Tbilisi, Georgia. Deep Traditions and Growing Change.

I am listening to your requests so this post will have a lot more pictures and be from more of a Travel Agent perspective. I have been in Tbilisi Georgia for a little more than three weeks. Inga has been away in Moscow working and so I have been left to my own devices. The apartment is clean and I haven’t burned the place to the ground despite it having a gas stove. It is has been pretty uneventful and while I would like to make something up to make this blog a little
more exciting. I will leave that to my fiction writing.

Speaking of my writing. The latest MSS is finished its second draft. It is currently out with test readers. I think the actual new term is Beta Readers. I prefer the latter as I am testing out ideas. Not everyone got the same MSS either. Some included the alternative ending and others the beginning. I am not sure which to use just yet, or if I’ll use either. I read a little bit of Donald Maass’s book on 21st-century fiction while the power was out. I’ve read it before but having just finished the MSS I was looking at it with a new light. I had just received a tweet from Bob Mayer about never writing ‘The End’ on your work as it is never really done. Well, the two things motivated me to take a big risk and write and alternative start to the project. Personally I think it is a pretty cool beginning to a very different military story. I like it, but we will have to see what the test readers say.

            The power went out today in the apartment building I am living in. Not really an unusual occurrence in the city. I take something frozen out of the bottom and put it in the top without thinking about it too much anymore. The bucket bath, a skill I picked up from my time in Anapa, made easier as we have gas so ‘WOOF’ a little missing arm hair and I have hot water. When the power came back, I went to take the garbage out and on the ride down it went out again. The old Soviet era elevator stopped. No drama. But also without an emergency descend to the bottom and open feature. I took stock of my garbage and found a two-liter bottle and some dried bread. I was in good shape. I could pee politely and had food. So I got comfortable in the corner and sat thinking. Not much else to do. No call button and no way in hell anyone would understand me if there was. It kind of struck me that life was similar to being stuck in an elevator. You have a planned floor to go to, but the doors could open at any minute and present you with other levels, other possibilities. The garbage you drag onto your personal elevator was just garbage a minute ago. Yet could come in handy during the trip and that you really have no control. I know we all love the illusion of control, being the master of your own destiny and all that crap. But in reality we don’t. All we have are intentions. I intended to go to the bottom floor and toss my garbage. Now I am running Die Hard scenarios out in my brain trying to find the hidden access door on the roof of my cell, and pondering climbing up and out of this mess. Luckily I didn’t find the access door and thirty minutes later the power returned and so did my journey. Perhaps I was channeling the fictitious Forrest Gump, but it did kind of strike me as a strange parallel. Remember I do believe everything happens for a reason. Like they say “Sometimes it is because you’re stupid and make bad choices.”

            I made the choice the other day to go for a walk and see what belonged to the fancy lights I could see in the distance. Not having Inga at home I had to go in the daylight as I lacked sufficient backup. I had been looking at this building in the distance for a long while and at night it is truly remarkable. It is out of place in the blend of the cities architectures both in design and the fact it is all lit up. It is also out near me, which is out in the middle of nowhere as far as the locals are concerned. If you have ever walked anyplace in Las Vegas, you will understand that big things look a great deal closer than they really are. There is probably another life parable here, but I will resist as I think I already have filled enough page centimeters for all the pictures you’ve been asking for.

It was 28 degrees metric when I started out on the journey. For the imperially educated that is hot. I walked on the roads I knew and it took me a round about way, but you all know I love walking. First I started seeing something I haven’t seen since home in Vancouver. Chinese people. First just one Chinese person, and then a couple, and soon a bunch. I thought I’d stumbled on a hidden Chinatown. In a way I had. The Hualing Group is a  private development group from XinJiang China and they have started a massive development in Georgia. By huge I do mean HUGE. They have set up a customs-free zone, built roads, a large market-style mall, hotel, recreation center, and housing in this out of the way area of Tbilisi. Having lived in Vancouver all my life I am used to how the Chinese do things. I think they probably invented the idea of “go big or go home.” The Great Wall comes to mind as an example. The quote “go big or go home” probably sounds better in traditional Hanyu as well. The pictures I have posted gives you an idea of the truly epic scope of these projects.  The mall market complex is almost finished and included stores that were open and staffed, actually overstaffed with Georgian sales people. I walked and looked inside a few shops and stopped to grab a Pepsi at one place that was set up as a café and playroom for children. Inside two men were speaking Mandarin and looking over a Hong Kong newspaper. I asked for a Pepsi from the salesgirl and they stopped talking, hearing me speak English. Both asked me, at the same time, where I was from. I confirmed that I did not know George. They had both been to Vancouver and loved it. I asked a little about the massive project and with obvious pride they explained that Georgia was quickly becoming a toehold in Europe for the Asia Pacific expansion. The company had bought controlling interest in a Georgian bank and had confirmed plans with the current Government. I asked about how the locals were reacting and both men looked at each before saying things were ok. Things are only ok when they are at a crossroads. I understand the local people need work as over 15% were unemployed according to the latest figures.  This development provides that, but I also know how Vancouver sometimes reacts to significant foreign investment and development. Georgia is no different and compared to British Columbia is significantly smaller. Georgia is 70 thousand square kilometers and British Columbia is 944 thousand square kilometers. Georgia’s population is 4.4million people and Vancouver’s is 2.93 million.

       

  I continued up the large, wide road used by many to test the mettle of their cars and bodies, and to my spied destination, past the massive ongoing development. I was very surprised to see that it was a Preference Hotel. Preference hotels may be relatively unknown to North Americans. They only have one hotel on the continent, and it is in Montreal. It is a French company that started in 2000 and focused on bringing true luxury to the traveler’s experience. This focus on experience has provided many awards to the properties they have. 

           The Orwellian architectural design is at both times foreboding and fitting. Hotels never want to be referred to as foreboding. But I use the word carefully. Georgia is a former Soviet State, and this historical reality is everywhere you look in building designs and signage. So this  beautifully foreboding building strikes a perfect balance between that history while not having to copy the bland older residential buildings in the district. It compliments the newly erected Hualing Tbilisi Sea New City residential buildings behind it. This feat would be similar to correctly matching a bow tie and jeans, with a traditional Cheongsam-inspired ladies polo shirt. The thought and design that went into creating this perfect blend reminded me of a story about making tea in a paper bag. If it is done perfectly the water prevents the bag from burning while over the fire as the tea steeps. 

This Orwellian theme dissolves the moment you walk into the expansive lobby of the hotel. The staff are attentive. Security was aware that I had walked into the hotel with running shoes, dusty from the long journey, and a moderately soaked dress shirt. I was slightly underdressed for a five-star hotel but apart from being noticed was not made to feel this way by the staff. Security and guest safety is an essential feature of any upscale hotel. But you do not want to be asked for a visa card when you come back from a jog or walk either. Again we see this balance in action, by the expertly trained staff.

A large reception of business types was going on and I grabbed a seat and watched how the Georgian team worked. I love showing up unannounced at a hotel and getting a real look at service levels. If you call ahead and say “Hi I am a travel consultant for Brave New World Travel and I’d like to arrange a tour of your property” you get a show. So I never do this. I like to sandbag the experience and see the reality. The staff was slammed with this impromptu meeting and handled it perfectly. While I watched the hotel General Manager walked by and said good afternoon in French. I responded in French and then introduced myself in English. Petter Lillvik switched to perfect English seamlessly and asked where I was from and if I was a guest. I explained my situation and he made the time to show me around the wonderful property without making it appear like he was making time. While I knew, he was an incredibly busy person I was made to feel like I was the most important person on the property at that time.

During the tour, he explained the hotel's soft opening and that the grand opening was in the future. He took pride in the property without appearing to be boastful. He told me the Chinese restaurant called be Ensemble had culinary experts from various regions in China and could handle private groups as well. The hotel was booked to near capacity. That size limited, as many rooms were not yet finished. One room was available, a regular room, and together we took the elevator to the floor as he explained the yet to be completed projects. The large recreation center is going to have the largest hotel indoor pool in Georgia and boasts yoga classes and saunas. The hotel's commitment to ‘Green’ energy usage demanded strict guidelines as well. All the air-conditioning is done with natural gas and the lights in the huge hallways are motion controlled.

The price point of this property is significantly less than other “like” venues and I put that word in quotes as this property is a five star using the Chinese standard and not the European one used by other properties. The old Marriot compares, as does the Radisson Blu. If I were to suggest a property to my clients, I would defer to this one because of its attention to guest experience and location. It is closer to the airport and has a daily shuttle to Old Tbilisi. It is in a quieter location and with its proximity to  Tbilisi Sea has much more to do. The locals all say the air is much better up here as well.

Tbilisi itself is a magnificent city and Georgian hospitality is as advertised. The locals like visitors and, generally speaking, go out of their way to help you experience the city. I have wandered all over the place and have yet to encounter any truly negative situations. Cabs are a bit of a challenge. But then they are in many European and North American cities as well. For the most part, they are un-metered and require a bit of haggling for locals and tourists alike. But then they are cheaper than any of those cities as well.

The Metro or subway is of old Soviet design and is an excellent way to cheaply see different areas of the city. You have to buy a card, and that costs two Lari and then a ride is.50 Lari. You can’t get the money back for the card unless you keep the paper receipt but for two Lari it is a cheap souvenir. The main line travels roughly East to West and a second line approximately North and South. A third line out to the airport has been under construction for years. The signs and announcements are in both English and Georgian and if you end up going the wrong way you can just get off and cross the platform. You can also leave the station and if you swipe again within an hour and a half from your first swipe, it is free. There is no need to swipe in and out like the silly system in London.

A Funicular also operates up to Mtatsminda Park and this is a splendid way to get one's bearings in this old city. You need to buy a card and again get another souvenir. But, the views and sights are well worth it. At the top, they have many restaurants, a nightclub, and many things for children to do. One of Tbilisi’s richest residents' houses is on display from this vantage point. The silver and glass house is owned by one of the richest men in the country and is truly beautiful in design. It even has its own enclosed heliport!  They also have a ride like the London Eye yet here it is on the top of the mountain and the views incredible. The easiest way to get to the Funicular is to follow the signs from Liberty Square and its magnificent monument of Saint George.

Tbilisi is a city in transition, expansion, and conflict. One could argue that this has been the case for centuries. Georgia wants to become a member of the United Nations and in all rights it should be. It holds deeply, traditions and traditional Orthodox beliefs and these bring it into conflict with the newer generation. The influence from the USA brings many of these traditionally held customs into question. Music and dress are influenced and, as in America, bring youth into disagreements with parents.  The speed of this transition is different. The instant share nature of the new world is placing challenges in this society without the support of the influencing nations. Bringing Georgia into the fold of the UN would relieve some of these pressures.

The youth all are taught English in school from grade one. The older adults speak Russian from their past education or occupation, depending on the point of view held. Children are now getting Russian language training as well in school starting in grade three. The strain of learning three languages is evident. A friend of mine, Magdalina, runs an English Language Club for children after school and it is very popular. She speaks English very well and her husband Alex speaks well enough.

While growing up speaking many languages is something I wish I had done, the support for such skills is left up to the individual families. English needs practice as many of the words and word prefixes make little sense. Mice, Mouse, House Houses, Moose Moose, the common plural Mooses has been dropped for being irksome. As well it should be but I believe you see the point. Practice is the make or break point for ANY language and with one as varied as English Magdalina is a real oasis in Tbilisi. She is enthusiastic and this rubs off on the students lucky enough to have found her. I shutter to think about higher learning and grammar usage as English is so fluid a language that it is always changing. That is at least my own excuse when I commit a faux pax and have a hundred people point it out via messages! Angela, Tim, David come to mind! But in truth I am better for the experience and my own writing as sloppy as it is allowed to be in a blog has got better for it.

I am going to leave this here, as it has already been over a month since my last blog. I will write more on the separate districts of Tbilisi and the countryside of Georgia as a whole in the future. Enjoy all the pictures you have requested.

Village life and tragedy experienced.

So we have been living the village life for a few days and it has been a great deal of fun and a learning experience. I want to be as honest as possible and at the same time be sensitive to cultural differences. Now I understand Russian culture but I do not understand Georgian culture yet. They are very proud and respect weighs heavy on decisions, as does obligation. Past those things, I am a babe in the woods. I know they are concerned I find the place a little rural and that roaming chickens, cows, and donkeys might upset my Canadian expectations. To be very honest, I have never been a country, boy. At no time in my life have I ever wanted to be a farmer. But I respect the level of work these people do every moment to ensure an abundant bounty is on the table. Everything we have been eating has been grown, milked, or collected right here. This is amazing and I have tried to explain that this organic lifestyle is a great luxury in Canada. I know I couldn’t afford to shop in natural stores at home on my salary. Here it is a given that the food you eat is organic. While I write, it is a given it is never taken for granted

This morning I was awoken by a donkey, braying his heart out. This was a first and one not accompanied by my usual thoughts when my sleep is interrupted by farm animals. Usually when the rooster wakes me up at my father in laws farm, I think of all the Kentucky Fried Chicken I have eaten. I haven’t eaten a donkey. Donkeys are loud, very loud and it is a funny saying that they tell time. I have tested this theory in a less than scientific manner and have to admit it seems feasible. The next-door donkey appears to be set at half-hour intervals beginning at half past the hour. I will steal a funny Georgian story, as I don’t know who to attribute the folk tale to.

A man from London was walking a village road when he came upon a Georgian farmer watching his cattle and lying on a hill. Beside him was a gray donkey. The London man asked the farmer if he knew the time. The Georgian man turned his head ever so slightly toward the donkey reached over and lifted up the donkey balls. He called out noon to the London visitor and went back to his sleepy tending of his herd. The London visitor was amazed and carried on his journey. Later he retold the story to an American in a wine bar a little ways down the road. The American came upon the same farmer as he continued his trip to town. He checked his watch. It was ten after five. He called out to the Georgian farmer asking for the time. The Georgian farmer did the exact same thing that the man from London had told him and replied, ten after five. The American was amazed and so he asked how the man could tell the time by lifting the donkey’s balls. The Georgian man replied. “How else am I supposed to see the clock tower in town?”

In this funny little story, we can see how folklore starts. In a country like Georgia rich in tradition and culture, it is a humorous tale that serves to explain some of the quaint beliefs. Some serve to protect us and others serve to entertain. Similar stories have been told to me about the issues sleeping under palm trees heavy with coconuts.

            Today was Vaxo’s, my cousin, daughter’s birthday. A cake was made and preparations in full swing for the ten or so children that would soon be here. Inga informed me that the men would be going to get some meat for the celebration and I was going with them. It was said with much fanfare, more drama than a butcher shop run should ever hold.

First the Soviet era 4x4 had to be gassed up for the journey. This entailed putting four liters of gas, they call it benzene, into a plastic four liter Mobile One oil container that was tied inside the engine compartment. This completed we started it up and let it run for a while as it hadn’t been started in a long time. Kaxa, Vaxo’s friend, joined us as we listened to the old truck run. I was introduced to Kaxa and he reminded me of a friend of mine, P, in Canada. Not that he looked similar but had been built similarly. I called P, Nexus Six after the special combat human
  replicants in the movie Blade Runner. Kaxa was built like a Nexus Nine. Larger and faster this was not a gym built swollen muscle, guy. This was a purpose built guy and I didn’t need to be told he was Special Forces. Quick to smile and share a laugh he jumped in the drivers seat and I again was given the honor of the front seat as Vaxo jumped in the back.

We set off into the countryside bouncing and picking our way to what I was starting to understand was not a mere Butcher shop. We did some serious offroad driving for about twenty minutes and then on a steep incline the truck quit. The load and terrain had combined to overheat the little beast. Kaxa quickly grabbed some water and after a few minutes we were back on the road.

The road ended at a farmhouse deep in the forest between some incredible mountain ranges. Several dogs announced our arrival and in formation circled us. Kaxa jumped out and greeted the dogs and I followed. In the Georgian fashion, he shouted at the farmhouse and soon a few men arrived. Greetings were made all around and we made our way to the goat herd. Negotiations took place and Kaxa identified a black goat that was just right. Separating it from the spooked herd he chased it into the barn and emerged seconds later carrying the displeased animal in front of him holding it by its hooves. I couldn’t help but be reminded of an old saying. “If you don’t want to get eaten by wolves, stay out of the forest.”

The goat was brought over to the trees in front of the farmhouse and killed by a quick, humane, and practiced blade thrust. Three men from the farm went to work skinning the goat and the dogs gathered for treats. The process was equally practiced and swift and when complete we were invited into the farmhouse by an older gentleman. It was obviously his operation and farm. He carried himself in a quiet and dignified manner and commanded respect. We were asked to join him for lunch and as we all washed up a table was pulled out onto the veranda and set up. Toasts were kept simple so I could understand them and the older man started by toasting my country and his. We enjoyed a meal and I tried as best as I could to get the gist of what was being said. I attempted to follow the toasting rules and think I did ok. The rules are different than the ones in Russia. One of the workers presented me with a folding knife that he had on the table. I looked at Vaxo in an attempt to make sure the worker actually meant the Russian word he was using, “Gift.” This was an incredible act of generosity and I was uncomfortable accepting it as I had nothing in return to give him. But it speaks to the countries acceptance of visitors and general respect and kindness they show guests to their country.

We loaded the goat into the back of the truck and made the bumpy and incredible return voyage down to the village. I really was overwhelmed by the experience, and by the beautiful countryside. We made it back without overheating again and joined the party already in full swing. Vaxo and Kaxa starting making shashlik, skewers of goat, using only the best cuts from the fresh animal while Uncle went and got a fire going inside the small barn. The first set of skewers were delivered to the children and women gathered in the large family room and together Vaxo and I prepared the rest for us.

During this time, Kaxa left suddenly and it took me a bit to find out why. His ten-year-old nephew had been hurt by a falling rock. The grandfather and grandmother had taken the boy out to a well-used swimming area for some relief from the hot weather and a BBQ. On the trip home a large boulder fell from the cliffs near the road and struck the car. The boy had been transported to a local hospital. Vaxo continued taking care of his guests despite the fact he would have rather been with his friend during this horrible time. Later while we were eating the goat and drinking some wine Vaxo’s wife received the news that the boy had died from his injuries.

The community as a whole gathered on the street by Kaxa’s home waiting for the news. I went out and attempted to show my respect to the kind man I had only met that day. That he is loved and respected by the community was evident. They shared his pain as a community of peers and equals. I found myself moved by the Georgian sense of community and love in this small village of amazing people.


    For Vaniko, your young life was cut short far too early. Rest In Peace.

First Impressions of Georgia

So we arrived in Tbilisi late in the afternoon and grabbed a taxi to our new apartment. We met our Cousins near the road our place is located and they guided us the rest of the way and helped drag our luggage up to the eighth floor. To be perfectly honest, I was a little concerned. I am used to Soviet era apartments and the general outside being not as important as the inside. However, as I said even, I was a little concerned. If you are coming from NYC, Florida, or Toronto, it will be quite a shock. But relax, have faith and things should work out for you. Fight the urge to run screaming back to the airport. There is that clear enough for you? We loaded the elevator three times as they are tiny here, and you have to pay for them. We are lucky it is a simple monthly fee in other places you have to drop a coin in a very large, compared to  space, box and this allows you to go up and down. My cousin sensing my urge to bolt opened the apartment when we arrived with the first load and went down for the rest allowing me to look at the place.

It is huge, big rooms, modern kitchen, and lovely views. We have half of the floor with balconies on both sides and big windows all around. It is very nice and not at all representative of the downstairs. Curb appeal has even less influence in Georgia! We were sent on our journey in typical Russian form and had loads of snacks, food, and things one needs for a week despite the trip only taking five hours.

Our cousins welcomed us with typical Georgian hospitality. For North Americans, this means treating you like visiting Royalty. Toasts and the food were enjoyed and then we were delivered back to our home for our first night.

            The next morning brought chores like banking, mobile phone sims, and internet connections. Inga’s cousin’s wife helped out and the whole thing was painless and smooth despite a little drama about the machine eating my card. It didn’t and despite general concerns about exchange rates it is like anyplace else in the world that allows you to take out your money from a machine in the wall. This comes with one caveat. In Tbilisi Georgia, you can withdraw Lari, the local currency, or the United States Dollars directly from the cash machine, or cash point for my European readers. My Russian sister Lianna had said you could do this and I thought something had been lost in translation. I have traveled a bunch and haven’t seen this except perhaps at specialized machines in international airports. After the chores and ensuring everything was working fine we sat down for the evening for another feast and discussion about the upcoming trip to “The Village”.

            “The Village” is the little town were Inga’s two Aunts live. It is about an hour and forty minutes by minibus from the central bus station in Tbilisi. The scenery on the trip out reminded me of the Okanagan and the surrounding area. The Village reminds me of my Uncle Jocks farm near Spy Hill by the Manitoba border in the 1960’s. Except I was never there in the sixties, but I remember him telling a story about getting a “throne” in the house after I was born.  The farmhouse has internal plumbing, and an awesome hot shower large enough to wash a horse in. But, the toilet is outside and it is the squat type that causes my calves and thighs to clench. Clenching calves and painful past ninety degree squats are not conducive to easy morning relief no matter how much coffee I drink.  I contemplated changing the design to a North American one. My hosts were very concerned about the rustic bathroom and my Canadian sensibilities. However, a little research on the internet provided me the information that we are doing it wrong. The past ninety-degree angle aligns everything perfectly and it is simply my inexperience at adopting the position that is the problem.  Russian and Georgian people take this position for resting and having a cigarette in casual situations or waiting for a bus. In exploring my bench with a toilet seat idea further, I had to admit a further flaw that even I was familiar with. The dreaded spider!

I have always hated sitting in outhouses. I mean who really likes it. Even if the outhouse is of the variety called ‘the long drop’ they always smell. Even in –20 they somehow manage to reek. But, the worst for me is the giant hairy Brown Recluse spider. Each time I am forced to use one of these I imagine this large lonely spider, brown hairs protruding from his hairy back. The violin pattern mottling from which it derives its other name a warning to other lesser spiders to stay away. He is sitting quietly getting fat off all the flies and other insects his ripe real estate affords him when his world gets plunged into darkness. A vibration more violent than an insect strike stirs his web. His multiple eyes focus on the source, a large hairy pale body descending into his domain. Forced by nature to defend his territory he raises his front feet and exposes his sharp fangs. The interloping sickly pale, loose skin intruder does not retreat. He has to attack. In a quick motion, he attacks sinking his fangs and injects venom that causes the flesh to rot. It will destroy a quarter size area of skin, more than enough for the average spider. Except this ‘spider’ is not a spider at all. The case of mistaken identity is no cause for concern to our Violin spider as he is deaf to the screams of men and is happy as the brightness returns and the flies once again fly into his banquet web. So with all this in mind I had to admit that the open pit squat was a far better design. I just have to get used to the position.

The people are great and the farmhouse itself is very cool. The family here has welcomed us with open arms and despite language issues have done everything and more to ensure the Canadian guests are happy. Uncle can speak better Russian than me and we struggle along with this common foreign tongue. But he is as easy going as me, so even sharing silence and a short walk is done happily. The children have been overdosing on English with Inga and laughing their collective asses off getting me to say words in Georgian. We had another huge feast last night and met another cousin who invited me to go hunting in the morning. We had shared a few liters of wine and I was pretty tired so I politely declined. A few toasts later and with Inga’s encouragement I agreed. I climbed into bed with the knowledge that in four short hours I would be climbing into an unknown vehicle, with unknown men to go hunting for unknown prey.

            The roosters dream woke me up. The damn bird must have been dreaming as sunrise was hours away. I am not a morning person, less so when I have only slept three hours. I tried to dress in the dark and not wake Inga, but she must have been feeling slightly guilty for talking me into this and got up to make me coffee in the strange dark kitchen. We heard the men gathered on the street as we exited the house and I tried and failed to complete my morning waking ritual. The morning was crisp, the coffee hot, and the clenching yoga position was looming. Things only loom in foreboding. The dark walk was looming, the men were waiting, and Inga was fussing. She was only concerned about my comfort and happiness and I was focused on ensuring my intestinal fortitude for the drive and avoiding having to make gesturing hand signals to communicate; “Stop before I shit myself.” While this might be a little too much information for the casual reader, I am only saying what you all know and don’t admit to anyone. Five armed and unknown men are not nearly as imposing as rumbling lower large intestine in a vehicle you don’t control and with a driver that you can’t communicate with. Coffee worked its magic and I was able to join my hunting party on time and in reasonable shape.

         

The vehicle was a Delica minivan and while it had some off-road attachments it didn’t look up for any serious off-road driving. This is another instance in which I shouldn’t have judged a book by its cover. This little four-wheel drive machine did things I wouldn’t have believed possible if I’d seen a video of a pro driver on a closed course. The darkness was abating as we climbed deep into the Georgian countryside. The thick bush giving way only for a mud covered track containing hills and corners with angles the threatened to flip us over. On one such hill, I was seriously wondering if it were possible to roll backward in a minivan.

We arrived at the spot. I only knew it was the spot because everyone got out and let the dogs out. I had no idea we had dogs inside the van until this point and they obviously didn’t know a Canadian was in the van as they all came over and introduced themselves in the usual dog way. I was even happier for the earlier coffee. My cousin handed me a Turkish made 12-gauge auto shotgun and five rounds. I couldn’t ask about the legality of me carrying a shotgun in Georgia so I just accepted it and loaded it. I noticed a couple of the men were watching to see if I knew my way around firearms and could safely handle it. I passed the test and with everyone relieved and the dogs pulling at leashes we set off in the dark. We walked in silence and the dogs barked ideas and options at one another. I believe they collectively decided on following the white female dog as it was easier for the night-blind humans.

However, the decision was arrived at we found ourselves in a clearing between three mountain valleys. Two men went north and left and two others went right and Inga’s cousin and I were to remain in the middle. In Africa, this would be called the flush point. I still didn’t know what our prey was. In Canada, we hunt birds and clay pigeons with shotguns and while I know the rest of the world does things, differently I was a little concerned as I saw what looked like cat and bear tracks.

The Sun came up behind our position and it was a beautiful thing to see. The mist caught in the trees before being tugged toward the clouds and I fingered my stolen toilet paper and scanned a nice relaxing location to trundle off for a more normal and relaxing Canadian style squat.

We hunted for several hours. The other men hunted with the dogs and we occasionally heard them bray from our dedicated kill zone. It was a good plan. It didn’t work and it was a very enjoyable. The men returned in slow succession in that defeated way hunters do. Happy to have the time to hunt and wishing it had been more successful. I was happy to share the time and culture of this Men Only sport here in Georgia.

            Defeated by chance we returned to the other thing hunters do the world over. We tossed plastic water bottles into the air and blasted them with shotguns. I liked this and in truth was a lot more confident blasting a water bottle than a bear! The hunt completed I was offered the front seat for the drive home and accepted this honor quickly. The drive back was even more beautiful and I shared it with men that only knew my name and family connection. We couldn’t communicate in the usual way, but there were no awkward moments. I pondered this and found it odd. We shared so little past being men and yet we all were comfortable with just that.  The “Village” life is at first glance a little simple, but it does afford people with the gift of time. As we age, we understand time is priceless. While the young people in Georgia move to the big exciting cities of Tbilisi and Batumi to escape the village; many return. Not because they fail in their goal but because they realize the simple fact that sometimes, fast progress and a frenetic life isn’t everything as imagined. Sometimes adopting other designs is just a pain in the balls!

                        In case it is illegal for a Canadian to carry a shotgun in Georgia parts of this story are fictional and only representative of what it would be like actually doing the things portrayed in this fictional account.

My last week in Anapa, Russia.

    I have been doing a bunch of thinking lately. Yes, I know how dangerous that can be. But hey, you’re sitting at home safe and sound so have a sip of coffee or vodka and come along with me on this little ride. I am not going to include a bunch of pictures in this blog as I want you to form your own.

     I am always amazed when life tosses things in front of you when you either least expect it or need it the most. Like catching the perfect iPod mix on random while doing an equally random drive or walk. This has happened to me this week past the point of coincidence. Those of you that know me well understand my love of this sacred geometry of chance. Either you’ve played poker with me or sat next to me at a blackjack table. Winning or losing I love watching the odds. Not that I can understand odds correctly, my math skills are too underdeveloped for that. I just get caught up in the awe of impossible and relish the unlikely. This week has brought this to my door. Inga is running about in a packing frenzy as we prepare for the move to Georgia. Inga hates packing, but she is getting used to it with all our bounces over the past year. She also has her very own system for doing it and my system is to stay out of her way while she does. So I have been getting a great deal of writing done. I try to help as I can, but mostly I just try to be supportive. We have already rented a beautiful three bedroom two bath eighth-floor apartment in Tbilisi. We don’t need all the extra room, but our cousins helped to find and organize it all and got us a great deal so a little extra is better than a little tight. I will be telling you all about Georgia when we actually get there, but I discovered an odd fact just renting the place from here in Anapa. In Georgia, you pay to use the elevator in your own building. Just going up! I am sure North Americans will find this very strange like I did. It isn’t much and it gets added as a monthly charge to your utility fees. It makes sense in that odd way something so different makes you kinda think Hmmm?

     So this couple of weeks have brought a few finished chapters, a stack of boxes, and serendipity. Messages out of the random ether of the internet, Facebook posts, and introspection have been plotting to make me think a little. For example, a random like by a new friend of our wedding photo reminded me what a wonderful wife and life partner I have. Another random comment reminded me of what the two of us find value in; living life. Finishing the last chapter of my latest MSS had me tempted to write ‘the end’. A message from another source reminded me that as satisfying writing ‘the end’ is;  a story is rarely ever finished. So like the look of the packing. But I also know it will be done in time and correctly, I hope just like the latest story. What allows me to see these random strings is time, I am blessed with the time to slow down and smell the roses as they say and see the interconnectedness of these random items in an overall contextual framework. Inga and I pair well in this regard as she continues to put things we need in a pile to take and things we probably won’t need in a box to pack away. Dripping with sweat as if in a Stalinesque exercise video as it is very VERY hot here in Anapa right now. Me counting on her and she counting on me to see the overall picture so something important doesn’t get missed. It isn’t really fair as she is doing much more work. But it doesn’t have to be for each of us appreciates the different gifts and styles each bring to the relationship. We have a common goal and an uncommon bond. It is after all my idea and desire to stay in Russia. The common objective is happiness and it is very uncommon that both people share the definition of that nebulas word.

To that end, I managed to pass my Russian immigration test. The test is very hard. I’ve been told so is the one to pass Canadian Citizenship exam. I am not sure if this is true, but I know in Canada you get three years to do it while I only had three months. My teachers at the CenterSoyus.ru here in Anapa were awesome. So was, once again, Inga. Friends also chipped in to help the lone Anapa Canadian and together we were successful. I passed! I found out after I had passed I needed to achieve seventy percent on the exam to do so! I had been shooting for fifty-one!! So it is official and certified by the Russian Government I can speak, read, and write Russian and understand its history and laws. In truth, I know more than I can say correctly but I can make myself understood and understand written forms and the like. I still mess up masculine and feminine plurals and stuff bringing a smile usually when they know I am Canadian. They understand as most have tried to learn our obscure and confusing language as well.

    So I have already mentioned the latest MSS is complete as far as the creative end goes. It was a joy to write using Scrivener. I don’t usually endorse platforms or products here, but this is the easiest method for writing a novel. If you’re using WORD stop! This is the product to use and while the learning curve is as hard as Photoshop it is just as powerful. I still write in Pages and post into Scrivener as I am used to doing it that way but the ability to export it as a perfectly formatted PDF and search back through all the scenes with a click make continuity edits and editing, in general, a dream. I bought the program after Jack Whyte had said he used it.

So now I have the two-part process of editing this latest MSS and making it a book and finding an agent.  Remember it is only a book after it gets an ISBN! To this end, I have been doing a ton of research for agents that specialize in Military Fiction and don’t mind a non-USA centered point of view. I am not really sure which will prove harder. But the sequel is done. It is tight, sharp and focused. Finds Rhys up against impossible odds still loving his quirky cat!

It's a Beautiful Day in the Russian Neighborhood

     “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…” wait this is a Canadian blog written by a Canadian so neighbourhood.   I am getting perhaps a little sensitive to the spelling differences between British, Canadian, and US English for two reasons. One I have many Russians asking questions about it and I recently switched to a new writing platform that has a learning curve. So along with my upcoming Russian test I’ve become a little sensitive!  So today is a break day. No explanations from this guru of English. Now before you toss rocks and say, very correctly, I am most certainly not a pillar of English Grammar let me explain. I am all they have! The wrench you need to change the flat is not half as useful as the one in the trunk, or boot if we were slightly west! So it is on me, and all me. My simple explanation is that the man the created the American dictionary was politically motivated. Mr. Webster perhaps one of the first patriots wanted to set the language slightly apart from the one they had just broken away from. The next line of questioning is why Canada kept some British spelling and not others. Because Canadians are polite is always my answer. This seems to satisfy the inquiring Russian minds. It is true, but I am unsure if it is the truth. But that is another grammatical nightmare.

            One of the issues facing learning all over the world is correct information. While tomes of encyclopedias are most certainly not as easy as Google, they were reviewed by peers. Now I can post something like; Russians are very superstitious people and it will be true because I will hit on Google’s first page. Now in all honesty Russians are a little more superstitious than Canadians, but my own lack of Russian language prevents me from understanding if they actually believe or just culturally observe. My own Mom used to say things like. “Someone close is going to pass away.” When she had a Crow or Raven taping on the window in the morning. Readers of George R.R. Martin will understand the origins of this belief. But she didn’t actually believe it to be a truth.  Similarly, Mr. Rogers was not a Navy SEAL or CIA operator. But some sources on the net say he was. He was a great man and won the Presidential Medal of Freedom, which is the highest award a civilian can receive. See I brought this back around to the start of this tangent. He also worked for a while in Canada and his show was filmed and aired on Canadian television with the incorrect Canadian spelling. I would love to be able to say that my confusion around spelling and grammar was as a result of these inconsistent rules and application but I would be lying. I said as much to a friend David last night when we discussed some stuff around the topic of language. I had to be honest and say I just didn’t pay attention enough in school. So now I get to pay for it by leaning on the Chicago Book of Styles far more often than I should. It slows me down creatively, but then this is what I have this blog for. I get to loosen up a little.

            So today is a break day. While Inga is still helping out friend's children wanting to improve English language skills, I get to hang by the beautiful Black Sea and enjoy the sun. In keeping with the theme; who are the people in my neighbourhood? Let us continue.

   Well to start my day I go to do some writing in the little café under our building. It is a nice little place and quiet. They have free internet, and while it is slow, it is fast enough to check some simple facts before I mislead you all. The waiter is the same guy from last year and we met with a familiarity not uncommon in Russia but would be at home. He asks about my progress on the book and introduces me to his friend a new waiter. This guy is a yoga instructor and comes from the beautiful city of Saint Petersburg. He learned his yoga skills living in a monastery in India and we shared our mutual love of Indian cooking. I told him that we have many people from India living in our area of Vancouver and explained the Sikh immigration to BC.  His English is better than my Russian, but we understand each other enough to make it work.

The walk to the beach finds us going down our usual hill past all the shops that sell everything one might need and could have easily forgotten on the trip to Anapa. At the bottom of the hill is a jovial, fun man with a shiny set of gold teeth who is quick to greet me in the swinging handshake Armenians enjoy. Next door is Irene and the medical post. She is a nurse from the Ural region and makes the eight-day pilgrimage each year to Anapa to protect and take care of the various issues that can happen at the beach. She is a calm and kind woman who is very knowledgeable.

Next to that is the bar that, if you’ve been following my blog for a while you know I like to sit. The owner is another Armenian heritage family that put on an impressive spread of food and cold beer. A little way down the beach finds another café bar that serves hot food and these people are from the Ukraine, although they have been here for years. Inga helps this ladies son with English and I enjoy her cooking.

That is my little neighbourhood. Most of the people I meet can’t speak more than a few words in English and I can only speak a little Russian. But they have made the Canadian feel welcome and take the time to make sure I understand most of what is going on or if not making sure I am included. I may not understand what we are toasting, but all are quick to offer a drink. Russia is an inclusive society that truly revels in understanding a different perspective and culture.

Today I had a guest. David the boy of a Ukrainian family that recently immigrated here joined me in the water. The waves did their best to chase us from the sea with fury and foam. It was a fun afternoon the ended far too quickly for the both of us. Yet, as I sit here in the quiet writing to all of you I feel tired and think I shall need a little Mama’s Cha Cha to ease the pain in the shoulders. No bad days is really more than an idea it is a way of life. If only you are prepared to travel, learn, and leave your bias, behind in the airport parking lot. While it has been many many years since I have seen Mr. Rogers he gave us a truth, perhaps like many things from our youth we have lost or forgotten this truth. The world would be a much better, and safer, place if we all just remembered we are all each others neighbors.

Written by Fred Rogers | © 1967, Fred M. Rogers

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

A beautiful day for a neighbor

Could you be mine?

Would you be mine?

It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood

A neighborly day for a beauty

Could you be mine?

Would you be mine?

I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you

I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you

Let's make the most of this beautiful day

Since we're together, might as well say

Would you be my, could you be my,

Won't you be my neighbor?