Zestafoni! Zestafoni!

It took roughly three hours to reach our destination in the flatlands of the Imereti territory of Georgia. Zestafoni (or Zestap'oni) is an old manufacturing city, divided by a river and railway and nestled within a steep mountain range. Because the area is relatively mild and moist, it is fertile ground for wine vineyards and other vegetation.

I had no real expectations of the area—or my host family for that matter—and was completely riding adrenaline induced by anxiety and lack of sleep from the past week in Tbilisi. As we pulled onto a road behind a large, older, apartment building, I began to feel my legs shake (more so than they normally do).

There were chickens and stray dogs running through the muddy potholes surrounding the complex. Kids stood against a wall, lighting Black Cat firecrackers, and a few men worked on starting an older Volkswagen. It was like the movie depictions of Eastern Europe, yet it was now my home. Cool.

My host mother (deida) and father (mama) greeted me at the steps with the casual Gamarjobat (hell0) and a few other basic Georgian words. Once I replied, they began speaking fluently as they thought I knew the language.

It took me less than five minutes to realize they spoke no English whatsoever, which made me want to roll into a ball and hide for a few days until I could reassess the situation. Fortunately, their 16-year-old son Goga appeared soon thereafter. A quick hello and kiss on the cheek and I felt like a new man—or one who could at least sleep that evening.

The mother and grandmother (bebia) had prepared a Suphra (feast) of traditional Georgian food. Unfortunately, our group had stopped on the way over and ate, which made me feel like a total ass. "Chame! Chame!" they would say, so I forced down as much as I could and did roughly five toasts of wine before I just couldn't put anymore in my body without splitting a seam.

The apartment as a whole is quite small, comprised of two bedrooms, a half-kitchen and bath, and a living area. Because I'm the guest, I have one of the bedrooms (which has made me feel like a bigger ass). There is no running water, making the bathroom a tricky situation. There is a drain in the middle of the floor, so you heat your water and just let it rain when you want to shower off. I actually don't really mind it (I've caught myself singing).

The toilet...umm..yeah.

After a great night's sleep on Saturday, I woke up with a strong desire to go for a run. Well, running in Georgia is a lot like playing field hockey in the South—it just doesn't happen. Roughly 20 minutes of explaining my intentions (Google translate is a godsend) and my father finally understood what I wanted to do. He escorted me a few kilometers on a roadside stretch near the river before saying "go...go" and pointed back to home.

Evenings at home consist primarily of TV time, where everyone sits around near a space heater and watches either the news or some type of either American or American-knock-off programming. They do happen to have Telemundo and some other Mexicali programming. I can't remember what show it is that they love, but it some comedy hour skit they can't get enough of.

Yesterday was my TLG group's first day teaching. I happen to have been placed at a small school in the village of Ckhrackaro—about a 20 minute mini-van (packed with teachers) ride up the mountainside—and I couldn't be happier with the selection. Eta is the "direct'or" or principal of the school of roughly 150 kids. The only way I can describe my out-of-place aura at the school is "unicorn-like." The kids stare, point, smile and pretty much want to be around you as much as they can.

I only have 3 classes to teach, leaving plethora of free time to do other stuff (like explore the terrible outhouse, take pictures of kids outside playing dice and make flashcards for other teachers who want to learn English).

Today I'm home sick. I've been fighting a headcold/mild flu virus the last few days and it finally caught up to me enough that my host family (who is unbelievably caring and overly protective) would not let me go to work today. Last night they called a doctor for a house visit once they found out I had a temperature. They really are great people despite throwing scary doctor visits on me.

The grandma, who basically speaks Russian, is the only other person home right now. I think she was a bit leery of me at first since I'm American, but she's really started to try and communicate more and more and has been as nice as can be. She just put a blanket on my back and told me to drink some more ch'ai (tea).

Hopefully I'll be up to par in a few days and can provide some interesting updates on Zestaponi (I love saying that word).

-SCB