Let me start off by saying that I grew up in Chicago, I went to school in Montana, and I studied abroad in Russia. Winters do not scare me. However, I had never before been more nervous about an upcoming winter than I was about this one despite living in a supposed subtropical region. All throughout autumn, the weather was beautiful, sunny, and warm. I kept thinking to myself, "I am going to pay for this, I just know it."
And I was right.
The snow started falling on the 8th of December as I was making the trek back to Keda from Kutaisi. It was wet, heavy, thick and as I crawled further and further into the mountains of Adjara, its intensity increased. By the time I reached the doorstep of my host family's house, my fall boots were soaked and toes cold - I made haste to change into some dry clothes and plopped down by the wood burning stove. I have become quite a fixture there, a stalwart figure, as sure to see as long as a fire roared inside. At that moment, I was not too worried, the lights blazed and I was cozy, not to mention that the previous weather forecast calling for a foot of snow had been horrendously wrong. It might be fair to say that this weather forecast was also horrendously inaccurate - it had called for eight inches of snow to a foot and by the time the storm cleared out on Friday, we had over three feet of fresh powder. At eleven in the evening, the power went out, but I was not terribly concerned, this kind of stuff happens regularly in rural Georgia, so I packed it up and went to bed.
Monday morning, my host mom burst into my bedroom to declare: "Грета, идёт большой снег! У нас нет светa и нет школы/Greta, idyot bol'shoi sneg! U nas nyet sveta i net shkoly!" (Greta, it is snowing hard [direct translation big]! We have no power and no school!" I repeated what she said just to make sure I had heard her correctly and promptly snuggled back into my mummy sleeping bag, closing my eyes.
That first day, I visited some neighbors with my host mother, went on a walk up the mountain beyond my house, and read. The first day, I found it all exciting, if not mildly horrified and in denial that the power could be out for at least ten days according to two of my Peace Corps friends. I spent that first day reading about a topic that I love, religion and politics, in a place that I love, Georgia. That first day, all was well if not a little cold.
I had not even bothered setting my alarm for Tuesday as I knew there would be no school. A call from the Embassy woke me up. Day two was spent much like day one with the added activities of solitaire on my iPod and snowman/snowball fights with Giorgi. Sunshine made a tease of an appearance in the morning until giving way to more snow by the afternoon.
As night set in, I started growing anxious. My host family had nothing but a couple of lonely candles to light the living room (the only room in the house to have heat, thanks to a wood burning stove). Darkness and cold seeped in through the walls, creeping through the room and around my body like tentacles. Luckily, I had brought a flashlight and headlamp with me and that made trips to the bathroom and getting ready for bed all the more easier. I went to bed early, as there was little to do once it grew dark except to read, which was fine, but I had to conserve energy on my Kindle. This was the time I broke out my guide to English grammar.
Wednesday morning came and the snow was falling down hard. By this time, at least three feet of snow had fallen with no end in sight. I walked into town and watched marshrutka drivers chaining up their vehicles as well as numerous awkward standoffs on the Batumi-Akhaltsikhe highway as the road had been narrowed to barely one lane.
By Thursday, my patience was starting to wear thin. I did Thursday what I had done the days before. That night, it was our neighbors' turn to schlep to our house (we had been swapping) for Turkish coffee and mandarins. I entertained everyone by dancing with Giorgi and by singing silly kid songs in English. It passed the time as did a shower by candlelight.
Friday, day five of no power and no heat in my bedroom, and I had pretty much snapped. The only good thing to happen was it finally stopped snowing and the sun had come out. I tried to keep my spirits up by going on a walk and playing a word game with Giorgi, but I could hardly focus. I tried reading, but a low battery message kept flashing on the screen of my Kindle. Of course, I also read actual books, which I do prefer, but there was nothing in that form I could use to escape reality. My day was spent either staring at the wall or biting my lip to hold back tears. I had contacted the Embassy the day before to ask the local power company on my behalf about when the power would come back. The response had been: "We have no idea." My host mom remarked that it could be a month for the surrounding villages but then proceeded to unsuccessfully assure me that Keda would have power by Sunday.
It did not matter. I had had enough. You can take the girl out of America but you cannot take America out of the girl. Say what you want about my generation's dependency on technology, but my computer is a lifeline, especially living in a foreign country. I use it to communicate with friends and family; I use it as a window to the world. Living in a foreign country in a town surrounded by mountains, I felt sort of trapped. My host family is great and I have great conversations with them, but I had no idea what was going on at that time which made the situation all the more frustrating. Without my computer, I was stranded and in distress.
Saturday, I left Keda and made the long trek into Batumi where there was power and heat. Normally, the marshrutka ride takes about forty minutes, but Saturday it took about two hours. I checked into a hotel and had a conversation with the Embassy about the situation and my frame of mind. It was agreed that I should stay in the city, at least temporarily, until the power came back on and or school reopened.
Part of the delay in the restoration of power is due to the fact that the winter storm caused a significant amount of damage to the power plant and power lines in Adjara. For the first couple of days, the entire region was without electricity. Essential services ground to a halt and Batumi had to buy its power from Turkey to get those services up and running again. Much of the mountainous inland was rendered accessible only via helicopter due to all the snow and cold, making it very difficult to repair the extensive damage.
So, there you have it, the story in grisly detail. A cousin said that these were pioneer days, something I found to be fairly apt. Or, maybe, a little bit more developing world than I bargained for. It is day eighteen and as far as I know, there is still no power.
And I was right.
The snow started falling on the 8th of December as I was making the trek back to Keda from Kutaisi. It was wet, heavy, thick and as I crawled further and further into the mountains of Adjara, its intensity increased. By the time I reached the doorstep of my host family's house, my fall boots were soaked and toes cold - I made haste to change into some dry clothes and plopped down by the wood burning stove. I have become quite a fixture there, a stalwart figure, as sure to see as long as a fire roared inside. At that moment, I was not too worried, the lights blazed and I was cozy, not to mention that the previous weather forecast calling for a foot of snow had been horrendously wrong. It might be fair to say that this weather forecast was also horrendously inaccurate - it had called for eight inches of snow to a foot and by the time the storm cleared out on Friday, we had over three feet of fresh powder. At eleven in the evening, the power went out, but I was not terribly concerned, this kind of stuff happens regularly in rural Georgia, so I packed it up and went to bed.
Monday morning, my host mom burst into my bedroom to declare: "Грета, идёт большой снег! У нас нет светa и нет школы/Greta, idyot bol'shoi sneg! U nas nyet sveta i net shkoly!" (Greta, it is snowing hard [direct translation big]! We have no power and no school!" I repeated what she said just to make sure I had heard her correctly and promptly snuggled back into my mummy sleeping bag, closing my eyes.
That first day, I visited some neighbors with my host mother, went on a walk up the mountain beyond my house, and read. The first day, I found it all exciting, if not mildly horrified and in denial that the power could be out for at least ten days according to two of my Peace Corps friends. I spent that first day reading about a topic that I love, religion and politics, in a place that I love, Georgia. That first day, all was well if not a little cold.
 |
| The trees above my house. |
 |
| My house. |
I had not even bothered setting my alarm for Tuesday as I knew there would be no school. A call from the Embassy woke me up. Day two was spent much like day one with the added activities of solitaire on my iPod and snowman/snowball fights with Giorgi. Sunshine made a tease of an appearance in the morning until giving way to more snow by the afternoon.
As night set in, I started growing anxious. My host family had nothing but a couple of lonely candles to light the living room (the only room in the house to have heat, thanks to a wood burning stove). Darkness and cold seeped in through the walls, creeping through the room and around my body like tentacles. Luckily, I had brought a flashlight and headlamp with me and that made trips to the bathroom and getting ready for bed all the more easier. I went to bed early, as there was little to do once it grew dark except to read, which was fine, but I had to conserve energy on my Kindle. This was the time I broke out my guide to English grammar.
 |
| The lonely candle |
Wednesday morning came and the snow was falling down hard. By this time, at least three feet of snow had fallen with no end in sight. I walked into town and watched marshrutka drivers chaining up their vehicles as well as numerous awkward standoffs on the Batumi-Akhaltsikhe highway as the road had been narrowed to barely one lane.
By Thursday, my patience was starting to wear thin. I did Thursday what I had done the days before. That night, it was our neighbors' turn to schlep to our house (we had been swapping) for Turkish coffee and mandarins. I entertained everyone by dancing with Giorgi and by singing silly kid songs in English. It passed the time as did a shower by candlelight.
 |
| A very stranded marshrutka |
 |
| The Batumi-Akhaltsikhe Highway |
Friday, day five of no power and no heat in my bedroom, and I had pretty much snapped. The only good thing to happen was it finally stopped snowing and the sun had come out. I tried to keep my spirits up by going on a walk and playing a word game with Giorgi, but I could hardly focus. I tried reading, but a low battery message kept flashing on the screen of my Kindle. Of course, I also read actual books, which I do prefer, but there was nothing in that form I could use to escape reality. My day was spent either staring at the wall or biting my lip to hold back tears. I had contacted the Embassy the day before to ask the local power company on my behalf about when the power would come back. The response had been: "We have no idea." My host mom remarked that it could be a month for the surrounding villages but then proceeded to unsuccessfully assure me that Keda would have power by Sunday.
It did not matter. I had had enough. You can take the girl out of America but you cannot take America out of the girl. Say what you want about my generation's dependency on technology, but my computer is a lifeline, especially living in a foreign country. I use it to communicate with friends and family; I use it as a window to the world. Living in a foreign country in a town surrounded by mountains, I felt sort of trapped. My host family is great and I have great conversations with them, but I had no idea what was going on at that time which made the situation all the more frustrating. Without my computer, I was stranded and in distress.
 |
| Keda Public School (where I work) |
Saturday, I left Keda and made the long trek into Batumi where there was power and heat. Normally, the marshrutka ride takes about forty minutes, but Saturday it took about two hours. I checked into a hotel and had a conversation with the Embassy about the situation and my frame of mind. It was agreed that I should stay in the city, at least temporarily, until the power came back on and or school reopened.
Part of the delay in the restoration of power is due to the fact that the winter storm caused a significant amount of damage to the power plant and power lines in Adjara. For the first couple of days, the entire region was without electricity. Essential services ground to a halt and Batumi had to buy its power from Turkey to get those services up and running again. Much of the mountainous inland was rendered accessible only via helicopter due to all the snow and cold, making it very difficult to repair the extensive damage.
So, there you have it, the story in grisly detail. A cousin said that these were pioneer days, something I found to be fairly apt. Or, maybe, a little bit more developing world than I bargained for. It is day eighteen and as far as I know, there is still no power.
