With Apologies for the Hiatus
November 10, 2012 – Moving day
With apologies for the hiatus, we are now officially At Home in Georgia–the garden house is ours at last. Friday was our first night here, and the days just before and since have been a bit hectic. Moving house by taxi in a foreign language is a hilarious experience, but if you are liberal with small-denomination notes of local currency, all things are possible. Georgians have been through so much violence, upheaval, deprivation, and general misery since the break-up of the Soviet Union (and certainly before, but they talk freely about the recent past) that they are more bemused than annoyed by foreigners with suitcases the size of Fiats.
I brought the first suitcase from the hotel on Thursday morning and spent a few hours surveying the house room by room, making lists of necessary small repairs and replacements to be made. At 4:00 that afternoon I met with our landlady and her son, Lado (a Georgian nickname for Vladimir, a Russian name), to sign the lease and then returned to the Marriott to finish packing, and to say a fond farewell to the great, gilded statue of St George in Tavisuplebis Moedani (Freedom Square).
Friday morning we checked out at 8:15 and wrangled five more suitcases into the house before 9:00; Jim left for the office and move-in day began. A small crew of Russian-speaking Georgians arrived (more on that another time—I am still puzzling over the sociogram of Georgian speakers to Russian speakers), including an electrician, a carpenter, and an old gentleman who roamed the house with a pot of paste and a brush, sticking down wallpaper that had come loose. I met Lia, who will be our housekeeper; she too speaks only Russian. (My housekeepers in DC spoke only Portuguese or Spanish, so it’s not such an unusual situation when I think about it.) Acting as foreman was Pavel, a twinkly-eyed fellow, trim and seventy-something, whose golden molars show when he laughs, which is often.
The day went on forever, with men coming and going through the big front door, shouting in Russian and laughing, and at least six different ring tones shrilling continuously. The first time I heard Pavel’s phone play ZZ Top I laughed out loud; the twenty-first time it was less amusing. A young guy came and installed wireless internet service (Wireless! For less than $20!). Lado came to check on our progress, and at 6:00 PM, just as the morning bunch was winding down, three more men arrived to install an enormous wardrobe that had been removed for repairs. Pavel showed me how to build a fire in our fireplace. I ordered a pizza for delivery, sure it would never find its way to us because so many of Tbilisi’s streets were re-named after the revolution and most locals still use the old names. Jim arrived around 7:30 after a very long day of his own, and we took refuge by the fire while the cabinet makers hammered and drilled. After several calls from a distraught pizza courier, I put one of the carpenters on the phone and the pizza finally arrived. Jim and I closed the stained glass French doors to the living room and ate our dinner by firelight.
At 9:30 Lado said goodnight and took the carpenters with him. The place was a mess, but I had already made the bed and we crawled in for our first night’s sleep at home–in Georgia.