A first step towards freedom (including turtles)

A short moment of inattentiveness. You suddenly realise you’ve been talking to the girl who’s been sitting on your right for the last hour, but didn’t hear what she just said. You quickly turn your head around. She’s not the only one in this bright, comfortable dining room. Apart from the huge amounts of food and different wines that cover the large table, there are quite many people who joined you this evening. Some of the people you’ve already met on previous occasions, some of them complete strangers to you. Laughter and conversations penetrate your ears, you can make out stories about travels, experiences and simple declarations of friendship. The influence of the wine can already be heard. Then you feel the cold of the glass in your right hand, as you notice that the time has come for a next toast. Thankfully you grasp the full wineglass a bit tighter and apologetically explain the smiling dear on your right that you wish to listen to the toast that is about to be made by your neighbour across the table.
Some new food is being brought to the table by the lady of the house. Luckily, it’s not Khinkali, so fewer people will be distracted. The Tamada – your neighbour – is slowly standing up. You take a closer look at his face: Wise and dark eyes are gazing at you. Eyes that have experienced a lot, met many people and know the taste of a good story. Black hair, a certain tan on the face and a small beard are the main features of the face. A slightly edgy face, but not enough to consider it Russian. You cannot help but noticing that, all in all, it’s a pleasant Georgian face. A smile from his part, as he notices your polite attention. A waiting silence falls over the congregation; glasses are held in the right hand. And with the right attention, the Tamada begins his speech:’Let us drink tonight for our freedom. Under the rule of the Soviet Union, for almost 70 years, Georgia was deprived of its liberty and was restricted to the Union’s demands. Long enough had the quality of the wine suffered under their needs, for they only cared about quantity of wine produced. Human lifes were of little concern. However, after long fights, Georgia has freed itself again. Throughout the whole time of oppression, the idea of freedom had stayed in the minds of people. It’s not for nothing that the Georgian language had stayed an official language and it’s also not for nothing that people tried to flee this system throughout the entire time of occupation… some had succeeded, others paid a huge price.
So, this toast goes to an idea! An idea of freedom, that is shared by everyone! An idea that cannot be muted by an oppressive system, because it will always keep on living in our minds. It’s a feeling shared by an entire nation. Gaumarjos!’
The speech is followed by a short moment, where everyone goes back to memories of that time or events similarly important to them, before glasses are clinked together. In this minute of silence, a train of thoughts happens within your deepest conscience. The idea of liberty flashes before your eyes, a switch is triggered and you see clearly what freedom signifies for you:
‘It was in the early days of spring, after a celebration of our youth, the long-awaited 90s party. I clearly remember the next morning as I woke up and saw this array of bright sunlight penetrating the window to my room, filling the interior with its delightful warmth. Disregarding the lack of sleep and the dangers that might lie on the way, the decision to cycle to Udabno fell in an instant. After a quick breakfast, I left home and ventured out far… and I found something long forgotten. A sensation of exceptional freedom, Fernweh, a yen to see distant places that seems to have been suppressed for some time. But also the knowledge that my stay in Georgia for 7 months with all of its beverages hasn’t had harmed my health. If the possibility was given, I was gazing at the blossoming trees that were effected by the solar energy just as much as I was. Different shades of purple and white were coloring the landscape in a more than picturesque way.
With the thought of being exceptional independent, I entered the small village of Udabno and headed straight for the Oasis Club where I was warmly welcomed by a young Frenchman – Florent –  and a refreshing beer. He then prepared some lunch and explained what he was doing in Georgia. As it turned out, he made his hobby his job. By buying skis in the Alps – the part of France where he is from – and selling them to countries that are yet to develop their own skiing industry, (like countries from the Balkan and Georgia) he makes a living. In between of his trips, Florent sometimes helps out in Udabno Club and enjoys the perfect silence, the distance from stressful civilisation and the clear night sky with all of its millions of bright stars. A scrutinizing look over the place and the surrounding steppe was enough to capture my attention entirely. But more to this for another time…
After having shared some moving conversations, I returned home to Rustavi. With all of the positive energy and thoughts stuck to my head and an idea of returning to the desert to find some peace, I reached some concrete channel designed to prevent from flooding on my way back. In the middle of some smoothly rolling hills, a small paradise revealed itself before my eyes: A small elevation prevented some water from flowing away into the desert and due to this unforeseen circumstance, the water – which is constantly being kissed by the sun – developed a lovely ecosystem. Water, rich in nutriments, allowed the formation of reed and a marvelous fauna including frogs and turtles (!) in the middle of a sub desert. I stopped for some time, listening to the solitary ecosystem. Not only did I find some liberty on my way, but I also found the explanation to the mysterious presence of turtles in the desert.
In the end, it was a vague idea in the back on my mind that made me venture out there, seeking for something even more vague. And even though freedom and independence are terms that might differ from situation to situation, they all start from a common point: a restlessness and a certain amount of sorrow; throughout a era of oppression, the idea stays in people’s heads and can hardly be defeated. And once it reaches a critical mass, it might just burst open and cause changes, often radically. Personal freedom behaves quite the same way. Both are found in every individual and both are constantly seeking for a trigger; something genetically that wants us to venture out and discharge our chains.
Freedom is nothing limited by borders or different ethnicities. It is an idea that is stuck in everyone. And similar to a caterpillar, it needs time in its cocoon until its time has finally come to break free. Even though part of everybody’s personality, freedom isn’t something that you simply have or don’t have. Just like a solid cocoon, sometimes there is external energy required, as in the sweet sunlight in early spring. The hull is broken, the wings are developed and the ready-formed liberty is released.’

 

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Your glass is once more lifted. Accidentally, you must have spoken your thoughts aloud. The same attention that you had given the Tamada was granted to you. Without any further hesitation, you utter a ‘Gaumarjos’ and drink up. The warmth of the wine adds up to the warm gut feeling that you got from saying a toast. Your attention is being drawn back to the friendly girl who sits next to you. Perhaps, now, a nice conversation might result from your toast.

 

( http://seppziehtleine.blogspot.com/2016/02/i-become-open-minded-traveller.html
A befriended blogger, who is both an inspiration and another philosopher. His blogs are of a great quality)

The Grey Duckling in all of its colours

Isn’t it odd? More than 5 months in Georgia now, lots of travels, numerous new acquaintances, a great number of unforgettable experiences already and even more drinks and food are in my memory now. Some of them have already been authored into a blog entry. Others are still waiting for their turn. I might not have stayed with the initial idea of making a Supra out of it, with each entry being a toast with an actual meaning. Well, I did share some experiences, some feelings and the like. However, it’s far from as detailed as it could be. You dear readers might expect something greater and it should be my duty to fulfill of your wishes, since you are the guest here. And just like a real Supra, it needs to be a task of greater importance to have you happy in any way. No guest should leave without having allayed his hunger for knowledge… or at least a rather decent distraction from his everyday life (not judging, only guessing).

Fact is, I haven’t truly described my own everyday life. My own dull work life. The places that I keep visiting. The lifestyle that I’ve developed so far. And not to forget the reasons for my coming to Georgia. Probably a thing I should written about in early posts, would have avoided the same repetitive questions (that tend to be answered in a monotone, repetitive set phrase).
Well, here it is once more:
A little more than one year ago I found myself in a situation of confusion. My childish high school years were coming to an end and I was completely clueless concerning my future. Of course, I was looking for universities such as Utrecht, but I was turned down. And then I got this one monthly Email from Luxembourgian Scouts who were seeking for volunteers for a project in Georgia. Without further thinking or expressing my thoughts to my parents, I called Claude for some information (Claude is a Scout from my sending organisation, pretty high up in the hierarchy). The reason for my spontaneous enthusiasm was due to the collected impressions of scouts who had a project in Georgia in 2013,  the so-called Odyssee Project. Not to forget is also an article about the German political Party Die Partei‘s travel to the small Caucasian country. A lovely article about local drinking habits.

Meria, the main square; inhabited by dear Johnny, the friendly dog

Yet, the question arises my friends: Why, of all the wonderful places in Georgia, of all those magnificent seasides, breathtaking views on snowy mountains and extremely various climate zones would I possible choose Rustavi – a city described to me as one of the most ugly cities that Claude has ever seen? A question I’ve been asked and asking myself over and over again… It’s simply the details that make it so pretty. There lies a beauty hidden between all of the shades of grey; not reference intended. ‘28 Grautöne, da werden Sie bestimmt zufrieden sein: Mausgrau, staubgrau, aschgrau, steingrau, bleigrau, zementgrau…‘ (‘28 shades of grey, you will certainly be pleased: mousegrey, dustgrey, ashgrey, stonegrey, leadgrey, cementgrey,…’) Reference intended… Loriot’s Ödipussi. If I leave in the morning for work, the first thing to meet the eye is a backyard. Not that it is particularly nice. All building are coloured in a solid Soviet grey, like most of the rest of the city. However, between all of the grey, one can distinguish a friendly sight: Tall conifers on the right side, clothes in all colours and sizes hanging over your head on ropes and from time to time a small congregation of neighbours enjoying their breakfast (accompanied by Chacha, which they offer you on a Sunday morning, but which is kindly turned down). In vicinity of the volunteer’s apartment is a small bakery. The receptive baker welcomed me by showing me his small workplace and the traditional oven for traditional Georgian bread. Most of the time I buy my bread there, for he’s a friendly fellow. Then I follow the road that leads to the Bazaar, a place where hardly anybody speaks any English, so you always have the impression that it is crucial to learn Georgian. The street itself is surrounded by conifers, stray dogs are constantly around and so are wild cats (but they inhabit trash bins, so the relationship between dogs and cats is rather peaceful). And then there’s a lot of cocks and chicks running around. Although focusing too much on latter might put one in a situation of pain as one stumbles over a heavily damaged pavement. Any precipitation causes a flooding for days and using pavement becomes a challenge. Elementary school children greet me in the street with their beginners English, for it is apparent that I’m a foreigner here. I’ve been called blonde by most people, although I wouldn’t completely agree with that statement. And then there are more detail that make the city alive: Gloomy sellers in every shop, whose facial expression mostly varies from unhappy to bored but never fail to help you. And the majority of shops have too many employees, so they are equally distributed to 5 sections of the shop that could easily be served by 2 or 3 people. And each one of those will try to wrap the ONE article you need from that section in a NEW plastic bag. One shouldn’t be surprised to see bags all over the city and up in the trees, rolling down the roads as if imitating bushes from Westerns.
Certainly, there are hideous places here as well. Everything that belongs to the metallurgical factory is engulfed in a horrid nostalgic Soviet atmosphere and smell of steel industry. Dark clouds escape the flues all the time, slowly creeping over the city (though the wind mostly blows it into a different direction). The edifice itself – lot of grey – cannot be considered acceptable to European norms. The farther one moves away from it, the cleaner the air gets. And finally, the community has finally created some – presumably – safe zebra crossings on the streets. Rustavi is slowly progressing, though not necessarily noticeable.
Not to forget are also those times of water shortcuts. Without warning, the tap water disappears and stays gone for a couple of hours or even days (2 days, with 3 hours of water in the late evening was the maximum so far). Electricity shortcut are very seldom, however. Nights are always a little romantic… most of the times there’s a stary night. A chilling feeling accompanies you when with friends on a playing ground in the night, enjoying a bottle of cool beer, gazing at the firmament. The stars seem to shine brighter in Georgia.
This brings me the next point: My everyday life. There’s that one picture that I keep showing to people who ask me that question.

This is, of course, only partly true. My predilection for any kind of booze has strongly decreased. After four or five months I finally got the chance of quickly improving my Georgian and so I spend my days inside with my notebook, constantly learning vocabulary. It’s certainly helping, though not as quickly as I had hoped. Those previous four months were mostly spent with friends, neighbours, flatmates and couchsurfers. Walking about this town, Georgia or Armenia. And enjoying homemade wines and chacha. I cannot deny having dedicated a notable amount of my salary on drinks. But it has never brought me into a situation of apathy! No matter the volume of alcohol destroyed, the next day was always a time for travels. In fact, I drink so much that I’m done drinking now. The times of pleasure in alcohol are doomed as so will be my drinking. Cheers on that! Nonetheless, no money spent for Nata should be considered wasted, nor time.
I’m taking special care of what is most important in this apartment, right after my dear flatmates: My plants. First, there’s Crassula Ovata, the Jade plant which I saved from a near-death experience in our old apartment and the cactus, which was a present from Nata. Every time I miss her I should hug that spiky thing… the temptation was great. (Léon: [referring to his plant] ‘It’s my best friend. Always happy. No questions.‘)
And there are a couple of episodes about me trying to adapt to local food:

Making Lobio with the best Mentor

Khinkali with Makho

Great biscuits

Not to forget a couple of smaller reunions and parties:

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Parties like 60s party, hip-hop party, WTF reunion, new home warming-up… (The chemical formula in the background is LSD).
Then there also time spent for traveling, but there are and will be many more blog posts about this. No need for that right here. There will be some soon, about my 3 trips to Borjomi. Stay tuned!
At last, what can be said about my everyday worklife… as I had mentioned it before, I work in the local Scout’s Center. Initially, my task should have consisted in teaching English to children in a rather informal way. Teaching by games, activities, not having a frontal lesson with grammar being thrown at them. For some reason, that took a horribly long time to get even started, and now it changed to Outdoor Activities and Sport. And a little bit of Conversation Club. Unfortunately, the only thing that can be added to this, is that I started working on a new project idea with a befriended German volunteer from Yerevan. It’s all about cultural discovery and understanding, mostly for Georgians and Armenians (fun fact about Georgians: they have not many places where they can travel to without visa, except from Turkey and Armenia but still refuse to go there most of the time. There are also quite many stereotypes about Armenians, often related to the size of their nose).

By the way, we’re putting a band together called Vaffanculo. Already world famous, albums will soon flood the markets and fans in many parts of Caucasus. All we’re missing are instruments, songs and the rest of the equipment…
There’s a lot of stories that are yet to be authored. Don’t miss the next episode of Nomethdragon!

 

 

Concerning Georgian beverages

‘Long live the freedom! Long live the wine!‘ A genuinely important quote from Goethe’s Faust. Although not enough importance is being paid to this sentence, because wine and alcohol are a crucial factor when it comes to culture creating. Especially Georgia is no exception. During social gatherings, you raise your glass many times for this marvelous country and – in international company – to any kind of nation or friendship between all countries. The only thing that remains the same is the quantity of alcohol consumed, be it wine, beer, vodka or chacha.

Before talking about tradition, it’s wise to get some knowledge about the origins of wine production: Georgian people are proudly claiming to be the very first to having produced the first wine (there is an actual fight going on between Armenians and Georgians). Age datings, however, prove that the first amphora containing wine particles originate from Georgia and date back to about 9000 years. The variation of vines is enormous. It’s isn’t astonishing that practically every family produces their own wine… which will then be consumed with a smaller family circle, including friends.

The traditional Georgian way of drinking differs from European styled one, as one tries to include those that are sitting around with one. As a basic principle, this is being done with toasts. While the group is seated around a table which is almost breaking under the weight of culinary masterpieces, the glasses are filled with, for example, wine. Everyone cheers; eye contact should be avoided. This is followed by dear Tamada’s (the toast master) speech/toast. Everyone says ‘Gaumarjos‘ and every glass is promptly emptied to the very last drop. Afterwards one has a couple of minutes to feast on the delicious food, that is being continuously served and seems to be never ending, until the glasses are filled again. This is a cycle that goes on and on throughout the entire evening

How is such a toast carried out?
There is an unwritten sequence that is normally respected by every Tamada. There are also some toasts that need to be mentioned. The usual celebration starts with a toast for peace and harmony between the nations of the world, followed by a toast to friendship. Furthermore, the drinking shall be continued with a warm speech about love. This is the normal way of how most Supras run down. A compulsory toast should be addressed to those that are no longer alive (Traditionally, every funeral end in a great feasting with much wine after the family and close friends had the occasion of meeting the corpse in a certain period of time after death at his/her home).
Additionally to these traditions, at other Supras, people drink from a jar made out of goat horns. Those are solely filled with wine or brandy. Another cultural specialty consists of the tradition called ‘Vakhtanguri’ (the name origins from King Vakhtang VI of Georgia). One crossed arms with a partner of one’s choice (or with 2 partners), then drinks the entire content of it at once.
At the end of each Supra you feel closer to all of the other drinking companions… in case you don’t fall asleep head to chest.

There are many opportunities where one can observe the friendly Georgian personality. The common Georgian guy is actually a debonair being… especially if there’s something to celebrate about. Directly linked to this is alcohol consumption. However, statistics show that alcoholism isn’t as much of a problem as it is in Russia. Generally, the average consumption must be lower, since one does practically never drink by oneself. Only in company. After spending some time here, this fact is oddly surprising: An escape from alcohol appears to be hard. Even if one decides not to drink that particular day, a friend or neighbour will end up leading one back to the righteous path.
As foreigner, one is often confronted with a unsurpassable language barrier as both parties don’t speak a common language. Nonetheless, with the right amount of sign language and pointing and trying, it is rather easy to live in pretty much any social class in Georgia.

We can conclude: Wine is a valuable thing in Georgia and so are all the related traditions. Those among you that have a predilection for alcohol, will find pleasure here, as drinking can occur during all times of the day. The sociophobic will suffer a little, as people are mostly drinking in congregations, be it with friends or family… or both. Getting drunk is part of the culture, contributing to both stronger friendships and social connections. It is to be added that women generally drink less, as they’re taking care of children. Having children at Supras shouldn’t be surprising.

I made my own experiences in the domain of alcoholism here in Georgia: Including everything from totally new neighbours that invite you to spontaneous food and wine and chacha, Supras at work with the most important people from Scout’s center, a great variety of wines (all special in their own specific way), cheap wine that one … enjoys during a trip to the mountains, the first beer on the beach after a long trip to the mountains (its name was 34), a last perilous beer before a trip to questionable heights,….

After 4 months now (3 months when I wrote the actual article in German), I’m experiencing doubts about my taste: Has it truly changed that drastically? Is it a natural consequence of a different lifestyle? Is it the different air (polluted, thanks to Rustavi’s metallurgical industry)? Was it chacha?
For some stranger reason, hop juice that used to please my senses, feels like an intruder to my taste. Erdinger or Baltika are repulsive, whereas Georgian beers seem to be of greater contentment. I wouldn’t have never guessed such a radical change in such a small amount of time (damn, I came even to a liking concerning local salty cheese).

The typical picture at the end

The rush for Khash, an Armenian adventure

The way I prepared the introduction to my blog, started our trip to Mount Aragats in Armenia: mostly without preparations. At least not from my part. Our group, consisting of 7 people (4 of them volunteers from Rustavi, the last 3 volunteers from Yerevan) agreed on climbing Aragats together on a good occasion. It might not have been the best and two people from Yerevan cancelled the very day we intended on climbing it. Before climbing a mountain of that altitude you should be in a good condition in order to avoid altitude sickness. Most probably, many of us weren’t.
Perhaps I could have contributed a lot more than I did. A few days before we planned our escape from the cities, I wasn’t certain if I could actually join them. There were things that could have hardly been postponed. Not to forget, the three days before somehow ended up with some serious drinking – at this point I would like to thank my new neighbor and his excellent wine, the welcoming staff from ISCR and local friends and their special taste in alcohol – which cannot be considered good preparations for such a trip in high altitudes. My contribution to the trip can be reduced to my mere presence. And the tent that I was carrying.

What can be said about Aragats?
The mountain was an active volcano in the Pleistocene and represents the highest peak of Armenia with an altitude of 4,090m above sea level. This can be attributed to the North peak, whereas the southern one has an altitude of about 3,900m. A couple of hundreds meters below can be found a couple of buildings, including a restaurant and hotel, a sort of scientific research center (from soviet times) which is still occupied by a couple of Armenian scientists and the Kari Lake. The underground is hollowed by a network of tunnels, covering a notable distance. At that height, vegetation is already reduced to grass. However, you can find a find a wide array of rocks, stones and rubbish close to the lake. Depending on the season, many different climate zones can be experienced: from sub desert temperatures and sun exposure in summer to intensive rain and blizzards in early autumn. Fog is also quite common.

As always, our travel started in Rustavi, from where Gabija – the Lithuanian volunteer – and I took a marshutka to Tbilisi (the capital, for those who don’t know it), a nice spot if you’d like to hitchhike. In virtually no time we were taken to Armenia, then to a crossroad right next to the range of mountains of Aragats. Quite similar to Georgia, we were offered food and hospitality. Yet, there is a strange particularity once you enter an Armenian car: one of the first question they will ask you is about your current relation status. Especially as female traveler there is a high likelihood that they will hit on you.
Once we reached the mountain, we got a first impression of the weather conditions: rainy, stormy, cold, no sign of improvement in sight. The next car took us up to Kari Lake along with its 3 passengers, who traveled from Yerevan to the lake for this one Armenian specialty called Khash, which was described to us as boiled lamb head. And indeed, there is a huge hype around it. Groups in large numbers risk the dangerous road that’s serpentining it way to the top. 2 cars would have trouble driving next to each other. As if it wasn’t hazardous enough, Khash is served with 3 shots of vodka and people take a traditional bath in the icy waters of Kari Lake. And already on the way to the peak, our driver and his friends were drinking beer and smoking a lot. I was offered a beer too (tasted quite similar to Sarajevsko).
Some information about altitude sickness would have been useful before drinking:

Altitude Sickness – What It Is, Symptoms, Treatment and Medication

It recommends you to avoid alcohol and stay hydrated… what can I say? It was a good beer and ‘one does not simply turn Caucasian hospitality down‘.

Since we had an excellent timing, we arrived at the lake in no time, where we spent about four hours waiting for the others to join us (only one of the three from Yerevan actually arrived) and discovering our surroundings, succeeded by a night in a warm sleeping bag, in a stinky tent, in an abandoned building. That was our acclimatization in high altitudes. A special mention must go to our communist buffet: one pot with noodles, spiced with Ukrainian ketchup (cheap, bad-tasting Ukrainian ketchup) and everyone gets one fork. ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his need‘ (©Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels)

The next day, the journey began at 5:30 in the mourning…sorry, morning; stopped several times as the air was getting thinner and our orientation worse and finally had its absolute high on the icy peak. The weather was so dreadful that we decided to have a picnic there. The freezing of our hands (covered by the warm embrace of our socks) reminded us at one point that the time for safe return had arrived.
We descended the mountain again, packed our stuff, hitchhiked a local group travel group who had some Khash in the Restaurant and got back to Rustavi.

I should mention that the entire journey could have costed us no money at all: We wouldn’t have needed any food (we were offered a lot of it while hitchhiking, so need for that), the travel itself was free (hitchhiking) and you don’t need a visa to go to Armenia.

On ‘The excessively hospitable state of mind of Georgian people’

‘Do harm to no-one; but rather help all people, as far as lies in your power‘ said by Arthur Schopenhauer in ‘On the Basis of Morality‘ and could actually be considered as a leading principle of Georgian culture and hospitality.

The rather small country in the Caucasian (compared with the enormity of its neighbour, notably Russia) is populated by +/-4 million people, of which one third lives in the capital. The largest majority of Georgian’s population practices Orthodox Christianity faithfully and locals are proud of being one of the very first nations of having adopted Christianity as state religion. Famous mostly for their historic significance as guards of the Golden Fleece, Georgia’s region of Colchis (presumably from Kartvelian) appears in one of the most famous European stories written by Homer. Georgia is furthermore also known for its downfall after the Soviet era and its political crisis that accompanied the nation for most of the 90s. However, the small Caucasian country is truly outstanding for its geographic position, which enabled it to have a strong economy during the times of the silk road, largely due to its location. And despite the small surface of Georgia, great varieties in topographies can be found within its borders, mostly influenced by the Caucasian mountains and the Black Sea. Not only does this affect local culture and dialects, but offers an interesting insight for foreigners.

Linked are all of those different ethnicities by their welcoming hospitality that will surprise all outsider and often put them into a situation of discomfort. Without any bad ulterior motive, locals will invite strangers (and also their friends and family members) to their best wine and food without hesitation. For members of the Western civilization, these traditions are extremely opposite to their every-day life. Apprentices to this culture will surely propose some money or other goods instead, which will be refused by the host; perhaps he might even feel insulted.

Here are some examples that I had the pleasure to experience on first hand during a trip with a couple of friends through Georgia and my stay in the smaller city of Rustavi (a population of about 120,000 people):
•    In Rustavi: As I invited a local friend on a beer (which would have resulted in a cosy binge drinking), he suggested moving to his home and buy beer from a store for economic reasons. Once arrived in his garden, his father promptly welcomed me and offered me some of his home brewed wine instead. Surprised by an intense cloudburst, we fled into their hours where I was given their best wine produced by a monastery which is situated high up in the mountains. Not only was it an excellent beverage, but the father saved this precious gift for more than 5 years. One can only too well understand, what I’ve been through as I couldn’t figure out how a stranger can offer such a precious thing to another one, although I’m befriended to one of his sons. Even if I realized that friendship and peace are far more valuable than this wine (which the father told me repeatedly during his toasts),  a certain uneasiness engulfed me at that moment. Taking into account that it was my first real experience with local traditions, I was glad when I could leave their home after having kindly refused further drinking in a local pub. My friend then walked me home, explaining that nobody expects any money back.
•    On the road: Hitch-hiking in Georgia is one of the fastest and most marvelous ways of traveling around. Usually one does not wait longer than 10 minutes (sometimes it only takes a couple of seconds) until a friendly drivers accepts you in his car, where you experience the down side of Georgia: The roads and the terrible chaos on the streets are just a routine and are probably based on some kind of Darwinistic principle. If you’re not fit enough for it, you will eventually face some heart attack.
•    While driving: Drivers try to put their passenger at ease by offering them fruits, local food, bread, water or any kind of nutriments. They might even invite you to a restaurant and refuse anything in return. Even when their passengers reject eating (be it because of the limited capacity of their bellies or because their simply do not wish to eat), this will certainly not put an end to the driver’s friendliness. Those few drivers who do not offer any food might just offer you a place to stay for the night.
•    Being hosted by locals: It doesn’t matter if you’re complete strangers to them; not only will they offer a safe place to stay for the night, but you’ll be given typical food and wine and chacha (latter may sound attractive, but one cannot know if it’s actually safe for consumption. Traditionally people will serve it from plastic bottles. Generally there is no problem concerning methanol. The chance of turning blind is extremely little). Guests will not be granted any renunciation from further feasting.

Hospitality in Georgia is a common good and will be offered to practically anybody who enjoys the privilege of visiting the picturesque landscapes of Saqartvelo (name of Georgia in the local tongue).
The precious state of mind of Georgian people is far more valuable than material estates, without limit to foreigners and can therefore be described as a  trans-boundary gift. In it’s greatness it is unique, however, sometimes locals appear to be excessively hospital, which might startle outsiders to these traditions. Nevertheless, the generosity is unconditional; people don’t work for their personal agenda and don’t expect anything in return. In case that the former host needs a hand, the former guest will traditionally give a service back.
It is not without reason that the ancient Georgian proverb says ‘Every guest is God-sent‘. Even if there are icons or crosses hanging somewhere in every drivers car, and Christian doctrines and helpfulness can be considered related, there is no real connection between both. Georgians are naturally hospitable, a state of mind formed by traditions.