I write this message on Wednesday. So much has happened
these past few days, I can compare it to when I first moved to Lincoln, or when
I moved to San Diego, or when I went on vacation in Europe and the Caribbean.
So much action, I must take constant notes, and everything is important enough
to write down.
The person who met me at our hotel was our schools director,
Pridon (like freedom.) Pridon does not speak English, but that didn't stop him
from telling me his hopes and aspirations for him, the school and Gorgadzeebi.
He was accompanied by a man named mahmood, who translated for Pridon (Pridoni
hopes to teach me Georgian and I teach him English) as well as a man with the Georgian
name for Alexander (Zandari) Mahmood and Zandari dropped Pridon and I off at
the Marshutka station. My belongings were shoved in the Marshutka and we took
off out of Tbilisi.
Let me just say that the driving in Georgia isn't bad, its nerve-wracking.
People often take too many chances on the road. Although there are rarely and
collisions, there are plenty of close calls. I keep telling myself we aren't
driving fast, so any head on collisions will only result in a exchange of verbal
insults and rude hand gestures. The lanes on Georgian roads are more of an
implication, rather than a designated area. This includes the lane with
incoming traffic! The roads are two lanes officially, but they make them wide
enough for three cars to pass abreast, which we did frequently, to my dismay.
We poor souls in this minibus, who are cramped together, some of which haven't
bathed in days, pray for a breeze to pass through the bus (air conditioning is
a luxury), such is the price for a 12 lari ticket. I try to console myself of
the stark fact of there being no seat belts by thinking "Not only are we traveling
slow, but I'm surrounded by soft flesh, if we crash, it will like being tossed
about in a pillowed room, we don't need to stinking seatbelts!" I am
grasping for optimism, I know but its better than having a nervous breakdown,
or worse, getting out and refusing to go to Adjara entirely.
We traveled through fertile valleys marked with small towns
and hamlets. The mountains surrounding us on both sides were covered with thick
trees. The weather was unseasonably cool, to our luck until we passed through
the mountains into the next valley. The mountains themselves are stunningly
beautiful. Different than the Sierra Nevada, the mountains here are covered by
green, dense woods. The Marshutka would stop often (every hour or two) for a
smoking/bathroom/meal. Pridon and I said little. I was too shy to say anything
at this time, luckily Tara, another volunteer was on the bus with me, so we
didn't spend the entire time in silence. Our final smoking stop was in Kutaisi,
situated in the valley, surrounded by beautiful mountains. At the time, Kutaisi
was ungodly hot, humid and windy. As we neared the Black sea coast the humidity
increased from San Diego Bay to Costa Rican Rainforest levels. By now I'm used
to the smell, the cramped conditions and the hot sticky air; after all, I'm an
American, and we breed tough individuals who can handle extremes. The black sea
coast is rich in produce and greenery. Farmland, fields, floodplains, estuaries
and bays dot the landscape. As we came closer to Batumi, the city in the southern
part of Adjara, the coast revealed itself through campsites and resort hotels. The
resort town of Kobuleti is where Tara was dropped off.
Pridon and I were dropped off at a coastal town called Chakvi,
where we were picked up by my host father, Romani. Romani owns a car, he is a
taxi driver. We drove east into the mountains/foothills where Gorgadzeebi lies.
From Google maps, Gorgadzeebi looks like a cluster of homes in green fields
scarred by dirt roads, along a river which is an absurd perception when you
actually see it. The village is a jumble of square houses on a steep mountain,
the river is hundreds of feet below from where I am staying. The square houses
are actually made of cement blocks, each one is a unique piece of archecture.
Some are in ruins, occupied only by cattle, trees and gardens. Some are quite
nice, covered in plaster and painted in white or cream colors. Most are a mix
of the two. Reader be aware, I am not in a poor country, but in a diverse and
rich land where flora actually flows out of the ground, without the assistance of
its citizens. Gorgadzeebi and the surrounding villages are an amazing site to
behold, I can compare it only to a rainforest like the ones I have seen outside
San Jose, Costa Rica. By the time we reached Romani's home (after dropping of
Pridoni) It was evening. I couldn't see much but I could hear hundreds of birds
calling. Again, imagine rainforest.
Here I met Romani's daughter (da) Shorena, who knows a lot
of English, as well as her grandmother (babia), who is perhaps of the sweetest
person I've ever met. Soon after eating a meal of Khachapuri (cheesebread),
cucumbers, berry juice, tea, etc I went to bed. My room is on the second floor
of the house, where I was soon fast asleep. Situated on the hillside, my host
family's home has a commanding view of the valley, and far away Batumi, cooler
airs stir through my room through an open window, and flows through the open
doors into the balcony. Although Gorgadzeebi is very humid, and reaches
temperature of 30C and up, my room is always cool.
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