Me var k'edashi (I am in Keda)

I can add that title to the handful of phrases that I know in Georgian.

I suppose I should start at the beginning (which is a very good place to start).  Monday morning, I left Tbilisi and its beautiful, maddening chaos. It is a city filled with juxtapositions - homes stand crumbling next to perfectly painted, glimmering palaces, bridges, and buildings. All of this can happen right next to one another: a charred building losing its facade that is clearly still inhabited standing right across the street from the Presidential Palace that tries hard to look like the White House (with a modern twist).  Anyway, I am losing focus - back to leaving Tbilisi. At the start of the drive, I remarked how the landscape looked a bit like Wyoming - brown, rolling, stark (I say this with no negativity). We (fellow Fulbrighter Shawn and I) passed the center mountain range that splits the country effectively into two climatic zones (the eastern side, which is continental and the west, which is subtropical; the north is alpine) and suddenly, everything was lush and green and behold, there were palm trees! After dropping off Shawn in Kutaisi (the second largest city in Georgia), I continued (with US Embassy staff) on to Keda with the climate getting greener with each passing kilometer until, out of nowhere, the Black Sea emerged, glistening, blue, and beautiful.

Then, we took a left out of Batumi and entered the fabulous Lesser Caucasus Mountain Range of inland Adjara (the region in which Keda is located).

Keda is absolutely gorgeous.  The town, which has one main road upon which stores are located, is situated in a stunning, narrow mountain valley. It is incredibly lush - trees stretch right up to the weather-worn peaks with small homes dotting the mountainside.  The population of the Keda District is roughly 20,000 which is a fairly decent size, but the town proper only makes up a part of that - countless villages dot the landscape who also make up a part of the population.

Downtown Keda (there are a few more buildings on the other side of the road).

Keda on the Acharistskali River

Even though the climate is supposedly subtropical and winters do not get "that" cold, I am still nervous for the upcoming winter. Homes and buildings generally do not have central heating and my host family is among them.  They do have a wood burning stove and electric heaters, but I may have to make a trip to Batumi (about 30 miles away) and invest in a space heater of some sort.  I am ever glad that I decided to bring a mummy bag; I think it will come in handy. Come winter, I will probably be cocooned in it for most of the time while I am at home, and will write to you from there.  I also brought plenty of layers - something every single Fulbright alumnus and long-stay traveler to Georgia has told me when I asked the question: "What should I bring?" Let's cross our fingers that the layers will help.

My host family, by first impressions, seem great. The moment I laid eyes on my host mother, I felt welcome. Let me introduce them: there is Tiko, my host mother; Roman, my host father; and their eleven-year-old son, Giorgi.  Not to mention, neighbors and relatives are constantly streaming in and out of the house - it is always bustling, so I have not yet had the chance to feel lonely in my isolation.  They also have two cats, Jackson and Alex, plus a dog, Charlie who is kept tied up outside.  My host parents do not know a lick of English (aside from "Hello") and so we have been communicating in Russian.  So far, so good. Tiko has been concerned because, according to her, I am not eating enough. I try to explain to her that I am adapting, that I have overcome a recent stomach bug and pneumonia, but still she worries.  And she tells everyone she knows.  I have lost count how many times a Georgian has come up to me and told me that I am too skinny.  My host father thought I did not like Georgian food (something in which Georgians take great pride) and I had to explain all over again the issue.  I don't think he is convinced but he has warmed up to me.

Two small anecdotes: upon my arrival to Keda, there was a cow standing in the doorway of the supermarket and for the past two mornings, I have been awoken by roosters.

Today was also my first day of classes.  It was a bit of a blur in the sense that I was just thrown in. However, today was meant to observe and to shadow, and I did explain to the teachers that in order for me to be of use and to contribute, I need to know beforehand what it is that will be the focus of the lesson.  That way, I can prepare activities and exercises that will (hopefully) be fun and engaging.

The best experiences I have had in the short time I have been here is the time I have spent with Giorgi. He does not know Russian and his spoken English is as about as good as my spoken Georgian (we are a comical display of gestures and pointing. He is proud that he knows "Gangnum style and Michael Jordan" and is very excited to tell me this) Yesterday, he and three of his friends: Tamona, Nini, and Nikosha took me up into the hills behind his home.  Along the way, as we passed village after village and cow and after cow, more and more children would join us, until our group swell to about ten (more or less).  Today, Giorgi and Tamona showed me around town and again, we picked up more children.  I do think that he is basking in some of this new found popularity for having an American staying with him - he really seems to enjoy having me there.

From left to right: Nini, Tamona, Giorgi, and Nikosha (THIS...)

Swelled into THIS which grew even larger. (I don't know all their names)

The beautiful mountains around Keda.

I am just settling into small-town life in Keda and I imagine I need to give myself a little bit more time before heading out and exploring the rest of Georgia.  To close this post, I will tell you a story that occurred merely hours ago.  Because Keda is in a subtropical, humid climate and there is no such thing as screens, there are a lot of bugs.  Mosquitos abound here and have bitten me plenty.  At dinner, I scratched a couple bites to which my host father jumps out of his seat and asks: "Bug bite?" I nod and he races into his bedroom. Moments later, he returns and begins rubbing a clear liquid over my bites. I give him a curious look and he says: "Vodka."

The itching stopped.