One Step at a Time: Living on the Line

Training for teaching and living in Georgia was boring and intense. On our last day, we were all adopted by our new families and whisked away to a village or city to start our adventures. Collette, a middle-aged hot mama, was the chosen one who would spend the next 4.5 hours riding from Tbilisi to Guria with me. We were picked up by our principals and a random dude, and rode in style in a BMW. Our comrades for the ride spoke not one word of English. Our driver was the random dude, whose name I didn’t catch. I also have no idea who he was, but he was uncle. Who’s? I have no idea, but he was definitely an uncle to someone. Packing our luggage into the trunk was a China sized ordeal, and literally took 44574985 hours of various puzzle style luggage arrangements until they finally realized all of our crap wasn’t going to fit. I guess its Georgia’s version of the old how many clowns can you fit into a Beetle scenario. Finally, they decided that our luggage would be brought to us by a marshukta (van), which meant that it could probably be lost. Spoiler alert: against all odds, it actually made it to us in one piece. I was crammed in the middle for the ride, next to Collette’s principal who kept winking at me and tried to hook me up with random driver man, since we both weren’t married, which I guess translates to single and ready to mingle. I didn’t know how to say “No way sistah” in Georgian so I made a face of disgust in the politest way possible and said “ara, ara, ara” (no) over and over again while shaking my head in a seizure-esque fashion. On a completely unrelated note, the female principal would do the Catholic cross thing-a-ma-jiggy every time we passed a church. Back to the car ride…the feast of a ride served up Khatchapuri and various fruits, like watermelon, plums, etc., which we bought at fruit stands along the way. Apparently, buying fruit takes approximately 20 minutes. Paying for a watermelon became a group decision, complete with bickering, pausing, contemplating, and then more bickering till finally the damn thing was purchased. Purchasing fruit Georgian style manages to be both hilarious and frustrating simultaneously. Fruit stands weren’t the only delightful attractions along the way. There was multiple stands for clay pots, baskets, and hammocks; you just don’t get all these roadside attractions in America…you’d have to take an exit. Georgians make buying shit so convenient. 

Random Fruit Stand

Georgians are winning, in a major way, when it comes to driving like they want to commit suicide. NASCAR doesn’t have shit on your average driver while out on the road. I really think Britney Spears should move here, because it ain’t no thang to drive with an infant sitting on your lap. You could probably drink and drive with said baby on lap too. I do, however, admire a few things about Georgian drivers that I would love to do back in the States. In fact, I’ve often fantasized about doing such things but then images of the po po’s flashed before me and I thought more wisely. Damn the consequences. What are such things I speak of? Allow me to elaborate. First, Georgians drive on the shoulder of the road to pass up stiffs or slow moving traffic. Awesome. Secondly, Georgians follow police vehicles with their sirens on to pass as well. Equally awesome. Why can’t this be legit? It really speeds things up. As an adrenaline junkie, I have to say I find it kind of thrilling that Georgian drivers pass up vehicles, including 18 wheelers, with mere milliseconds to complete this deathtifying feat. It’s like Frogger, but in real life.

I know and understand that drivers get total control of the radio, but it was a bit miserable to have to listen to Enrique Inglesias for 2 hours. He’s much loved here, as is Rap and Techno. Our magical BMW ride smelled a lot like B.O., and Enrique Inglesias didn’t help with increasing enjoyment. What did help was the various going ons occurring on the side of the road: marshutka wrecks, little old ladies sweeping with dwarf sized brooms (yes, they had giant humps on their back); and an insane amount of cows, chickens, pigs, and other edible animals wandering along the streets with no concern for mankanas (cars). Livestock lives it up in Georgia when compared to the factory farms in the US of A. Other animals, however, don’t have it so well. Let’s just say PETA would have a shit fit here. Dogs in particular are treated pretty poorly. There’s tons wandering the streets, half starved, mangy, and mad. I actually managed to save a kitty cat in Tbilisi from his final destination by picking him up and swooning him off to safety from a car backing up at full speed. I don’t mind screwing around with survival of the fittest.

After our mystical journey, we arrived at my principal’s house for an impromptu dinner. Sounds normal right? Only you have to remember that in Georgia, things are never as they appear. Halfway through our meal, the Bebia (grandma) starts shouting in Georgia and everyone got up to see what the fuss was about. I peered into the kitchen where all the commotion was occurring, only to find a cow standing there, chilling just being a cow. I’m not making this stuff up people. Collette loves cows, she likes to “moo at them and shit. I’m jealous that she got to pet the cows that hung out in the back of our hotel, who I affectionately name Paco and Taco. Georgian cows actually let you touch them, unlike the bovine assholes back home. This kitchen cow was simply shooed off, and we resumed dinner like nothing had happened. After about an hour, my host family arrived, minus Deda (mother) to take me to my new abode. Mama (father) is a large guy, and Nino and Nana are 12 year old twins who are the sweetest little cutesicles ever. They look at me adoringly every day, genuinely happy to have an unrelated older sister living with them, even if it’s only for an unspecified amount of time. They’re absolutely fabulous.

My host family has a Little Miss Sunshine van, and by that I mean a van you have to push to start. Our house is the typical Georgian archetype of a home: we have chickens, cows, goats, and a ton of miscellaneous fruits and vegetables. All meals are 100% homemade from produce and animal products all coming from the farming and livestock tending skills of host mother and father. Whole Foods can suck it: were wayyyyyy more organic here, without the pretentiousness and hefty prices you find at this elite supermarket. On the second day, Georgia laid down my first truly WTF moment---the kind of WTF moment that’s so sad you have to laugh or you’ll go crazy. Our host nephew, Giorgi, who’s only 2, was staying with us. We ventured to the neighbors house to go see their chicks, who were just running around the house. Giorgi got hold of one of them, and squeezed the life of the darling little creature, who let out this horrible squawking noise. The adults began yelling at him and nabbed the poor animal from his death grip. Unfortunately, it was too late for this little guy, and he was placed on the floor, alive and kicking…kind of. Apparently, Giorgi broke his spine or neck (or both), and he couldn’t walk or lift his head up. He just lay there on the floor chirping and moving his body with his head on the floor. If you’d like a visual, YouTube “Timmy’s Thanksgiving turkey” on South Park to get an image of what I’m talking about it. I don’t know why they just didn’t end the chicks misery, maybe they thought it would heal?!

There are so many events that happen every day in Georgia that are strange, shocking, hilarious, and wonderful. You literally never know what’s going to happen. Every day is kind of like a hot mess, and I kind of like it.