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.

Easter Sunday

Easter is a 2-day event here, beginning at midnight on Sunday morning. At midnight, the churches are mobbed with people celebrating the rising of Christ. We gave the church visit a miss, not feeling up for a midnight adventure with a 6-month old baby (and finally not likely to be awake then as we’re over jet-lag). The next day (Easter Sunday) is filled with feasting and parties and usually involves a slaughter (many Georgians have been honoring Lent for the few weeks before). Although Giorgi and his father weren’t honoring Lent, they wanted to partake in the festivities of the day, namely meat-eating and wine-drinking. The best place to do this is, of course, in the village. Giorgi’s cousin was having such a party, and, next to Giorgi’s father, this cousin (Gogita) is the pinnacle host. There was no question: Giorgi had to go. Sophie and I decided, however, that we could give it a miss. So Giorgi and his dad set out for the party Easter morning and Sophie and I had a quiet day at home until Irina called asking us to visit.

We headed down to G’s childhood home on Petriashvili street, where Irina waited. On our way down the road, a nice woman called to me from the balcony of her hotel room. She had locked herself in her room and needed help getting out. She had to tell me in English because she didn’t speak Georgian. I, however, being the master of Georgian that I am, was able to traipse into the hotel with the baby in the sling and her huge diaper bag and my camera over the other shoulder to tell the man about the problem. He understood and ran upstairs with the extra key. I didn’t hear anything for a while, so went up the narrow stairs myself (with all of my cargo) to see whether I could help. It turned out that the man had opened the door for the lady, but then she closed the door to show him how she had locked herself in, effectively locking both of them in. I offered to hike back down the stairs and catch the key over the balcony, but the man called the owner of the hotel to rescue them. So I went on my way to Irina’s.

By that time I was incredibly hungry (after hiking up 5 flights of stairs with about 40 pounds hanging off my shoulders), so I stopped at a little khachapuri window on the way and bought my favorite “street” khachapuri: panowani. Proud of my independence, I hiked down to Irina’s house, where I found a neighbor waiting to talk to Sophie and learned that another had just left, having waited a while. Irina raced out the door when I arrived and called up the street to that neighbor and she came back to snuggle Sophie. After trying to speak in broken Georgian for about 10 minutes and just as she was leaving, she broke out her perfect English. It seems that people do this here, afraid to speak to me in English lest they make a mistake. I can only imagine what I sound like to them! But I digress.

Irinal and Sophie and I then went visiting people who stayed in Tbilisi for the Easter holiday. We first went to Giorgi’s cousin’s house (it seems that we’re always visiting some form of cousin, perhaps that’s because Giorgi seems to be related to the entire town), where we ate good Easter bread and khachapuri. Easter tradition here requires all families to have a good stock of Easter bread (called Baska) and dyed eggs. When offered coffee or soda, I again surprised my hosts by asking for water (at this point in my life, I know that they will bring me something even if I say I want nothing, so I might as well as for something good for me). Thinking it a bizarre request but honoring it nonetheless, my hostess brought me a glass of water on a saucer. It tasted wonderful.

At the same time, Sophie was, of course, whisked away from me. I learned after a few minutes that she had gone out to the yard to visit the men folk who were partying there. I’d never visited their yard before. It was a good arrangement really: all of the neighbors use a common yard that holds some fruit trees and a long table for feasting. Food and drink can be brought from anyone’s house surrounding the yard and the men drinking there are in their own private party, shut off from the road and passers-by, as well as shut out of the house, where peace can still be found. There was of course a dog present, and that was about it. Sophie and I visited the drunken men for a few minutes and then took our leave, hurrying back inside to be with the rest of the women.

One thing I’ve figured out in my time here is that sexism really isn’t all that bad. In fact, if segregating women from men is sexist, I’m all for it. I’d really much rather be laughing and telling stories with a bunch of women who aren’t intoxicated, even if it includes cooking or doing dishes (which isn’t necessary, but happens anyway because women seem to get things done when they’re together anyway) than sitting at a table full of drunk men telling the same tall takes and smoking cigarettes. The only exception is when Giorgi’s dad sings. Then, all of the above goes out the window and I only want to listen. But again I digress.

So we visited the cousins and then got a call from Gocha to meet us for his wife’s family’s party down the street. So we went. By that time, however, Sophie was hungry and there was no place there to feed her. I finally took my leave and went home. It all worked out well because Sophie and I could finally get some much needed rest while Giorgi was in the village with his father.

Mtatsminda

We drove up to Mtatsminda yesterday, a huge amusement park at the top of one of Tbilisi’s surrounding hills. It felt like we were on top of the world with the wind whipping around us and the huge Mtatsminda tower at eye-level. During communism it was apparently quite the destination spot, complete with everything a playful day could require: amusement park rides, goodies, and a huge fancy restaurant for those more inclined toward that lifestyle. At one point, as you can see from one of the pictures below, Giorgi and Irakly had to keep their babies moving lest they get too agitated. I found this quite amusing and had to get some photos.

Irakly and Teco met us there with Saba and we wandered around the entire park, exclaiming at how nice it was to finally have something new and fun worth visiting in Tbilisi. Walking around the park somehow made me feel like a kid again too and I look forward to the days when we can take Sophie there to play.

We didn’t stay long, however, as the wind was strong and the air was chilly -- it’s been in the 50’s since we’ve been here and we’ve only had a handful of sunny days (so much for all the summer clothes we brought!).

When we headed back down the hill (mountain if you ask a girl from Minnesota), Irakly was in the car a few meters ahead and we saw him put his car in reverse and back up towards us. I wondered what the heck was going on, but Giorgi knew exactly what it was: Irakly knew the spot on the hill where cars rolled uphill and was backing up to get to it to entertain the family. Yes, all of you skeptics out there, you’re thinking exactly what I thought, “yeah, right!” But, indeed, I made Giorgi put our car in neutral many times (yes, from an absolute stop) at the spot in question and sure enough, it rolled in the opposite direction you’d expect, both forward and backward, up the small incline instead of down.

I was flabbergasted, wanting him to do it again and again until I could figure out what the trick was, but he assured me that there was no trick; it was only in this spot where such a thing could happen and only some people know about it now. Hence, some cars honked annoyingly when they saw us slowly rolling backwards or forwards with our hazards on (not of course, in the best spot to stall, as we were on switchbacks, but you do whatever you please in Georgia and others work around you), and others screeched to a halt, trying the same thing (likely having wondered where the spot was but losing it after the roads were rebuilt). As you can imagine, this caused quite the traffic jam! We stayed until the sun went down, so the video is dark, but here’s the spot and the video to prove it (although you might not be able to see the hill as well in the video because I couldn’t get too far away from the car). If anyone has an explanation about why this happens, please send a comment!

The night before our adventure to Mtatsminda, we had dinner with Giorgi’s parents and heard stories of how Tbilisi was in the 60’s and 70’s, when everyone knew one another, you could stop by any neighbor’s house for a good time or a party or just to chat, and communism brought an equality to the people that no longer exists. It sounded like my father’s recollection of the 50’s in the U.S. Utopia. Giorgi and I were hopeful that Mtatsminda’s rebirth might be the beginning of such a rebirth for the entire city into what it once was. Imedi Makvs. I hope so.

Picture Storytelling

I thought I'd do some storytelling in pictures for this post...

Here's a family dinner at G's parents' house. G is sniffing the Chinjara (cooked thistles) that his mom made for dinner. I'm baking salmon in the oven and the Coke bottle really contains homemade red wine (especially for G's mom and me). G and his dad drank a gallon of homemade white wine that evening. G had a little headache the next day. The 3rd picture is the next day. G had a headache and his mom was concerned that he had a problem with his blood pressure (whenver anyone feels at all ailing here, someone will whip out a blood pressure pump to see if therein lies the problem, and if it is, they'll prescribe caffeine if it's too low and a mystery pill if it's high). Then, to be on the safe side, they had G drink more wine. He felt better by the end of the evening but a bit under the weather again the next day. Amazing.

Here's G's dad (with G in the background in the first video) serenading Sophie last night...

Here 's a party at G's Aunt Tsiuri's house. G and Waseco are drinking Georgian beer and the glass with green leaves in it in front of G is his champagne. Waseco's dad suggested dipping parsley in the champagne, as it will take the bubbles out. It seemed to work! The other pictures are Sopo w/Aunt Tsiuri and Sopo with Waseco's wife Irma and their Daughter Mari. Mari just turned 12 last week...

Here's Popo and me reading her favorite book, "Twinkle" as we affectionately call it. She loves to chew on the pages and especially loves patting the pictures of the Star's face.

Giorgi and his brother Gocha can't get together without working. Especially when the internet is available. So here they are looking at cars in MN on this side of the world. G is calling sellers in MN. The little guy on Gocha's lap is Dato, their son, born 6/12/08. Fortunately Ruska and Dato came with Gocha that evening to give me someone to play with and more interesting pictures to take! Of course, you recognize Sophie with Ruska, Gocha's wife.

At the end of a long day, sleeping in my lap in the car...

Visiting our favorite shopkeepers at Ku's Tba (Turtle Lake) from years' past. They were excited to meet Sophie and have her pose with the potato chips for an especially model-like shot!

Palm Sunday

Today was Palm Sunday in Georgia (Easter Sunday in the U.S.). We started the day out around 3:00 p.m. (still a bit jet-lagged and hence forgetting the camera) and went to G’s favorite Khachapuri restaurant for some of the city’s best Khachapuri. (For those of you new to the blog, Khachapuri is a Georgian cheese bread or cheese lasagna with butter and sometimes egg. A cholesterol nightmare and as delicious as it is bad for you). Once in the door, we went to the counter to order our artery-clogging delights and to the soda fountain for some chocolate crème charged soda, and headed for a table to wait for our food. I wondered if we’re living the life of those in the 1950’s in the U.S. with some slight modifications of course.

Before we had Sophie’s jacket off, three waitresses were hovering around and cooing at her. As soon as our food came, one of the cooks came out of the back room and, likely unable to stand it any more, leapt at the chance to “help” us while we ate by sweeping the baby out of my arms and bringing her back to the kitchen for some oohing and aahing and clucking with the 12 other ladies back there cooking. G and I followed, more because we wanted to see how Sophie would respond rather than out of any real concern for her safety. What we found defied words (needless to say, I was kicking myself for having forgotten the camera): There was Sophie, high in the air like a golden icon, beaming down at a mob of clucking women beaming back at her, each one hoping to catch her eye for a smile to call their own. It was a sight to behold.

Satisfied that Sophie could hold her own, we went back to eating our khachapuri. Periodically, we’d see Sophie come out and go past us to meet other people in the restaurant (I think one of the waitresses’ family was at a table in a separate room) and then back to the order counter for more cooing and cell-phone photos with the ladies behind the counter. Everyone took their turn. When we finished our meal, I found Sophie in the arms of a nice waitress and got her bundled up to go again. When her toy dropped on the floor, another waitress whisked in to grab it off the floor and wash it, back in a jiffy with the newly-clean toy. All cooed and waved goodbye to Sophie, telling us (her) to come back soon and often.

I had to go back for the camera before embarking on our next event of the day.

I’m not sure if this is normal behavior for people here or if Sophie is particularly special. It happened again at the next restaurant we went to too.

After the khachapuri place, we picked up some friends (my maid of honor, Teco, her husband, G’s good friend from law school, Irakli, and their kids) and headed to the church in Mtskheta where G and I were married. Teco and I covered our heads with our scarves, crossed ourselves (forehead, heart, right shoulder, left shoulder) (I had to watch Teco first for the right way to do it) and carried our babies into the church. It was Sophie’s first time in church, so we had to take some pictures. We lit some candles, looked at the graves of kings and wandered quietly around in the ancient building. Upon leaving, we bought some palm branches and asked our favorite busker to sing an old song he knew. His voice leaves much to be desired, but he’s a fixture there in the church yard, sitting under his umbrella, as he’s done for the last 8 years I’ve been coming here.

After visiting Mtskheta, Georgian custom is to eat at a famous lobio restaurant on the road back to Tbilisi. On Palm Sunday, however, it was packed to the gills. But Teco, being the resourceful, or some might say sneaky, woman that she is, found a room full of people leaving, and leapt in to claim it for our own. We weren’t going to stand in line. We had babies to please and get home early. So we ushered ourselves into a private party room, paid 5 lari (approx. $3) to light the fire in the fire place and proceeded to eat a huge meal that arrived almost immediately (which is likely why Georgians feel that this is the best restaurant in Georgia).

While Teco was finding the room, G and I were about to leave because we saw none. We were standing near the entry when a waitress found us. Or rather, she found Sophie. She kissed Sophie’s hands and begged her to “modi chemtan” (“come to me”). Sophie then reached for her and that was the end. She was out of my arms again, being snuggled by another waitress we’d never met or seen before. Her cuddling was cut short, however by another waitress, but this one only cautioned Sophie’s new friend that she should be working instead of playing. Reluctantly, Sophie was handed back to me and we went on our way.

When the meal was over, I decided Sophie had had enough stimulation for one day and pulled rank to go home and stay home. Sophie fell asleep in my arms almost immediately when we got into the car and, as has been yet unheard of for her, managed to stay asleep when I jostled her into an upright position to carry her up the stairs and into her bed. I believe it was her most exhausting day yet. Tomorrow will consist of as much boredom as I can muster in this crazy place!

Gas Money

This could be the most frustrating and confusing culture on the planet. A small small example of one of those days here…

Today, we woke up and considered visiting G’s relatives in Rustavi, a big city about ½ hour away. G has an SUV here that we’ve been driving but it only has temporary plates and they expire today. Rustavi is the city where we need to pick up the permanent plates. Not really a problem but for the fact that Gocha needs to be with us because the car is in his name. Enter complication. Gocha is busy today. G asked Gocha and he might have too much to do, so he can’t commit to anything social in the evening, but he’ll take the car to get the plates. A visit to the relatives was hence far too complicated, lest we take two cars and waste money on gas.

Sooooo, G took the car to Gocha, where he was working on another car. Then Gocha took G to their other car (a Montero) that was already at the car mart waiting to be sold, but we would take it for the evening in case we needed a car while Gocha was in Rustavi. G and I decided to go for a walk while we waited for Gocha. We did make use of the Montero in that we put some veggies in the back that we purchased at the beginning of our walk, so as not to go all the way up to our apartment to put them away. We proceeded on our walk, went to a little restaurant in Vera and ate salad and pizza. During our meal, Gocha called to say that he was in Rustavi, but forgot the paperwork, so he’d have to come back the next day (Saturday) and we’d have to risk driving without plates until then. So G and I walked home and G then needed to take the Montero back to the car mart lest the perfect buyer come along and it’s not there.

Then G made a few more phone calls to Gocha to find out when to take the Montero back to the car mart at the right time for Gocha to pick him up and drive him home again, again so that they could save on gas money (a recurring theme here for some reason). I suggested that a cab ride home from the car mart might be cheaper than the amount of time, money and energy it was taking to make all of these phone calls and organize schedules enough to make all of the necessary things happen.

At around 7:00 p.m. I started writing, as the one small task that needed to be done today had not yet been accomplished and it seemed to be all in the name of gas money. What had been accomplished, however, was that one car had driving approximately 1 hour out of the way and the other has driven approximately ½ hour out of the way, neither of which accomplished anything (except holding my veggies), and all to save on gas money!

To top it off, G then came home earlier than expected after leaving to take the Montero to the car mart (I eventually convinced him a cab ride home might be better than waiting for Gocha) only to announce that he couldn’t make it to the car mart because the protestors were blocking the streets and he couldn’t get anywhere. Ah - Georgia!

April 9th in Georgia

Georgia doesn’t flourish as much as I remember from our year here in 2007. Today is the 20th anniversary of Russia funding a revolution in Tbilisi, rolling in tanks and taking back its Georgia. Today many people fled to their villages lest something happen again on this day. Ironically as well, today, Saakashvili oppositionists staged a protest against the current government saying that he must step down within 24 hours “or else...” Of course, there was no end to that sentence, but people live in fear anyway.

We flipped the channel between a Jackie Chan movie, Tom & Jerry cartoon and the protests today. I’m not sure which was more comical. I’ve seen them all before too. Jackie Chan was in hot pursuit of some kidnappers, Tom was in hot pursuit of Jerry, and the protesters were in hot pursuit of Saakashvili. The losing political parties from the last election here had banded together to speak out against Saakashvili, but could not decide on one speaker for their interests. Needless to say, they also therefore couldn’t come up with a person to replace Saakashhvili should he actually agree and step down. People proceeded to speak into microphones about how they were sick of the current government, but they didn’t say what they disliked or what they wanted to change. At one point the women in a women’s prison called in to voice their support and the candidate speaking at the time seized his apparent opportunity to express how glad he was to have the women’s prisoners’ support because women shouldn’t be in prison! Another candidate accused Saakashvili’s government of being “fake” or “pretend” but not in false promises, but in waxing false poetry and pretend buildings. He made no sense at all and G suspected he might actually be intoxicated. Another candidate spent some time trying to rally the people by voicing that Georgia isn’t America or many other European countries. I wondered if any of the candidates actually could speak any other language or had ever been outside of Georgia. G re-assured me that a couple of them had, but not many. We eventually turned off the TV as G was feeling a little embarrassed about the display and went to get something more productive done instead.

Georgian Hospitality

Last night we went to G’s cousin’s house for a quick visit and, as is customary in Georgia, ended up having dinner and homemade wine and compoti and spending a few hours talking politics and kids (they had a boy 5 days before Sophie was born). What struck me most was the hospitality inside clear poverty. Eka’s husband Maho makes 500 Lari per month (approx. $300) and works at a respectable job. With that money he must support his mother, wife and two growing boys. To have a job at all is a blessing for Georgians, but labor laws and unions don’t exist here yet. Consequently, those who have jobs, work 6 or 7 days per week and often work 12-15 hours per day. Maho made it home around 10:30 p.m. to a beautiful meal that Eka prepared solely from potatoes and cabbage. Herbs and mayo provided variety in the dishes. They were gracious beyond compare and never once hinted that they needed anything more. If I could start a business here, I’d hire Maho to work it and pay him so much more. But this is the norm here.