Aw, they make a cute little ol' family
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Mmm, Polopian food!
I realized today that I’ve really neglected the blog lately. The thing is that not much has been going on. At least nothing noteworthy. I spent last week laying on my back and occasionally getting up to eat some food. Essentially, I resembled a beached whale although I was nowhere close to the beach, occasionally you could find me near a pool. So, I guess a pooled whale…
Last night, I went out to meet a good friend whom I hadn’t seen yet since my return. It was a hot and humid night, the kind that makes your skin all sticky and nothing that you do, besides taking a shower which are generally not readily available on the streets of New York, relieves the hotness and the stickiness. We decided to go to my favorite Moroccan restaurant for my favorite chicken kebob with French fries and beer meal. The beauty of New York City - you can always find food from any corner of the world, not to mention that confusing trend of food fusion. It’s some sort of illness that plagues local chefs – they combine the most random combinations of food and call it “fusion.” I may as well start selling Polish pierogies with Ethiopian dish of raw meat. Ooh, look, it’s Polopian food!
So anyways, once we got to the restaurant, my salivating thoughts of chicken kebob sandwich were completely crushed as I learned that they eliminated a sandwich section of the menu. Not to say that there were many sandwiches, really just the chicken kebob sandwich and a falafel sandwich. Of course, they decided to keep the falafel platter which essentially was the ingredients of the falafel sandwich on a platter. When I asked if I could get chicken kebab as a substitution, the waiter, who was super nice, said that they don’t do substitutions. I cried, I pouted, I pleaded, nothing worked. So I got something else.
The real reason topic of this blog – and you thought I’d be writing about Polopian food and chicken kebob sandwiches – is the difference between Georgian men and American men. Briefly after sitting down, we started chatting with two men who were sitting next to our table. It turned it was a father and son dinner and the father was a really chatty fire spark! He proceeded to chat with me for the whole duration of the meal and got up to leave right as my friend and I finished our meals and the waiter brought dessert menu. Now, mind you, I hadn’t seen my friend and she had great news to talk about and I had to tell her all about my trip to Georgia so it’s not like the two of us were sitting there really bored, looking around the restaurant to see what other patrons were doing. Of course, truth be told, the son was quite attractive so partially I was hoping somehow we would start chatting as well. The father was so chatty that the son had little to say, not to mention that he kept looking at his cell phone and occasionally texting someone while his father talked to us from dumpster diving for books, German Balts, and some covert job he was doing for the government. Or something like that, I couldn’t hear him about half the time.
Now, if a similar situation occurred in Georgia, the men would have paid for my friend and my dinners. And offered to get dessert and coffee. I realized this as I walked home, how disappointing it was that we never got contact info from the handsome son and the father didn’t realize that talking to us for an hour didn’t warrant a free meal. I’ve been spoiled by the Georgian men, I should reacquaint myself with the monotonous NYC gender relations where people play eye ping pong but are too afraid to approach each other.
Last night, I went out to meet a good friend whom I hadn’t seen yet since my return. It was a hot and humid night, the kind that makes your skin all sticky and nothing that you do, besides taking a shower which are generally not readily available on the streets of New York, relieves the hotness and the stickiness. We decided to go to my favorite Moroccan restaurant for my favorite chicken kebob with French fries and beer meal. The beauty of New York City - you can always find food from any corner of the world, not to mention that confusing trend of food fusion. It’s some sort of illness that plagues local chefs – they combine the most random combinations of food and call it “fusion.” I may as well start selling Polish pierogies with Ethiopian dish of raw meat. Ooh, look, it’s Polopian food!
So anyways, once we got to the restaurant, my salivating thoughts of chicken kebob sandwich were completely crushed as I learned that they eliminated a sandwich section of the menu. Not to say that there were many sandwiches, really just the chicken kebob sandwich and a falafel sandwich. Of course, they decided to keep the falafel platter which essentially was the ingredients of the falafel sandwich on a platter. When I asked if I could get chicken kebab as a substitution, the waiter, who was super nice, said that they don’t do substitutions. I cried, I pouted, I pleaded, nothing worked. So I got something else.
The real reason topic of this blog – and you thought I’d be writing about Polopian food and chicken kebob sandwiches – is the difference between Georgian men and American men. Briefly after sitting down, we started chatting with two men who were sitting next to our table. It turned it was a father and son dinner and the father was a really chatty fire spark! He proceeded to chat with me for the whole duration of the meal and got up to leave right as my friend and I finished our meals and the waiter brought dessert menu. Now, mind you, I hadn’t seen my friend and she had great news to talk about and I had to tell her all about my trip to Georgia so it’s not like the two of us were sitting there really bored, looking around the restaurant to see what other patrons were doing. Of course, truth be told, the son was quite attractive so partially I was hoping somehow we would start chatting as well. The father was so chatty that the son had little to say, not to mention that he kept looking at his cell phone and occasionally texting someone while his father talked to us from dumpster diving for books, German Balts, and some covert job he was doing for the government. Or something like that, I couldn’t hear him about half the time.
Now, if a similar situation occurred in Georgia, the men would have paid for my friend and my dinners. And offered to get dessert and coffee. I realized this as I walked home, how disappointing it was that we never got contact info from the handsome son and the father didn’t realize that talking to us for an hour didn’t warrant a free meal. I’ve been spoiled by the Georgian men, I should reacquaint myself with the monotonous NYC gender relations where people play eye ping pong but are too afraid to approach each other.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Back in town
Well, I am back in the States. The return flight went really well, without any major glitches. Except when checking in at the Tbilisi airport, it turned out that my single suitcase was 35 kg which lead to my rummaging through it to dig out 5kg worth of crap. Fortunately, my friend’s brother-in-law had checked my tickets the night before to figure out how much weight I can have in one suitcase and I knew ahead of time that KLM takes up to two suitcases, each up to 32kg so my friend argued with the check-in lady and I had to dig out only 3 kg worth of crap. As you can tell by my previous posts, I am brilliantly smart (hmm, brilliantly smart, is that an oxymoron?) - I also packed an empty Prospero’s Books plastic bag so I proceeded to fill it up with books, a collection of DVDs and my Ipod charger. The charger was then carefully inspected by security personnel who must have thought it was some sort of a terrorist device. Actually, I wonder if they knew what it was since Ipod people brilliantly designed it so that prongs retract and all you see is a small white box. So essentially, my carry-on was a back bag with three bottles of wine which turned out to be heavy, my laptop, and a 3.5 kg yellow plastic bag. I definitely wasn’t stylin’ with a set of matching Louie Vuitton luggage. Considering all the posters around airports, indicating permissible amount of carry-on luggage, I am shocked that they let me carry on three bags but I guess my usual bored look is a deterrent from being approached by KLM personnel.
When getting on Georgian airline plane, I was dreading my previous experience of flying to Georgia when I sat in front of several Georgian men who proceeded to speak loudly throughout the flight in addition to wobbling the back of my chair by leaning against it. This time, I sat in a completely empty row, keeping my fingers crossed, hoping that some young, dashing, and brilliant lad would sit next to me instead of some loud mouthed seat wobbler. I sat in the middle seat (I assume this was punishment from the check-in lady for arguing over the weight of my suitcase) and to my disappointment, every seat around me, including a row in front and a row behind, was taken by Georgian men in their 30’s and 40’s. All were laughing and joking as they sat down and at that moment, I knew that I would not be able to get any shut eye and someone would wobble my seat again. It turned out that crossing fingers does work! Kind of. All the Georgian dudes around me were car drivers, making their way to Düsseldorf to pick up cars to drive back to Georgia. Generally, most cars in Georgia are bought overseas and they are then driven individually to Georgia. One of them took a particular liking to me and chatted with me for a while and then delivered drinks when the stewardesses were taking their naps in the first class seats. He even assured me several times during turbulence that there is always turbulence on those particular spots and he knew this because he flew to Germany seven times in the past three months. He also asked for my email address so if any of you need a car driven from Europe to Georgia, I know someone.
I also realized last night that my neighborhood Greenpoint, Brooklyn, is a total dump. Before I get hate mail from people telling me to go back to Georgia, it really is dumpy. I am fond of some of its architecture, throughout you can still find amazing facades of former theaters and banks, but I have to say, garbage thrown all streets, red-nosed Polish drunks, and perpetual smell from the local sewage plant classifies it as a dumpy neighborhood.
Anyways, I am getting back into swing of things so if you’re looking for me, call me! Well, except that there is something screwy with my phone and it seems that calls go through straight to voicemail and I am notified of a voicemail about 15 minutes after a message is left. But I will call back, I promise.
When getting on Georgian airline plane, I was dreading my previous experience of flying to Georgia when I sat in front of several Georgian men who proceeded to speak loudly throughout the flight in addition to wobbling the back of my chair by leaning against it. This time, I sat in a completely empty row, keeping my fingers crossed, hoping that some young, dashing, and brilliant lad would sit next to me instead of some loud mouthed seat wobbler. I sat in the middle seat (I assume this was punishment from the check-in lady for arguing over the weight of my suitcase) and to my disappointment, every seat around me, including a row in front and a row behind, was taken by Georgian men in their 30’s and 40’s. All were laughing and joking as they sat down and at that moment, I knew that I would not be able to get any shut eye and someone would wobble my seat again. It turned out that crossing fingers does work! Kind of. All the Georgian dudes around me were car drivers, making their way to Düsseldorf to pick up cars to drive back to Georgia. Generally, most cars in Georgia are bought overseas and they are then driven individually to Georgia. One of them took a particular liking to me and chatted with me for a while and then delivered drinks when the stewardesses were taking their naps in the first class seats. He even assured me several times during turbulence that there is always turbulence on those particular spots and he knew this because he flew to Germany seven times in the past three months. He also asked for my email address so if any of you need a car driven from Europe to Georgia, I know someone.
I also realized last night that my neighborhood Greenpoint, Brooklyn, is a total dump. Before I get hate mail from people telling me to go back to Georgia, it really is dumpy. I am fond of some of its architecture, throughout you can still find amazing facades of former theaters and banks, but I have to say, garbage thrown all streets, red-nosed Polish drunks, and perpetual smell from the local sewage plant classifies it as a dumpy neighborhood.
Anyways, I am getting back into swing of things so if you’re looking for me, call me! Well, except that there is something screwy with my phone and it seems that calls go through straight to voicemail and I am notified of a voicemail about 15 minutes after a message is left. But I will call back, I promise.
Monday, August 15, 2005
No good byes
So I decided not to say good bye to Tbilisi for several reasons. One being that the likelihood of me coming back is somewhat high. I am also not a sentimental person therefore any tearful long thank you’s to all the wonderful people etc etc rarely happen. Actually, I can’t remember the last time when I cried when I was saying good bye to anyone. Hmm, I think it was with my grandparents and that was in 1996.
Anyways, the point is that I will be back soon enough. Thanks to all those who supported me in the past two and a half months, thanks for listening to my whining and thanks for hanging out with me. Thinking back, I can’t really remember a time when I was having a really hard time, there was always someone around. I had a lot of fun, Georgia is wonderful country and I recommend it to anyone. On that note, I shall end this post.
Actually, I just realized that there is another reason why I really should not post any “I am blessed to have known you” posts. No one in Tbilisi, except for one person and perhaps his wonderful Italian roommate reads the blog. I’ve managed to keep is somewhat secret. So heck, to those two readers I say: arrivederci!
Anyways, the point is that I will be back soon enough. Thanks to all those who supported me in the past two and a half months, thanks for listening to my whining and thanks for hanging out with me. Thinking back, I can’t really remember a time when I was having a really hard time, there was always someone around. I had a lot of fun, Georgia is wonderful country and I recommend it to anyone. On that note, I shall end this post.
Actually, I just realized that there is another reason why I really should not post any “I am blessed to have known you” posts. No one in Tbilisi, except for one person and perhaps his wonderful Italian roommate reads the blog. I’ve managed to keep is somewhat secret. So heck, to those two readers I say: arrivederci!
I am such a boob!
Ugh, I didn't think it through when I started posting pictures below so read the in reverse order.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Last few days
I haven't written much lately as my past week has been full of last minute meetings, shopping for gifts (last night I had a nightmare that I forgot to bring a bottle of wine for a friend), and running around Imedi TV station to get a tape of their show about sex workers in Tbilisi. Oh, I also spent several hours at Georgia Times, a local English language newspaper, digging through old editions to find an article on hourly wages for women who work in shops and stores. Never found it but they seemed really nice. Even invited me to come back to share my views of their upcoming article on sex workers. A reported I spoke to told me that she was embarassed to stand on the street while interviewing sex workers for the article out of fear that someone may recognize her and think that she is a sex worker herself.
Anyways, I am heading off to a friend's summer house in the hills for the weekend so I will have so much more and I am sure some sort of a tearful good bye to Georgia as well. For those who are still wondering when the hell I'll be back, note Tuesday, 4pm as my touchdown at JFK. Hopefully everything will go well and KLM won't be pulling any more stunts. Although an upgrade would not cause any objections from my side.
Anyways, I am heading off to a friend's summer house in the hills for the weekend so I will have so much more and I am sure some sort of a tearful good bye to Georgia as well. For those who are still wondering when the hell I'll be back, note Tuesday, 4pm as my touchdown at JFK. Hopefully everything will go well and KLM won't be pulling any more stunts. Although an upgrade would not cause any objections from my side.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Trip to Shatili
As I wrote before, the trip to Svaneti didn’t work out. I backed out before going to the airport as I had to work the night before and after thinking about weather conditions and lack of flights to Svaneti during previous week, I decided not to bother going to the airport at all. In the end, it turned out that the flight was canceled due to poor weather conditions in Svaneti and the troops that were ready to leave decided to turn around and go to Kazbegi.
I went to Shatili instead. UNESCO declared Shatili as a World Heritage site some time ago and after visiting it, I have no objections to its declaration. We drove up in two SUVs, provided by two Indian guys who work at BP and were looking for company to go up to Shatili. Those BP SUVs turned out to be perfect for driving up mountainous roads which at times were really steep and at times were covered in mud or had a stream of water or a landslide crossing it. Turns out that driving over a landslide on a road that is about 10 inches from a cliff that plunged into freezing cold rapids is a tricky thing to do. The driver rode over the top part of the landslide which was above the road so in case it starts sliding again, which it did, the car would slide with it, but instead of plunging right into the white rapids, it would slide onto the actual road part. So that was scary. There were other obstacles as well, mainly in the form of cows.
Originally we planned to spend a night in Shatili, do a little hiking and drive back. Once we arrived in Shatili, it turned out that the village was really tiny and there was nowhere for a group of nine people to stay. We also did not bring enough provisions with us so our day in Shatili was marked with munching on bread with sausage and checking out the Chechen side of the mountains. We also poked around death houses and greeted the locals. I was a little disappointed as it would have been nice to spend the night, I am not sure if there was any electricity in Shatili, but it didn’t work out and everyone was hungry. Plus, we didn’t bring a tent so camping out wasn’t an option either.
I posted a number of pictures below; yes, I know the some of the descriptions are misspelled and grammatically incorrect. But posting these pictures is painfully slow and I was in a rush. I am sure you’ll enjoy them anyway.
By the way, here is an article about a trip to Svaneti published in the Messenger I mentioned before. As you see, flying there is difficult.
I went to Shatili instead. UNESCO declared Shatili as a World Heritage site some time ago and after visiting it, I have no objections to its declaration. We drove up in two SUVs, provided by two Indian guys who work at BP and were looking for company to go up to Shatili. Those BP SUVs turned out to be perfect for driving up mountainous roads which at times were really steep and at times were covered in mud or had a stream of water or a landslide crossing it. Turns out that driving over a landslide on a road that is about 10 inches from a cliff that plunged into freezing cold rapids is a tricky thing to do. The driver rode over the top part of the landslide which was above the road so in case it starts sliding again, which it did, the car would slide with it, but instead of plunging right into the white rapids, it would slide onto the actual road part. So that was scary. There were other obstacles as well, mainly in the form of cows.
Originally we planned to spend a night in Shatili, do a little hiking and drive back. Once we arrived in Shatili, it turned out that the village was really tiny and there was nowhere for a group of nine people to stay. We also did not bring enough provisions with us so our day in Shatili was marked with munching on bread with sausage and checking out the Chechen side of the mountains. We also poked around death houses and greeted the locals. I was a little disappointed as it would have been nice to spend the night, I am not sure if there was any electricity in Shatili, but it didn’t work out and everyone was hungry. Plus, we didn’t bring a tent so camping out wasn’t an option either.
I posted a number of pictures below; yes, I know the some of the descriptions are misspelled and grammatically incorrect. But posting these pictures is painfully slow and I was in a rush. I am sure you’ll enjoy them anyway.
By the way, here is an article about a trip to Svaneti published in the Messenger I mentioned before. As you see, flying there is difficult.
The smaller side roads in Georgia are not well marked so of course, we got lost quite quickly. Someone had a Lonely Planet guide which didn't help much and we hung around until a passer by gave us directions. By the way, Toyota Landcruiser, especially one that has been custom made for BP with reinforced frame interior, really great for driving on an awful mountenous road full of mudslides and ice. Not so good for the paved streets of New York City. Damn SUVs clogging up the streets, polluting my air.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
