As mentioned in my last blog posting, I was sick for most of the month of October.
I caught a cold around the first of the month, which turned to pleurisy, which then tried to become pneumonia. I was coughing; my head and chest were filled with discolored crud, I was running high fevers...I was a sick boy. Went through two courses of antibiotics.
But I'm still coughing, and I think I have figured who the culprit is:
Tbilisi.
Tbilisi is not the dirtiest place I've ever lived. That title would go to Abidjan, the capital of Cote d'Ivoire, where I lived more than 20 years ago. Second, third and fourth runners-up would be downtown Baltimore, Moscow ... and then Tbilisi.
But there were extenuating circumstances when I lived in Abidjan, or even, for that matter when I lived in Moscow.
For one thing, I was a younger man. I was in my mid-to-late thirties when I lived in Abidjan and Moscow, stronger and healthier than I am now. All my life I have had what you might call a "weak chest." Since I was a kid I've been subject to upper-respiratory infections.
But in my long-gone foreign service days not only was I younger, but also spoiled rotten in terms of my surroundings. I was an employee of the American Embassy, and don't you believe anything those people tell you about their supposed "hardships:" they live on a satin pillow provided by the U.S. government. I know, I was one of them. Hardships? Listen to some of their "hardships:" luxurious quarters, expensive furniture, chauffeur rides to and from work, General Services Support for anything you need from a broken window to a leaky toilet, medical services on-site, 24-hour security guards where deemed needed, commissaries well-stocked with American consumer goods, satellite TV...Oh, yeah, and top of it all, every American living overseas on "official business" has a full-time maid who costs him or her maybe $100 a month. Official Americans have it SO tough. My heart bleeds for the poor babies.
Trying living with none of those things, as I do now.
Anyway, yes, Abidjan and Moscow were dirty, dusty, sometimes dangerous places. Malarial, in the case of Abidjan. But in Abidjan I spent my entire working day inside the embassy, a completely air-conditioned and therefore air-filtered environment. In addition, I worked in the communications center, which didn't even have any windows. It was air conditioning all the way. Not that they cared so much about us, but the equipment had to be kept cool.
After working all day in the air-conditioned Cote d'Ivoire embassy environment, I would go home to my beautiful four-bedroom house in Deax Plateau (yes, we had a full-time servant who did all the cleaning and laundry, and cost a pittance) which was also air conditioned 24/7. So I was only breathing "the crap" when I was either out jogging or on my way from point A to point B. in my car or a taxi.
Goodbye to all that. I am not in Tbilisi as an overpaid government employee. I'm here as a woefully underpaid teacher. Benefits? Don't make me laugh. I live in a tiny studio for which I'm paying $300 a month. We are not permitted to drive here; our contract forbids it. So everywhere I go I either walk, take a cab or ride the smelly Metro.
I teach English to Georgian children in what could be charitably called a "sick building." (My Georgian teaching colleagues tell me that this filthy barn, Public School #117 in the suburb of Varketili, is actually one of the better buildings.) What can I tell you? It was built by the Soviets, and they couldn't build anything well except missiles and tanks. The building not only has no air conditioning, it also has no heat (until they get around to turning it on, which as of November 8 they have not yet, and we had snow yesterday), and as often as not, no electricity. The classrooms are illuminated, when illuminated at all, by naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, usually no more than 40 watts and usually at least half of them not working. When it's a gray day outside it's almost like teaching in a movie theater where the movie is just about to start.
"How do these children learn anything?" I demanded of a colleague yesterday? "I can hardly even see in here!"
Oh, yes, and then there's the dust.
In the streets it's bad enough. Decaying infrastructure combined with street-sweeping technology out of the 16th century (old ladies with straw brooms) have combined to create truly choking streets. And the traffic here, to make matters worse, is unbelievable. Everybody here drives like they're in training to become a suicide bomber, and their standard response to a traffic jam, which we have here oh, maybe every fourteen seconds, is to sit in the middle of it and blow their horns. Georgians think the most important part of a car is the horn. Oh, yes, and pedestrians most decidedly do NOT have the right-of-way here. There's one standing rule: "Get outta my way or die." When a Georgian taxi driver passes you at 70 mph, missing you by three-quarters of an inch, he honks his horn at you and then leaves behind a cloud of dust that looks like something out of the stampede scene in Silverado.
And then there's my school itself. Five stories of crumbling plaster and wood. Dust an inch thick, everywhere. When the children are creating their own stampede, which they do every forty minutes between classes, the corridors look like fog has moved in through the windows. That's how much dust there is here, everywhere.
And I'm breathing it. Maybe the locals get used to it, but I don't. There's a reason why every afternoon I start coughing and can't stop.
I've even thought that I might have to be medevaced out of here, but you see, I have no place else to go.
The only thing that helps at all is when the weather turns. A good, persistent drizzle will keep the dust down.
When I left for school yesterday, that's exactly what we had, and it had been going on all night. Well, I was OK with that -- I'll tolerate a dismal, chilly November day in Tbilisi if it means dispensing, albeit temporarily, with the dust. I put on my suit and tie (no overcoat) and headed for the metro, enjoying the for-now clean, rain-washed air. And for once, breathing fairly easily.
My sartorial choice turned out to be a bad move, however. Not only did the drizzle not stop, but during the course of the day, the mercury fell.
About 2:15 p.m. my third-graders looked out the window (there wasn't much to look at in that dark room) and got excited. It was snowing.
Sort of. Like I said, the weather had turned a mix of drizzle and snow.
And after class I had to walk back to the Metro in that mess, plus walk from the Metro station back to my tiny studio at the other end, all without a coat on.
Well, I'm coughing again, and applying the Vicks. But what can I say? I came to Georgia to teach; nobody said it was going to be comfortable or fun. Or safe. But if I'm still alive and breathing this time next year, I'm sure I'll have some stories to tell. You just have to put your hand out here and it fills up with them, like the cold, wet drizzle of a November night in the Caucasus.
I caught a cold around the first of the month, which turned to pleurisy, which then tried to become pneumonia. I was coughing; my head and chest were filled with discolored crud, I was running high fevers...I was a sick boy. Went through two courses of antibiotics.
But I'm still coughing, and I think I have figured who the culprit is:
Tbilisi.
Tbilisi is not the dirtiest place I've ever lived. That title would go to Abidjan, the capital of Cote d'Ivoire, where I lived more than 20 years ago. Second, third and fourth runners-up would be downtown Baltimore, Moscow ... and then Tbilisi.
But there were extenuating circumstances when I lived in Abidjan, or even, for that matter when I lived in Moscow.
For one thing, I was a younger man. I was in my mid-to-late thirties when I lived in Abidjan and Moscow, stronger and healthier than I am now. All my life I have had what you might call a "weak chest." Since I was a kid I've been subject to upper-respiratory infections.
 |
| Tbilisi's familiar telephone tower, in the rain. |
But in my long-gone foreign service days not only was I younger, but also spoiled rotten in terms of my surroundings. I was an employee of the American Embassy, and don't you believe anything those people tell you about their supposed "hardships:" they live on a satin pillow provided by the U.S. government. I know, I was one of them. Hardships? Listen to some of their "hardships:" luxurious quarters, expensive furniture, chauffeur rides to and from work, General Services Support for anything you need from a broken window to a leaky toilet, medical services on-site, 24-hour security guards where deemed needed, commissaries well-stocked with American consumer goods, satellite TV...Oh, yeah, and top of it all, every American living overseas on "official business" has a full-time maid who costs him or her maybe $100 a month. Official Americans have it SO tough. My heart bleeds for the poor babies.
Trying living with none of those things, as I do now.
Anyway, yes, Abidjan and Moscow were dirty, dusty, sometimes dangerous places. Malarial, in the case of Abidjan. But in Abidjan I spent my entire working day inside the embassy, a completely air-conditioned and therefore air-filtered environment. In addition, I worked in the communications center, which didn't even have any windows. It was air conditioning all the way. Not that they cared so much about us, but the equipment had to be kept cool.
After working all day in the air-conditioned Cote d'Ivoire embassy environment, I would go home to my beautiful four-bedroom house in Deax Plateau (yes, we had a full-time servant who did all the cleaning and laundry, and cost a pittance) which was also air conditioned 24/7. So I was only breathing "the crap" when I was either out jogging or on my way from point A to point B. in my car or a taxi.
Goodbye to all that. I am not in Tbilisi as an overpaid government employee. I'm here as a woefully underpaid teacher. Benefits? Don't make me laugh. I live in a tiny studio for which I'm paying $300 a month. We are not permitted to drive here; our contract forbids it. So everywhere I go I either walk, take a cab or ride the smelly Metro.
I teach English to Georgian children in what could be charitably called a "sick building." (My Georgian teaching colleagues tell me that this filthy barn, Public School #117 in the suburb of Varketili, is actually one of the better buildings.) What can I tell you? It was built by the Soviets, and they couldn't build anything well except missiles and tanks. The building not only has no air conditioning, it also has no heat (until they get around to turning it on, which as of November 8 they have not yet, and we had snow yesterday), and as often as not, no electricity. The classrooms are illuminated, when illuminated at all, by naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, usually no more than 40 watts and usually at least half of them not working. When it's a gray day outside it's almost like teaching in a movie theater where the movie is just about to start.
"How do these children learn anything?" I demanded of a colleague yesterday? "I can hardly even see in here!"
Oh, yes, and then there's the dust.
In the streets it's bad enough. Decaying infrastructure combined with street-sweeping technology out of the 16th century (old ladies with straw brooms) have combined to create truly choking streets. And the traffic here, to make matters worse, is unbelievable. Everybody here drives like they're in training to become a suicide bomber, and their standard response to a traffic jam, which we have here oh, maybe every fourteen seconds, is to sit in the middle of it and blow their horns. Georgians think the most important part of a car is the horn. Oh, yes, and pedestrians most decidedly do NOT have the right-of-way here. There's one standing rule: "Get outta my way or die." When a Georgian taxi driver passes you at 70 mph, missing you by three-quarters of an inch, he honks his horn at you and then leaves behind a cloud of dust that looks like something out of the stampede scene in Silverado.
 |
| Georgia's capital isn't the safest place to drive in, even when the weather's dry. When it rains, you'd better stay in the cafes. |
And I'm breathing it. Maybe the locals get used to it, but I don't. There's a reason why every afternoon I start coughing and can't stop.
I've even thought that I might have to be medevaced out of here, but you see, I have no place else to go.
The only thing that helps at all is when the weather turns. A good, persistent drizzle will keep the dust down.
When I left for school yesterday, that's exactly what we had, and it had been going on all night. Well, I was OK with that -- I'll tolerate a dismal, chilly November day in Tbilisi if it means dispensing, albeit temporarily, with the dust. I put on my suit and tie (no overcoat) and headed for the metro, enjoying the for-now clean, rain-washed air. And for once, breathing fairly easily.
My sartorial choice turned out to be a bad move, however. Not only did the drizzle not stop, but during the course of the day, the mercury fell.
About 2:15 p.m. my third-graders looked out the window (there wasn't much to look at in that dark room) and got excited. It was snowing.
Sort of. Like I said, the weather had turned a mix of drizzle and snow.
And after class I had to walk back to the Metro in that mess, plus walk from the Metro station back to my tiny studio at the other end, all without a coat on.
Well, I'm coughing again, and applying the Vicks. But what can I say? I came to Georgia to teach; nobody said it was going to be comfortable or fun. Or safe. But if I'm still alive and breathing this time next year, I'm sure I'll have some stories to tell. You just have to put your hand out here and it fills up with them, like the cold, wet drizzle of a November night in the Caucasus.
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