I Love Georgian Service

Yesterday I spent five hours learning about old Tbilisi on a wonderful walking tour, I will elaborate on it next time--I really liked it. This scribble is about a post-tour cafe experience.
Five hours of walking. Starving, we walk into a cafe in Abanotubani, a touristy street. It is empty. A girl form the other room walks out and asks us what would we like to order, thought we haven't even seen the menu yet. My friends leave to wash their hands and I can't understand, what am I supposed to do, sit at my table and wait or walk to the waitress who stands by the bar. I catch her attention and walk to her. I order everything except water. At this point another waitress tells me, in a sour voice, to sit down and she will come take my order there. I am like, but I am almost done, can I finish my order? No, I have to sit down. After some time, the girls yell FROM THE BAR what would we drink. Now, did it matter where I told them about my water, sitting or standing up, if they never came to our table?
Scene two. A hungry man walks into the cafe to take food with him. He looks at the menu, orders chebureki, then looks at the bar and notices a way longer menu displayed there, and re-orders pirogi which is not that different from chebureki--both are dough containing meat or potatoes and fried. The mean waitress goes in the kitchen, we can all here cook saying that pirogi will take 30 minutes (chebureki was promised in 10 minutes). Waitress comes out and informs the man that he will have to wait slightly more time, around 20 minutes. He asks, 20 or 30? She answers 20-30. The man is understandably freaked out and orders cheburekis again--reassured they will be ready in ten minutes. Meanwhile, he orders a beer.
Scene three. Big gorilla-like security guys with earphones and all the security gadgets  walk in. They look so scary. They stand in the middle of the cafe and look around. I feel extremely uncomfortable and want to disappear. They are trying to figure out what to do with themselves. They are like extras in a play, a background for main action.A comic relief of muscles and faces with lost expression.
Scene four. at the same time,10 minutes pass and the man does not receive his order or his beer (seriously, it was just us and him in the cafe before the muscle attack,  just give him damn beer). He reminds her several times and then...he explodes.
The man: I want to retreat my order, return my money.
The mean waitress: you can't, you already placed an order.
The man: I do not want your cheburekis anymore. Give me my money back.
The mean waitress: YOU CANNOT AND I WILL NOT GIVE YOUR MONEY BACK!
The man: YOU ARE RUDE AND I DO NOT WANT TO BUY YOUR PRODUCT!
The mean waitress: YOU ARE EVEN RUDER AND YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO TALK TO PEOPLE.
The man: LET ME TALK TO YOUR MANAGER  !
The mean waitress: FINE!
The standing gorilla security: Ummm....we are lost. What is going on?
My hubby: pasumonok, close your mouth.
The mean waitress return with a cook from the kitchen, in apron and hands covered in flour.
The cook: What's the problem?
The man: Firstly, she did not greet me right, I came in and she was eating in another room. Secondly, she confused me about timing of food and what food was available, thirdly, she is rude (I swear he really did tell her this in orderly manner).    
The cook (calmly): I have already began cooking your food, it will be out in two minutes.
The mean waitress: YOU ARE RUDE! YOU ARE RUDE!
The man: Is there a man in this establishment?!
Me: This is sexist. He implies that he can't make these women understand his situation.
Hubby: No, the man is so desperate, he wants to swear at someone and he can't swear at women.
Me: Got it.
The mean waitress keeps screaming. I want to leave, but I realize that we've already placed our order and if we cancel now we will get beaten and trampled over by the screaming harpies of Georgian food industry. Plus, the lost-looking gorilla security still stand in the middle of cafe acting like lost-looking gorilla security. I am afraid to get up and stand by them.
Scene four. The climatic scene.
Cook returns to her kitchen.
The mean waitress keeps insulting her costumer. Finally she yells: Here is your 10 Lari and 30 Tetri!-- and throws the money on bar counter, with change falling to the ground.
The man: YOU ARE LOCATED IN THE CENTER OF TBILISI AND YOUR SERVICE SUCKS!
The mean waitress: YOU SUCK AS A HUMAN BEING!
Everybody else: what?!
The mean waitress: Go, leave the place right now, or your face will get ugly (implication of beating up his face).
Everybody else: WHAT?!  
The man leaves furious. I just blink and drink my water, afraid to move.
Security man: Can we order? And I would like to give you an advice: you cannot talk like that to the costumers.
The mean waitress: But you saw how rude he was!
Other girl comes out and brings security people drinks but no glasses. The mean waitress disappears into a kitchen. New costumers come in. We get our cheburekis--delicious!--we finish our cheburekis, we ask for the bill, we pay the bill, new costumers walk up to the bar counter and demand to place order. Security guys receive their food and their glasses. We leave. The curtain.

The Georgian Chronichles

Dear friends,
please visit my second blog this week. I wrote a little summary of recent events.
Also, sorry for lack of pictures. I need to go out in the city and take some new pics.
Here's the beginning:
"End of summer—Tbilisi looks like an archeological site. Due to long-term memory problems of voting population, roads, bridges, buildings are being erected right before the elections, to remember our caring government.  During the Shevardnadze era, road lines got painted only before the elections. Oh, and the stadium in our yard got a face lift too. Happy simple times.

With just enough bridges, people will forget everything that took place in the last four years...

Mid September—videos of prisoners being tortured are released. We loose it.   Demonstrations all over the place. We no longer are able to lie to ourselves, facades have crumbled, and we finally realize what we’ve known all along—we’ve been using humans as means to achieve perceived peace and stability. Everyone is outraged, angry, blaming the government, but really we’re just feeling guilty. Scales tip to anti-Nationalist side dramatically. Ideas, parties, promises, even particular people one votes for is of a lesser importance. The emotion of guilt and embracement dictates “either with us or against us” war mentality. You’re either anti-Natsi or Nazi.  Never mind who is on the other side."

For the rest, please click here http://pik.tv/en/blogs/barabadze/49096-the-georgian-chronicleshttp://pik.tv/en/blogs/barabadze/49096-the-georgian-chronicles

Election Fever

No, I did not watch the torture videos. I was in the middle of the Hunger Games books and watching prisoners tortured seemed a bit immoral. They have a right for privacy, the incident did not occur for our entertainment. How quickly we turned it into something about us like, we're sick of living in this country; politicians lied to us; ministers should leave their posts; we should get rid of these torturer government through elections; we deserve better. WE.WE.WE. The video served it purpose,stirred some emotions in US, served some political purposes and it is over now. Has anyone considered that those prisoners maybe did not want to become part of the reality show? Do we even know that they are real people or are they just characters on TV? When we were appalled and storming the streets were we sorry for them or for us?
I went to elections feeling dizzy. Till the last moment, I had no idea what I was going to do. Just like eight years ago, I was disgusted by the ruling party but hated the alternative. Then, last time, I crossed out everyone but we still ended up with a party and a president I could not stand. Well, majority voted in their favor, so I couldn't complain. Now, I am having a deja vu. I am hearing the same slogans, the same sentiments, only this time from other party. Once again, I will have to endure government elected by the majority, government I don't support. But really what is the alternative? Staying on the same old dysfunctional course with the same dysfunctional leaders?  
You know, all those people that actually support someone, one way or the other, they believe in something, they're happy. I look around and I am desperate, I am heartbroken and I am helpless. I want to believe in someone, but I can't. I can't,  I can't support a party that employs discarded members of the ruling party, people who deserve no trust, who have done so much wrong in the past. But most of all, I can't support what I don't know. I have no idea what their party platform is. Never did they bother to actually explain what their agenda is, what will they accomplish and how.  All I hear is nationalistic bullshit. Just like I heard it eight years ago from the ruling party. There is no unifying idea. If we gather a focus group of random voters and ask them to express a concept of Georgian Dream in two sentences, we would get different responses. What is it really? Cause I keep hearing different sentiments put on the same scale of importance. Important issued lumped with bogus ones. The same ad promising territorial unity--very important, increased pensions--very important, restored national dignity--what the hell does that even mean, giving farming land back to Georgians--bogus issue and end to gay parades--bogus issue. How will they end something that does not exist? Is that how they are planning to increase pensions too? What is it that they want, besides replacing existing monsters?
On the other hand, I am happy that the party I had to endure  for so long, that the man I never elected is not the sole ruler of the universe anymore.  Here's for trampling over human rights, here's for destroying our media,  here's for giving us false hopes, here's for monopolizing our businesses. please leave us alone. I have just witnessed how bunch of men in from black jeeps beat the crap out of the dream supporters and took their cameras away. In the middle of the day. Right by my house.
It's wrong, it's all wrong, you get there, you look at the ballot and all you  see are clowns.
I am forced to choose sides but for me, it's all catch 22. So yesterday, I made a very odd choice. And for all the conspiracy theorist out there the pen worked. Ink did not disappear--I scribbled something on a piece of paper,took it home and voila, it's still there.That was easy to test.
But really is disappearing ink our biggest problem?

This is how I feel

“You have a morbid aversion to dying. You probably resent the fact that you're at war and might get your head blown off any second."

"I more than resent it, sir. I'm absolutely incensed."

"You have deep-seated survival anxieties. And you don't like ... bullies, snobs, or hypocrites. Subconsciously there are many people you hate."

"Consciously, sir, consciously," Yossarian corrected in an effort to help. "I hate them consciously."

"You're antagonistic to the idea of being robbed, exploited, degraded, humiliated, or deceived. Misery depresses you. Ignorance depresses you. Persecution depresses you. Violence depresses you. Corruption depresses you. You know, it wouldn't surprise me if you're a manic-depressive!"

"Yes, sir. Perhaps I am."

"Don't try to deny it."

"I'm not denying it, sir," said Yossarian, pleased with the miraculous rapport that finally existed between them. "I agree with all you've said.”

Catch 22

My Country-- the Obscene Post

Fuck this country and fuck its leaders.

Fuck its prisons, fuck its justice, fuck its courts.

Fuck its opposition.

Fuck us for pretending that everything was all right, when boys were imprisoned for ten years for stealing cell phones. Well, at least it is safe to walk the streets, we said. At least nobody steals our cell phones, we said.    And what about those, whose lives would be broken forever, cause of a relatively minor offence? How would they act, when stressed and traumatized, they’d leave prisons and colonies? Oh well, ten years is a long time, we’ll deal with them later, we thought.

Fuck this country, with its valleys and its mountains, with its traditions and its supras, with its ancestors and its folk songs. Fuck it, for all its singing and dancing and conformity.

Fuck the wine. Fuck the food. Fuck the democratic Georgia.

Fuck us, for being silent, for ignoring ombudsman’s reports for years, for caring only about our jobs, our lives, our comfort.

Fuck us, that it takes a video of beating and raping to get us out of our houses, to make us draw posters with brooms, for yelling and screaming, and getting it out, though most likely, this is just to silent our conscience, to do something.

What? What? Will anyone be held accountable? Anyone important? Will anyone be investigated, punished? Will they? Has that ever happened before?

people in the video might get prosecuted.  That’s something. But what about others? The ones on top? The puppeteers? Fuck them.

Oh this country, this poor excuse of a country, does it take elections to start airing things?

What, are we angry? Are we protesting? Is this the first time we heard about it? Really?

Fuck tv channels and journalist, fuck whoever controls them, fuck international organizations for supporting reports, fuck our government for concealing negative ones, fuck liars, fuck torturers, fuck the Orwelian world we live in.

Fuck them and fuck us all, me for example, like I did not know, like my friend’s brother hasn’t been in overcrowded prison with not enough beds, where inmates take turns sleeping for several hours on a bed, while others sit on another bed, and others stand in the room and yet some others stand in the courtyard—cause there is not enough space even to stand in a cell.  Like my friend was not imprisoned for no compelling reason, like he was not beaten, like he did not write about it.

Fuck this elections, when you have to choose between horrible and atrocious, fuck them for not giving us chance to vote, to actually go and vote for once, not stare into the ballot, lost between unworthy candidates.    

Why, why should I live here? Why? Fuck it. Fuck it if you stay and endure this and fuck it if you leave and run away.

What is it, Hunger Games? V for Vendetta? What, what kind of absurd theatre is this country?

My country is the country where some people torture other people, while others still yell ”hail  Georgia--gaumarjos”. Hail what?

Fuck my country.   

p.s. I opened facebook and everybody had these black squares as their profile pics. We mourn. 

There is a House in New Orleans...

     Before travelling, I do a thorough research. So, when my mom and I got off the Louis Armstrong airport in New Orleans, I knew exactly that the taxi fare to French Quarter—the famous touristy place where we decided to stay—was $33. It is the most efficient way to get to French Quarter for two people, shuttle costs more and the bus, while being cheap, takes forever.

    In 20 minutes, we found ourselves in French Quarter, looking hungrily at everything, the way you absorb unknown place for the first time. We stayed at a historic hotel called St. Helene. Let this post be a little ad for their nice service. It looked all white and clean, very European (even had square pillows!).

    After we settled our stuff, we wandered around still- unfamiliar streets. We walked upon an oyster bar (sorry bar, I forgot your name) and though I am not a huge fan of any seafood, I really enjoyed Rockefeller oysters, with cheese and spinach. That was our first meal in Louisiana.

     It was also the first time we had to listen to locals. We are, after all, foreigners. Accents are tough to handle.However, our server was nice enough to repeat things to us, until we got it. He even asked if we were mother and daughter and how is that possible (my mom looks young).

     Now, we look a lot alike, except she is prettier. For three days over there, people kept stopping us and asking if we are twins, sisters, coming up to us in restaurants and complimenting how lovely we look and generally stroking our egos. It felt nice.  Not gonna lie.

     I would also like to add that people in New Orleans are very friendly (either hospitable locals or happy drunk tourists) and service is the best I’ve seen in the states.

    After snacking on oysters, we walked in French Quarter, looking at the old colonial buildings. Now, I can’t describe the beauty of cast-iron balconies, 200-year-old houses, street performers, smells, Jazz.  You have to experience it. Little streets look like a movie set for a historic film. If you ignore the skyscrapers in the background, mandatory for every downtown of every state capital, you actually forget where you are. It is America, but then it is not. It has uniqueness that is scraped off in so many other places by franchises, exactly the same suburbia, comfort over style…

     We had dinner in a historic restaurant, Antoine’s, which has been a restaurant for more than a hundred years and was a boarding house before that. The food was excellent (hence the price), but the place seemed a bit …people around us in dinner jackets and dresses… we also wore evening attire, but felt a bit uncomfortable anyway...still it feels special to dine in a restaurant with so much history.

     Afterwards, we went to listen to Jazz at a preservation hall (and this is why you have to research where you want to spend your evenings) and listened to wonderful, raw, energetic music. Certainly a must-do.

Finally, we walked and walked and walked, crossing Bourbon street and mixing with crowd, until we  decided to have a drink  in this interesting-looking cabin with candles lit inside. Later, we discovered that it was the oldest building in French Quarter, where pirates used to plan their  future activities. And the interior of the bar has been untouched since then.

    Pirates! Streets named after French kings! Jazz out of every bar! Where am I? How is this possible?

   Tired and happy we went back to our own house in New Orleans. For tomorrow we would sail on the great river of Mississippi…
P.S.the pic--this is what I mean by beautiful cast-iron balconies. They are everywhere. 

Freedom

 Spending my days in tranquility. Riding motorcycles, seeing mountains, reading, getting nightly dose of high altitude mountain air, ahem, and then watching Amelie and Run Lola Run…

Days staying active, nights watching films and philosophy-ing…thinking of nature and films and meaning of life and of purple haze...

Saturday we drove up to a mountain peak. It was so hot everywhere and then we got to alpine zone and started shaking in our coats. The clouds were right above our heads.  We hurried back down on the serpentine road. Then, we walked around adorable historic town, ate in a Polish restaurant, got ice-cream. My favorite, mint ice-cream.

Sunday, my step father took me on a motorcycle ride, we went so fast, we drove to a ridge and saw fossils, dinosaur bones, red rocks.

This is such a pretty state, so much to do, so much to see, not enough time, as always, as always.

Deer everywhere. And bunnies.

Ate sushi for lunch today…

Cleaning my mom’s backyard. Lounging in the sun. Getting tanned and sunburned.

 Missing my hubby. Sad face.

I love getting out of Tbilisi for a while.

Gotta go pack.  Tomorrow we go on a trip to Louisiana. Packing for New Orleans. Researching food and French Quarter.  

Ah, that time in your vacation, when there are more days left ahead, then you’ve already spent.

Freedom. 

How long will it last?

  p.s. the pic: view from the peak we went on Saturday. Pikes peak

CO.

     I am back in Colorado and I am sore. Let’s  start from the beginning.

     So after 6 hours of Tbilisi--London flight, five hours in Heathrow airport, ten hours of transatlantic flight and inspection by customs in the states –where I discovered to my detriment that I actually did take honey comb my aunt gave me for my grandmother. Imagine, round brown ball of sticky stuff. Oh, the customs evil Grinch eyes lit with joy when they saw it—I was put into bed and woken up at an ungodly hour to be taken to the high mountains of the Colorado.   

      For two days we got up before sun and did wonderful things—it was amazing fun as my fav.  British celebrity likes to put it. Conquering and stomping my jet lag, we went fishing on the first day and witnessed an astounding sunrise.  I was not too enthusiastic about killing fish by lying to them that the shiny cylinder on my hook is actually food and that eating it will not result in getting hooked by your lip, so maybe that’s the reason we did not catch any. Well, I did catch one, but it got away before we could force it into the net and torture. However, combination of sleep deprivation, burning sun, rocking boat and cautiously-not-specified element--let’s call it high altitude mountain air, ahem—resulted in  this surreal state of mind, when waves seemed to be made of silver, clouds formed weird shapes, and the cars  on the highway seemed infinitely interesting.    caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaars.caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaars.

      Dizzy and overheated, I somehow managed to get out of the boat, with sunburned red face and red eyes, looking like a zombie, walking like one, and still thinking about moving cars. And then I had to endure lunch in a crowded restaurant. Talking about being anxious.

      The next day, determined to breath, walk and think like a normal person, I strictly stuck to water and put a sunscreen on my monkey-butt-colored face. I mounted a fourwheeler, the ones we call quadrocycle in Georgia, and rode it up the mountain summit, to the continental divide. There, I marveled, how on that exact spot the states divided into Atlantic and pacific sides, took pics of the Rocky mountains and chased chipmunks. Back on the motorcycle, I was riding over huge rocks and stones and praying for salvation. Have to survive. Have to survive. Have to survive and keep my bottom intact…ouch and ouch and ouch.

      So now, I am laying sleepless in my old room, it is six  a. m. ,everything  hurts and I can’t go back to sleep. But I am content. I think of the silver waves and the nature and peace. I think of the speed and thrill and riding over the mountain summits and energy and adrenaline. I think of different ways to feel life. To go from manicured, wearing high heels public servant to covered-in-dirt motorcycle-riding state of being. To pack all the excitement in this month. I am thinking of life and bacon. Real, crunchy American bacon. Time to get out of bed...

p.s. the pic--one of the places we rode on the fourwheeler.