"Today all the water is holy"

Eka left for Tbilisi this morning. From the conversations I overheard in the kitchen, Maguala’s brother is having surgery for a tumor on his neck. I heard the words “oncology” and “gland.” I’ve met this uncle, and I rather liked him. I’m a little sad…I don’t expect anyone to think to translate family news to me, but I would think that when something this big is happening they would at least intentionally include me in the Georgian conversations about it. Eka will be gone three or four days, and she’ll call to let Maguala know how the surgery goes. Hopefully all will go well.

Before we knew that today is a holiday, Michael and I had planned to go to Oni’s museum today. It turns out that the museum was closed, but Michael’s host family had planned a special hike and invited me to come. Around noon Michael came to my house to pick me up. He always comes to get me and then walks me home, in part because he’s a gentleman and in part because his host-parents tell him that I need an escort. We walked back to his house, where his host mother was rushing around compiling our picnic basket. She insisted we have some carrot salad, potato rolls, and rose liquor while we waited for her.

Back when I heard that there would be another volunteer in Oni, I was a bit worried. I had expected that I might feel a little jealous about another foreign teacher becoming part of the little world here. In fact, I found that this wasn’t a problem at all; I worried more about whether this new arrival would be someone I could live with. Oni is rather small, and I knew we would be expected to become friends. What a silly thing to worry about! Michael is a bit older than me. He’s lived in mountains before because he’s an avid skier, and he lived abroad in New Zealand—a world away from any of the places I’ve lived. He’s an experienced teacher: he’s one of the few foreign English teachers I’ve met who’s a teacher by profession in his home country. He teaches history, and we are interested in quite a few of the same historical periods. We have a pretty good dynamic. We’re both independent enough that we aren’t tempted to withdraw from our Georgian communities and become dependent on each other. At the same time, we’ve both admitted that sometimes it feels like these next five months will be very long, and I think we’ll be hiking together a lot in the spring.

When Anna (Michael’s host mother) was ready, she called to her husband, Robizone. Saba, the neighbor’s grandson, came with us again, and we set off through the snow.

While talking with Anna, I realized that this was something of a pilgrimage hike. Somewhere at the end of our trail we would find a church. First, though, we hiked up a steep hill and argued about which cars are best for snowy mountain roads. Next, we passed through a place where guest houses had once stood. They had been destroyed somehow, and now only the stone foundations were left peeking through the snow. Nearby were new guest houses. Anna and Robizone were very eager to tell us about how these beautiful cotteges were the vacation homes of Russian tourists and millionaires. Since it’s the off-season, most of them were empty. The building that is supposedly a restaurant was empty, though faint sounds could be heard coming from a carpentry-shop where furniture is made. We passed through and turned right at a fork in the road. That road led us through a small village and then three other villages that were completely deserted.

Robizone and Saba analyzed animal tracks in the snow. Anna murmered about how sad it was that no one lived in these villages. Michael and I speculated about how real estate works in a place like this. Most houses are homesteads, where generations of extended family live together. Families seem to collectively own houses, meaning that someone may tell me she owns a home in Tbilisi and really mean that her husband’s uncle has a home there that they go to sometimes. It’s very important to have someone to stay with in Tbilisi, because often major endeavors (buying a car/a wedding dress/shoes, applying for a visa, seeing a specialized doctor, mailing a super-expensive postcard, buying specialty ingrediants) require going to Tbilisi. Some houses are dachas that sit empty all winter because the families that own them live in Tbilisi during the winter. Some houses are empty because the family died out or fled the area. Anna pointed out a street that she said used to be completely Jewish. Now it’s completely empty. She’s sad about this, but she insists that the families will come back someday. She says they went to Israel, but she explains, “If they weren’t going to come back, why wouldn’t there be new families in the houses?” I look at houses that are falling apart due to bomb damage or earthquake damage. I think about how the young people—and some not-so-young people—all seem to leave Oni in search of higher education and job opportunities. Somehow I doubt that these families will come back, but Anna longs to have neighbors again, so I smile and nod in agreement.

Eventually the houses faded away and we were surrounded by trees. Robizone and Saba decided that they found rabbit tracks, wolf tracks and then a place where the wolf ate the rabbit. We walked out into a clearing, and I spotted a single deciduous tree standing amid all the evergreens. Anna said that it was a nadzvis xe…a Christmas tree. There were ribbons tied all along the branches, and because of the snow they were frozen…they looked a bit like multi-colored icicles. Anna pulled out a strand of white ribbon and began cutting it into strips. She handed each of us a piece and Saba took pictures as we tied them to the wishing tree. Because that’s obviously what it was: a wishing tree.  I asked Anna why this particular tree had been chosen:

“Why do people make wishes on this tree?”

“Because it’s the wishing tree?”

“But why is this the wishing tree?”

“I don’t know. Because it is.”

And that was that. We walked on. We passed a few very large and very well-made houses as we went. One especially beautiful home inspired Saba to pause and ask who lived there. Anna and Robizone shook their heads. They explained that it had been built by a very wealthy family, but then everyone in the family except one daughter had been killed in a terrible automobile accident. The daughter owns the house now, but she seldom visits, and so it stands regal and empty on the mountain-side.

Another house that we passed had sayings spray-painted onto its gate. The letters had been faded by time, and even the Georgians had a difficult time reading them. We translated one saying to “Happiness to those who work” and another as “Everything for happiness.” As Anna exclaimed that these were great mottoes, Robizone explained that this was a house shared by a community of communists. Later we would pause by this house again on our way home, with the same reactions from the two Rachulians.

We continued on for a long time, and eventually the path leveled out. We were in the woods by now, but to our left materialized first a cemetery and then a small church building. I fretted about my jeans and pulled my scarf over my head. Anna told me not to worry, then she started handing out the long skinny candles that are used in churches here. Inside, the church was more of a devotion chapel than a proper church. Clearly services were not held in this building; however, all of the walls were covered with icons and marks from candles that long ago burned down to wax stubs and sear marks. Anna, Robizone and Saba went around venerating the icons and saying their prayers. I didn’t watch to see what Michael did, but I went over to a cluster of Mary icons and stuck my candles to the wall. My fingers were cold and I fumbled with the matches. When I go to church with Eka, I just have to stand there and listen, meditating and periodically crossing myself when it’s obvious that the priest is doing something important. This was totally different. I whispered a few prayers, bowed my head, and then decided to wait outside.

When everyone else came out, Robizone pulled out a comb to fix Michael’s hair—totally ignoring Michael’s protests—and Anna set off to a pavilion to set up our picnic. She explained to me that this is where the calves and pigs are slaughtered and prepared. There was a little kitchen area and then a very long table under a wooden roof. Glancing at the rafters, I saw shot glasses, plates, and what I took to be carpets. Robizone pulled down one of these “carpets” and unrolled it along a bench. Then, to my dismay, I was instructed to sit down. Knowing that he just wanted to protect Anna and I from freezing our ovaries, I obeyed, trying to repress shudders as I thought that sitting on a mysterious piece of green shag carpet that was communally used by all the picnickers here and that stayed outside in this pavilion all year could not possibly be better for my ovaries than sitting on a wooden bench.

We had a simple picnic of bread, mchadi, cheese, kartopiliani, carrot salad, cake, oranges, and wine. Robizone made Michael tamada, and he bravely made Georgian toast after Georgian toast. Then Anna and Saba went off to collect water from a nearby mineral spring. A few young men strolled up, but when they saw us at the table they headed over to the kitchen area and started making a fire. Being the only woman, I was the first called over to the fire because they insisted I must be cold. The fire did feel nice. Soon we were all around it. Saba returned and he took pictures of us with the men. Then we said good-bye and set off back down the mountain.

When we arrived back at the house, Anna and Robizone tried to make us eat more. We talked about Georgian history and Anna pulled out some very interesting books. One was actually a calendar with bilingual essays and letters from Georgian history. She showed me a letter in which the people of a mountain region wrote to the American government for protection from the bolsheveks. No protection was offered and the villagers were all slaughtered. Next came the book she’s currently reading about American history. The cover had a picture of the Liberty Bell, and Robizone explained to me the importance of this “foremost symbol of America.” I laughed and reminded him that I grew up near Philadelphia. He told me that his grandfather had lived in America, and Anna handed me new books. These had pictures from Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show, in which Georgians (in their unmistakable traditional clothes) had been showcased as “Cassoks of the Caucus! The best horsemen on Earth!” Not quite accurate…This was all very enjoyable until Robizone declared that the Aya Sofia had also been a Georgian creation. Anna corrected him, and they debated until Saba arrived. As Saba and Robizone settled down to begin a game of Nardi, Michael and I slipped out and headed to my house.

Once there, we drank tea and talked about books. In exchange for a few of my books, he is letting me borrow his iPad. I’m a little intimidated by the technology, but it’s exciting to have access to new books! He suggested one about a Peace Corps teacher in China. I’ve been reading all night. There was a brief interruption when the news showed a story about Ukrainian male models wearing high heels. The news described it as a scandal, but Maguala called me to stop reading and look at the beautiful men. Jumberi decided that it was suddenly imperative that I go outside for firewood. I love this family.