Drunk BEFORE Noon
Goodness. When I can only get to a computer once or twice a week, it's difficult to remember what I've already covered in my blog! I've gotten so used to simply writing everything down in my journal, that sometimes by the time I get to a computer I've forgotten everything I wanted to say.
Zugdidi a couple weekends ago was fantastic. The marshutka ride was fairly painless, as I was actually able to sit down and it was the first time I'd been around people who actually spoke my language in days. I found myself wanting to simply talk to hear the sound of my own voice, because sometimes at home I feel like I'm losing my ability to actually speak English. I can go hours without saying anything to anyone, even in Georgian. We went to the Black Sea the evening that I got into Zugdidi, and I could literally see the border of Abkhazia. It was announced by caution tape, which was funnier than it was scary. We drank, we danced at a disco down the beach, we slept in some random woman's house as our hotel. The next day I went home with Sarah to her village, where they grilled me with questions about America and forced copious amounts of chacha (homemade vodka), wine and beer down my throat. We swam in the river, drunk, went home then continued drinking until we absolutely couldn't stand anymore. They have a very different idea of drinking in this country, that's for sure.
The following week I started 'work' which really meant that I sat around while all the other teachers spoke in Georgian. Whether or not they were arguing was sometimes hard to tell, but they got quite loud at times. My co-teacher could tell I had no idea what was going on, so on the second day of work she told me it was okay if I didn't come to school that Friday, so I left for Tbilisi to see two of my fellow teachers get married. (And if I'm not careful, I'll soon be married. Being American is SO good for my marriage prospects over here. I've had to turn down no less than 3 offers.) We swam in Tbilisi Reservoir, wandered up and down Rustaveli Avenue, got incredibly smashed in the foreign part of town and generally had a good old dramatic time.
When I got home, my host mother's parents were in town, so the Monday after I returned, I was forced to drink chacha and wine with breakfast. It's rude to say no, especially when they're toasting to your health, so I ended up being rather drunk before 11 AM. And I went to work that way. Normally, this sort of behavior would strike me as horrifying, but I've pretty much gotten used to their completely relaxed way of life. They don't get angry when trains are stopped for 3 hours on the tracks for no apparent reason, they don't get angry when they don't have water for 5 days straight, they don't get angry when they don't have power for days at a time, they drink homemade vodka and wine with breakfast when there are guests, they go to work smashed. It's a very, very different culture, but I'm strangely comfortable here. Of course, it can get frustrating After all, how many times can a person drink to their own health and well-being and future Georgian husband(s)? And sometimes I'd rather not have to kneel on the bathroom floor to take a shower because the water pressure is so awful that holding it above my head only gives me a few drops.
The one thing that is strangely easy to get used to is the feeling of being in another century. I've more than once had to read by the light of my window because we didn't have power. Last night I had to eat dinner and write in my journal by candlelight because a thunderstorm had taken out power for an entire day and night. Back home I would be angry and calling up the electric company. Here? Here I just light a candle, shrug and read Jane Eyre by candlelight. When I flew across the ocean, I apparently left my anxiety issues behind and I'm not about to start complaining about that sort of lost baggage.
Zugdidi a couple weekends ago was fantastic. The marshutka ride was fairly painless, as I was actually able to sit down and it was the first time I'd been around people who actually spoke my language in days. I found myself wanting to simply talk to hear the sound of my own voice, because sometimes at home I feel like I'm losing my ability to actually speak English. I can go hours without saying anything to anyone, even in Georgian. We went to the Black Sea the evening that I got into Zugdidi, and I could literally see the border of Abkhazia. It was announced by caution tape, which was funnier than it was scary. We drank, we danced at a disco down the beach, we slept in some random woman's house as our hotel. The next day I went home with Sarah to her village, where they grilled me with questions about America and forced copious amounts of chacha (homemade vodka), wine and beer down my throat. We swam in the river, drunk, went home then continued drinking until we absolutely couldn't stand anymore. They have a very different idea of drinking in this country, that's for sure.
The following week I started 'work' which really meant that I sat around while all the other teachers spoke in Georgian. Whether or not they were arguing was sometimes hard to tell, but they got quite loud at times. My co-teacher could tell I had no idea what was going on, so on the second day of work she told me it was okay if I didn't come to school that Friday, so I left for Tbilisi to see two of my fellow teachers get married. (And if I'm not careful, I'll soon be married. Being American is SO good for my marriage prospects over here. I've had to turn down no less than 3 offers.) We swam in Tbilisi Reservoir, wandered up and down Rustaveli Avenue, got incredibly smashed in the foreign part of town and generally had a good old dramatic time.
When I got home, my host mother's parents were in town, so the Monday after I returned, I was forced to drink chacha and wine with breakfast. It's rude to say no, especially when they're toasting to your health, so I ended up being rather drunk before 11 AM. And I went to work that way. Normally, this sort of behavior would strike me as horrifying, but I've pretty much gotten used to their completely relaxed way of life. They don't get angry when trains are stopped for 3 hours on the tracks for no apparent reason, they don't get angry when they don't have water for 5 days straight, they don't get angry when they don't have power for days at a time, they drink homemade vodka and wine with breakfast when there are guests, they go to work smashed. It's a very, very different culture, but I'm strangely comfortable here. Of course, it can get frustrating After all, how many times can a person drink to their own health and well-being and future Georgian husband(s)? And sometimes I'd rather not have to kneel on the bathroom floor to take a shower because the water pressure is so awful that holding it above my head only gives me a few drops.
The one thing that is strangely easy to get used to is the feeling of being in another century. I've more than once had to read by the light of my window because we didn't have power. Last night I had to eat dinner and write in my journal by candlelight because a thunderstorm had taken out power for an entire day and night. Back home I would be angry and calling up the electric company. Here? Here I just light a candle, shrug and read Jane Eyre by candlelight. When I flew across the ocean, I apparently left my anxiety issues behind and I'm not about to start complaining about that sort of lost baggage.
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