A Wonderful Weekend Part 1

I’ve not been in my new village, Khovle, for a week yet, but I’m already feeling a lot better.

Part of it is recalibrating myself. Realizing that I need to be more realistic and flexible with my goals and teaching strategies. And with Georgia in general. She’s not the most organized, but she’s good at surprises. I guess it’s time to learn how to enjoy not being in control.

The other part is that I had a really great weekend. My friend the Irishman is teaching in the next village over, so I decided I could stay and settle in with the new family but still get some fluent English interaction.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

11:30am

As my host sibs and I walk to meet the Irishman on the main road, we are joined by a couple of neighbor kids. I don’t know if they were originally planning on coming over, but they accompany us back to the house. We have to wait a few minutes for lunch. I ask my host siblings to get out their panduri, a traditional Georgian instrument, and with a little encouragement my host sis and neighbor girl play and sing for us. Then the Irishman takes out his mandolin and plays a tune. I film and take pictures the whole time and probably look like a good soccer mom in the making. But can you blame me? This is really cool. The kids know some English and we know some Georgian, but we all know music.

12:15pm

The Irishman and I are sitting around a table with my host siblings and the neighbor kids while my host mother serves us some wonderful dishes. She then gets out her home-made liquor and pours everyone a shot. Yes. Everyone.

We do a few different toasts-to Georgia and Ireland and America sitting at the same table, to friends, to family. I and my host sister are the only ones who can’t throw back a whole shot.

What can I say? This is Georgia.

1:30pm

The kids are ready to guide me and the Irishman up Cross Mountain, upon which, as you might guess, there is a large cross. The house is literally at the foot of the mountain. We cross the road and are there. On the way up, we come across a herd of cows, a 200-year-old bridge, and amazing views from which you can see Khovle, the Irishman’s village, a couple of nearby towns, the ruins of old churches that have been in the village for centuries, and even an ancient house which was excavated by archeologists from the U.S.

We laugh, have a moss fight, pick flowers, and try to light prayer candles at the cross on top. The wind thwarts the candle lighting. But the neighbor boy still leaves a mark by writing our names and “best friends” on the back of the cross. Vandalism? Maybe. Super sweet? Absolutely.

Ain't No Mountain (That Isn't) High Enough

And the mountains! Civilization may only grow where the mountains allow. They still stand tall and proud all over the island. But why wouldn’t they? This island was always theirs. They were here when somehow, some seeds made their way across the ocean, and the rains watered them, and their roots began to reach out and take hold of any surface that would allow the intrusion. And the mountains still stand as men and women lay the foundations for houses and clear the way for roads and sidewalks. Trees, houses? What is the difference to a mountain?

And they were here when somehow, insects and animals made it to the island, and ants crawled along their arms and spines. And when the first humans arrived, swelling with pride as they drew closer to the great discovery that would affirm their diligent craftsmanship and vast knowledge of the seas and stars, and yet remind them of their humble place as small creatures in a big and beautiful world. And the mountains are still here now, as ants and people and many creatures inbetween still crawl across their skin. Ants, humans? What is the difference to a mountain?

They may not be eternal, but they will live longer than any of us. They will stand until the powers of heaven decide to reshape the surface of earth, pulling the whole chain of islands into the heart of the planet to melt them down and reshape them into some new masterpiece.