It’s been a while since I felt as out of sorts as I do here – guess there’s more egotistical American in me than I care to admit! I fully expected to have no language problems, it’s Europe! Of course they all speak English. Rude awakening, my dear! The hotel restaurant staff understand English about as well as I understand Spanish. Found that out when my “vegetarian” lunch included chicken ceasar salad. Gotta refresh my memory about some key words!

The little piece of Madrid I’ve seen near the hotel is nice. I went for a walk after lunch, but almost all the shops were close 2-5 pm. How quaint! After the lunch ordeal, I wasn’t much up to dealing with shopkeepers. As I passed a shoe store I overheard a young woman say “pyat”. Just figured there was a Spanish word that sounded like the Russian word for “five”. Nope! Those three lovely ladies were russkis all the way, and they were just dumbfounded that shops would close in the afternoon. I have to admit, I was kind of surprised too, but like any good devushka, they figured it was just meant for everybody else and proceeded to ring the door bell, expecting someone to come open the store for them. It was kinda cute, atually, in a weird sort of way. Put me right at ease with my new surroundings.

It’s been a long day. It’s almost 1am local time, just an hour difference from Kyiv but I seem to have a new wind and can’t sleep. Things that I remembered today that I meant to write about earlier:

- Need to add “ice and easy access to getting it” to the list of things I love about the US, like ice machines in hotels and bags of ice at grocery stores. We spent days making ice for our margarita party this past weekend, which we used up in just a few short hours. Argh!

- Numerous crazy stories from Georgia. Such as…

I was all freaked out by the guy across the aisle from me on the Kyiv-Tbilisi flight, whose cell phone kept beeping throughout the flight. “Is your phone on?” I asked. “No, it’s off,” he said. “Strange, electronic devices rarely makes sounds when they are turned off.” He just stared at me.

As soon as the wheels of the plane touched the ground, two-thirds of the passengers jumped out of their seats and started getting their stuff from the overhead bins. The flight attendants asked a couple of times for them to sit down until the plane had stopped, but then they seemed to accept their defeat and just kept to themselves. I always wonder, where do those people think they will rush off to? The plane is sealed up tight, we’re still taxiing to the gate, yet it’s somehow crucially important that they get their stuff out and be ready to sprint out of the plane?

We hired a car and driver one day to take us to some cool historical sites just outside of Tbilisi. The driver stopped at a gas station on the way. There was a man sitting, maximum, six feet from the pump, smoking a cigarette. The driver got out, left the car running, and filled the tank. Igor and I looked at each. “I love you,” we said to each other, thinking these could very well be our last seconds on earth. We didn’t explode, thankfully, and Igor commented that he understands now that cell phones in airplanes is really nothing to these people.

When I departed from Batumi a week later, a woman got on the plane at the last moment and flopped down into the first available seat, which happened to be across from me. She buckled in as we pulled away from the gate. She starting searching through her purse, clearing becoming increasingly agitated. As we taxied to the runway, she unbuckled, stood up and took her luggage out of the overhead bin. She searched it as we pulled onto the runway, put it back, sat down again and searched her purse again. As the wheels lifted from the ground, she pulled out her cell phone, turned it on and dialed a number. I nearly had a heart attack.

“I can’t believe you are doing that”, I said to her. “I understand you’ve lost something, but it’s a question of safety.”
“Oh, calm down girl. I’ll just be quick.”
“And we’ll all die quickly.” (My imagination runs wild in a situation like this – all those unexplained plane crashes, were they because everyone on a plane turned on their phones?)
“I forgot my mobile phone in the airport,” she said, as if that justified everything.
“Your phone is more important than the lives of the people on this plane?”
Clearly she thought so.

As we ascended over the Black Sea, she called someone to tell them she’d forgotten her phone. I was contemplating calling my husband to tell him I love him.

People in this part of the world have a strange relationship to rules. I guess they would say the same about Americans, that we take them much too seriously. But I’m American and yes, dammit, I take my rules seriously, especially the ones that I understand to be about my safety and the safety of those around me. Do I think it’s absurd that in most of the US it is OK to operate a multi-ton motor vehicle after a couple of beers but it is not OK to walk in a park with an open alcholic beverage in your hand? Yeah, I do (how much damage can you do walking, for Pete’s sake?). Do I think there is logic to traffic rules? Hell yeah. I guess I understand somewhat risking your own life, and I recognize that some people (many?) don’t care about the lives of strangers around them. But driving like a maniac with your kids in the car, or standing up in a taxiing airplace with your baby in your arms, that I will just never understand. Even if you care for no other life around, how can you not care for the life of your child?

I’ve philosophized over this question with many an ex-pat. I do believe the insane rush to get your carry-on out and be first ready to exit the plane comes from the the mentality towards lines here, which is one of the biggest legacies of the Soviet Union (close but still not equal to the insane need to have any and all documents stamped; I swear one of these days I’m buying a unicorn stamp for all official business!).

I’ve concluded that if they don’t die from it the first time, they decide it’s OK to do all the time. There are many flaws to this theory, but it’s the only way I can rationalize the behavior.

We had a great weekend in Tbilisi last week, and then I had a good workshop in Batumi. The only bummer was that it rained cats and dogs every single day and evening! And since the big attraction to having the workshop in Batumi was the Black Sea, it was disappointing that we couldn’t swim. One colleague braved it during a brief break in the rain, but the water was so rough, he didn’t try for long.

A US Navy GM destroyer arrived in Batumi along with us for training exercises with the Georgian Coast Guard. Turned out they ate at the same restaurant as us one evening. Our waitress disappeared for a LONG time, and when our Georgian colleague finally found here, he asked what was going on, why had she abandoned us.

Waitress: “We have Americans here in the other hall.”
Georgi: “We have Americans too!”
Waitress: “Well, these are Black Americans.”

We all had a good chuckle, and we agreed that we didn’t mind at all that we’d been ignored for a bit if that was her excuse – my, how times have changed!

My suitcase was full of fabulous Georgian wine on the return trip, plus a couple bottles of chacha, a drink the Georgians like to compare to grappa, but I think it’s more like turpentine. Very, very potent. And a perfect gift for my in-laws, who love that kind of stuff. One bottle of wine broke in my suitcase, though, which came to my attention when I noticed the trail of red liquid following me through the airport terminal. Turned out to be the decorative ceramic bottle that I bought solely because I liked the bottle. I’m not sure if the wine was any good or not, but I was bummed to lose the pretty bottle. And of course laundry was interesting. Thank goodness nothing valuable was destroyed!

It’s been hot as Hades in Kyiv, and we were excited to finally host a party on our big balcony – margarita night! Igor and I cooked all day, and had some of that delicious Georgian wine to keep us happy and motivated. Friends arrived, I had two margaritas, laid down on the couch for a sec, and next thing I know, I wake up and the guests were long gone! I was most definitely not the “hostess with the mostest” last night. I guess the booze, heat and travel just caught up with me and I was out for the count. I was up long for a few minutes, thought about cleaning up and putting the leftovers away, but was still utterly exhausted and fell dead asleep again. Poor Igor was up until 2:30 cleaning up. I swear, I don’t deserve his love! He was so nice about it, though, and we had a good laugh this morning. Boy, do I ever owe him for this one.

Tomorrow is an early start. After the last disaster at Boryspil, I’m not taking any risks and will head out at an ungodly early hour. Looks like the weather is cooler around Moscow than it’s been in Kyiv – that’s a relief!

Security noticed my little non-pointy scissors for my cross-stitch (which have gone on something like 10 or 12 flights with me) and said they weren’t allowed, but didn’t take them away. Just told me to leave them in the terminal (which, of course, I did not).

Passport control went smoothly, we breezed through. Igor noticed two men being deported. I overhead a man ask that his passport NOT be stamped. What was that about, I wonder? I’ve heard of Americans doing that in Cuba, or someone who travels between Armenia and Azerbaijan not wanting a stamp, but no stamp in Ukraine was a new one for me.

I checked the screen, Gate 1. By the time we got there, our gate had changed. The ladies at Gate 1 told us to go to Gate 4. We stood in line but something didn’t look right. I went to check the screen again, and now we were changed to Gate 5. I stared to wonder if they really knew where our plane was.

We finally boarded, then spent an entire hour on the tarmack, suffocating in the stifling hot air of the cabin. Babies screeching, everyone melting. When we finally did take off (and the air conditioning kicked on, thank god!), the pilot came on the intercom to apologize for the delay, which was due “to lack of services at Boryspil airport”. Wow. And they want to host Euro 2012 here? They’ve got a LONG way to go.

On the plus side, the new entrance to the terminal is spiffy (although the improvement over the previous entrances is questionable). And the barricades were arranged in one of the most logical ways I’ve ever seen in the parking lot at Boryspil (the traffic pattern is arranged differently every single time I go there).

We had a great evening in Tbilisi. We’re staying in a kind of bed-and-breakfast right in the center of town. A character of an old lady has almost an entire floor of an old historical building, and she rents out five or six rooms. At some point in time, the large rooms were renovated to each include a bathroom. The walls are covered with her own paintings (“I’m no artist, it’s just my hobby”). You could probably get a second floor in here, the ceilings are so high. When I called to make the reservation, she told me “У вас входит бракфаст”, which cracked me up (4 words in Russia, 1 in heavily-accented English, translation: breakfast (the word she said in English) is included).

We were both a bit irritable after the flight (and a loooonnngg wait for luggage in Tbilisi), but some wine and hatchipuri improved moods pretty quickly. Then a wonderful meal with friends at a cool outdoor restaurant along the river. So much for losing those American pounds!

I’m slowly getting photos uploaded, but haven’t had a chance to add descriptions yet. The new underwater camera has provided some extra fun; check the photos from Elk Grove and Phoenix.

Some highlights of the trip so far:
Igor ate his first taco (liked it) and taco salad (loved it).

We drank a yard of margarita in Las Vegas, and have been drinking them most nights ever since.

Igor bought real cowboy boots in Carson City.

We sat RIGHT NEXT to sea lions on the wharf in Monterey, and got a great video of a sea otter dining on a crab.

I’m about ready to again live with closets and not out of a suitcase (but not entirely ready).

Photos to come…

Wednesday was the Country Fair at NAFSA, one of the best parts of the entire conference (IMHO). EducationUSA advisers from over 130 countries decorated booths, dressed in traditional costumes and met with thousands of university representatives who are interested to recruit international students.

We had an Armenian princess

And some Russian ones too

And of course a great team from Ukraine

It was the first opportunity I’ve had to wear my embroidered shirt from Kosiv (western UKraine).

Several of the US university reps thought I was Ukrainian, since I was wearing the shirt, and I even was complimented on my good English!

The full set of photos are on Flickr.

This week, Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia all celebrated their Independence Days. I was invited to a reception hosted by the Consul General of Azerbaijan last night. Wow, what a spread! And it was exciting to learn so much about the country. Did you know Azerbaijan was the first secular Muslim-majority country in the world? It had a brief indepence for 22-months in 1918-1919 before the Bolsheviks took over and incorporated it into the Soviet Union.

But first we went to The Getty.

Look at that gorgeous blue sky!

I was bummed we couldn’t stroll on the beach with a nice cold beer, but margaritas and nachos with an ocean view was a pretty good substitution!

Full photo set is on Flickr.

And now we are counting down to the day he meets me in LA and we start a much needed and long anticipated FABULOUS vacation! The conference is great, don’t get me wrong; it’s wonderful to see my colleagues, meet new people and learn so much, but I am looking forward to putting it all behind me and hitting the road with my wonderful husband for three weeks of rest, relaxation, good food, interesting sites and new adventures. One week to go!

Adventures started with my very first steps in the country. When they saw my American passport at Passport Control, I was politely pulled aside and asked if I had been to Mexico or California. “No, I live in Kyiv!” I blurted, hoping they wouldn’t notice the New York stamp from 2 days ago. Yikes.

The August 2008 war is still very fresh in everyone’s minds and a topic in nearly every conversation. I was especially skeptical of all news sources last fall – Russian news had a very specific spin, Ukrainian news too (especially considering President Yushchenko is godfather to President Saakasvili’s child, or the other way around, I always forget), and the US was all gaga over Saakasvili because he can speak English and has truly mastered the American soundbite (and American journalists just ate it up!). We haven’t talked about the politics of the war yet, but I have heard some really frightening and heart-breaking personal stories.

Tamar, her husband and their small baby were coming back to Tbilisi from visiting relatives in their home village. They were stopped in Gori, about 50 miles from Tbilisi, by a group of armed men dressed in soldier’s uniforms. I asked if they were Russians, and she said they spoke Russian “but not like Russians” – they did not seem to her to be ethnic Russians, but she couldn’t tell what kind of accents they had. Her impression was that they were not real soldiers, but were more or less bandits dressed up in soldiers’ uniforms.

The “soldiers” forced them out of the car, which they ransacked. They stole everything Tamar and her husband had with them, including the car. When her husband started to protest, they made signs as if they were going to shoot him and Tamar intervened, screaming and becoming hysterical. For some reason, the “soldiers” backed off. Again her husband protested, asking how he was supposed to get his 5-month old baby home, almost ranting and raving. The “soldiers” finally gave them another car, god-knows whose or where from. Tamar and her husband took it , wanting to get away as soon as possible. To their horror, when they got in, they found it “full of blood.” She still has no idea whose car it was or what happened in it.

A few days later, she saw their own car on TV, in a report from Gori. She recognized their license plate. Today they have no idea where their car is. But they are happy to be alive. She told this story to me with some light-heartedness, some laughter even now – perhaps it’s awe at having even survived to tell the tale – but others told me later that she had been in a deep state of shock for quite some time afterwards. I am amazed that she can talk about it at all, much less with a smile on her face, even if it’s an ironic one. These are amazing people.

I asked if the people’s whose homes were destroyed in Gori and other parts of the country during the war were being helped by the government, if some kind of temporary housing was available. Tamar said those people had been given “tiny shacks” to live in, but nothing decent, nothing like what they used to have. This prompted a passionate outcry from her colleague Tina.

“But we got nothing, nothing, no help at all, when we had to leave Abkahazia (in 1991)”. Tina was 6 when her ethnic Georgian family was forced out, becoming part of the huge population of Internally Displaced People in Georgia – in essence, refugees in their own country. I asked if she can go back there now. “Oh no, I’d be shot,” she stated matter-of-factly.

I’ll take democracy on steriods (as I call the over-zealous constant call for elections in Ukraine) any day of the week. I am grateful to live in a country that is proud of its relatively peaceful revolution. Oh how I wish the safety and comfort I feel in Kyiv was a more common experience for poeple in other parts of the world.