- Elizabeth Lavis grew up in suburban America, while her boyfriend lived through the collapse of the Soviet Union.
- They currently live together in Tbilisi, Georgia, but are facing difficulties in their relationship.
- Despite disagreements over meal times and language barriers, they are determined to get on with it.
For me it was ocean waves. For my boyfriend it was the bomb.
We were in a small, chic loft apartment in Tbilisi’s Vera district, an upscale residential area filled with art galleries, organic wine stores, and indie cafes. Vera is an up-and-coming neighborhood filled with crumbling apartments in authentic Soviet style, adorned with vintage chandeliers and whimsical décor, perfectly embodying the bohemian yet wild vibe of the Georgian capital.
Here, as the wind ruffled the metal roof of the building, I closed my eyes and imagined waves lapping on the shore. My boyfriend, Mischa, sat bolt upright, pale, eyes wide, and said, “It sounds like a bomb.”
Misha is from Georgia, a small mountainous country in the Caucasus, at the crossroads of Eastern Europe and Western Asia. He is 37 years old and has lived through the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Georgian Civil War, the Russo-Georgian War and the Rose Revolution.
My teenage years in the 1990s were spent in America, dominated by suburban grunge malaise, the woes of dial-up modems, and the fact that the age on my fake IDs never matched my young face.
Bread rationing, political unrest, violence and uncertainty characterized Misha’s growing up years.
Language and cultural gaps
The big difference between Misha and me goes far beyond our personal interpretations of what the sound of wind blowing through a metal roof provokes.
His family mostly only speaks Russian and Georgian, so it is difficult to communicate with his mother and sisters, and although I am learning Georgian, my understanding is still rudimentary.
Although I attend Meesha’s family gatherings, I always feel like an outsider because I can’t fully understand or contribute to the conversation. I realize that it is entirely my responsibility to learn the language of the country I live in and that it is something I need to do to bridge the gap, but until I can do that, it’s quite difficult.
It would also be nearly impossible for Misha to obtain a visa to meet my family in the US, resulting in a variety of awkward and difficult questions from well-meaning family members who don’t quite understand passport privileges.
The difference between time and tradition
Georgians, in general, are night owls. Many cafes, restaurants, and co-working spots don’t open until around 10am, and the proper time for dinner is 10pm, which came as a total shock to me. I grew up in an environment where dinner was served no later than 7pm. When I broached the topic with Misha, he looked at me as if I’d suggested we sit down for dinner at 2pm.
Our concept of comfort food is also very different: Familiar flavors like Kraft mac and cheese don’t appeal to Meesha, who turns up her nose at grated cheese and raw elbow pasta but happily slurps down white, grainy porridge slathered in sugar and Svan salt.
In fairness, I can understand why two staples on my hearty food list, grated cheese and hot dogs, seem odd to adults who didn’t grow up eating the preservative-laden goodness that comes in navy-and-yellow boxes and vacuum-sealed Sahen’s.
Building the future together
For us, communication and compromise are the best ways to keep the peace. We have both stepped out of our comfort zones a little bit. I agreed to have dinner at 8:30 pm, and Misha agreed to review retirement and investment strategies. He was reluctant to have these conversations, another ingrained habit of living in the moment. We are no closer to a common plan, but at least we are talking about it.
I’m taking Georgian lessons several times a week, and my parents each come to Tbilisi to spend time with Misha.
I’ve tried Misha’s childhood porridge and it wasn’t well-received, and he’s had a bowl of Kraft mac and cheese with similar results. On Sundays, we sit down and talk about things that confuse or weird us about each other’s cultures. This kind of complete transparency leads to a “no stupid questions” space where we feel comfortable asking any questions.
Our interpretations, experiences, and perspectives on the world will never perfectly match, but that’s okay as long as we practice negotiation and patience in order to appreciate and understand each other’s cultures.
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