. But slow dancing to Tupac isn't exactly something I was ready for. It was awkward. We danced 6th grade style, with as much distance between us as possible while still touching, which only made it worse. She kept looking at me and "singing" along. I tried to make it seem like this was completely normal, like I slow danced to Tupac with a 15 year old girl all the time. I lip-synched and, when I realized that Ashlee Simpson was better at that than I was, decided to just smile at her instead, while looking behind her to see the entire wedding watching us. I hadn't felt that awkward in quite some time. But, looking back, I'm glad I did it. If you can slow dance to Tupac, you can do anything.

In other news, I am still extraordinarily busy. The end.

Tim

Let's play that word association game. Georgia? Peaches. Teacher? Student. Peace Corps? Podcast. Good, I'm glad we came up with the same responses. Since it is so obvious that, when in the Peace Corps, I would undertake a podcast project, I bet you all have anticipated this post for some time. But anyway, here is the address: http://www.sakartvelopodcast.org/

Fellow Volunteers and I have been working feverishly to try and accomplish the infamous "third goal" of Peace Corps - increasing Americans' knowledge of other cultures. This podcast, along with my blog (plug, plug), is my way of attempting this. On the podcast, you can hear PCVs discussing thier work, free time, and things that are even less interesting. Additionally, the podcast is the definitive source on Georgian culture, foodways, gender roles, and more. The website also includes instructions on how to download and listen to the podcast in case you are like me (and my parents...) and have never done this sort of advanced-techno-mumbo-jumbo before. Additionally, the podcast is availible for download on iTunes.

Happy listening.

Tim

After over a year in Georgia, Peace Corps found it prudent to send me to the doctor for a mid-service check-up. As many of you may know, I have a less-is-more approach to doctors. That said, this experience was sublime - the best I've ever had. In and out in 25 minutes with only one skin invasion, I promptly thanked the doctor and came downstairs to write this blog. Medical service in the Peace Corps is excellent in my opinion, not bothering me when I am not sick and being always availible for those who are.

Relatedly, I want to alert you to a peculiar problem that I have experienced since coming to Georgia: increased chest hair. For a more advanced discussion, please read Ryan's blog entry regarding this quite disturbing form of "personal growth."

Very unrelatedly, school started on Monday. Like in the U.S., the first day of school in Georgia is definately missable. I arrived, kissed everyone for an hour, and then we all went home. But, it will get better, I'm sure. I'm piloting the textbook that my friend and I have been writing, which gives me some extra motivation on days when it's lacking. I have also received word that the internet at my school will work more often than once every two months this year, so I might be blogging with increased regularity (gasp!).

Finally, I have been devouring celebrity magazines recently since they are availible and written in English, and I can happily say that I don't miss America very much at the moment.

I have a confession to make. I'm in the Peace Corps and I have a cell phone. My phone and I recently went through an only-in-Georgia adventure. Let me explain...

First of all, I love my phone. There are many reasons for this. The two main reasons have to do with my digital fixation. I am constantly doing something with my fingers. This usually takes one of two forms: writing a text message or flipping my phone around in my hand. So anyway, I've become really good at text messaging. I even won a contest. Also, I abbreviate constantly. Since every character counts (dont wanna b charged 4 2 msgs!), I dispense with my moral objections to abbreviating and do it with abandon. Despite my love for my phone, I drop it constantly since I am constantly playing with it. My phone is rock solid. I've dropped it on concrete, rock, four day old bread, and worse - and it doesn't matter! My phone is impervious to collisional damage. Aside from my digital fixation, I love my phone because it's nice. It's nicer than any phone I ever had in the USA. It has more of the useful features (flashlight!) and fewer of the useless features that I never use. The only drawback is that none of the 25+ ringtones sound like an actual telephone...but that's another rant for another time. I know my phone intimately. Blindfolded, I can perform practically every necessary function on my phone. I know where its messages are, how to make it become silent (if only my students were as easy...), and how to set my alarm. My phone doesn't have the physical beauty it once had, but I think that it has gotten better with age. Sure, all of the numbers have worn off, but now the keypad is a bright and brilliant white, a symbol of how I keep my sanity. There's the discoloration at the top, a reminder of an instance when I was having such a good time that I couldn't successfully keep my soda bottle upright. There's the small dent missing from the corner, the one that only I know about, that makes me smile every time I see it because I know that I'm the only one. This has been the most exciting and interesting year of my life, and my phone has been with me through it all. My life turned upside-down two weeks ago. I killed my telephone. We were on the beach. I was texting. I put the phone in the pocket of my swimsuit. Time elapsed. I neglected it. I didn't enquire to its whereabouts before I flopped around in the sea for a good 20 minutes. I drowned my telephone. The realization hit my like a kick in the face. I tried to resuscitate my phone. I took it to the phone doctor. But it was dead. I had killed it. I went home and I was in shock. My fingers texted but there was no phone in my hand. Sometimes I thought I heard it ringing. I felt false vibrations in my pocket, but when I reached for it it wasn't there. I did not take it well, the drowning of my phone. I retreated to Tbilisi, to Georgian cell-phone heaven. I figured that, since I love my phone so, the best place to find its replacement would be in cell phone heaven. And I was right. This was the best place to find its replacement, but no suitable replacement could be found. My phone is too old to be sold in cell phone heaven. I mourned. I went back the next day and bought the child of my phone, the newer, "upgraded" model, a supposed improvement on my Nokia 1100. It turned out to be more of the red-headed step child, the brat that is nothing like its parents. It texted differently, it was not as sturdy, and it lacked a flashlight. Depressed, I paid too much for a lesser product (although I did buy the cheapest one on offer) and went home. I was very hesitant to use my new phone in public. I was embarrassed by it. I texted less frequently, and with more mistakes. I yearned for my old phone. I would happily pay twice the price of the newer model for the old. But this was not possible. But, nothing is impossible in Georgia. You simply must look at it from a different perspective, and, in my depression, I was limiting myself to an American viewpoint - that if I couldn't buy my phone, then there was no way to obtain my phone. But in Georgia this viewpoint is most absurd. There had to be a way to get my old phone. Yesterday I saw a man talking on my old phone. I went and stood next to him and pulled out my phone, trying to look busy until he finished his conversation. He did, and then I started talking. Then he started to think that I was insane. I offered to swap phones with him. I told him all about my new phone. It's only two weeks old, and it's the newer model of the phone he was currently using, which he bought over a year ago. And I would do this trade for free. At this point he laughed at me. But I didn't care. I insisted that he try my phone. He called his friend. He wrote a text message. Everything worked. He was confounded. Then he realized that I might just walk away at any moment and literally threw his phone into my hands. We put our phones into other languages, swapped SIM cards (so we wouldn't need to change numbers) and that was that. I felt like a million dollars. So, after I swapped phones with the man on the street, he invited me to his house to have a supra. I was in a hurry and couldn't go, but I really wanted to go and hear him tell the story of the crazy American who came up to him speaking Georgian and wanted to trade him a new, "better" cell phone for his older, "inferior" phone. And another day in Georgia came to a close...

First, I would like to draw your attention to some new links that have appeared on the left side of my blog. Two of my friends are serving in Peace Corps Ukraine and St. Kitts and their blogs appear in the Links section. The new group of Volunteers arrived in Georgia in June and a few of them have set up blogs as well. They appear towards the bottom, inthe G7 (because they are the 7th group in Georgia; I am in the 6th group) section.

When I was a counsellor at ECO camp I gave in to my most basic Peace Corps instinct and dug latrine. Mosey on over to Amy's blog for the exciting pictures.

Georgia is sometimes a very strange place. My friend rents an apartment in Batumi, the regional center. His refrigerator (an old, Soviet model) recently broke. He called to have it repaired. This is where the process ceases to be normal. The refrigerator repairman does not come to your defective refrigerator; you must bring the incapacitated refrigerator to him. After facilitating it down the narrow, unlit stairs to the street, you must hire a cab with a large trunk to take it to the repairman's place, where he begins to deal with it. He calls you when it is again functional (apparently refrigerator repair takes two weeks) and the process must be repeated, this time dragging the fighting refrigerator up the stairs and back into the apartment. Luckily, it worked once returned to its place atop a wooden piling in the stuffy kitchen. If it happens again, however, I will recommend that my friend not repair it so I am not again enlisted to transport it.

I have uploaded some pictures from ECO Camp (the first week of August in Racha, a mountainous region near the Russian border)...

Shovi town center.I tried to be artistic. Nearing the tree-line.

The hills are alive... (yodel yodel yodel)

Here I am at the zenith of our hike at the ECO camp in Racha. A mountain shrouded in clouds.

It's not my house, but I wish that it was. Miss Nature 2007.

I went to the nature last week! Unfortunately, I have no pictures (yet) to prove this slightly disturbing yet terribly exciting development. I spent the past week as a counsellor at an environmental camp for Georgian youth. This meant many things.

I ate only carbohydrates. Now, you might say that carbs are an important part of a balanced diet and I should celebrate the fact that I am receiving them in a remote village of approximately 2 people that is very deep in the nature where the mountain soil was so hard that it took many hours to dig a latrine. The "soil" consisted of roots, rocks, and frozen clay. After you got through that, you encountered roots, rocks, and frozen clay. So I ate some carbohydrates. Rice-y sugar and tubers were the main staples, and this helped me to use the latrine as little as possible. We also ate bread. One day we had an eggplant-based dish, which I despise yet still lapped up lovingly because it contained a vegetable. (Is eggplant a vegetable? Luckily, the Georgian word for it has nothing to do with eggs. How did eggs get involved with eggplant? I should really get a hobby...)

Also, we went hiking. This was the highlight of the camp, for both me and most of the campers. We went to an area near the Russian border where, at the top, the views were almost panoramic. Unfortunately I lack to ability to describe this without pictures, so I'll stop now and post some pictures of it later.

We also actually did some stuff relating to the environment. One activity involved a discussion about global warming. Did you know that it is popular now in America to go online and find out how large your carbon footprint is? I had no idea of this until going to ECO camp. I wonder how my footprint in Georgia differs from what my footprint was in the States...

Anyway, we discussed global warming. Georgia and it's glaciers and coastline and biodiversity are being affected by it (adversely, of course) at a pretty alarming rate. We asked the campers how they felt about this:

(in Georgian...)

Q: Which countries do you think contribute most to global warming?

A: America, China, India, Japan

Q: Where do you think Georgia falls on this list?

A: Very low. Towards the bottom.

Q: Is Georgia affected by the actions of America, China, etc.?

A: Yes.

Q: How do you feel about this?

A: Very bad. They don't care about the smaller countries.

Q: What can Georgia and Georgians do about this?

A (in English): KILL THE AMERICANS!!!

So that's how Giorgi, age 17, plans to solve global warming. What do we as Peace Corps Volunteers plan to do? We come to one of the most beautiful places I've ever been (Shovi, the village hosting the camp) and hang out with teenagers who are more in tune with American pop culture than I am. But it's not just that. We teach them valuable skills, too. We taught them how to find an egg in a bucket in a tree in a forest, how to describe a tree as they would an adopted child, how to build a fort out of dead nature, and, most importantly, how to throw a frisbee.

So, what have I actually been doing here?

That's a very complicated question. I am still teaching English. Well, not currently, it's summer vacation. But usually I am, 5 days a week at my school. I also taught 2 days a week at an NGO in Batumi, but that has ended now as well. I'm not sure if I'll pick that back up again in the fall.

I do various other things in my community as well. I host an ECO club, which promotes environmental education and conducts some trash clean-ups in the community. Additionally, I am involved in a larger ECO projet, which conducts 6 week-long camps in locations throughout Georgia over the summer for Georgian youth who participate in ECO clubs in the villages, towns, and cities.

I also conducted several teacher trainings over the past year as part of the Teacher Training Project. One of these took place in my village, and I also conducted two others in Ozurgeti and Chiatura. An average of 20 Georgian teachers of English attend these trainings and each volunteer presents 3 sessions about various topics relating to better and more communicative teaching methods.

My friend and I are writing a new textbook for beginning English students. It will be the first textbook written in both Georgian and English by a native English speaker. So, this is what will occupy most of my summer.

I've written 3 grants and all 3 have been approved and fully funded. So that's cool.

I have also read many books. Just to amuse you, here is the list. They aren't exactly in order.

1. A Voyage for Madmen

2. Angels and Demons

3. Vagabonding

4. The Kite Runner

5. The Best American Sports Writing: 2002

6. Life of Pi

7. Georgia Diary

8. The Best American Non-Required Reading: 2006

9. How Soccer Explains the World

10. The Bureau and the Mole

11. High Fidelity

12. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim

13. Blink

14. The Perfect Store

15. Linguistics: an Introduction

16. A New Religious America

17. Emotions Revealed

18. The Mother Tongue

19. The Cassandra Compact

20. The Bourne Supremacy

21. The New International Dictionary of Quotations

22. Georgia: a Sovereign Country of the Caucasus

23. Notes from a Small Island

24. The Culture of Fear

25. Rick Steves’ Europe through the Back Door 1999

26. Icon

27. Skinny Dip

28. Digital Fortress

Sunday was my one year anniversary in Georgia. A lot has happened in this past year. Pluto is no longer a planet. The crocodile hunter died. James Brown, Anna Nicole Smith, and Jerry Falwell also died. Italy won the World Cup (this may be news for those of you in America). There was fighting in the Middle East. I learned a new language, found myself in four different countries, carved and ate a pig's head, rode in a Soviet army jeep, and taught small children how to speak the most ridiculous language in the world.

I have been sick (with fever) for 2 of my 368 days in Georgia. I have had funny facial hair for some greater number of days. I'm greatly disappointed to report that I look exactly the same. I gained 15 pounds over 9 months and then lost them all during April and May. I have learned that sunflower seeds are an acceptable full dinner, that sitting on cold concrete makes women sterile, and that, just like in Hamlet, wine must be drunk to the bottom of the cup, not sipped to enjoy. Unlike in Hamlet, and to the disdain of livers everywhere, this custom is more honored in the observance than in the breach.

I have hiked to the top of a mountain translated as "Pig's Snout," said a word that begins with 8 consonants, and realized that the phrase "she is pretty ugly" confuses all of my students. I've taught what a mullet is, what pigtails are (my female students apparently don't like the name in English; none of them wear pigtails anymore...), and the word "unibrow." I have become famous beyond my wildest imagination. I have signed autographs, kissed babies, appeared on national television, posed for photographs, and recorded a top-selling single. And only one of those isn't true.

I have become an expert on nearly everything. Who can fix televisions? The American. Who is the school's expert on Georgian geography? Inexcusably, that's me as well. Who knows whether or not eskimos are human? Right here. Is Africa a city? I'm your guy. However, despite all of these things that only I know the answers to, I have indeed gotten stupider. For those of you who have met me I'm sure this is hard for you to believe. But, alas, it is true. My English has gone from bad to terrible. I have completely forgotten my Spanish. I recently played scrabble and almost lost to a non-native speaker. I cannot answer any of my students' questions about America.

Q: Who is Britney Spears dating?

A: Justing Timberlake, I think.

Q: Do you like [insert recently popular singer here]?

A: Who?

Q: Does it rain a lot in America?

A: Well, it depends. In some states...(my students interrupt)Tim, this answer is taking too long. Tell us about Britney Spears.

Q: Tim, what is a P.I.M.P.?

A: Ummm...

Q: What does "smack that" mean?

A: It means high-5.

So, America, this is what we are exporting. I just thought you should know.

I will post part 2 of my one year anniversary post, which might actually be funny, sometime later this week. It will also include the things that I do that might, at some point in the very distant future, convince someone to give me a job with a real salary. Like the time I ran into the Black Sea that one night in January wearing somebody else's clothes...

*EDIT* Due to "questionable" content, this portion of the post has been redacted. *EDIT*

And now, since I apparently have nothing better to do with my time than to idolize Joe Cocker/The Lovin' Spoonful, I wrote a short update about my life coinciding with select lyrics to Summer in the City. I'm sorry.

Hot town, summer in the City

Summer has struck, and it's really warm. The temperature has been pushing 90 for weeks now, and I like it. And, however newsworthy this might not be (it's June...wow, time goes sort of quickly...), the City has undergone a lot of changes. And, by the City I of course mean Batumi. Batumi is gearing up for summer. The topiaries are out, and they are shaped like dolphins. I don't quite understand this, as I have yet to see one of Batumi's vaunted dolphins this year. Maybe I'm just not looking hard enough. But also, all of the stuff is going up along the beach. Straw huts, endless beer bars, and old women selling hot corn. This is taking place in Gonio as well. I find it nearly amazing that the City and Gonio spend so much money gearing up for a 2 month tourist season. Apparently it's worthwhile though. Call me ignorant (you wouldn't be the first), but in the States I never really noticed the changing of the seasons. Sure, I noticed the temperature changes, and that snow came in the winter, and that I liked summer a whole lot better. But the length of the days always seemed very constant to me. Sunrise and sunset didn't mean anything; there were always streetlights and headlights and everything was always light. But not here. Georgia is amazing in that way. In Gonio it is light from 5am (or maybe earlier) until 10pm (or maybe later). And I know that we are approaching the summer solstice and that Gonio is slightly (just barely slightly) further north than Chicago, but I had no idea that the change would be this drastic. We are experiencing 17 hours (or more) of daylight each day. I haven't slept for more than 7 hours in 3 weeks, and I think this is a result of it being light all the time. I think the white nights in St Petersberg and elsewhere cause seasonal insomnia. But then again, I could be wrong.

Back of my neck gettin' dirty and gritty

I don't bathe very frequently. That mysterious and repugnent smell every morning? It's me. It floats over the ocean and invades your home. [On a side note, my blog got over 100 hits last week. You people need to find something more productive to do with your time. I've always wanted to be the leader of a cult, but this wasn't really what I had in mind...] But, I've finally been able to exercise with regularity. Rock climbing, walking up my mountain in the 90 degree heat, and being chased by rabid dogs have gotten me in terrible shape, which is quite an improvement for me. But, exercise makes me much dirtier than usual. Sorry about the smell.

Dressed so fine and lookin' so pretty

Fashion in Georgia makes me laugh. Socks and sandals? Not a problem. Blue and black? Perfect match. Same shirt as yesterday/two days ago/last Monday/last time you went out? It'd be criminal not to. And that's just Peace Corps Volunteers. But Georgian-Georgian fashion is humorous in a very different way. I particularly enjoy footwear. Stilletto heels? All the time, on dirt roads with more potholes than flat parts. My favorite though are the boots that are alive. These boots come up to just below the knee and have what appears to be a live animal inhabiting them. The fur attached is so...much, so fluffy, so FULL OF LIFE that I am fully convinced that the boots ate the feet which inhabited them. As for me, I don't own Georgian footwear. I wear the khakis and a polo to school everyday, rotating my shirt once the smell of it wakes me up. When not at school, I wear as little as is socially acceptable in America, and sometimes less.But at night it's a different world Nightlife in Gonio is at present nonexistent. But, that will soon change. In case you've been living under a rock for the past year, Gonio has a seasonal nightclub called "Arrogance." It is only open during the summer, and even then for only about two months. But, the signs are written only in English and I don't think anybody that's been there knows what the name means. I've yet to go to a Georgian nightclub, but I think it would be a highly desirable cultural experience. I will update you about this later. In Batumi, the nightlife is beginning to exist. There are light-up palm tries in one of the parks and along the boulevard. These artificial trees, of course, sit next to real palm tress and street lights, making both features of the artificial light-up palm tree irrelevant. But, then again maybe my taste in city beautification isn't as developed as it should be. Go out and find a girlHmm...I don't think they were thinking about Georgia when they wrote this song...

I recently went to a toga party in Kutaisi to celebrate some volunteers' birthdays. It was a good time. But, preparations for the party were quite an experience.

First, I tried to explain the concept of a toga to my host family. This did not happen really.

This conversation took place in Georgian. I have recounted it to the best of my abilities, so you can gauge my lack of Georgian fluency by the strange circumlocutions I'm forced to make.

Tim: Do you know what the ancient Romans were wearing?

Host mother: No

Tim: Well, it looks like a dress.

Host mother: You want to wear a dress?

Tim: No. Actually, yes. But it isn't a true dress. (The ironic fact that "true" in Georgian can also be translated as "straight" did not escape me.) I want to wear what the Romans were wearing to a party this weekend. A birthday party.

Host mother: You want to wear a dress to a birthday party?

Tim: No. It's not a dress. It's a toga. Do you know the word toga?

Host mother: No. We don't have that word in Georgian.

Tim: Hmm. What were the Romans wearing?

Host mother: I don't know. Dresses?

Tim: No, they aren't dresses. Men also were wearing them.

Host mother: Tim, men do not wear dresses.

Tim: Yes. But I am going to a toga party this weekend. I take the sheets from my bed.

Host mother: Where will you be staying?

Tim: At my friend's apartment.

Host mother: Why do you need sheets? Is there enough room?

Tim: Yes, there is enough room. The sheets is for me. I am wearing it.

Host mother: I don't understand.

Tim: I can't say what I want to say in Georgian. I am going to a birthday party, I will be back on Sunday.

I did not take my sheets because I did not want my family to think I was strange. Instead, I decided to buy fabric and create my toga from that. At the fabric store with my friend Amy (again in Georgian)...

Amy: I want fabric. I am making a dress.

Shopkeeper: Ok. Which fabric do you want?

Amy: The bright purple one.

Shopkeeper: Ok. How much do you want?

Amy: I don't know. 1.5 meters?

Shopkeeper: Ok. You're a very good girl.

Tim: I also want fabric. The black one. But it's not for a dress.

Shopkeeper: Oh, what's it for?

Tim: I'm going to a party and I want that I look like an ancient Roman.

Shopkeeper: I don't understand.

Tim: I am making my own clothes for the party.

Shopkeeper: Good for you! (She also gives me the death look, since obviously no real man knows how to make clothes.) What color do you want?

Tim: Black.

Shopkeeper: For the shirt or for the pants?

Tim: I am not making a shirt and pants. I am making a toga. It is what the ancient Romans were wearing.

Shopkeeper: Did they not wear shirt and pants?

Tim: No. It is different. It looks like a dress.

Shopkeeper: You are making a dress?

Tim: No, I am making Roman clothes.

Shopkeeper: I don't understand.

Tim: Ok, I am making a dress. I want 1.5 meters of black fabric...

And so it goes...

In other news, summer has arrived in Georgia. It's hot. Send me emails.

Tim

We had a trash cleanup with my ECO club about two weeks ago in Gonio. Some of my students and I took to the beach and tried to pick up all the steering wheels, drug needles, beer bottles, candy wrappers, and other undesirable things so Gonio will look just a bit cleaner.

Beso pauses to pose for a picture.

More happy trash-picker-uppers.

My students in action. And there is a car on the beach, no idea how that got there.

Learning that wood is not trash...

Another candid shot, with the village in the background. In all, we collected about 2 cubic meters of trash and properly disposed of it. Where the garbage men took it though is anybody's guess...

Me and Yerevan.

Liz, Maria, Rebecca, Amy and me in front of the Cascades.

The Armenian script. Georgian is oh so much cooler.

Easter at the Vatican of the Armenian Church (Echmiadzin)

The Monument to the Armenian Genocide.

Amy's awesome picture of the monument (the stone structures represent the Turks).

More of the Cascades, with the monument to 50 years of Soviet Armenia at the top.

Me, lost on a hike to Batumis Sameba. The map on the rock didn't help too much.

Teacher Training in Gonio (I have since gone beardless).

More from the Teacher Training.

I think this is part two of my (very) occassional "In the News..." series. But, then again, that could be complete mental fabrication on my part.

So first...BORAT!

Yes, I have seen the movie. And it would not have been nearly as funny if I hadn't seen it in Georgia. Fortunately for me, other volunteers have already written about the movie in funnier and more entertaining ways than I ever could. So, check out Jen's blog entry http://jeningeorgia.blogspot.com/2007/02/borat-vs-georgia.html for an analysis/comparison of Georgia vs. Borat.

Second...CNN!

CNN has definately begun courting the younger market and gone the way of MTV. Since MTV (Music TeleVision, in case you couldn't tell) no longer plays music, CNN (Cable News Network) has decided to no longer show the news. I was in Tbilisi this past weekend for (yet another) conference, and our extravagent hotel, which included hot water (but not when you wanted it) and bad food (but it was free bad food), also had CNN availible on television. I watched it eagerly. And what did I see?

ANNA NICOLE SMITH!

Anna Nicole Smith is dead. I found this out maybe a week before the conference. I didn't read much into it; like everyone else I just assumed it was from drugs. Apparently the cause of her death was old news, and I did not find out the actual cause from CNN. But I did find out that they are battling over her body. (What is this, the early 90s? She's not hot anymore, people. First of all, she's dead. And second of all, she's 100% fake.) But, proving that any publicity is good publicity, HOWARD STERN is involved. He wants the body! And her son! Now, I think there are few people in the world less capable of raising a child than Anna Nicole Smith. Of course, but Howard Stern is one of them. So of course we should give him the child!

And speaking of incompetent mothers, the next news segment featured...BRITNEY SPEARS!

In case you didn't know, Britney Spears, of Mickey Mouse Club fame, is a drug user ("hit me [up] baby, one more time!"). Also, she is the inept mother of 2 ("Oops, I did it again") and an avid head-shaver (I always knew we had something in common). Recently, she was too messed-up to resist and was forced to enter rehab, which I'm sure costs boatloads of money. How about we leave Britney alone, take the rehab money, and give some homeless people some food! Or maybe pay our teachers more! But wait, how do I know about these problems? They are never on CNN!! Or maybe Anna Nicole and Britney are more important...

I did get one piece of not very important (but beggars can't be choosers) information from the news ticker on the bottom of the screen when these stories consumed the rest of it - Tom Vilsack does not want to be President. A man after my own heart.

Sunset over the Black Sea (from my balcony)

Tbilisi in the rain.

Kartvlis Deda (Mother Georgia), up close and personal.

This makes Georgia look a bit like fantasy-land. This is a hill where the Kartvlis Deda statue is located, in the center of Tbilisi.

It's the long awaited Turkey post!

So about a month and a half ago I went to Turkey, mainly so I could take pictures and post them on my blog. Anyway, here's the story...

We left Georgia from my house on a date that I can't really remember. It began to snow as we shuffled awkwardly down my mountain with our large backpacks. Side note: I have yet to see snow in my village, even though it has snowed twice and stuck around. It always begins just as I am leaving and is gone before I return the next week. But, according to my friend Seke Gonio looks really cool in the snow. Anyway, we took a marshutka to Sarpi, the village on the Georgia-Turkey border that is about 3 kilometers from my house. We exited the marshutka and crossed the border on foot because it is faster. My passport has a cool new stamp! We then embarked on the journey towards Goreme, a small village in the region of Cappadokia which would be our base for the first few days of the trip.

We elected to travel by bus, and to our surprise the bus system in Turkey is the most advanced bus system I have seen in any country. Greyhound should take lessons. The buses were nice, clean, on time, plentiful, and the stations were located in areas where you wouldn't mind going on a stroll with large amounts of cash while looking foreign. There were no direct buses to Goreme, so we needed to go to Ankara and employ a new bus towards Goreme. The whole trip was supposed to take 16 hours, which sounded long but bearable due to the low cost of bus travel. So, when we arrived in Goreme 27 hours later, I would have been happy to never sit on a bus again.

A few interesting things about the bus ride: First, they serve you food, like they used to do on airplanes! On a related note, there is actually music on Turkish MTV. Go figure. Anyway, after they serve you food and drink (non-alcoholic), they come around with cologne/perfume (what do you call it when it's for both sexes?). It is customary to open your palms to the bus attendant while he pours some of this liquid cologne/perfume onto your hands. So, we did, and of course we were endowed with far too much fragrance. It was just like Georgia! So, I made sure my hands, face, neck, and clothing all smelled good and then applied the extra scented stuff to the bus seats and curtains in order to give the next passenger a more pleasant experience. I hope he appreciated it.

We were at the Turkish version of a rest stop on the side of the road in rural northeastern Turkey, when two men with hunting rifles came towards the store the bus passengers were frequenting. Being 5am, I elected to stay in the bus and pretend to be dozing, but men with guns caught my attention and I stared half-heartedly out the window at them. Oh - the reason for the 27 hours in the bus rather than 16 is because it continued snowing. The whole time. So the bus had a few incidents in the snow, involving swerving, frozen hydroplaning, and slipping down a hill and almost into the sea. One of the men with the hunting rifles was not much different than our bus. He moved very slowly, because of the ice, and implored his friend to wait for him. He got really close to the store and started slipping. He fell, with the gun. He staggered to his feet, did an ice-dance for a few seconds in an attempt to not fall, and then fell again. I have the feeling I'm not telling this well, but it was really funny to see a man with a gun slipping on ice and falling down. Maybe you had to be there.

Being in Kappadokia was like being on the moon (or so I imagine). If the lunar-landing was a hoax, this is where they filmed it. And, some scenes from Star Wars were filmed there, to add some credibility to my ramblings.

The best part of our trip was New Years Eve. We celebrated in Istanbul, not far from Taksim Square. We scouted around for a good bar/restaurant as afternoon turned to evening, and eventually found a place with reasonable prices and not another foreigner in the place, which was exactly what we were hoping for. The celebratory spot even had a live Turkish band! As midnight approached, we began to celebrate festively. I did dances I'd never seen before (not intended to be a comment on my awful dancing "abilities") and sang songs in a language I didn't know. I highly recommend Turkish New Year celebrations.

Aside from that, I ate much donor. They are cheap, delicious when they're not dry, cheap, widely availible, cheap, cheap, and cheap. Turkish delights were also in season, and I masticated on them without restraint.

A few final observations:

Why is Turkey not in the EU? The infrastructure is excellent, English is prevalent (if not invasive), and Istanbul is as European as any European city I've been to. Another observation that was forced on me was how different Georgia and Turkey are. Turkey's roads are paved better. More people speak much better English. Infrastructure is decades ahead. And, of course, you can feel globalization more. Also, my Georgian was completely useless more than 10 km away from Georgia. Grrrr...

I have more actual news, but this post is unwieldy and I don't want to be late for the two supras I am attending today (said mainly to make you think I'm popular, when in reality I am remarkably uncool).

Check my friend Cuttino's blog (link on the left) to see an awesome video of Georgian folk dancing. You won't be disappointed.

Cheers,

Tim

the Golden Horne in Istanbul.

The Blue Mosque.

The Bosporus Bridge, spanning Europe (behind) and Asia.

The view from the roof of our hostel. This is the Blue Mosque, which Pope Ratzinger prayed at the week before we were there.

Hagia Sofia, the most important Church in the Christian world for over 1000 years.

Me in Goreme, the small village we stayed in which was peppered with caves and really cool mushroom-style rock formations. Some Star Wars scenes were filmed nearby.