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.
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