Georgian National Ballet

Last night we finally saw a professional Georgian dance troop. I've wanted to see them for years, but fate didn't schedule it until this trip. It was amazing. I videoed much of it. Over 2 hours they danced, the encore as energetic as the first piece. Truly incredible. I'll let the videos speak for themselves (with some commentary on the side of course). Enjoy!

Here is a view of the Tbilisi streets from the balcony where we stepped outside before the show:

And here are the dances:

This dance is called D'aicee. It is a traditional Georgian wedding dance that some of you might recognize, as Giorgi and I danced it at our wedding here....

Here's a short clip of a swordfighting dance. Yes, those are real swords and yes those are real sparks flying!

Here's a dance called M'hedruli. My favorite part is the knee twirls, but note also the toe ballet...




Here is a knife throwing dance. You can see the knives stuck in the floor and if you look closely, you can see the men throwing more...

Here's the encore. They danced for over 2 hours and then this...

Phone Call

I had to post this video. My mom called as we were putting Sophie to bed. Sophie proceeded to grab the phone out of Giorgi's hands and, as you can see, she had lots of news to report about her time here....

Back in the USSR

So we’re back in Georgia. This trip has been unusual because it’s not unusual any more. We packed up our suitcases and headed to the airport without stress or anxiety. We flew two long and uneventful legs into Tbilisi. The airlines let us take Sophie’s car seat on both, so that was a huge plus (although she refused to sleep for more than 2 hours out of the entire 18 hour trip). The funniest part about our travel was our attempts, to no avail, to get her to sleep. After much time and frustration trying to get her to lie down in the children’s room of AMS (during which she wanted to continue playing), we finally strapped her into her little umbrella stroller and started walking to our next gate 3 hours early.

Forget the quiet, comfortable, lullabye room, free from the bustle of people trying to get to their next flight and free from voices coming over the loudspeaker calling for passengers to board their flight, “or we will proceed to offload your luggage.” Forget alarms going off everywhere we went (and no G didn’t set them off this time!), Sophie folded herself over in the stroller within 2 minutes of our walk to the gate and slept. Granted, it was only for 45 minutes, but it was enough for her to recharge and continue flirting with everyone whose eyes she could catch. And there were many!

So began this trip into the Caucuses. Jet lag was bad once we arrived. We’re only now getting into our regular sleep routine, but thankfully, it has arrived. We’ve visited friends and family as planned and headed into the village to visit G’s grandmother soon after we arrived.

It’s taken years, but I believe I’m finally at the point where it phases me not a bit to pack up the car, hop in, drive the 1 ½ hours into the rustic villages of Georgia and never bat an eye (or, to some of your dismay, reach for the camera) when I see the cows causing a traffic jam, or when I see little old ladies with leathery skin waiting by the side of the road for the day to pass.
Not when I see huge groups of men hanging around two playing a heated game of backgammon, all with little white sticks hanging out of their mouths and rarely a plume of smoke coming out, as they seem to absorb it all on the inhale. Not when I see huge sides of meat hanging from hooks on a roadside stand or grape juice and walnut candies called “churchela” carefully draped over sticks and veiled in a plastic sheet to keep the weather away, displayed in hopes of buyers passing that way. Not when I see fruit trees bursting with persimmons or pomegranates this time of year, or donkeys hauling carts full of dried twigs, for which I’m still unsure the purpose. I don’t get nervous when we travel straddling the two-lane road, creating a “fast lane” out of the space between passing cars, or passing the baby back and forth to play in the front seat with her grandfather for a while before coming back to sit on my lap. I still feel a pang of sadness when I see three-legged dogs looking for scraps of food, but the car goes so fast that I don’t really wonder if they’ll make it until tomorrow any more. I worry not about the Turkish toilet outhouse behind the chicken coop or the dog on a chain, next to starving but loving us nonetheless. And I’m only a little bothered by G’s shortness of tone with me as I try to get the room sorted out but I realize it’s because he hasn’t had a cigarette since we left, as he’s still afraid to smoke in front of his father.

What did get me this time, however, is the power failure at about 10:30 at night. Cold and rainy. No heat and no light and in the middle of nowhere. It rivaled my Outward Bound solo, where I huddled in my sleeping bag in the rain in the woods for 3 days and 2 nights. Ah, memories. But I survived both. And the next day brought the sun. So all was not lost.

This past summer, the family decided to remodel the farm house in Bodbe in hopes of luring some Americans to come for the grape harvest. Alas, this year it wasn’t to be, but G, S & I were able to admire the new remodel for ourselves. They did a good job, opening up the dark rooms and laying nice wood plank floor. Perhaps the most noticeable difference, however, is the fact that everything in the main room is now pink. The walls have a bubble gum hue and the curtains, although white, shimmer with a pink tinge and to top it all off, the light fixtures, triangular in shape, have pink air-brushed tips.

Sophie was afraid of Babo at first, but then warmed up after a while. She crawled all over the new floors and found a huge stuffed dog to be her best friend. If you’ve ever wondered what happens to all of those stuffed animals that people win at State Fairs all over the U.S., I think I’ve found the answer: they’ve made their way into the homes of Georgians all over the country, proudly and centrally displayed in hopes of entertaining visiting children.

I spent lots of time that first day in Babo’s non-remodeled room (as that was where the wood-burning stove sat) trying to get warm and watching the chickens out the window trying to figure out how to escape. Double entendre intended. Finally a bit warmer next to the stove. Babo’s underwear hanging behind it. Just far enough away from the cotton candy life that waited in the next room.

When Sophie slept, I sat upstairs shivering and writing. Staring at bags of clothes I’ve sent over because I don’t use them anymore. G’s mom makes a business out of selling my old clothes. Weird.

I wanted eggs in the morning, but no chickens were laying in the entire village. Both G and his dad made separate trips to find eggs for me, but none were to be found. So I fixed my rice and spinach without the protein and ate it anyway. It was good to have something other than potatoes and bread, the contents of every meal in the village when winter approaches. The Georgians thought I was weird for my eating habits. Turnabout is fair play I guess.

I must sign off to post this entry. More soon…

Photos

First view of Georgia....


Day trip to our cabin in Buriani with best man (and Sophie's godfather, Giorgi) and his daughter Elena. When we went to the town meeting, we found this still working at the entry.

Working in Bodbe: taking wheat to be cleaned and sunflower seeds to be made into oil.

Babo guarded these grapes with a stick so that Sophie could have her picture taken with them. There she is with the grapes and with her Daddy and great-grandmother...

Leaving Georgia...

This trip has been wonderful and terrible and everything in between. Everything here is done with hot blood. Relationships have been tested and reaffirmed in new ways. Birth and death are happenstance. I’ve seen family gather time and again for one another and felt how child-rearing is meant to be.

Two days ago, I heard tales of how Giorgi’s family came to be; tales that rival any legend with lost love, kidnapping and murder. With giants and foreign lands. Yes, I’ll write those down someday too. I saw a funeral procession where the guest of honor was carried above her bearers’ heads, face forward to say good-bye to the world, tucked into her transport like a militarily made bed. I smelled fresh mountain air, ate by the light of an oil lamp, and watched the sun set into a thousand different shades of pink. When my baby slept in my arms on the long ride home, I even saw a hedgehog scurry across the road in the headlights.

In my life, I’ve lived on four continents, seen the sun rise over the Dead Sea, climbed to the top of Ayers Rock, made a pilgrimage to the monastery in Petra’s painted city, trusted strangers to drive us across the deserts of Egypt, looked across the straits to see the Rock of Gibraltar, climbed to the top of mountains, hiked into Bryce Canyon at dawn, and driven through the hills of Ireland all in search of beauty. And nothing compares to the vistas I’ve found in Giorgi’s ancestors’ land. I may soon be lost into this place.

Thank you all for following my blog and sharing a bit of my adventures here in Georgia. We return on Wednesday from our time away and look forward to spending time with friends and family in the U.S. Peace.

Sophie's Natloba (Baptism)

Last Wednesday (May 6), we baptized Sophie. It was a long traumatic ordeal for her, and nothing I'd like to repeat anytime soon. It mightn't have been so bad if they would have let me hold her, but for the majority of the ceremony, the godparents had to hold her. Consequently, she felt scared and alone and there was nothing I could do lest I ruin the ceremony and have to endure it all over again at a later date. So I waited. And waited.

At first, I didn't think it so bad. They handed her back to me right away and had us stand outside the church door, the father (Mamao) chanting something in Old Georgian from an old book. I assumed it was some sort of entrance chant. But it went on and on. We must have stood outside for 15 minutes waiting for a break in the chanting, but it only came after my skirt had blown up Marilyn Monroe style a couple of times and the whipping wind had turned my legs white and numb. But finally the Mamao took a breath, looked up from his book and beckoned us through the door.

Then came Sophie's trauma. I had to hand her off to G's dear friend Giorgi, of whom Sophie became automatically suspicious. It didn't take long for my always cheerful baby to find her tears and go into deeper and deeper hysterics as the Mamao began his chanting again. I couldn't help but wonder if Sophie had some other-life memory of pagan rituals sacrificing little children in the name of their gods. Her demeanor suggested that this is what she expected. For my heard it might have well been the beginning of one. Knowing that she wouldn't be seriously harmed during the ceremony was the only thing that kept me from snatching her out of Giorgi's arms and running for the nearest secular stronghold. If there is such a thing. So I waited some more. While my baby cried and looked at me longingly, wondering why I wouldn't hold her.

I wondered if the Mamao was actually going to chant out the whole prayer book he held. They held candles, lit candles, dipped Sophie's feet in water and splashed her head with it. Then there was an elaborate ritual wherein the Mamao had to paint little crosses in oil on her face, hands and feet. Sophie then did her best to keep away from his little paint brush. Then they cut her hair. Then they walked around the bowl of water, candles in hand, three times, before pausing for a final chant and finally, finally, handing her back to me for a long recovery.

Sophie's first encounter with the church.

On the way out, the wind was whipping and the men raced to the cars, leaving the women to fend for ourselves with Sophie in hand. Realizing what they'd done, they raced half-way back to help us the rest of the way. Sophie and I sat in the front seat of Giorgi's (Sophie's Godfather's) car. She gave him a cold and hateful stare the entire way home.



Once back at the farm, the party awaited. Sophie nursed frantically for a while and then passed out cold after her huge day and woke a few hours later when the party was still going on. When I handed her to Teco (her Godmother), she grew instantly suspicious and scared again. It'll take a while to get this day out of her system. Later that evening, I got sick, so I had to turn in early with Sophie. Neither of us minded though.



The next day turned out to be a much better day. We took a walk to the back of Giorgi's family's property, where you can see the earth curve. A much better place to find God in my opinion. And, as if on cue, a tortoise appeared there. Nature has a funny way of coming full circle for me.

Sophie has been to one other church since that fateful day. She was nervous and wanted to leave ASAP. Fortunately, she was able to remain safe in my arms for the entire visit.

Grave Visiting Day

The day after Easter, Giorgi called and wanted us to ride along with Gocha and his family into the village for the day. We acquiesced. Gocha first picked up his mother, then Sophie and me, then back to Ruska’s parents house for Ruska and their two children. After a few stops in the city (Ruska desperately needed a Q-Tip before they could leave. I didn’t ask why)(and we needed cat food - yes, animal food is a new concept here), we were on the road. We passed Sophie back and forth between me in the front seat and Irina in the back until she was ready for a nap. She came to my lap for her nap and I probably broke a few U.S. laws shading her from the sun and hindering Gocha’s vision, so she could sleep. Not to mention the absence of a car seat. It’s really a wonder any of us survived before all of the rules and regulations imposed upon us by the U.S. So we were once again living on the edge. And we made it to Sopeli in a little over an hour, I trying to communicate with my broken Georgian and Gocha and Ruska with their broken English.

As soon as we arrived, G and his dad were nowhere to be found. The old me might have been annoyed by this fact, but the new mom-me seized the opportunity to escape up to the guest bedroom to feed my hungry baby in peace. Relatively speaking, of course.

A little quirk of Sophie’s is that she refuses to eat, even when hungry, if there’s any type of distraction. I try to explain this to people but something must get lost in translation. So, shortly after I had stolen upstairs and while I was preparing Sophie for her meal, Irina showed up to putter. When she realized that she was hindering Sophie’s eating, she did go outside, only to periodically peek her head in and ask whether Sophie was still eating, which, of course, only served to stop the eating for a few more minutes each time. But eventually she ate and Giorgi appeared (he and his father had visited his great uncle’s grave).

I then learned why I needed to go into the village for the day: on the day after Easter, everyone visits their family’s graves. This is not your average American-style grave visit where you bring some flowers, maybe cross yourself, say a prayer if you’re religious, have a moment of silence and remembrance and then leave. No. This is a Georgian-style grave visit and, as you might have guessed, it involves wine and partying. Just with a somber tone.

So the family piled into our 2 cars and drove to a small church recently erected at the foot of the ancient graveyard. After entering, Irina was chastised for not wearing a scarf into the church (I had my trusty scarf ready, as I remembered it in the nick of time) and then we lit some candles. On our way out, Gocha hurried us up because he had hired the Mamao (father) to bless Grandpa Gogia’s grave. Sophie made it into the car with Irina, but the father and his assistant had taken Gocha’s and my places, so we had to walk. No matter. I needed the exercise anyway. So we hiked up the path to “GogiaPapa’s” grave where Soso had earlier driven with his new weed-killer contraption. They had purchased it to spray the grapes, but Soso was so excited to use it that he thought he’d test it out around GogiaPapa’s grave to keep the brambles at bay. I found the whole scene hilarious and took many photos.

As Soso was spraying the surrounding area and, for those of you who appreciate the joke, “securing the perimeter,” the father and his assistant did a quick blessing of the grave and were gone before I could take out the camera. Giorgi and Gocha also took some yard tools and cleared away the brambles from around the grave.

Once the yard work was done, GogiaPapa’s family paid their respects to him, each visiting in turn. Giorgi said “hello” to him from Babo, who couldn’t make the trip but told us that she had dreamed of him the night before, where Gogia told her he wasn’t ready to take her with him yet.

We finally broke out the meat, bread, cheese, wine, Easter eggs and Easter bread. We each drank a toast to Gogia, drinking only half of our glass and tossing the rest to Gogia in libations. We then stood around the table (the seats had long disappeared), eating a quick meal and finally left, leaving some bread and dyed Easter eggs and flowers for GogiaPapa.

When we got back to the house, we ate again, Sophie napped and then we packed up the cars and were about the head home, but Giorgi’s cousin Levani (our dance teacher from the wedding) showed up to hug and kiss us with his new bride and her family. We stayed a bit longer to visit with him and toast the family.

Once we finally got on our way, the holiday came full circle when Giorgi got a call from Gogita (the host of the party from the night before) asking if we were still in the village and if so, could we give a ride home to two of his guests. Of course! So we stopped by Gogita’s house to pick up his stranded guests (a famous photographer in Georgia it turns out and her good friend, the granddaughter of Georgia’s most famous actress).

In true Georgian fashion, however, Gogita’s family ushered us inside for coffee and cake while snuggling the baby (who had been quite good until then, but she, too, was ready to go home it seemed). While we were being seated and the cake was being cut, our two new passengers were waiting patiently in the car. I took the opportunity to start heading out the door myself and we finally made it out at least to the driveway, where Gogita’s brother ran to the garden to cut some fresh tulips for me. Full of love in our hearts for these generous people, we were finally on the road back to Tbilisi, where we made it home just in time for a bath, and slept.