I went to Utah to see my former English conversation partner, Jay, who is easily my favorite Saudi and Muslim friend. We drove across the entire state, north to south, within 30 hours to see Bryce Canyon National Park. My 5 days in mid-April traveling to, around, and from there helped get rid of some substancial ignorance.
Now I know...
...the state that birthed the highest percentage of porn stars is Utah
...one of the favorite imports to Saudi Arabia is a green Columbian vinegar-pepper sauce
...water & limestone & millions of years create "hoodoos," giant red rock formations that look like reverse stalagtites coming from the ground... and that they are difficult to climb
... Tropic is a inaccurately-named town perched among the highest elevations in Utah. Stayed one night there and woke up to a blizzard
... in a pinch, you can heat hookah coals with a blowdryer and use cheap motel fixtures to rig a half- functioning hookah pipe
... hiking a mile in a snow/hail storm is as tiring as hiking 5 miles in clear weather?
... Jay's two wheel drive car drives effortlessly at 11,000 feet of snow blanketing everthing in sight, but can get stuck at 8,000 feet in "Devil's Gorge" for several hours and almost fall off a cliff
... a Gucci keychain, that looks dated and is made of canvas, can cost $120 from a Texas outlet store? Jay thought it was a worthy investment
... while every Mormon I met outside of Utah wanted to dialogue about his or her faith, every Mormon I met in Utah avoided doing so. Jay, one of the most extroverted, easy going and talkative guys I know, doesn't have one friend in Utah who isn't a foreigner. You would think maybe an outside would make an easy conversion target, but apparently it designates coldness and loneliness
... by sitting in a natural sulphur spring in the mountains, I not only checked off a bucket list to-do but also visited the dangerous local place (body found there week before, Jay and friends photographed by old naked man)
... the center of Mormonism, the Temple Tabernacle, was designed within 4 days of the first pioneers arriving in Salt Lake City. SLC's current grid system of streets and buildings were planned within 9 days by Joseph Smith's "visions"
... only last year were restaurants and bars allowed to begin serving alcohol (previously a privlige for only private clubs)
... any alcohol over 3% BAC is "hard." Many beers have been made with 0-1.5% BAC to allow the temperate Mormon to indulge
... the Mormon church has the largest collection of genealogical records in the world. They are open every day, free to access, no appointment or limit or fee necessary
... Brigham Young had 27 wives and 54 kids
... in public every Mormon family was adorable, well behaved and seemingly happy
... even the official State Tourism Bureau's Salt Lake City guidebook- a government institution's publication for all guests- was biased. The first couple sentences describing Temple Square are spent whining about the unjust expulsion of the original Mormon sect from New England, and nurses a grudge the rest of the page
... the best place to sleep overnight in the Houston International Airport is Terminal D, gates 1-3. The music is better, the foot traffic minimal, contains a corner of priceless vending machines, nearby are free computers with unlimited internet, bathrooms and functioning wall outlets. Location near the USO gives a nice false security of safety, and wearing a "Don't Mess with Texas" shirt combined with green polar bear flannel pajama pants gives a great "back off while I'm rocking the sleep mask" vibe
Monday, June 4, 2012
Rep. of Georgia: My epicenter of unknowns
One thing God used my year in Saqartvelo for was to break any notion of control, dependability, and certainty I had in life. I’ve been trying to figure out how to express this to loved ones, especially Westerners like myself who have grown up and continue to enjoy determining our destinies. Best I came up with was walking us through a normal day for me in my town of Gurjaani, but it still doesn’t do it justice.
Wake up: usually before my alarm. The usual wake-up call is the sound of irate yelling and arguing (in reality, they’re only slightly perturbed; culturally, they act livid). The second-most common sound jolting me awake is host grandmother repeating pleas of “vai me!,” in a convincing tone indicative of near death. Maybe I slept through the ghame feeling cozy, maybe I woke up
repeatedly from shivering.
Weather: maybe there’s a blizzard that impacts the entire community’s functioning, maybe not. Maybe it will make me sick again, maybe not.
Ablutions: check the upstairs bathroom (what a blessing, not only one but two toilets and sinks in the house!). In this home, tskhali is a coy teenager- it may or may not come out of facets or flush toilets. Check to make sure urine on the floor is dry, and mentally catalog which bugs are excited to greet me this morning. Maybe have running water dabla (downstairs), regardless of whether it’s on markhla (upstairs) or not.
Hydration: maybe have drinking water. You know- the stuff my dance teacher (nationally acclaimed and internationally successful) told me not to drink while working out. The running water we have isn’t potable (fount a foot long tapeworm one day).
Maybe electricity. Maybe propane.
Maybe internet. No telling of its quality or length of life.
Downstairs: maybe strangers wandering around. The concrete walls, floors and ceilings did benefit me in this one way- I was always too cold to walk around the house indisposed for mixed company of folks I don’t know.
Clothing: maybe find my shoes and clothing, often moved or borrowed (both out of love) without asking.
Sauzme (breakfast): maybe. Food goes quickly in all Georgian houses, part of the reason why I joined the scarf-til-you’ll-almost-barf approach. Not that there is a shortage in the village, or not enough money for delicious hot puri (bread), it’s just that grocery shopping is viewed as something in no need of efficiency. Why not make at least two maghazia trips a day, 7 days a week?
Transport: Maybe get a ride (by car, 10 minutes), which even after a year never left at a dependable time. Maybe walk (45 minutes); maybe get stalked and sexually harassed by giji bichebi da qacebi, maybe not. Whenever it is I am finished teaching, maybe I get a ride home, in one of 4 different vehicles driven by two different men. Maybe I get a ride halfway home, either half. Maybe I walk.
School: Ah, the epicenter of unknowns. No one can predict school start and end time, class length, amount of classes, their chronological order, classroom location(s), lessons (homework, test days, attendance, planning, comprehension), behavior discipline plan, extracurricular functions that cancel classes, if the principal is present or out shopping, if there is enough firewood, matches and chalk for the day, if I'll be served alcohol and how much I'll be expected to down…
Tualeti skolashi: I discovered 2 two truths my first day of school: I would adore these children, and that that I would never use the tualeti. I’ve visited 17 countries (legally, another 2 hiking across the border illegally) and used over a hundred holes-in-the-ground or “Turkish toilets” to take care of business, but the guaranteed worst of them all in appearance, privacy, lighting, t.p. availability, hygiene and smell was at my 2011 workplace. The majority of fellow foreign teachers in Georgia match my sentiment about their schools’ facilities. Good news- our reports to the governments revealed this health and sanitation problem the capital-dwellers were shocked to learn still pervaded all rural areas, so toilets were promised in every school by the end of that year. I would include a “maybe” in guessing if this would happen, but the well-intentioned Ministry of Science & Education, for now, cannot be counted on.
Lunch & Dinner: maybe food when I arrive sakhlshi mid afternoon, maybe food at night, maybe not either. I define food as things I can eat with only minor molding, bug prevalence, animal parts with at least a fraction of meat on them, and preferably something I didn’t just eat the last 9 meals in a row. My government contract includes two meals a day, and whenever food was at hand, I was instructed with gusto to chame, chame! Maybe there’s a suphra (feast) that lasts 6 hours when I get home.
Social life: Georgian ambush is inevitable, but still somehow unpredictable. Getting summoned by physical force into homes of people who don’t understand my language and whose ena I barely understand can last from a couple minutes to 4 hours.
Maybe have contact with foreigners. We don’t have voicemail on our phones, somehow no one in Georgia does, and often our texts or calls don’t go through. If we call each other, the phone knows when we’re in the middle of a good chat and disconnects. If our phone provider is working, that is. Maybe I meet up with those who live in the surrounding area- depends on at least a dozen factors we each only half control.
Chemo kartveli ojaxi- lapareke?: maybe helpful communication with host fam. Depends on how soon they decide to hang up on me while I’m in midsentence telephonshi, or if they call or text at all, or share major day and life updates. Depends on my translation ability, and if my host sister refuses to translate for me all day because she’s re-doing her hair for the 12th time. Depends on how drunk host dad is, as far as coherence and decision making go- he’s still good to me even after hours of cognaci da tcha-tcha.
Travel: maybe public transport is running. There’s no schedule for the first or last marshrutka, the mini-bus with maxi-sensory overload, in all directions. No guarantees it will stop for you, or if you will have a seat. If you’re a female, maybe an old man sitting next to you will explicitly reveal himself or follow you. Taxis are slightly more dependable in their general existence, but no telling what your fare is (even if you know the going rate and confirm it before entering the manqana).
Puli: Say I want a grand hour about town, drinking chai capheshi. I need money- but have no way to know when I will be paid and how much that will be, until I check my account in person and it just appears at some point. Maybe there is money in the ATM and in the bank- maybe both have run out of money, due not to robberies but to incompetence and transitioning from a third to second world banking institution. With said money in hand, maybe it will be accepted by store owners (most places in the country don’t accept plastic because of the informal market economics’ prevalence). If the cashier doesn’t have correct change (often no cash whatsoever), they won’t take your money or give you what you’re trying to purchase.
Eating out: at Gurjaani’s Kakheti Café, only 5 kitchen-prepared snack-meals are available, but often any number of them are unavailable, with no notice, until no further notice.
Sixvaruli (love): Maybe someone will get married tomorrow, or today. I called my best Georgian girl friend and she answered... at her wedding reception. This metropolitan architect had been engaged to her bank representative and MBA-studying boyfriend for khuti dghes (5 days!)
Maybe I’ll unknowingly get set up with a Georgian man. My host family was progressive, especially for the rural areas, in only asking why I wasn’t married yet a couple times a week (instead of several times daily) and supporting my decision to marry a man who has a job and understands my language (surprisingly a rarity).
Friends' maybes: Not my lot, but quite common were the "maybes" of being kicked out your host family and home, rodent infestation in the bedroom, coming home to the body of your host cousin on the kitchen table (for a week of funeral rites during which the deceased stays at home), having money and treasured imports stolen from your room by the family, being let out of the house or not, surprise visit from the President Misha to your school...
All these things I couldn’t put stock in, but there are some wonderful things guaranteed to happen on every normal day like this. I would be told “kargi/lamazi/magari gogo xar” (you’re a good/pretty/cool girl) by people I did and didn’t know. I would be greeted with the shyest, most genuine and most affectionate smiles by the bavshebi (kids) at school. The mountains’ stark majesty was unavoidable, and they astounded me daily. I would be asked questions about myself, because people cared or were curious about my country, my culture, my family and Texas. So I don’t regret my year there at all, but praise God for how much stronger and more grateful I am because of it.
Wake up: usually before my alarm. The usual wake-up call is the sound of irate yelling and arguing (in reality, they’re only slightly perturbed; culturally, they act livid). The second-most common sound jolting me awake is host grandmother repeating pleas of “vai me!,” in a convincing tone indicative of near death. Maybe I slept through the ghame feeling cozy, maybe I woke up
repeatedly from shivering.
Weather: maybe there’s a blizzard that impacts the entire community’s functioning, maybe not. Maybe it will make me sick again, maybe not.
Ablutions: check the upstairs bathroom (what a blessing, not only one but two toilets and sinks in the house!). In this home, tskhali is a coy teenager- it may or may not come out of facets or flush toilets. Check to make sure urine on the floor is dry, and mentally catalog which bugs are excited to greet me this morning. Maybe have running water dabla (downstairs), regardless of whether it’s on markhla (upstairs) or not.
Hydration: maybe have drinking water. You know- the stuff my dance teacher (nationally acclaimed and internationally successful) told me not to drink while working out. The running water we have isn’t potable (fount a foot long tapeworm one day).
Maybe electricity. Maybe propane.
Maybe internet. No telling of its quality or length of life.
Downstairs: maybe strangers wandering around. The concrete walls, floors and ceilings did benefit me in this one way- I was always too cold to walk around the house indisposed for mixed company of folks I don’t know.
Clothing: maybe find my shoes and clothing, often moved or borrowed (both out of love) without asking.
Sauzme (breakfast): maybe. Food goes quickly in all Georgian houses, part of the reason why I joined the scarf-til-you’ll-almost-barf approach. Not that there is a shortage in the village, or not enough money for delicious hot puri (bread), it’s just that grocery shopping is viewed as something in no need of efficiency. Why not make at least two maghazia trips a day, 7 days a week?
Transport: Maybe get a ride (by car, 10 minutes), which even after a year never left at a dependable time. Maybe walk (45 minutes); maybe get stalked and sexually harassed by giji bichebi da qacebi, maybe not. Whenever it is I am finished teaching, maybe I get a ride home, in one of 4 different vehicles driven by two different men. Maybe I get a ride halfway home, either half. Maybe I walk.
School: Ah, the epicenter of unknowns. No one can predict school start and end time, class length, amount of classes, their chronological order, classroom location(s), lessons (homework, test days, attendance, planning, comprehension), behavior discipline plan, extracurricular functions that cancel classes, if the principal is present or out shopping, if there is enough firewood, matches and chalk for the day, if I'll be served alcohol and how much I'll be expected to down…
Tualeti skolashi: I discovered 2 two truths my first day of school: I would adore these children, and that that I would never use the tualeti. I’ve visited 17 countries (legally, another 2 hiking across the border illegally) and used over a hundred holes-in-the-ground or “Turkish toilets” to take care of business, but the guaranteed worst of them all in appearance, privacy, lighting, t.p. availability, hygiene and smell was at my 2011 workplace. The majority of fellow foreign teachers in Georgia match my sentiment about their schools’ facilities. Good news- our reports to the governments revealed this health and sanitation problem the capital-dwellers were shocked to learn still pervaded all rural areas, so toilets were promised in every school by the end of that year. I would include a “maybe” in guessing if this would happen, but the well-intentioned Ministry of Science & Education, for now, cannot be counted on.
Lunch & Dinner: maybe food when I arrive sakhlshi mid afternoon, maybe food at night, maybe not either. I define food as things I can eat with only minor molding, bug prevalence, animal parts with at least a fraction of meat on them, and preferably something I didn’t just eat the last 9 meals in a row. My government contract includes two meals a day, and whenever food was at hand, I was instructed with gusto to chame, chame! Maybe there’s a suphra (feast) that lasts 6 hours when I get home.
Social life: Georgian ambush is inevitable, but still somehow unpredictable. Getting summoned by physical force into homes of people who don’t understand my language and whose ena I barely understand can last from a couple minutes to 4 hours.
Maybe have contact with foreigners. We don’t have voicemail on our phones, somehow no one in Georgia does, and often our texts or calls don’t go through. If we call each other, the phone knows when we’re in the middle of a good chat and disconnects. If our phone provider is working, that is. Maybe I meet up with those who live in the surrounding area- depends on at least a dozen factors we each only half control.
Chemo kartveli ojaxi- lapareke?: maybe helpful communication with host fam. Depends on how soon they decide to hang up on me while I’m in midsentence telephonshi, or if they call or text at all, or share major day and life updates. Depends on my translation ability, and if my host sister refuses to translate for me all day because she’s re-doing her hair for the 12th time. Depends on how drunk host dad is, as far as coherence and decision making go- he’s still good to me even after hours of cognaci da tcha-tcha.
Travel: maybe public transport is running. There’s no schedule for the first or last marshrutka, the mini-bus with maxi-sensory overload, in all directions. No guarantees it will stop for you, or if you will have a seat. If you’re a female, maybe an old man sitting next to you will explicitly reveal himself or follow you. Taxis are slightly more dependable in their general existence, but no telling what your fare is (even if you know the going rate and confirm it before entering the manqana).
Puli: Say I want a grand hour about town, drinking chai capheshi. I need money- but have no way to know when I will be paid and how much that will be, until I check my account in person and it just appears at some point. Maybe there is money in the ATM and in the bank- maybe both have run out of money, due not to robberies but to incompetence and transitioning from a third to second world banking institution. With said money in hand, maybe it will be accepted by store owners (most places in the country don’t accept plastic because of the informal market economics’ prevalence). If the cashier doesn’t have correct change (often no cash whatsoever), they won’t take your money or give you what you’re trying to purchase.
Eating out: at Gurjaani’s Kakheti Café, only 5 kitchen-prepared snack-meals are available, but often any number of them are unavailable, with no notice, until no further notice.
Sixvaruli (love): Maybe someone will get married tomorrow, or today. I called my best Georgian girl friend and she answered... at her wedding reception. This metropolitan architect had been engaged to her bank representative and MBA-studying boyfriend for khuti dghes (5 days!)
Maybe I’ll unknowingly get set up with a Georgian man. My host family was progressive, especially for the rural areas, in only asking why I wasn’t married yet a couple times a week (instead of several times daily) and supporting my decision to marry a man who has a job and understands my language (surprisingly a rarity).
Friends' maybes: Not my lot, but quite common were the "maybes" of being kicked out your host family and home, rodent infestation in the bedroom, coming home to the body of your host cousin on the kitchen table (for a week of funeral rites during which the deceased stays at home), having money and treasured imports stolen from your room by the family, being let out of the house or not, surprise visit from the President Misha to your school...
All these things I couldn’t put stock in, but there are some wonderful things guaranteed to happen on every normal day like this. I would be told “kargi/lamazi/magari gogo xar” (you’re a good/pretty/cool girl) by people I did and didn’t know. I would be greeted with the shyest, most genuine and most affectionate smiles by the bavshebi (kids) at school. The mountains’ stark majesty was unavoidable, and they astounded me daily. I would be asked questions about myself, because people cared or were curious about my country, my culture, my family and Texas. So I don’t regret my year there at all, but praise God for how much stronger and more grateful I am because of it.
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