My Thanksgiving (and Saturday, too)

It is rare that I write these posts prior to typing and posting them.  Presently (at the time of writing, not typing), I am on an elektrichka (an uncomfortable commuter train) making my way home from Kyiv.  It's about 4:15 PM and it is already mostly dark.  There is nothing I'd like to do right now but sleep, but I've lost my talent for sleeping on bumpy, abrupt rides; woe is me.

You may ask about my motivations for a day trip to Kyiv.  Quite simply, I wanted to go to T.G.I. Friday's.  Not only did I want to, I did go!  I had a Jack Daniel's Burger.  This was a large meat patty topped with cheese and bacon.  Lettuce sat underneath the burger, and there was a bit of Jack Daniel's barbeque sauce served on the side.  To say this was delicious would be an understatement.  This phenomenal burger was served with all the western decadence the T.G.I. Friday's brand name implies.  For such a large burger, I must have finished it in record time.  Not only did I finish the burger, I did everything short of lick the plate to capitalize on all that delicious sauce.  After such a meal, I may not be able to eat for the next couple of days . . . a Toby Keith song comes to mind; it's unfortunate, but I'm not as good as I once was.

It is Saturday today, and I'm pretty sure I will post this tonight, but I"m not positive.  While at Friday's I was shamed by the cover story of Kyiv Post, the English-language newspaper of Kyiv.  My burger cost 91 UAH.  Converted that sum is equal to about $11.50.  I will post a link to the cover story here:  "Living on 30 Hryvnias [Ukrainian currency] A Day."  The article discussed the Ukrainian national minimum wage which is currently 907 UAH.  Five people were chosen as volunteers to try to live for one month on the minimum wage.  It was almost impossible for them.  Only 1 out of the 5 volunteers completed the challenge.  Today I spent 4 times that 30 hryvnias per day amount on one meal, and transport to and from Kyiv.  While I am fully sated, this article has been a bit of a buzzkill.  Needless to say this isn't my proudest hour as a volunteer.  But, I'll just say it was a Thanksgiving present to myself.  For the record, it was 8 hours round trip for the T.G.I. Friday's trip, and I had no other business in Kyiv.

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In terms of Thanksgiving, I hope yours was wonderful.  Thanksgiving is a much different holiday when far from home.  A lot of the joy is taken, but the importance of the day is by no means cheapened.  Some things for which to give thanks have become even more apparent to me.  I hope I am home for next Thanksgiving, but it was intriguing to celebrate the holiday away from home.

On Monday in English club we read, translated and sang “Over the River and Through the Woods.”  We made hand-turkeys, fattening them up by naming Thanksgiving foods.  As no turkey would be complete without the stuffing, we stuffed the turkeys with things that we are thankful for.  This was followed by a pretty basic rendition of the story of the first Thanksgiving.  One of the things I was/am thankful for was/is my friend Yana for translating the story for me so I wouldn’t have to bumble through my broken Ukrainian.

Tuesday and Wednesday passed by pretty unremarkably, especially Tuesday, when I stayed up to follow the score of the PC – LaSalle game online.  I knew this would be a rebuilding year, but I didn’t expect Providence would be a scheduling, let alone losing to, a high school team (sorry A-10 fans, you know I can’t help these jabs).

That brings us to the day.  Thursday started off a bit rough.  While having my morning coffee I felt a sting of loneliness.  My heart and mind were both somewhere around the northern suburbs of Chicago.  This is the one holiday we generally spend with my dad’s side of the family.  Because I don’t get to see that side often, I really value the time we spend together.  But, around my final sip, I realized these were feelings and I stuffed them deep, deep down where they belong.

Peace Corps had granted us an unexpected holiday, but I elected not to use it, and went to school anyway.  I spent most of the day singing “Over the River and Through the Woods.”  The fourth formers were disappointed it wasn’t the “Hokey Pokey,” but they humored me and sang along; though I assume their thoughts weren’t on Grand Beach and football (of the American variety).

After school, it was time to start the celebration in earnest.  My site mate and I met to decide how to go about our Thanksgiving party.  The party was with our English club, and we actually had one of our best turn outs – 15 people.  During our meeting we decided on turkey (turkey breast, not a full turkey), gravy, mashed potatoes, and krabovyni salat (which is a salad with crab sticks, corn, cucumbers, potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, and of course the ubiquitous mayonaisse).  All of these things were homemade, as Mr. Quigley once said, “no instant mashed potatoes in the Meegan household.”  I must say, I have a lot more appreciation for the Thanksgiving meals I enjoyed when I was younger after having to prepare this small-scale affair.  The shopping took over an hour, which left us with about 3 hours to make the food.  Unfortunately, my site mate had meetings all afternoon, so the preparations, and cooking fell largely on me.

I’ll admit that I probably did not have the turkey cooked enough.  There was still a bit of pink inside, but it was tasty.  I have no experience seasoning meat, or cooking anything other than eggs, pasta, potatoes, and onions, so I was pretty proud of the result (when I say it was undercooked, it wasn’t raw, it was in the oven for almost three hours, it just wasn’t dried out enough, nobody got sick, that I know of).  In terms of seasoning, we used some mixed herbs, salt, black pepper, and paprika generously smeared over the buttered-up turkey skin.  I really enjoyed it, and, afterwards was actually gnawing on the turkey bone getting the last scraps, though I probably should not publicly admit this.

We failed to procure any apple cider, and that was a bit disappointing, hopefully I can find a way to make some in the near future.  But, we did have delicious fruit juices, none of which were homemade.  When we got to English club, some of our members had brought food, as well.  There was another batch of krabovyni salat, some chicken wings (very tasty), and a number of desserts.  My site mate gave a short presentation on Thanksgiving (though, this New Englander, and Roman Catholic would argue some of her historical facts), and we ate.

Following English club, an American friend came to visit.  We picked up some chips, and some beer, and came to my apartment.  We chose not to stop by a café because the Patriots and the Lions were playing.  Now, I was once a Barry Sanders fan, but that was because I liked Barry Sanders not the team he played for, and I think this was the first time I ever met a real live Lions fan.  I thought they no longer existed.  We turned the game on in the second quarter (streaming online) with Detroit leading.  During the game, I learned that I am thankful for Alphonso Smith.  I wish more teams had cornerbacks like that for Patriots to run around.  In Smith’s defense he did take responsibility for how poorly he played:  I just want to apologize to my teammates because they played so hard.  I feel as if I was the catalyst for this loss.  I also want to apologize to the this organization and the fans."  I’m not sure apologies are going to help Detroit very much, though.


After the game, I was able to talk to my family on Skype.  Usually, when I say my family it means my parents, or perhaps my brother or sister.  This time I got the whole bag:  aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, siblings, cousins' children.  It was a lot of fun.  A half hour on Skype, and it was one of the best half hours I have had since being in Ukraine.  Hearing from friends and family, especially those I haven't talked to in some time exponentially improves my mood.  So, if any in the Thanksgiving crowd read this, thank you for taking a few minutes to talk with the prodigal son, and humoring his self-imposed exile.

But, that's about all I know for now.  A reminder to my stateside friends:  don't forget to watch The November Christmas tonight at 9 on CBS.  This year's Hallmark Hall of Fame Presentation is based on a short story written by my uncle, Greg Coppa, and it is sure to be terrific.  If the film presentation is half as good as the short story you won't be disappointed.

Be good, and remember only 27 shopping days left until Christmas!

Pete

Happy Thanksgiving

*Disclaimer*  Please forgive my lack of eloquence.  I haven't slept too well that last few days.

To my dear friends:

I spend a lot of time bitching.  It’s just habit.  I see things I don’t like, and I state the fact.  Subtlety has not really ever been much of my thing.  But, tonight, on the eve of Thanksgiving it is time I come to terms with the fact that I rarely state how lucky I am.

As you all know, I’ve spent the last 13 months in Ukraine.  Ukraine is a European country, no doubt, but it also a country in rough shape.  I generally call it a country of extremes.  By simple accidents of chance and birth I was not born in Ukraine.  I was born in the greatest country on God’s green Earth:  the United States of America.  For that reason, I am slightly homesick on this, of all nights; but also, I am ready to put into words some of the things I’m thankful for.  Some of the things I write are unique to me.  Some of the things I write are common to almost all Americans.

I am thankful for health and youth.  These are, of course, fleeting.  I’m currently reading The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, and he makes a point of expressing just how fleeting they are.  But, while they are here I shall enjoy them.

I am thankful for my friends and family.  I’m sitting in my apartment looking at a number of things that have been sent from home, or hand delivered.  Books, coffee, snacks, clothes, and the list continues.  I have already been visited by two friends, and by my parents and my sister.  Truly incredible when you think of the cost and time it takes to travel this far around the world.  Being halfway around the world has really put into perspective just how lucky I am.  I am going to be in mourning tomorrow thinking of the family gathered together, I assume in Arlington Heights as usual.  Hopefully I will get to speak with some.  I’m often told that in Ukraine family is much more important than it is to we Americans.  I think that anyone who says this should look at my family.  Either side would challenge that statement to the core.  Thought, I suppose, one example hardly makes a case.

I also realize how much I rely on my friends.  Sitting at home on Friday and Saturday nights I recall, sometimes hazily nights in Newport.  Going to wacky wings Wednesday at the Oak Hill Tavern.  Stomping around Providence, Providence College and the surrounding areas.  I think of all the people that have made the past 10 years of my life incredible.  I am humbled by the actions of those close to me, and feel forever indebted;  “Debts that no honest man could pay,” as Bruce once said in a song I’ve played on repeat a few times.

I’m thankful for the opportunities I’ve been given.  I have been given an opportunity to travel the world.  I have been given the opportunity for a wonderful college education.  In short, most of the things on my plate have been put there with very little doing on my part.  For many of these things I deserve as much credit as the guy in the buffet line scooping up the last of the chicken fingers.

On down the line, I’m thankful for America, and all the opportunities we’ve been given as Americans.  Times may be tough now, but like every tough time before we will prevail, and be better for it.  I’m thankful that I’m 12 months from Dave’s Market.  I’m 12 months from my next visit to Updike’s Newtowne.  12 months until I go to my next PC basketball game.  I’m thankful I have a place to call home, and look forward to as much as I am looking forward to my glorious return.  It is a wonderful perspective I’ve been given, living abroad for the past year.  Living abroad, especially in a less than affluent place can show how grateful we should be.  We have received a gift.  Let’s acknowledge how great it is, and stop and reflect on life long enough to remember that it’s pretty damn good for most of us.

Now, I don’t know much about a lot of things, but these are a few facts I know without any doubt.  While I am deeply envious of all of you celebrating back home, I’m glad you will be.  I’ll join the celebrations as soon as I can.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Pete

The Beginning of the School Year

So, I was at school the other day looking out the window.  I saw the other building of my school and its corrugated roof, and remembered that while the novelty has worn off for me, this is still new and different to anyone who may be reading, and as such I should try to document it.  It is sometimes difficult to try to document without feeling as if I’m invading the privacy of my community, or acting a bit too much like a voyeur, but, as they say in Zhmerynka: “Whammy!”

Much has occurred since last I wrote.  The last things I wrote were about a trip in early August which was two and a half months ago.  Since then I have spent some time at a summer camp, celebrated Ukrainian Independence Day in Lviv, received a personal tour of a village close to mine, and the list goes on.  So, what to talk about is a considerable challenge.  Also, I’ve been home since I wrote last, spent a night in London, and a weekend in Kharkiv, the former capital of Soviet Ukraine. . . so,  I’m not sure exactly what is of interest here.  I’ll save the trip home for a different day, so I guess I’ll start from the beginning of school.

I think I’ll give you a quick crash course, and try to refocus my attentions on keeping this relatively updated.  The beginning of school:  The “Day of Knowledge” is the holiday that marks the first day of school on September 1^st, every year.  This is also called the “First Bell” ceremony.  The First Bell is a shorter day than normal.  It starts with the school assembling outside for a number of speeches, followed by the introduction of the new first graders.  The ceremony ends with a first grader being carried on the shoulders of an eleventh or tenth (whichever class is the oldest at the school) grader.  The first grader rings a ceremonial bell and this is, indeed, the “First Bell.”  Following the ringing of the first bell the young first graders are led to their classrooms by the members of the oldest class, and the first lesson of the year occurs.  The first lesson of the year is about the history and culture of Ukraine, specifically independent Ukraine.  There is a party for teachers after the students go home, complete with cognac and wine, dancing and singing, and usually salted fish.  I skipped out on the party this year, as I’m not a big fan of imbibing at school, but that’s just me.

The school year begins in earnest the day following the Day of Knowledge.  This is the first day of classes in the majority of subjects.  This period is a difficult period.  The reason is that no set schedule has been made.  It was not until the end of September that a real schedule had been created, a real schedule that would be as set in stone as things are here.  I still haven’t found out the reason for such a delay in creating a schedule, then again, maybe it’s something man wasn’t meant to know.

The days at the end of September and the beginning of October were, and are, some of the coldest days for me.  They are the days when fall is reaching her cold, clammy, gray hands on the country, and the body has not yet had time to adjust to the falling temperatures.  This is exacerbated by the fact that heat is, for the most part, central, and does not come on until someone actively turns it on.  This did not happen for me until October 15, when I had left site for awhile.  It did, however, mean that I was wearing long underwear at the end of September.  Luckily heat is now on throughout so I will not need long underwear for another few weeks, if the weather cooperates.

I think this will be a really brief post; we’ll call it a practice swing, a bit of a sound check, if you will.

The only other thing to report from this time is that I have moved again.  This is the fourth place I’ve lived in Zhmerynka, and the third apartment.  I did get it all set up with internet, though, so it’s in pretty good shape.  I even have a refrigerator and a shower!  The hot water in my shower here is better (at least temperature-wise) than the water back home, and there’s more of it!  If you want to hear the story about how and why I moved, email me.  It’s pretty funny, but I’d rather not post it here.  If you’ve spoken with my dad recently there is a good chance you would have heard it.

I think I’ll sign off there.  Next up: a trip to a bazaar and a castle.  Maybe I’ll write that today, maybe not.  Coming soon:  my trip home.

That’s all I know for now.  Be good,

Pete

Keeps Georgia on My Mind: 1 Week in Georgia (Republic of) Part II

View of the confluence of the rivers, and Mtskheta from the high church.

The church on top of the mountain, in Mtskheta. This was my favorite of the three.

The second, and least impressive, church in Mtskheta

Third church in Mtskheta

The third, and grandest, church in Mtskheta.

President George W. Bush Street: AWESOME!

Walking through Signaghi.

The wall encompassing Signaghi. Wine country.

At the cafe in Signaghi, probably about to provide a witty retort, or make a comment that identifies a deep understanding of the intricacies of our current topic of discussion (just speculating).

These ladies are preparing to send the wine to Ukraine. I'm hoping I come in contact with the fruits of their labor.

Preparing for our wine tasting.

At the table for our feast. The man standing gave the tour of the wine factory, and was our toastmaster.

Stalin Museum in Gori.

Statue of Stalin outside of his museum in Gori. The museum forgets to mention that Stalin was, to use the scientific term, an asshole.

Prayer rags outside of hilltop church in Borjomi (it was a tough climb).

Hiking in Borjomi Natural Park.

Me trying to be artsy with a Tbilisi by night picture. The golden glow is a church, and the white glow is the Avlabari Palace.

Peace Bridge at night. This is a pedestrian bridge crossing the river, it looks pretty cool in person.

Illegal picture of the Avlabari Palace in Tbilisi.

*For more photos, I have posted a plethora on facebook. Follow this link http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2104638&id=17600435&l=39f419e4b2 if you are interested in the remainder. You do not need to have a facebook account to view these photos.*

Welcome back. I hope you’re energized for a bit more rambling, and the last few days of the trip. Away we go:

As I mentioned, the ride back from the mountains was pretty painless. We arrived in Tbilisi around 1:00 PM, negotiated the metro system and made our way to our new hostel. The new hostel was not the Tbilisi Party Hostel; it was a quieter, low key place called Irina’s Guesthouse. We dropped our bags off and decided to make our plan of attack for the rest of the afternoon. We decided to head up to a town called Mtskheta, a quick trip.

Mtskheta has been a spiritual center in Georgia for thousands of years; a center, even, for pagan worship. Churches, of the Georgian Orthodox persuasion, are now the important drawing point for the town. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site (at least the three churches are), was once the official seat of the Georgian Orthodox Church and was the home of the royal family many moons ago. My favorite of the churches was the rather small church on top of a mountain presiding over the town and the confluence of two rivers. The churches we visited in Georgia were a welcome reprieve for me from the ornate Orthodox churches all over Ukraine. I much prefer the simplistic style that the Georgian churches use. After a while, I think, gilded shiny iconostases become a distraction, and there seems to be icon worship, but that is not something I’ll get into here. I should say, though, that while the churches were simple they were not Spartan.

We spent the afternoon visiting the three churches in town. The church on the mountain, as I mentioned, was one of my favorites. There were a few trees near the church, and on the trees prayer rags had been tied. Prayer rags are little strips of fabric tied around the branches of a tree in supplication for some sort of assistance. From what I have read frequently this supplication is for fertility. The same type of prayer rags are used near the mosques in Turkmenistan, so I guess this was one step towards that failed objective. Similar to the Islam in Turkmenistan, in Georgia the Christianity is still splashed with hints of the prior paganism which was once so common in the region. This was evident in Mtskheta, but it more evident in the truly isolated mountain villages. I wonder if certain colors are more successful in getting the prayers answered. Perhaps that can be some anthropology student’s Ph.D. dissertation, but I digress.

We made our way back to Tbilisi. We decided that it was imperative to capture photographic evidence (which I have shared above) of President George W. Bush Street, complete with a picture of the firmly unsmiling ex-Commander in Chief. The trip to the billboard brought us back across the city via the metro. It also involved a bit of meandering, and hopeful turns, which is a nice way to get a feeling for a city. Once the photographic evidence was obtained (more difficult than you’d expect because there were many cars zooming passed obstructing the camera view), it was time to get back to the ranch. When I say getting back to the ranch I truly mean going down to Rustaveli and having a delicious blue raspberry slushie.

We decided to walk back to the hostel from the slushie store. We were ultimately successful, despite a wrong turn bringing us to a park overlooking the bridge we needed to cross with no way to reach the bridge. After backtracking, and crossing the river we stopped for some dinner at a little café. I, optimist that I am, ordered the pizza. I should have learned after being in Ukraine for almost a year now that pizza should not be ordered anywhere that used to be a Soviet Socialist Republic, I’ll try not to make that mistake again, but I’m ever the optimist with pizza, the fries were good, though. Trying to redeem my pizza fiasco we bought a watermelon for desert. The man at the convenience store decided he would get us a nice, fresh, small watermelon. There were only two of us, after all. He grabs a small watermelon from the cooler and hands it to me, all 10lbs. of it. Now I can eat almost anything. And I can eat almost anything voraciously, and quickly. But, after a few bites, my system went into watermelon overload. I’m not sure what is worse: the watermelon overload, or “come on, Meegan, man up.” That phrase has mysterious powers over me. So, I stayed at the table trying to finish my colossal piece of watermelon. I had to face my defeat. Lessons in humility are a good thing, of course. They help us mature, and if it is from a watermelon that we learn our failings and shortcomings, then so be it. To be honest, I didn’t finish the full piece of watermelon. There was still a thin layer of pink over the rind, when I finally gave my unconditional surrender, and tossed the remains. In my defense, I did try to conceal all evidence of my failure. It was a quiet night, though, and we were able to rest up for our day-trip into wine country.

Our excursion into wine country was probably the highlight of the trip. At least it was for me. We were picked up about 9:00AM outside of our hostel. The contingent consisted of me, the esteemed Sara (my translator), a Turkish couple, a Latvian businessman now living in Tbilisi, our Georgian guide, and a driver. Our journey to Kakheti took us to a part of the country we had not yet seen, which we would not have seen otherwise. The first stop came after about two hours. This stop was a small tourist town called Signaghi. We walked through the town which looked a bit nouveau-rustic, with some hotels, and cafes, and an ancient (looking) wall around the town. After walking through the cobblestone streets we stopped at a café. I had my first experience with Turkish coffee, and I was quite happy with it. It was thick and packed a punch. The café looked out from a hill over fields and over to the border with Azerbaijan, only 12 kilometers from where we were. After awhile we got back in the truck and continued on our way. The trip went on for another hour and a half or so. Finally we made arrived at the wine factory. The factory is the factory of the Joint-Stock Corporation Kindzmarauli in the city Kvareli. If you can find any of the wine they produce it is worth a try. They had the best wine I have drank in a long time (not much of an accomplishment based on what I can afford in town).

Once we arrived at the factory we were given a tour of the grounds. Before the tour we were given a primer on why this region on Kakheti was special, what type of grapes were most popular here, and what type of wines we would be trying. We were also told about the history of the factory, its start, its relocation during Soviet times, the destruction of some of the less common types of grapes and the general knowledge of viniculture (doesn’t that word make me look smart?).

We were first brought to the area where grapes are mashed and processed for the wine. I liked how they had both the new equipment and the old Soviet equipment standing next to each other in juxtaposition. The next aspect was the tanks in which the wine is held. Again, both old and new were standing under the same roof. The brand new ones were made of shiny stainless steel, and had cold, cold water streaming down the outside. Next we saw where the wine is bottled, and where the old bottles are stored. There was a large barrel of wine in the basement reserved for the American Embassy. That, among some other things, made me envious of the embassy personnel in Tbilisi.

The highlight of our time at the factory was far and away the tasting. The tasting included a quick explanation of proper degustation of the wines, and how there are different strategies depending on whether the wine in question was white or red. Remember to swirl the wine, check the scent, check the coloring, fill your mouth and swish the wine around and hold it long enough to get the proper taste. I was very good at determining the major characteristics of the wine: whether it was white or red. The glasses of wine were washed down by a combination of walnuts, cheese, bread and there were even black olives on the table, but we all know my anathema for olives of any shade. Also involved in our tasting was a glass of chacha, the Georgian liquor akin to grappa, or fire. The tasting wrapped up with a bit of Georgian brandy. The chacha and brandy were not great, but the wine certainly was. This wrapped up our agenda for the factory. There was a store front at the factory that acted as their main wine shop. We waited a bit while our group shopped around. During this time we met a few Peace Corps Volunteers from Georgia. It was funny how perfect we found their country, and while we talked they had many of the same complaints that we do about Ukraine. We decided, that they were incorrect, however, and that Georgia is by the far the best country for a Peace Corps stint. While talking, the factory tour guide, and one of the factory owners began speaking with us as well. He was excited when he found out we were Peace Corps Volunteers, because a few years ago, at the factory he had worked with a business development volunteer. I think a job thinking of the best way to promote a wine factory must be among greatest site placements ever. After our group had wrapped up their purchases we made our way to the next stop: a Georgian feast.

We drove to a village not very far from the factory. We pulled up at a house and unloaded. The house had been turned, basically, into a museum of folk culture, and viniculture. There were traditional instruments, and traditional ways of producing wine, the usual museum-ish stuff. We were given the full tour, and then we were able look around outside. This was a strategy for biding time for the table to be set. This was the table of my dreams. It was full of some of the most delicious food I have had since October 15, 2009. There were fresh vegetables of all kinds, meat including beef, there was not one beet on the table! Our glasses were kept full, and the toasts were more sincere than any I have ever heard. It was interesting, for me, being at the table with Turks, and Georgians. They have very long memories. One toast began speaking of the history of bad blood between Turks and Georgians and the former bellicose relationship between the two nations (nations as in ethnic groups not the political entities we currently have), but these antagonisms ended maybe as many as three or four hundred years ago. But, eating and talking, and getting lubricated made for a tremendously enjoyable day for me. The toasting, as I mentioned, was formal. Not super formal, like at a traditional Georgian feast, but more formal than we’re used to. At a traditional Georgian table, only the toastmaster is allowed to make the toasts. These toasts are not the simple obligatory two or three sentences, but they are long, thought out, sometimes ramble and are delivered with solemnity. There is a picture above of our feast, and instead of trying to further elaborate you can see how delicious it looked. After the feast and the wine, the ride home was perfect for a phenomenal nap.

We passed President George W. Bush Street coming back into Tbilisi. It was slightly different this time, though. The sign had been spray painted and the words “NO WAR” and “WALT WHITMAN” were now the prominent features of the sign. Coincidentally I had recently asked Sara her thoughts on Walt Whitman, and expressed my complete disdain for the man. In the immortal words of Homer Simpson “Leaves of Grass my ass.” I wanted to get a picture of the newly defaced sign but Tbilisi has a very efficient public works department; after two days the sign had been restored to its original glory. The decider had returned. I still have no idea who in Georgia knows anything about Walt Whitman and why that would have been spray painted on a sign, but that is neither here nor there, and we’ll roll on to Sunday.

On Sunday we rented a cab and had it take us to the national park Borjomi about two hours west of Tbilisi. We went to Borjomi by way of Gori, the birthplace, and childhood home of Stalin. We dripped into his museum. The museum was interesting, but it failed to mention some key facts about Stalin: he was an asshole; he murdered millions of people; he enjoyed forced deportations. Then again, when they make a Pete Meegan Museum I hope they only concentrate on the good things: my rugged good looks and rocking biceps.

The museum also included Stalin’s private train car. I was impressed with the simplicity of the car. It was not grandiose, or elaborate. It had very simple sleeping quarters, a kitchen, and large bathroom with a bathtub and a conference room. Such a powerful man could have easily had a far more lavish personal train car. So I’ll say fair play to him on that front. But that is the only thing I’ll give him. Stalin also looked like a hipster when he was young, and I’m not a big fan of hipsters, so he’s got a few strikes against him in my book. As an aside, I recently spoke with a friend that went to the museum, also. He had a tour guide when he was there, and the tour guide did allow that “Stalin possibly was a mass murderer.”

Gori was just a quick stop. The small home, train car, and cases of gifts for Stalin could not stop us from getting to Borjomi. Perhaps, in retrospect, it was a bad idea. We didn’t allow ourselves enough time to really see and do a lot of things, but we did take a little hike there, and also stopped for a very tasty meal of traditional Georgian food. Borjomi is a place famous throughout the former Soviet Union. From this town comes one of the USSR’s favorite mineral waters. I still cannot drink it, but it is definitely popular. It has a slightly salty flavor, and is just not as refreshing as I want my water to be, but those that imbibe regularly sing its praises. So, while I do not enjoy the mineral water, the place itself was impressive. It reminded me a bit of Maine, and Sara a bit of West Virginia. So, we spent a couple of hours here, in Borjomi, before heading back to the home base. One regret I have: there was a highway sign we passed, and I wish I had gotten a picture of it. On the sign the cities Tbilisi, Baku (capital of Azerbaijan), Yerevan (capital of Armenia), and Tehran were listed with the distances in kilometers. It was pretty crazy to see how close we were to all these places.

Monday was the day we wound down our trip. We stayed in Tbilisi on Monday, and bumbled about before heading the airport around 11:00PM. While bumbling around I lobbied to spend some time at a café called Caliban’s Coffeehouse, part of Prospero’s Books, an English-language book store in Tbilisi. This is a place I wish they had in Kyiv. We spent much of the afternoon here, I drinking coffee out of a French Press reading my book. The coffee was a bit expensive, but completely worth it. I really wanted to buy some more books while I was here, some on the history, and politics of Georgia, particularly the 2008 war with Russia, but all the interesting books were far more than I could afford. Sitting, drinking coffee, reading a book, and hearing alt-country playing lowly in a corner, I felt like I could have been sitting in a café, or Updike’s Newtowne, back home; it was hard to peel myself off my chair, to get on to walking the city.

As we continued we walked further around the city. We went down some streets we had not yet been down, by the river, and away from it. A great way to see a city is to wander aimlessly. Going in and out of different streets and hollows, you get a much better idea of what you’re dealing with, more so than if you remain on the main streets. This went on for a while, until we made our way to lunch. The place looked a bit tacky, with the menu on the door, but we were pleasantly surprised. It was good food, and a nice interior, it reminded me a bit of the Pagoda Inn, back in North Kingstown, only serving Georgian food, and Mom and Dad weren’t paying. I am currently trying to find where I can get Georgian food in Kyiv, it was phenomenal. I could live a very satiated life in that country.

Biding time until our flight we prolonged the wandering. Even going so far as to climb a really, really, really tall hill that overlooked the city. At first, I thought it was a joke, “let’s go climb the funicular route.” I didn’t imagine we would make our way that high above the city. It looked so close from the bottom, though. It’s just that the hill wouldn’t stop. Eventually decided we would have to make our way to the airport, and back to the land of kholodets and salo.

Arriving back in Ukraine, the land of no smiling, was difficult. We knew we were back as soon as we landed, and were thrown into a bus packed as tight as Rush Limbaugh in a suit. Sara must have seen my face because she just started laughing at me as soon as I saw the bus we had to ride into the terminal. Alas, we made it back safe and sound, ready to finish up the last two weeks of our summer break. I didn’t make it back to site for another 2 days, but I managed, and here I am.

Sorry for the length, but I hope you enjoy the pictures. Mark October 12^th on your calendars, it is the date of my glorious ten-day return. Hope all is well in the Home of the Brave, and I’m glad Earl was all tuckered out by the time he reached your shores.

Be well and be good,

Pete

Just an Old Sweet Song: 1 Week in Georgia (Republic of) Part I

Looking down on Tbilisi from near the Narikala Citadel.

Also looking down on Tbilisi from near the Narikala Citadel.

Packed in on the marshrutka, and the back of my new haircut.

Start of the path the church is small on the left that big mountain is Kazbek.

Kazbek to my back.

Bell tower of the church, and Mount Kazbek in the background.

Church of the Holy Trinity. This picture doesn't do it justice.

Hanging out with some cows on our descent back into Gergeti/Kazbegi. (The Church of the Holy Trinity is in the background.)

View of the glacier. Mount Kazbek is on the right, with clouds covering the summit.

Certain things catch my eye, and certain things strike my fancy. I have no explanation as to why. For example, I think the tuxedo t-shirt is one of the premier inventions of all time, closely followed by the American Flag male speedo. Another example is the way I cannot get past the song “Summer Girls” by LFO. I don’t mean to make light of Georgia, or the Caucasus, but it falls into this group. At least it is a bit more socially respectable to be fascinated by an amalgamation of peoples, cultures, languages, religions, everything that comes together where Europe and Asia clash sending mountains soaring into the sky. It is strange though, that while I have always known where Armenia is, and Armenians, the country of their origin has never took hold of me. My interest in Georgia started when I first applied to Peace Corps. Georgia (and if you’re still unaware I’m writing about the Republic of Georgia, not the country in the American South that General Sherman gloriously marched through), is encompassed by the same Peace Corps region that Turkmenistan is a part of. I at this time did not know that the three countries of the Caucasus were their own Peace Corps sub-group, so I entertained the idea that perhaps I would be put into this intriguing locale. I think the first thing I saw was a picture of a church on a mountain, but it could have been a castle. To be honest, it could have even been a picture of the church I went to see, but I digress.

I traditionally like to put unattainable ideas in my head, and use them as pipe dreams. Most recent examples of this would probably be my desire after college to go to Australia or Ireland and bum around playing rugby for a few years or a few months (though this idea was really only seriously considered when I was about 18). I thought Georgia would be like this. I didn’t know anybody who had been to Georgia, nor did I know anybody with any desire to go. I thought I’d probably have to take a seat and be an armchair traveler reading travelogues, and histories of this area. But, when I got to talking with some fellow Peace Corps friends, I found there was at least one person interested in going, and even two people interested in going. We started making tentative plans. Again those style plans that generally are not followed up on. This was further complicated by the fact that the person most interested in going to this area with me bailed on us, leaving sunny Crimea for sunny San Diego. But, it was still something I mentioned every now and then among various crowds. Around April or May, when I had mentioned this, a friend said “I’d definitely go,” or at least something similar, I didn’t record the conversation.

Still these plans were in the probably not going to happen category. Until I received a call or text that said, “I just saw tickets from Kyiv to Tbilisi for $300 round trip.” This idea started to materialize. We started going over when we were free, and it was determined the second week of August would work. So, we had a potential date. But, I’ve had potential dates for a lot of things: a trip to Berlin during my sophomore year of college, a trip to San Diego during winter of 2008-09, a trip to watch Providence College play in the NCAA tournament (don’t laugh, a boy can dream) but frequently things just haven’t worked out, not always Tim Welsh’s fault. Next time I was in Kyiv, though, to watch the USA – England soccer game at an ex-pat pub, I called my friend said “should we get the tickets?” and we got the tickets. As they say, there are always a million reasons not to do something, you just need to find the reason to do it, so we said, “when will we ever go to Georgia in the future?” and followed through.

It was the beginning of June when we finally made this official, and ticketed our travel. In the meantime I read a few books on the Caucasus, some about the history, some of travel through, and some were articles in magazines like The Economist, Foreign Affairs, and even some papers from the Brookings Institution. Steinbeck, and Paul Theroux also have written about trips through the area; Steinbeck in A Russian Journal, and Theroux in Ghost Train to the Eastern Star. These readings made me even more interested in the country, though I could hardly say I had an accurate picture of the countries of the Caucasus, then again anyone who says that they do may be lying to you.

August 9^th was go time. We had an evening flight out of Kyiv and arrived around 11 Tbilisi time at night. The plane and airport were where we had our first taste of Georgian hospitality, and friendliness. On the flight, we were sitting next to a pretty large guy. He seemed slightly jumpy at first, but nice enough. But, during the flight we got to talking. Luckily I was accompanied by my official Russian translator, so she was able to handle the interpretation. With a hand lovingly placed on my thigh the gentleman told us of his family in Tbilisi – he works in Kyiv – and about Georgia, in general. He also wanted me to drink cognac with him, lots and lots of cognac, but I decided I would prefer not to drink cognac, so I tried to get out of it, by ordering wine. This was able to bide me some time, but I was ultimately unsuccessful. Every time my glass was empty my neighbor rang for the stewardess to refill my glass until ultimately there was no more wine left on the plane. Since we had started, we were going to finish the bottle (just to be clear, it was a small little flask bottle, so there was not too much) which was about three quarters of the way gone by this point. I finished the flight in a warm bubble, and had to help my new friend tie his tie because he had done more of a job on the cognac than I had. I later found out that he was afraid of flying, it was from that fear that the bottle was finished; I couldn’t let a new friend drink alone. Upon arriving in Tbilisi we met our new friend’s brother and son, he had told us he would give us a ride to our hostel. It was determined that we would take a taxi to the hostel, which was fine. Unbeknownst to us however, his brother had paid for the taxi before we got in; our first taste of the famed Georgian hospitality.

Our first two nights in Tbilisi were spent at the Tbilisi Hostel, the self-proclaimed “party hostel”. They lived up to their name the first night, breaking out the chacha Georgia’s liquor of choice, similar to grappa. To be honest, I hope I never taste chacha again. We got a bit of an unrealistic picture of the tourist crowd in Georgia from this hostel. The people staying were from Poland, South Africa, Australia, and some others from the states. It wasn’t until later that we, or at least, I found out that most of the tourists in Georgia come from Israel. Our first day in Tbilisi we were lucky. It was damn hot, but it was not humid, and the heat was not oppressive. We spent the day walking the city. From coffee on the beautiful Rustaveli Avenue, to the ancient Narikala Citadel, an ancient wall that protected the city a thousand years ago, we saw a large portion of the city which was remarkably walkable. After a bit of walking we made our way to bus station in order to buy tickets for a journey we would be undertaking on our second day up into the mountains. The buses turned out to be marshrutkas, and the marshrutkas, and bus station would make Ukraine proud. After learning that tickets are not sold for the trips to the mountains, we were told to come back the next day. Before heading back into the city we both chose to purchase some produce from the bazaar between the metro stop, and the bus station. The produce was being sold by the kilogram at the bar, with no prices for single items. After my friend was given a peach, at the stand she went to, I was energized to ask for a tomato, hoping maybe it too would be free, it was not to be, however, and I had to pay 20 tetri (about 10 cents) for my tomato. But, that’s just a random aside. Back downtown we made our way to a Thai restaurant for dinner. We both had pad thai, and I was pleasantly surprised that the “Thai” food, tasted just like the pad thai from 7 Moons back home, it was terrific. We did, however, leave the rest of Tbilisi for our return.

Luckily I had an adventurous companion, and she had the idea that we spend two days in the mountains. So our second day we made our way up to Kazbegi a town in the High Caucasus Range, and the final outpost before the dreaded Russian Federation. The ride up to Kazbegi was quite scenic. Right outside of the city there were small mountains that looked similar to the mountains of Crimea. We also drove up along rivers for almost the entirety of the ride. About an hour and a half into the ride we ran into the high mountains, the going got much slower as we were in low gear navigating the switchbacks, and negotiation herds of cattle, goats, and sheep and probably any other livestock you could think of congregating in the middle of the road. We arrived in Kazbegi in the late afternoon. We had just enough time to find our hostel, drop off our things, and then take a little walk before a glorious feast for dinner. The feast consisted of stuffed peppers, soup, fantastic bread, salad and a dish that mixed meat, tomatoes, potatoes, eggplants and a I’m sure there was more.

But, I will get to Kazbegi itself. Kazbegi was the town we arrived in, but we stayed in the village of Gergeti, which was a 7 or 8 minute walk from Kazbegi. The town is really unassuming when you arrive, until you look up and see Mount Kazbek, and its snowcap challenging you. The other thing you see is the ancient Church of the Holy Trinity which sits on a mountain above the town, but is not nearly as high as Kazbek. I found this church and its position awe-inspiring. It was too late our first night to do much here, so we hung in, reading, and getting acquainted with some of the other residents. The large majority of the residents were Israeli. Some sat and ate with us, but others were of a more orthodox nature, and had to bring their own cookware, and prepare all the food themselves to ensure it would be kosher. It seems like a difficult way to travel, and I don’t envy them.

We got up relatively early the next morning, which was Thursday morning, and prepared for a hike into the mountains. These preparations meant nothing more than packing a big bottle of water in my bag, as well as a light jacket, just in case. I wore pants, also, because the temperature in the mountains must have been 20 degrees cooler than the temperature in Tbilisi. Our hostess provided us with a hearty breakfast before our journey, eggs and bread, and coffee, but not good coffee – it was Nescafe instant coffee, and God, do I hate instant coffee, though it did the job. We were also allowed to make some sandwiches before we left – true to Ukrainian form we made open-faced sandwiches, which if you don’t know means sandwiches with only one piece of bread. The hike was not very strenuous, but we tacitly decided to take it at a snail’s pace. Our first stop was the Church of the Holy Trinity. Once here we took a good fifteen minutes to sit, rest and, for me, I was able to refill my water bottle. The church gave us a good overlook of the town, but really, for me the church itself was phenomenal, and the thing that attracted most of my attention – scaffolding and all.

After our brief respite we made our way further up the mountains. We had not illusions of climbing Mount Kazbek (that takes 4 days, motivation, and probably being in shape), but we wanted to see Mount Kazbek, and the glacier next to it. We hiked about an hour longer, before stopping in the middle of an alpine meadow and having our lunch. The lunch caused one of us to nap, and one of us to hike up to some random structure which looks like it was a basin of some sort, but really I have no idea what it was, even after a close examination. I went back down as a group of climbers descended (get it?) upon the hill we had stopped at. They were a group of Germans that had spent the last four days climbing Kazbek, and made for enjoyable company. They warned us, however, never to talk politics with Georgians – soon after their Georgian guide started discussing the literary merits of Mein Kampf, which solidified the wisdom of their suggestion. After brief conversation they assured us that the ridge where we could view Kazbek and the glacier was only another hours, so we decided to get on with it. The blame is on us, but we didn’t take into consideration that we were talking to Germans, and our efficiency just did not compare to theirs. After the foretold hour we were halfway up a path, so we decided to continue up. We didn’t expect that this peak was just a false ridge that led us nowhere other than to the next path up to a new ridge. We met another German here; she told us we would need another half hour to get to the ridge. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. We were fooled twice. It ultimately took us another hour or so to get up to the top of this ridge. I will say, I thought it was worth the time, and had we been in any semblance of shape, we probably could have done this substantially faster. It was, ultimately a phenomenal vista, and I’m glad we saw it. There was only one slight disappointment: as soon as we arrived at the ridge a cloud covered the summit of Kazbek, luckily it was so tall that we had been able to see it for most of the time. The other cool thing about the hike was seeing more and more mountains come into view as our altitude increased. As we started seeing a larger panorama of the Caucasus we were also treated to more snowcapped mountains. True to my New England roots, the only snowy mountains I have seen are the ones we ski on. I’ve never seen the Rockies, the Alps, or any other magnificent mountains – sorry, New Hampshire, but the White Mountains just don’t do it for me. The mountains that were on the other side of Kazbegi were not as tall as Kazbek, but still pretty tall, and while we were on our hike up there was a huge cracking sound, similar to close thunder. When we looked over there was a huge dust cloud slowly working its way down the mountain slope, and rocks had fallen from the top, and began rolling down. The Germans told us that there were many rockslides in that area, and climbing there is not recommended. We took a bit of a break on the ridge, took some pictures, and then decided we should make our way back down. We were ready for a hearty dinner, and I was ready to fall asleep afterwards.

Our walk down was much easier than the ascent. It was, however, a bit more perilous than I expected. I found the best way to get down these paths was to run down them until we reached relatively flat ground. While walking I seemed to slip and stumble a bit more than I did while I was running. Perhaps part of the reason for running was hunger. Dinner may be the only thing I am punctual for, I think it’s because I have priorities. It was surprising how much faster walking down was. My brother would have been in his glory. On our way down to where the church is we were in the middle of a heard of cattle. These cattle made me feel a bit inadequate because they were navigating the rocky slopes with such ease. One of the hazards of our journey down was trying to avoid the cow pies; they had peppered the trail with reckless abandon.

Heading back into civilization we took a couple of unknown turns on our way to the homestay. These turns put us right into the middle of mountain neighborhoods seemingly unaffected by, and uninterested in tourists. There were children playing, mangy dogs, delicious smells emanating from windows, chickens strutting around, some pigs, we even saw a horse. We went down an alley to a new neighborhood and were quickly directed back to the tourist track, and it was necessarily done in the friendliest of manners. I cannot say I blame them, though, because there was really no reason for us to be there other than curiosity, and an inability to stay on the right path. Luckily, though we got back to our path and made it back in time for our dinner. It was hearty and delicious. After dinner there was not much to do, so it was early to bed.

Upon waking this next morning we filed into a marshrutka and got ready for a crowded three hours back to Tbilisi. We were stopped a number of times on the way back. We had to make way for mountain cattle. A number of sheep decided to hang out in front of the van for awhile, as well. Ultimately, we did return successfully. It was actually significantly faster going on the return. I guess going down mountains is easier than climbing them, even for automobiles, who knew?

At this point I will take a brief intermission. I didn’t expect this to be so long, so my apologies, and thank you if you are still reading.