Into Sopeli

Jet lag has consumed much of the time we could be adventuring, so the first week here has been quiet. We did rally one day, however, to visit G’s grandmothers in their villages. We started out on the wrong foot, however, and since my sense of humor failed to make it over on the flight from Minnesota, I was at a disadvantage.

One thing to remember about Georgia is that nothing is ever easy. We got going early for a jet-lagged new family, but late for G’s parents, who were waiting impatiently to get on the road. G had had a conversation with them some time earlier wherein it was decided that we would all go to the village together to save money on gas. So they were waiting. With huge amounts of stuff. When we finally made it to their house with Sophie in the car seat in back, they were a bit agitated. After loading everything into the SUV, Irina and I got into the back on either side of Sophie’s car seat and Soso got in front. A lovely smell of some combination of mold and cigarette smoke wafted from the bags in the back and Sophie squirmed and struggled to find peace for a bit of much-needed rest, but to no avail with her grandmother and me right there to look at. But we were on our way and I hoped the lull of the drive would help her to sleep. Or so I thought.

As we began to drive away, G’s parents informed us that we needed to stop to get some adult Pampers for G’s grandmother. Not a big deal, except that Irina only knew one place to purchase them and it was in the opposite direction next to the train station. We had to maneuver through bumper-to-bumper traffic for 45 minutes to get there, dodging gobs of people on a Saturday at the train depot bazaar. Not to mention the smog.

When we finally made it, of course there was no place to park. We eventually decided to just drop off G’s parents so Irina could walk to the shop and Soso could inhale some much needed nicotine (he won’t smoke inside with Sophie - thanks God!) and found a parking place further up the road. G quickly stepped out to smoke himself and buy some water (the village water isn’t good for us to drink) and I was left in the back seat unable to nurse in such cramped conditions, staring out the front windows as women haggling over bizarre second-hand clothes. It was reminiscent of the plane ride from Minneapolis, but worse.

As I mentioned earlier, I had no sense of humor at the time and steam started to come out my ears. G was doing his best to make me happy, but a peck on the cheek with an, “I love you” hardly fit the bill. I finally composed myself enough to get the babe out of the car seat and took her to sit in the front seat. I think that was around the time G called his dad to find out what was taking so long (it had been over ½ hour) and learned that his mom was now shopping for potatoes. This is how Sophie came to ride in my lap in the front seat for the long drive to Sopeli (for those of you new to Georgian terms, Sopeli is the Georgian word for the country). Sophie was a star in my lap, watching the world go by until she got tired and dozed off to the bouncing of the car, waking briefly and the falling asleep again for the whole drive there. In retrospect, we decided that the next time it might be better to simply give G’s parents money for gas.

When we arrived at the house in Bodbe, it seemed deserted and lonely. A huge difference from the Bodbe house I remember. Maybe it’s because they’ve just come out of winter, but more likely it’s because Inge, the old caretaker, passed away, leaving a void as big as the house itself. Babo, however, remains the same. The new caretaker is nice enough and keeps an immaculate house. But did not come out to welcome us as Inge had done so many times before.

So we went in and hugged Babo and G’s mom yelled at her for not wearing her diapers and then gossiped with the new caretaker about how the second caretaker was no good and had drinking and fish-eating parties at G’s parents’ expense right there in the house. And G and his dad quietly stole away to the car where they looked under the hood and nodded their heads knowingly at each other. And Babo and Sophie and I sat and watched it all going on around us. G’s mom fried some potatoes for lunch, we ate, and then were on our way (I had told G that I wanted to leave before it got dark).

Before we left, I befriended a turkey who was patrolling the driveway. The family bought him last time we left, vowing to kill him and eat him upon our return. They ball him Baloo, after G’s nickname here. He was a beautiful bird and I took altogether too many pictures of him. He paced back and forth, wary of me but not afraid. His feathers made a wonderful scratching sound as they dragged on the cement. He’d take three steps with his hard feathers down for a 3-beat tchtchtch and then pause. Then three more steps and pause. Back and forth, eyeing me carefully. I enjoyed his quiet company.

And off again to another village. This time to G’s mother’s village. In the car on the way there, we had a big “discussion” about whether or not we should actually visit. G’s mom was against the idea, as she was still upset with her mother for never visiting her in Tbilis or coming to our wedding. Plus, she said, she had no gift for them, and it’s wrong to arrive at someone’s home without candy or chocolate. I argued that G’s grandmother would likely want to see G and meet Sophie more than she might want chocolate, but Ira would have nothing to do with that. We ultimately found a store to buy some chocolate before heading to Maria’s house.

When we arrived, Nana (Ira’s sister-in-law) pulled her 3-year old boy Lexo to the back of the living room where buckets of water sat atop a wood-burning stove, which was heating the house and the water. Nana proceeded to wash Lexo’s hands and face so he could be presentable for the company we were. After making her boy presentable, Nana set about getting some homemade cake (the best I’ve had yet in Georgia) and compoti (peach preserves) for us to nibble and drink. I did more than nibble and she sent a whole cake home with me for later. While Nana was in the kitchen dishing up my traveling cake, G’s grandmother was out back choosing a huge jar of compoti to send along with us as well. Needless to say, my weight loss program has yet to begin here and I appear to be regressing into a weight-gain program as I eat my way through Georgia.

While we were eating, Lexo fell in love with Sophie and wanted to hug and kiss her for our entire visit. We had to take care not to let him pull her out of our hands. We took some family pictures, played with Nana’s boys and were off. I pulled rank and Sophie rode in my lap in the front seat again all the way home to Tbilisi.

The Long Journey

The flight from Minnesota to Amsterdam was trying to put it nicely. Sophie turned out to be monstrous, but for good reason. Our seating arrangement left much to be desired. We were fortunate enough to get seats together, but that was the extent of our luck. The plane reminded me of planes from the ‘80’s with about as much leg room, packing us in like sardines. And, if any of you have flown overseas lately, you’ll know that they now always have nary an empty seat on these flights and people pay dearly for premium seats (which I tried to buy 24 hours before the flight, only to learn that it was impossible with the tickets we had purchased). So we had to make do with what they could give us at the gate. Consequently, the baby had nowhere to stretch out unless one of us stood up. However, the naziesque flight attendant patrolling the aisles insisted that we "remain seated while the seat-belt sign was on," which, of course, ended up being most of the flight.

So we had a small squirming monster who screamed bloody murder most of the trip because she wanted to sleep but couldn’t with the TV’s coming on in front of her face, flight attendants speaking loudly to make sure we heard, lights and noises coming and going, and worse yet, nowhere to call her own.

As soon as we got the car seat from the gate, she dozed off for the entire layover in Amsterdam and thereafter our luck shifted. We found a “baby room” there that had curtained crib areas with soft music playing. We stayed there for a while but eventually decided to venture up to the reclined chairs for some zzz’s of our own. The Dutch gate attendants were more than helpful and even let us roll the stroller through security instead of disassembling the entire thing and waking the baby. Then, to make matters even more accommodating, they let us take the car seat onto the flight! I almost dropped on my knees and kissed the attendant’s feet. Sophie was then back to her normal self, sleeping when she was tired and waking to flirt with the girls sitting nearby and then napping again when necessary. G had the entire row behind us and we all could rest a bit before arriving in Tibilisi

When we got to Tbilisi, customs was a breeze, baggage came right away and we headed out to see the family who eagerly awaited our arrival. Soso (G’s dad) couldn’t stand to wait behind the barrier, so he pushed through to meet us at the door. Sometimes it’s nice not to have so much policing in our lives. Once we made it to the rest of the people waiting there for us (there were about 10 other family members there), all was swept away with hugs and kisses. The luggage was taken to the car, the baby was hugged, kissed, snuggled and given the “once over” by all.

Then into the cars (Giorgi drove ours, having missed the Georgian driving). I sat in front with Aunt Dali and Irina in the back seat, Sophie on Irina’s lap. And, as it always is in Georgia, plans and expectations left and spontaneity began.

On the road, Gocha pulled up beside us (cell phones aren’t allowed while driving) and asked through the window whether we wanted to stop by Tatuli’s class’ art exhibit.

“Sure -- why not?”
“Ok. It’s at the TBC Bank off Rustaveli street.”
“Ok. We’ll meet you there.”

That was the last time we saw Gocha. Giorgi, good boy that he is, obeyed his mother's back seat driving directions and got us thoroughly lost (his mother has never driven the streets of Tbilisi, so I'm not sure where her authority came from). We eventually found ourselves at the shop where I rented my wedding dress the last time we were here. I think I was the first person to recognize where we were. Ah the irony of it all! Once Giorgi stopped listening to the directions coming from the back seat, we found the bank and parked in a space entirely too small for our vehicle and got out of the car. Aunt Dali stayed in the car, likely preferring to wait in some relative peace and quiet, but the rest of us traipsed into the bank.

Banks in Georgia are very high security. Or so they’d like you to believe (for example, cameras aren’t allowed but cell phones (which almost always have cameras) are). Once inside the front doors, you must make your way through the small foyer into a little pod that has sliding bullet-proof glass doors on either side, not unlike something you’d see on Star Trek. You must push a small button on the side, wait for the green light and the rounded door to glide open. Then you step inside the pod big enough only for one, maybe two, people, and the door closes again. Almost immediately an identical door on the opposite side then opens and you step into the bank. I was allowed to enter the pod with my mother-in-law, of course. I’m Amerikeli. Or perhaps it was because Irina was carrying a baby who was obviously mine.

Once inside, we had to climb approximately 6 flights of stairs. Not something we had gambled on. But nonetheless, we all made it up. Having finally arrived at Tatuli’s art exhibit, we were eager to see the beautiful paintings, and Tatuli of course. Tatuli came and found us right away. Ruska in tow, grabbed Sophie as soon as she saw her and couldn’t stop talking about how crazy she was for her (not hard to do if I do say so myself). Tata, meanwhile, proudly showed us her artwork: a picture of 3 flowers painted on an 8x10 sheet of paper. I guessed that the mob scene existed there because all of the pictures on the walls (and there must have been hundreds) were each painted by a different child. A little disappointed that the show wasn’t more personal, we soon traipsed back down the 6 flights of stairs, through the little pods, and crossed the busy polluted streets with horns honking and cars going every which way on to the relative safety of our own car and raced home to Giorgi’s parents’ house, where the Supra waited for us.

By that time, Sophie was a bit tired and I put her down in G’s childhood bed for a nap. She slept with the party going on just outside her door. Familiar sounds and smells filled the air: Georgian food, wine and toasting into the evening.

When Sophie was rested enough, she called for me to get her and join the party. A true champ. Although, as the evening wore on, she was less and less interested in the party and more and more interested in finding some quiet time with me. Of course I could be projecting at this point. Nonetheless, we finally made it back to our own apartment, where our bags already waited. And we could rest.