So, I'm taking this environmental science course this semester and I had my first test today. One of the essays was to explain how automobiles are dependent on plants. Rather than taking the easy route with gasoline coming from fossil fuels yadda, yadda, yadda, I decided to draw from my experience at the magma forge and explain the process of how the steel necessary for a car's construction is smelted from iron using coke, which [tada] is derived long dead plant matter. I'm hoping that I can work my knowledge of green cave building techniques and plump helmet husbandry into future tests.
02/02/2008
12/18/2007
11/10/2007
10/22/2007
Skullsseal - 1060
Hiram “Helmet” Meerkmalker
Fortress Management Consultant
Underhill Consortium Consulting Group
Mr. Meerkmalker’s Log
1st Granite 1059 (Early Spring)
After two weeks of hard travel arrive at the outpost Skullsseal. Morale seems low among the employees. Checking the food stores I see the reason for the aforementioned displeasure. 2 plants, 2 drink and 90 other. Will investigate what “other” entails on the morrow. This evening the manager wishes to meet “over drinks” to discuss the outpost business.
2nd Granite 1059 (Early Spring)
Late start this morning. Last night toured the interior of the outpost with the manager. Past an underground river and a deep chasm his mining crew has discovered numerous veins of gold and other precious metals. I inquired throughout the evening concerning the populations seemingly low morale. At first my inquiries were met with evasions but after a substantial amount of the manager’s homeade brew he become despondent. Before he disappeared into the recesses of the cavern he mumbled something like “nothin’ to do but eat the stew.”
Today, performed employee surveys. Results were extremely poor. Whilst interviewing a trapper he flew into a tantrum. Some nearby employees pulled him away before anyone came to harm but it left me shaken. Questioned the employees about possible of cause of the trapper’s behavior. One made a gesture at the soup the trapper had splattered on the floor during his fit. Stepping over a corpse I Examined the contents of the soup more closely I found what appeared to be a piece of rat’s tail.
Went immediately to the kitchen and made inquiries with the cafeteria manager. She was defensive. A large woman, she physically attempted to remove me from the kitchen. Resisted. In the ensuing fray a barrel marked “Other” was knocked over revealing a hacked and badly chewed dwarf corpse. Promptly vomited. Cook fled and hasn’t be seen for the remainder of today. Put in an order with the stone mason for a coffin. Hope there won’t be need for anymore.
14th Granite 1059 (Early Spring)
Over a dozen dwarves have died since my arrival two weeks ago. The stone masons can’t keep up with the supply so I’ve designated an open burial on the grounds outside of the fortress. Hopefully the wild beasts will get to the corpses before the fallen’s comrades do.
17th Granite 1059 (Early Spring)
Effort to start farming continue to be stymied. A small by workable plot complete with an irrigation system exists. The problem lies in a large piece of malachite jammed under the door. Would rather avoid flooding the entire outpost. Spent the last week vainly attempting to get in removed. Unfortunately, the employees seem too involved in their other hauling duties to be concerned. Brought it up with the manager who said that union rules forbade him to order removal of the malachite without having a designated pile for it. Inquired if a pile could be created for it. The manager said that he would file a work order in for it but with the current rock hauling backlog it would be at least six months until the ore could be removed. Asked him to put in the work order. Will continue to seek my own means.
18th Granite 1059 (Early Spring)
Encountered a miner (I believe he said his name was Dan) who told me that while ore hauling was not in his job description he was willing to dig a channel to prevent water from spilling out of the plot when the flood gates opened. Asked him to please proceed. He worked quickly despite the alcohol drought that has hobbled the the outposts productivity. After he finished ordered the lever pulled. All seemed to be working well until the surge of water pushed over the edge of the channel and flooded the flood gate control box. Checked with the research and development department. They said they believed that rebreathers would be available sometime in the early 16th century.
10th Slate (Mid Spring)
Received word this morning that one of the outpost's metal smiths had ceased work and gone into seclusion. Took nearly half a day to found him in a gold vein near the magma river. He stood in the middle of the shaft, babbling to himself. Couldn’t understand what he wanted. Left after an hour. Returned with some pamphlets for the company’s mental services. Unfortunately, the outpost’s staff psychologist was the half eaten dwarf that was earlier found in the barrel in the kitchen.
The population has dropped under forty and the food and alcohol shortage has brought the outpost’s productivity to a standstill. There simply aren’t the resources to find the metalsmith what he needs to free him of this mood. Departed for good after another hour leaving the metalsmith the company's depression hot line number. Also, for safety, put in work request to have stone door installed in the entrance to the gold mine.
24th Felsite 1059 (Late Spring)
New farming plots are dug and there is all of summer and autumn to work. Plant gathering and hunting has held the outpost together thus far. No losses since the beginning of the month except for the recent, mysterious disappearance of the manager.
18th Malachite 1059 (Mid Summer)
The metal smith’s mental resolve broke this morning. From the fields heard screams echoing down the hall. Thought it was another antman attack but soon which much dismay discovered it was the lost metalsmith, bedraggled and emaciated. He was charging through the main hall swinging a piece of stalagmite. Ordered the marksdwarves to put him down. They made quick, albeit bloody work of it.
19th Malachite 1059 (Mid Summer)
Yesterday evening there was a burial ceremony for a peasant that had been murdered during the metal smith’s rampage. Also the soldier who eliminated the crazed metal smith commended. At the reception afterwards suggested that she seek counseling to help overcome any trauma. Gave her the depression hot line number.
Was unable to sleep after the festivities. Went for a walk. Soon, found myself at the entrance of the mine shaft where the metal smith had been in seclusion. Felt that something wasn’t right. Remembered that a door had been commissioned over two months ago. At that moment, a dwarf peasant came laboring down the main passage lugging a large block of moonstone. Stopped him. The conversation went as follows.
“Who’s assigned to furniture installation?”
“We all are,” the peasant said.
“Who are we?”
“Us haulers. I reckon there are near a dozen of us.”
“A dozen. Do you know why this door wasn’t installed?”
He scratched his chin. “I don’t rightly know. Could be something to do with priorities.”
“Priorities? What do you mean?”
“Well, you see this piece of moonstone? There’s a pile just down the way where we’re supposed to put it. When we’re done with that we all go on to the next job. I think its obsidian next but I can’t recall. All the info's at the manager's office.”
Thanked the hauler for his information and decided to drop by the manager’s office. It was locked and he wasn’t around. There was a job board posted outside. Perused it looking for the door installation work order. It was number 78 in the queue behind a job ordering the stacking of 45 blocks of casserite ore in stockpile number 116. Decided to try an experiment. Removed all ore and stone hauling jobs from the board and went to bed.
Woke up today to discover that during the night my front door had been installed and a jet dining room table had been delivered.
28th Galena (Late Summer)
The last day of summer. The harvest has been good. There’s even a small amount of surplus. It’s become increasingly evident that the attrition over the past year has severely depleted some of the outpost’s skill positions. For many of the farmers working with this summer, it was their first time to use a hoe. There are amateur smiths and craftsdwarves in some of the outpost's mission critical workshops. Something must be done.
Discussed dwarf resource management with the newly arrived replacement manager. Investigating work place procedures found that most dwarves are responsible for several duties. This autumn will anounce reorg. Employees will specialize in one, perhaps two job functions. Feel very strongly that this will dramatically increase Skullsseal’s efficiency.
3rd Moonstone (Early Winter)
Autumn was for the most part uneventful. Sadly, a stone crafter went insane and slaughtered a child. The heroic marksdwarf Sabrina died in the child’s defense.
In better news, the reorg was successful. The outpost has plentiful food stores for the winter. With the food crisis over was able to focus on appeasing the nobles and making plans for Skullsseal’s future development.
Put together a research study to study crowd flow and siege survival feasibility. Study came back with the following information. The section of the outpost
between the outside and the river, while beautiful is not easily defensible. There are several spread out access points. It
also suffers from major congestion through the section's major arteries.
Suggest that another, self-sufficient, section be built on the far side of the river that can be sealed off in case of invasion. Built a retractable bridge over the underground river for just such a purpose. A dining hall and several workshops have also been constructed on the far side of the river.
Additionally, suggest that another entrance be mined to link the inner section with the outside that can also be sealed off in event of an emergency. Eventually, this can serve as a great hall in which to entertain visiting dignitaries. Fortifications can be carved along the hall’s length for defense.
1st Granite 1060 (Early Spring)
Spring is come. The outpost is in good order. Food stores, while not overflowing, are ample and the dwarves are happy. A magma forge was recently installed so the outpost can soon start metal production in earnest. I wish my predecessor the best of luck. Also, note that the dwarf Spandikow is in a fey mood.
10/09/2007
The Road Home: From Georgia to Instanbul
Note: I started writing an account of my travels from Georgia back to the United States and it got too long so I decided to chop it up into segments. Here's some background information you might find useful. I officially finished my service with the Peace Corps on August 17 but stuck around for a couple weeks with my Georgian host family. My brother and sister (Paul and Meredith respectively) met me in Georgia at the end of August and hung out for a few days absorbing Georgian culture, seeing the countryside, and generally getting a feel for what my experience was like. We had rough plans for traveling through eastern Europe. The only firm part of my schedule was being in Prague by the morning of September 24th to catch my flight back to America.
Village Mukhaestate, Georgia
September 3rd
Aaron groggily sits up in his bed. His head is still a little fuzzy from last night's libations. Pause. His last night in Georgia. Last as in final. He lets the idea bump around in the dark, abused recesses of his skull a bit. If that was his last night then... then that means this is his last day in Georgia. Aaron wallows in that realization for a moment. No more bucket baths, no more khachapuri, no more supras, no more tcha-tcha... Whoa! He clutches his side in surprise. His liver just turned a happy little somersault. Sunlight filters in through the sheer draperies. He looks over at the massive backpack propped against the desk. All of his collected possessions from his two years in Georgia. And half of the pack is filled with gifts for friends and family back home. How's that for being a minimalist?
He rouses his brother and sister and they set to packing the last of their things. Aaron crams in yet another drinking horn, bowl and Pepsi bottle of wine (late gifts at the supra the night before) into his pack and puts it on. Heavy. Going to have to dispose of that wine and tcha-tcha as soon as possible. Possibly on the bus to Istanbul. He shoulders the pack downstairs. There's a quietness about the house. Everyone's a little tired and/or hungover. What people wanted to say in farewell they said at the supra last night.
A
little after eight, they head out of the front gate en masse. A group
of some fifteen host family members and neighbors has gathered on the
roadside to see them off. Everyone shuffles around comfortably. Aaron
confirms time and time again that he has contact numbers. A marshrutka
appears and Aaron's host father flags him down. The driver agrees to
take them all the way to the Turkish border. Paul hops in the back.
Aaron gives hugs, handshakes, and back thumps all around. Climbing into
the suicide seat [Peace Corps Volunteer slang for shotgun. Seat belts
aren't real common in Georgia] he gives a final wave and they're off.
With
wind whipping through his hair Aaron watches the scenery go by in
silent thought. His head is still pounding but it's not just a stupor.
He's thoughtful too. As the Black Sea coast careens by and his home for
the past two years falls steadily away he can't help but think that if
his life were a book this would be the end of a chapter (a real
chapter, not a Dan Brown three pager. Or maybe it would be the end of a
part or section. Eh, that's kind of cheesy too. Forget the whole book
metaphor. It gets much better after this. Promise).
Hopa, Turkey (just across the border from Georgia)
"There
are no Istanbul buses? None?" Aaron asks in Georgian (This is this last
time on the trip Georgian would serve any useful purpose)
"No, they're all full. You have to go to Trabzon and get something from there," the bus terminal attendant says.
They take his advice and luckily a Trabzon bus is leaving in the next five minutes. Looks like they could make good time. They arrive in Trabzon just after 11 am. Unfortunately, it seems like all the buses here bound for Istanbul are full as well. They pile up their baggage near a row of open seats in the bus terminal. Meredith and Paul take bag watch duty and Aaron goes off in search of transport to Istanbul. The terminal is lined with service counters for the various bus companies. Aaron hits one after the other. Everything seems to be full until...
Aaron encounters a somewhat sketchy looking character in a Hawaiian shirt at the far end of the terminal.
"Istanbul." The man says followed by an unintelligible string of Turkish.
"Istanbul..." Aaron says, repeating the only bit that he understood.
Realizing he doesn't speak Turkish, Hawaiian shirt shifts to English.
"Today?"
"Today." Aaron confirms.
Hawaiian shirt directs him toward a counter. The middle-aged clerk behind the counter is wiry thin and smooth shaven. He address Aaron in a string of unintelligible Turkish.
"Istanbul," Aaron responds.
The man rattles off something else in Turkish. Aaron's heart sinks as he realizes that his Georgian is now completely useless. He shrugs his shoulders hoping to display his non-comprehension. "Today. Three tickets." He holds up three fingers in an indication of his wishes.
The clerk seems to understand. Tickets are bought for a bus leaving at 8 o'clock that night. Meredith, Aaron and Paul spend the next 8 hours lounging around the Trabzon bus terminal. Aaron reads an E! magazine cover to cover. He feels suddenly caught up on all the American media he's been missing whilst living in Mukhaestate. It rolls on to 7:15 and Aaron, Meredith and Paul hoist their packs over their shoulders and go looking for their bus. The tickets are rather cryptic regarding the bus' departure gate so they head over to the counter from which the tickets were purchased. Pedestrian traffic through the terminal had slackened considerably over the past few hours. Now it was almost completely devoid of people except for a small crowd around the aforementioned counter.
They put their bags down nearby. Aaron manages to push through to the front. The same little clerk is sitting behind the counter. Aaron hands him their tickets and adds an "Istanbul" for emphasis. The man glances at the proffered slips and gestures for Aaron to hold on. Aaron walks dejectedly back to where Meredith and Paul are standing. Before he says anything the man in the Hawaiian shirt appears. The crowd gravitates to him. Aaron follows suit. He repeats the routine of showing him the tickets and saying "Istanbul." Hawaiian shirt also gives him a hold on signal. The clerk comes out from behind the counter and he and Hawaiian shirt exchange some angry words. Aaron trades a bemused shrug with a young Turkish man also going to Istanbul. After the interchange, Hawaiian shirt waves at the crowd to follow him. Aaron, Paul and Meredith put on their packs and follow them out the back door of the bus terminal.
Hawaiian shirt leads them to a large, white, nice-looking Mercedes passenger van purring contentedly in the parking lot. A cursory glance reveals the problem that, except for perhaps a seat or two, it is already completely full. The driver looks at the dozen or so bedraggled travelers with obvious confusion. Aaron looks around. Hawaiian shirt has mysteriously disappeared.
They spend a few minutes outside. The night is hot and sticky. Heat radiates up from the pavement. Aaron gives the inside of the van a more in-depth look. Yep, it's full all right. Members of the original crowd begin to drift off. Aaron, Paul and Meredith follow suit. Back in the the bus terminal they put their packs down again. Aaron heads back up to the counter. He makes his way through a much smaller crowd this time.
"Istanbul," he says, wishing he'd studied at least some Turkish.
The clerks gives him a quizzical look and then gestures for Aaron to look behind him. Hawaiian shirt is back and it looks like he wants the crowd to follow him again. Aaron, Meredith and Paul put their packs back on and take up pursuit of fast-walking Hawaiian shirt man. They head back out into the parking lot to another white Mercedes passenger van that is thankfully empty. Paul stows their packs in the back and they secure seats on the van. A handful of young Turkish men also get on board.
"This should be a lot faster than the bus," Meredith comments.
They wait around for 15 minutes. Then Hawaiian shirt and another man appear. The other man is short and has a close- cropped beard. He gestures for all of them to follow. Sigh. The would-be passengers grab their bags and head back out into the parking lot. Hawaiian shirt splits off and the short man leads them to a bus parked on the street next to the terminal. Bluish exhaust billows from the rear of the blue, green and tan creature. They're led on to the street side. Traffic whizzes by as they hug the side of the bus waiting to load their baggage under the bus. The wind shifts and a thick cloud of leaden exhaust envelops them.
Backpacks loaded, they get on board and find seats toward the back. The tray tables are really dusty and the condensation dripping from the air conditioning system gives the bus' interior something of a rain forest atmosphere. At least the seats are comfortable. Aaron, Paul, and Meredith settle in for what they hope is the last time until they reach Istanbul. The bus is empty except for them and the three young Turkish men. The short guy with the beard comes over and checks their tickets. Turns out he's one of the drivers too. Over the next 30 minutes a smattering of travelers make their way on. Meredith dozes. Paul reads. Still thinking about how annoying it was not being able to communicate with the ticket guys Aaron decides it's time for some cross-cultural integration. He takes his notebook from his day pack and flips to a blank page. After writing the numerals 1 to 10 down one side he gets the attention of one of the young Turks sitting across the aisle from him. Through a few pantomimes Aaron gets it across that he wants to know what the numbers are in Turkish. That done, they move on to some other topics including the "to be" verb, greetings, thank you, and "I need a doctor" (One of his buddies suggested that one)
By the time the bus lurches to a start, Aaron feels like they're making real progress. Unfortunately, with the strain of forward momentum the lights dim. The Turk, his name is Yucel [pronounced YOU-GEL], invites Aaron to sit in the seat next to him. Aaron accepts. Yucel starts throwing out some crazy stuff that even with extensive drawing and pantomiming doesn't compute. Aaron does get "to go" out of him. Both present simple and present continuous forms. Tch-Tching.
Then the Turkish lesson starts to get a little personal. Yucel is very interested in Paul and Meredith. Especially the latter. He jabbers on in Turkish and uses a gesture that Aaron knows from his time in Georgia. A gesture that he always found a little creepy (even for him). Here's how it goes. Put your hands together, palm down. Extend just your pointer fingers on each hand and rub them together. In one sense this gesture is used to show that two people are dzmakatsebi [literally brother men or a more apt translation: buddies, pals, friends since childhood etc]. On the other side of the coin it can also be used to imply that two people are getting it on. Now, which one is Aaron's new pal Yucel getting at?
Aaron decides to take the route of ignorance and tries to go back to conjugating the "to go" verb. Yucel is insistent though and commandeers the notebook. He sketches a bed occupied by a man and woman stick figure. He points to drawing and then points to Aaron and then Meredith. Aaron shakes his head. He repeats the query this time pointing to Paul and Meredith. Aaron again shakes his head. Yucel draws another sketch. This time a guy and a guy in bed. He points to Paul and Aaron.
"No," Aaron says.
Yucel draws a bed with a single stick figure in it and points to each of them. Aaron nods. Yucel's face takes on a confused air. Aaron takes the notebook back and draws a nuclear stick family. A big stick man and stick woman for the parents and three smaller stick kids.
Aaron points to biggest of the stick kids and points to himself. "This is me."
He gestures to the next small stick figure. "Paul is my brother. Brother. This girl, her over there, is my sister. Sister." This guy has to understand now, Aaron thinks. Even the most retarded Georgian school kids had family member vocabulary down pat by the 2nd year of English.
Yucel doesn't get it. Aaron draws a family tree and explains again, this time bringing parents into it. Yucel takes the notebook and draws the outline of a house with three stick figures in it (two male, one female). Aaron nods. He's got it. Then Yucel goes back to the bed drawings. You and her, same bed? Suddenly exhausted, Aaron shakes his head. Him and her, same bed? Nooooooo.
Yucel pauses for a contemplative moment. Then he points to himself and then to Meredith. Me and her, same bed? Aaron shakes his head vigorously. He suddenly feels very awkward. The broken conversation moves on. Aaron believes that Yucel goes on to explain that he and Meredith being an item is an impossibility since she's older then he is. Aaron nods in feigned thoughtfulness. That's not all you have going against you, pal. Anxious to end the conversation Aaron pantomimes that he's sleepy and heads back for his seat. As a parting shot, Yucel tells him that he should tell Meredith to cover her knees. That would be the last time on the trip that Aaron attempted any cultural integration.
Aaron adjusts the AC vent above him. Coolish, stale air. Oh well, at least they're on their way to Istanbul. He promptly passes out and doesn't wake up until after 6 in the morning.
Central Turkey
September 4
The
sun creeps lazily over the distant mountains. Sometime during the night
they'd left the Black Sea coast and are now cruising through the
rolling countryside. Sparse, squat trees dot the yellow hills. Catching
a mileage sign out the window, Aaron sees that despite the antiquated
status of the bus, they're still making good time. He estimates that
they should be in Istanbul no later than one. Sweet, sweet wishful
thinking.
They stop at eight for a breakfast of tea and tost [essentially a grilled cheese sandwich]. Soon after leaving the station problems set in. It begins as they are going up a hill. The blue cloud behind the bus seems larger than usual and the creature itself appears to be struggling more than usual. After barely cresting the summit the driver pulls over to the side of the road. Both drivers get out and look under the hood. As they are examining the belabored beast several men take the opportunity to sneak off into the nearby trees and relieve themselves, saving themselves a restroom toll.
Five minutes later the bus is off again. It's hot and quickly getting hotter. Heat emanates through the floor of the bus. The AC system rattles and shakes, delivering a trickle of warm air to the occupants of the bus. Occasionally the door blows open giving them a welcome gust of fresh air. Aaron wipes away a trickle of sweat from his forehead. His back is already soaked. He can't imagine how the women in berkas are doing it. Lead-tinged exhaust tickles his nose. As signs indicating the mileage to Istanbul roll by it seems like they're not going as fast as they were before. It soon becomes evident that momentum is indeed waning. Occasionally the off duty driver comes by offering lukewarm fanta or coke. It does little to stave off the heat. The off duty driver also consistently sprays air freshener along the aisle. How considerate. The bus goes slower and slower until it's not going to Istanbul anymore. Exiting the highway the driver gets on a loop that turns them back toward the way they came.
A few minutes later, the driver pulls off into a gravel parking lot lined by lots of little automotive workshops. The bus staggers to a stop. Passengers deboard and the six little mechanics who had been previously reclining in lawn chairs hop to work. More chairs are brought to accommodate the women and some of the men. Aaron birja squats in the dust to see what mechanical feat they come up with to solve this problem. The driver backs the bus over the work pit and the mechanics crawl under to check it out. Post investigation they hem and haw for a few minutes before coming up with a solution.... Weld a square piece of sheet metal to the undercarriage of the bus. Brilliant. All problems solved with piece of sheet metal. Hallelujah. If only everything in life were that easy.
Thirty minutes later the driver climbs in and starts her up. She roars to life buffetting the mechanics with a black cloud of smoke. The exhaust soon returns to its normal blue color. The drivers seem satisfied with her road worthiness. Handshakes are exchanged and passengers reboard.
Turning around to go back toward Istanbul the air conditioner goes off for good and the door is opened permanently. Probably for the best. Even with the addition of a piece of sheet metal they don't want to push the beast too much. The conditioned air wasn't any cooler than the non-conditioned air from the open door anyway. Aaron goes back to reading a rather large book that his sister loaned him with her recommendation. Within the first eighty pages he decides that it's fit for little more than lining a hamster cage. Unfortunately, the book is not his sister's but her boyfriend's so he cannot just dispose of it. Since he also can't pawn it off on either one of his siblings (he did after all willingly accept it), he's saddled with lugging around this 800 page tome for the entirety of the trip [insert tiny little violins here].
(~45 miles) from Istanbul
The bus shimmies.
"Dammit!" Meredith groans looking up from her book.
"What?" Aaron says.
The bus shakes.
"They've blown a piston."
"Really?"
"Yeah, this is what it feels like."
"Great."
The ride has gotten considerably rougher suddenly. Oh and Istanbul is so close too. The last road sign said 80 kilometers. Aaron sighs. This is definitely going to really push back his estimated time of arrival. Since this morning it had fallen back to four pm. The bus soon lurches into a highway rest area. Passengers deboard. Women take shelter from the sun under scattered runty trees. Meanwhile, most of the men form a semi-circle around the rear of the bus watching the two drivers at work. They're up to their armpits in gear and machinery. The mainstay of the work consists of taking out large, important-looking pieces of the motor and piling them on the ground. The engine components grow into an impressive heap. About an hour later the drivers begin putting the large important looking pieces back in the engine cavity. Other than a few ball bearings, it doesn't appear as if anything is replaced.
Aaron crosses his fingers as the bus starts up. More black smoke followed by blue erupts from the beast's bowels. It's alive. It's alive. It actually doesn't really seem all that different. Aaron and Paul dispatch Yucel to alert Meredith, who's found a seat at a nearby cafe, of the bus' vitality.
Passengers reboard (again) and the bus lumbers back onto the highway. 80 kilometers. You can do it, girl.
There's still no AC and the floor is still hot. They've shut the door again so there's no breeze and it's really stifling. At least Aaron's niagara falls perspiration action has ceased due to extreme dehydration. Half an hour later the wide, blue Bosphorous comes into view. Instanbul city limits are coming up. Jubilee! The highway turns into a long gradual climb. The bus slogs up the winding road. The eastern fringes of Instanbul unfold underneath the bluff. Aaron feels the bus shudder. Meredith does too.
"They've blown a piston again," Meredith says nonchalantly, not moving her eyes from her book.
"Great."
Aaron grips the arm of the seat. Its only a slight tremor. C'mon. You can make it, bus. It's been over twenty hours now. Aaron really wants to get off. She does make it to the top. Relief ensues. Aaron exhales. Twenty minutes later the bus wheezes to a stop in front of the Istanbul International Bus Terminal.
Aaron, Paul, and Meredith gladly leave the bus. They and their clothes might reek from prolonged stays in bus terminals, extensive and repetitive sweating, diesel exhaust fumes, and liberally-applied new car scent but they've made it to Istanbul. First leg of their journey home down. Only six more or so to go.
Note: Sorry for the lack of pictures. We didn't actually take all that many in Turkey.
10/01/2007
08/24/2007
07/08/2007
Racha Excursion
Geographical fact about Georgia: There are a lot of mountains.
Demographical fact about Georgia: The majority of the Georgian population lives in relatively flat part of Georgia running right through the middle [See map above] . There are approximately 1.5 million in Tbilisi, 500,000 in Kutaisi, and 250,000 in Batumi in country that has a total population of somewhere between 4 and 4.5 million people. That leaves a lot of open country.
Transportationl fact about : Road and rail service between Tbilisi and Batumi - not too bad. Service to the interior of Georgia– Good luck.
A few notes on Racha-
Racha is a sparesly populated region in the north central part of the country. Its known for its mineral water, natural beauty and hillbillies. Yep, it's the Arkansas of Georgia. If someone's a little slow or talks fun you say he or she must be from Racha.
Last week Fun Girl [Elise] texted me about a Racha Exursion. Only a few volunteers had been and I’d heard it was really beautiful and possibly dangerous [a plus since life in Georgia hasn't gotten sort of pedestrian]. It rained all week long and we were considering cancelling but then we figured drinking cha-cha [home made vodka] and playing Settlers of Catan would be a lot cooler on the Russian border than at our sites or in –sic Tbilisi.
Friday, I met up with Brian [a Peace Corps Volunteer and fellow UT alum] at an internet cafe in Batumi. We were both wearing our custom made Peace Corps – Everywhere Maybe Die T-shirts. Foreshadowing? No, not really. Caught the midday marshrutkha [15 passenger van used for public transport] to Kutaisi. It rained the whole way. Got into Kutaisi 3ish and met up with Fun Girl.
From there we got on an old yellow Soviet era bus heading up to Tqibuli. As we passed out of Kutaisi. I saw a sign that said Tqibuli 31 kilometers. Should be there in no time right? Two hours later, in a haze of blue smoke, we lurched into pretty good sized town nestled in the mountains.
Ani was there to meet us. Ani is a 10th grader who attended GLOW [Girls Leading Our World -A girl’s leadership camp of which Elise had been director of last year]. Ani had started her own GLOW club at her school and Elise had been up earlier in the year to check it out. Coincidently, I had run into Ani two years earlier during at the Ecology
Camp I visited one day during my Peace Corps training. Weird.
The clouds were still gray and menacing but the rain had stopped so we dropped off our stuff in the Soviet style Block apartment where Ani and her mom lived and took a tour of the town. It was a strange experience because we kept running
into proficient English speakers. Not what you’d expect from an out of the way town. It also seemed like a pretty active community. Ani had her GLOW club. The biology teacher ran an Ecology Club. There was also a school debate team and newspaper. I sometimes have trouble just getting someone to let me in the door at my
school in Mukhaestate.
We awoke Saturday to amazingly clear day. Brian, Fun Girl and I bid farewell to Ani and hopped on an 8:30 marshrutkha for Ambrolauri. We wound our way out of the Tqibuli valley and got our first up close look at the lower .
Around 10:00 we got into Ambrolauri, another little town in a valley. However, we didn’t encounter the plethora of English speakers that we did in Tqibuli. The town was pretty dead actually. Especially considering
how nice a day it was. No children in the street, no men sitting around smoking and chew sunflower seeds. Really odd. A police officer stopped and gave us his phone number in case we had any trouble. We wandered around a bit and then went looking for a cafe to wait out the Oni bus.
Apparently not much tourist traffic through Ambrolauri. Took us about
half an hour to find a cafe. The one we finally found had three things on the menu: lobiani (kind of refried beans in bread), pinovani (flaky bread filled with cheese), and deep fried bread with mashed potato in it. When we asked for drinks the ladies suggested we go buy some from the store next door.
Towards 12:30ish the ladies at the cafe told us there was a police officer waiting for us outside. This was a different guy from the one we met before. He wanted to know if we need any help finding a place to stay. We told him we were going on to Oni so he took us to the bus stop where the bus was supposed to come by. There was some dispute as to whether the bus ran everyday or every other day. A couple of guys tried to talk us into hiring their car to take us to Oni. We met yet another police officer, from Oni this time, who bought us ice cream.
The bus(another old yellow) finally came about 1:30. Two hours later we rolled into Oni. At this point we were going to have to find a place to stay. I hadn’t organized lodging but I had a couple of names and numbers that Austin [another PCV] had given me. One was a homestay with older couple that Austin recommended. I tried the number but his cell was turned off. I tried a few more times to no avail.
The police officer who had bought us the ice cream was still lingering. I told him the name of person running the homestay. He walked us through town to the guy’s house. After asking directions from some people milling around in the streets we finally got there. Then after a good deal of banging on the gate and shouting we got the attention of the homeowner.
An elderly gentleman in his 70s sporting addidas track pants and a smoking jacket met us at the front gate.
Judging from his tousled hair it appeared that we had roused him from a nap. I started explaining that we were friends of Austin [who had stayed at his house a week earlier] and that he suggested we stay here. From the blank expression on the man's face it was evident the name didn’t register. Then I pantomimed a tall person with lots of hair. A spark of recogition.
He, Shalva, invited us inside. We thanked the police officer and followed Shalva into the large house. He led us into a large room. On the desk in the corner their was a large collection of pictures of a young man [Obviously a shrine of some sort]. First thing Elise asks is if those were pictures of the old man. Shalva goes on to tell us that those were pictures of his son who had died in the Abkhazian war. Way to go Elise.
We set up transport to Shobi the next day and made arrangements to stay two nights. Three meals a day but no shower. Apparently, enough water pressure for the fountain they were constructing in the center of town but not enough for a shower. Interesting. The man apologized that his wife was not there. Otherwise, there would be food. Asked us if we wanted to watch TV. We declined and took a walk around the town instead. Lots of pigs in Oni. I had comandeered Elise's digital camera by this point and throughout the walk took over a 100 pictures of the pigs and sites of Oni. Unfortunately, I have yet to get those pictures. I'll sum it up by saying it was really pretty and again, there were a lot of pigs.
That night we watched Meore Tsitsokle [A Columbian Soap opera that's all the rage in
eorgia] with the old couple over dinner. Then Fun Girl passed out early. Brian and I decided to turn rummy into a drinking game with the liter of cha-cha he'd brought with him.
We got up early the morning and rode out in a jeep past Shobi. Another 30 kilometer or so drive that took around 2 hours. The driver dropped us off about 15 kilometers from the the Russian border and we hiked in to a beautiful little mountain valley.
12/07/2006
Winter is coming
Oh the weather outside is frightful and the weather inside… not much better.
It’s late fall in southwestern which means that I’m not stirring my 0 sleeping bag until . Since stays on daylight savings time the sun doesn’t come over the mountains until close to nine.
It’s also so cold in my room that I can see my breath. No central heat here and the concrete walls of my house just seem to make it colder. The only source of heat in the house is the wood burning stove [pechi] downstairs in the family room that actually keeps it pretty toasty. So, until late March I’ll be spending a lot of time down there.
Late fall is also tangerine season, the main crash crop of most of my region. My host family’s house sits on an orchard of a hundred trees or so. Unfortunately, the tangerine prices have bottomed out since Georgian’s main trading partner started boycotting Georgian imports.
Still there are a constant stream of trucks coming through and the normally subdued town center is filled with crews loading crates of tangerines.
At least with consuming around a dozen tangerines a day I’m getting my full complement of Vitamin C.
Introduction
Before leaving for the Peace Corps I had grown increasing while not necessarily anti-technology more technology-less- going without a TV, refusing to get a cell phone, not upgrading past Windows 98 and eventually not having a computer at all. I assumed that this would be good preparation on what I thought would be a two year moratorium on tech stuff. Peace Corps is all about living in mud huts and reading by candle light right? Not exactly. I had a cell phone eight weeks into service. A month and half ago I bought a flash drive (portable hard drive). I'm getting a computer for my house and any month now we should have satellite internet in my village.
Orginally, I had entertained romantic notions of hand writing all correspondence with long flowing letters. Well, most of you have seen how well that worked. Sorry. So, I've sold out and started a blog. It seems like the popular thing to do now. So, dear friends and family I hope to keep you abreast of what I'm doing currently while converting some of handwritten journals into accounts of what I've been up to for the past year and a half. So, without further adieu...
Where am I and what am I doing?
Good question. I'm in Georgia [formerly the Soviet Republic of Georgia] or about ten time zones or so away from central . If you take out your maps it’s between , , , and Armenian. More specifically, I’m in the village of Mukhaestate (population ~2000 people), four miles from the eastern coast of the and 25 miles from (the third biggest city in ).
Even more specifically, I live in a two story concrete house near the center of the village with my Georgian host family. I have a host father, Olegi(55), host mother Mzia(43), host grandmother Emine(83), and two host brothers Aleko(22) and Mindia(21). Plus I have loads of host aunts, uncles and cousins who live in Mukhaestate and neighboring villages. More on the family in later posts.
And now, what am I doing? I find myself asking that question all the time. I’m part of the Peace Corps TEFL [Teaching English as a Foreign Language] program. There are about 60 of us in country. Our primary job is teaching English classes in coordination with Georgian English teachers. Our official role is to introduce communicative teaching methodologies in the classroom. In layman’s terms we’re here to make learning fun or at least not so excruciatingly boring.
“Memorize this text about the history of and recite it? Change these sentences from active to passive voice? Read and translate? That’s sounds exciting but why don’t we trying using the language in a practical context, do some role playing, maybe play a game that will help the students learn what the words mean.” That’s in essence what I do.
There are two English teachers at my school in Mukhaestate, Ketino [Mrs. Kate] and Makvala [Mrs. Makvala]. They are both very nice middle aged ladies. We teach English in the 5th through 11th grades.
So, my primary job is teaching, introducing new western ideas in the classroom and what not. My secondary job is a little harder to define. Essentially, we do whatever needs to be done and that we’re willing to do in the community. This might be organizing after school clubs and find funds to remodel the library. Right now I’m working with some other volunteers to start a national boys leadership camp.
More roles we play… We’re “the American” in our community. Most Georgians have never seen a real, live American. I’m there model of what an American is right along with Britney Speares, Justin Timberlake and Eminem. The Peace Corps is the warm and fuzzy side of the foreign policy. We’re Corps who don’t wear camo and carry M-16s. Further, a volunteer’s job is also to bring back information about the people of these faraway lands to the people of the . So, hopefully within this blog I hope to accurately relay to you what life is like here in . I’m going to try to post weekly. We’ll see how well that works. Take care.
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