Nawria POW!

The Georgian language is a funny, fickle thing: For all of its 33 phonetic characters--most of which sound like pigs being gutted or Coke bottles being cracked open--there is no f sound.  To put this in perspective, there is a qkh sound.  And gh.  And kh and t' and t's.  (Just try whispering sweet nothings in your Georgian beloved's ear with those oratory roses.)  But no f.  So, somewhere in the lines of transliteration, my beautiful Belgian nom de famille became "pho," which my school director pronounces with great gusto as "POW."  As in, "KaPOW!" 

It makes me sound like a superhero.  I think I'm going to legally have it changed when I get home.

How my first name gets butchered, on the other hand, remains a mystery.  Natia is a common name here in Georgia, Nadia is popular in neighboring Turkey and Russia, but Nadya, from my lips to Georgian ears, somehow becomes some amorphous "Nawria."  (Even my school director needs a correction from time to time, and the woman has SEEN it written.  Then again, she thought I was from Costa Rica, so she's got more issues than just pronunciation.)

I was in Batumi over the weekend, enjoying a peaceful picnic of bread, olives, and cookies--mostly cookies, actually, I'm not sure how the bread and olives slipped into the bag--when a little old lady shelling all manner of Junk No One Needs tawdled over for a chat.  Even after she scored 2 lari and 3 cookies from me, she made no motion to leave, so we continued talking, she in a mixture of Russian and Georgian, I in English and Hand Gestures.  Finally she asked my name.

"Nadya," I said, for obvious reasons.

"Nawria!" she replied.  "Me too!  I am Nawria!" 

"Oh, great!" I lied.  "Two Nawrias!" 

You are not a Nawria, I thought to myself.  No one is.  You're just saying that so I buy more stuff from you.  

Finally my namesake went on her way, but not before trying to get me to buy cigarettes, sunflower seeds, and even her jewelry.  I'll never know for sure (or care) what her name really was; perhaps indeed there is a Nawria out there.  Or maybe I heard wrong, and she walked off as bewildered as I sometimes feel, going, "Why did that stupid girl think my name is Nawria?  Hasn't she heard the name 'Nadia' before?"

Well, pholks.  That's it phor me today.  This is Nawria POW, signing oph. 

But first, a few photos from Batumi!:

Where young Georgians come to whisper those gentle words of love to each other.

A beautiful fountain along the Boulevard. 

View of the Black Sea coast from the Batumi Botanical Gardens.

It Is Not Illegal to Eat the Dogs

A quick aside before I launch into my (and presumably, everybody's) favorite topic, PUPPIES!:

As soon as I posted the last entry, which began with me recounting my trip to Armenia and ended with me mocking Georgia, I felt guilty.  It came out of nowhere and landed out of place and I think it left the entry on an unnecessarily negative note.  But, really...

In Georgia, the world is your oyster Dumpster.

...it wasn't entirely unwarranted.

Moving on.

My best friend here has near-fluent English skills, but frequently mixes up the words "eat" and "feed", to comic effect.  She has told a cat, "I ate you," and has suggested that we "take this pizza and go eat the dogs." 

I like to think that it's under my influence and constant haranguing that she even cares about whether the regular cast of stray dogs that I see every day in the main street of Saguramo are well eaten (even if she still refuses to touch them).  Animals here are regarded with disinterest at best and malice at worst.  When I asked a fellow volunteer, a Georgian, to explain the cultural attitude toward animals, he blamed it on religion.  The Bible proclaims that animals don't have souls, he said, so the fervent followers of the Georgian Orthodox church treat them accordingly. 

I think it has a more simple explanation, though.  Kick a man when he's down, and he'll find something even lower to kick back at.  Animals present the perfect outlet for all the pent-up frustration of 20+ years of economic and political instability here that has left most Georgians, particularly men, with nothing better to do than stand in the road, shoot the shit, and perfect their aim by throwing rocks at a passing dog.

It's by no means a uniquely Georgian problem (and certainly not a universally Georgian one, either, as there are plenty here who love and respect animals). The U.S., with its puppy mills and dog tracks and overcrowded shelters that put down thousands of unwanted animals every year, is certainly no beacon of animal rights, but we are at least fortunate enough to have the luxury--the money, the time, the state of mind--to harbor a kinder cultural attitude toward animals.  Why, one family I know even took in a little poodle and will bend over backwards to meet his every demand, even letting him sleep in their beds and eat their food!  Yes, unbelievable, but such stories of near-subservience to animals exist in America.

I hope, as I hope for so many other things here, that in 10 or so years the situation will be different, that life in Georgia will allow for more compassion toward animals, that owning a pet will entail more than just tossing it a piece of bread in the morning and sometimes giving it a scratch behind the ears.  The stray dogs here don't have it all bad; they're street-smart to a fault, and probably eat better than I do most days.  I, for one, kind of like having all these dogs roaming around, happy to be pet--it's like a theme park for me.  But it breaks my heart that I can't bring every stinky one of them home with me (it might raise some eyebrows at the airport), so I have no choice but to do the next best thing: take pictures of them, of course. 

A little puppy some guys on the EU Monitoring Mission found in Mtskheta and took in.  She'll hopefully come to the shelter next week and get adopted.

This dog in Saguramo is still too shy to let me pet her, but I'm determinedly trying to win her affections.  She will come within 2 feet of me and then just squirm and wag her tail...progress.

An excited Armenian welcome.

The GSPSA team.  Temuri (on my left) has completely given his life to helping dogs in Georgia.

International adoptions are still en vogue, so if anyone back home is thinking of getting a pet, there are plenty of puppies at the shelter and there is plenty of room in my suitcase!

Yerevan Good City?

Sometimes the cure for the post-travel blues that hit you like a weighty sack of potatoes after, say, you spend 9 glorious days in Germany and have to come back to work and reality and life in, I don't know, the Republic of Georgia (mind you, I'm just throwing out hypotheticals here; any resemblance to factual situations is purely coincidental), is to take another trip.

So, Armenia it was.

There's much of Georgia left to be seen, and hopefully I will make good use of my remaining weeks here, but I also had a feeling that if I didn't take advantage of my proximity to all of the beautiful countries that surround Georgia--Armenia, Azerbaijan, Turkey--I would regret it.  Yerevan was a last-minute decision made with two other volunteers in my program, and absolutely a great one.

Between innocently crashing a private birthday party in the basement of an otherwise unremarkable coffee shop, eating dolma in the courtyard of the beautiful Cascade, and sampling good Armenian brandy with a side of dark chocolate, I managed to take a few (hundred) pictures:

Through the No Man's Land between Georgia and Armenia.  Avanti!  Unimaginable treasures lie beyond!

First stop: Akhtala Monastery.

Haghbat Monastery

This is where I feel truly closest to God: a bakery in Aparan, Armenia.  Never have my senses been so overwhelmed or overjoyed.

Our first ascent up the Cascade, lead by our fearless guide dog (I'm afraid I never got his name).

The Cascade at sunset, during our second attempt to see Mt. Ararat in the distance.

The Cascade from below.  No better way to work off all the pastries than to Stairmaster your way up that baby.

 When I tell Georgians how lovely Yerevan was, a common response has been a genuinely surprised "Really?"   

To which I respond, "Of course not, only joking.  Saguramo is far superior.  Watch out for that pile of burning trash."