Ferekeeko Lives & Conquers!

Intense summer heat makes my sweaty feet itchy.  This is mostly because I will forever associate the most aesthetically pleasing walk I’ve ever taken with the midday heat in one of the hottest places on earth.  Dála (in Greek ντάλα) is when the sun has warmed the land so much that it then commands it.  The heat dances riotously over the pavements, and brows become sore from squinting.  But try not to wilt on me.  This is the best time to strike out to collect the dust from the streets on your face and clothes.  My best dála goes like this: As we walk down the quiet main strip, the vineyards come into view.  Their vines have crept up and over the trellises of the open-plan dwellings, giving families a precious defense, even if it is perforated here and there by arrogant rays of sunlight. The dust indeed collects, and we sweat even while strolling leisurely.  But we are impressed, delighted and alone.  Cold white water rushes ...

You know you’ve failed to adjust to a place when you start viewing daily trifles as culturally anomalous. Riding the bus f rom Freedom Square to the university on Chavchavadze Avenue: a trip of a few kilometers.  Easy enough. But at each stop the denizens pile themselves in.  Stop after stop, a distressing number of people are insisting on getting on the No. 140 .  At one point the doors cannot be shut.  The driver shouts testily, “There's another bus coming, eh!  Why don’t you wait for it?” It doesn’t work.  More people get on.  Strap-hanging, I can no longer move.  Stuck between university students and a couple of older guys, I realize that I no longer have to hold on.  Jolts from the road or otherwise, I’m not going anywhere. We arrive at my stop.  “Excuse me,” I say. No one looks at me, no one moves.  I can see the light pouring in from the door.  Fresh air and personal space.  I gentl...