My Co-teachers Party Harder Than Yours Teach

At 5 o’clock in front of the school, there was a marshrutka waiting for us. When I peered in the window, it already looked sorta full. So I went ahead and got in. There were eventually enough teachers to fill the bus to the overcapacity. Off we went.

Natia had already told me that we were going to Chakvi, which was between Kobuleti and Batumi. We made several stops along the way. the first was to the school director’s house in his village. He came out with an urn of wine… an URN.  Shit was about to get serious.

We also made other stops to get fruit, sodas and food. Which made me think we were going to cook ourselves. But we eventually pulled up at a roadside restaurant near the sea. (I was a little bummed that we came all this way and didn’t have a view of the sea.) But oh well. It was a cute little rustic place nestled in the woods. Our table was already set in the traditional supra fashion. Food was stacked on the table with place settings for multiple beverages. The food was hustled to the back and the men returned with the wine now in pitchers and the cha-cha in a decanter. The feast began.

I always forget that there will be an avalanche of food at these things. Midway through the meal, I was stuffed and they hadn’t even brought out the Mtswadi yet! We toasted to teachers, students, and a great school year.

…and then we danced.


I guess I haven’t had a previous time to see my co teachers in a festive atmosphere where they could relax and enjoy each others’ company. I do recall now that Elene said no spouses or significant others were allowed. My people know how to party and have a great time! EVERYBODY was dancing and having the ball. The only evidence of reserved Georgian behavior I still noticed was some of the women kept sneaking outside. I later realized they were going to go sneak a cigarette.

We danced and drank and danced and drank.

Then it was suggested that we go to Batumi.   …Okay.

I was spent by this time, but sensed an adventure on the horizon. Batumi is in the opposite direction of our town of Oz. And it was already 9 pm. The energy of the group was accelerating whether than decreasing. Given the average age on the bus, I thought they would be spent, too, or would have had to get back home to take care of the kids and husband. Before I knew it, they had parked the bus and flung themselves out like seniors on spring break.

Batumi is a town that slows down, but never sleeps. It is currently on the tail end of the summer crowd. There were still a lot of people out. The seaside boulevard looks a lot different now. They say a storm destroyed the pier. It has since been redone. But the club and cabanas didn’t make the cut. In their place are more upscale restaurants.

Some of us walked to the end of the pier. In jest, Dato took off his t-shirt and played as if he were going to jump in. Eerily reminded me of my very first weekend in Batumi- BATUMI2012!!!! Out of the shadows came a security guard. We settled down and thought that was that. After taking some pictures, the security guard returned with two others and grabbed my friend as if to escort him of the pier. Well, he didn’t take to kindly to that. I don’t know enough Georgian to understand the exact words that were said between the officers and my friend, but I know that dance by heart. Well enough to intervene on behalf of my friend and push him away thus saving a trip to the jailhouse.


Hours later, everyone finally had their fill of Batumi. Natia and I was greeted back in Oz by Bingo the dog at 1 in the morning.

A fitting end to the summer, before we all plunged back into another year with the kiddies.


I’m saying my chick bad
My chick hood
My chick do stuff that your chick wish she could
My chick bad, badder than yours
My chick do stuff that I can’t even put in words
Her swagger don’t stop
Her body won’t quit
So fool pipe down you ain’t talkin bout shit
My chick bad, tell me if you seen her
She always bring the racket like Venus and Serena
No time for games, she’s full grown
My chick bad, tell your chick to go home

My Chick Bad, Ludacris


Holla atcha boy!

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