Didi Dighomi.

A somewhat far-flung suburb of Tbilisi: This is my soviet high-rise filled wasteland. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

The view from my room.

My elevator. I take the stairs as often as possible.

I continue to adore the English graffiti here for its utter incoherence and randomness.

My room.

 Somewhat confusing Cyrillic/Latin keyboard.

 Young masters Dato (3) and Gigi (7).

My bus stop.

The building side. It says: khatchapuri (cheese bread), gojis shetsva (fried something). On the right, almost as an afterthought: pitsa (pizza). Which is a lie, since most Georgian street vendors' conception of pizza includes mayonnaise and cilantro. Or it would be, if I had ever once in my month of living here seen this place open.

News stand/cigarette/candy store. Similar fare to those you see on the corners in NYC. By the way the pink and white writing on the front there says "jakpoti'... lottery numbers.

Mini market/dentist located around the corner from my apartment. The word for dentist seems to be "stomatologuri". So close to stomach. So upsetting. Also, I ventured into the market on right the other day out of curiosity (it's so small, it's always dark, the steel front is always 1/3 lowered like in the picture, and they have one of the heat/water/internet/telephone/miscellaneous bills kiosk located RIGHT in front of the door so you literally have to walk in sideways to get around it. Once you get around the kiosk, there's a freezer you have to basically climb over and then the shop has two coolers full of beer, a handful of random bags of chips, and a few boxes of crappy Russian candy/cookies. Not to mention about 6 employees, who all stare at you during said attempt to enter the shop and then spent the entire 35 seconds I was in the shop asking me what I wanted. I probably will not be frequenting this one too often, bless their hearts.

Giant neighborhood dog. Fairly sure this is one of the Georgian breed, the Kavkasiuri Nagazi. Wikipedia lists them as having several variants, and I don't know which one this is. All I know is he's big, I see his master walking him around on a chain (literally, a giant steel-link chain that he just wraps around the dog's neck and then holds onto), and otherwise he seems to reside in this yard. And he did not like me peeking in, not one bit. Here he is seconds before he went beserkers.

In the background: fairly well-stocked neighborhood market, Ori Nebitchi (This means two something, I don't know what Nebitchi means). I've found all the essentials in there: Yogurt, soda, fruits, vegetables, crackers, chocolate, booze. But they also have some intriguing stuff: peanut butter, chocolate cookies, corn flakes and a few other random and suspiciously American odds and ends.

In the foreground: a goat.

Among Ori Nebitchi's fare: this. Sex on a Beach bottled cocktail. At 3.95 GEL it's outrageously expensive, but then when are cocktails ever not? Not that I would get this because gross, but still. Strange place.

 Large neighborhood soccer field. I know what you're thinking. What're those brown dots?

 Cows. Naturally.

And a neighborhood basketball court.

 Petre Iberi's Street. One of the main roads, used by most of the buses.

Speaking of buses, this is not of my usual ones but one day I was heading over to Station Square (a big marshrutka hub as well as a metro stop and the train station) and grabbed the 15, where I saw this on the bus's front sun visor. In case it's not clear, it's a sepia toned picture of the Magnificent Seven. And yes, this driver drove like it was the wild west. But then again, so do most Georgians.

 Neighborhood bazaar. (The sign says, "bazari'.) A fair deal fancier than the old Khoni bazaar.

 "Berdzneuli Puri", or Greek bread. Popular fare in these parts.

 Amelie graffiti in one of the bus stops! Also, "FANKY". No idea on that one.

 A grape vine grows in Didi Dighomi.

   As do some rose bushes. This is the garden in front of my place.

 The sign reads, "kalak tbilisis (Tbilisi city's) sajaro skola (public school)". As can be seen in English below. School 192, my monstrously huge new professional digs.

 One wing, and the front yard. This ain't no village playhouse, there's two of every grade and I've yet to visit a class with less than 20 students.

Last, but in no way least: what remains of an old Soviet truck. Gone but never really forgotten.