first impressions (2009)

I first came to Georgia back in 2009, about 8 months after the war with Russia. I was in the Peace Corps and we were part of the first returning group. The Peace Corps works with local NGOs who request volunteers, and as the Peace Corps had been absent since the war, they were pretty much starting anew - all the old projects had been mothballed and new organizations had come to the front asking for volunteers. That was part of the group that I was in. But at first, there were 2 months of training to live through, which consisted of half a day of language classes, half a day of general NGO organizational training, and half a day of eating. Seriously, lots of food. We lived in a village with a host family, and with three or four other volunteers in that village during training. It was a shock of a life as it was, but it was great preparation for the 2 long years to come, where we would for the most part be alone in villages. 

That's where we had our introduction to Georgia. I was in a small village in Kakheti called Giorgitsminda. And here was my very first impression, written back in 2008: 

Dudes trying to kill me with food

I think the people here are trying to kill me. Every time I sit down, they tell me to "eat, eat, eat!" (chami chami chami! in Georgian) and they will not let me stop! Normally, I would consider this heaven, but even I can have too much food. And it's all so delicious! Scores of plates fill the table, with unidentifiable foods which I think may be a variety of eggplant dishes but I'm not sure.

My uncle once said about Louisiana that the only way a person could starve is to lay face down with your mouth closed. This is even more true in Georgia. Even the poorest people have a small plot of land with a cherry tree. Fruits and vegetables grow everywhere, in gardens, on public lands, everywhere. Everything is fresh and bounteous and huge and tasty. I didn't have taste buds until I moved to Sakartvelo. And don't get me started on the wine! Georgia is the home of wine, and everyone - at least here in the state of Kakheti - makes their own wine and usually it's far better than anything you can get on the shelves of the wine store in Denver. But on this too, I think they are trying to kill me. And on the homemade cognac. This is a dangerous land for foreigners. Their sole goal here is to kill you with too much food and drink.

View from my balcony. Bust of Stalin in the center left

I live in the second story of a house, with a balcony looking out to a mountain and a statue of Stalin on one side and the house vineyard on the other (ed. Stalin's bust has since been stolen, victimized by some drunks and now a centerpiece in a neighbor's yard). Down the stairs you go to get to the outhouse and shower, and to the outhouse you have to dodge fallen cherries so as not to smash them against your slippers. This is an idyllic, pastoral life. When Republicans pine away about this fantasy existence that never was in America, they're actually imagining life in Georgia. Many people here don't have jobs, but they don't need jobs so much either. They seem rather content, tending to their gardens and caring for their families and working on their cars. These are not lazy people, they are constantly doing things (ed. the village I was in was but a microcosm and not a representative sample of Georgia). They may be poor in money but they are certainly rich in life, in a way I've never seen back home.

Of course, it's not all cherries and peaches and plums and eggplants. All along the street, there are benches where neighbors randomly meet and discuss the current events of the village, which lately has been overwhelmed by the presence of five Americans living there to learn the language. Living in a suburb of Dallas in the States, I hardly ever met my neighbors, except maybe when you'd get caught in an unwanted conversation next to the mailbox. But the people here are so intent with visiting each other, either at the gathering spots, birjas, or at home. There is never a time where either someone is visiting or when a Georgian is visiting someone else. It's such an amazingly social culture and everyone is always happy to see each other. Georgia wants to be considered a part of Europe, but if anything, there are too many nice people in Georgia. How do they think they are a part of Europe? Besides, there's not nearly enough cabbage here (ed. I hadn't been in there in winter yet).

Needless to say, I've been enjoying my time so far. The Georgians are quite receptive and excited about the Peace Corps returning to their country. In the airport, we were greeted by the Minister of Finance and a small swab of journalists. And everyone we meet on the streets gets quite excited and talk on and on about the local Amerikelis. And the children run up and say "what's up?" showing off their mastery of these two words (ed. they also like to say "fuck you!" but they don't really mean it).

I'll try to update more often from here on out. My host father has a slow internet connection, but it is one and I've gotten it set up to go on my computer, they I do have to plug it in when I want to use it. Still, it's something.

Hope everyone is doing good back home in America.