Monday, May 28, 2012

Georgia's Independence Day


This past Saturday (May 26th) was Georgia’s Independence Day. I was in Tbilisi for the weekend, surprise, surprise right? That morning I woke up really early around 7:30 and sat in bed being productive and downloading all the TV shows from the past week that I hadn’t seen and taking a shower. I packed all my stuff and got moved from the hostel that I normally stay at, to across the hall to an apartment that an exceptionally nice older lady lives in and rents out a mini flat to guests. (Massive bedroom, balcony, and bathroom.) I was stoked about this as it reminded me of flats that I had been in, in Lviv, Ukraine and it was all mine for a night, lumpy bed and all!

My Bathroom 
View of Tbilisi from my Balcony

I dropped my bag and went off to get coffee and write a letter to a friend in a cafe. I sat there for a few hours doing that, waiting for one of my friends to get into the city. After I left I walked to McDonlds so I could use the bathroom and get some more coffee, I was feeling exceptionally tired that day and I wanted an excuse to sit on the patio outside and watch a stage that was being put up in the Marjanishvili Square. I sat and took a few pictures and looked at the sky praying that it would not rain yet again. I could not take another wet weekend. (Someone send me a raincoat!) I got a call from my friend saying that he had just gotten into town and that it was hailing where he was. I cursed we made a plan to find our friend, who was phone less, because he was leaving that weekend to go back home and Teach and Learn with Georgia wanted the phone that they had given him back.



I headed to go check the bookstore that he is at a lot and found Rustaveli to be swamped with people as a street carnival was going on. I pushed my way to the bookstore and he was not there so I called my friend and told him to locate him and call me when he did so, until then I would be up here taking pictures. I made my way down the street past booths advertising all sorts of Georgian products, toilet paper, washing powder, amazing strength glass, and water heaters. It was almost like a home show but there was also Borjomi water, Natakhtari beer, and face painting!


Street Vender 
Street Vender

Street Vender 

Georgian Performers

Street Vender

I walked towards the Radisson Blu and there was a bunch of military equipment that children could get their picture taken with. I cannot began to tell you what the names of everything were. A tank, an airplane maybe? I found it a little odd that children could pose next to rocket launchers and there was a massive display of guns in glass cases, but I am sure somewhere in America does the same thing and if Tbilisi was going to be invaded on that day I think I would have been safe. I also enjoyed looking at the fit military men and then groups of over weight police officers, standing together smoking cigarettes. It was easy to pick which men in uniform I liked better. 



There was a small classical Georgian music concert being played and I stopped to listen and talk pictures, until my friend called to say that he had located the other friend. (He was at the hostel.) The afternoon was spent eating lobiani, sitting around drinking Georgian wine and enjoying each other’s company, until it was time to meet up with some other people for dinner.




The Conductor 

Since it was the end of the month, meaning we still hadn’t been paid, and our friend was leaving Georgia, and because of the holiday we decided that Georgian food would be the most appropriate for the occasion and the cheapest. We sat talking about future plans, for those of us who this was our last semester here and reminisced over times spent here. 
After dinner, the rest of the group wanted to go for beers and I made a lame accuse that I didn’t feel well and wanted to go home. I really just wanted more Emily time. I walked down Marjanshvili and stopped at a store to get an ice cream and some water. I made my way eating my ice cream and suddenly realized in my wine haze that a massive concert was going on. It was around 11pm and I was sure it would be over by now. I was wrong. I stood and watched some Georgian dancing for a bit and made my way through the masses. 
I got back to my apartment and was greeted by the pleasant woman asking if I had seen the concert, which blared from her TV and could heard from an open window and I explained to her that I just came from there. She asked if I would like any coffee or tea and I told her no thank you. I got my PJ’s on and opened a window and laid down on my lumpy bed. I was awoken around midnight (15 minuets later or so) to the sound of fireworks. I went to my balcony and stood watching. I couldn’t remember the last time I watched them. I oohed and aahed over it, enjoying my privet moment alone soaking up the experience of the end of my first Georgian Independence Day, glade that I hadn’t stayed with my friends, drinking and missing out on this.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Super Supra: My Host Father's Birthday


This past March my host dad had a birthday on the 7th. The preparations started on the Sunday (the 4th) and continued up until the last minuet. There was a small army of people who came to help. They tried to put me to work, but I ended up being one of the worst Georgian cooks ever and banished myself to my room. Animals were slaughtered, vegetables were peeled and chopped, and bread was baked. Women gossiped in hush tons as they worked and men drank and did the heavy lifting.
As the sun started to set on the day of the supra, everyone showered and changed into their party clothes. The videographer and the DJ showed up. I greeted people that I knew as they came in and took photos. People commented on the grandness of the whole thing. 
I took my seat with the teachers from my school on one side of me and my host parent’s granddaughter on the other, as I was her favorite American at the party. My host mother had given me instructions to not drink, because the director of my school was present. The people I teach with, thought I should do other wise, and I did. I was told to eat, and eat, and eat. I seat hopped all night visiting with everyone I had come to know in the past six weeks. A woman handed me what I thought was a glass of wine and I downed it like a good little Georgian, it was  liquor. I made a face and everyone laughed. Emily the entertainer had showed up.
I was told to Georgian dance multiple times and stupidly agreed. There is video of it that I still have to burn. I got asked to dance with the village’s most eligible bachelor, while his mom and most people who live here watched. I felt like I was at a middle school dance again.
The supra had started around 7pm and I finally excused myself to pass out around midnight. The next few days were spent having smaller supras to use up the left over mounds of food and cleaning up. Even having spent a couple of years catering I think this beats any $200,000 weddings I have been to. That night I really felt like I was a part of my village community and it’s nights like that, that make me love Georgia and everything about it.
 






Hundreds and Hundreds of Plates

Mushrooms


My Host Dad With his Favorite Village Baby, Saba, on the Morning of his Birthday





Setting a Table



Neighbors Waiting for the Supra to Start
My School Director












My Host Dad's Daughter (left) and her Friend



The Videographer 
The Gem of the Woman Who Gave me Liquor, Not Wine. (Adopting Her and She is Moving to America with Me.)

Me and My Future Georgian Husband ♥




Sunday, May 20, 2012

Because This Problem Is Going To Last More Than The Weekend: Part Three


Last Sunday morning (May 13th) I woke up around 7:30am and looked out the window to blue sky and I thought about the night before when I was sure Tbilisi was going to explode. I got on my laptop and spent some time downloading movies, music, and random TV shows that I will probably never get to watching or listening to, but the thought of having over 250GB of entertainment comforts me. I dealt with some of my friends back home and their drunk Saturday night issues that made me wish that I could be there with them, but I’m half a world away and it’s going to be like this for quite some time. 
I started to feel a little sad over this and the fact that I was missing Mother’s Day, again. Last year my mother had been mad at me over buying a last minuet ticket to go to Ukraine to see a guy that I missed. My grandfather gave me his blessing so I won that fight and proved my point, but I still felt like shit that she was fuming at me. The year before that I spent working all day at Gap then Bath and Body Works, which spurred me to quit the latter of the jobs. (What store that is dedicated to women makes their employees work after store hours to move bottles of lotion from one tower to another?) I know I was just missing another brunch were, ok food was being served, but being away from Maine for so long now has put in perspective just how important spending time with family is. I was also still a little upset about a stupid fight I had, had the night before.
I sat in my bed for the whole morning, trying to save the world back in Maine and write a Mother’s Day blog for Mama Otter. I got a text a little after noon, from the moron Jamie, saying that him and George were heading to one of the main streets in Tbilisi. I read it and threw my phone on to my bed and stayed there typing away, not wanting to be near him. I eventually took a shower and packed all my stuff up as the internet at the hostel was acting up and not wanting to upload my pictures and set off in the direction that the guys were. 
I got another text asking were the hell I was, as when both of us are in Tbilisi on Sunday mornings we have brunch together and then take the marshookah back to our villages together. I told him that I was on my way. I stopped in my favorite cafe to get a large coffee to go (It tastes like American coffee) and took it to the cafe where they were eating. When I walked in Jamie verbally assaulted me for having a drink from another establishment with me. I just looked at him and said “It’s Georgia, no one gives a fuck.” George just sat on his MacBook doing what ever he was doing, and sided with me that no one probably cared. (No one does. I sat at a bar last night drink vodka from a bottle that I had bought and chasing it with my juice from my “Adult” juice box. It’s half a liter, that’s what makes it adult.)
In this cafe you can see into the kitchen where they are making pastries and I spotted their massive meringues that they have. I declared that I was going to get one in honor of Mother’s Day, because Mama Otter loves them and ran as fast as I could to order. I came back to the table with it and started to giggle at it’s sheer size and being over caffeinated. Jamie looked at me in horror as I started to eat and said, “Well there goes your diet!” (I bet him that I can loose a kilo a week for my last six weeks here to shut him up for always making fun of me for being fat.) He kept going on and on about all the sugar in it and how I was basically asking for diabetes at that point. We had a fight over how bad it was and I googled it and declared myself the winner, on what I’m not really sure. I started to feel really sick about a third of the way through and had to put it away and started cursing getting it. Mama Otter would not want me to feel this ill for her, but then again she may have laughed over this and found it funny.

"Oh haha, so funny! Look at this massive meringue!"

"OM NOM NOM!" 
"I am going to vomit everywhere!"

We finished up at the cafe and walked George to catch the metro, so he could get his marshookah home. Jamie and I walked to a market to get some food for him and water to wash the sugar out of my mouth. I wasn’t my usual self, joking with him and making fun of everything in sight. I was too nackered and I felt the odd rage coming back again. He confronted me about it and I tried to brush it off and just said that I was tired and didn’t feel well after that stupid Mother’s Day meringue, which was also true, just not the real issue. We were mostly silent on the way to get our marshookah and stayed quite for the first bit of the ride, until I started in again about my friends back home and being sent texts and Facebook messages, asking me to come back to Maine and stay there. Jamie just turned and looked at me and said, “Oh waaaaa! People miss you and want you to come back home. That is just so horrible!” He turned away and looked out the window, leaving me there to think for a moment and wanting to ask wasn’t it the same for him, but I knew the answer. It donned on me that not everyone came to Georgia, for the same reasons as me. Some people left where they were from, because they had nothing left there and when they leave here, some won’t go back to families that missed them, friends that missed drinking with them, or jobs that missed them showing up not matter how hung over they were. I get to go back to all three, whenever I decide that I’ve had enough and want to call Maine my place of residence again. 
I put my headphones in and listened to Emily and The Woods “Steal His Heart” (music video included for your listening pleasure).

The landscape passed by me in a blur, the marshookah driver seemed to be doing his best to go the fastest he could, which I wasn’t too comfortable with as there had been torrential rains the night before and there had been flooding and roads partially washed out. I did not want to die. I just sat listening to my “girl” music and thinking. I thought about the advice that I had given Jamie earlier in the week, about us all only having five more weeks together until school ends and then we go our separate ways and trying to make the most of it, and enjoy what little time we have left, because even for those of us who come back in the autumn it won’t be the same.
I remember taking my headphones out and looking up and smiling at him. He asked what I was smiling at. I don’t blame him, I usually am up to something, and I told him nothing. It was a quite marshookah ride home that day, no one told us to shut up like they normally do. He read his book and I listened to my music. I caught myself smiling in his direction a few times. I couldn’t be mad at him, just because it felt right to be for some odd reason. I didn’t know how many more rides I would have with him. Saturday morning ones, where he has always saved a seat for me when I get picked up in my village, spent eating peanut M&Ms and Bounty bars and talking and laughing endlessly about our weeks until we get to Tbilisi. Sunday afternoon ones where we are much more silent, tired from Saturday night spent out, dreading the week we will have to spend in our villages, and for me a little bit of dread that I have to say goodbye again.
When the marshookah stopped to let me off this weekend I let go of any pointless, meaningless anger that I felt towards him and gave him our usual hug goodbye. I got my bag from the back and walked a little bit and then turned around and saw him giving me a goofy wave and I couldn’t help but smile and be sad at the same time. I only have four or so weekends left of rides with him, if we go into Tbilisi every weekend until then.
Monday night, I took my nightly shower, just standing under the hot water going over what I was going to put in my blog and it hit me, I’m mad at my friend because I don’t want him to go home at the end of June. I don’t want this period of time to come to a close. I’ve already thought about the autumn and how I am going to feel about being able to look and see his town in the distance from mine and if it will sting a little like it does now, out of knowing soon he won’t be there. I think about the new volunteer who will be placed there, if someone is placed there again, and if I will silently hold it against, whoever they are, that they are not him. Trying to push him away with my rage, hoping that it will make the final goodbye not as hard, if he’s mad at me for being mad at him. It’s not working like that, though, he hasn’t stopped caring yet and it’s too hard to stay like this, now fully aware that I am using my old defense tactic of pushing people away by hurting them before they hurt me, especially when all I want is him to give me a hug and tell me that I will be ok, life won’t end in June when school does. I’ll still have him and all my moron friends, they just won’t be as close anymore. It’s not a new concept for me.

One last song for your listening pleasure: 

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Because This Problem Is Going To Last More Than The Weekend: Part Two


I walked along Rustivli eating my icecream and enjoying the sun. I got a phone call from a woman I had met the night before at the dance concert. Her hostel was near where I was so I stayed put and watched the parade of people. There was one glorious woman who had bleach blond, from the bottle hair, with a red visor that clashed exquisitely.  An, also red, halter top that showed off her stomach fat that was no quite big enough to be called a roll, tight hip hugging bootcut jeans that accentuated her muffin top beautifully with white sneakers, maybe knock off Sketchers, and she was screaming in Georgian to her cellphone while people gave her a three meter radius. I could have taken a picture, but I didn’t want her to spot me and rip my head off. 
They were setting up a stage and there were policemen all about. I thankfully have gotten over my fear of them, most likely because I can drink on the street and I am not driving so there go all the reasons I would have to talk to one, except to hit on a man in uniform. This also gave me reason to not fear the crazies. They could not hurt me in the percents of this massive police turn out. One guy did come up and try to chat me up, however he may have been trying to tell me that I had chocolate on my face from the icecream. I will never know as I put my headphones in and ignored him.




While sitting there one of the most magnificent men I had ever seen came up and stood next to me. He had a great mustache with black Ray Ban glasses on and smoking his cigarette with a holder. There is nothing I love more then a ginger man (yea, I’m currently in therapy for that) or a hipster, and this good sir was a true hipster. He had that swag, that he didn’t care if anyone thought he was cool, he was going to be his own spectacular self.   

Stacy showed up right as I was still admiring the man and we set off on a walk to look at souvenirs. I found a pair of metallic earrings that I liked and bought them. She had only been here since the end of February and didn’t know as much of the city as me so I took her on a little tour. On the way we stopped in a store to buy water and made a pit stop at a McDonlds so I could go to the bathroom. We commented on how the place was a zoo, filled with mostly children and there parents and how the prices were too expensive for us poor volunteer teachers to spend on food like that. (Really almost $5 for a Big and Tasty. No thanks!) 
We ended up in a park snagging a bench in the shade. She had packets of Crystal Light that she had brought from America and shared one with me after I asked her a few times if she was sure she wanted to give it up as there aren’t things like this in Georgia. We talked of our lives before Georgia and she is one of those awesome people who can admit that it’s not her cup of tea living here, but she still appreciates the experience for what it is and enjoy her time spent here without being bitter, unlike some people feel the need to trash this place every chance they can just because they don’t like it. 
We soon got a call from my moron friend Jamie, (who I had hung up on in part 1) calling to ask if we would like to meet at a cafe with him and our friend George. We agreed and made our way there. I ordered a small Americano and we sat and chit chatted about how we all knew each other and our past lives for about an hour or so while I Facebooked on my iPod and George downloaded things and read the news on his MacBook. 
It was then decided that we would go eat at a German restaurant brewhouse near Old Town. It was a big dimly lit place were you could see the beer being made behind glass. For the four of us they brought out one menu. The place at this time was empty and I just sat there muttering that there had to be more then one menu in English. We all ended up ordering a liter of beer, that’s right a liter, each that cost about $3.55. (I really should have taken a picture but I didn’t want my parental units back in the States to think that I need to go to rehab for an alcohol addiction. I was just being economical like you guys taught me!) We debated over what to order and George and I went with the burger. Jamie went with some BBQ chicken thing. Stacy wanted Georgian food and decided to hold off until after this to get her fix. We looked through the starters and settled on getting garlic bread.
During the time that we placed our order and got it, a volunteer who was from Vermont showed up. It was nice to be able to talk about some places in Maine with someone, but I was still in a bad mood and after being over seas for so long, it seemed pointless to talk about a place I hadn’t been in almost half a year and wasn’t going to see anytime soon. When our garlic bread came we just started laughing. It was literally chopped garlic on bread. We could have made it better at one of our hostels, but we didn’t so we would just pay a lot for it instead!

Our meals came out and I remembering looking over at Jamie’s chicken portion and thinking it was a little on the small side, all he wants to do is eat meat because his host family never feeds it to him, or maybe he had just already inhaled it. My burger came with fries and some kind of cole slaw type salad. The burger had a massive skewer in the middle of it, that I wanted it to stay there, because I was starting to feel the liter of beer kick in and I am a messy eater to began with. Jamie started making fun of me for it and pulled it out when I went to take a bite. I got upset that my burger, the closest thing to one I would have back in America in ages, was going to fall completely apart on my plate, because of him. If the beer tears were to come it would have been his fault. 

Stacy decided that she wanted some fries and placed an order for them. When they came there was no ketchup and when she requested some, she was asked if she would like sweet or spice. She then asked if the waitress could bring a little of both so we could try them and see which was the best. This amused everyone in our group, but she did have a point, if we were going to pay for it, we might as well get the one we like. (You normally have to pay for condiments here.) I don’t remember which one she went with, the beer was really starting to kick in at that point and I was just happy to have ketchup. 
After the beerhall, the Vermonter parted ways with us and we set off to find Stacy’s Georgian food restaurant in Old Town. I was delighted when we got to it and I released that I had been there in December with two of my friends. The four of us sat down and order some mushroom khinkali for Stacy and I and Jamie got the meat one. George was full from his burger and declined. The boys got beer and Stacy and I decided to split a liter and a half pitcher of white wine. (It works out that we each paid about $1.80) There was no wireless here so I was forced to talk to the people I was with. It wasn’t so bad, but I know the word moron kept popping into my head when I would look at Jamie, so I kept drinking more wine to keep my mouth busy from actually saying it. I don’t remember what we talked about, but it was probably a really ridiculous, uncensored, horrible un-politicly correct, drunk mess, but who am I kidding we are too lame to do anything like that. We were coming up with a plan to end world hunger through singing, holding hands and planting flowers and there was no alcohol drank all night.
Our food came and my mushroom khinkali, was a bit too oily for my liking and I thought Jamie may not have been as big of a moron, because he went with the meat. We sat and talked some more and to my shock the waitress came with the bill, that never happens in Georgia, unless, wait...they are trying to close and are kicking you out, and we were being kicked out. I was not done with my wine and wanted to stay and chat more, but that is just the way of the world sometimes.
We reluctantly got up and went to the door. The rain that had been sprinkling when we came in had turned into almost an outright monsoon. All of a sudden I didn’t feel so drunk and I did not want to go out into the freezing cold downpour. Jamie called me a sad sack for deciding to call it quits with Stacy and go back to our respective hostels, but this storm was too much to go traipsing around Tbilisi in. The boys stood with us and waited as we got a cab. When we got in the guy was blasting the heat and I thought I would melt in the back seat. Stacy tried telling him where she was going, but he didn’t seem to understand. I, however finally understood why Jamie makes fun of me for having an American accent, because Stacy had one too. My drunk Georgian kicked in and along with it a slightly better accent and I wasn’t afraid to sound like an ass using what ever Georgian I could to get me home as fast as he could drive. I just wanted to sleep. We dropped Stacy off and he drove me to my hostel. I asked him how much it was and he told me 10 lair. My mad Georgian kicked in and he told me it was because of the rain. (It should have been 5 at most.) I used a few choice words and gave him his money. 
When I got out of the taxi the street was flooded a few inches of water and again I cursed. The door to the entry was open, but there was no light on. I found my cell phone and turned on handy flash light and climbed the two flights of stairs up. (I always stay at the same hostel in Tbilisi run by a nice family, in a nice safe building. The stairwell is not some creepy crumbling ruin that I was going to get killed or kidnapped on, mom.) I stood at the door soaking wet and rang the doorbell. The song didn’t play when I pushed the button so I tried again, still no song. Drunk Emily started thinking, hey I’m in Georgia, there is a massive storm, maybe, just maybe the power is out. I located hall light switch on the wall and tested my theory and I was right. I started knocking loudly on the door and gotten let in a little after that.
I went into my dorm room, which I was the only one staying in and held my cellphone flashlight in my mouth to find my sleeping cloths fast, so I could get my wet ones off. I changed in the bathroom and then came back into my room and drunkly stared out the window, where I could see most of the city, which a lot of the buildings and streets were oddly dark, except for the lightning that lit up the sky every few seconds and constant thunder. I pulled back the curtains so I could watch from my bed. It looked like Tbilisi was under attack. I sent a text to the moron that I had made it back to the hostel safely. I fell asleep fast, not able to believe that he was out drinking in a storm like this. Moron.
*Later on we found out that the power had been cut to a lot of the city on purpose, so if there was a downed wire and it fell on one of the flooded streets it wouldn’t electrocute anyone. Five people also died in Tbilisi due to flooding that night.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Because This Problem Is Going To Last More Than The Weekend: Part One


Last week was a slightly rough week for me and some of my friends might have even used the word “raging” to describe me. A friend and I were on the phone talking about our weekend plans, he was undecided and I declared that I was going to Tbilisi and I was going alone. If he happened to show up, then awesome, but I did not want to hangout with him or anyone from our group of friends because they were all morons. (I told you I might have been raging.) I then stopped and looked at a calendar to see when exactly had been my last village weekend (when you stay in your village all weekend, normally because you are poor and have no money) and to my shock it was the weekend of March 30th. I had spent 6 weekends in a row, with other people, doing what they wanted to do. They weren’t bad weekends really, one was spent traveling going to a metal concert in Tallinn and then traveling to Riga. Another was spent getting drunk with three British guys in Vilnius who told me that they were all twenty-three, but I know they were nineteen and three Tbilisi weekends. I needed a break and some Emily time.
Friday afternoon I headed into Tbilisi alone, which was a little odd because my friend who lives close to me in my region normally takes the same marshookah in with me, oh every weekend. The ride in was horrible. I had a seat by the door and it started down pouring and the door wasn’t sealed tight so massive water drops started to hit and soak me. I inched as far away as I could from the dripping water, half off the seat, muttering Georgian and English swear words. We came to a stop in a town, shortly after this and a few guys who were sitting in the back were getting out and I had to move for them to do this. The thing is, the person who sits in the seat I was sitting in normally just gets out of the marshookah, let’s the people get off and then gets back in and at this very moment it was raining. The men, being good Georgian men, tried to maneuver me so I would be able to stay inside the dry (HA!) marshookah. I took one look at the space they were trying to get me to go into and one look at my ass and thighs and jumped out of the vehicle. (I really jumped, I am not justing using that word to class up my writing.) Everyone looked a little stunned that the American, with just a dress on, no rain coat (it’s back in Maine) would stand in rain that was coming down so hard someone might as well have pointed a fire hose at me. They got out and I went back in and  moved into the back row of seats, where I could dry off, but the bouncing on those dirt roads, had me almost vomiting everywhere.  By the time we got to Tbilisi I started to wonder if coming this weekend had really been such a good idea.
Friday night I set off to the Tbilisi Concert Hall, which happened to be where I was going to see a Georgian dance performance. I had scored a ticket from another Teach and Learn with Georgia volunteer off of Facebook. I had never met her, or anyone else in the group of about ten who showed up, but it proved to be most enjoyable as we waited for the performance to start we talked about the basics and what everyone was doing when the semester ends in five weeks, it’s all any of us talk about now.
I am going to assume that most of you reading this have never seen Georgian dancing, but let me tell you it is amazing. I can’t describe it so I’ve included a video of one of the dances I saw them do. (You can skip to 5:00 in, if you don’t want to watch it all. It gets really good there.) I sat for most of the performance with a massive grin on my face and the two hours of it flew by. The best part was I only spent about $6.15 on the ticket, very much well worth it. After the show some of us went to Elvis Cafe to get something to eat or drink. We again talked about thing such amazing people like us talk about, like lack of water, or illness. We called it a night around 23:30 and I walked myself back to my hostel.

On Saturday I woke up and had a nice hot shower and went out to buy strawberries. Right now they are selling small ones that taste amazing, not like the genetically modified monsters you get in the States. I also may have gotten some lobiani. I went back to the hostel and consumed all of the strawberries in one go, with a cup of crap coffee that I drank half of and then threw out. (Georgia needs Starbucks.)
I got everything together and set off around 11am for a day of Emily adventures. First on my list was to find the post office. I used the maps app on my iPod to find where it was and it told me that it was only a few blocks away. I set out on foot, sweating not even have walked a block. I got to were the post office was suppose to be and there was a bank. Now I know sometimes in Georgia, not everything is as it seems, but this seemed a little silly, a bank? Really? I double checked my Apple product and the address on the website. Apple had sent me to #144, even though I had put in #44. I kept positive and turned and walked the way I had come. I found number #44 and the post office easily after that.
I went inside and handed my envelope to the clerk and said that I needed to mail my letter. She asked what was inside. I looked at her and said, “a letter. Paper with writing on it?” Would you like me to open it so you can read it? She looked at it, checking my return address. I was just waiting for her to say I didn’t write a street or a house number on it. I’m sorry I live in a village where we don’t have fancy things like proper addresses, not Tbilisi. She saw that the letter was going to Ukraine and then started to speak Russian to me. Dear god woman, I was just talking to you in my crap Georgian and my exceptional American English, why ruin a good thing? I handed her my 4.90GEL to mail it and I am just assuming my letter will get there, but if it doesn’t I’ll only have myself to blame because I didn’t get it insured.
Before the weekend started I asked myself what was missing from my life and might put me in a better mood. My answer was street photography. If there is one thing I love it is capturing people when they don’t know I am there. This was number two on my task of Emily adventures. I just strolled to a park taking photos along the way. 



I was on a mission to find a skate park from a Georgian movie I had seen back in March. When I got there it was full of children on skateboards, bikes and rollerblades, not university students like I had hoped for, but they proved to be worthy subject matter.




In the park there also was a demonstration against cutting down some trees there. The workers were just sitting around waiting to use their chain saws and the people who were saving the lives of these poor defenseless trees stood around. I took my pictures, shrugged my shoulders and walked away.




I made my way to the Doll and Puppet Museum, which was Emily adventure number three for the day. I walked in the open door and the man at the ticket counter told me they were closed. I walked out and didn’t even ask for an explanation. It’s Georgia. I called my friend who had come into Tbilisi, the one who I said I didn’t care if he came or not, and told him I was done with my adventures for the day. He asked how the Puppet Museum was (he detests the idea of it, probably scared by them,) and I told him it was closed. He asked why and I said, “immatom” which mean ‘because’ in Georgian. He wanted an explanation but when you say immatom, we all know it really means ‘because it is Georgia and that is just the way things are so stop asking.’ At that point I had forgotten why I had called him in the first place, remembered that he was in fact a moron, and realized that I wanted icecream, so I hung up on him.
I felt like I should also share the song that this post title comes from.