tasty radium

the fruit is some of the best i've tasted. must be the radium. tasty radium. my favorite cherries are in season here (something like ranier cherries). there are a variety of peaches and nectarines, so juicy. there are little fruit and flower stands on every corner, and one or two in between. i've determined that the fruit is the only affordable thing in Tbilisi.

guram

guram

guram met me with nino at the airport. he packed himself down with all my bags and was all smiles. he couldn't be more than 21. in fact, that's exactly how old he is. during the ride from the airport, he kept looking back at me, curiously, always smiling. i didn't know quite who he was.

once we were in Tbilisi, nino mumbled something to me, and i said 'yes!' enthusiastically, not knowing what she really said. we came to what looked like an alley, and guram opened the gate. where are we? Mkurnali. (this is the organization that works with street children) guram spoke with the children, introducing me. jzhana and another boy were there, sleeping outside on cots because it was cooler. we then left, without guram. that's when i realized he was one of the street kids. i was a bit confused because he seemed nicely dressed, clean, etc.

after i slept at nagila's for 8 hours, i went again with nino. she took me back to Mkurnali. it was then that i discovered that guram speaks french. he was able to translate from georgian to french for me. he speaks some english, but prefers french. in fact, he somehow managed to study in france for six months last year.

the more time i spend with this kid, the more i adore him. he's full of life, always joking, and he's certainly the leader of the pack. he's positive and responsible. in a way, he's also always taking care of nino. 'guram!' 'guram!' she's always yelling his name if she needs something. 'go get coffee' 'fix the computer' 'put this shawl on my shoulders.' i suppose in a way, he's been a great comfort to her, because her husband passed away eight months ago.

when we went to meet the kids on the street, he was constantly watching me, making sure none of the kids were making me uncomfortable. he would also translate for me in french, which made me feel far less on the outside. i asked him if he huffed glue, like the others, and he said that he had quit, which was such a relief to me.

there's something about guram that has captured me. i suppose that there's something about guram that captures everyone who meets him. i can sense that he has a very serious side, and that he is always thinking. but he seems to take life very lightly. the other day, he shared with me his tragic love story of yulia. he's in love with yulia, and has been for quite some time. she recently, however, became a prostitute and is nowhere to be found.

guram's older brother is in prison now. i forgot the term of the sentence, but it is several years. his mother is nowhere around, and i suppose his father is likely an alcoholic, much like most of the other georgian men. guram will be one of the hardest to leave behind.

hash

hash

until a week ago, i've only known about two kinds of hash: the kind that gets you really high and hash browns (with ketchup or a runny egg, of course). there's a third hash. it's a gathering of runners and walkers, of which few are athletically inclined. they gather about every other sunday and go to a remote area and run or walk on separate trails. not so weird, right?

the trails are marked by fellow hashers before the gathering…with flour. there is some odd concoction of what the different markings of flour means, but too lengthy to explain. all that is important, is that you are looking for the flour, and if you see it, you move ahead in that direction, and yell 'on! on!' so everyone knows to follow you because you've found the flour. for runners, there are false trails, so you can head in a direction for awhile, running your happy little ass through the mountain, come to a false trail, and have to turn around.

for my first hash, i walked. the point was for me to meet people anyway, not lose myself in the Tbilisi mountains. so you, walk or run for about an hour, and the trail eventually leads you back to where you started. now, the fun begins.

i can't repeat the songs or the chants or cheers. totally confidential, and actually, i forgot them. here's what i do know. technology is not allowed on a hash. (no cell phones!) you can only point with your elbow. you can't put your hand in your pocket (this is termed 'pocket billiards' ie. playing with your billiards with your hand in your pocket), no hanky panky on a hash, no one is allowed to be overly athletic (no stretching, pushups, etc!), and most importantly, you must respect the circle.

at the end of the hash , everyone circles up and get a cup. the cup is then filled with jug beer. (the beer in Tbilisi comes from a 'beer wall' in town…which opens first thing in the morning…drive through and get your jugs o beer). then, certain people are brought to the middle of the circle to do a 'down down'. a down down, as you can imagine is when you drink all the beer in your cup down down down down. i, being a 'hash virgin,' got pulled into the middle for a down down. no worries. i lost my virginity with five others, and about thirty people watching.

the baptism is the best. this is when someone has been with the hash long enough to be 'baptized' and is given a hash name. we had five persons baptized on sunday. praise god. there is an officiator of ceremonies (he gets a magical cloak and staff). everyone takes a handful of flour. the baptized persons come to the middle of the circle and kneel, facing each other if there is more than one. the name is given, and then everyone comes to the middle of the circle and throws flour on them. they are then given a huge ladle of beer to drink. the names this hash were: general short arms, short arms inspector (husband and wife), stone tablets, and french tickler (i forgot the fifth).

once all the beer is gone, everyone dusts off the flour and heads to town for a meal. sometimes it's at someone's house, and other times, it's at a restaurant. this particular time, it was catered at someone's house. wow. someone in Info Tech. wow. that's all i'm going to say about that.

naqani

naqani! naqani!

i decided a walk was needed after finally sleeping a full eight hours, a shower, and eating a proper meal. i needed to see Tbilisi and clear my foggy jet-lagged head. Nagila recommended that i see the little park nearby. out i went. the only 'shoes' i have now that i can wear with skirts are flip-flops. unbeknownst to me , Georgians wear these only in the house. so i get a lot of stares at my feet. 'nice girl with beautiful clothes. why can she not afford real shoes?' i can handle the stares.

in the park, i immediately heard music, so naturally i followed the sound. Georgian rock music. quite a trip. unfortunately, i didn't have any lari to go inside the theatre and listen, but there were only men inside anyway. i heard enough from outside. i'm not skilled enough with words to describe the music, but it sounded something like 'mooo naaag naaaag. tsi tsi. moooo naaaag naaaag.' music similar to a US grunge rock band.

i followed the paths of the park to the people and fountain in the middle. along the way were teenage 'couples', families, tables full of men speaking about important things, typical park scene. there were tiny tables set up with little 'prizes' for sale. prizes=plastic junk made in china. popcorn was sold from the tiniest stand. in the middle of the park was a fountain. it was surrounded by a mini-fence, so no one played in the water.

after strolling for a bit, i decided to sit on a bench. approximately twenty-seven seconds later, a young man sat next to me, smiling from ear to ear, exposing a few missing molars. he quickly discovered that i was either a mute, or i didn't speak georgian. he thought this was hilarious, and continued speaking georgian. we finally discovered that we could have a little fun pointing at things, and exchanging georgian / english words. 'me tarzan, you jane' in Georgian translated to 'me Schmagi, you Lindsey in English. at first i thought his name was 'smog' and i laughed out loud, probably offending him.

there was an old woman in the park pushing a little cart around with what looked like a big cardboard box on it. 'naqini! naqini!' she sang. 'naqini! naqini!' i looked at Schmagi, 'what's naqini?' so he began calling 'naqini! naqini!' to the old woman, calling her over. i realized whatever naqini was, i would soon find out, and be forced to try some. the old woman excitedly pushed her cardboard cart over to us. she dug deep into the box and pulled out three different kinds of ice cream. Schmagi explained that i was american and didn't speak any georgian. she thought this was hilarious, and said all sorts of things about me, none of which i could understand. i ate my half-melted naqini, and realized this was my first georgian word. naqini! naqini!