Kill Your Darlings

These last two weeks, I've been working for 12, 14 hours a day (not exaggerating), immersing in Gestalt therapy and trainings, thinking and feeling and crying and networking. And just now, I gave myself two-hour break and watched a film about Gingsberg and beginning of changes in US. And then I walked into FB and found out about killings, about a protest rally planned on Tuesday (when I am in  Kutaisi, working), and anger took over.
I'm mourning. I just don't know who I am mourning.
And here's my "poem".

There's change, there's process, there's relations.
Phenomenology.
What happens here and
what happens now.
Identity is a myth
I am different,
With you,
With the cat,
With a taxi driver.
I was different today from yesterday from year before.
And those who seek identity,
Who resist changes and process and relations,
Who define their own by opposing you,
And me,
And other faceless objects,
That we've become.
To them.
They come and kill us,
Because by killing they validate their selves,
Because by killing they know that they live.

We're blind. I'm blind. I'm walking blindfolded.
Until one day, they kill so many,
They kill so much,
That I'll be dead too.
Just walking.
Just working.
Just drinking pregnancy pills.
All dead inside.

Come, kill me too.
Come, kill your darlings.

Kvareli Luxury

Now I have done it all: I stayed in one of those overpriced, trying-to-be-fancy, overlooking-a-pond hotels in Kakheti. I have to tell you, if we don’t take into account that I can find equal or better accommodation for that price in a very touristy place abroad, I am actually very happy with the results. But let’s not be hasty, shall we? I hereby present you overview of the overpriced Kvarreli area hotels – I’ve seen them all and tasted just one.

Royal Batoni – granted, it looks very kitchy. It is shaped like a freaking castle. If Vegas ever wanted a Georgian-themed hotel, well it’s either this castle, or some cheap Svanetian tower copy. However, the entrails of the castle are pleasant. It has carpets and Georgian motif (but not too much), an infinity pool overlooking Ilia’s “lake”, pretty terrace and picturesque views of the Duruji valley. Dream fall vacation.

Pros – We got the executive suite and it came with many perks. 1 absolutely breathtaking views. Now, I was told that the other suite had a better view- of the “lake”- but nothing beats fall-colored mountains. Lake-shmake 2. Huge bath in the middle of the room. Yep. It’s just huge, deep and just stands in the middle of a large, open-space suite. Overlooking the pros#1. Since, there was a group of us, we just sat there in our bathing suits, taking turns. Imagine: people having fun, talking, drinking, and you’re with them, only in a tub.3. Free bottle of wine from the hotel’s own winery. This is Kakheti. Hotel has own wine cellar. Duh. 4. Shower room with a transparent wall. You could pull the curtain. Or not.  5. Bright colors. OK, I hate beige décor. It reminds me of Big’s first wife in “Sex and the City”, who painted everything beige. Some hotels think it’s classy. Well, I got a perfect, warm, Tuscany-like photo shoot against orange background. Beat that, beige!

Cons- Hubby said it: it looks like one person built the hotel and the other runs it. Which is probably not the case. But how can you have a huge bath in the middle of orange-room and Georgian-food-only menu in the same hotel? Not only it is just Georgian food, it is boring Georgian food, it ruins the whole fairy tale illusion. Who wants to drip overpriced khinkhali just left of the infinity pool? They could at least make it a bit innovative, reinvent Georgian cuisine, or include rare Georgian dishes, or have seasonal menu, or something, or at least present it in a different way! Tasty – but limited.

So, what else is in the Kvareli area?

1.       Kvareli Lake Resort. Probably the best view of all of them. “Lake” from one side, Alazani valley from the other. Terrible food. OK design.

2.       Lopota Lake Resort. Nice infrastructure. Several types of restaurants, bars, pools. Comfortable. The view is worse than Royal Batoni and Kvareli Lake Resort. Prices bite. Was innovative years ago, since it was one of the first (if not the first) hotel that started this whole luxury Kakheri trend. Very good for tourists, training, meetings. Self-sufficient area.

3.       Kvareli Eden. Awesome Mediterranean/Spanish design. Specially-built, mind-blowing spa. Nothing like it in Georgia. Hence, they charge extra for it. You can sit in a glass steam room and look into the vineyard. You can get into a solid copper bath tub filled with wine! Endless spa fun. Massages. Aromatherapy. View-not so much, but it is in the middle of the vineyard. Some people prefer foliage to mountains. This is definitely where I would go with my hubby. It is just very beautiful. But ouch, why do they charge hotel guests more for the pool usage? Who does that?

      Anyway, so these are your options, should you have a weekend when you have spare money, but no time to travel abroad, or if you just want to wander in pretty part of Kakheti, not over-crowded by tourists, now is a perfect time to casually sit in a tub, look at the leaves displaying gay pride, and make peace with yourself.

p.s. the pic: view from my hotel window. Duruji valley

Melancholia

The ghost of the fall has swept across Tbilisi.

I start writing posts and then delete them.

Kazantip is over. We returned for another weekend, danced our feet off, kidnapped pair of Russians and came back to our work.  Since then, I have been trying to avoid fall.

We’ve been walking with the Russians and going to parties. We went to clubs. We drank wine. They drank wine. I don’t like alcohol. It numbs me.

 I have started several posts, about futility of monogamy, about digital photography as the end of my picture-taking, about killings, about 90ies back in fashion and in spirit.

Summer is another planet, wrote someone, summer is my planet, even  unbearable, hot summer, it’s the time when the sea is salty, when the day is free.

...Sometimes I’m scared of this new job adventure, new house adventure, and I guess this is why I keep postponing it, postponing posting the prices on websites, postponing hiring designer, postponing long-term commitments.

I am sitting in my office, alone, waiting for clients to drop out of blue sky.

I had 5 clients yesterday. Clinic clients. It is uneven. It is unstable. I work good. I help people. I just started. I need time.

...I want it all and I want it now.

We’re selling our apartment, you know the one with all-night parties and bar stand and a cat and a hubby and plants on the windows that the said hubby systematically murders while I’m away for trainings.

Mortgage slaves. That’s what will become of us.

Of course, I can always sell my body.  I’ll probably be more successful then now, when I’m selling my mind.

...This summer planet, it was so nice. It had Lviv in it and new friends, it had Batumi with no rain (!), it had Kazantip , I miss the sea, I need more sea, my tan is pealing. I look like a zombie. I did not get enough sea.

When was the last time I got enough sea?

...The thing is, this psychological counseling thing, it’s a gamble. What if the market is not ready? What if I sit in this chair forever?

...Each day, I fear the winter. I keep thinking of cold weather and mushy snow.

Each day, I fear the new day.

...The ghost of rain and yellow leaves.

P.S. the pic: my happy summer planet - I took this pic at Kazantip

P.S.S. I wrote this post a week ago but I had so much work to do that I just couldn't sit down and edit it.
:-( I'm kinda over moping now :-)

Samarkhvo Kazantip - Anaklia 2014

Never has my blog name felt so spot-on: my friend has been stuck outside of the Former Democratic Republic of Kazantip for two days now; he was promised Kazantip visa, to set up a condom stand. Once he got there, with a box full of prophylactics, he got stranded in a tent city. “There is no sex in Kazantip” is the official stance of this year’s republic.

The president declared that he respects Georgian traditions. This is the moment that I facepalm myself bloody, hide my Georgian passport and pretend I am from Mars.

See, Kazantip turned out to be so much different than I expected. I kept calling it a music festival, but it really is a separate country, with its own rules (and I thought that was just a marketing trick). People honestly believe in this idea. Hard to imagine, but citizens of Kazantip actually seek peace, love, community, freedom, acceptance. They call it “happiness”. Imagine, thousands come from collectivistic, harsh, rigid, post-soviet societies, they flee from repression and “must do”’s. They save money all year to visit a place where they can be not who they are, but who they want to be. Those are not empty phrases. People start transforming into what they want to be, from head to bottom, from crazy creative outfits, to friendly and loving attitude.

They do so responsibly. They actually read Kazantip constitution. They do not fight, do not sexually assault and do not pee in the street. None of them. But they expect infinite freedom beyond that. They seek happiness.

Where is the happiness? -  I keep hearing it from Kazantip citizens over and over. Happiness has been sacrificed to “Georgian traditions”.

Happiness is not drugs, it’s not sex and it’s not cheap food; people who say that Kazantip sunk due to shortage of the noted products, do not know what Kazantip is. Happiness is wearing whatever you want, animal costumes, Buddhist monk ensemble, polyester swimming suit or nothing; happiness is endless dancing without being molested by local boys; happiness is sleeping on the beach, on the pavement or on a bar stand without being approached by law enforcers; happiness is talking with complete strangers without being grabbed and insulted; happiness is wandering weary and possibly drunk at 6 a.m. without feeling gaze of judging police.

Suddenly, all of our Geo insecurities came to life, all of them. Oh, a tourist, great, let’s make them pay 2 Lari per Khinkali! Oh, Slavic girl, let’s grab her boobs instead of greeting her (this is not an exaggeration)! God forbid people sit in the middle of the road (inside of the gated, no-car zone)! Call the police!

The police. They are at every palm tree, behind every rock. They are riding motorcycles, BMW-s, Mini Coopers, Fourwheelers, Segways, Golf carts. They are blinking and yelling and just watching your every move. And here you are looking for infinite freedom and ultimate happiness, collectively watching sunset under enchanting music and tuning your heart to beats of a gong that are calculated to sound precisely as the last rays reach the Former Democratic Republic of Kazantip. And as you dance in trance, someone is asked not to sit on a pavement.

Every year, for closing, Kazantip citizens write their wishes on yellow balloons and send them to the sky.

Here is my wish: I wish for a miracle. I wish for Crimea to go back to Ukraine, I wish for Kazantip to go back to Crimea and I wish for me, a free citizen of my new country, to go back to Kazantip every year from now on.

Cause I want my share of happiness.

p.s. Samarkhvo means fasting in Georgian;

p.s.s. pic taken by my hubby. I took part in this fun Kigurumi parade. 

Lost Lviv

Don’t you hate it when you write something and it gets deleted? Has your E-mail ever evaporated? Did you throw the comp out of your window?

 My first Lviv post, the one that I wrote with care, the one that I did not publish right away because I wanted to re-read it, perfect it, is gone, gone, and now I have to write it again.

How do I confess my love for the second time?

My first post started with the words “good morning, Lviv, do you miss me, Lviv?” I was addressing the city, I was talking to the city, I was talking to its colors, to its funny tourist cafes, I was talking to its lightness and its miniature elegance.

I talked to Lviv, I told Lviv, hey rememeber, how I rolled my suitcase at 8 A.M. , to a bus stop behind the opera, spilled coffee on my new Ukrainian shirt, ruining my grand entrance? How resistant I was to move away from your streets for training? How I hated to leave training once I got there?

I wrote, dear Lviv, it was just the three of us, hubby, you and me, walking around at night, away from the tourist zones, talking about life, Lviv, about loathed work and dull existence. It was you Lviv, I wrote, who listened to our dreams, me with my hostel and him with his bar, you listened and grew quiet and your streets were hushed and peaceful.

Oh, Lviv, I wrote, I miss the training, I miss the people, I miss talking all night long. I wrote, Lviv, I tortured my body, I deprived it of food and sleep, but I gave it Buddhism, video stories, jokes, flirt, I gave it friends, I gave it global problems, debates, issues, I gave it new ideas, so who cares about the shell of flesh?

My first blog post, so pathetic at times, full of exclamations. I talked to Lviv, Lviv that is no longer close, no longer right outside my window, not even half an hour away, not even in the same country.

Lviv. Listen. Running like crazy to board the plane in Istanbul. Three-day non-stop touristing. Souvenirs. Searching for pins. Surprise hubby visit. Coffee that tired-rock-star waiter set on fire. The apothecary museum. Strudels. Walking golden statue in the rain. Masoch café with chains and bras. Flowery sheets in rented apartment. Singing “Suliko” in nationalistic underground bar. Coolest country presentation. Tornado energizer. Friendly folks with different accents. The stop-animation video our team produced. Funny punishments for late trainees. Sessions that we lead. Sessions that we watched. Car on 6^th floor terrace café. Hot chocolate with a cinnamon stick. Constant picture-taking. Curly hair and midnight talks. Walks in the forest. The crisp sunset air and the Slavic church in an open field of grass. Talks. Smoking sessions. More talks. Those silly games with bottles and cards. Posing. Philosophical discussions. Gossip. Breezy trip on Bosporus. Airport. Hubby. Home. FB requests.
Listen, Lviv, I wrote. I miss you, Lviv, I wrote.

I miss you Lviv.

Pathetic.

Good thing I lost it.  Repressing feelings of infinite freedom and returning to normal life.

Good-bye, Lviv.

P.S. the coffee with caramelized sugar set on fire in a coffee-mining cafe (I know, right!) in Lviv.

Safe Clubbing Rules

Second weekend in a row I’m greeting sunrise on Turtle lake, after all-night clubbing. And second weekend in a row I feel nauseous all day after. And I’m not even drinking alcohol.

So what the f...?

Dehydration, my friends. I get so caught up in dancing trance that I forget to drink water and I don’t want to be bothered with bathroom stops. However, several bottles of water could save my Saturdays. Thus, I've compiled web sources and my own experience to share with you guys the ways of healthier and ultimately, more pleasant clubbing. Here's the wisdom:

-       - Before you start drinking, eat fatty and sugary foods. Carbs actually help with nausea. Also, have some salty foods – they remind you to drink water even if you forget to.

-       -    Energizers block your intoxication awareness. Party regular vodka+red bull actually gets you much drunker than you think. Hence, worse hangover. Pace yourself. Alternate between alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks. Have a fatty snack. Or just get prepared for a horrible morning.

-        -  Rule of thumb: if you mix substances, you will feel like shit later. Some substances are more mixable, bla, bla, yes, that’s true. However, generally, more you mix, worse you feel the next morning. That is if you wake up. Some substance mixes are very dangerous. So do your research! No high is worth dying for or even damaging liver, brain, etc. 

-         - If you are on some uppers – please stay hydrated. People die from dehydration. Put on water alarm on your phone before, force water in your throat when you don’t feel thirsty, I don’t know, ask your friends to give you liquids. Do something to combat "oh I can dance for days with no food or water" feeling.

-         -  Don’t go to sleep the moment you reach home. This works wonders for me: have some breakfast. What should you eat when you drag your un-cooperating legs home? What gets your energy levels up and helps your muscles restore? Complex carbs and proteins. Good source of complex carbs: potatoes, oatmeal, rye bread. As for the proteins, meat, fish, dairy, eggs. If you have consumed alcohol, add some fatty foods. So, in nutshell: if you fry some bacon or sausage, make an omelet and have a yogurt or cheese plus toast, you will get everything. Add some orange juice and there’s additional portion of vitamin C to help repair your immune system damage, caused by drinking, inhaling cigarette smoke (directly or indirectly), overtaxing your muscles, and depriving body of a night’s sleep. Also, broth restores sodium and banana – potassium.

-        -   Replace lost fluids. Restore electrolytes – don’t just drink water. In US they have sports drinks, in Geo – opt for Sprite. It is caffeine- free. 

-   - Buy food and drinks ahead of time! How often do you wake up with a headache and get to your nearest store shaking, wishing for miracle Borjomi (Nabeglavi, Mitardi, whatever)? 

-       -   Try contrast water therapy (O.K. I know that no one, no one will do this after clubbing, but still, let me put it out there): 2 minutes hot water, 30 seconds cold water, repeat 4 times. Allow a minute of moderate water between those 4 times. Smile – it’s for your own good.

-        -   Please sleep. In a peaceful setting. Your sleep will be irregular and light, so turn off the phone – you may not be able to fall back asleep if disturbed.  

Wish you good and safe and pleasurable nights of dancing!

Tbilisi Tango Therapy

I won’t write about Shevardnadze’s death.

I won’t write about Mayor’s elections.

This week I will write about something enticing.

Have you ever considered many films and books telling a story about a hero outsider? That archetype of a born-outside-of-the-realm saver, the one who comes to a foreign world and helps natives find strength in their own resources? Like Paul Muad’dib in Frank Herbet’s “Dune”, like that soldier guy from the “Avatar”? Fremen’s term for Paul is Lisan al-Gaib (sci fi haters, bear with me): the voice of the outer world.  Yes, on one hand, it has a colonial, white-men-will-save-the-world aftertaste – because why can’t natives just save themselves- but on the other hand, when you’re stuck in the same shit daily, the voice of the outer world is what gets you out!

 Got me out, in any case.

Tbilisi has a little tango society. All you have to do is look them up on FB. Simple, right? No. Because why would I suspect it in Tbilisi? Thus, just like in a classical sci-fi adventure, a voice of the outer world, my Latvian therapist, who visits Georgia once in a blue moon (O.K. every other month), looked for the tango-dancing folks and joined them. And of course, despite his multiple stories about them, I still refused to believe that they exist. Tbilisi tango. A little cognitive dissonance. Beautiful magical unicorn.

But my best friend got interested and practically forced me to accompany our therapist to his tango lesson.

Imagine:

You get out of a smelly taxi.

Walk by the oft-visited TBC bank.

Glimpse towards road that leads to the despised Ministry of Education.

Walk into Eldorado café.

Chandeliers light up.

Girls in pretty dresses and high heels are perched on the wooden Vienna stools.

Pair of strangers dance.

Chocolate flows in the right corner.

And as time passes by, slim, well-posed boys walk to the group of girls, silently exchange looks, smiles, gestures, stand oppose each other, hold hands, press faces together and start dancing…

Couples multiply. It gets harder to focus on a particular pair. They are part of a bigger entity, they all do the same thing, they all do the different thing. Some dance shy. Some dance strong. Some dance close. Some dance apart.

 A confection of white lace and silk floats by and all I can think of is Rafaello dessert (I know, consumerism has maimed me for life). The girl has such reserved, tender passion, she keeps her eyes closed, she keeps her body away, save the temple area on the face, the hands around the back and sometimes, only sometimes, a high-heeled leg shoots up in the air, and sometimes it brushes against partner’s calves. Sometimes she wants to step away, but her partner blocks her with his feet. Smiling, with eyes closed, she dances in the free space that he lets her have, because, he is the one that cannot close his eyes, he is the one that has to watch out for other couples, choose direction, guess her wishes.

I squirm uncomfortably upon this realization. “But what if a girl does not want to sit around and wait to be picked? What if girls wants to lead?”, I ask. I live in a world where girls are not allowed to choose and lead. “They often learn the other part and partner up with each other”, casually answers my therapist and I really, really want to see that. He is back at the table, with his sickeningly good camera zoom, taking pics of the dancers. Then he walks up to a covey of Georgian girls, looks lingeringly, until one of them accepts his invitation, presses her face  against his and they join the dancing current.

We leave after 3 hours.

We walk through old streets with old wooden balconies.

I still can’t connect what I’ve seen with my city.

As I go on living in it, as I keep on walking in its streets, as things get mundane and tiresome, as I come up with all-night dancing and 100 happy days projects (more on that later), trying to fight this desperation, trying to cover up the emptiness, as I keep sacrificing sleep, healthy eating, rest, self-esteem, I forget that good things, truly good things exist in Tbilisi. I forget that I don’t always need to forge my own happiness, that sometimes happiness just sits there, waiting to be discovered.

I am plotting the next tango meeting.

P.S. the pic: this pic is horrible. My camera phone sucks at capturing motion and I didn't want to post close-ups, since I haven't asked for permission to post these pics. But, this is the proof that the unicorn is real :-)