Thursday, October 18th to Sunday October 21st: Kazbegi

Thursday, October 18th to Sunday October 21st

The fifth week of school was over. It was during this week, I watched the film, "Dinner With Andre." The movie is dialogue entire, between two men in a restaurant. A deeply philosophical movie, one of the things they talk about is going to places, to break their routine. I wont go much further into the movie, I only speak of it because it gave me motivation to go on an excursion to Mt. Kazbegi in the North Caucus mountains, even though the other volunteers couldn't make it. Traveling alone, I would have a different experience than traveling in a group.

Having taken Friday off, and having no classes scheduled for me on Thursday, I was free to take the train to Tbilisi, and from there to Kazbegi.

The train ride was another joyful trip, before sleep took over, I spoke with two men who shared my cab. The younger, more talkative one bought some beer at the Kobuleti stop, and we drank to our health and to Georgia and America, and to our families. The older one, a small man in a leather jacket, was going to Tbilisi for surgery. He works in Istanbul. For twenty five years, he has been working as a sailor. I hope the man's health picks up, I enjoyed speaking with him. Soon after drinking and eating chips, I fell asleep. Waking up in Tbilisi, I said my goodbyes to my cab-mates, and stepped off the train.

At the station, a bus was scheduled to leave to Kazbegi, a short walk and a few inquiry's later brought me to the proper minibus, scheduled to drive to Stephantsminda, the village closest to Mt Kazbegi. The bus was piled to capacity, mostly European travelers.

The road to Stephansminda is an ancient rout known as the Georgian Millitary highway. The rout travels through a pass cut by glaciers. The was built by Russian soldiers to connect Georgia to the Russian province of Chechnya, before the highway was only a dirt track. This is the place where Pompey of Rome traveled in conquest. He came, he stopped, and he turned back. Scythia, the steppe north of the Mountains was believed to be the end of the world and not worth the visit.

The day I traveled the Georgian military highway, the hill country's deciduous forest was ablaze with Autumn colors. Up at a higher elevation, the forest advances no further up the steepening slopes, yielding to subalpine grasses and sporadic birch and pine groves. The narrow river valley we are traveling in widens into a broad flat plain, carved from glaciers. From this valley, the road turned into a wide dirt track, designed for tanks and machines of war, whose treads eat asphalt that tires glide over. Our bus bounced past other cars, buses, and semi-trucks. I had read the Russian border was closed, but the stream of traffic indicated otherwise.

Across the river adjacent to the road, a village lies on slope, above a steep drop  into the river below. There was no road or bridge from where we were. The only rout I observed into that village was by a cable-car. The car looked like it could fit only two people, and hangs suspended over the river.

Past the isolated village, we drove through more towns before making our final destination to Stephantsminda.

Stepping off the bus, I was struck by the Fall aroma from the beach trees. The thin, cold air seemed to amplify the decaying leaves. Instantaneously, I liked this place more than Mestia in Svaneti.

Having first acquired a guest house, I spend the day exploring the town. I walked up to the pine forest above the town, and was able to read a great deal of Cormac McCarthy's book The Crossing. Sitting in the sun, overlooking the town with a view of the church and Mt. Kazbegi. This first day, I didn't want to go on excursions, but to just enjoy the mountains by simply being in them.

Early the next morning, after eating a home cooked meal of mashed potatoes with cheese, I walked to the town center and rented a bicycle. South along the river, I rode towards Sno Valley. When I arrived at the village of Sno, I stopped to view the town's sole tower, overlooking the city. I parked my bike by an ancient wall, and looked for an entrance. While searching, an old man came by in a cart drawn by a donkey. We spoke, but I couldn't understand him at all, as if he has had a stroke. I held donkey by the reins, as he fetched some water from some spring, for his burro. From there, I found the way up into the tower. I climbed the narrow ladder up to the head. The interior was cramped and dark. The top yielded view of the surrounding town and mountains. Soon after, I was back on the road heading further up the valley.

Past several other villages, I rode on. The land was populated by grazing cows, sheep and horses. The animals were accompanied by either shepherds or their special breed of dog. The dogs were huge, and with cropped ears, with a friendly disposition. In the villages, pigs hung about the muddy streets, scattering when they saw me riding towards them.

The dirt road to the final town of Juta ran up a mountain side. The temperatures fluctuated in the extreme, thanks to the combination of sun, shade and wind; rest and activity. Looking up, I spotted circling birds overhead. In this windswept mountainside of no trees, herds, water, or shelter, I felt completely isolated, almost like I was on a Martian planet. There was no sign of the village, or of any people whatsoever. Quite a unique feeling.

When I arrived at Juta, I came upon a source of water for which I was thankful for, having run out on the road. By then, it was noon and I was exhausted from riding/walking up to Juta. After moving past Juta, I left my bike locked to a fencepost and continued on up the valley. Where the road ends and only a dirt track is there, which is traversed by horse drawn carts or by foot. Wind would gust through the valley, shared by cows and horses.

squat, square structures came into view in the distance, which when I got closer, I could see was a military outpost. A man waved me over, for which I waved back and walked to. They invited me over to speak, curious to see a lone foreigner in the mountains. I was curious why they were there as well. I was told that past the mountain in the north, laid Chechnya and to the south east was Ratcha, accessible after a 8 hour hike through a pass. We had coffee inside their camp, which was occupied by three friendly Georgian military men. I wanted to take more pictures, but I did not think it wise to take pictures of their camp, however friendly my hosts were.

After the hot cup of coffee, I gave my thanks and headed back to Stephantsminda. The bike ride down the mountain was exhilarating. I didn't realize the climb I had made. On the way down, I hardly had to do any pedaling!

Within forty-five minutes, I had arrived back in Stephantsminda. The sun was still high up in the sky, and I still had the energy, so I decided to continue past the town, heading North on the highway. A few kilometers up the road, lay the Georgian Russian border.

Soon after Stephansminda, the terrain becomes rugged, gone is the flat and grass-covered glacial plain that Stephansminda rests on. Here cragged peaks dip down steeply into a narrow and rocky riverbed. Shrubs and Pines cling to the mountains' shanks as the road, built alongside a cliff face winds down in elevation. Aside from one village adjacent to the riverbed, the land along the highway is wilderness.

It was on this rout, that I came across a tunnel. two hundred meters bored through the mountain side created a menacing, unlit gaping mouth. Having stopped at the entrance, I continued down into the tunnel as blackness overtook me. I continued on, picking up speed naturally from gravity until the light was not even enough to distinguish shapes, where the road was and where the stone walls were.

Riding a bike in darkness is an exhilarating feeling. You feel the wind on your face, and can hear the wheels spinning on, yet you are unable to have a sense of direction. As your sight dims to memory of the terrain, you become disoriented, as though your bike stirs itself. It becomes impossible to continue this way, only after dismounting does the spinning wheels respond to your control. Through that thin cool air, you walk along side the road, until your surroundings are lit once again from the end of the tunnel.

Upon reaching the Georgian checkpoint, I knew it wasn't going to get any further. Cars coming from Russia were stopped several lanes in. As I entered the fenced compound guard dogs barked incessantly at my passing. A far cry from the outpost I encountered earlier. Here, the guards were armed with black metallic guns, slung over their shoulder. "Sad Midixar?" One of them asked me, as I approached him.

Tyler: Do you speak English?

Border guard: A little. Passport?

Tyler: I don't have it.

Border Guard: Do you want to go to Russia?

Tyler: No, I want to see the border with Chechnya.

A long pause, the other guard was curious and came over. He replied.

Border Guard: I'm sorry you must go back.

Going back was a two hour bike ride up back to Stephantsminda. By the time I reached the top, my legs were jelly. The bike was returned as the sun was setting, having just slid behind the frosted peaks.

Although I traveled alone on this trip, I was never isolated from other travelers, and had a few beers with them after the daily excursions. I feel that branching out from the TLG group is better than just being with the same people. 

View from the GMH.

Sheep dog puppy.

GMH going away from Stephantsminda

Tower at Sno village.

Upper Sno valley. You can see the military outpost to the left.

Panorama 

These are what the villages look like up here.

I missed this when I rode by it the first time. 

Road to Russia

Georgian checkpoint

The tunnel I rode through in pitch darkness.

Kitty news: 'Knuti' is kitten in Georgian. They are now wondering the property . 

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.

Feast at Chakvistavi. Lots of good food sitting on that table.

Chantchkari!

The trail was roped off with dozens of these webs. You can see the spider in the middle. 

Big beach tree. The canopy provided shade and a nice rustling sound.

Big Beach tree.

Fungus among us.

Beech forest.

South Caucus mountains. Distinctively more green than the North

My school staff in the marshutka.

Our math teacher and myself.

We could never get a proper pose, no one could pay enough attention to the camera.

Friday, September 28th to Friday, October 5th.

Monday elections: In my school grounds was held the Georgian parliamentary elections. To stay neutral, I am claiming ignorance of political parties, politicians and viewpoints. Many volunteers were worried about violence on election day, however Batumi was as tranquil as it has been. Voters were seen at their appropriate stations in an ordered fashion, although there still was no lines be seen. My marshutka to Gorgadzeebi wasn't running this day, so I had to get a ride to the next village and walk the rest of the way. When I arrived in my village, I stopped by my school to see the democratic process take place. Many of the residents were loitering outside the school. Inside was a ordered process, helped along by volunteers, clad in green vests. Among them was my host father Romani. It was an exciting day, however peaceful.

My first planned lesson took place this week. The lesson, run by myself, involves reading, spelling and pronunciation. The children would receive their own flashcard with an image of an object. The object is something that they should already know in English, but may not be able to say or spell correctly. One by one, they would come up to the chalk board, and find their object's name on the board. They would then point to the word, say, and spell it out loud. A simple procedure, and it ended a bit early, but was still effective. The children were able to help each other out, and they liked being called up to point out a word. The lesson gave the students confidence in their reading. 

Apart from giving encouragement and confidence in the students, I'd like to make more creative lectures. The current lessons involve reading dialogue, writing vocabulary, or  drilling grammar. There is nothing wrong with these methods, and should make up the majority of the class; however, if used too much, students get bored, and some become discouraged, due to their slow progress. They often are corrected while reading or writing, and never learn the reason of their mistake. Introducing a few new methods would invigorate the dull lessons, bringing back interest to the classroom. For instance, the students would be taught days of the week, where they write it down or speak it out. Instead of that, putting the list to a melody, and having the children sing it could be more effective. The remainder of my classroom time will be planning more interactive, creative, and fun lessons.

Outside the classroom, I am available for homework help, although no one has come to me for help yet. I have been teaching some more dances, and have downloaded some music for the children to listen to. Next week, I'll teach some more waltz, this time with music. The lessons are impromptu, but the children learn from it anyways. I also have a nice time walking home with some of my students, where I practice my Georgian, and they their English.

Earlier in the week, I read other volunteers' blogs and lesson plans, and extracurricular activities. Each one stated how involved their students are, and how much progress was being made. After hearing a number triumphs in teaching, I became discouraged with my self, since I have not been as involved and have't been able to make as bit an impact. Partly, it is due to their lack of English, and partly due to the ingrained systems of teaching of my village, and partly due to the study habits of most of my students (non-existent). I feared I was not making progress due to my own inhibitions, that that I don't know what I am doing, that I don't know how to teach. On looking deeper into the blog posts, I realized these success stories were told by volunteers with previous teaching experience and those who have been in Georgia longer than I. Even more so, the regions they taught in were in bigger cities, or regions that have seen previous volunteers, who have paved the way for more advanced lessons and extracurricular activities. Here in Gorgadzeebi, I feel that I am pioneering everything I do here. Progress, as a result is slower than I think it should be, and complicated lesson plans are reserved as lofty ambitions. I can only pave the way for my successors.

On further reflection, one small contribution I have begun to make has been an increased emphasis in having children say and spell a word correctly. Oftentimes, when a student is corrected in their spelling or speech, the teachers do not have them repeat the word, but instead move on to their next blunder. The student doesn't learn why they make a mistake, only that they made one. They are doomed to repeat the same errors. I see the folly in progressing for progress's sake, and have been asking the students to repeat or spell the word correctly.

And now for some photos.

Aya Sophia fresco roof in Trebzon

At the Aya Sophia museum/church in Turkey, a group of students wanted to take a picture with me. This happened more than once in Turkey.

A view of Trebzon from make-out point.

Sumela monestary, an hours drive in the mountains from Trebzon, Turkey

There was a lot of really nice, though faded and vandalized Byzantine art at Sumela

So much vandalism! 

Sumela Monestary

The cats at my house are growing.

Some are more shy than others

Did you know that Batumi has a dolphen tank?

Quite a good show for 12 lari.

My sister Shorena loved it. I'm so happy I got to see the show with her.

September 17th to September 28th: first and second week of school

My first week of teaching has been stunning, teaching at this school is fantastic, and I enjoy coming in to work, these two weeks has past by so quickly, I fear the second half of my stay in Georgia will zoom by before I realize that it is over. My work schedule is sparse, I teach one or two, and sometimes three classes a day. I have a lot of free-time in the village, so I usually come to school early, around ten and leave much later usually at two or three. While I'm at school, I attend my designated lessons, and sometimes I go to extra lessons!

Students are very happy to see me. I am accosted frequently between and during my lessons. I have conversations of varying complexity to almost student. Some are more shy, and others will jump right out in front of me with a hearty "Hello! How are you!" or simply speak and try to explain Georgian to me. I often try to sneak English words into their vocabulary, often saying "I will see you later" "I am glad/well/happy." instead of a simple "Good" or "Goodbye."

Inside the classroom, I try not to be too much of a distraction, regardless if the students would be distracted with out my presence! Most of my duties inside the classroom consist of helping with pronunciation or spelling. Both of my co-teachers are adequate in explaining material, but sometimes will have difficulty in idiomatic expressions and with pronunciation themselves. Apart from an occasional comment, I try not to distract too much attention from my co-teachers. They are the main teacher, and I am their auxiliary. Because they will be their when I leave, I want the students to have complete confidence in them. Outside the classroom however, I try to get the students more involved in their English. I challenge their lexicon and conversational skills.

Walking home is an enjoyment in itself, I often am accompanied by a party of children and teenagers. We get to speak to each other much more than at school. Conversations in English are so abundant during these walks I'm starting to believe that I am doing more help outside of the classroom than when I am actually working.

School is in remarkable condition, being renovated a few years ago by an American NGO. My school is made up of thirteen classrooms, covering two floors, which are connected by two staircases often heavy with traffic of students uniformed in black and white. Portraits of famous Georgians, poets, writers, politicians and artists are hung along the staircase walls, giving their name and birth/death date in Georgian script underneath their black and white image. The floors of the classrooms are made of unpainted wooden planks, which make a earthy sound when walked on, and give the rooms a pleasant, fresh-cut timber smell. The walls of the classrooms are covered in smooth plaster, painted a pleasant light yellow. In the second-floor common area, hung from the walls, before and after photographs of the school are displayed, showing the crumbling facility of only a few years back. The school has new windows, often open, letting in sunlight and a cool breeze; It being early fall, my village is still frequently hot during the day. In each classroom are radiators, newly installed. The students, staff and faculty are very proud of their renovated school, and have been taking good care of it. Of all the students I've spoke with, all have a profound respect for their school, and are keen on showing me their facility often asking me "Do you like our school?" Already I hold this school as dear as I do the schools of my childhood. The memories and experiences inside these walls will be cherished.

On the second floor, the teacher's lounge is often loud, but always the mood of the room is of jubilance. A group of teachers may be complaining loudly of their students, or laughing about how the new English teacher speaks Georgian. The school director may be giving a speech, oftentimes hotly interrupted by another one of the staff. The room's conversations, speeches and arguments often overlap with each other, it is not uncommon to be speaking several conversations at once!

A small room, away from the din of the teachers lounge is the coffee room. On waist-high cabinet, A propane gas burner, a jar of coffee and a canister of sugar make the coffee station. Second hand tables, desks and chairs make up its furniture. My co-teacher, our Russian/music teacher take breaks before and after our lessons here at least once a day. The room is more peaceful than the teacher's lounge, and we are able to communicate and speak about things (and gossip about the other teachers)

This week, I attended my other co-teacher, Mariami's class. Most of the classes I sat in they were about older students, and were enthusiastic about speaking to me. Classroom was still chaotic, but more English was spoken. The students are very inquisitive on who I am, and about America. I try to answer all of their appropriate questions, and ignore the inappropriate, questions such as: "Do you like Georgian Girls?" or "Do you like Georgian wine?" are ignored. My future plans at Gorgadzeebi involve me attending these upper classes, although TLG doesn't allow volunteers to teach grades 6th thru 12th. The past volunteers must have had disciplinary issues with the older students, causing complaints. As a result, TLG forbade their volunteers from having mandatory lessons with the older students. I however, see no harm in attending, provided my presence in their lectures are productive.

I spent time speaking with the math teacher, about math and such. She seems enthusiastic about having me be more involved in math classes. I hope to become more involved in teaching math. If not, I can always start an English club. Many of the students would benefit tremendously if they had a quiet place to do their translations and grammar exercises. I hope to set up a time and place for such a club, my co-teachers think this may be a good idea. Next week, I'll ask my school director if we can make the arrangements for an English studying center.

The highlight of the two weeks was when I taught the children cha cha cha. Ballroom dancing has been my hobby for the last three years. On Monday, At the request of some of my students, who were interested in dancing, I showed the basic steps of cha-cha-cha in one of the classrooms after school. The children are hilarious to watch, but they learned the steps so quickly! This first lesson was such a success, I must try and make more lessons, or even start a dance club. When I teach, I teach in English, introducing new vocabulary by pointing to the body. Similar to the song "Head, shoulders, knees and toes" will say "Step forward" or "Straighten you leg" and do the action. I would like to get more students involved. Dancing lessons were a trade of dance ideas as well as a lesson of English. Studying has its place, but these lessons could motivate students, making them want to learn and study English.

September 18th: Wine making.

Today, I participated in making homemade wine! Grape vines surround my house. Vines are present above the garden, along the stairs up to the second floor, and along hill, flanking the yard in the back of the house. The harvesting began earlier this week, with gathering the grapes. Today, the vines were stripped bare, their leaves given to the neighborhood cattle. The grapes were all gathered in wooden boxes.

In the afternoon, I came home from teaching my second day of school, to find my sisters sorting. In our driveway, there they were, sorting the good grapes from the leaves, spiders, and other un-savorables. Quickly, I donned some work clothes and went out to help sort. An hour later, I found myself in galoshes, ankle deep in assorted grape, separating the grape juice from its flesh and skin. Together, Romani and I poured the grape mixture (seeds, skin and flesh included) into a 50 galleon plastic tank. I asked my father (ramdeni tvit?) Which means "For how many months?" where he responded by holding up all his ten fingers, replying "Ati dghes" The grape mixture shall ferment for only ten days! From visiting wineries in California, I thought making wine would be a more complicated process, however I can't assume the wine will taste like a Merlot, I am excited to taste something I had a part in making.

Once the grapes are properly smashed, they are placed in this blue barrel. The mixture ferments and is stirred twice a day, to release the CO2 gasses from the wine. As it ferments, the sugars are consumed, the alcohol is a byproduct of the reaction.

Here is my driveway. Past the gates, you can see the bare vines after the harvest.

On a Saturday, my sisters and I were going to go to a dolphen show in Batumi. Unfortunatly, the  weather became so bad and we called it a day. To the right is my sister Khatuna, to my left is my friend Nino.

My sisters Shorena (middle) and Khatuna (top) and my friend Mari (bottom)

All of us together!

I took this picture at my house. Can you see the ship floating on the water? Are you able to distinguish between sea and sky? I thought this was so neat!

My directors office.

The students and I. My school is to our left.

My school. The facade needs painting, but the inside is perfect.

More kittens!

One of my students gave me this letter today, I think they like me.

Tbilisi for the third time: September 7th to September 13th

Autumn has arrived in Georgia. Its cooler temperatures beckon us volunteers to travel; because, starting on September 17th, our teaching terms begin, where we will have to stay in our villages/regions to teach.

A group of volunteers, including myself, decided to meet in Tbilisi and from there, go on few day-trips, to Gori and Kazbegi. I have been meaning to go see more of Georgia, and these two regions are good places to visit. Gori is the birthplace of Stalin, and boasts of a museum about his life. I have read that the museum is very informative, but mostly contains information on his early life, before he left Georgia and started a totalitarian state. Besides the museum, Gori has some caves worth exploring, making a day trip from Tbilisi feasible. Kazbegi is a mountainous region in Georgia, similar to Svaneti, only more accessible, due to its proximity to Tbilisi. Kazbegi itself is picturesque mountain, is surrounded by more of Georgia's beautiful countryside and forest. Going to Kazbegi should be a long day trip, or better still, to stay at a guest house and go on a longer hike.

Adam, Tara and I, with our tickets (reserved in advanced) took off on the night train. Unfortunately, we were not in the same cars, which meant for the entire train ride, we were separated. I shared my train cab with three younger Georgians. Fortunately, the young woman who sat across from me spoke English very well, and we were able to talk for hours. As I mentioned before, I enjoy riding on trains, largely because I have been able to meet Georgians, of regions and backgrounds, different than the people in my village. Speaking with these Georgians, I was able to have conversations that I wouldn't normally have in my village. Both parties were able to ask questions about each others' cultures and provide insightful commentary on our own, without fear of offence or unearthing subjects that can be uncomfortable. Among the uneasy subjects, we spoke about: politics, gender roles, concerns over Georgia's rapid growth, and education. I realized that I can act as a confidant to the Georgians who want to give insight on their culture. The resulting conversations were rewarding for both me and my neighbors. We were able to learn a great deal from each other as the train lurched down the tracks.

Upon reaching Tbilisi, I was feeling sick, and noticed on my hip, a swollen lymph node. I decided to call the TLG medical branch and figure out what to do; little did I know, this darn lymph node issue was going to be the theme of the entire Tbilisi trip.

I was sent to a medical clinic in the posh Vasha district of Tbilisi. The clinic I went to was relatively large, my doctor was on the third floor. There were not any real receptionists to let the doctors know you have arrived. There was no evidence of an appointment time, there wasn't even a line to wait in. The first person seen would simply walk into their doctor's office, sit down on the examination table and be attended by the doctor. For those whom are after the first, they would stick their heads in the doorway (usually open) and let the doctor know they are next, while the doctor is busy with the first patient. Following that, they wait impatiently, for the first's examination to be over, and they quickly enter the room precisely after the first leaves the room. The concept of a line is lost in Georgian culture, as a result, the concept of a private doctor visit is lost.

When It came to my turn, I squeezed into her office. My doctor spoke little English, and my rudimentary Georgian was not able to explain symptoms. Luckily we had an interpreter, and I was able to give a gist of my health issue. An ultrasonic scan and a blood sample sent me back to the hostel where I was staying.

The hostel that I stayed at was, the most unique lodging I have been to in Georgia. Hostel Romantique is situated under a DEA building. In the basement, where the entrance to the hostel located, is a large steel gate that must be unlocked for any entrance or exit (the fire marshal would have a fit if he saw this!). The hostel is a large room, with smaller chambered rooms positioned along the walls. The rooms are little bigger than closets and include a roof made from short picket planks, giving the impression of a rudimentary hut. These rooms were not designed for sleeping; the hostel, recently opened a few months ago, was before a brothel. And that, the purpose of the steel gate at the entrance is to deter the old customers. The included wireless internet was highly appreciated, I was able to Skype with my father and girlfriend after two weeks without internet in my village.

What made me enjoy this hostel was its friendly staff. The hostel was run by two women, who would take turns running the desk in 24 hour shifts. Amazingly, both women were effervescent and were always a joy to speak with. Along with the colorful staff, the current patrons were worldly travelers. From many nations and regions of the world, the travelers came to this ex-brothel, attracted to the inexpensive rates (10 Lari a night) and the complimentary dinner. Every night, a meal of soup and wine was given at seven o'clock, served in clay vases and drank from clay bowels and amphorae. In the center of the hostel, a large common area, sprinkled with tables and chairs, connected the rooms. The other TLG volunteers and I spent much of our time in our subterranean hostel. Lounging about and meeting new travelers, which was a new concept of vacation for me. I'm used to continually moving and roaming through Georgia. Staying put while on vacation is new to me, surprisingly, I liked the relaxed atmosphere and the lack of urgency.

Each day, I woke up a little more sick. Due to my deteriorating health, I was ill suited for going out for long periods in Tbilisi, and making trips to Kazbegi and Gori. Plus, I was ordered by my doctor to relax and not strain myself climbing up mountains and exploring caves, or even drinking the complementary wine at my hostel! I did, however, went on small excursions, such as a walk with a few volunteers to a park, where they played American football.

On Tuesday, I managed to crawl out of the hostel and attend the Spain v. Georgia football game. Getting the tickets involved some work, and was a task in itself. The ticket stand was at another stadium, near my medical clinic on the outskirts of Tbilisi. Upon reaching our destination, we were reminded of how Georgians have a distaste for waiting in lines, and instead crowd around the counter. To make matters worse, there weren't any English speakers around and the teller was behind a one way window, making hand gestures and body language (the foreigner's best method of communication) impossible. Somehow, we managed to buy the right amount of tickets in the same section.

When it came time for the game, our hostel staff painted on our faces, with their own lipstick, the Georgian flag. With our faces emblazoned in sinful red color, we took the metro, and soon found ourselves among the throng heading to the game. Predictably, we were soon separated upon leaving the metro station. The streets were full of people in red and white, as well as cars and taxis which were hopelessly trying to get away from the stadium. Police officers in full riot gear patrolled stadium.

After reaching our seats and waiting for a spell of time, the volunteers and I met back up in time for the game to start. Spain was a very aggressive team and the ball was on Georgia's side most of the time. Having either anticipated or was their nature, Georgia played defensibly by keeping in a formation. Spain was not ably to score until late in the second quarter. Up until then Georgian moral was very high. Spain is at this time the number one team, and everyone I spoke with expected Spain to win, and having only scored one goal the entire game should be considered a victory in Georgia's part. The game ended and we hired a taxi (after walking a safe distance from the stadium) and headed back to the hostel. The metro station was absolutely packed, and any hope of getting back within a reasonable by subway time was hopeless.

On Wednesday, I saw for the third time the doctor. My health was worsening, I was running out of money, and my friends were going back to their villages. It was time to call. When I came into contact with the staff, they agreed to pick me up and drive me to the clinic. This time, I was given a personal ride by Maia from TLG. When the doctor saw me, I wasn't given a diagnosis, but I was given a prognosis, which was a cocktail of antibiotics, antiviral, and antifungal medications. The insurance policy of TLG has its volunteers pay 50% for prescriptions, which meant I had to pay about 100 lari for all of my medicine. September, although not the most extravagant month, has had the most superfluous spending. My sickness, I am convinced was caused by a bug bite near my swollen lymph node, which had caused the swelling, consequentially disrupting my immune system enough to allow in a common cold, most likely caught in a hostel, to invade. The antibiotics were very helpful, but everything else didn't make an effect. That afternoon, I purchased a train ticket back home for that morning. Train tickets are best bought in advance in Georgia, since they often sell out the day of the train departure. Fortunately, I didn't have to stay in the brothel again; my friends Griffin and Megan had me stay with them in their apartment.

When ill in another country, Getting better is more of a priority than thrift. Most of the medicine were profligacies, but I had to buy them, and I know that the antibiotics had helped me out. When I returned to my village, Maya would call periodically, to make sure I have been getting better, which fortunately, I was. After the ordeal, I feel that TLG did a good job taking care of me, and am able to start my first week of school, healthy and prepared. 

I can walk on water. The photo was taken in Tbilisi.

With friends in our hostel.

Thought this was really cool. You don't get this in America.