I took the midnight train from Tbilisi to
Zugdidi, the capital of Samegrelo, which was surprisingly comfortable. Marshrutkas all seem to be built for Georgian
size people, which means my knees are always jammed into the back of the seat in
front of me. Not only was there plenty
of leg room on the train, I could actually recline my seat. In fact, I slept the entire seven hour ride
north.
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| Zugdidi just after sunrise |
I arrived in Zugdidi just in time to see
the sun rise and immediately started playing my favourite game: How Many
Georgians Does It Take to Put Me on the Right Marshrutka? Zugdidi now holds the record for this game at
fifteen. Eventually, I was on a
marshrutka the driver assured me was going to Chorotskhu and passing Zumi. An old lady sitting next to me said she knew
Olly, that her grandchildren were his students.
She gave me a tourguide’s commentary on all the scenery we passed and
told me which mountains were Samegrelo, which were Svaneti, and which were
Abkhazia.
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| The ones on the left are Svaneti. Straight ahead is Abkhazia |
Despite the driver’s assurances, I think I
was still on the wrong marshrutka. Or
the driver got lost. Olly and Tom both
told me that the ride from Zugdidi to Chorotskhu should take less than an
hour. It took us three. Finally, after many confusing phone calls
between Olly, his co-teacher, the driver, and myself, I saw Olly sleeping by
the side of the road where he was waiting for me.
In preparation for the Guy Fawkes play (and
the other surprise), his school had more or less cancelled classes for the
day. We walked into absolute chaos. Some of the students were pretending to
practice their lines, some were playing with the speakers, several were chasing
each other around with the prop swords and spears, and a few decided to test
out their home-made fireworks. After
all, it wouldn’t be Guy Fawkes night without explosions in school?
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| Olly, the Guy, the history teacher, and a future wife of Henry VIII |
The show was supposed to start at 6, but
Olly got a call around half past two informing him that the play was about to
start and he was needed back at the auditorium.
It was still another hour or so before the curtain went up.
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| In the meantime, chaos! |
The play itself was pretty impressive. Olly started his script all the way back with
Henry VIII to put the religious and dynastic arguments in context. I think just about all the students in the
upper three grades played some part on stage.
Most of the students had their lines and blocking fairy well memorized,
and the scenery and props were very creative.
My camera died about halfway through the show, so I didn’t get any
pictures of the climactic battle under Parliament or the dramatic trial scene
(with much brandishing of swords and shaking of spears).
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| Queen Elizabeth with one of her Ministers and a Georgian reporter |
There were reporters from two different
Samegrelo news stations there, videotaping the whole thing. I think it’s supposed to be up online
someplace, but I can’t find it. Between
the cameramen walking around onstage in front of the actors and the audience
(mostly the younger students, who don’t really understand English yet) talking
throughout the show, it was a little difficult to hear what was being said
sometimes. From the other shows I’ve
seen in this country (plays, concerts, dance recitals), that seems to be pretty
much par for the course for Georgian audiences.
Everyone still seemed to enjoy it.
After Olly’s play, we were informed that
the students had put together an exhibition of Georgian culture, and we were to
be taken on a tour of all seven regions.
I was dragged into this because I was there. If Tom hadn’t been stuck in a marshrutka, I’m
sure he would’ve been taken on tour as well.
Olly and I were told to follow our ‘tour guide’ around the cafeteria and
smile and look pretty while the reporters got to videotape the whole
thing. We’re on the
Samergrelan news somewhere, Olly looking smart in his suit and tie and me in
the clothes I’d slept in on the train.
Oh, Georgia…
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| Apparently, their school isn't always decorated like this |
It was a neat exhibition, though. For each of the seven regions of Georgia, the
students put on a skit or sang and danced or something to showcase that
region’s specialty. Kakheti (where I
live) was all about food and wine. No
surprise there. Olly was afraid we’d
have to, as he put it, “get pissed through all seven regions,” but the students
drank all the wine themselves. We didn’t
even get a chance to get pissed until after.
When the kids were done with all the
regions, the reporters shoved microphones in our faces and asked us what we’d
thought of it all. Olly, accustomed to
being a local news star, gave some brilliantly diplomatic response about the
value of education and cultural exchanges.
I stuttered so badly they thought the microphone was broken and finally
stammered out something about Georgia being beautiful. You can watch the video here. Footage from the play starts around three minutes in, and the cameras following the crazy foreigners starts around six minutes in.
But we weren’t done yet! Not by a long shot. Before the bonfire could be lit, we had to
have a proper supra. All the food that
had been made to represent each region for our tour was brought out to the table
and put in front of us. The tamada
compared Olly to Shota Rustavelli and William Shakespeare, then made lots of
very long toasts to knowledge and art and future generations. Olly’s co-teacher, who had been translating
the toasts, eventually just told us that the tamada was using lots of words to
say nothing and gave up translating.
Just in time for dessert, Tom strolled in. He has exquisite timing.
The local priests weren’t keen on the idea
of burning effigies of people, but Olly had somehow convinced them to let him
thrown the Guy Fawkes he’d made on the bonfire.
There were lots of pictures, lots of bits of mangled English poetry, and
lots of sparks flying. The Girl Scout in
my head was shaking her fist at the lack of fire safety, but she seemed to be
the only one who cared.
Nino, Olly’s host sister and one of the
dancers on our tour, gave me a lesson in Georgian dancing while we were waiting
to go to the train station.
Unfortunately, I’m too tall to be her dancing partner. Phooey.
Dato and Datona drove me to the Zugdidi train station, but I had
misremembered the departure time and missed the train by half an hour. No matter: they then drove me to the next
station on the line, Senakhi, in time to catch the train there. After another night sleeping sitting up, a
frantic subway ride, and a desperate bout of trying to read the correct
marshrutka sign in Georgian, in the dark, while moving, I made it back to
Telavi in time for my first class on November the Sixth. Just barely.
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