After a lovely dinner of Armenia apricot wine, more Georgian pizza, Polish chocolates and these yummy bean cake things, I walked home. I met a college junior and a young Georgian lawyer, who was educated in Latvia. Both were working with the European parliament. The new EU states have not forgotten the old.
I was corrected on my assumption that everyone in Georgia wears black. I was, of course, exaggerating, as I have no idea what color their underwear is. I kid! The predominate color is black. I met up with the college junior, who escorted me on my first marshutka ride. They're essentially minivans that run all over Georgia (and much of the Caucasus). They're smelly, a complete loss of personal space and blast that type of music that only drivers in the Mediterranean and the Caucasus seem to enjoy. You know what I mean. That pop folk beat with local singer that no one has a clue why anyone listens to it, except the driver, and by extension, you! The marshutka seem to have no logic or safety protocols, but gosh are they cheap!
Speaking of my guide, her English is nearly flawless and her spirit is like wildfire. She's guided the presidents of Estonia and the Swiss Confederation, and US congressmen, who were so charmed by her that they asked what she missed from her time as an exchange student in the US (Honey Nut Cheerios), and sent her some when they got back. Now that's my type of marketing.
The products in the store are this mix of Georgian, Russian, Turkey, Armenia, Chinese and nearly everyone else in a 5-country radius. The packaged food seems to come from nearly every country on Earth, and then some. Georgians eat a ton of bread, something I'm trying to avoid, but I managed to find lentils today and will hope to lose 2-3 kilos by Easter.
The water and electricity have been sporadic. The university didn't have any electricity the entire time I was there today. Thus, the few traffic lights (which are a guide rather than a rule), were either not working or off cycle, making it even more hazardous to cross the roads. I'm getting the trick of it, much like THE STARE person, who I actually made hold my shopping today and have turned into my personal shopper. I mean, if they're going to follow you around the store, I might as well turn it to my advantage. They're incredibly shocked when you engage with them, and anything I can do to make my experience more like Nordstrom's, I'm all for it. Everyone is watching everyone. I live near some type of military barracks, and you would think I had the buttocks of a 16 year-old girl the way the soldier-guard-dancer (a triple threat!) stare at me. Speaking of which, thank god for my Czech, not my buttocks. It has proven invaluable. Everything from numbers, nouns and verbs, it flows with Russian and it's been an absolute bridge to get me from A to B.
How does sugar fit into all this? We're here in the idea that a civil society is worth building. Something interesting happened. I picked up a bag of sugar. At the check-out, I picked up the bag to check out, and the cheap-ass packaging broke. It didn't really break as much as explode. There was sugar everywhere. The register, the conveyor belt, the merchandise around the conveyor belt. We stood for a few seconds in complete surprise. Then the cashier said she would just keep going, rang up the depleted bag of sugar, and that was that. I didn't get too irate. It's only sugar. Still, it was a little surprising to be rung up for the sugar, but memories of the Czech Republic and their days of attempting to rebuild their society keep flowing back. It's as if the Georgians are at the same point of development as the Eastern Europeans were 15 years ago, but have been interrupted by civil war and an invasion. Sometimes I have to actually shake the feeling that I'm in the Czech Republic, 1993. Then my guide said the cashier would be charged for the sugar if I didn't pay, and I was slightly humbled as I can easily afford a burst bag (or two) of sugar, and maybe the cashier can't.
It reminded me of a time in Thailand, when on an elevator, I pushed the wrong button and a massive tray of food ended up on me, the elevator and the poor wait staff who was carrying it. That time, the hotel apologized to me (which was even more bizarre), and sent complimentary fruit to my room. I tipped the maid a ridiculous amount in retrospect out of guilt. The travel gods must be appeased.
I managed to get the lighting situation worked out. My favorite is the orange stone lamp. It feels like I'm channeling Wilma Flintstone. We hit the bazaar (not a very good one) and my guide did all the talking, saving me a few lari. Things in Georgia are substantially more than I anticipated. I have no idea how the average Georgian can afford anything.
I was corrected on my assumption that everyone in Georgia wears black. I was, of course, exaggerating, as I have no idea what color their underwear is. I kid! The predominate color is black. I met up with the college junior, who escorted me on my first marshutka ride. They're essentially minivans that run all over Georgia (and much of the Caucasus). They're smelly, a complete loss of personal space and blast that type of music that only drivers in the Mediterranean and the Caucasus seem to enjoy. You know what I mean. That pop folk beat with local singer that no one has a clue why anyone listens to it, except the driver, and by extension, you! The marshutka seem to have no logic or safety protocols, but gosh are they cheap!
Speaking of my guide, her English is nearly flawless and her spirit is like wildfire. She's guided the presidents of Estonia and the Swiss Confederation, and US congressmen, who were so charmed by her that they asked what she missed from her time as an exchange student in the US (Honey Nut Cheerios), and sent her some when they got back. Now that's my type of marketing.
The products in the store are this mix of Georgian, Russian, Turkey, Armenia, Chinese and nearly everyone else in a 5-country radius. The packaged food seems to come from nearly every country on Earth, and then some. Georgians eat a ton of bread, something I'm trying to avoid, but I managed to find lentils today and will hope to lose 2-3 kilos by Easter.
The water and electricity have been sporadic. The university didn't have any electricity the entire time I was there today. Thus, the few traffic lights (which are a guide rather than a rule), were either not working or off cycle, making it even more hazardous to cross the roads. I'm getting the trick of it, much like THE STARE person, who I actually made hold my shopping today and have turned into my personal shopper. I mean, if they're going to follow you around the store, I might as well turn it to my advantage. They're incredibly shocked when you engage with them, and anything I can do to make my experience more like Nordstrom's, I'm all for it. Everyone is watching everyone. I live near some type of military barracks, and you would think I had the buttocks of a 16 year-old girl the way the soldier-guard-dancer (a triple threat!) stare at me. Speaking of which, thank god for my Czech, not my buttocks. It has proven invaluable. Everything from numbers, nouns and verbs, it flows with Russian and it's been an absolute bridge to get me from A to B.
How does sugar fit into all this? We're here in the idea that a civil society is worth building. Something interesting happened. I picked up a bag of sugar. At the check-out, I picked up the bag to check out, and the cheap-ass packaging broke. It didn't really break as much as explode. There was sugar everywhere. The register, the conveyor belt, the merchandise around the conveyor belt. We stood for a few seconds in complete surprise. Then the cashier said she would just keep going, rang up the depleted bag of sugar, and that was that. I didn't get too irate. It's only sugar. Still, it was a little surprising to be rung up for the sugar, but memories of the Czech Republic and their days of attempting to rebuild their society keep flowing back. It's as if the Georgians are at the same point of development as the Eastern Europeans were 15 years ago, but have been interrupted by civil war and an invasion. Sometimes I have to actually shake the feeling that I'm in the Czech Republic, 1993. Then my guide said the cashier would be charged for the sugar if I didn't pay, and I was slightly humbled as I can easily afford a burst bag (or two) of sugar, and maybe the cashier can't.
It reminded me of a time in Thailand, when on an elevator, I pushed the wrong button and a massive tray of food ended up on me, the elevator and the poor wait staff who was carrying it. That time, the hotel apologized to me (which was even more bizarre), and sent complimentary fruit to my room. I tipped the maid a ridiculous amount in retrospect out of guilt. The travel gods must be appeased.
I managed to get the lighting situation worked out. My favorite is the orange stone lamp. It feels like I'm channeling Wilma Flintstone. We hit the bazaar (not a very good one) and my guide did all the talking, saving me a few lari. Things in Georgia are substantially more than I anticipated. I have no idea how the average Georgian can afford anything.
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