The (little) men in my life.

Melt. My. Heart.

Mandarin queen.

Sitting on my throne (i.e. 6 tons of oranges recently harvested at my house).

I am the mandarin queen.

Snapshot.

Just a few of the faces (smiling or not) that make me happy to be in Georgia.

Food fight.

My time spent in Russia and especially in Belarus necessitated that I develop a defense mechanism against all the hospitality (i.e. force-feeding) that I have encountered along the way.  While I love the chance to try new things, and I do love eating (like, a lot), I'm just a little girl, and I have my limits.  While initially I obliged eating far past my point of fullness for the sake of politeness, I quickly learned that was a very poor long-term plan.  So I developed strategies to deal with the massive amounts of food forced at me: I quit eating when I've had about half of what I intend to eat, knowing that I will inevitably be given more.  I make sure that I am the only one who touches my plate; it's a lot harder to refuse when it's already on your plate, and no amount of begging will stop the heavy hand of your host mother/sister/babushka from serving you a portion 3x the size of her own.  Go light on the bread and heavy on the juice/broth/sauce/tomatoes/cucumbers/pickles; make it look like you're eating more than you really are.  Eat slowly enough that you are not immediately offered seconds but not so slow that it is noticeable.  Make sure someone is watching what you're eating; if they don't see it, it didn't happen, and you will have to make up for all that you "didn't eat."  Blame the fact that you are a weak American; they're already doing it, so you might as well use it to your advantage.

Georgia has a reputation for amazing food, drink, and hospitality.  I knew that I would have some great culinary experiences here and probably more of them than I would like.  All the same, I arrived with my eating strategies in tow thinking that I was ready to beat my host family and their hospitality (or at least hold my own).  Seven weeks into this little adventure I am here to shamelessly say that Georgian hospitality is kicking my butt.  I am no match for the endless amount of food that winds up on my plate night after night.  I cannot compete with four full meals in four hours (which happens surprisingly frequently) or the full coffee setup (complete with chocolate, fruit, nuts, cookies, etc) upwards of five times a day.  I am officially and publicly conceding defeat in this food fight, but unfortunately that doesn't mean that the battle is over.  It will continue until the day I die or explode from fullness and my host family serves lobio (beans––a traditional Georgian dish) and toasts my memory with tchtcha (Georgian moonshine) at my funeral.

So, a message to Georgia from one of its loving visitors:  Georgia, you are awesome.  You live up to your reputation of being hospitable in every sense of the word.  I've never met people so warm and giving.  Your food is amazing.  I would gladly eat my weight in fried potatoes if it was physically possible, and I will forever sing the praises of khachapuri, your fabled cheesy bread, BUT please look kindly on your weak American visitor, who loves to eat but doesn't want to go back to America weighing 1,000 pounds, and give me a break.  Every meal does not need to be a full-out supra.  I may not really know your language yet, but don't worry, the word 'Tchame!' (Eat!) will never be forgotten. You don't have to remind me of it 100x every day.  I know you love having visitors and you're really good at it, but would you mind loving me just a tiny bit less?  I will forever be grateful.  And full.

All my love,
Lizikho

Days when...

Gotta love days when school is canceled for mandarin picking.

Welcome to Adjara.

When the lights go out.

Last week during our 3-day stint without electricity, when we had nothing to do at night except cook and sit around a candle with our neighbors, I learned how to make khinkali, i.e. Georgian dumplings.  Khinkali are a greatly lauded food here that are generally only made for special occasions, due to the long and tenuous process of preparation.  I've sampled/learned to make quite a few different versions of this dish in other countries (i.e. pelmeni, vareniki, manti), and each are unique while very similar.  Khinkali are by far the "prettiest" of the dumplings.  Each is folded into a nice little package to hold in all the juices.  When eating them, you should make sure to slurp out all of the juice so as not to waste.  The doughy tops are discarded on a communal plate as a sort of trophy showing how many of these little dumplings have been conquered.  The Russian version of khinkali, pelmeni, are eaten with smetana (sour cream), and while I will forever stand beside my love for smetana, I've decided to do things the Georgian way and skip the smetana (as hard as it may be) in favor of black pepper, which is still pretty yummy.

I say all this to say that while randomly losing electricity on an almost daily basis kind of sucks, the food and fellowship that comes out of sitting around a candle in the kitchen completely removed from technology is pretty amazing.  And that apparently the mastering of this dish means that I am ready to get married (or so says my host sister).  

Life is grape.

There are many reasons why I love living in a subtropical, Black Sea, mountain village, but getting to eat stuff like this on a daily basis is probably one of the best.  Not sure what I'm gonna do when winter actually comes...

Why I travel.

Sometimes there are days when all I can think about is home, the little things that are comfortable and familiar and sweet:  My family.  Lying on the couch with my pooch.  Cooking a good Southern breakfast on the weekend.  Ringing my cowbell at a State football game on a crisp fall day.  Family nights spent playing cards or charades with my extended-friend-families.  Summer days spent at the river.  Dear friends that have become part of my family.  Sitting in the pew at FUMC on Sunday mornings...

And then I think about things from my Memphis home, a life that is already in the past:  Walking across Rhodes campus as the sun is setting.  Late night Huey’s cheese fries.  Six roommates crammed into a tiny twin bed.  Lying on my kitchen floor late at night.  Days turned into nights turned back into days spent in the library, the Middle Ground, and Buckman.  The release from Friday afternoon ultimate.  RUF.  An afternoon at Caritas where the stress of the outside world just melts away...

I think about these things and want them so badly.  I wonder why I ever left them behind.  Why couldn’t I stay where life was good and familiar?  Why did I not stay where I know deep love and community?  Why am I constantly forcing myself to pick up my whole self and with few belongings move halfway across the world entirely alone to live with complete strangers who speak a language that is foreign to me and do a job that I have never done before and really don’t know how to do?  Why do I choose to abandon the conveniences of my normal life like the Internet and a Western indoor toilet and electricity that does not shut off at random and a good shower and my car and fresh vegetables and more than five shirts?  Sometimes I cannot help but ask myself: “Why?”

And no matter how difficult a day has been, I always come back to the same answer: “Because I have to…because this is who I am.”  To not explore the world, would be denying myself something that feels very basic to me.  I can’t help but think that if I didn’t leave my home and endure the challenging weeks of misunderstanding, isolation, no Internet, food poisoning, and general village life, maybe I wouldn’t appreciate the sweetness of home quite so much.  Maybe I wouldn’t and couldn’t value every second that I get to spend with my family and friends as much as I do. 

When I stop and take a look around me at the wonder in which I am living, I immediately know why I came.  I see the beauty of the mountains and the sea.  I smell the freshness of the air.  I feel how warmly my host-family and my neighbors treat me as one of their own.  I taste all the wonderful flavors of centuries-long traditions of cultivation, cooking, and wine making.  I hear the sweet calls of “Hello! Hello! Hello!” from my students as I walk down the hallway.  And then I am reminded that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and that I am blessed to have this experience. 

I know that if I did not travel, my wanderlust would eat me alive.  I know that years down the road I would have regret for what I never experienced and wonder what could have been.  I know that it is in my blood to wander and to go and to see and to experience.  I know that (maybe unfortunately, maybe not) my passions lie on two different continents very far away from one another and that I will forever be torn in two different directions.

…

I think about all these things as the days go by in my new Georgian life.  Some days are amazing and some are frustrating, but I try to take the ups with the downs and keep moving forward.  Hours and hours are spent with my host-family and my neighbors and my students.  Walking anywhere without being invited in for coffee is impossible.  Words that were foreign begin to sound a little more familiar.  Teaching English starts feeling more natural.  Cries of “Lizi! Lizi!” from my neighbor baby Andrusha as I walk down the mountain melt my heart.  Time loses all meaning.  The thought of getting somewhere by any means other than marshutka or my own two feet baffles me.  Before I know it, I realize that I have become part of a community, and that when my time here ends, and I return to my forever-home in America, I’ll be leaving behind not a place where I lived but a life and a piece of my heart. 

And that, my friends, is why I travel.  

Things my students give me.

(And no, that is not real money.)

Proof.

Proof that I am still alive and kicking in Georgia.
 (i.e. the first and only picture I have with me in it...this one's for you, Mom).

Nice to meet you...

Typical introductory conversation in Georgia goes like this:

Random Georgian: Hi, I'm Nino (or Giorgi/Tamuna/Mari).  What's your name?
Me: I'm Liza.
RG: Where are you from?
Me: I'm from America.
RG: Are you married?
Me: No.
RG: How do you like Georgian men?  Do you want to marry a Georgian man and stay in Georgia?  My son/brother/cousin/I am also not married.
Me: Uhhh...nice to meet you?

Preaching the Gospel.

It seems that in every country I visit, I end up making a pizza at the request of my new friends/host family.  To them it is very American (apparently), and as an American, I should know how to do it the "right" way.  I take this as an opportunity to spread the gospel that it is NOT okay to put mayonnaise on pizza (which is a huge shock to most Eastern Europeans, especially Russians, who put mayonnaise on just about everything).  When I told my host sister that we really didn't need to bust out the mayo, she was like, "Oh, okay...I guess we can use tomato sauce instead," which made me feel very victorious and patriotic until we were eating and she said, "This is really good, but I think it would be a lot better with some mayonnaise." And then I died a little inside and realized that I may be fighting a losing battle. 

The view from here.

What I wake up to every morning...loving the village life.

Host family.

There’s nothing like those first moments of being with your host family.  The moments when you will no doubt be greeted with hugs and kisses and warm words.  The moments when although you may have arrived at midnight after a ten hours’ journey, they will still prepare a huge table of food and force you to eat even though you aren’t hungry.  When they will pour drinks and make toasts to you and your country and friendship and will continue to smile and hug on you and hold your hand just because they are glad you are there.  So many words will be said, and while few of these words will be familiar, everything will be understood because love has its own language.  There is nothing like the undeniable realization that people are good everywhere, and that no matter where you go in the world, you will find good people who welcome you into their lives with love and kindness and friendship.  There’s nothing like feeling at home in a foreign country.  

Drum roll, please...

I am proud to announce that after lots of waiting and wondering, I finally have my placement for the semester!  I will be teaching in the village of Zemo Tkhilnari in the Khelvachauri District, Adjara Region, which means that I am Black Sea bound!  I'll be living a little ways outside of Batumi, the third largest city in Georgia, meaning that I am just a few kilometers from the Black Sea and from the Turkish border.  Needless to say, my wish to spend more time exploring to Turkey will be granted.  I'm headed that way today, so the real details will come later when I am settled and (hopefully) have internet.  So the adventure continues...

Tbilisi.

Seven days have come and gone since I arrived in Georgia.  As always, it feels like it has been not so long and also forever.  In this time I have been squeezing in my first glimpses of Tbilisi amongst the busy schedule we have kept during training.  Upon arriving at the hotel at 5:30 am after 36-straight hours of traveling, we hit the ground running and have been busy with Georgian, teaching methodology, and intercultural classes, as well as informational sessions on logistical issues such as banking and health insurance.  It is amazing how much information can be crammed into such a short period of time, but somehow the TLG coordinators manage to make the process almost seamless.  I am super impressed by TLG as an organization.  It is very obvious that they have developed tremendously since their foundation, and I already see how their work is making a difference in Georgia.  I am proud to be associated with them and working as a part of their inititative to help my kids learn English.

From the second I stepped off the airplane I began comparing Georgia with Russia.  I guess I can't help it because I don't really know anything else, but all the same I'm trying to restrain my judgment a bit so that this country can impress itself on me in its own terms.  Georgia is no doubt post-Soviet, but for every similarity with Russia, there are just as many differences and peculiarities of its own.  Georgia has a ridiculously long and rich history, and its time under Soviet rule, as recent its fall and as lingering the effects may be, is only a tiny portion of the history in whole.  Making sense of the Soviet Union's impact on Georgian society and it's role in the current trajectory of the country will keep me busy, for sure.  Most of the other volunteers have no connection to the FSU (only 2-3 out of 109 are Russian speakers), so I love seeing the reactions of other volunteers to things that I long ago deemed normal (riding in a marshutka, being stared at on the street, getting hit on by older men, etc).  Since we barely know any Georgian, and English is not very common, I am constantly forced to take the lead when we are out and about to negotiate cabs, order food, and ask directions in Russian.  Even though it strange for me to be in a country where I can barely read street signs and don't understand the conversations of those around me, I already see how very valuable my Russian will be over the course of my time here.  All the same, I hope to learn Georgian and use it as much as I can.  It truly is a fascinating language both linguistically and historically, though I doubt I will be able to string all those consonants together or pronounce the sound 'qkh' any time soon (or ever).  

Tbilisi is a gorgeous city that is just as beautiful in the daylight as it is lit up at night.  Walking into the city-center for the first time was magical.  The juxtaposition of buildings that are centuries and centuries old with modern architecture and the majesty of the mountains towering nearby perfectly illustrates the overall feel of the city and the country.  It is so old and rooted in tradition, but at the same time things are changing very rapidly as a new generation looks forward, innovating a new future.  One highlight of the week was Tbilisoba, a festival celebrating Tbilisi, which was celebrated over the weekend.  Even though we were busy with training, we still got out in the evenings to enjoy a little bit of the festivities.  Nothing is better than strolling around a city with crowds of locals who are out doing the same.  Tbilisi is just the jumping off point for this adventure, but I'm glad to take it in before heading on to the next place, wherever that may be.  

Old Tbilisi.

Old meets new. 

Inner-city vineyard.

Election leftovers.

Georgian Dreams.

Istanbul (Not Constantinople).

My trip to Georgia was long.  36 hours from point A to point B kind of long.  4 flights kind of long.  16 hours of layovers long.  Like I said...it was long.  All I can say is "Thank God for Turkish Airline's free onboard wifi and movie selection".  I really cannot believe that they pay for the rights to all those movies (actually, they probably don't).  I was so overwhelmed by the many choices that I ended up watching Grease...twice (confession time).  I did however, meet some really cool people on each flight that helped pass the time.  Even the guy on my first flight, who thought I was fourteen but proceeded to chat me up anyway and ended our conversation by saying that he was glad that I was not actually fourteen because I was very interesting, was alright.  Kinda creepy but alright.  

My transatlantic flight left me with a seven and a half hour layover in Istanbul.  After spending four hours each in the Atlanta and JFK airports, the thought of sitting in an airport any longer was unbearable, leaving me know choice but to go out into the city (logical, right?).  As I deplaned, I casually stalked anyone around me who looked remotely like someone who might be going to teach English in Georgia.  My little reconnaissance mission did not result in any TLG travel buddies (though it did score me some interesting conversation), so I decided to take on the city solo.  I waited in line with the rest of the foreigners to get a Turkish visa.  I was amazed at the simplicity of giving a visa officer my passport + 20 bucks to receive in exchange for a visa sticker in my passport without so much as a glance at me or any of my information (though this was still not as baffling as coming into Georgia without a visa and receiving a stamp in my passport + a bottle of wine--Russia has made me resent anything involving the word visa or passport, and I no longer thought such things were possible).  After this little task was completed, I stepped out into the wide world of Turkey and Istanbul.

Since my time for exploration was limited, I decided to head to the Sultanahmet area where the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, two of Istanbul's most iconic buildings, are located.  The metro/tram ride to get into town was in itself really enjoyable.  The metro is above ground, so I was able to look out the window and see more of the city as I went along.  For anyone considering a trip to Istanbul, the public transportation is really simple and easy to use even with zero knowledge of Turkish.  Before arriving in Istanbul I knew the stop at which I needed to transfer and the stop at which I wanted to end, but really it was all quite intuitive, and I did not even need to ask anyone for directions.  After about 45 minutes, I arrived at my destination and began wandering around the area alongside a few too many tourists for my taste.  The architecture, street vendors, and people were all very bold and engaging.  It was easy to wander aimlessly and snap photos without a map because everything and everywhere was worth exploring.  The 'east meets west' and 'old meets new' feel of the city was very apparent.  In some ways, it was a sign of what was to come because I definitely feel the same thing in Tbilisi (Kazan also had a similar east/west, old/new feeling but in a very different way that I really don't know how to explain).  To be honest, I was there for such a short time that it feels unfair to share my impressions about Istanbul because they are founded on nothing but a few hours.  I barely scratched the surface.  I will, however, say that I found Istanbul to be quite beautiful and mystical, and it definitely has a place on the list of places that I want to explore more, especially after ending my night with some really delicious doner and baklava.  Gotta have more of that stuff!

For sale.

Corn.

Courtyard in the Blue Mosque

Inside the Blue Mosque

Pomegranate juice: street style.

Blue Mosque exterior. 

Hagia Sophia.

Rugs.

Welcome to Sakartvelo.

No visa and a bottle of wine at passport control?  

I think I can get used to this, Georgia.

I'm back.

Stateside (but Georgia's on m-m-m-m-my mind).

After spending two glorious months in Kazan, I'm back in the States.  Actually, I've been back for about six weeks now, but who's counting?  As I've been reminded by my mother, I don't do a very good job of tying up loose ends on my blog when I leave a place.  I get caught up in the busyness that ensues from trying to suck every last bit of goodness and adventure out of a place before I must leave, saying my see-you-later's to new friends, and hastily packing the belongings I've magically accrued over the summer.  I'll blame busyness, but the real culprit is the fact that I find it extremely difficult to sum up an experience with a few short words in any way that feels meaningful or worthy of what was. The week leading up to my departure from Kazan, I was overwhelmed with a deep sadness that I had to leave Russia again.  I by no means want to give up my life in America for a forever-life in Russia, but Russianess is so deeply ingrained in who I am that I don't think I will ever be able to escape it.  For better or worse.

Kazan surprised me in a lot of ways.  I didn't expect to live in such a beautiful, cultured, and developing city.  I didn't expect to find such a cool and harmonious blend of Christianity and Islam.  I didn't expect to make true friends in such a short period of time, let alone good ones.  I didn't expect to feel like I left a little piece of me behind.  I didn't expect to fall in love with that place.

Because I am a normal (read: completely insane) person, I have decided to quench my post-Soviet yearnings by a jaunt through the Caucuses.  I was recently accepted into a program called Teach and Learn with Georgia to become an ESL teacher for school aged children in the Republic of Georgia, and I am leaving TODAY to make the long trek eastward.  The answer to any further question you might ask me about this will inevitably be "I don't know" (as my parents have quickly learned failed to learn), as my placement, length of stay, and exact role is still yet to be determined.  BUT in a few short hours or days or a week (?) I will soon be able to answer all the where's, why's, and when's after my week-long training in Tbilisi.  Stay tuned for tales from my 36-hour journey and a possible adventure into Istanbul.

To quote the Beatles yet again, Georgia's always on m-m-m-m-my mind!

4-dacha day.

 Garden-fresh food...banya...family...friends...flower pickin'...beautiful landscapes...fresh air...afternoon showers...sunshine...clouds...apple trees...cooking...eating...toasting...singing...fellowshipping...a four dacha day.

Makaryev.

View of the monastery from the boat.

Ostrich farm...1km.

"Skazka" House Museum.

Natasha feeding the dvor dog some derevenskii baton.

Деревня.

Yuri Andreivich's chickens that tried to follow us to the boat.  Бог с ними!

Nizhny Novgorod.

Welcome to Nizhny. 

Church of the Nativity of Our Lady=probably one of the most beautiful iconstases  ever. 

Mo' fox gloves.

Caption--не нужно.

Big bankin'.

Ulitsa Pokrovskaya.  Дети play ball here.

Motha Rossiya.

Oh, hey.

Blinchikia+sushi=my fave combo.

Russkaya Co'Cola. 

Ey, Rebyata.

Kremlin.