Back to the Family

Thursday 8^th March 2012

Friday night we went to see the family back in the village and stayed over.

The journey, as always in Georgia, is an event in itself.  We let the train take the strain (Who can remember that 1970’s advert?!)  The station at Kaspi is interesting – no activity in that you never really see people just lines and lines of rolling stock.  There are very few trains that stop at Kaspi and there is one at about 5.30 at night.  I have no idea of where it goes or where it stops.  It doesn’t appear to be part of the timetable that can be found on the internet (only those with doors you open yourself can be found there) and there are no station maps or signs at the actual stations. 

These trains have automatic doors and like all trains very Soviet style – lots of metal and no attempt at comfort or aesthetics.  We asked in our best Georgian “Where is this?” but were only met with I-don’t-know shrugs.  Well there are no signs after all.  There is no smoking in the carriages so the smokers stand in the spaces at the end of the carriage where both the connecting carriage doors and the doors to the outside world meet.  A string of vendors walk up and down the carriages continually, selling a variety of goods calling out along the way “Buka buja, khachapuri, chocco-lat-eee, cooking oil, buka buja”.  Buka Buja is what unknown words in Georgian sound like.  They sell drinks, sweets, knicker elastic, metal objects of unknown use, crisps and those things like cheesy wotsits that are 3 times the size and REALLY have no flavour and REALLY taste just like polystyrene. 

Unperturbed by the packed train, they march through every carriage and back again the whole time, dragging chequered bags and very large buckets used for paint behind them.  We were unfortunately standing in front of the connecting doors and so had to move every 6 minutes to allow vendor plus bags to sell their wares, as well as those handing out religious cards with a written message asking for a donation for their well-being and not forgetting those strange beasts “Carriage Roamers” who, just for the hell of it walk through the train.  This was not easy as Martin was also sporting a rucksack and there were about 10 of us in a space 3 foot by 10 foot.  We plan to be cartographers for the day where we ride up and down on the train to see where it goes and at what time.  Kind of like following in Shackleton’s footsteps but with no shortage of food and no fears regarding the consequences of underwear failure.

                                                                 

Snow fell yet again as we arrived in the village; (Oh how we missed that!) and we couldn’t help but notice that the family had had installed an interesting little gas fire to top up heat given by the little wood stove.  The gas was pumped through a hose that snaked around the room as the fire was moved to warm whoever claimed it first.  It was a bloody dangerous beast! It was really nice to see them all and we had a simple family meal of chicken and tomato casserole, hard boiled eggs, fried liver and onions (but not as we know it), khachapuri, cheese and bread.  I showed off as to how well I can drink cha-cha and downed 3 without flinching plus 2 glasses of wine.  You know the saying “pride before a fall” well for me it was “vomit before you fall”  This of course was no mean feat to execute when the outside squat toilet is a 20 minute walk from the bedroom and it’s snowing.   

The funny story of the night was when we told them that there was a woman in Kaspi who walked up and down the streets calling out “Martin-eee” and we wanted to know what she was selling.  I said I had seen her on my way to school and she carried a chequered bag inside which was a cardboard box. “What was she doing?” I asked.  They had a think and then burst out laughing and said she was calling out “Matson-eee” which is like greek yoghurt!  This was the joke of the evening – they thought it was hilarious and so did we at the time – their laughter was infectious.

I can’t explain why it is but Kvemo Khvedureti feels like our Georgian childhood home while Kaspi feels like our leaving-home-as-young-adults kind of grown-up home.  We do fun things in Kaspi, go to work and look after ourselves and lead our own lives living like adults but when we go back to the village we regress back to being children again, feeling at home and doing things that we used to when we were first introduced to Georgian society.  It’s like the ‘good old days’ where we appreciate and warmly remember times past but would not want to exchange it for the times present!

We have invited them to dinner at ours in 2 weeks time and we have promised them a roast dinner.  The things we say when we are drunk.  I don’t know how many or which people are coming and all I remember saying is that anyone who wants to come can as we have many chairs and many forks.