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…
