Gaacheret!

I’ve mentioned traveling by marshutka (minibus) a few times in previous posts, but I think it would be worthwhile to discuss the phenomenon in more detail, as a way of giving you a glimpse into one small but important part of life in Georgia.

My “village,” Tsaishi, is more like what in Vermont we would call a town in the rural sense, in that it is spread out and encompasses several smaller population centers. There are thus three different local marshutkas to choose from, plus the long-distance ones going to places like Kutaisi or Tbilisi, so choosing the right one can present a challenge. In addition, many of them run on no fixed schedule (they wait in town until they are full before leaving for the village), so you never know how long you may have to wait. Experienced locals can identify many of the individual vehicles that run the local routes from a distance, but I, the ignorant foreigner, have no recourse but to wait expectantly by the side of the road until I can read the small sign (in Georgian) propped against the windshield. By this time the marshutka is almost upon me, and I have to wave energetically as it goes by, then run up ahead to where it has stopped.

On board, people are often packed in so tightly that it is almost impossible to move, let alone see out the window to know when to get off. As far as I can tell, the locals have a remarkable ability to a) magically be at the front when it’s time for them to get off, and b) tell the driver to stop with a few mumbled words I can barely hear even sitting right next to them. Needless to say, these abilities are far beyond me, and I find myself drawing even more attention than usual as I call out “Gaacheret!” (Stop!) loudly from the back of the marshutka, then literally climb over the other passengers, bags of groceries in hand, to get to the door.

Paying presents another challenge. On trips to and from Zugdidi, the price is established at 70 tetri (cents), and when boarding in town, you actually buy a ticket. For shorter trips, however, there are no clear guidelines. Paata seems to decide how much to pay using an algorithm based on the distance traveled, how much money he has on him, what sort of mood he’s in, and whether he likes the driver. I generally limit myself to the first criteria. That said, often I don’t actually get as far as paying anything. Either the driver refuses to take my money, or one of my neighbors or fellow teachers pays for me. I drew the line the other day when one of my students tried to pay for me, even though this meant physically pushing her out of the way so I could hand the driver my money.

Despite these many challenges, I’ve only taken the wrong marshutka once, and I figured it out quickly enough to get off and catch another one without a problem. I’ve also gotten to know the woman who sells the tickets in town (to the extent possible given the language barrier), and she now asks me how I am when I see her. I’ve even started being able to recognize a few of the more distinctive marshutkas (the big, bright green one, for example), but I still double-check the sign in the window before getting on. Give me, oh, a few more years, and I might just have the system down.

And now, in other assorted news:

• I went with my host family to a wedding supra for one of Paata’s distant relatives on Tuesday. There were at least 200 people there in a huge tent, with an astounding amount of food on the tables. It was fun for a while, and I’m glad I had the experience, but I was ready to go by 11:00, and we didn’t end up leaving until after 2:00.
• Nikolozi, Paata and Marika’s toddler, has latched on to the idea of eating with a fork. Now, he doesn’t have enough fine motor skills to actually use the fork to put food in his mouth, but he’s not about to let that stop him. He’s perfectly content to bang it on the table, use it to mash around his food, or just hold it in his hand, while other people feed him, but he will often refuse to eat anything unless he has at least one fork in his possession.
• The maple syrup I brought from home is starting to grow mold around the lid (owing in part to the long periods when the fridge is off, either because the power is out or because they’ve unplugged it for reasons I haven’t been able to understand). With this in mind, I made pancakes from scratch last night, which came out pretty well, although I used a little too much baking soda. Marika was making a cake at the same time and had some left over chocolate sauce, which, when eaten with the pancakes and syrup, almost evoked chocolate chip pancakes. Almost.
• And speaking of pancakes… I had three kinds of wheat product for breakfast this morning: Georgian style pancakes (denser and fried in oil), bread with jam, and a slice of Marika’s cake. This sort of meal hardly bothers me any more.