Flashback to July 2011: Rustavi: In the Society of Women

From July 26, 2011, when I was in Caucasus Georgia, in the city of Rustavi:

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Rustavi: In the Society of Women

Tonight I enjoyed another evening in the society of women.

I did the same the evening before, the day before that, and the day before that.

At such gatherings, the hostess presents an array of light foods. In the past week, I've seen watermelon, honeydew melon, cheese, nuts, chocolates or cookies, pretzel sticks, khachapuri, bread, coffee, and often, some sort of alcoholic beverage (beer, chacha, cognac, vodka).  A visitor always brings a little something. A large candy bar, a bag of cookies, or some sunflower seeds are examples I've seen this past week.

Credit: Khachapuri

And then women chat about the usual stuff of life - births, deaths, illness, relationships, politics, religion, neighbors, work ...

Toasts are made, offering good thoughts to others present.

It's very nice to be in this society of women. They have been very kind and welcoming to me.

Tonight, when the hostess began to pour the coffee into our glass espresso cups, I watched transfixed as it seemed to crawl out of the kettle like some living thing from the primordial ooze. I thought maybe it wasn't coffee - perhaps it was a thick, thick chocolate drink.  I wondered what it was going to taste like. As it turned out, it was coffee, and it was good.

Our hostess, N., whom we'd visited a couple of nights before, again played the piano while her son, O. sang. Later, despite the heat, he and a couple of the women danced traditional Georgian dances. By this time, we'd drunk a bit of cognac, so all of us felt quite mellow.  The man of the house came in, and we consumed more cognac. He brought with him a deliciously cold ice cream bar for each of us. Wonderfully cold.

Those who can leave Rustavi during this sweating season do so, taking refuge in the cooler mountains. Alternatively, they go to Batumi and hang out by the Black Sea.

I'm hopeful to go to my hostess' family village in Gurjaani this weekend.

I crave the sight of trees, cool streams, and distant mountains. 

Credit: Rural Tourism

Rootless flashback: Orthodox Easter in Caucasus Georgia

Easter supra, Rustavi, Georgia (Caucasus), April 2012.

Today is Orthodox Easter. It's a sentimental day, bringing colorful memories of Eastertime in Caucasus Georgia.

Easter supra, Rustavi, Georgia (Caucasus), April 2012.

I was so lucky to have a couple of American friends visit me during Easter 2012 in Rustavi, Georgia. Not only did I enjoy their company, but it was satisfying to share such a rich cultural experience.

Palm Sunday, Batumi, Georgia (Caucasus), April 2012.

Some videos might tell the story best.

Palm Sunday, Batumi, Georgia (Caucasus), April 2012.

Palm Sunday in an Orthodox church in Batumi here:




My host family's grandsons in traditional polyphonic song at the Easter supra here:






My host family's son and his family singing together the song, kargi gogo (good girl) here:





When I look at the photos, videos, and past blog posts, it reminds me how lucky I am to have choices and the opportunity to travel.

A Day in June: Flowers in Rustavi

By Nely's building, Rustavi, Georgia. First day of summer 2012.

Yes, I've been gathering stray photo lambs of late.

Today it's a memory of a day in June in Old Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. Look at the patina on this building! I lived in this building for about nine months, in a room with a fairy-tale view from the French windows and the wide wooden sill.  

View from my window, Rustavi, Georgia. September 2011.

Most weekdays, I walked down this gravel path to work, crossed the street, cut through some yards, traversed the courthouse square, skirted the city-center park, then went down the street to the police building where I taught. 

By Nely's building, Rustavi, Georgia. First day of summer 2012.

On the first day of summer, June 20, 2012, the blue and yellow and white flowers were too merry to pass by without a proper howdy-do by my camera.

Fat apricots lolling about on first day of summer 2012, Rustavi, Georgia

 
 Sumptous apricots, so plentiful, they rolled about the yards.

On a Dark and Stormy Day On a Marshrutka. A Plan.

Scene from a marshrutka. Between Rustavi and Tbilisi. June 2012. 

Just about every weekend I was on a marshrutka from Rustavi to Tbilisi.

Friday, June 8, 2012, was no exception.

It may have been this very day when it struck me, just like this storm wave that I watched from the marshrutka window as it reared up to devour multiple villages and roving livestock. "It" being the idea of seeing the world one year at a time.

Scene from a marshrutka. Between Rustavi and Tbilisi. June 2012. 

So far, this plan for super s-l-o-w travel has been working out even better than I could have imagined.

What's surprising to me is that I spent the first two years post-Georgia (country of) in the USA - one year in New Mexico and the next in South Louisiana.

Each year, I keep thinking I'll be out of the US. My plan for 2015 was no exception - it was to be the year of Oaxaca, Mexico. Ah, Mexico - always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Maybe next year.

Instead, in a plot twist I didn't see coming, I'm going to do a second year in Louisiana. Not just Louisiana, but South Louisiana. Not in Lafayette, though. A different town.

South Louisiana has too much depth to study in only one year. I've barely touched on the Creole history and culture, the co-dependent relationship between Louisiana and oil, how the state is literally drowning, Indian history, and some things I'll get into later. Also, I want to get more into canoeing and get better at dancing.

Anyway, this time next week I'll be back in South Louisiana, looking for a new place to live.

Remembrance of Last Easter: Rustavi, Georgia, With Friends

Last year I celebrated Orthodox Easter with my host family, my TLG colleague, and my Missouri friends. It was a very special day. Today is Orthodox Easter, and I repost last year's experience with warm memories.

After weeks of meager food choices and fasting, Nely and family were ready for the Easter feast! And so were Kate and Pam, my friends visiting from the U.S., and Sandy, my TLG colleague. And me, too. 

It was a joyful day.

Tatia helped set the supra table.

Rustavi, Georgia. Setting the Easter supra table.

Many delectables appeared: tolma (cabbage-wrapped meat and rice), cheese, jonjoli, bread, mchadi (corn bread), pork liver salad, lamb stew, fried chicken, spinach salad, hadzhe sauce (made with walnut oil), quemali sauce (made from an astringent fruit), tomatoes, salad greens, cucumbers, and green onions.

Eggplant and red peppers with walnut sauce. Khachapuri.

Nely, Ketino, Eka, and Eka's mother all contributed to the supra's culinary chorus.

And I haven't even mentioned the wines and chacha, all made by Irakli from his own grapes in Kardanakhi.

Then the best part came. Nely's son, Paata, and his family sang. Both his and wife Eka's sons have superb voices - they filled the room; it reverberated. Paata's and Eka's young daughter, Baya, also has a fine voice.

I wish I had a sample of both of Paata's and Eka's sons singing. Below is a traditional Georgian song, Kargi Gogo (Good Girl), sung by son Irakli, with accompaniment from Eka and daughter Baya:

Kate said the singing wanted to make her put her head on the table and weep.

It was a special day.

Carrizozo, NM: Another Bite

Carrizozo, New Mexico.

I found a charming section of Carrizozo during my first pass-through of town here.

This past weekend, I saw the more glum aspect. The decaying buildings reminded me of Rustavi. There's still time, perhaps, to resuscitate, maybe not. In theory, Carrizozo is in a fairly good tourist location at the junction of Highways 54 and 380, a crossroads to head toward Alamogordo (and White Sands), Socorro, Santa Rosa (and Route 66), or into the mountains.

But there's nothing at that intersection to draw an impulsive passer-by into the village proper. The intersection looks like any number of highway-junction corners with a gas station and maybe a cafe. If travelers saw something to the south that drew the eye and seduced them into this character town, only yards away, they could be persuaded to spend a couple of hours. Spending money.

Carrizozo, New Mexico.

Carrizozo, New Mexico.

Carrizozo, New Mexico.

Carrizozo, New Mexico.

Carrizozo, New Mexico.

 

Persimmons, Again

Persimmons are a staple of Caucasus Georgia's daily fruit, when in season. Or when not in season, dried.

Last week, I saw a persimmon tree in La Luz, New Mexico.

Today, there is an article in the New York Times, In Praise of Persimmons in Fall. Amen.

Some day, I hope there are thousands upon thousands of persimmon trees in America. I will profess a bias for the non-astringent type such as Huya.

My previous hostess, Nely, liked fresh and dried persimmons, but she especially loved persimmons when they were overly-ripe, almost rotten, at which point she scooped out the innards with a spoon and delivered the decayed gloopy mess directly to her mouth.  Shudder. 

Dried persimmon, Rustavi, Georgia

 

La Luz: A Fading Light

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, which means "light" in Spanish, is just outside Alamogordo. A tiny town, it has its charms and its sadness.

I was here a couple of years ago on a road trip with my mother, and I returned yesterday. 

Its Presidio Plaza, which has the bones of a fine park, has fallen into weedy decay. The housing that surrounds the park ranges from meth-lab decrepitude to renovated beauty.

La Luz, New Mexico

  

A large, red Doberman loped out to the road when I turned around near his house. Several households had signs on their gates: "Warning: Security dog."

I saw a flash of orange as I passed one house. Persimmons?! I turned around and parked in front of the house. A man parked his truck across the street and I asked if this was, indeed, a persimmon tree before my eyes. Yes.

Ahhh, persimmons. An immediate flashback to Caucasus Georgia.  There, when they are entirely ripe in the fall, the leaves fall off the trees, leaving only the delectable round orange fruits to decorate the naked branches.

Persimmons in La Luz, New Mexico

Maybe some will begin to appear at the local farmers' markets? Do New Mexicans dry their persimmons like they do in Georgia? If not, a pity.

The Catholic Church in La Luz is the town's centerpiece.

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

Across the road from the church is a splendiferous garden enclosed by various kinds of fencing. Many, many hours of labor went into this huge yard. 

La Luz, New Mexico

La Luz, New Mexico

I had a chance to look at La Luz' ditch system, also known as acequia, a watering system that goes back centuries. I'll write more on that in the future. 

Acequia in La Luz, New Mexico

Acequia in La Luz, New Mexico

I don't know where La Luz is in its life cycle - on the way down? Up? Stagnant? There is much to commend it - pretty lanes, the remains of a beautiful park that could be revived (much like those in Rustavi), mature trees that provide shady oases, an anchoring church complex.  Maybe as I live here longer, I'll learn about this from residents.    

On the Road to Alamogordo, Day 2: I Killed a Tumbleweed

Oklahoma

I left Chandler, OK, at about 9:00 a.m. I wasn't in much of a hurry. I try to remember lessons learned from Caucasus Georgia (be flexible, don't worry so much about time), though often unsuccessfully.

Note my new use of "Caucasus Georgia" instead of "Republic of Georgia," both designed to distinguish it from the state of. I didn't come up with Caucasus Georgia - a guy who wrote and edited a new guidebook on Georgia did, and I like it. I'll reserve any linky love to the book until I find out how the author(s) addressed Rustavi, or if they did at all. There are some folks who purport to know what's what in Georgia, but who have either never been to Rustavi (3rd largest city in the country) in the last five years (if ever) or who dismiss it out of hand as a has-been industrial backwater. 

Oklahoma has a pleasing terrain and once you get past Oklahoma City, you've also got the red earth to capture your eye. I'd planned to stop for lunch at Lucille's in Weatherford, a place my mother and I enjoyed on my last pass through these parts, but I missed the exit. I could have backtracked, but that isn't in my genetic make-up, so I pushed on. 

Speaking of OKC,  I saw the damnedest thing. As I drove onto a highway ramp, I saw two police cars on the right. As I turned my head to look at why they were there, I saw more LE and I saw a black, SUV-type vehicle straddling a deep, wide concrete ditch over by a fence, which was adjacent to a mall or some other sort of large building complex. And when I say straddling, I mean that the vehicle's front end was on one side of this trench and the rear end was on the other. How the hell did that happen? I imagine the cops wondered the same thing when they first arrived. 

Turned off at another Route 66 town, Clinton. All of these small towns are worthy of exploration for their Route 66 artifacts and vibe, but there's only so much time. Had a ho-hum lunch at Gayla's Cafe at the Market. Weak coffee, a real sin in my book. A good yeast roll, though.

For God's sake, people: You can always make a strong cup of coffee weaker; you can't do a damn thing to make weak coffee stronger. If you can see through the coffee in the glass pot, it's too weak.

While on the subject of coffee, I pulled up later at a c-store for a pit stop. I like to buy something when I use the facilities, so I was searching for something not too expensive and settled for a cup of coffee. The store guy stood right by me as I asked if the coffee was very strong (having been recently disappointed by Gayla's). He said, "Pour a little in the cup and try it." (Give him 10 points for good customer service.) I did, and it was lukewarm, and very weak. I said in a neutral voice, "It's lukewarm." He said, "Add a little hot water to it," pointing to another dispenser. (Fire him.)

Texas

The I-40 West Texas Welcome Center is among the most beautiful in the country, I think. Dramatic views from the picnic shelters, elegantly designed. An informative and graceful center. Didn't have to stop there this trip, however.

In Amarillo, I veered off from I-40 to Highway 60, via which I'd pass through Hereford and then Clovis and Portales.


Somewhere on Highway 60, I saw a tumbleweed begin to cross the road and through the vagaries of wind and timing, I ran right over it. A little piece clung to my front hood latch for awhile. No immediate damage to my car's underpinnings seemed to occur, so I carried on.

The land between Hereford, TX, and Clovis, NM, is dotted with huge plants of some sort. Processing plants or factories of some kind. Definitely among these are packing plants. Beef. In one spot, I smelled something yeasty, like bread. It smelled kind of good. Later along the highway, I smelled something not-good a couple of times; I think these were beef packing plants.

A couple of times, I saw hundreds of cows in short-term feedlots, awaiting their fate.  I say feedlots because at one place, I also saw hay bales. At another, I didn't notice any hay. Maybe one place was for an upcoming auction.

I also saw a number of long trains. Several of the trains carried trailers from companies such as FedEx. Kind of funny: Transportation carrying transportation.

The view through a bug-stained window, accompanied by a sad tune from Johnny Cash:   

A roadrunner ran across the road.


Road death

On I-70 in Missouri, I see electronic MODOT signs that say "535 deaths on Missouri roads this year." (Now it's 598.) Then it says 63% of those who died were unbuckled.

So when I saw a similar Texas DOT sign on Interstate 44, you can imagine my shock at the number of fatalities: 2058.

As shocking as that is, Missouri's per capita traffic death rate is (as of the 2009 figures) two people per 100,000 more dead than Texas. 
 
Roswell, New Mexico

I stopped for the night at the Super 8 in Roswell, NM.

I had no cell phone service anywhere in town. Odd, don't you think? What are they trying to hide?

Roswell, New Mexico.

Rustavi: Dumbadze Street

Dumbadze Street. Rustavi, Georgia.

 
Dumbadze is perpendicular to Kostava Street in Old Rustavi. It is parallel to Pirosmani Street to the north.

Dumbadze Street. Rustavi, Georgia.

  

Dumbadze Street in bloom, June, Rustavi, Georgia.

 

Dumbadze Street. Rustavi, Georgia.

Dumbadze Street. Rustavi, Georgia.

Dumbadze Street in June, Rustavi, Georgia.

Dumbadze Street, Rustavi, Georgia.

Grapes coming along, June, Dumbadze Street, Rustavi, Georgia.

Rustavi: Heaven's Door and Football

Rustavi, Georgia.

Came home one night to Rustavi and saw a soccer game being broadcast on the town square's screen. Tables and chairs were set up in front of the white tent, where people, mostly men, ate and drank.

Loudspeakers projected the program's color commentary.

It was nice. I liked the sense of community.

A week or so ago, I visited the Hollywood bar on the meria with some TLG colleagues. The band played some American classics.

Georgia: First Fruits - Alucha

Rustavi, Georgia. Alucha

In the spring, even before the tuta comes the alucha, a green "almost-plum" that is an unripened but edible fruit.

Georgians dip it into salt and eat it.

Rustavi, Georgia. Alucha

It's rather tart, with a hint of celery. As the season progresses, but while it's still green and unripe, a suggestion of plumness emerges.

Rustavi, Georgia. Alucha

Georgians make an almost-tkemali sauce with it, but it won't keep through a winter like the true tkemali sauce does.

Rustavi, Georgia. Alucha

Rustavi: Cheesecake and Spit

Yes, it's true.

At the new Madagoni in Rustavi.

If you try it, let me know how it is.