Irony: Walking up to the elevator

Elevators generally have a few basic purposes.
1.  Getting people who can't or don't want to take the stairs from one level to another.
2.  Get heavy stuff up and down so that people don't need to carry it.

So, I was amused to find that, in the apartment building I spend several days in, I needed to walk up 23 steps to get to the elevator.  And, once I got to my destination level, I needed to head up another half-flight of stairs to the destination apartment.  Not particularly useful for people who can't or don't want to take the stairs.

View up the elevator.  There are 7 steps to get to the level I stood on to take the photo. 

View from the apartment door down to the elevator. 

But, I thought, maybe they're really only there for heavy loads.  Well, not only does someone with, say, a piano, not want to walk up 23 stairs to get to the elevator, but the elevator is also too small to carry large items.  Sure, you can put a bag of potatoes in it, but with dimensions that don't exceed four feet square, it cannot carry furniture.  In fact, most pieces of furniture wouldn't fit in because the door is extremely narrow, certainly less then 2 feet wide. 

The stairs aren't the only challenge.  First, there's the light (or lack there of).  (In my photos, the flash is helping out.)  Normally, it's dark until the motion sensor detects me.  Inside the elevator, there is no light at night.  And second, the final three steps are *really shallow*.  As in, if I stand on the steps, my heels aren't on the step.

Which makes me wonder what the point of the elevator is.  I don't know when the building was built, but if it was after the Great Patriot War (aka WWII) I'd think that at least a few veterans could have used an elevator.  And parents with baby carriages could use on (and a larger elevator).

Then again, the elevator only works if the electricity works, and that hasn't always been the case. 

How to make a Whiskey Sour in Georgia

I recently had dinner with a Georgian friend in Tbilisi who asked how my housing search was going.  In a city  where people find apartments by word of mouth and where many landlords have a "no foreigners" policy, finding apartments is difficult.  After nearly two weeks of living in dorms at the Police Academy, I was a little tired of the lack of privacy and lack of kitchen.  I said this, at dinner.

Her response was as follows:  "I'm going to Bulgaria on business.  Do you want to stay at my place for four days?  I'm sorry I couldn't offer it to you on my prior business trip - a friend was going through a nasty break-up, so he was staying at my place."  I wasn't sure what the right response was.  I was thinking "YESSSSSS!"  But, I also didn't want to accept an offer if she was only being polite.  Long story short, I took her up on it. 

The afternoon the apartment was free, I ventured over with the spare key.  And, like I always do, first inspected the fridge.  Okay, that's not true.  First I determined there was an actual bath tub.  (And wondered if it would be appropriate to fill it up with hot water and scented bath salts.  Does she pay alot for hot water?  Does the hot water even work?)  THEN I inspected the fridge and found that, yes, she never cooks. 

Next stop, the grocery store.  I returned a few hours later with eggs, milk, onions, potatoes, vegetables, spices, nuts and ...  whiskey.  While out, I decided what I really wanted was a whiskey sour. 

Here is how you make a whiskey sour in Georgia. 

1.  Reflect on whether there is ice in the fridge.  If not, consider freezing water in a plastic bag and breaking it up.  Thankfully, my host has an ice tray.  This isn't standard in Georgian freezers. 

2.  Go buy whiskey.  If you're like me, you'd never be caught with Johnny Walker Red in your personal bar.  One starts with JW Black and moves up.  But in Georgia, you need to reassess.  Go into the store, check out the whisky collection.  If you don't know the brand to be legit, don't buy it.  Try to read the prices.  It's tough as the liquor is at least 7 feet in the air, on a shelf behind the counter.  Ask the woman behind the counter the price of the JW Black.  That's "Johnny Walker Chorney" (JW Black - in Russian).  And, to compare, also ask about the Kraskey (Red).  She'll hop up onto a chair, need you to repeat what you want, and start reading prices (printed on small stickers on the bottles).  And eventually you select your whiskey.  It's okay to buy JW Red - it's 20 lari for a small bottle.   Why spend 50 lari for a larger JW Black if you're going back to alcohol-free dorms - and don't want to incriminate yourself by leaving a half-empty bottle of JW Red at your host's place.  Besides, you're mixing it.  No one will every know you let your standards drop. 
2b.  Buy a lemon while you're out.   You can buy lemons in Tbilisi off-season; you cannot do this in the village. 

3.  Return to apartment and assess the simple syrup situation.  The sugar bowl.  How much sugar is there?  Simple syrup is 1/2 water, 1/2 sugar.  Heat it up in your hot's frying pan.  Put it in a tea cup and let it cool in the fridge. 

4.  Now it's time to assemble:  Take a chacha (hard alcohol) shot glass and fill it with whiskey.  Put in a glass.  Then add a similar amount of simple syrup.  And then a bunch of lemon juice.  And now to shake...  Your host doesn't have a Boston Shaker...  What to do? 

5.  Put the entire mixture, plus ice, into your travel coffee mug.  WTF!?!  Yes, really.  Screw the top on and shake.

6.  Take the top off, pour into glass.  Be careful to avoid getting lemon seeds into your drink - it's not like the coffee mug people had lemon seeds in mind.

7.  Mmmmm...