Kortaneti

Well, we’re nearing the end of our first week in the village where we’ll be staying for training during the next 9 weeks. The village is called Kortaneti. It’s small – about 120 families – and sits in a little valley among waves and waves of mountains. 3 other trainees – Christopher, Kelsey, and Sophie, all Russian speakers who will be teaching English like us – are our neighbors. It’s a nice house; heating is limited to an iron stove in the living room, but it feels so nice to sit beside; there’s no indoor plumbing, but the outdoor toilet has a seat; and the kitchen is small, but the food that comes out of it is amazing.

Our host family, the Gelashvilis, are as wonderful as anyone could hope for and then some. Our host father Zurab is the head of the little school here, and speaks fluent Russian thanks to 6 years studying there in the ‘70s. Our host mother Maia also speaks some Russian, and loves chatting with us over breakfast and helping us with our homework in the evenings. She’s an excellent cook; when we come back 15 pounds heavier, we can blame the homemade cheese she’s continually making. She’s also thrilled that we like her jam, since her own kids apparently aren’t too keen on sweet things. Our host sister Mariana, 19, is home on a break from university in Tbilisi, and we trade vocabulary words, since she’s starting to study English. Our host brother, Akaki, 16, was shy at first, but has lately been helping with homework (possibly to delay doing his own), and enjoyed working out his first chord or so on my guitar. Our host bebia (grandmother), Mary, greeted us the first day with no end of amusement as we struggled up the stairs with our bright red camping backpack and overstuffed suitcases; as we learn our first Georgian words and phrases we try them out on her and are invariably treated to her very oldladylike laugh. They’ve all been fantastic. Pretty much every evening we’ve sat together in the family room by the stove and talked over the TV (“Georgia’s Got Talent” is a hit, as are Latin soap operas, including a version of Zorro featuring improbably-clad Amazons). Tuesday night we celebrated fixing the town water pipe by firing up the wood-burning hot water furnace in the bathroom and sending everyone one by one in for a much-appreciated shower, our first since getting into town on Saturday. Meanwhile, I brought out the guitar and learned my first Georgian song; Kelsey’s host family (our neighbors) came by and played backgammon; and Kelsey’s host father Leri (“Larry”), tried, as usual, to persuade us all to go drink with him.

We’d been warned about Georgian drinking (take-home message: “Don’t try to keep up”), and it truly is a sight to behold. Monday night, I went out to watch the progress on the aforementioned burst pipe, but the sun went down before it could be fixed, so everyone decided to invite me and the other male trainee, Christopher, to a supra. The supra is a traditional Georgian feast marked by good company, good food, elaborate toasts, and amazing feats of alcohol consumption. Those of you who know me can imagine how well I fit in at an event that involves lots of public speaking and about six times as much drinking as your average fraternity kegger, but it was really a warm and lovely experience, and Zurab kindly held at bay the teasing about my un-Georgian little sips of wine, kept the strawberry juice flowing as fast as Larry could pour the wine, and helped us get out early, that is, at the stage people might still remember the next day.

A last bit of trivia: It’s “jonjoli” season here in Kortaneti, which means that people are off collecting huge buckets of white flowers from the “jonjoli” trees that grow wild around the village. They salt them, jar them, and then out comes a salad tasting something like cilantro salsa. Just one of the little pleasures of village life.

Today we’re in the resort town of Borjomi (the “big city” to us now) for a Peace Corps meeting, and it’s our first chance to use the Internet since we got here...more updates will follow, but for now, as they say here, nakhvamdis!