Nothing There Tour #2: Gardabani, Part 2: Men in Black

This is part 2 of a long-overdue There's Nothing There Tour report. I was in Gardabani in spring 2012. Part 1 is here. 

Men in black and blue, Gardabani, Georgia

Seeing Georgians in black was nothing new, especially in the winter, when it's the preferred color of dress for both men and women.

But on this Novrus Bayrami celebration in Gardabani, it was so concentrated among the men and boys as to be remarkable.

There was live music, with a cool mix of traditional pop-ballad and hiphop.

I listened to the music, then continued to wander among the booths.

I maintained periodic phone contact with TLG colleague, Lauren, who was en route with Eva and Monica to join me in Gardabani for the festival.

Traditional cookware, Gardabani, Georgia

At various booths where I stopped, I enjoyed a bit of wine or chacha, so I began to have a pleasant little buzz.

The Simpsons in Gardabani, Georgia

At a certain point, I had to find a toilet. The city hall was next door to the park, and I was directed to the public loo inside the building. Yes, incredibly, this was it:

City hall toilet, Gardabani, Georgia

People! It does not require much effort or money to clean a toilet! And this is for your constituents! Have some respect. Jeez. It was almost as bad as the toilet situation I encountered in Ethiopia, between Harar and Nazret, only that latrine hellhole was darker and wetter.

Getting back to the festival .... the official musical line-up ended, and now the boys put on an impromptu dance showdown.

Now, look at this first video. It's only 27 seconds long. I want you to note the tall guy in the back. He's wearing a stocking cap with FBI on the front. His name is Romeo, but I didn't find that out til later. Foreshadowing.

  
Now look at this video, where the boys really get into the competitive spirit.

It was so fun watching the guys dance.

And then the festival was over for real, and my colleagues were almost at the park, but not quite. I felt disappointed they missed the festival, but .....

I found myself talking to an Azeri-Georgian gentleman with the help of an Azeri visitor who spoke English. Young Romeo appeared, as well, listening to the conversation. 

The Azeri-Georgian man, perhaps in his 60s, was inviting me to come to his house ..... and then my colleagues arrived.


To be continued ....

Nothing There Tour #2: Gardabani, Part 1: Town of Surprises

Gardabani, Georgia. Dancers waiting.

Sadly, my experiences in Gardabani, Georgia, in spring 2012 are only now being brought to life in the written form. I smile every time I think of Gardabani.

In Nothing There Tour #1, I told you about Vakhtangisi, which is on the Georgia-Azerbaijan border. In that report, I explained how Georgians wondered why anyone would go to Gardabani because "therrre's nothing therrrre!"

Now I've gone twice to Gardabani!

Some highlights:

• Something called "kubdari," which is a tasty meat pie - a small pizza with a lid, say
• A surprise supra with strangers
• A good white wine made by an Azeri-Georgian
• Men in black
• Georgian rap
• Filthy WC
• Chickens having sex
• Horses running down the street

What do you mean nothing is there?!  

Gardabani, Georgia. Restaurant door.

The first time

The first time I went to Gardabani was with Sandy; we stopped on our way back from Vakhtangisi. Had lunch at the restaurant next to the Orthodox church. Like so many Georgian restaurants, it had a fine door.

Georgian servers are also skilled at upselling their products, and we ended up with far too much food on the table. In addition to a tomato-cucumber-parsley-onion salad, we had a khachapuri and kubdari, a sort of meat pizza pie. Delicious. Most of the stuff we carried out with us to take back home to Rustavi. 

A Georgian restaurant tradition I like is the prevalence of "kupays"in most places. They are private rooms or alcoves. They let you escape from the noise and smoke of the larger dining room.

Another Georgian custom I like is that when there's live music, the band plays one song, then takes a break instead of the one-hour or half-hour sets in the U.S. One song, then break. The Georgian way is the perfect win - you can listen to the music, dance, and also talk to your companions throughout the evening.

When we emerged from the restaurant, we walked across the main drag to find a marshrutka. In the yard of some official building, we saw chickens engaged in digging a hole in the ground. Or maybe just laying eggs in an existing hole. Kind of interesting, what those hens were doing getting in and out of that hole in the ground. Then we saw the rooster come over and, well ... it was over very quickly.

We caught a marshrutka and returned to Rustavi with our culinary riches.

The second time - Bayrami!

Before we left Vakhtangisi, we learned from the English teacher, Nata, that there'd be a large Bayrami celebration in Gardabani the following week. Sandy couldn't go, but I was happy to be able to make it. I also let other TLGers know about it.

On an April Thursday mid-day, I got into Marshrutka #13 at the Old Bazaar in Old Rustavi and began the short trip to Gardabani. When we began, there were only an elderly woman and man on board, plus me. As we neared Gardabani, however, clutches of young girls boarded, giggling as girls do. Soon, the marshrutka was packed with tween girls. Some boys got on. Some men and women. By the time we rolled into Gardabani proper, the marshrutka was so tightly packed with humanity, individual bodies coalesced into one organ with multiple appendages that had limited range of movement.


The event was held in a park next to Gardabani's city hall ("meria"). There was a large stage for bands and dancers. Representatives from nearby villages had set up feast tables to show off their food and drink. (Though most Azeri-Georgians are Muslim, not all follow the proscription against alcohol consumption.)

Gardabani, Georgia

I saw several Bayrami maidens, bedecked with flowery headdresses, carrying the traditional fruit and new grass, to the village tables. Sometimes a band of music men accompanied them.

Men boiled khinkali.

Gardabani, Georgia

Politicos visited. 

Men gave speeches.

  

Men ate.
 

Gardabani, Georgia

Gardabani, Georgia

Tea was made.

Gardabani, Georgia

I saw the director of Nata's Vakhtangisi school - that village was represented today also. I was invited to partake of its table's contents, including wine. All delicious.

There was music on the large stage - dances and concerts!

To be continued ... 

Nothing There Tour #1: Vakhtangisi

Using a clever ruse, we photographed this man, who may have actually been to Azerbaijan, in order to take a clandestine photo of Azerbaijan, over there on the right, said country apparently not liking to be photographed, or Georgians not liking that it be photographed. 

This is the inaugural post for the Nothing There Tour, where I check out a place that has seemingly nothing to see, and either confirm or deny said nothingness.

Last weekend, colleague Sandy and I contemplated our choices for a day trip. At first we planned to go to Mtatsminda, a location overlooking Tbilisi, for its views and .... yawn ... some other stuff, like a church and a famous cemetery .... and we were game, but we felt lukewarm about it.

Then I remembered my pledge to myself to visit Gardabani. I loved telling Georgians that I planned to go to Gardabani because they always responded exactly the same way: "Gardabani?! Whyyyy?! There's nothing therrrre?!"


Would Sandy be interested in going to Gardabani? Why yes, she would!

Gardabani has a large Azeri-Georgian population and it's very close to the Azerbaijan border. Some villages are right on the border. The police mentioned Jandari as one example; Nely cited Vakhtangisi.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Houses. 2012

Sandy and I caught a Vakhtangisi-bound marshrutka (#13) at Old Bazaar in Old Rustavi. (Tbilisi also has marshrutkas going to the Gardabani area, which depart from Tbilisi's Didube station.) The fare to Vakhtangisi is 1 lari, 50 tetri.

As we chugged out of Rustavi, we passed two prisons, one for men and the other for women; factories, both active and defunct; and some sort of energy plant with structures that looked like nuclear power plants. We passed through Gardabani, a pleasant-looking town. We knew we'd stop there on the way back from our Vakhtnagisi tour.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. House. 2012

The border crossing


About 45 minutes later, we arrived in Vakhtangisi, the end of the road.

In town, we went by a surprising event: men drumming and playing some kind of flute; a young girl riding in a flower-festooned, horse-drawn cart, holding a plate of fruit, many people gathered inside a schoolyard. What strange ritual this?

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.

But our minds were on the border. When the marshrutka stopped, the first thing we did when we debarked was head to Azerbaijan. To get to Azerbaijan from Georgia, you have to get a letter of invitation from someone in Azerbaijan, submit your passports to some authority in advance, and pay some bucks. We didn't have any of those things. Except our passports. We'd brought them with us, just in case. Just in case what, we didn't know. But just in case.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Houses. 2012

We approached the border police officers. We smiled brightly.

"Hi!"

Two or three uniformed police looked back, bemused. Then a non-uniformed gentleman walked over; he must have been the supervisor.  

"We just want to put a foot in Azerbaijan. Can we do that"?

"No."

"Can we just touch our hand on the Azerbaijan side"?

"No. Who are you? Are you tourists"?

"We're English teachers from America and Canada. Could you step in Azerbaijan and reach out to us and we'll hold your hand so we will be in Azerbaijan through you"?

"No."

"Can we take a photo of Azerbaijan"?

"No."

Pause.

"Can you pick up a rock from Azerbaijan and bring it over to the Georgian side and we could touch it"?

"No."

"Is there a toilet"?

"Yes." And one of the men pointed to a small, stand-alone building. Just the size of an outhouse.

We walked over. There was a ditch filled with water which flowed behind the outhouse. I opened the door. It was nice! Heated! Western toilet! Very clean! In fact, here is a photo of the bathroom that is on the border between Georgia and Azerbaijan.

Toilet in Vakhtangisi, Georgia, on Azerbaijan border. 2012

I used the toilet. Then Sandy used the toilet.

There was a woman standing outside when we'd both finished. Friendly smile from her. I pointed to the ditch and asked which way the water flowed. Toward Azerbaijan? Yes.

Very well, then. Mission accomplished, no visa required.

As we walked away from the border toilet, some men approached us. Don't know about what. Taxi, maybe. We took their picture.

Then we took a photo of Azerbaijan.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Georgia-Azerbaijan border. 2012.

Bayrami


Now it was time to go check out those strange goings-on at the school. We walked down the street. There is only the one in the village.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Houses. 2012

Every once in awhile, a lone car screamed down the street at warp speed, all the better to prove the driver's manhood, we supposed. Stoopids. We wondered how many pedestrians have been injured by such recklessness. 

Sandy and I walked into the school yard. Joyful! We heard music and saw young girls dancing. The horse and buggy, covered in fabric and flowers, was over on one side, fathers taking photos of their young daughters in the buggy.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.

Over on the right was a colorful picnic table filled with fruits, nuts, and breads. Men sat there, drinking tea from small, shapely glasses.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.

We looked on the school porch where there were girls directing each other in traditional dances, performed to tunes provided by a local DJ.

Sandy and I got up on the stage and danced, too.

What was all this about? It was bayrami (or more accurately, Novrus Bayram), an Azerbaijan (and others, too) holiday that welcomes spring. It was so ... splendid ... to be in this village on this day.  

We met the school's English teacher, Nata, along with some of the other teachers, who all live in Rustavi. Unfortunately, the school in Vakhtangisi doesn't have a TLG teacher.

We left smiling, with colored eggs, different kinds of nuts, and oranges stuffed into our bags.

We began to walk - for however long we felt like it - to Gardabani. We were 18 km from Rustavi.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. 2012.

 We passed Vakhtangisi's internet cafe.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Internet cafe.

Outside the village, we passed sheep.

Vakhtangisi, Georgia. 2012

We followed a couple of bulls and their tender. Suddenly, they veered to the left when they spied some cows. Then tender chased after them. 

Vakhtangisi, Georgia.2012

We walked for a long while. When we reached the town of Kesalo, a car pulled up alongside. It was filled with the school teachers who live in Rustavi - we squished in and they dropped us off in Gardabani.

We loved our trip to Vakhtangisi.

Verdict: There is something there! 




  

Armenia: "There's Nothing There"

I'm not in Armenia yet - will go next weekend.

But when I shared my upcoming trip with my adult students, they said, "Why are you going to Armenia? There's nothing there?!" Out of approximately 20 students, only one had ever actually been to Armenia - once. Another had even worked on the BORDER between Georgia and Armenia, and had never been. And another THOUGHT she'd been to Armenia, but remembered that, no, that was Azerbaijan.

I have heard this kind of talk before from Georgians (and TLGers) about other places in Georgia. At a meeting with TLG bloggers last week, a colleague and I talked about instituting a "Nothing There" tour, where we visit nothing-there locations in Georgia and either confirm or deny the allegations. 

Notwithstanding the upcoming trip to Armenia, which I'm sure has one or two things of interest, my first nothing-there tour will be to Gardabani.

So stay tuned.

Georgia: The Human Sex Ratio

In an English class yesterday, I wondered aloud: Why do there seem to be so many male police officers who are married versus so many female police officers who are unmarried?

I think the explanation is a function of several variables, but the police students in this class (all unmarried women) said that the gender ratio in Georgia = one Georgian male per seven Georgian females.

I knew already that Georgia has negative population growth. Some of this is due to a declining birth rate and some is due to an economic diaspora of Georgian adults to the U.S., Greece, Italy, Spain, Germany, and other parts. Georgia's Patriarch, the head of the Georgian Orthodox Church, is so concerned about the population's decline that he has exhorted Georgian women to have more children, promising that he will be the godfather of all third and fourth children in a family.

So when the police women claimed there was only one Georgian man for every seven Georgian women, I wanted to check it out.

Whoa. I stumbled on a South Caucasus anomaly that researchers have been looking at recently.

Georgia is second only to China in its ratio of boys-to-girls in the under-15 population. Georgia has 113 boys to 100 girls, while China has 117 boys to 100 girls. There is a similar situation in neighboring Armenia and Azerbaijan. (Note: In the U.S. the ratio is 104 boys to 100 girls.)

Other data show there is an even more marked disparity when one looks at birth order in Georgia. For every 100 girls who are the third-born in a family, there are 150 boys born who are the third-born in a family. 

Such a large gender disparity in the under-15 age bracket puts Georgia on a par with societies infamous for practicing "gendercide," including China and India. The Council of Europe published Prenatal Selection in September 2011, in which it presumes, albeit without direct evidence, that the disparity in Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan is primarily a function of pregnancy selection, aka abortion. 

It's important to note that, notwithstanding the under-15 disparity, in the 15-64 age bracket, Georgia is in the bottom 25 of the world for the number of men-to-women. In this cohort, there are only 93 men to 100 women. (Note: In the U.S., there are 100 men to 100 women in the 15-65 cohort.)

A 2000 World Bank report noted there were 124 Georgian women per 100 men. Unfortunately, the report didn't define the age range for these figures.

You never know what you're going to find when you start looking under rocks.

Where to Go in 2012

The New York Times proposes this list of 45 places to go in 2012.

On my short list for 2012 are: 

• More of Georgia (Svaneti, Kazbegi, Vardzia, Davit Gareja, Batumi, Kutaisi)
• Turkey (Istanbul)
• Armenia
• Azerbaijan (if I can afford the $200+ visa for Americans, which is what we charge Azerbaijanis to come to the U.S.)
• Iran (if things quiet down to the default level of tension)
• Albania
• Mexico
• Guatemala
• New Mexico

Some time ago, I wrote about:

• Least-visited countries in the world; and 
• Syria as a destination

I can't get enough of this video on Syria. I love when people mix incongruent features in their art, like when Blind Boys of Alabama sing Amazing Grace to the melody of House of the Rising Sun. In the case of the video below, the creator mixed Syrian images with a Creedence Clearwater Revival song. It works.





And as a lagniappe, here are the Blind Boys of Alabama singing Amazing Grace. I heard them live at the first Roots 'n Blues Festival in Columbia, Missouri. 




What's on your domestic or international travel list?

Dubai: Leaving, Losing, Loose Ends, and Getting Home

Dubai, UAE. January 2012.

Time to leave Dubai. Loved the weather. It was exactly what I sought before getting back into the cold Georgian winter for the next few months.

I also liked my first foray into the middle east. Liked it in the sense that I made the foray. My experience pushed some cultural buttons of mine that I know will be interesting to explore more deeply in the future, such as how what a person wears, i.e. an abaya with full head covering, can provoke such complex feelings in me.

(By the way, one sunny morning I walked behind a man who was wearing the traditional white Arabic dress. It was transparent; I wasn't close enough to discern if he wore underwear.)

I saw nary a dog in the five days I was in Dubai. A number of cats, though.

Some photographic loose ends

A metro entrance. Each metro entrance has a disinctive design. This is the Dubai Mall metro station. 

Flats for rent in Deira neighborhood. In USD, the prices translate, left to right, at $490, $544, $599, and $680 per month

Metro station interior. Dubai, UAE. January 2012.

No fish allowed on metro. Also, no gum chewing. Dubai, UAE. January 2012.

Approach to Palm Deira metro station. Dubai, UAE. January 2012.

Typical toilet in Dubai. Note the spray nozzle on left. Ubiquitous for cleaning oneself, and then toilet paper.

Dubai airport misadventure

Dubai, UAE. January 2012.

Went through two or three security checks upon arrival at the Dubai airport. Was walking down a corridor toward my gate when I did my periodic body check for all of the necessary artificial appendages: purse, backpack, camera ... camera.... camera? Damn. Looked in my backpack and my purse. Not there. I backtracked to the security station I'd just left. (This required me to walk up a ton of steps that had going-down escalators and no going-up escalators.)

Arrived back at the security station, explained I'd left behind my camera either at this station or the one before, and the staff there gave me a negatory and pointed me to a supervisor. Snippy supervisors exist in all countries, all cultures, and she was one of those creatures. She was immediately on the defensive, stating that no one had taken it. (Who said anything about taking it? Sheesh.) Did I have it in my purse, perhaps?

In a deadly polite voice, I responded, "Madame, I don't believe it was taken. I have looked in my purse. Would you care to look there yourself?" and I opened it up for her.

"Where do you believe you left it?"

I said I wasn't sure at which station I might have left it behind.

To which she responded, "So you are unsure where your camera is."

"Madame," I said. (If I were a cobra, this would have come out as a hisssssss.)  "It is either at this station or a previous one."

By this time, a call had been made to the previous station, and it had been reported back that there was no camera there. Which she reported to me. And she'd called out to the station nearby - did they see such a camera? Nope, they said, no camera here.

I said, "May we just walk over and look?"

Which we did, she reluctantly so. As we approached the station, I cast my eyes about, and by God, just as she was confirming that there was no camera to be found, there I saw it, on the floor next to the x-ray machine. It had fallen out somewhere in the process of being pushed through - NOT by me.

So I retrieved my camera from her hands and as I was about to utter the words, "thank you," she trumped me with "you're welcome."

There's a little coda to this story. During my layover in Azerbaijan, I realized my wristwatch, which I keep looped around my purse's handle, was missing. I'm willing to bet it got pulled off (accidentally) at that same security station in Dubai. I'm hoping so. Every morning at 6:45, it beeps for 20 seconds. In my imagination, it startled the bejesus out of that pompous little group before they tracked it down.

Azerbaijan

Airport in Baku, Azerbaijan

In-flight movie on Azerbaijan Airlines

The airport cat was still hanging about.

Same in-flight movie on the leg to Tbilisi.

Back to Rustavi

Took a taxi from the airport to Rustavi.

In short order, I climbed into a comfortable bed. My hostess, Nely, gave me two hot water bottles to keep me warm.


Related posts on my trip to Dubai here.


And a slide show here:

To Dubai: Baku Airport

Heydar Aliyev Airport cat, Baku, Azerbaijan

 
The Heydar Aliyev Airport in Baku, Azerbaijan. This is where I spent six hours of my life today.

It doesn't take much to entertain me, and I felt quietly adventurous when I found myself culled from the transit herd after we debarked from the Tbilisi flight in Baku, and was the recipient of that carefully noncommittal phrase, "have a seat, please" which can be the precursor for anything from a few moments of mundane delay to a full-blown, meltdown-worthy travel crisis.

I learned in Ethiopia that the best course is usually to relax and let the local processes unwind as they need to do. So while a gentleman carried my passport and boarding pass hither and thither, I pulled out one of my classic sci-fi paperbacks and read. I had six hours to kill, and this was as good a way to do it as any other.

In due course, I was escorted upstairs, pushed through a security check, then squirted out into the international gate area.

A curious place. Several duty-free shops and kiosks, one open cafe-bar, but other than that, mostly wide and empty corridors. A smallish lobby for travelers; not many chairs. Some travelers consumed more than their share of the limited seating by stretching out and sleeping.

A paucity of electrical outlets.

No means to exchange money. I was given to understand by the somewhat sullen cafe guy that he only took AZN, the Azerbaijan currency. I checked with the duty-free shop; confirmed there was no place to change money. This seemed to be borne out by the fact that no one in the waiting area was eating or drinking anything. Found out hours later that the cafe guy does, indeed, take USD for purchases. I got something to drink, at least. And lesson finally learned (hopefully): Pack some sort of munchie for these plane trips with long layovers - never know what, if anything, will be accessible to me, plus saves money.

I found an electric outlet in the wall in one of the corridors, outside a store. Nothing to do but to plop myself down on the floor and plug in my laptop. The airport does have free public wifi.

And then I saw a cat.

Heydar Aliyev Airport cat, Baku, Azerbaijan

Friendly, too. He cuddled right next to me on the floor and took a nap.

And then I made friends with a 16-year old girl from Kazakhstan. She's been studying English for two years, and I was her first chance to talk with a native speaker. She's going to Dubai for a shopping trip with her mother and aunt. We talked about terrorists in Kazakhstan, school, Kazakh food, and making it big in Hollywood. She introduced me to her mom and her aunt.

Ran into a Texan couple who work in Baku, one for the embassy and one as an English instructor. They've been in Azerbaijan for two years and like it there.

Eventually, our waiting room time ended and it was time to go. The in-flight movie looked like it was a 1960s Hollywood Western, the colors kind of faded, set in a mountainous, steppe-y sort of place with horses and the like, only it was Azerbaijani. Cool.