We wish you a happy...

It’s been a while since we’ve posted, and that’s mainly because life has settled into a pretty normal routine lately. We’ve had six uninterrupted weeks of school, with one more to go before the holiday. Students are busy getting their classrooms decorated for New Year – pretty much everything we do for Christmas, Georgians and Armenians do for New Year. We’ll have more to say about the holiday once we’ve actually experienced it. For now our host brother has been eager to get the New Year’s tree up, lights have been appearing in stores and downtown, and Melissa’s been busy teaching Christmas carols to her English clubs. I haven’t managed to teach any songs yet, but one of my classes, under their homeroom teacher’s direction, has learned “We Wish You a Happy New Year” (Lyrics: “We wish you a happy New Year/ We wish you a happy New Year/ We wish you a happy New Year/ …and a happy New Year!”)

A few things worth mentioning have happened – we had a visit from fellow PCV Christopher (tweets here and blogs here), during which we traipsed around Akhalkalaki, had some more Rose Dolma, and decided not to walk over the following bridge on a chilly winter’s day (thanks, safety and security training!):

Rose Dolma (kind of like a cross between lasagna and meat dumplings)

We finally started Georgian lessons again two weeks ago. It’s awfully difficult getting back to it, but we’re glad to have the chance to rescue what we still remember and start brushing up.

We had our first real snow last week; it’s mostly gone from the town now (though now the snow’s falling hard as I type), but it’s left its mark on the mountains all around us, and, treeless and scrubby as they are in summer, they really benefit from the snow. We’ll have some pictures up soon, hopefully from one of our morning runs, where we’re treated to the sun rising over the now snow-draped Mount Abul (Apollo). Even my references to Coors Light commercials can’t quite ruin the grandeur.

And here’s just a little slice of life here in town. I’ve sent some letters from my students to students in Oklahoma participating in a program called World Wise Schools that matches Peace Corps volunteers with American primary and secondary school teachers to share experiences and information. I thought I’d jot down my impressions of a visit to the local post office a few weeks ago:

The ladies sit in a little room in the corner of the old Soviet post office. The main office is deserted, the long counters and queuing space gathering dust. You can see the rack where envelopes once where, and space on the walls for signs or posters. Now there are just a few cheap Xeroxes offering optimistic claims of working hours and urging faith in the unseen presence of “electronic mail.” One of the heavy metal doors behind the counter is open – it is a small office or storage room currently filled with shoes and boots, apparently holding stock for one of the vendors at the bazaar outside. The other door is closed, and behind this door is the little cloister of the Akhalkalaki postal service. The room is warm and cluttered with stacks of papers, some of which seem not to have been moved for years. A little cast iron stove cracks from time and its heat fills the room like a grandmother’s corner by the home stove. Pumpkins take up a good bit of the free space, arranged on the floor or perched on sills below dim windows. No one seems to send much – an international letter is an all-hands project, and you sit by the fire and chat while they examine the chart for the rate (5 lari) and laboriously fill out the little receipt and its carbon copy. They are friendly and the whole experience feels like a social call; the absence of a line of customers doesn’t mean you get out of the Akhalkalaki post office sooner than you’d escape one in downtown Washington, though the wait is of a different sort. But finally the receipt is in your pocket and the letter vanishes into the stacks of paper and the same realm of faith where, perhaps, the electronic mail resides, and you’re out again through the big echoing concrete room and into the market street with is dull December air and warm December sun.

We’ll be in Tbilisi next weekend for Christmas. December 25^th isn’t a holiday here – like I mentioned, New Year is the big holiday, and while Christmas itself is celebrated, it’s on the Orthodox date of Jan. 6/7. It’s the toughest time to be away from family and friends at home, so we’ll be seeking Christmas cheer in the company of our fellow Peace Corps volunteers. So, if we don’t get to the blog again before the 25^th, here’s wishing anyone who might be reading a Merry Christmas! The snow's falling fast here, and a Charlie Brown Christmas might just be in order.