Living the cultural life in Tbilisi

            Who would have thought that Georgia would be a hot spot of culture?  In the last two weeks, I have gone to performances by two very popular groups in Tbilisi:  the Georgian National Pantomime Theater and the Georgian National Dance Company.  Think about that for a minute.  In the span of one week, you can see a troupe of mimes and a performance of cultural dancing in the same city.  It’s like going to a tractor pull one night and the ballet the next.  And what’s so amazing is, they were both very enjoyable and extremely well done.

            I have to admit, I went to the Pantomime Theater solely out of curiosity.  Sort of like rubber necking at a bus accident – you don’t want to, but you’d hate to miss something.  So I went.  It cost 5 Lari to get in – about $3.  If that seems cheap, understand that you’re not paying for ambience.  The theatre was unheated, the seats mostly busted or even missing, every other light bulb was out, and the bathroom was so filthy that roaches warned me not to go in.  But the performance!  Let me start by saying it’s the first performance I’ve been to here where I completely understood the language.  It was not what you’d expect – the sort of “street mime” with the white face and giant invisible box.  It was story telling in pantomime.  There were, if memory serves, eight or nine “acts,” each of them about ten minutes long.  Each act told a story familiar to citizens of Tbilisi – trying to cross a street full of traffic was hilarious and absolutely spot on.  As he pirouetted through the traffic, dodging and ducking, I thought, “Hey, I’ve been that guy.”  The story of the guy in a weight room trying to impress some girls has been played out in every gym I’ve ever been.  And the scene where five short minutes of loving cost a fellow twenty long years of family “bliss” was both funny and poignant at the same time.    

            What was extremely impressive of the performance was the unexpected amount of dance involved in the pantomime.  It was really a fascinating mixture of “typical” pantomime and modern dance.  I would not have thought the two could be so closely intertwined, but it was so cleverly done it looked like an old married couple on the dance floor – each move was anticipated by the other.  I will definitely go again.

            The very next weekend I attended a performance by the Georgian State Dance Company.  This performance absolutely epitomized the gender roles here in Georgia.  The women wore beautiful gowns and glided across the stage looking virginal and flowing.  The men wore traditional costumes, namely hunting outfits and military uniforms.  Their dances were extremely masculine – sword fights and thrown daggers and marching in formation and acrobatics.  This is exactly how a Georgian man sees himself – as that macho warrior defending the virginity and flowingness (yeah, I know; I just made it up) of the Georgian women. 

You see the same attitude with sex here.  Women are expected to remain virgins until they marry while men are expected to be experienced and wordly (not sure where they’re expected to gain their experience if women are off limits, but there are a lot of barnyard animals here).  Premarital sex is practically unheard of, or at least not discussed in public.  The insistence of remaining pure until marriage has led to a custom here called “bride napping,” where a would-be suitor kidnaps his intended and keeps her away from her family for a week or so.  Then, when he attempts to return her to her family, the family refuses her, assuming that she is no longer a virgin, and, thus, not likely to get married, thus remaining in the home.  The suitor then, in a display of chivalry, agrees to marry the girl which the family quickly agrees to.  Thus, the male is actually rewarded for a felony – kidnapping – and the female has no choice in her fate.  While this practice is, thankfully, not as popular as it once was, it is still not unknown, especially in the more rural areas.

But I digress.  The point I was trying to make was, the dance of the culture seems to mirror the culture.  I saw that in both performances; in the pantomime, good story telling is appreciated, and everyday challenges are looked at with humor.  In the State Dance Company’s performance, the women are untouchable paragons of virtue and beauty while the men are fierce protectors of all that is good.  That’s how the Georgians see themselves and how they want others to see them. 

For me, it was a bit psychological, a bit social, and a lot entertaining.  I’ve added some links below if you want to see for yourselves.  Thanks for reading.

 For the pantomime theater:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjowRhUD8QM&feature=related

 Disclaimer:  there’s a lot of talking, all of it in Georgian, interspersed with clips of their performances and rehearsals.

 For the Georgian State Dance Company:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5950hblyTM0  and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_PvJy9j2KA

Give me that old time religion

            I like to ride buses here.  I play what I call the “bus lottery” where I go to the local bus stop and get on the first bus that shows up, just to see where it takes me.  Inevitably, it takes me past a number of churches.  When we pass the church, my fellow bus riders genuflect as we roll by (in a slightly different direction; the Orthodox genuflection goes top-bottom-right shoulder-left shoulder, repeated three times).  That started me thinking about what a powerful role the Eastern Orthodox Church has in Georgia.

First, some facts and history.  The Eastern Orthodox Church is the second largest Christian denomination on the planet with over 300 million adherents, trailing only the Roman Catholic Church in sheer size.  The Orthodox Church traces its lineage back through the Roman Empire, and its earliest church was established by St. Paul.  A “co-church,” if you will, of the Catholic Church, the Orthodox Church believes Catholics left the “true church,” becoming what they call “schismatics.”  That split has never been resolved and there is not a lot of love lost between the sects despite their similarities.

The goal of followers of the Orthodox Church is to draw continually nearer to God, a process called theosis, through living a Christ-like life.  The Orthodox Church believes man has a “fallen nature.”  Human nature is open to evil and some humans choose to participate.  Jesus died to change human nature, thereby bringing man closer to God.  There is not a concept of “original sin” in the Orthodox Church.  Man starts out pure but chooses to sin.  Redemption is offered through confession and a promise to re-dedicate oneself to living a more Christ-like life.  The basis for this belief is found in the holy texts.  Orthodox followers use two:  the New Testament and the Greek Septuagint, seven books that are not found in the Bible. 

There is also a strong prevalence of icons in the church.  Every church I’ve visited has three:  Christ, the Virgin Mary, and a local favorite saint.  According to the Orthodox Church, every soul in Heaven is a saint.  Mary is pre-eminent among the saints, a “first among equals.”  These saints can intercede for the souls of those in Hell through love and the prayers of those still on earth.  There is no purgatory in the Orthodox Church and upon the final judgment (or should that be Final Judgment?), all souls will rise from Hell and ascend to Heaven.  (Obviously, the Book of Revelations is minimized in the theology of the Orthodox Church.)

The theology of the Orthodox Church differs from Catholicism in other ways as well.  While Jesus is the head of the Church, the Orthodox Church does not have an earthly head like the Pope.  Each bishop, who is drawn from the monasteries and must remain unmarried (unlike Orthodox priests who can marry; it just eliminates any chance for promotion), oversees a specific territory, and all bishops are equal in rank and prestige.  The Orthodox Church believes in the Trinity, but with a twist:  the Trinity is three distinct, divine persons who have one divine essence.  Resurrection is seen as a literal, historical event where Jesus died, went to Hell to rescue the souls held there, then ascended to Heaven to await the Final Judgment day, which is chosen only by God. 

The Bible, interestingly enough, is not seen as the literal word of God, but a combination of historical fact, poetry, fables, prophecy, and advice.  It is not open to personal interpretation, but must be interpreted by the Church.  The Orthodox Church practices the sacraments of baptism, communion, fasting on Holy Days, confession, and unction. 

OK, enough lecturing.  With this new-found knowledge, I visited the Svetiskhoveli Cathedral in Mtskheta, a small town about 12 miles west of Tbilisi.  The Svetiskhoveli Cathedral is seen as the “mother church” of all the churches in Georgia.  It is the seat of the archbishop of all Georgia and allegedly contains a piece of the robe of Christ and pieces of the cross on which Jesus was crucified. 

The church is rectangular in shape, common among Orthodox churches.  In comparison, many of the Catholic cathedrals of Europe are cross-shaped.  During services, men stand on the right of the main aisle with women and small children on the left.  (Yes, they stand throughout the entire service which, on Holy Days, may be 3-4 hours long.)  Women cover their heads with scarfs and men often hold pictures of icons.  Icons are prevalent throughout the church and both men and women often pray to the icons, ending their prayer by kissing the frame or the picture itself. 

The Svetiskhoveli Cathedral (Svetiskhoveli literally means “Living Pillar Church” for reasons I will explain shortly) was originally built of wood in the 4^th and 5^th century.  It burned down in the 10^th century and was rebuilt in the 11^th.  It is a UNESCO world heritage site and draws thousands of visitors each year. 

The story of why it is called the Living Pillar Church goes back to the crucifixion.  Elias, a Georgian Jew, was in Jerusalem when Christ was crucified.  Elias bought the robe Christ was wearing from a Roman soldier and brought it back to Mtskheta.  Elias showed the robe to his sister, Sidonia, who upon touching the robe immediately overcome by emotion and died on the spot.  The robe could not be removed from her death grasp so she was buried with it.  From her grave site grew an enormous cedar tree.  St. Nino, then a local priest recently converted to the Christian faith, ordered the tree chopped down to make seven columns for the church’s foundation.  The seventh such column had magical properties and rose by itself into the air.  It returned to earth after St. Nino prayed throughout the night.  Where the magical column settled to earth is the site of the original cathedral.

The Cathedral is beautiful.  It is not any more beautiful, however, than the very small local church about 200 meters from our quarters.  The local church, which holds about 30 people during a service (and that’s on a good day), has the same characteristics of the Svetiskoveli Cathedral, but on a smaller scale – an altar chair from where the priest reads the sermon, a choir loft where chants are performed, icons posted around the church, and a bell for calling the faithful to service.  Every Saturday and Sunday (Saturday is the Sabbath in the Orthodox Church, but services are held on both days) and on Holy Days, I watch the local residents trudging up the hill (for some reason, it seems every church in Georgia is built upon a hill – I guess to be closer to God in Heaven) for services.  The Orthodox Church has been here for time immemorial, even in the Soviet era when the Soviet leadership was smart enough to leave religion alone in Georgia, and always will be.  In the face of a society and culture reaching out to the west, it’s strangely comforting to see that the old ways are still revered. 

The pictures are all of the local church.  If you want to see pix of the Svetiskoveli Cathedral, you can see them on wikipedia.  Just type in the name of the church.  Thanks for reading.

Speaking Georgian like a native American

Gomorjoba!

Willie Stargell, the famous Pittsburgh Pirate first baseman, once said trying to hit off Sandy Koufax was like “eating soup with a fork.” Learning Georgian is harder than that. In fact, learning Georgian is harder than a lot of things. Learning Georgian is harder than Stevie Wonder playing jai alai. It’s harder than Chinese algebra, and you have as good a chance of learning Georgian as you do seeing Newt Gingrich dirty dancing with Barney Frank. In short, it’s easier to get Siamese twins in a kayak than to learn the Georgian language.

The Georgian alphabet has 28 consonants and five vowels, and looks like nothing else on earth.

Georgian Alphabet
ა ბ გ დ ე ვ ზ ჱ თ ი კ ლ მ ნ ჲ ო პ ჟ რ ს ტ ჳ უ ფ ქ ღ ყ შ ჩ ც ძ წ ჭ ხ ჴ ჯ ჰ ჵ ჶ ჷ ჺ ჸ ჹ ჼ

Georgian is spoken by about 5 million people, four million here in Georgia and another million spread around southern Russia, Azerbaijan, Turkey, and other small enclaves throughout the Caucasus region.  It is one of the original twelve languages on earth, but has no relationship with any other language on the planet.  While other languages spread geographically, the restrictions placed on travel by the Caucasus Mountains kept Georgian from experiencing as wide a distribution, and, thus, is like no other language found on earth.  English, alternatively, has words borrowed or derived from French, Latin, Spanish, German, etc., etc.  Not so here.  In fact, it’s rare to hear words or even sounds that resemble anything you’ve heard before.  Oh, sure, you’ll hear an English word wedged into a Georgian sentence on occasion, but only when the word doesn’t exist in Georgian -- telephonie or compooterie, for example.   

In many ways, Georgian is pretty straight-forward.  Words are written as they sound, and sound as they are written.  There are no silent vowels or diphthongs in Georgian.  They are so particular about their language that if they’re going to the trouble of writing the letter, then by God, you’re going to pronounce it.  So sounding out the words (one you’ve learned the alphabet, which is more challenging than getting Bob Dylan to use a tuning fork) is fairly simple.  There are no capital letters and all nouns are single gendered, just like English (as opposed to the European languages which assign gender to all nouns – in French, for instance, you use le or la and in German die, der, or das).  Pronouns do not distinguish between genders, either.  The same word is used for “he,” “she,” and “it.”   Numbers greater than twenty are written as oral math expressions.  The word for 75, for example, is samotsdatkhutmeti which literally translates to “three times twenty and ten five more.”  You’ll see some of that in other languages – the French word for 80, for instance, is quatre vingts or “four twenties” – but figuring out change in a Georgian store makes as much sense as Richard Simmons coaching the Eagles. 

Georgian is also rich in its own idioms.  “ვერა ხარ” (vera khar) literally means “you cannot be” but it’s used as something you say to someone who doesn’t know how to be normal. I guess metaphorically it’s like saying “you are so strange that I doubt the possibility of your existence.” It’s one of those slang expressions that I’ve picked up that invariably makes Georgians laugh when I say it.  The word with which I started this blog – gamorjoba – is used as “hello,” but its literal translation is “victory.”  Gagimarjos, which is used in toasting -- equivalent to the British “cheers” – means “your health may prosper.”  And the words for good morning – dila mishvidobisa – mean “morning of peace.” 

What Georgian is also rich in is impossible sounds.  This language has sounds in it that were not designed for the human tongue.  You’ll have better luck wearing meat pants at Hungry Dog Farm than getting these sounds correct.  As my translator has told me time and time again, “If you’re not raised with the sound, you won’t be able to pronounce it.”  Duh.  Specifically, there are four sounds which, I have concluded, will whip my behind as long as I’m here.  They are:  g’, kh’, p’, and t’.  The apostrophe after each means there is a guttural stop before you go on to the next letter.  Wanna try a couple?  Put the tip of your tongue on the roof of your mouth.  Now make the “k” sound without moving your tongue.  That’s kh’.  Here’s another one – roll your lips to the inside of your mouth (so your lips are invisible) and forcefully expel air in a very short burst.  Hear that popping sound?  That’s p’.  And the hardest one of all – try to swallow with your mouth open while expelling air at the same time.  That’s g’. 

Other sounds are more familiar to my ear:  “gh” is pronounced like the French “r,” and the Georgian “r” is rolled like the Spanish “r.”  I’m pretty good at those. 

I do get some small bit of revenge (and, I must admit to my own shame, a great deal of smug satisfaction) when I teach English to Georgians.  The Georgian language does not have the sounds “w,” “f” or “th.”  The “w” in English comes out as “v” when spoken by Georgians (similar to German), and the “th” usually gets pronounced simply as “t” or even “z.”  I have heard the “f” sound come out in a dozen different ways, none of them close.  Most often, Georgians pronounce it as “v,” confusing it with the “w,” or as “vl,” thus making the word “fun” sound like “vlun.”  Still, they come closer with their pronunciations of English than I do with Georgian.

But that’s OK.  Georgians are nothing if not tolerant.  In fact, I think I amuse them with my attempts at their language.  For the most part, however, they are thrilled when anyone even tries to speak Georgian.  Very few Georgians speak English.  I should say, very few Georgians over the age of 30 speak English.  Those over 30 speak Russian, but English is one of the most popular majors in the universities, and school children begin English classes in the third grade.  Unfortunately, this means most of my Georgian conversations are with eight- and nine-year olds.  They speak English to me and I try to speak Georgian back to them.  I’m sure it’s quite a sight to any observers – this middle aged American man bending down to use the child as an interpreter while the Georgian adult stands protectively by waiting for the translation.  The important thing is, my cacophonous attempts at speaking Georgian are met by the locals with surprise, joy, and appreciation before we switch to pantomime to get my point across (ever try to pantomine "refried beans?")

At least I don’t have to worry about mixing up the word order.  There is none in Georgian.  If, for example, I’m thirsty I can resolve it with a variety of expressions.  I can say, “I want water” (oh, let’s be realistic; I’m not drinking any water over here) or I can say, “I beer want,” or I can even say, “Beer I want.”  The order isn’t important; the vocabulary says it all.  It makes memorizing the phrases a bit easier because if I mix up the order, it doesn’t matter. 

I’m actually enjoying learning those phrases, too.  While the correct pronunciation and accent of those phrases fare about as well as a balsa wood chair in a sumo wrestler’s dressing room, I have been able to memorize enough phrases to accomplish the basics.  I can tell a driver where to take me, I can order food in a restaurant, I can ask for things in a store, and I can count all the way to ten.  Essentially, I’m a five year old with my own money.  That alone keeps me from being more ignored than the bus boy at Hooter’s. 

My goal is to be able to act as a semi-translator by the time my family comes over to visit in June.  Not sure I’m going to get there, but I’ll keep working at it.  And if I don’t meet my own expectations, so what?  Between Georgian tolerance, an abundance of semi-English speaking school children, and my ever improving ability at pantomime, we’ll be just fine. 

Until next time, thanks for reading and Nakhvomdis (good bye.)     

Celebrating the holidays in Tbilisi

Gilotsavt akhal ts’els!  And for those of you not quite fluent in Georgian yet, Happy New Year!  I have to admit, 2012 brought conflicting emotions here.  On the one hand, it’s hard to be away from home and hearth on the holidays.  You’d think that all those years in the Army and two years in Iraq would have inoculated me from the holiday blues.  And for the most part that’s true.  Still, is there anything lonelier than being puckered up at midnight on New Year’s Eve with no one to kiss? 

 On the other hand, Georgians know how to celebrate the holidays!  Let me take a minute and review the public holidays celebrated here.  Georgia’s national religion is Eastern Orthodox.  That’s significant because the Orthodox Church used a different calendar for most of their history.  When the Church converted to the same calendar the rest of the world uses, the dates didn’t quite match up and there was a 14-day difference.  Let me give you some examples, starting at the beginning, and that’s New Year’s Day.

New Year’s Day is January 1^st.  Unless you’re devoutly Orthodox.  Then you might celebrate New Year’s Day on the old calendar:  January 14^th.  Of course, the government recognizes the “new” calendar for New Year’s Day, so the official holiday is on the 1^st; therefore, businesses, schools, and government offices are closed then and not on the 14^th. 

Christmas, however, is celebrated nationally using the “old” calendar:  January 7^th.  But…some Georgians celebrate Christmas on December 25^th.  And…some Georgians celebrate BOTH Christmases.  Christmases are not the mega-material orgy you see in the US.  While gifts are exchanged, they are usually small and mostly for children.  Christmas is usually celebrated in an amalgam of the ways we celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas:  families get together for a large feast following a formal church service.

One of the more fascinating aspects of Christmas here is the “wish tree.”  A wish tree is made of wood, teased to resemble a combination of a Christmas tree and a broom.  Children whisper their wishes to the tree (instead of sitting on Santa’s lap, which I haven’t seen done anywhere here), and, on Christmas Eve, the tree is tossed into the fireplace and burned.  The wishes go up the fireplace with the smoke, and Santa sniffs the smoke to learn what the child wants for Christmas. 

The next holiday is Epiphany Day, or the Baptism Day of Jesus, on January 19^th.  It’s celebrated with what you’d expect:  a formal church service followed by a family feast. 

Interestingly enough, in Georgia there are two official holidays that celebrate women:  Mother’s Day is March 3^rd and International Women’s Day is March 8^th.  While there are no church services or real celebrations, both are official government holidays and children (of all ages) give presents to their mothers (and mothers-in-law) on Mother’s Day. 

April 9^th is called both Remembrance Day and the Day of National Unity.  It commemorates the April 9 tragedy in1989 when an anti-Soviet demonstration in Tbilisi was dispersed by the Soviet Army, resulting in 20 deaths and hundreds of injuries.  It isn’t really celebrated as much as it’s recognized – sort of like Labor Day in the US.

Easter Sunday and Monday is another holiday that switches back to the “old” calendar.  This year they fall on April 8^th and 9^th.  They are celebrated here just as in the US.  It is first and foremost a religious holiday, but businesses, etc., close on Easter Monday. 

May 9^th is celebrated as the Day of Victory over Fascism, or V-E Day in the US, celebrating the end of World War II.  It isn’t a very “celebratory” day.  It is occasionally marked by local parades, but it’s falling out of favor because it’s connected to the old Soviet Union, and Georgia is trying to get away from any connection with the USSR.

Independence Day is May 26^th.  This day, interestingly enough, doesn’t celebrate the day when Georgia regained its independence from the collapsing USSR.  Instead, it celebrates May 26, 1918, when the National Council of Georgia declared national independence from Tsarist Russia.    

The next two holidays are strictly religious:  August 28^th is St. Mary’s Day and October 14^th is Mtskhetoba, or celebration of first Christian church in Georgia. According to chronicles, the holy shirt of Jesus is buried under this church.

The final official holiday of the year is November 23^rd, St. George’s Day.  St. George is the patron saint of Georgia.  This day also commemorates the Rose Revolution, celebrating the 2003 change of power which took place after widespread protests over disputed parliamentary elections forced then-President Eduard Shevardnadze to resign.

Which leads us back to New Year’s Day.  New Year’s Day is observed primarily through fireworks.  Not “official” fireworks, mind you, but a kind of “hey, let’s go buy some fireworks and blow things up” fireworks.  In the weeks prior to NYD, fireworks stands pop up on every street corner (picture the Kmart parking lot starting around July 1^st).  And we’re not talking about bottle rockets or firecrackers.  Oh, no.  We’re talking about everything from large rockets to mini-ICBMs.  It’s harder to get a driver’s license in this country than it is to purchase large explosives.  Relatively inexpensive, they’re grabbed up by everyone from small kids (I’ve seen kids carrying fireworks tubes that are literally taller than the kid) to elderly women.  Then the fun starts.

As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I retire early for the evening.  The same goes on New Year’s Eve.  At 11:50pm, I woke up to what sounded like gunfire right outside our building.  As if choreographed, the explosions slowly increase until the clock strikes midnight, at which point every one of those cheaply purchased firework tubes are pointed toward the sky and lit.  The entire city, from end to end, is lit up by this amateur production.  It goes on for about 15 minutes, gradually dying off as the remaining ammunition is expended.  The explosions are then replaced by car horns for another five minutes or so before the city stumbles back into the bars, clubs, and private homes for extended celebrations.  (I’ve attached a link to a youtube video that accurately captures the moment.)

To celebrate the holidays, all public transportation is free on official holidays.  Here, that meant Monday, January 2d.  That allowed me to enjoy one of my favorite activities here – bus adventure.  Bus Adventure is simple – you go to the nearest bus stop and get on the first bus that shows up.  (I do this a lot when the buses aren’t free, too.  It makes little difference because bus fare is 50 tetri – 30 cents – so I can ride all day, changing buses frequently, for less than $2.)  When I see something interesting, or I decide I don’t want to go the way the bus is going, or when nature calls, I hop off the bus.  I then walk around until I’m ready to hit the next bus stop and hop on the next bus that shows.  I’ve learned a lot about the city and it’s a fun, cheap way to spend a day.  Who says I don’t get out much?

Unfortunately, there’s a disconnect that the city planners seem to overlook – when the buses are free, the businesses are closed, so there’s really not much to see while you’re riding around free.  Nevertheless, it’s not a bad way to celebrate the holiday.

For all my friends, family, and readers, I hope your holiday was as fun as mine.  I wish you peace and joy in 2012. 

Here’s the link to the video:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZeMAciRjdLQ&feature=related

Gilotsavt akhal ts’els! 

Tbilisi's swinging night life

Let’s start off with one simple fact:  I am not a bar hopper or late-night party guy.  My bedtime is usually around 9:00.  Now, occasionally I may burn the night oil and stay up all the way to 11, but I’m not worth a hoot the next day.  So that’s why it’s so amusing that I’m writing about the night life in Tbilisi. 

And what a night life it is.  Tbilisi has a population of about 1.3 million; that means over 30% of the entire country of Georgia’s population lives here.  (That would equate to a US city of over 90 million people.)  The locals typically go to bars, clubs, and late restaurants – just like anywhere else on Earth.  Tbilisi has two distinct types of bars and clubs – “traditional” Georgian and western.  The more traditional clubs are usually smoke-filled, subterranean rooms where Georgian men gather to drink, smoke, and solve the world’s problems.  In other words, dull. 

The western bars and clubs are also smoke-filled, usually subterranean rooms where a younger crowd gathers to drink, smoke, and forget about the world’s problems.  In our weekend travels this is where we usually end up.  My favorite of these is the Beatles Club opposite the Philharmonic Hall.  A Tbilisi institution, the Beatles Club is decorated to portray the Cavern Club where the Beatles got their start in England.  It is, like many clubs, underground so the ceilings are arched brick supported by thick, roughhewn beams.  Like everything else in the Land of Almost Right, it doesn’t quite get everything right.  The club, for example, is dedicated to “Sir John Winston Lennon” even though:  a) Lennon was never knighted (the only Beatle so honored is Sir Paul McCartney), and b) Lennon legally changed his middle name to Ono after his marriage to Yoko.  The décor consists of copied Beatles’ albums covers, usually in Russian, and photographs which are frequently mislabeled (George is identified as Paul, for instance). 

My favorite part of the Beatles Club is the band.  Consisting of four middle aged (40-45 year olds) local men, the band calls itself “Lennon’s Lovely Hearts Club Band,” an obvious play on Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, in my opinion the Beatles’ best album.  The band plays Beatles tunes, but with an ironic twist – none of the band speaks English.  They have obviously memorized the lyrics phonetically which leads to some – oh, let’s call it interesting – interpretations.  For instance, from “Twist and Shout:”  “…word is our out” instead of “..work it on out.”   “I’ll always be there” comes out “I always been there,” and my personal favorite “my heart went zoom when I crossed the womb” instead of “boom” and “room.”  Still, it’s great fun and the beer’s reasonably priced.

I’ve also enjoyed some time in the Elvis American Diner, which is exactly what you’d expect upon hearing the name.  It is an attempt to recreate a typical American diner, a la Happy Days, with Elvis memorabilia covering the walls.  There’s no live music here, but the background music is from the King’s albums, and the cheeseburger is the closest thing to an American burger you’ll find in town (except, of course, for the two McDonald’s that have managed to wedge their way into Old Town Tbilisi). 

A bar that is worth seeing if only for the amazing amount of Soviet kitsch is the KGB club with the slogan, “We’re still watching you” written in English above the door.  More a late restaurant than a bar or club, the bestselling dishes are Proletarian Pizza and Lenin’s Favorite pizza.  Right down the street from the KGB Club is the Buffalo Bill Bar, Tbilisi’s best effort to reconstruct a Wild West saloon.  Again, it is almost right.  One of the few places in town you can purchase an American beer – Miller’s Genuine Draft at $7 a bottle -- the walls are decorated with $1 bills signed by the customers.  There’s a live band playing American country and western music, and as long as you don’t pay too close attention to the lyrics they don’t sound half bad. 

Adding a German flair to Tbilisi is the Brauhaus Bar and Restaurant.  The Brauhaus is primarily a restaurant until around 9pm when the band tunes up and the kitchen switches to cold plates of sausages, cheese, and bread.  Authentic German beer flows into real German steins and liter mugs and the night’s fun begins.  A quick sidebar here – even though there are many couples and even lots of single men and women in these bars, you rarely see anyone dancing.  The customers mostly just sit and drink and listen to the bands.  Now maybe after we leave (usually before 10p), dancing starts, but it’s strange to sit in a bar with a live band and not see anyone dancing to the music. 

If you prefer your music Irish, I’ll take you to the Dublin.  An alleged Irish pub, the only thing Irish about it is the pint of Guinness they’ll pour you.  A big fan of Guinness, I have only found it here; thus, my repeat visits to scratch that itch. 

Finally, there are the ex-pat bars.  Tbilisi is home to many Americans and they mostly frequent one of two bars depending on their age.  The “younger” crowd (30-50 years old) can be found in the Anchor Bar, owned by an American woman who settled here over 15 years ago.  The Anchor Bar is more along the line of what we’d call a “sports bar.”  There are several TVs showing live sports and they offer free WiFi.  They also serve a Sunday morning brunch that is the closest thing you’ll find here to an American breakfast – scrambled eggs, pancakes, and gravy and biscuits.  On rare Sundays, they’ll even offer grits. 

The older Americans hang out in the Hotel Betsy, aka “east Florida.”  The atmosphere is, as you’d expect, quieter, the conversation more muted, and the nostalgia level painfully high.  The view from the barroom, however, is sensational and during Friday happy hours, you can get free American food – sliders or turkey sandwiches being my preferences. 

The opportunities for late night exploring in Tbilisi are endless.  There is, it seems, on every corner a restaurant, bar, or club.  None of them, however, can compare to my favorite evening hangout – at home with my wife.  That is especially poignant as we get closer to Christmas.  Tbilisi dresses up for Christmas – lights and Christmas trees are everywhere and this is one thing the Land of Almost Right does get right. 

You can get an example of Tbilisi at Christmas by clicking on the link below.  Have a happy holiday season, my friends.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U4Obg6gflzY&feature=related

How "bizarre" got its name

We moved into our new digs this week – we've taken over an entire hotel with the dubious name of The Iranians Hotel (google it if you don’t believe me).  It was a home for Persian guest workers and met our needs quite nicely.  It’s 12 rooms, along with the kitchen and dining room, had not been cleaned, refurnished, or modernized since the 1970s.  I live in the “penthouse,” the top floor consisting of a small bedroom with a wardrobe, a full bath (albeit a very cramped and crowded full bath), and a large sitting room with a balcony overlooking the western edge of Tbilisi.

What this exodus from the Marriott in downtown Tbilisi to the Iranians Hotel (what we have now renamed the Alamo) caused was a shopping rush.  I, for example, had to find sheets, towels, cleaning supplies (in industrial strength and quantity), nightstand lamps, clothes hangers, and laundry detergent.  In the good ol’ USA, one would simply pop down to Walmart, fill your cart, whip out some plastic, and go home, possibly stopping off at the local McDonald’s on the way.   Ah, to be so richly “blessed.”   

Here in Tbilisi, we do have a similarly equipped store to Walmart – it’s called, and I’m not making this up – the Goodwill Store.  Picture a Super Walmart, if you will – the Goodwill store has the same number of items – lightbulbs, clothing, garden supplies, etc. – but with a limited quantity of brands.  Take laundry detergent, for instance.  Your choice is simple:  take the brand on the shelf or don’t.  There is not the opportunity to say, “Hmm, this Tide is $2.99 for 16 ounces, while the generic brand is $4.99 for 48 ounces.”  There is only the opportunity to say, “Hmm.  Laundry detergent.  Do I want the little bag of Berta (the actual name of the most popular laundry detergent in country) or the big bag of Berta?”   Anyway, I did pick up some items there – clothes hangers, the aforementioned Berta laundry detergent, and some towels.  The other items were nowhere to be found.

That leads me to the topic of this essay – the Dinamo Bazaar.  (There should be a trumpet fanfare as you read those last two words.  That is the impact and impression of the Dinamo Bazaar.)  The Dinamo (pronounced Din-NAM-oh, and named after the stadium in whose shadow it resides – the Dinamo Stadium, home to the local football [soccer] club, the Tbilisi Dinamos) Bazaar is how the adjective “bizarre” gained its reputation.  Let me try to describe it to you, even though I know well in advance that my poor power to describe it in writing will do the Bazaar absolutely no justice.  The Dinamo Bazaar (known hereafter simply as “the bazaar”) is approximately 8-10 square city blocks.  That’s not a misprint.  Most of it is under a series of roofs that give the bazaar the initial impression of being in a series of large airplane hangars.  There is a lot of the bazaar that has spilled out of the protective roof and is open-air.  The bazaar is packed – booth after booth, stall after stall – of every item one could conceive.  The pathways are approximately two people wide if one is an anorexic supermodel.  The din is awe-inspiring – vendors hawking their wares, people shouting for suddenly lost children and loved ones, money changers shouting out the most up to date exchange rate (which, by the way, is GEL 1.65 for $1, GEL an abbreviation of GEorgian Lari), and customers shouting for directions from anyone who can help. 

This being the Republic of Georgia, there is no organized floor plan to the bazaar.  Paths meander like trails in a rabbit warren.  It’s not uncommon to walk down a path only to find yourself either back where you started or out on the street outside the bazaar, looking for a way back in.  Nevertheless, there is some organization to the bazaar, and that is by like items.  Looking for a jacket?  All the jacket vendors are in the same place.  Want some brand new “Nike’s” (and, yes, the use of quotation marks around Nike are deliberate; draw your own conclusions) to go with that new jacket?  All the shoe stalls are down this path – take a left, then a right, then a left down the stairs, and go around the kitchen appliances.  Just a short walk into the bazaar will take you past the hats, gloves, and scarf sector; the video games and computer software stalls; kitchen wares; school supplies; books, magazines, and DVDs; religious icons; playing cards, toys, and diapers; linens; electronics; power tools, to include chainsaws; auto parts; to whatever else you could ever want.  In short, if it isn’t in the bazaar, you don’t need it and won’t find it in country.

Outside the bazaar, in the open air portion, is where you’ll find the Tbilisi equivalent of the West Chester Grower’s Market – fruits, vegetables, meat and fish (usually just hanging from a clothesline or sitting on a makeshift wooden table), and assorted grains, spices, and condiments.  This is also where you’ll find large, bulkier items like carpets, TV sets, and used cars.  It makes you shake your head to wonder what kind of family needs to purchase 50kg bags of coffee beans, rice, and angel hair pasta (that’s 110 pounds!), but that’s a typical packaging.  Salt, for example, comes in 10kg bags – 22 pounds.  Sugar, unprocessed and in large crystals, can be bought in 5, 10, or 20 kg bags.  You don’t really see the smaller quantities available in the US and Europe.  No two-pound box of oatmeal or 8 oz. containers of curry here; the motto is definitely “go big or go home” when it comes to shopping.

OK, you’re found your items and you’re ready to buy.  Unlike the rest of the country (to include bakeries and supermarkets), prices in the bazaar are non-negotiable.  They’re the same in every stall – the 10 Lari jacket you like in this stall is 10 Lari in the next stall and the next stall and the one after that.  It is strictly a binary option – take it or leave it.  While denying the sport of haggling, it really isn’t necessary in the bazaar.  Prices are pretty reasonable; one might even say cheap.  Let me give you the rundown of my purchases yesterday as evidence.  I bought:  12 wooden pants hangers and 12 wooden shirt hangers; two towels; a bottle of glass cleaner and a bottle of bathroom cleaner; a bucket to carry them in; a set of sheets (consisting of a sheet – for some reason, the idea of fitted sheets hasn’t seem to have caught on here – a pillowcase, and a duvet cover); a small lamp for my nightstand; and a plastic trashcan.  The total cost for all these items was less than 50Lari – about $30. 

So you’ve purchased a couple of 50kg bags to complete your shopping trip.  How do you get them home?  There are men and boys who walk around with flatbeds like you’d see at Home Depot or a large nursery.  For a tip (usually 1 Lari, about 60 cents, 2 Lari if you’re parked far away or you have a lot of stuff), these porters will load your purchases on their flatbeds and follow you around until you’re ready to load your car.  This obviously doesn’t help the traffic flow through the narrow aisles.

Remember that stop at McDonald’s you’d make on your way home?  Here, we make a beeline to the world’s greatest shwarma shop.  You’ve seen them – meat carved into the shape of a pyramid spinning on a vertical skewer shaved into a tortilla, covered with yogurt or mayo or ketchup, and garnished with onions, cilantro, hot peppers, or tomatoes.  That’s fast food here, and I can’t get enough of them.  So at the end of a day’s travels (and travails), here are four Americans, laden with bags and shwarmas, piling into a cab for the drive back to the Alamo.  Life as we know it, and not a bad one.  Not bad at all.

Thanks for reading.

Street walking in Tbilisi

Walking around Tbilisi is a bit like walking through the fun house at the carnival.  You see things that don’t look just quite right.  You see things that aren’t really there, and you see things that could be.  You see things that look vaguely familiar, but just don’t look quite as you recall them.  You see things that make you laugh, and you see things that make you flinch.  Occasionally you see something of breathtaking beauty, but mostly what you see is a distortion from the norm.  That’s Tbilisi.  Not that there isn’t potential here.  Potential and, in an agonizingly few cases, absolute magnificence. 

Tbilisi used to be, as you know, a republic in the Soviet Union.  The Georgian Soviet Socialist Republic was treated like a red-headed step child most of the time.  The leadership in Moscow did what was required and little more.  An example is the architecture.  Tbilisi is inundated with Soviet-style apartment blocks.  These blocks look as if they were set down by a giant child playing with blocks.  They are rectangular, uniform, functional (for the most part; more on that later), and remarkably unimaginative and unattractive.  Their unwavering color is concrete.  Made from cinder blocks and concrete, they have all the charm of a mean drunk.  In a few rare instances, on the main road from the airport to downtown Tbilisi for example (a road named George W. Bush Highway), one side of all the buildings (the side facing the road, of course) have been painted.  At one time it was a bright red.  Now, three years later, it’s a pale pink.  The buildings are so ugly that I can’t even photograph them.  The camera lens shuts itself tightly when I point it at one. 

Their beauty is matched only by the quality of their workmanship.  In almost every case, elevators have been broken for years (and many of these apartments are 10-12 stories high).  Bare wires are omnipresent, many humming with electricity.  Washers and dryers, all Soviet-made and built into each apartment, have become little more than a place to toss your keys when you enter the apartment.  And if you like the color “concrete,” you’ll love the interior.  Most are a dull gray that gave up long ago any chance of being attractive.  The only color in most of these buildings is the spray painted graffiti (surprisingly, mostly in English).  Residents hang carpets and unbelievably garish wallpaper over these bare concrete walls, but the shoddiness of the finish is as obvious as Rosie O’Donnell in a dayglo thong. 

And it’s not just the big things that are wrong.  For instance, they don’t seem to have grasped bullnose tile here so counters end abruptly, with the gap between vertical and horizontal half-hazardly filled with caulk and in some cases leftover mortar.  Wire to outlets run along the wall itself, not hidden behind the walls as in the rest of the world.  And plumbing pipes are exposed, the better, I suppose, for the legion of plumbers and DIYers who spend their weekends trying to coax just a little bit more hot water and water pressure from them.  Ugly.  Just ugly.

And then there are the sites in this town that are staggeringly impressive.  Tbilisi is in a valley, surrounded by steep hills.  That hasn’t stopped the Georgians from building on them.  In fact, if there are two rocks on top of one another, the Georgians have built something on it.  One of the most impressive edifices is this large fort that overlooks the river and downtown Tbilisi.  The photo below doesn’t really do the thing justice.  While not incredibly effective, as proven by the number of times Tbilisi has been sacked by invading armies, it is a point of pride to all Georgians – “Look!  We built that a thousand years ago!  And it’s still standing.”  If you can get to it, it provides some of the most beautiful and breathtaking views of the city.  The photos below don’t come close to matching the actual views.  Trust me – the views are spectacular.  Getting there, however, is an exercise in overcoming common sense.  Note you don’t see any goats in any picture of the fort.  That’s because goats are too smart to climb the paths to get there.  These paths are to casual hiking what LT Calley was to thatched huts (look it up; that’s a funny line).  And once you get up to the fort itself, you have this set of stairs to climb that go practically vertical (see the picture below if you don’t believe me).  What makes the whole thing complete is the lack of ANY safety considerations – no handrails, no signs cautioning you not to go up there, no safety nets, and no huge air bags to fall into once you’ve lost your balance.  The only way to climb the steps, and many of the paths leading to the top of the fort, is literally on all fours. If you don’t have vertigo when you start the climb, you’ll have it when you get to the top.  But the views make it worthwhile. 

Even the streets in Old Tbilisi offer their share of impressive buildings and construction.  Many of the old houses have overhanging balconies, some of which literally overhang the river a hundred feet below.  Wine being the national drink, each house has its own arbor, many woven into the actual structure of the house.  Some of the streets are so steep that steps have been built into the side of the street to allow for better downhill access (going uphill is physically demanding but relatively safe; coming downhill reminds you of the power of gravity – you build up speed very quickly with no soft landing anywhere in sight).  It’s amazing, what with average alcohol consumption levels being what they are and combined with the steepness of the streets, that there aren’t little crosses posted at the bottom of each street, much like we do in the US at the sites of deadly car accidents. 

I hope you can see why I enjoy walking the streets so much.  Every turn, every side street, every building makes you stop.  Sometimes you stop to marvel, other times you stop to figure out how that building is still standing, and yet other times you stop just to shake your head and laugh (see the final picture below).  But one thing’s for sure – there’s always something to see in Tbilisi.

Thanks for reading.