Last day of school and what a day! Since it was my last day, Co-teach and I decided to just play English games with the kids and have a fun good-bye. And that’s what we did, but the director chose today to sit in and observe all of my classes. Not a big deal for me, but it confused the kids. As I finished my last class, Co-teach told me that the director wanted me to write my biography as well as my "thoughts about education and ideas for the school". It’s going to go on a poster with photos of me in the school lobby. So, no pressure.
Plans for the suphra were still up in the air, so while Co-teach and I hung around waiting to find out if we were having a party in the school or going out, I wrote something. Since we were waiting in our classroom, all of the kids came to find me as their classes ended. It was weird. They all wanted my picture and autograph. I honestly don’t know how many photos I was in. Several of the girls were crying and that was enough to make me want to cry too. I honestly thought that the kids didn’t really like me (for the first 3 weeks they all told the other teachers that I was very strict), but I guess I was wrong. I told them that I would get an e-mail address where they could contact me and give Co-teach the info for them.
Finally, the suphra happened, at school, which was fine by me. There was atchma, a dish with layers of cheese and pastry, kinda like lasagna, but with no sauce (and Georgian cheese). The teachers also brought the most amazing cake I have ever seen. It was so spectacular that I took a bunch of pictures. And it tasted as good as it looked. The decorations were chocolate and marzipan and the filling had chunks of marzipan, too. We all chatted and toasted with a really nice, sweet champagne. I commented on how much I liked it and Co-teach laughed because they’d bought a bottle for me as a gift. There was also a book all about Georgia, in Georgian. Co-teach had asked them to keep things small, so that I could pack them. The whole thing was really sweet and I’m going to miss everyone.
When the suphra ended, an hour and a half later, I went to get my things out of our classroom to find that one of my students had graffitied the wall outside the room with a message of love for me. Then I left the school to find six of my gr 9's waiting outside. They took a bunch of pictures for us and left when I did. Then they walked home with me. Kinda. They sort of surrounded me while we all walked in the same direction, but didn’t talk to me.
I was later getting home than normal, which made the evening fly by. Between the internet and reading and then helping HB1 with his homework, it was bedtime before I knew it.
Showing posts with label Georgian Food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Georgian Food. Show all posts
Friday, December 17, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Nov. 22-24 - Mestia Adventure Part 2
Monday
Linguist had school today, so Boston and I were left to our own devices. We slept very late; for the first time, she was up before me. We took our time getting ready, but then decided to hit the town. Sore muscles stretched and felt better as we moved, but my knees were in agony. My sinuses were also much worse. They hadn’t bothered me too much on the hike, but by this afternoon, I couldn’t breathe.
Since the day was cloudy and drizzly, Boston suggested that I just see a doctor in Mestia. I called the Insurance company and they contacted a clinic for me. I called the woman at the clinic to set up a time and get the address, and things started to get weird. The woman didn’t know the address. She just kept telling me to ask someone in the street and they will tell me where –clinic is. I couldn’t make out the name of the clinic, so I asked again for her just to give me the address (Boston and I had found a city map in the main square, so we were pretty sure we could find it). She kept telling me it was no problem, just ask someone. I explained that I don’t speak Georgian and most of the townspeople don’t speak English, but she repeated, "It’s no problem, just ask someone". I finally got forceful and demanded the address and she said she’d have to call me back. When she called me back, she rattled off the address in a rapid-fire Georgian accent and repeated that "It’s no problem, just ask someone where –clinic is." I still didn’t catch either name, and she decided to tell me the doctor’s name too. After a couple of minutes of this, I asked her to text the information to me. She didn’t answer and hung up (because Georgian’s don’t say good-bye on the phone). She did send a text, and good thing too, because she told me the clinic was number 12, but in the text she wrote 13 and 12 was NOT the right place. We finally figured out where to go and got to the clinic with no more mishaps.
At reception, I told the woman the name of the doctor and she led me down a dark, narrow and creepy hallway. It reminded me of the unused halls in Stephen King’s "Kingdom Hospital". The room she took me to was brightly lit and warm, thanks to a space heater and the doctor asked me what was wrong, in decent (but not excellent) English. (Boston stayed with me the whole time, which I wanted, but no one ever asked if I wanted privacy). I explained about my sinuses and what meds I had already tried. She put on the headband and flipped the mirror down to examine my throat. She made a weird noise and I can only assume that it’s because my throat looked as bad as it felt. Then she looked in my nose. When I started coughing, she decided that we had to go somewhere else, and gestured to her chest. I thought maybe for x-rays (though it seemed excessive) but no. We just had to go down the hall to the woman who had the stethoscope.
Doctor 2 listened to my chest and asked Doctor 1 questions in Georgian, which were then relayed to me. After answering all the questions, the second doctor pulled out a scrap of paper and started writing my perscription. She handed the finished product to the first doctor and we went back to the first room, where she explained what each item was for. There were anti-biotics, as well as cough syrup, throat lozenges and nose drops. Perscription in hand, I thanked the doctor and we left.
Having seen a sign for a pharmacy in the main square, we went back there. But the pharmacy wasn’t open. So I stopped a lady walking past and she pointed around the corner. We thanked her and went in that direction, but there were no signs on any of the doors. As we crossed the square, Boston said, "those people look like they came from a doctor, and they’re walking with purpose. Let’s follow them." So we did and they led us to the pharmacy, where I got all four perscriptions filled for approximately $7.
We went back to the house, through the drizzle, and decided to read by the fire. We settled in and got cozy, but Linguist’s 6 year-old host sister was home from school and she wanted attention. I had my phone on my lap while I read and she noticed the sticker I had on the back. So she went and got her own stickers to decorate my phone. When the sticker she wanted to give me was too big for the phone, she stuck it to the back of my Kobo. It was all very cute.
We spent the whole evening with Linguist and his host family. In preparation for the feastival, host mom and dad used the beeswax from their own bees, to make candles. They warmed the wax on the woodstove and then rolled it over the wick. They cut them apart and rubbed the end on the stove to flatten it. It was really cool to see.
Host dad invited Boston and I to come to the church with him in the morning to watch them bless the sheep for the festival. Since we wanted to go and the blessing needed to be done before sunrise, we went to bed early and got a good night sleep.
Tuesday
The festival today is called Giorgoba, or St George’s name day. In Mestia, to honour St. George, people take an animal to be blessed at church, before sunrise, and then sacrifice it and eat the meat. According to one Svan man, St. George likes sheep best. So before dawn, we were roused from our beds to walk with host dad and a ram through the dark, muddy streets to the church. There were a bunch of men standing around outside the church, some with animals to be blessed (there were many calves, but we had the only sheep), some with khajapuri and some with vodka. And no, the spirits were not for the blessing of the animals, those were for the people, standing in the cold, pre-dawn air.
While the officiant (don’t know if it’s a priest, minister, reverend, pastor or other) used a candle to make the sign of the cross around the sheep, we had a shot of vodka and khajapuri. The next step was turning the sheep 3 times in a circle, then we had to walk it once around the church, before making it turn 3 circles again. Blessing finished, we hung out and socialized for a while longer. The others had more vodka shots, while I watched the sun rise over the mountains behind the church. We walked the sheep back to the house, where host Dad told us to take a nap before the actual sacrifice.
We didn’t nap, but we did relax by the fire until we were called into Linguist’s room, where we could see the backyard through the window. It wasn’t time for the sheep, yet, but host dad’s brother and some friends had a bull, which they were skinning and carving before the sheep could happen. While we watched in horrified fascination, Linguist’s host sisters came in to watch as well. They’re hardy, rugged girls and handled the whole thing much better than me. We played around with the girls during the intermission between bull and sheep, and then finally it was time.
Linguist wanted to be right in the action, so he helped hold down the sheep, while Boston stood in the doorway and took pictures. I sat on the bed at the window, with both sisters on my lap. They killed the sheep by cutting it’s throat. Since sheep have small necks, they were able to cut right through and remove the head. Even with the head gone, the body was still trying to escape, which was actually less disturbing than the bull’s legs moving while they skinned it, because it still had it’s head and for a minute I thought it was still alive. The head and feet get set aside (to be made into a special dish), the horns are cleaned and used for drinking horns and the rest is partioned out and cooked for dinner.
While the men finished skinning the sheep, Boston and I played with the girls. Linguist came back in and we hungout in his room for a while. Once the meat was brought in, we went into the living room, to watch what happened. The testicles of the sheep were fried up and eaten as a delicacy. I had a lot of firsts this weekend, but eating sheep’s balls was not one of them, though Boston and Linguist both tried it. And apparently the right hind leg is particularily lucky, so it got roasted and then we had to pray to St George before they could eat it.
Since it’s a festival day and no one had school, Native (he’s British, but has lived in Georgia for 11 years) and Practically Georgian came over for feasting. Some police also stopped by, so we had a couple of drinks with them. When one of them (already drunk) toasted to "peace in the universe", I looked at Boston and promptly toasted "to the Federation" (a la Star Trek). That remained our fallback toast throughout the day. The food was put out around 1:30pm and we sat at the able eating and drinking for about 6 hours. Linguist’s host dad had been drinking all day, and took a liking to Boston and host mom had to put him to bed around 5, but he came back around 7. Boston, Practically Georgian and I also went for a walk down the main street, because Boston was looking for Mestia souvenirs. The day was beautiful and sunny, though brisk. I was really glad for my hat and scarf.
During the suphra, Boston and I both fielded calls from people expecting us to be home and wondering how our trip was. Tipsy as we were, there was not a whole lot of info shared. Eventually, the suphra wound down and host mom wanted to put host dad to bed for the night. Boston and I also got ready for bed, because the marshrutka to leave Mestia goes at 6am, so we have to be there at 5 to get seats. We said our goodbyes to the family, knowing that they wouldn’t be up in the morning and went to bed.
Wednesday
Another day of travelling. Yipee! We dragged our buts out of bed at 4:15 and got ready to go. Linguist’s host mom got up to put out some breakfast for us. Boston ate, but I only had some bread, not wanting to have a full stomach for the marshrutka ride. We got to the stop and managed to score the 2 front seats. There was a moment of concern when the marshrutka started going in the opposite direction and then turned down a creepy back alley that was barely wider than the vehicle. Three guys got out and disappeared into a building and came out carrying something that may or may not have been a dead body (human, cow, or possibly just a bag of flour). After that, though, we got going in the right direction and the rest of the trip to Zugdidi was uneventful. It was also far less terrifying, thanks to the darkness and the haze I was in from the antibiotics and gravol.
In Zugdidi, I decided to grab a snack (again, nothing big for fear of motion sickness) and went into a store. I wanted a pack of cookies that cost 1 lari, but only had a 5 lari bill on me. The woman couldn’t make change. Not didn’t know how, but didn’t have change for a 5. I was so angry. I found a little market stall and bought a banana and a different pack of cookies, which I shared with Boston while we waited for the marshrutka to leave.
The trip back to Batumi was really quick. There was little traffic, and aside from some near incidents with cows on the road, I didn’t fear for my life. I got out at the station in Kobuleti, though the driver didn’t want to let me. He kept telling me that it wasn’t Batumi. I finally convinced him that I knew what I was doing and he let me out. I caught a cab home. I ate and then had a nap when I finally arrived. I had some texts from various people asking me to confirm safe arrival, which I did. The rest of the day was spent the same as all others; internet, reading, eating, tv, and bed.
Linguist had school today, so Boston and I were left to our own devices. We slept very late; for the first time, she was up before me. We took our time getting ready, but then decided to hit the town. Sore muscles stretched and felt better as we moved, but my knees were in agony. My sinuses were also much worse. They hadn’t bothered me too much on the hike, but by this afternoon, I couldn’t breathe.
Since the day was cloudy and drizzly, Boston suggested that I just see a doctor in Mestia. I called the Insurance company and they contacted a clinic for me. I called the woman at the clinic to set up a time and get the address, and things started to get weird. The woman didn’t know the address. She just kept telling me to ask someone in the street and they will tell me where –clinic is. I couldn’t make out the name of the clinic, so I asked again for her just to give me the address (Boston and I had found a city map in the main square, so we were pretty sure we could find it). She kept telling me it was no problem, just ask someone. I explained that I don’t speak Georgian and most of the townspeople don’t speak English, but she repeated, "It’s no problem, just ask someone". I finally got forceful and demanded the address and she said she’d have to call me back. When she called me back, she rattled off the address in a rapid-fire Georgian accent and repeated that "It’s no problem, just ask someone where –clinic is." I still didn’t catch either name, and she decided to tell me the doctor’s name too. After a couple of minutes of this, I asked her to text the information to me. She didn’t answer and hung up (because Georgian’s don’t say good-bye on the phone). She did send a text, and good thing too, because she told me the clinic was number 12, but in the text she wrote 13 and 12 was NOT the right place. We finally figured out where to go and got to the clinic with no more mishaps.
At reception, I told the woman the name of the doctor and she led me down a dark, narrow and creepy hallway. It reminded me of the unused halls in Stephen King’s "Kingdom Hospital". The room she took me to was brightly lit and warm, thanks to a space heater and the doctor asked me what was wrong, in decent (but not excellent) English. (Boston stayed with me the whole time, which I wanted, but no one ever asked if I wanted privacy). I explained about my sinuses and what meds I had already tried. She put on the headband and flipped the mirror down to examine my throat. She made a weird noise and I can only assume that it’s because my throat looked as bad as it felt. Then she looked in my nose. When I started coughing, she decided that we had to go somewhere else, and gestured to her chest. I thought maybe for x-rays (though it seemed excessive) but no. We just had to go down the hall to the woman who had the stethoscope.
Doctor 2 listened to my chest and asked Doctor 1 questions in Georgian, which were then relayed to me. After answering all the questions, the second doctor pulled out a scrap of paper and started writing my perscription. She handed the finished product to the first doctor and we went back to the first room, where she explained what each item was for. There were anti-biotics, as well as cough syrup, throat lozenges and nose drops. Perscription in hand, I thanked the doctor and we left.
Having seen a sign for a pharmacy in the main square, we went back there. But the pharmacy wasn’t open. So I stopped a lady walking past and she pointed around the corner. We thanked her and went in that direction, but there were no signs on any of the doors. As we crossed the square, Boston said, "those people look like they came from a doctor, and they’re walking with purpose. Let’s follow them." So we did and they led us to the pharmacy, where I got all four perscriptions filled for approximately $7.
We went back to the house, through the drizzle, and decided to read by the fire. We settled in and got cozy, but Linguist’s 6 year-old host sister was home from school and she wanted attention. I had my phone on my lap while I read and she noticed the sticker I had on the back. So she went and got her own stickers to decorate my phone. When the sticker she wanted to give me was too big for the phone, she stuck it to the back of my Kobo. It was all very cute.
We spent the whole evening with Linguist and his host family. In preparation for the feastival, host mom and dad used the beeswax from their own bees, to make candles. They warmed the wax on the woodstove and then rolled it over the wick. They cut them apart and rubbed the end on the stove to flatten it. It was really cool to see.
Host dad invited Boston and I to come to the church with him in the morning to watch them bless the sheep for the festival. Since we wanted to go and the blessing needed to be done before sunrise, we went to bed early and got a good night sleep.
Tuesday
The festival today is called Giorgoba, or St George’s name day. In Mestia, to honour St. George, people take an animal to be blessed at church, before sunrise, and then sacrifice it and eat the meat. According to one Svan man, St. George likes sheep best. So before dawn, we were roused from our beds to walk with host dad and a ram through the dark, muddy streets to the church. There were a bunch of men standing around outside the church, some with animals to be blessed (there were many calves, but we had the only sheep), some with khajapuri and some with vodka. And no, the spirits were not for the blessing of the animals, those were for the people, standing in the cold, pre-dawn air.
While the officiant (don’t know if it’s a priest, minister, reverend, pastor or other) used a candle to make the sign of the cross around the sheep, we had a shot of vodka and khajapuri. The next step was turning the sheep 3 times in a circle, then we had to walk it once around the church, before making it turn 3 circles again. Blessing finished, we hung out and socialized for a while longer. The others had more vodka shots, while I watched the sun rise over the mountains behind the church. We walked the sheep back to the house, where host Dad told us to take a nap before the actual sacrifice.
We didn’t nap, but we did relax by the fire until we were called into Linguist’s room, where we could see the backyard through the window. It wasn’t time for the sheep, yet, but host dad’s brother and some friends had a bull, which they were skinning and carving before the sheep could happen. While we watched in horrified fascination, Linguist’s host sisters came in to watch as well. They’re hardy, rugged girls and handled the whole thing much better than me. We played around with the girls during the intermission between bull and sheep, and then finally it was time.
Linguist wanted to be right in the action, so he helped hold down the sheep, while Boston stood in the doorway and took pictures. I sat on the bed at the window, with both sisters on my lap. They killed the sheep by cutting it’s throat. Since sheep have small necks, they were able to cut right through and remove the head. Even with the head gone, the body was still trying to escape, which was actually less disturbing than the bull’s legs moving while they skinned it, because it still had it’s head and for a minute I thought it was still alive. The head and feet get set aside (to be made into a special dish), the horns are cleaned and used for drinking horns and the rest is partioned out and cooked for dinner.
While the men finished skinning the sheep, Boston and I played with the girls. Linguist came back in and we hungout in his room for a while. Once the meat was brought in, we went into the living room, to watch what happened. The testicles of the sheep were fried up and eaten as a delicacy. I had a lot of firsts this weekend, but eating sheep’s balls was not one of them, though Boston and Linguist both tried it. And apparently the right hind leg is particularily lucky, so it got roasted and then we had to pray to St George before they could eat it.
Since it’s a festival day and no one had school, Native (he’s British, but has lived in Georgia for 11 years) and Practically Georgian came over for feasting. Some police also stopped by, so we had a couple of drinks with them. When one of them (already drunk) toasted to "peace in the universe", I looked at Boston and promptly toasted "to the Federation" (a la Star Trek). That remained our fallback toast throughout the day. The food was put out around 1:30pm and we sat at the able eating and drinking for about 6 hours. Linguist’s host dad had been drinking all day, and took a liking to Boston and host mom had to put him to bed around 5, but he came back around 7. Boston, Practically Georgian and I also went for a walk down the main street, because Boston was looking for Mestia souvenirs. The day was beautiful and sunny, though brisk. I was really glad for my hat and scarf.
During the suphra, Boston and I both fielded calls from people expecting us to be home and wondering how our trip was. Tipsy as we were, there was not a whole lot of info shared. Eventually, the suphra wound down and host mom wanted to put host dad to bed for the night. Boston and I also got ready for bed, because the marshrutka to leave Mestia goes at 6am, so we have to be there at 5 to get seats. We said our goodbyes to the family, knowing that they wouldn’t be up in the morning and went to bed.
Wednesday
Another day of travelling. Yipee! We dragged our buts out of bed at 4:15 and got ready to go. Linguist’s host mom got up to put out some breakfast for us. Boston ate, but I only had some bread, not wanting to have a full stomach for the marshrutka ride. We got to the stop and managed to score the 2 front seats. There was a moment of concern when the marshrutka started going in the opposite direction and then turned down a creepy back alley that was barely wider than the vehicle. Three guys got out and disappeared into a building and came out carrying something that may or may not have been a dead body (human, cow, or possibly just a bag of flour). After that, though, we got going in the right direction and the rest of the trip to Zugdidi was uneventful. It was also far less terrifying, thanks to the darkness and the haze I was in from the antibiotics and gravol.
In Zugdidi, I decided to grab a snack (again, nothing big for fear of motion sickness) and went into a store. I wanted a pack of cookies that cost 1 lari, but only had a 5 lari bill on me. The woman couldn’t make change. Not didn’t know how, but didn’t have change for a 5. I was so angry. I found a little market stall and bought a banana and a different pack of cookies, which I shared with Boston while we waited for the marshrutka to leave.
The trip back to Batumi was really quick. There was little traffic, and aside from some near incidents with cows on the road, I didn’t fear for my life. I got out at the station in Kobuleti, though the driver didn’t want to let me. He kept telling me that it wasn’t Batumi. I finally convinced him that I knew what I was doing and he let me out. I caught a cab home. I ate and then had a nap when I finally arrived. I had some texts from various people asking me to confirm safe arrival, which I did. The rest of the day was spent the same as all others; internet, reading, eating, tv, and bed.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Oct. 12 - Hazelnut Strings and Other Things
Co-teach was not at school today, so the woman who used to teach English was helping me with my classes. It was nice to have backup, but I didn’t really need it. The kids were really good. I don’t know if it was the novelty of the situation, or if it was because the desks were in rows and not groups (I gave 2 tests today) but they were attentive.
We also played hangman for the first time. It’s kind of perfect. The kids like it because it’s a game, and I like it because it forces them to practice vocabulary and saying the letter names. In Georgian letters are named for the sound they make. If you want the sound "luh" you write the letter called "luh", so they don’t really get that a letter called "b-ee" makes a "b-uh" sound.
After school, I walked home in the 5 minutes of sun we had between showers. There were some pretty spectacular skies, because from my mountain vantage point, while we had sun, I could see the clouds moving (and raining) over other peaks. Then when we were in rain again, I could still see the sun in the distance.
When I got home, I ate, as usual and retreated to my room for internet time. It wasn’t long, though before Bebia called me. She was in the winter kitchen in the basement. It was here that I finally got to see the culmination of the hazlenut project. Hung over 2 beams were strings and strings of roasted hazelnuts and on the stove was a giant pot filled with grape-pudding-type-stuff (I can’t remember what it’s actually called). They dipped each string in the pot and completely coated the nuts with the grape stuff before re-hanging them over the beams. I took pictures of the whole process.
This is the same grape stuff that they put on plates and serve as pudding (which is what they did with the left overs, once the nuts were finished). This paste is made of grape juice (literally from crushed grapes), water, sugar and flour. It’s pretty good, but almost too sweet for me. I haven’t had a chance to try the nuts, yet, but I’m excited.
I ate dinner with the family and retreated to my room pretty early. I read a book on my computer, because I like to save the battery in my Kobo for when the power is out. Which it was a couple of times tonight. Luckily, the longest outage happened while the sun was still shining, so I had light to read by, though one time I did have to resort to the flashlight on my cell phone.
We also played hangman for the first time. It’s kind of perfect. The kids like it because it’s a game, and I like it because it forces them to practice vocabulary and saying the letter names. In Georgian letters are named for the sound they make. If you want the sound "luh" you write the letter called "luh", so they don’t really get that a letter called "b-ee" makes a "b-uh" sound.
After school, I walked home in the 5 minutes of sun we had between showers. There were some pretty spectacular skies, because from my mountain vantage point, while we had sun, I could see the clouds moving (and raining) over other peaks. Then when we were in rain again, I could still see the sun in the distance.
When I got home, I ate, as usual and retreated to my room for internet time. It wasn’t long, though before Bebia called me. She was in the winter kitchen in the basement. It was here that I finally got to see the culmination of the hazlenut project. Hung over 2 beams were strings and strings of roasted hazelnuts and on the stove was a giant pot filled with grape-pudding-type-stuff (I can’t remember what it’s actually called). They dipped each string in the pot and completely coated the nuts with the grape stuff before re-hanging them over the beams. I took pictures of the whole process.
This is the same grape stuff that they put on plates and serve as pudding (which is what they did with the left overs, once the nuts were finished). This paste is made of grape juice (literally from crushed grapes), water, sugar and flour. It’s pretty good, but almost too sweet for me. I haven’t had a chance to try the nuts, yet, but I’m excited.
I ate dinner with the family and retreated to my room pretty early. I read a book on my computer, because I like to save the battery in my Kobo for when the power is out. Which it was a couple of times tonight. Luckily, the longest outage happened while the sun was still shining, so I had light to read by, though one time I did have to resort to the flashlight on my cell phone.
Oct. 11 - Staff party, but no Thanksgiving
Today school was the norm. Except that I had the key for our classroom, since Co-teach had to leave early on Friday. It was nice to get into the room at 8:50 instead of 9 for my 9 o’clock class. I found my Kobo, right on my desk where I left it. All my classes went well and the woman who told my coffee cup fortune said that I am going to have a niece and a nephew. I told mom and she was amused.
It was sunny and beautiful all day, right up until my last class. My teaching was interrupted by thunder near enough to shake the building. Also at this time, one of the teachers was celebrating a new grandchild, so there was a teachers’ party in the cafeteria. During the lesson, Co-teach and I were summoned no less than 5 times to come to this party. One time, the director sent a child up to tell us that because of the rain, we were to let the students leave early.
Granted it was a really heavy, unexpected rain, but it was also one of the few days that we’ve been able to keep the gr. 12s working and interested in the lesson. No way was I stopping them while they were engaged. Since we didn’t get to the party soon enough, Co-teach got 2 calls on her cell phone (which was on during the lesson) both to tell us to come.
We did go down, once class was over and were presented with papa (water and flour boiled into a paste, served with a well of butter in the middle and sprinkled with sugar) and a million cakes. I don’t like papa (had it on my birthday), so I told Co-teach and she didn’t have any either. So the two of us had cake and grape juice (that was trying to be wine, but not quite making it). The napoleani cake is layers of pastry and a creamy frosting. It is like a Passion Flaky on steroids and I love it.
Even though I was full on cakes, when I got home I was told that there was lobio (it means beans) for me in the kitchen. Thinking I needed something wholesome to take the edge off of my sugar intake, I had some. After changing, of course, since I was soaked from walking home in the rain.
The cleaning lady was also here doing the floors. I did my best to stay out of the way, so mostly I just checked my e-mail and read a little. When the boys got home, HB1 came up to get the internet, and HB3 followed him. He said hello to me (in Georgian) and when the cleaning lady came up the stair behind him, he told her that I was in my room (in Georgian). He was so excited to see me. So we went downstairs together, because upstairs is cold, and HD had a fire going in the tv room. I sat in there with my Kobo and watched the boys play.
I was expecting a call from Mom, since it's Thanksgiving at home, and I headed back upstairs around 6:30. She called and we had a good talk, which was nice, because the power had gone out. Again. Mom put Daddy on the phone and we also had a good talk, in spite of getting disconnected 3 times.
When we finally got off the phone for good, I watched some tv and went to bed.
It was sunny and beautiful all day, right up until my last class. My teaching was interrupted by thunder near enough to shake the building. Also at this time, one of the teachers was celebrating a new grandchild, so there was a teachers’ party in the cafeteria. During the lesson, Co-teach and I were summoned no less than 5 times to come to this party. One time, the director sent a child up to tell us that because of the rain, we were to let the students leave early.
Granted it was a really heavy, unexpected rain, but it was also one of the few days that we’ve been able to keep the gr. 12s working and interested in the lesson. No way was I stopping them while they were engaged. Since we didn’t get to the party soon enough, Co-teach got 2 calls on her cell phone (which was on during the lesson) both to tell us to come.
We did go down, once class was over and were presented with papa (water and flour boiled into a paste, served with a well of butter in the middle and sprinkled with sugar) and a million cakes. I don’t like papa (had it on my birthday), so I told Co-teach and she didn’t have any either. So the two of us had cake and grape juice (that was trying to be wine, but not quite making it). The napoleani cake is layers of pastry and a creamy frosting. It is like a Passion Flaky on steroids and I love it.
Even though I was full on cakes, when I got home I was told that there was lobio (it means beans) for me in the kitchen. Thinking I needed something wholesome to take the edge off of my sugar intake, I had some. After changing, of course, since I was soaked from walking home in the rain.
The cleaning lady was also here doing the floors. I did my best to stay out of the way, so mostly I just checked my e-mail and read a little. When the boys got home, HB1 came up to get the internet, and HB3 followed him. He said hello to me (in Georgian) and when the cleaning lady came up the stair behind him, he told her that I was in my room (in Georgian). He was so excited to see me. So we went downstairs together, because upstairs is cold, and HD had a fire going in the tv room. I sat in there with my Kobo and watched the boys play.
I was expecting a call from Mom, since it's Thanksgiving at home, and I headed back upstairs around 6:30. She called and we had a good talk, which was nice, because the power had gone out. Again. Mom put Daddy on the phone and we also had a good talk, in spite of getting disconnected 3 times.
When we finally got off the phone for good, I watched some tv and went to bed.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Oct. 8 - a day like any other
Today was the first time I taught a class by myself. Co-teach’s cousin was having an operation, so she went to Batumi. We taught our first 2 classes together and then I covered gr 7 alone. It worked out well, though they didn’t quite understand the game I wanted to play, so I switched games and they got the second one much better.
After school, I came home for lunch. When I got home, I realized that I don’t know where my Kobo is. I figured I’d set it somewhere in the house, or that I’d left it at school. No biggy. But when I had lunch with HM and Bebia, I mentioned that I couldn’t find it, expecting an "I’ll keep an eye out for it." Nope. It was a big deal. We searched the house. When it wasn’t in the house, HM called a bunch of people to check the school, she even went so far as to send on of my host cousins back to school to look for it.
It hadn’t turned up by the time the bus came by and I left for Batumi. Over the last couple of weeks, I really haven’t had much chance to visit with Boston or Joker, so I went to Batumi to play. When I got into town, Joker was working out, but I met Boston at the pizza place and we both had spaghetti - with tomato sauce. It may not seem like a big deal, but here pasta is served plain... or with sugar. Actual sauce was a welcome change.
After food, we walked up the street and ran into Joker. We all stopped and chatted for a bit before Joker headed home and Boston and I hit the boulevard. We sat on the beach, watching the sun set, talking and taking pictures.
Before too long, I had to leave, so that I would be on time to catch my bus up the mountain. Unfortunately, when we got to the marshrutkas, there wasn’t one leaving right away, so I missed my bus anyway. The cab driver that knows me met me when I got off. I had to break a bill, so he drove me over to the little market, where I picked up a yogurt for tomorrow’s breakfast.
I got home with no further ado and spent the evening watching horrible tv. But it was in English, so I watched anyway.
A note on food: over the last few days, I’ve had the chance to try some really interesting things. Suprisingly, I enjoyed most of them. Turns out, roasted hazelnuts are delicious covered in honey. The hazelnuts are threaded onto a string and then dipped in some sort of concoction (they look like lumpy tapered candles when they’re finished). Bebia was threading the nuts here the other day, but she gave me a pile of broken nut bits in honey and I loved it.
There is also a fruit here that I’ve never tried before. It has a familiar, sort of citrusy taste. It’s small and the same colour of green as a lime. The inside is white, and when you suck out the juice and flesh, you’re left with a star shape. My phrasebook has the English name of this fruit being "peichoa" which I’ve never heard of. Whatever it’s called, I really like it.
I was actually offered grilled cheese for breakfast today as well. The family had out the George Forman-style grill. Of course, I declined. Since the only cheese in this country is what Sarah calls "foot cheese" (due to its smelling and tasting like feet) I opted not to have a sandwich made out of it first thing in the morning. Instead, I had 2 pieces of bread, one with honey and one with peach jam.
After school, I came home for lunch. When I got home, I realized that I don’t know where my Kobo is. I figured I’d set it somewhere in the house, or that I’d left it at school. No biggy. But when I had lunch with HM and Bebia, I mentioned that I couldn’t find it, expecting an "I’ll keep an eye out for it." Nope. It was a big deal. We searched the house. When it wasn’t in the house, HM called a bunch of people to check the school, she even went so far as to send on of my host cousins back to school to look for it.
It hadn’t turned up by the time the bus came by and I left for Batumi. Over the last couple of weeks, I really haven’t had much chance to visit with Boston or Joker, so I went to Batumi to play. When I got into town, Joker was working out, but I met Boston at the pizza place and we both had spaghetti - with tomato sauce. It may not seem like a big deal, but here pasta is served plain... or with sugar. Actual sauce was a welcome change.
After food, we walked up the street and ran into Joker. We all stopped and chatted for a bit before Joker headed home and Boston and I hit the boulevard. We sat on the beach, watching the sun set, talking and taking pictures.
Before too long, I had to leave, so that I would be on time to catch my bus up the mountain. Unfortunately, when we got to the marshrutkas, there wasn’t one leaving right away, so I missed my bus anyway. The cab driver that knows me met me when I got off. I had to break a bill, so he drove me over to the little market, where I picked up a yogurt for tomorrow’s breakfast.
I got home with no further ado and spent the evening watching horrible tv. But it was in English, so I watched anyway.
A note on food: over the last few days, I’ve had the chance to try some really interesting things. Suprisingly, I enjoyed most of them. Turns out, roasted hazelnuts are delicious covered in honey. The hazelnuts are threaded onto a string and then dipped in some sort of concoction (they look like lumpy tapered candles when they’re finished). Bebia was threading the nuts here the other day, but she gave me a pile of broken nut bits in honey and I loved it.
There is also a fruit here that I’ve never tried before. It has a familiar, sort of citrusy taste. It’s small and the same colour of green as a lime. The inside is white, and when you suck out the juice and flesh, you’re left with a star shape. My phrasebook has the English name of this fruit being "peichoa" which I’ve never heard of. Whatever it’s called, I really like it.
I was actually offered grilled cheese for breakfast today as well. The family had out the George Forman-style grill. Of course, I declined. Since the only cheese in this country is what Sarah calls "foot cheese" (due to its smelling and tasting like feet) I opted not to have a sandwich made out of it first thing in the morning. Instead, I had 2 pieces of bread, one with honey and one with peach jam.
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