In-Between Time

7:55 AM, Thursday, November 18, 2004. Last night I got out the light-weight sleeping bags that I had brought along but had not yet used (heck, had barely even seen) and those worked well, for me at least. The downside, though, is that Talia insisted on sleeping in the same bed (though, thankfully, not in the same sleeping bag), so sometime in the middle of the night I got up and moved to her bed. Right on schedule, though a little bit later than usual, I was up before 8:00 AM. Today I’m giving a lecture at the Institute so I got up with the intention of starting in on the lecture again. Before getting started I was thinking about these trip diaries when I realized that there were whole sections that, so far as I could recall, I had never entered onto the computer. Odd, but in looking back through my handwritten entries in fact there are seven or so pages starting on Nov. 11 that are still confined to paper. Oh well, more typing. Perhaps I will get to them tonight.

Meanwhile I’m sitting here in the living room and I become suddenly aware of the wind. This is the first day that I’ve experienced wind here. I guess they have an Autumn after all (the missing section goes on and on about how not cold Tbilisi is). Yesterday we experienced a light rain as Talia and I walked home from the Institute. The most interesting thing was how muddy the streets were. This is not to say thick with mud but instead slippery with what I infer was a thin layer of dust that had become moistened but not washed away by the light rain. Talia kept saying, “Let’s run home!” though I was hesitant on three grounds: First, nobody else was running. Second, there were a lot of people (and a lot of cars) that were we to run we would be much more likely to collide with. But, most important, three, I was afraid of slipping on the “muddy” streets. It was hard enough to keep Talia under control while keeping my footing. Mind you, it wasn’t like we were crossing a swift river whose bottom was algae-covered stone, but it wasn’t the surest of footing either.

While yesterday was rainy, this morning is sunny, and now windy. The wind, here on the sixth floor, is intense, and the windows are not well suited towards holding it back. They appear to all be single-paned with minimal insulation around them. They open by swinging in, and are held shut by simple latches. I hadn’t thought too much about these latches until this wind started up. A big blast that seemed to make the windows shudder was followed by a great big crash. Seems that the kitchen window had not been latched resulting in the window swinging in, knocking over a plant sitting on the ledge which in turn, or so I infer, knocked over a plate on display below the ledge. It was the plate that exploded, not the window. I was expecting to come into the kitchen to find glass everywhere, though it’s still very unfortunate about the plate. Instead of cleaning it up, I’m guiltily sitting here writing about it. I, of course, feel bad that I was “in charge” when this disaster occurred. Strange how minds work.

The other interesting thing about yesterday’s walk home were the tunnels under the streets. After my first walk home I was determined to avoid having to cross the busiest of streets again, especially with Talia in tow, so I sought out and found various tunnels that pass under the busiest of streets. These tunnels are fairly frequent and very helpful. The more used of the tunnels have shops in them and are well lighted. All of the tunnels on this walk, on the other hand, are empty (though most clean) and not lit, the latter not a good thing for long spans underground. Craziest of all were the missing grates for the storm drains that nearly spanned the entrances/exits just below the entry stairs. These were about two-feet wide, 15-20-feel long, three to 10 feet deep cement-lined shafts that were now completely uncovered. Once again I assume that the metal had been stolen for the sake of its scrap value. Without them people weren’t using the tunnels, and it made me wonder what other holes might await us as we passed through the darkest parts in the middle of the tunnels. Fortunately, there weren’t any more holes and our tunnel passage was otherwise uneventful. Talia complained that they smelled, but I’ve smelled much, much worse to the point where I’m not even sure what she was concerned about. Maybe it’s her youthful nose, specially designed to detect bad smells that my more mature nose just shrugs off. Or maybe, for some reason, my nose simply has not been functioning normally since arriving here. Hmmm, perhaps it is time to get back to working on my talk.

“…the thing to notice in the present context is that they are hypotheses made in the traditional mould; they are based on the idea that DNA, like any other aspect of an organism, is selected because it odes the organisms some good.  The selfish DNA hypothesis is based on an inversion of this assumption: phenotypic characters are there because they help DNA to replicate itself, and if DNA can find quicker and easier wasys to replicate itself, perhaps bypassing conventional phenotypic expression, it will be selected to do so… the theory of selfish DNA is in a way revolutionary.  But once we deeply imbibe the fundamental truth that an organism is a tool of DNA, rather tan the other way around, the idea of ‘selfish DNNA’ becomes compelling, even obvious.” p. 158, Dawkins, 1999.

10:00 AM Tibilisi time, Thursday, November 18, 2004. As people began to awaken I described the wind and the broken plate and the plant and all that. No major crisis, but when they got into the living room there suddenly were cries of “The Mountain!” “Kazbegi!” This is the tallest mountain in Georgia, right near the border with Russia (Chechnya, actually). From the window it is a snow-covered peak that looms above the hills north of Tbilisi. Apparently it has been hidden by clouds or haze for the past week, and also apparently wasn’t snow covered when it last made its appearance. The mountain is approximately due north of town, perhaps 60 miles away, and 14,737 ft high. There is where, I’m told, the famous ski area lies (egad, so close to Chechnya). I wonder whether we will be able to see it up close.

“Any variety of DNA whose properties happen to make it readily replicated will automatically become commoner in the world.  What might such properties be?  Paradoxically, we are most familiar with the more indirect, elaborate, and roundabout methods by which DNA molecules secure their future.  These are their phenotypic effects on bodies, achieved by the proximal route of controlling protein synthesis, and hence morphology, physiology, and behaviour.  But there are much more direct and simple ways in which varieties of DNA can spread at the the expense of rival varieties.  It is becoming increasingly evident that, in addition to the large, motley riff-raff of DNA and RNA fragments, casing in on the perfect environment provided by the cellujlar apparatus.” p. 159, Dawkins, 1999.

22:18 Tibilisi time, Thursday, November 18, 2004. Most of today was spent getting ready for and then giving a seminar at the institute. The seminar went fairly well, particularly if you discount that the first half of it was spent without electricity, and therefore no PowerPoint (oh, well, hey, at least there was PowerPoint when the electricity was on). While waiting for the seminar to be set up I was given a tour of the renovated sections of the Institute. These are rather nice, full of lots of equipment that I am most jealous of. The seminar went well, or at least it seemed to. Talia and I then again walked home from the institute, this time as the sun was going down. This made walking under the streets extra challenging, since the tunnels, at least in this part of town, do not have lighting (and let’s not forget the large drainage holes lacking gratings). I then took Talia to a birthday party to which she had been invited. A chance to interact with people her age. Unfortunately, this party was at a place that was just too modern/canned/loud. A real contrast to what we’d so far experienced which generally has been pretty traditional, spontaneous, and mellow. I’ll take the latter any day, and so apparently would my daughter.

The great upside to the party was leaving. First we stepped outside to escape the noise (so loud it was distorting what appeared to be a rather impressive sound system—how do the people who work in places like this manage to keep their hearing?). Then, after talking with the people who had invited us (who offered to drive us home), we decided simply to walk home. Unfortunately, I had no idea what route we had taken (by cab, not directed by us) to get to the party. Fortunately, I recognized the neighborhood (at night) from the trip we had taken to old Tbilisi with Naomi. I had a lot of fun doing this walk home. I decided simply that it ought to be possible to recognize where we were if only I had been there before. The hard part was that my perspective was completely different from what it had been when I had been there previously, but somehow I decided while looking uphill that the curve in the road was darn familiar (and it was—it was the curve going to Freedom Square, which is just in front of city hall and adjacent to old Tbilisi). I also recognized the wall surrounding the old town.

We started out by walking back towards Freedom Square, which I knew was heading us in the wrong direction, but I figured that the road back Naomi’s started up there. Then we simply headed back. The walk was absolutely spectacular. Well lit. Lots of people. Amazing buildings. I spent the walk trying to take photographs of the various building, no mean feat at night with one-second exposures, but some of the photos did come out at least reasonably well. Eventually I started to recognize the buildings, and then I was sure that we had actually walked in the area (again with Naomi) on a previous day. The rest of the walk went very quickly and, again, was an absolute joy.

We returned to Naomi’s to the ongoing craziness of trying to plan our next three days, where we, Talia and I, planned on taking an excursion up into the mountains quite far from Tbilisi. At first we were going to try to go to the Western part of the country (Tbilisi is found in the Eastern-Central part of Georgia) but then we saw the mountain earlier today. It took a while but I eventually realized that the major ski resort in the country might be found on Kazbegi, so naturally that was where I wanted to go. Unfortunately, the cost of going there grew and grew and grew, eventually reaching nearly $500 for a 2.5 day trip. That just didn’t seem worth it, not to anybody. I felt bad that time had been invested in figuring out how to do the trip to Kazbegi, though I did feel even better about having left the party since I wouldn’t have been in a position to change plans had we stayed. The irony, ultimately, is that as I write this we saw on TV that there had been a landslide on the road to Kazbegi, so perhaps we couldn’t have gone there regardless. Sure wish I understood the language so that I could have some better clue as to what we will be doing. Oh well. 9:45 AM tomorrow the next excursion begins!

“But of course human genetic engineers are beginners in the game.  They are just learning to tap the expertise of he natural genetic engineers, the viruses and plasmids that have been selected to make there living at the trade.” p. 160, Dawkins, 1999.

10:17 AM Tbilisi, Friday, November 11, 2004. We’re driving down the road in a minivan of make unknown (I’ll figure this out later) having hired, by proxy, a tour guide and driver for a trip to Western Georgia. The bus is bumpy so it makes it tough writing and tough photographing. Talia also indicates that it makes for tough homework, and I concur.

Right now we are passing a bus. That is another way of making this trip, i.e., by bus. That is something that I might have done except for limitations in time and my responsibility for Talia. On the other hand, we just passed a car (we’re now on a two-lane road) and though there was oncoming traffic we just kept passing with everybody kind of getting out of the way as we barreled down the road, too much of the time three-abreast in two directions. I guess that when roads are wide, cars are narrow (though much of this includes busses and trucks), and, most important, none of the participants are freaking out, then it is no big deal. I express something, perhaps it was laughter, and the driver laughs in return, exclaiming something to the effect of, “This is Georgia!”

The speed limit is 80 KPH, and we’re going 110 (bouncing along all the way). None of us are wearing seat belts. Ours in the second seat are nonexistent. There seems to be at least one belt in the third seat (of a total of four rows of seats—it is too bad others couldn’t have joined us). I suggest to Talia that she probably should be sitting back in the seat with the seatbelt, though she points out that there probably are no receptacles to plug the belts into (something she’s learned on a number taxi rides). She is probably right. I wonder which is more dangerous, barreling down a two-lane road with no seatbelt, my sitting behind but between the two front seats, straight shot to (and through) the windshield should we experience rapid deceleration, or instead riding my motorcycle from Ohio to Wyoming. Hmmm. (See www.phage.org/tripdiary/0410Laramie-text.htm for my online diary of that trip.)

Meanwhile, rising up above us, off in the distance, is the Caucuses mountain range, covered with snow. I just can’t seem to capture them with the camera. Finally I arrive at a solution. I point the camera directly into the sun, depress the shutter button halfway down, then turn around and take a shot of the mountain. All of this was taking place while we barreled down the highway at excess speed as I move from one side of the bus to the other. This I do by opening the window, dropping to the floor (easy in the van), and pointing lens out through the open window. Then it is quick: camera on, check to make sure I’m in “action” and not picture-review mode (if I remember—I miss so many shots because of this). Ideally I also will not have inadvertently put the camera into some non-automatic mode that I don’t understand (at all). Often the shots are squeezed off with zero attempt at composition; just a pointing of the camera backwards (to avoid blurring) and snap.

“If we must place emotion before truth, I have always found natural selection to have an inspiring, if grim and austere, poetry of its own—a ‘grandeur in this view of life.’” p. 169, Dawkins (quoting himself), 1990.

13:00, Western Georgia, Friday, November 11, 2004. It is warm and sunny. We stop at a large stand selling all sorts of ceramic ware. We purchase three items, the most elaborate of which we purchased for five Lari (about $3.00). The other two cost us three and one Lari each. Now all we have to do is figure out how to get them home without anything breaking. One larger, more elaborate piece we left behind on the assumption that it certainly wouldn’t have survived the trip home. Oh well!

“…we recognize adaptedness as an informational match between organisms and environment.  An animal that is well adapted to its environment can be regarded as embodying information about its environment, in the way that a key embodies information about the lock that it is built to undo.  A camouflaged animal has been said to carry a pictre of its environment on its back.” p. 173, Dawkins, 1999.

13:30, Western Georgia, Friday, November 11, 2004. It is amazing how much abandoned infrastructure there is out here. I can only imagine that these are from the Soviet era (when else could they have been from?). Farther east there are miles and miles of cement aqueduct supported on small towers that keep the individual sections a few feet above the ground. This is clearly abandoned infrastructure since there are broken and missing sections. Where had the water been taken? Where had the water been coming from? Why is the water no longer needed, or is it still needed, but no longer used?

A generalization is the extremes to which Soviet artifacts consist of steel or cement (or both). Clearly this was an economy enamored with these two commodities. Rebar seems to be used for just about any situation where something long, thin, and sturdy is required (e.g., to support grape vines) while cement is the material of choice for bulk. And cement clearly is the material of choice when either steel or cement would do. This becomes very boring and redundant until you recognize the pattern. Then instead there is feeling of, hey, look, a cement telephone pole! Or a cement bus-stop shelter (in the middle of nowhere). Or cement boxes seemingly without purpose sitting in the middle fields (or perhaps they a have something to do with making very local wines).

Elsewhere there are huge wall-less, roof-less, floor-less cement shells of building within which cows wander. It is like a post-apocalyptic fantasy. The one where an ancient, advanced situation has fallen into ruin and among this ancient infrastructure people take up the very old ways of animal husbandry and farming on small acreage. However, in this case the “advanced” civilization was one apparently driven by cement and steel resulting in very durable, very primitive, very ugly, and often poorly constructed monuments to a past age. Other structures are more familiar looking, but also seemingly abandoned. Though logical (if in its way pretty stupid), it still always amazes me how people are willing to put so much energy into infrastructure that subsequently is either poorly maintained or simply abandoned. If ever there were a metaphor for the supposed sustainability of human culture it is these buildings. For all our grandeur and arrogance, it is quite obvious that prosperity lasts for only as long as the money keeps flowing, and inevitably the money stops flowing, and life’s seeming necessities become burdens that we quickly abandon.

We now are moving through a rolling valley with hills, with what I assume is the North to the van’s right and the South to the left. These southern mountains are tall enough to be covered in snow, but not so jagged as the Caucuses. I try to photograph them but there is just no way I can compete with the sun coming from approximately the same direction. I guess that in addition to a telephoto lens I probably need some kind of shaded filter if I want to make these shots.  I instead I try photographing through my sunglasses, and that actually helps, despite the fact that they have fairly strong prescription lenses. Modern technology (i.e., the autofocusing camera), just amazing!

Up ahead there is a small calf in the middle of the road (even as I retype this, knowing what I am talking about, I’m amazed that the picture which forms in my mind is one of something dead and bloodied—no, there is a cow standing in the middle of road, one of dozens of ruminants that we’ve seen in Georgia which, effectively, is one giant open range for farm animals). The calf calmly stands there in the middle of the road as we drive by. No big deal!

“If Crick’s central dogma states that protein may not be translated back into DNA, the central dogma of embryology states that bodily form and behaviour may not be translated back into protein.” p. 156, Dawkins, 1999.