I was Georgian.

One might believe it's a boring American apartment as I mention my roommates from Georgia and New Ulm. But to your surprise, the New Ulm is the original, a suburb of the German Ulm, and the Georgia is that on the edge of Russia.

She's pleasant to talk with, but it was an awkward conversation as I asked my roommate about her home country and how many people live there.
Her answer came "About 5 million, but there are fewer now."
My curiosity continued, "Oh, is the population shrinking like it is here in Germany?"
A somber answer, "No. Russia bombed Georgia last August."
"Oh."
(How does one respond to that? )

Conversation aside, the Georgians are fun. Last Thursday after a Weindorf Kater, my roommate's boyfriend knocks on my door and invites me to a beer. Hesitation--thanks to the Kater. But I sit down to the table and am greeted with a full plate of salad, potatoes, and sausages. The sour Georgian form of ketchup accompanied it all, to which I certainly had to adjust.

But what was most significant was to learn the Georgian word for "Cheers", which I would spell out as "Cow'-mar-joz (with fist pump accompaniment)." Pago, Marie's boyfriend led every time we said cheers, as is Georgian tradition. There's a pre-determined order for things to cheer to. And clinking glasses is deceptive as you hold your glass up but frequently set it back down on the table without taking any gulp--Germans would not approve. However, when you finally commit to drinking it's all-out. There's no sips; simply bottoms up.
Well, I'm officially welcome with full accomodations in Georgia. (It may have been the bottle of vodka, 6-pack of beers, and bottle of wine talking that these guys drank.)

Yet, it's these types of experiences that make me really enjoy being abroad and encountering ever new cultures. It's something we never really have growing up American.

This would be Dieter on the right; the crazy man who invited me to attend the Fränkische Familie.

And again I joined the Fränkische Familie from Crailsheim as I put on the traditional garb and walked in the parade.

The city was 7,000 people (yet still had a beer tent with capacity of 1,000). The horse in the carriage behind us went berserk and ran away without any restraint, down the parade route and, hopefully, not doing any damage.

Here, the gown girls wear. Finally found out the reason for the different hats--I just knew girls wore the little bonnet thing and women the full-scale hat. Marriage is the difference. huh. Guess it makes sense.

So the week was a cultural experience. I watched Germans dance on their tables any time they enjoyed the song being played in the tent. I learned that they sleep under the table if they've had too much to drink. Heaven forbid they leave the tent; when they do that, they won't be allowed back in. Too much to drink calls for a pause, not a conclusion. I told my German colleagues about this funny discovery, "of course. Yeah, duh" was their answer.

Well onto the next week of a German adventure.

Later Days,
Rick