Don't Drink the Water, or Almost Famous in Georgia – 10.19.2007

Last Sunday was some sort of religious holiday, so Brenden had a holiday on Monday and since I don't have classes on Mondays, we decided to go for a hike out to the southeast end of town. The hike was beautiful, but quite strenuous. On the way up, we saw a praying mantis, so Brenden snapped a few pictures quickly. At the top of the hill, we sat quietly and we each ate a Snickers. I think it was the best Snickers I've ever tasted. On the way back down, we ran across a small group of men who were eating lunch and they urged us over to share. We told them we had to go because I had a Georgian lesson, but they continued to urge us, so we came over to talk for just a few minutes. They knew I work at School #1, which was interesting, but I am learning not to be surprised by the people who know me. Then they pulled out a plastic Bon Aqua bottle and poured the clear liquid into a glass for me. Since it came from the Bon Aqua bottle, I thought the water was probably safe, so I thanked them and downed the glass (Georgian glasses are small and it was half-full, so probably only 2-3 ounces). Despite its appearance, however, it turned out not to be water, which I realized only as I felt it burning down my throat. So, be forewarned...do not assume bottles with water labels on them actually ARE water in Georgia. I learned otherwise the hard way.

After being in Georgia now for 4 months (it was 4 months on Wednesday) and in Akhaltsikhe for 1 ½, I have settled into a routine. I leave every morning between 8:30 and 8:45am for school, I teach the same classes each day with the same students, I see the same teachers each day, and I walk past the same shops twice a day. There are two convenience/grocery shops I always buy my Bali phone cards, chocolate bars, and bottled water from, and both shop owners know me. There are three stationery stores in town (well, two are stationery/clothing/foam shops, and one is a stationery/camera shop) where I buy all my supplies for school. I have gone into the post office 3 times now, and the post office worker knows me, too. There are times when I am keenly aware of my status as an outsider and an American, and I know I will never fit in, such as when I realize I don't know yet how to express what I want to in Georgian. But sometimes I am so settled into my routine that all the different stuff I encounter every day seems so normal that I don't notice it anymore. And at those times, it is even more jarring to realize that though everything seems normal to me, I will never really fit in here. I don't look Georgian, and that fact alone, as I walk down the street, indicates that I am a foreigner. I was walking from my Georgian lesson (which is on the east end of town, near where Brenden works, and the opposite end of the city from where my school is) last week and as I was crossing the street, a man yelled from a construction site, "Can I ask you a question?" This startled me, because, a) I was simply walking lost in my thoughts, and b) he yelled in English (usually they use Russian on foreigners, particularly as I have been informed by numerous Georgians that I look Russian). So I said, "Ummm....okay," and then we proceeded to have a short conversation about me being in Georgia, until he asked, "Can I ask if you are married?" (either to ascertain before hitting on me or to assess visa possibilities, although I suppose the two aren't mutually exclusive), and I said, "Yes, my husband works just down the street at CHF," and then he said, "Oh, yes. I know him. I see him every morning" (as if Brenden is the only male over 20 who walks down the road every morning). After speaking in Georgian in front of the 1200 students and their parents at my school on the first day, I supposed that half of Akhaltsikhe could recognize me on sight, but I imagine the percentage would actually be much higher if you counted the people who could pick me out of the crowd as the "amerikeli gogo" (American girl). It's a very odd thing to be famous for nothing other than moving to Georgia, and I think I would make a terrible celebrity back in the U.S., because unlike the Georgians here, I am not always picture perfect when I venture out of the house. The Georgian culture is a very dressy one, and I wear appropriately dressy clothes to work, although I feel terribly dowdy in my sensible flat Mary Jane shoes. Georgian women wear extremely pointy, heeled shoes down Georgian roads, but I tried once in heels, and I can't decide which was more dangerous: the dirt/broken cobblestone side roads by my house and schoolyard or the main road down to the school, which is paved but on an extremely steep hill (never again, although I might start packing a dressier pair of shoes in my bag and changing when I get to school). When I get home, however, I change into casual clothes, and once I changed into my yoga pants and flip-flops, then went to meet Josh at a cafe, and I got some very odd looks. Another day I was tired and just decided to wear my exercise pants and t-shirt to my language lesson, and I ran into one of my 11th grade students who was dressed to the nines on a Monday afternoon in a dressy jacket, mini-skirt, hose, and pumps. Anyway, the point being that were paparazzi following me, they would have plenty of embarrassing photos of me ordering ice cream at a trendy cafe in yoga pants, and no one wants THAT reputation. Thank goodness that we're only almost famous here.

- Carissa