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Published: October 2nd 2011
It started off so well. I said this was going to be a blog about living and teaching in Georgia, and it is, but I'm not even there yet (I'm writing this somewhere in the air between Istanbul and Tbilisi) and I feel like a rant. So consider this a preliminary post; a prequel if you will, to the main event.
The journey started off well enough. I got everything I needed done and was even packed on time (which, considering I was given 24 hours' notice of my flight was a small miracle.) My lovely friend and one-time housemate Andrea drove me to the airport and I had plenty of time so I had a cold beer in the airport bar and then went a bit silly buying gifts for my, as yet unspecified, host family. I had been really worried about paying for excess baggage since I was told the allowance was 20kg and there was no way my suitcase was under that but I breezed through check-in with no problems whatsoever. I was completely taking the piss with my hand luggage too but I managed to drag all my stuff onto the plane (the cabin of which looked absolutely nothing like the pictures on the Turkish Airlines website.) I think it still hadn't quite sunk in by this point that I was leaving (I know, I'm a little slow). I only really woke up to it (quite literally, I was asleep within about five seconds of taking my seat on the plane - very little sleep the night before plus mid-afternoon beer makes for a sleepy Anna) as we were taking off. I finally started to get excited about what I'm doing. I'm going to an amazing country to do something really quite worthwhile. And besides, I've missed teaching.
Anyway, the flight to Istanbul was pretty uneventful and we were well fed and watered and flying into Istanbul was lovely. I don't know much about the city and it was night time but there were loads of boats lit up on the water and it was very pretty. So, all in all, so far so good.
Things started to go wrong pretty much the second we touched down at Ataturk airport. Firstly, we were already about ten minutes late when we hit the runway and I only had an hour until my connecting flight to Tbilisi, but this still felt fairly achievable. We actually got off the plane pretty quickly with no more than the usual amount of shoving and muttered obscenities. Then we waited for about ten minutes while everybody piled into an airport bus, which took us in a mile-long circle in order to eventually deposit us about 100 yards from where we'd started. It was during this bus journey that I started to get a little worried about my flight to Georgia. However, this wasn't actually my main concern. Whilst packing earlier in the day I had decided that it would be a clever idea to wear all my heaviest clothing in order to avoid squeezing it into my luggage and making it even heavier. This was only ever going to backfire when you consider that long haul journeys generally involve being being squeezed into several metal boxes with lots of other people for several hours at a time. So when the bus stopped in the middle of this short journey for no reason that anyone on board could fathom I was already sweating buckets. We all had to stand there for at least another 10 minutes, gasping for air, before the bus finally set off again, drove approximately a further 20 yards, and deposited us at the terminal. At this point I was starting to get really quite worried about my flight but fortunately there was a guy waiting outside to point us in the right direction or, more accurately, completely the wrong direction. So there was now a small, English-speaking contingent running around Ataturk airport trying desperately to find gate 205. And this was when I hit my next major problem. It seems I had left at least half my brain somewhere over Romania. I'm not in the habit of blindly following other people but we were in a rush and one of the guys said, 'There, 205!' and pointed down a corridor. Now I actually said, 'Your eyesight must be better than mine 'cos I can't see a 205' but we set off anyway. We found gate 204, gate 203 and gate 202. By the time we arrived at gate 201 we decided it was time to turn back. Our little group consisted of an elderly gentleman who I'm pretty sure was British and three guys in their 20s. I'm not very good at placing accents but I think they were Antipodean. I thought about asking them if they were part of the TLG programme but by this point I genuinely thought I might be in danger of hyperventilating so I didn't really care. We returned to where we started and tried again. I could see signs for 204 - 201 and 206 - 211, but no 205. I was starting to think it was all part of some cruel joke when we finally spotted it in the distance, in precisely the opposite direction to the one we had originally been told. By this point we'd been running around the airport for about 10 minutes and I thought I might be suffering from heat stroke. We got to security and I started putting my things through, taking off my shoes etc. I asked the woman working the scanner (and I can only hope and pray that everyone in Georgia is as warm and friendly as she was) if I should put my duty free through the scanner. She gave me a curt nod, so I proceeded to try to take it through with me instead. I then abandoned it on the conveyor belt and went off to board the plane so that one of the (potential) TLG volunteers had to run after me with it. Having made a complete twat of myself I could only hope that those guys weren't part of the programme and I would never have to see them again. As I was one of the last to board the plane everyone had to move for me (and all my stuff) and I finally collapsed, exhausted and overheated, into my window seat. I had to take my jumper off as I was literally dripping with sweat and it was at this point that I realised that, when I sweat, all the fluff from my supremely fluffy jumper removes itself from said jumper and adheres itself to my body. So basically I looked like a tiny little gorilla and had to try to subtly wipe it off me whilst the Georgian guys sitting next to me alternated between staring at me in bewilderment and exchanging incredulous looks with one another. But wait, it gets worse. I know how stupid this sounds but I genuinely could not figure out how to put on my seatbelt. It just didn't seem to want to do up, no matter which way I tried it. So the Georgian guy sitting directly next to me (whose name I later learned is Beso) leaned over and, giving me a slightly pitying look (the sort of look you might give an elderly and confused resident of a nursing home who's trying to feed herself but keeps letting the food slip off her fork just as it reaches her mouth) leant over and clipped it into place for me. And from that point it's been like he's decided I'm slightly mentally challenged and he's taken it upon himself to look after me. I was scribbling in my notepad so I didn't notice when the food arrived a little while ago. At least not until Beso leaned over and, with a kindly smile, put my tray down for me. He then asked me what I would like to drink and relayed the message to the steward. He even poured my wine for me (I obviously shouldn't be trusted with glass objects.) I'm surprised he didn't try to cut my food up into more manageable pieces. So basically I'm not even in Georgia yet and already the airport staff, locals and my fellow volunteer teachers all think I'm a fucking imbecile. Brilliant.
On the plus side I do now have wine so I'm going to stop moaning and I'm trying to redeem myself with Beso by getting him to teach me some Georgian and asking him about the political situation in South Ossetia (something the guide books strongly recommend you don't do but what the hell?).
So, swings and roundabouts. The journey's had its ups and downs and it's the start of what I'm sure is going to be an amazing adventure with plenty more of both. We should be landing in about 20 minutes and all I really want right now is a shower and a bed. Actually, what I really really want is to get the Turkish Airlines song out of my head. From what I can tell it goes something like, 'We are Turkish Airlines. We are totally shit,' but I know that can't be right. It's either the worst marketing strategy in the history of the world or I'm mishearing it.
P.S. Neel - how's Sam coming along with the mockling?
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Rav
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I love this blog! I visualise you running around in your grey winter hat and layers of All Saints clothes, grey jeans and your boots. My favourite part is you looking like a 'tiny little gorilla' hehehe!!! Use that functioning camera of yours and mail us some pictures please. xxx