Conundrums in Keda

It has been about two weeks since I last updated and feel as though it is about time, while I have the time, to inform you all of recent happenings.

First and foremost, to get it out of the way, this past week I was hit with phase two of culture shock. The so-called "honeymoon" was over and I felt sudden, inexplicable irritation and sadness.  I have been told about culture shock and know that it can be very real, that it is okay, and that the difficulties usually do not last...that is, if you do not let them.  It is up to the individual to fight it and remain openminded, which is what I have done while also making sure to take care of myself. I do not think this "phase" is over, but I have done my best to keep my spirits up, to remember why I am here, and to enjoy being here.  In a place like Keda, where heavy rains are the biggest thing to usually happen, one has to take pleasure in the small things - in meeting people, being invited into a pharmacy for coffee, and talking with a security guard who immediately brightens when he learns that you are an American.

Less than a month into my grant and I am already trying to figure what I am going to do after it is complete.  It is something over which I am extremely torn and go back and forth on constantly. Three forces, each of immense value to me, are swarming in my brain telling me what it is I should do.  There never has really been any doubt about wanting to go to graduate school, if such an opportunity under the right circumstances (funding, primarily) opened up, I would do it in a heartbeat.  This past summer, I sent out applications to potential jobs that I have wanted to be in for as long as I have thought about careers - and I received a call back. Since I was going abroad, their was nothing that they could do, but asked me to reapply when I return to the States in 2014. A career could also help me get to graduate school. Yet, I am a time in my life where I am not tied down by family or career and the time to travel is now.  A week before I found I was accepted into the Fulbright program, I was offered a job to teach English in Russia, which, for obvious reasons, I backed out of so I could come to Georgia.  However, in my last conversation with this company, I got the impression that should I want to still come to Russia, I could - I would just have to submit a new application (everything else would still be on file). There are questions to consider...ones that are primarily financial, but this is where I currently stand.  This is the conundrum that sits before me.

Graduate school? That cannot happen without funding and I am not willing to take on more loans.  For those of you who are curious, I am looking to continue in the field of Russian and Eurasian studies which is broad and encompassing of many aspects.  There are schools that look promising.

Career? Well, there is not much explanation needed for this.

Russia? Anyone who knows me knows I love (pretty much) all things Russian.  In the few short weeks I have been in Georgia, another country and culture that I love, I have had to use Russian in order to communicate. Yes, I plan on studying the Georgian language while I am here, but I have realized in a very short period of time, how much I want to become fluent in Russian. Yes, I can go to graduate school and take classes; yes, I can enter a career and be trained in the language; but what better place to learn Russian than Russia?

I have not made any decisions yet.  These three forces are jumping and clawing and fighting for first place.

Now...back to Georgia! I did not go through a difficult application process and even longer time waiting for news to just throw my experiences under the bus as I figure out the next step of my life. No. It is important to live in the present, to bask in it, to smile and enjoy (even in difficult moments) something only a handful of people get to do. Despite the culture shock, despite homesickness, I am thrilled to be here.

I have always scoffed at the idea of being a teacher, but I have found that, under the right circumstances, I enjoy it. This happens to be one of those circumstances - I am in a place that I love teaching another language that I love, English. Right before I left the States, at a professor's suggestion, I bought a guide on the English language and have now found myself reading this guide like a book.  I find topics such as grammar and syntax fascinating. Linguistics was something I discovered all too late in college...

Soon, I will provide an update on what it is like to actually teach in Keda Public School. I will have more to say when I have figured out my schedule and when I can actually plan activities for the students.  But for now, here are pictures of the home in which I am living:

The house in which I am living. My room is
with the two windows on the right hand side. This is
Tiko's garden in the foreground.

My bedroom. I have since switched to the left side and have made
my bed. Tiko remade it like this, although the next day
she told me it would not do and redid it a different way.

The living room. 

The kitchen.

The cats: Jackson is sitting on top of Alex.

Time will only tell where I will be in a year...

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.

A Creative Piece: The Georgian Supra

I want to share with my readers a piece of creative nonfiction that I wrote about an experience I had in Georgia last year, while traveling there on Spring Break with a friend who was on the same study abroad program as me in Saint Petersburg, Russia.

Lastest draft, February 2013

The setting sun bathed the buildings in a soft, peach glow. The road, if you could call it that, split into dozens of impossibly angled alleys - steep, pockmarked, and narrow. Clotheslines hung between open windows and the air was fragrant with spice. I turned right, squeezing past the crookedly parked, rusting white Lada, and the three men standing around the open hood. Voices drifted down from the balconies that littered the neighborhood, settling down to the ground in a way that made me feel unafraid. The language was thick and musical - it was unlike anything I had ever heard. Georgian was ancient, unique only to that region, and unrelated to any other language in the world. I could not help but smile, it burst onto my face like a clap of thunder. This was the language that I wanted to learn; this was the place that I wanted to be: a small corner of the world that barely experienced the breath of foreigners. 

I did not know where I was going at that particular moment. Having not picked up a map of the city anywhere, I had only left my little hotel with directions to Rustaveli Avenue, the main thoroughfare in Tbilisi, Georgia. At that particular moment, standing up on the hill in a break between buildings beneath a pomegranate tree, I could see Rustaveli Avenue sparkle in the distance. Cupping the camera that hung securely around my neck, I raised it to eye level and snapped a picture of the very heart of the city, Liberty Square, its gold column glistening in the light of the setting sun. Beyond that I could see the ragged peaks of the Caucasus Mountains.  

View of the Old Tbilisi Sulphur Baths District
and Peace Bridge (the glass structure)

“Hey, Greta.” My friend, Ely, sidled up beside me and proudly showed me a picture he had just taken. Ely had come along with me almost on a whim, impressed by the fact that I had planned this trip on my own and had chosen a place that was not well known to the outside the world. In fact, he had told me quite frankly before leaving our study abroad homes in Saint Petersburg, Russia that although he had heard of Georgia, he did not know anything about it. I did not care; I was just pleased that I had company and had someone with whom I could share my knowledge of the region. Not only that, I was pleased to have someone come along with me, as I probably could not have and would not have wanted to make this trip alone. I am not one to fear traveling, visiting, and exploring new places, it was just safer to have someone along with me. We were pioneers for our study abroad program as no one in its fifty-year history had ever gone to Georgia before. In a way, this was my trip – this region, the Caucasus, held special meaning in my heart and I was here for several reasons. The simplest reason was that I had wanderlust and a love for exploring exotic, not very well known places. I love experiencing the local, cultural flavor and that sometimes means going off the beaten track. The more complicated reason was that I wanted to feel the region out, I have had an interest in the place for close to ten years – prompted by a news segment about conflict in a little town called Beslan in the North Caucasus – and I wanted to make sure my heart was in the right place.   

Suddenly, a soccer ball came whizzing out from a shadowy passage with a group of children tumbling after it. They all stopped when they saw Ely and me, their eyes bright, wide, and curious. “Hello,” said one of the girls in hesitant English, the corners of her lips flickering upwards.   

“Gamarjoba,” I responded back with one of the only Georgian words that I knew.

The girl startled, then scampered off to catch her friends, her rich dark hair glinting in the sun.

Ely and I ambled on for a few more minutes, marveling at the warmth of that early April evening. It made me happy to know that Ely also had a desire to experience the exotic and the unknown. Instead of staying in a bulky Western-style hotel, we stayed at a little hole-in-the-wall place that was nestled in the heart of Tbilisi's Old Town. Only a few blocks away stood a magnificent Georgian Orthodox cathedral called the Holy Trinity, but closer, just spending a lot of morning time staring out the window, I observed stray cats and dogs. A man retiled a roof, a woman cooked in a kitchen, and a young girl readied for school. It was wonderful just to be able to inhale the fresh mountain air and feel the warmth of the spring sun on my face. I knew Ely agreed with me. As I was about to take a picture, a man leaning out over the railing of his balcony caught my attention.  

 “Privet!” The man shouted down in Russian with a wide warm grin on his face. “Come and have a drink!”

 Glancing at Ely, I frowned. “I don't know about this. Let's keep wandering.”

“Come! Drink!” The man called out again, waving us up, his grandchildren playfully jumping up and down the stairs.

I shook my head as emphatically as I possibly could. “No, thank you!” It was hard for me to fathom what was unfolding before me. I had always heard of the supposedly legendary hospitality of the Georgian people - that guests were considered blessings, that Georgians were sincere, ready, and willing to share feasts with complete strangers. This was something that happened in travel books, to others, but to me? I shook me head again, wondering how I could make this man realize that Ely and I were just passing through.

The man would not have any of it – he clapped his hands against the railing, then swung his arms up into the air, his smile growing ever wider. “Come!”

Ely glanced at me, eyebrows raised, his pupils flickering with consideration. His wanderlust and need for the exotic was getting the better of him. This was what happened when you spent time with Ely just as when you spent time with me – we are both willing to do interesting things, different things, things that many people would not think to do. Both he and I had determined, without ever expressing it verbally to one another, that this man had probably never seen foreigners come up this way before. Most foreigners, or should I say tourists, stayed on the main drag drinking in bars or were already in their hotel rooms in some Marriot, trying to find a television channel in English. But that was definitely not us. Again, Ely raised his eyebrows. “What do you think? Let's just go.”  

For a moment more, I thought about what to do and then I remembered one of the reasons I had wanted to travel to Georgia in the first place – I wanted to experience its culture. Reluctantly I nodded, my heart fluttering as I followed Ely onto the first creaky wooden stair up to the man's home.

“Hello!” The plump, jovial man said again in Russian as Ely and I reached the balcony. “My name is Shota. I am named after the great Georgian poet, Shota Rustaveli.” He motioned for us to sit down at the two open chairs that happened to be there across from him at the small table.  

Our host.

We introduced ourselves and when we told him that we were both American, his face lit up.

Within less than a minute, there were two glasses in front of Ely and me, filled to the brim with Georgian white wine. There were also plates filled with lamb, cheese, bread, and fresh vegetables. Before we could start eating however, Shota raised his glass for a toast. “To my new American friends!”  

I took a sip of wine, watching carefully from the rim of my glass as Shota drained the wine into the back of his throat in one gulp. I took a bigger sip.   

As soon as I set my glass down, Shota reached over and poured more wine into my glass.  

Georgians are known to be masterful hosts – masterful in making any guest feel welcome. Drinking, eating, and toasting are all serious art forms and are as much a part of the Georgian culture as its religion, dance, and music.  

Ely tried to speak to Shota, but the words that fell from his mouth were jumbled and incomprehensible. “Greta, how do I ask Shota about his family in Russian?”

My heart began to palpitate in my chest as I interpreted his question to Shota, the Russian sailing from my lips with an ease and confidence that I had never quite felt before. It was exhilirating to be able to speak solely in Russian; English could not be used as a safeguard, for Shota and his family did not know it.   

During a lull in the conversation, I turned in my chair and gazed down at the city. Anywhere in America the view would be worth millions, but in Georgia – a country clearly still developing – it belonged to Shota. By what I could gather, Shota was no where close to being a wealthy man or even middle class. It did not matter. I tried to spot all the different churches and mosques and synagogues that rose mightily above the homes in the Old Tbilisi neighborhood – they glowed more prominently than any of the other buildings in the city, a true mark of the country's multi-cultured heritage. The Mtkvari River cut through the heart, the ragged cliffs reaching up one side now enveloped by shadows as the sun ducked below the horizon.  

“My love!” Shota exclaimed, raising his arms up as his wife emerged onto the balcony, carrying a basket of freshly baked bread. “We need more wine.”

Shota's wife glanced at Ely and I, and smiled warmly, as if seeing two Americans sitting on her porch was something that was a normal occurrence.   

That night, Shota was the Tamada, the artful toastmaster of our Georgian feast. His body seemed to swell with immense pride and his eyes danced with hope and happiness. This was a role in which he felt comfortable and at ease. “I want to make another toast.”  

A warm breeze tickled my cheek as I raised my glass once more. In that moment, I knew in my heart that I had made the right choice, that ten years of study had been validated, and that there was no other place on earth that I would have rather been in that moment. I did not know that it was possible to fall even more in love with that country – but I did.  

“May you enjoy your stay in Georgia...and come again tomorrow night!”  

Copyright 2013 

First Days in Georgia

Georgia is incredible.

Tbilisi from the Mtatsminda Ferris Wheel (on top of a mountain)

Of course, I say that now, in what may very well likely be a honeymoon phase of culture shock, but nonetheless, I think Georgia is worth that very simple description (if for many not-so-simple reasons).

View of Old Tbilisi and the Tsminda Sameba Cathedral (Holy Trinity)

I have been here only two days and already there is much to tell. This blog, I am hoping, will serve many purposes. I want to reflect, to comment, to compare, to discuss, and to simply put words to what I am experiencing. Sometimes it will be just a travel blog, and sometimes, I am hoping, it will be much more than that. Fulbright is offering me such a fantastic opportunity by sending me abroad for an extended period of time, something I have wanted ever since leaving Russia last year.

To start off, the flight over here was uneventful (which is exactly how I like a travel day to go). I will not go into it much, because I do not believe it is really that interesting. I watched a movie, I read, I did not sleep, and I was ripped off by a currency exchange at the Munich airport. That pretty much covers it all. Jet lag, so far, does not seem to be too much of a problem for me (it did not when I first arrived in Russia, either).

My first day here was pleasant. After getting a scant amount of sleep, I went out in search for an ATM. I knew there was a metro stop not too far from the hotel where I am staying and thought there must surely be an ATM there (based off my experience in Saint Petersburg). After that endeavor, I went and bought water from the same little supermarket I stopped at when I was here last year, and then proceeded to wander. Wandering would have to be one of my favorite activities.  I just love getting to know a place, feeling it, experiencing it. I do not want to see just what the tourist sees. In Missoula, I did not just want to be a student who went to college, I wanted it to be a home. Perhaps this love of wandering fuels my interest in traveling and seeing new places.  So, that is what I did on my first afternoon in Georgia, I wandered. I also happened to take pictures, and because I am a shutterbug, I took a lot of them.

Grape vines grow everywhere. There are some vines, I have been told,
that are over 100 years old. Grape harvests occur in early autumn.

Wandering around Old Tbilisi (in the Avlabari District)

Later in the day, I met up with a fellow Fulbrighter, and we had dinner at his Georgian friend's home.  The elder hostess, Juli, immediately served me food upon entering her home.  Any time I would stop and chat with K, she would say, "Kushi, kushi (eat, eat)" and then proceed to tell me that I am too skinny.  While there, I met a man (whose relationship with Juli I do not remember) who vehemently told me that I needed his number so I could contact him in case I had a problem and so I could visit the bar at which he works.  He also told me he has connections; he told me that one of his good friends is a policemen.  Eventually, K suggested we leave before Juli served us more food.

After stopping at the hostel K was staying at, we decided to walk over to my hotel, but took the long way and ended up trailing through the more bustling/commercial section of Old Tbilisi. We ended up sampling Georgian wine for free and bought ice cream. I had black current ice cream and it had to be some of the most delicious ice cream I have ever had. I don't know what it was - the flavor or how it was made - but it just was so good (a boring word, I know). After crossing the Mtkvari River and walking along a busy thoroughfare, we found a tunnel that would take us to the other side without risking our lives...or so we thought.  This tunnel was not lit. It was pitch black. Tonight I went through it alone...note to self: bring a flashlight.

Wednesday was another busy day, but busy in a good way.  Before I get into it, I just wanted to stop and reflect on what it feels like to be abroad on 9/11.  So much has changed since that day, for better and for worse; personally, nationally, and internationally. Twelve years ago, I was in fifth grade, sitting under an easel listening to the principal tell us over the PA system what was happening.  Now, I am in Tbilisi, Georgia, on a Fulbright grant, at the beginning of what will likely be a life-changing journey. What is interesting, is that just as I clearly remember what I was doing on 9/11 because of the sheer horror that was unfolding in America; I remember, just as clearly, the moment I found out I received this grant, for the sheer joy it brought to me and to those who know me. There are defining moments in life, and twelve years after one moment, I am experiencing another.

The other two Fulbrighters arrived in early this morning and after lunch, all four of us met up. The first thing we did was visit an amusement park of sorts on the top of a mountain called Mtatsminda. To get up there, we took a funicular which, to much relief, was built fairly recently.  I read an article not long before I left about a mining town in Georgia that still uses aerial trams from the Stalinist era (built in the 1940s and 1950s).  I don't think any of us are planning on going on those any time soon.  We rode on a ferris wheel, also recently built, that soured high above Tbilisi.

The Funicular up to Mtatsminda Amusement Park

The Ferris Wheel at Mtatsminda Amusement Park

Afterwards, we headed into Old Tbilisi and had dinner by the Peace Bridge (which is definitely not old, but some of the structures around there are not just old, they are ancient).  While eating, a socket blew somewhere nearby me, sending a plume of sparks and smoke pouring onto our table.

As the sun began to set, we took a ride on the very newly completed aerial tram across the Mtkvari River and Old Town (I say newly completed because it was still under construction when I visited last year).  One of the things that is good is that many attractions are free or pretty inexpensive.  Even the food is pretty inexpensive, both in supermarkets and restaurants.

I have also been pleasantly surprised with how well I have been able to use my Russian here. I say surprised because when I first arrived in Russia, I often found myself stumbling and sometimes floundering with spoken Russian, or perhaps more accurately, in my effort to communicate. As time progressed, I got better, but the processing of information always took longer, if not sometimes too long, and I would be left in frustration.  However, in Georgia, so far, I have spoken Russian with relative ease and my ability to process being spoken to has also vastly improved. Overall, these things take time, especially for me when I may not be the quickest language learner.  My Georgian, on the other hand, leaves something to be desired, but that is to be expected and I should fear not. I hope to use both while here, because to do so would be integral to my interests in so many different ways.

So, there you have it, only two days have lapsed and I am already giving you heaps of information.  However, as much as this blog is for my friends and family back home, it is also for me. I want to remember the details of things because over time, unfortunately, some of it will fade from active memory. I want to have a source to which I can look back and say, at the very least, "Oh, yeah!"

"Layers are Your Best Friend."

I have been told this countless times.  Any time I inquire to someone as to what I should pack, this, variably, is included somewhere within the answer.

Less than a week out, and I am still unsure about what I am going to pack much less how many suitcases I am going to bring.  I have been told that less is more and I will certainly take that into account - I do not need my entire wardrobe (I do not even use it all when it is available right in front of me). In the future, I might feature a more comprehensive list or guide for the next soul planning an extended stay in Georgia, but for now, this might be merely for my sake.

First and foremost, I have been told, is that the most important thing or things you could bring to Georgia are items that will keep you warm.  Long underwear, thermal socks, thermal shirts, a good raincoat, winter jacket, hat, gloves (fall, winter), and a scarf.  Oh, a good pair of boots is also a must.  Having journeyed to Russia in the dead of winter, growing up in Chicago, and having gone to school in Montana, the cold really does not faze me all that much.  What concerns me more so is the potential for inadequate heating indoors, most Georgians do not have central heating and some do not have heating at all! For this reason, I am bringing a sleeping bag.

Second, I must bring professional, conservative attire. Blouses, skirts, slacks, dresses.  How much of each? I have yet to determine that.  Earlier this summer, I received an excellent deal on all of the above and think I will be able to adequately mix and match.

Casual wear.  Well, there will be a few items so that I can relax on weekends/go on hikes/take side trips.  Sleepwear will be included.

On the equipment side of things...well, that is a heap of things all of its own.  Where to begin? Head lamp, flashlights (electricity is not entirely reliable, especially outside of major cities and in old Soviet-bloc style apartment buildings), extra pair of glasses, sunglasses, gifts, cold medicine, adaptors, cameras, batteries, external hard drive, thumb drives, memory cards, and what else...lots more, which has all, unsurprisingly, been forgotten at this current juncture (but luckily is piled in various parts of my room).

Basically, what this all comes down to is that packing for this type of trip just stresses me out.

Over and out.