Kargaaad! An adventure in Georgia: Monday October 8th to Sunday October 14th: Week 4 of school and Chakvistavi part two

When I first came to Gorgadzeebi, I wrote about the trip to Mtiarla national park with some of my students. And that, although we stayed a night, I wasn't able get to go on a longer hike. That we had stayed at the park headquarters, having stayed only a short while. I have been meaning to go back to the park for some time, until another opportunity presents itself. One such opportunity has been sighted; My school faculty have been meaning to take me to Chakvistavi (the village that is nestled in the park) for the past few weeks and at last I am able to once again visit the park.

I went on a picnic with my school faculty to Chakvistavi. A dozen teachers and I piled into a rented Marshutka and departed up into the mountains. It was a fun spending time with my teachers on the road. We made a few stops, sometimes to view the lake, sometimes to push the marshutka out of a ditch (the road was recovering from a hard rains earlier in the week.) When we reached Chakvistavi, we all went to the local restaurant, which we had rented out to our large party of two dozen. From there, we had one of the best meals I've had in Georgia. Lots of traditional Georgian dishes: including beef, chicken, wine, and chacha.

The picnic was a supra, so a great quantity of wine was consumed. I myself participated as much as I could. The Tamada (toastmaster) was directly to my right. He could always see if I was drinking, so I tried to keep up with him. Fortunately, he was less strict than other tamadas I've seen, so I didn't have to drink at every toast. There were a lot, and although I can't understand what is being said, I just listen to good prose and diction to the people speaking. At intermittent periods of the picnic there would be dancing. Urged by the staff, I did try the steps, but I have only a vague idea of Georgian dancing. Even so, the staff loved it. Pridon, the school director also tried dancing with me in a hustle like dance. It was fun, except I'm a terrible follow. I'd like to stick with Georgian dancing, in the future.

The day I wrote this entry, I woke up in the mountains, after a day of feasting and drinking in Chakvistavi, the village at Mtiarla park. I was staying at a guest house; a older, wooden home. Surprisingly, they had more television channels than my house. The guest house had two children. In the main room, a fire was burning in a huge fireplace. The room was snug and warm as I sat by the fire, drinking coffee and helping the family's children with their homework. I think those two children will be the only one's in their village to be able to make the 'th' sound.

Back to this morning, I decided to walk back home, first before doing so, I went to see a waterfall in the mountains. A half an hour of walking up a mountainside, I hit the falls. An impressive sight, mist was everywhere, and it was very cold, being in the morning the sun hadn't quite hit the falls, so it was darker. The trail continued, so I said (out loud) "Why not" and headed up the mountain, deeper into the forest. This trail continued on, up a steep hillside. The trail was switching left and right, up further and further. As the elevation increased, the forest switched from mixed trees to strictly beech. The top of the mountain was completely covered with old-growth beech groves. The huge silvery trunks looked like columns, supporting a canopy of green shimmering leaves, swishing and swaying from a constant breeze flowing through the foliage. After encountering such wonder, I had to continue on further. I began debating in my mind if I should not head back, but instead walk the entire loop. I wasn't sure how far or long it would take. So much of the decision was based on pathos, and pathos was winning over logos.

Before making full resolve, the debate continued-out loud with puppet hands. I figure, I'm in the woods, I can make all the noise I like. In support of my soliloquy, the noise will alert the bears, who now know that I'm a crazy person who talks to themselves.

I ended up walking in an eight kilometer loop back to Chakvistavi.

I reached the rangers' station at the park entrance. A long rest, a drink of cool water, a long read from The Iliad and a big plate of potatoes later. While eating and reading, I met a Georgian couple. The husband incidentally was an architect, and had designed the ranger's station at Chakvistavi, along with several other parks. The buildings are of a stone and wood bottom, like an Edwardian structure, but instead of plaster, are stone. The top was wood paneling. I do like the structures. They blend in well with the old houses and forest, while still looking modern.

Getting back on track, They agreed to give me a ride in their car to the entrance of my village.

Their car was so spotless and new. I'm used to sitting on stained upholstery, on dusty concrete, leaning up against trees, this is not a clean country. It was strange to be sitting in a new car, I didn't want to corrupt this sporadic beacon of sterility.

I had agreed to accept any consequences that would befall on me after making the spontaneous decision to go on a 8 km hike alone in the woods. This time, the consequences were in my favor.