Some random ramblings on my Georgia trip

Tbilisi has been cold and rainy. The weather reminds me of Waltham, the city makes me wish I was in Yerevan. Of all the places I’ve been to, Tbilisi is neither the prettiest, nor the friendliest, and likewise, I neither like it, nor excessively dislike it. Some things are new and impressive – others oddly familiar, and yet despite the similarities that I find in every corner of this place, I do realize that I am merely a stranger here passing by…

Georgians look a lot like Armenians at first glance, except that I don’t understand a word that they’re saying. When I look close enough though, I notice subtle differences between the two in bone structure and facial features - narrower eyes, thinner and longer eyebrows… Although my looks do allow me to sort of blend in, I am often being subjected to catty head to toe glances in the metro, mostly by women, as if they disapprove of the way I dress, or my overall lack of excessive makeup. Compared to women in Tbilisi, Yerevantsis seem to be better dressed (i.e. skankier) – next to dominating blacks, browns and grays that seem to be the preferred colors of choice in this city, Yerevan women look like an eye test in their outfits that happen to have every single color of the rainbow (from what I remember from a few summers ago).

The past couple of weeks of my stay here have brought up everything that I seemed to have forgotten about this part of the world.

Dust - dust and smog everywhere. While living in the overly polluted and dusty city of Yerevan was an inseparable part of my reality for as long as I remember myself, it is the first time that I come to realize that the lack of properly paved roads and absence of grass must have something to do with it.

Smells –of filth, garbage, stinky cheese, rotting fruit and vegetables, cheap vodka, urine, excessive sweat and unwashed bodies… And it is not even hot yet. How could I have forgotten? This is what motherland smells like…

Drivers - remember a while back when I was complaining about drivers in Boston? That’s because I had completely forgotten how bad drivers are where I grew up. The suicidal maniacs of Georgia are ten times worse. Imagine four cars trying to squeeze into a two lane road all at the same time, illegal u-turns and complete absence of any traffic rules, and you got Tbilisi. On top of that, the concept of seatbelt is non-existent, folks here probably never use their blinkers and honking and excessive cussing seem to be what moves the traffic along. The other night, during the cab ride home, another vehicle almost ran into us, as it made an abrupt turn while not having any lights on. “** tboyu mat&” yelled out our driver loudly in Russian (I won’t translate this one), while hitting the breaks and the horn at the same time. The car was only a couple of inches away. How there aren’t any accidents around here is beyond me – a single vehicle behaving like this on an American road would cause multiple calamities in a heartbeat. And you wonder why I never had a desire to drive?

Coffee – Turkish coffee -black, thick, sweet (in Armenia we call it Armenian coffee, of course). I can’t open my mouth to talk to anyone without being offered coffee first. “No, really” I say “all I want is a glass of tap water.” They look at me funny, then bring me a cup of coffee anyway. Although my coffee consumption had drastically decreased in the last two years of living in the States, I quietly sip six or seven cups of this rich drink of gods a day and wait for the moment when someone will offer to tell me my fortune on coffee grounds.

Food in general – although this subject deserves its own separate post, I thought I’d say a few words here, now that I am thinking of it. As sad as it sounds, I am not a big fan of Georgian food (fat bastard, stop rolling your eyes). Now that I come to think of it, I am not a big fan of Armenian food either. Too heavy, too greasy, too doughy and too repetitive to my taste. As much as I like khorovats/shashlik (gigantic shish kababs) or khinkali (Georgian spicy meat dumplings), I can only eat so much of it on regular basis. My post eating disorder palate has been downgraded to lighter, more unsophisticated foods. I’m a deli girl. On any given day, give me a ham and cheese sandwich and I will love you until the rest of your life. Two weeks spent in the Caucasus makes me crave nothing more or less but a Quizno’s sub. Go figure.

Kolbasa – more precisely, varenaya kolbasa or in other words – bologny. On days when we are not being fed the twelve course Georgian fair by our hosts until we can hardly move, I usually end up having a tomato and cucumber salad with red basil and olive oil, with a piece of bread and kolbasa. It tastes like my childhood and I mentally transfer to my grandparents house, where I, as a little girl, sit at the kitchen table, stirring my tea and watching my grandpa slice the kolbasa and bread for supper. Nothing makes me miss childhood more than the bland, comforting taste of kolbasa.

There is a whole lot more that I could write about the past two weeks or so, but time at this point is one luxury that I do not have much of. So bear with me, and I will try to deliver.

P.S. One thing that I’m trying to figure out though is what in the world the US Army is doing in a remote bazaar in Rustavi.