To new shores

 Well, let’s get back to writing – shall we? It’s already been some time since i wrote the last time and since I’ve returned from Romania. Therefore, it is wise to put myself into the right writing atmosphere. Suit, coffee, music, a quick skimming through pictures and off we go. If you’re interested in the music:

In between Georgia and now a long time has elapsed in which it appears that I hadn’t had the time to write or travel as I didn’t upload any new stories to this site. This, however, is hardly true.  In fact, I have more time than in Georgia. I’ve become slightly lazy and the challenge of competing with the other volunteer’s publishing articles has greatly lessened. In the meantime, my focus has gradually shifted towards reading and adopting styles from writers that can be considered more “important” than my humble self. Fear not! For the writing will continue! Those few that I managed to satisfy with my half-assed, semi-sarcastic and surely completely biased correspondence will get what they’ve been craving for – now.

First of all, I’ll give you a quick overview on the year that separates me from Georgia… expect that it didn’t. For I have already returned there 3 more times since my official departure last March; and I’ve traveled almost all by myself through Balkans by hitchhiking a month after my returning to Luxembourg; and I helped in the task of challenging the recent status quo in politics by protesting against lignite coal in the Lausitz region and by learning the language of the most dreadful of all European and Western countries’ enemy’s language: Russian. Have my studies given me any advantage in communicating with locals while in Romania, Georgia, Armenia, Lithuania, Poland and Eastern Germany? Almost not at all. My Russian remains to this day (quite) bad. I will, however, be working on my language skills.

Let’s get to the actual story, which commenced more than a year ago, back in Georgia where the infamous WTF gang decided to start a major campaign towards Russian territory with the main objective being the magnificent Baikal Lake deep within Siberia. What exactly happened to the fighting spirit of our group I still don’t fathom, but it must be noted that more and more members turned their back on their fellow travellers and chose the routine, the every-day working life and thus backstabbing us. Much that once was, is lost. The initial group diminished in size and morale, and eventually ended up in splintering groups of which one was representative for the whole group on Woodstock and the other in Transylvania – the latter being the heart and soul of the whole movement, including the important elements of hitchhiking, musical skills, random mountain-spotting-and-climbing attitude and minor alcoholism. Sure, some minor deviations have occurred and the changes in character in everyone cannot be unseen.

Good, now that I’m finally done with the 4th introduction, I can start with the telling of  the chronological course of events; additionally, I will try to figure out some minor overlapping elements with Georgian mentality and experience that will be analysed in further detail in this article:
Gabi (Ltu) and Paula (Pol) first met somewhere in Romanian mainland after dealing with Wizzair’s incompetence and sudden cancelling of flights, then continued towards Brasov where Sepp and I would join them (actually the name of the city Brasov is written with some kind of nipple, that transforms its pronunciation into something similar [Brashov]. Actually, Romanian happens to be of an extremely interesting structure and history so that one can find elements of all neighbouring regions in it, with the basic structure founding on Latin). And that’s exactly what we did. Luckily, a lot faster than expected as a friendly Romanian guy agreed on taking us all the way from Dresden to Brasov (1400km!!!). Before meeting us he had already driven through most of Germany and had enjoyed something close to 2 hours of sleep. He insisted on driving all by himself. On the way, we had 2 breaks of 4 hours in total which he used to rest. Furthermore, he had some food provisions that consisted of the cheapest bread and meat you can buy in Lidl, which he gladly shared with us. Funnily enough, he laughed at us for falling asleep from time to time. Once we got to Romania, he unloaded his car in his employer’s father’s home where we got some strong homemade wine – a fine welcome into a new culture.

Brasov. Like most cities from former Siebenbürgen it was built by Germans, which also explains its German name of Kronstadt. Beautiful architecture, countless translations into German (however, not necessarily into English), teenage street musicians jamming in the park for their pleasure and two exhausted Gopnik-like travellers finally welcoming their female equivalents in the newly-discovered city – reintroducing Gabi(-ja-chacha-yan) and Paula, the Mysterious Dragonmaster (Վիշապագետ), to the scene. An entire book’s content could hardly suffice to fully portray their personalities, so that I will content myself with the introduction by adding a group picture:

From Brasov, where we explored the huge touristic Hollywood-like sign (also lacking this strange kind of nipple), we continued southwards in the typical style that we had to gradually adapt while in Caucasus: missing the last bus, so that one’s forced to accept a local’s private car that’s easily transformed into an unofficial taxi, thus avoiding taxes and paying less that one would have by taking a bus/marshutka. We eventually escalated a long and winding path leading to the “7-ladder-canyon”/Sapte Scari, where we stayed with the park ranger and her family. Thanks for our predilection for wine, we were able to offer some to the ranger who courteously turned it down, notwithstanding genuine Romanian hospitality by offering us intel on the region (including its bear family that inhabits the mountain range and the lonely fox) grilled potatoes and bread.

Best facial expressions…they’re simply INFINITY

The successive day gave way to heavy rainfall just past afternoon. Before that, our small group was able to skip the payment for the entry to the Ladders, climb through the creek, escape the canyon’s cold, jurassic soul by sliding down a steel rope and playing frisbee for some hours on the shining green meadow just downhill. If we hadn’t taken the bus, we would probably have drowned on the way to Sinaia. Also, we would never had heard the tourist’s information guide, telling us about the dangers of climbing Omul: 2-5m visibility if we’re lucky, 2300 bears in the region, temperatures far below 0° on the summit, at least 27 hours of walk in order to get to Bran on the other side of the national park. Enough to scare us off, aye? Putting our lives at risk for the sake of a view that would be denied – something absolutely ridiculous. For a group like ours, that hasn’t even any material to protect us against heavy rain, neither having adequate shoes for anything that exceeds a stroll on the beach (please note that the shoes that Sepp’s wearing on the picture were the best he had; the same shoes carried him over many summits in the course of the following days while granting him knee ache at the end of our trip), information like this should scare us off like a flock of sheep that sees the shadow of something that barely resembles a wolf.
Here’s a collection of pictures that shows us being reasonable and avoiding such an endeavour:

We didn’t sleep in a tent, but in a mountain rescue hut… mostly because they told us that it’s prohibited to pitch our tent on the premises of the National Park of Bucegi. The possibility of getting caught in a half-frozen state and still having to pay 3-6000Lei was an argument convincing enough to make us pay the reasonable prices of 40Lei per night per person and stay in a (bloody, exceedingly) warm quarter. We were offered some mountain cheese.

MEMES! Why are there only so few memes…?!

Well, what is Romania famous for? Exactly! for its magical garlic that has the power of prevailing against the devilish powers of their national demonic spawn. A mythical construct created by mingling Bram Stoker’s creative spirit, the desolate nature of Romania about 200 years ago and one of Romania’s most infamous personality, the Voivode Vlad III. Draculae or Vlad the Impaler. Time for some historical background! While being a hostage of the Ottoman Empire he soon learned the art of war, only to return to his home country where he claimed the Romanian throne and restored the order in a most brutal way (inviting all gypsies, homeless people and mentally and physically disabled to a feast, then locking them in and burning them alive; all oppositions from the nobility was liquidated in a similar way). When the Ottomans felt menaced by this sheer exhibition of power, they invaded the country. Vlad expected a raid and used the tactic of the Burned Soil After a gruelling, unsuccessful summer campaign of heavy losses against an enemy that used an unsupportable guerrilla technique, they were confronted with a literal forest of spiked corpses. Every single captured Ottoman soldier was put on a thin stick, which made its way through the POW’s guts. Needless to say, the process of dying was performed under an unimaginable amount of pain. Upon seeing this demonstration of pure inhumanity, the morale of the army reached its breaking point and they returned home. Vlad’s brother, however, led another expeditionary force and succeeded in laying siege to Vlad’s fortress: Bran castle (visible in the background).

It costs 35Lei to get to the other side of this fence… Bloody vampires! We should put them on some sticks!

I’d like to put your mind at ease: despite our general lack of garlic we were not visited by a nightly visitor with long and spiky canines. Yet, the only vampires in Romania are working in Bran. Those parasites asked a 35Lei fee – only to be allowed onto the premises of the castle garden! Bloody vampires! So we drank coffee instead and then searched a camping spot. Due to Paula’s great knowledge of the Romanian language, we were able to convince a local worker with a scythe to lead us to an ideal spot, where we enjoyed a refreshing night with another small bottle of wine (Georgia and Romania share a common enthusiasm for big quantities of wine; we purchased a 2nd glass bottle of 1.5l of very acceptable red wine) and grilled food.

Bran –> Sibiu (Hermannstadt). Many thanks to the two cars that helped us: a Canadian-Romanian couple who have a sort of weekend house in Bran, while actually living in Abu Dhabi; a former truck driver, residing in England, who had an excellent taste in music, whose driving skills reminded me of the typical Georgian driver.

After some tasty, nice, slightly salty Balls (Bulz, some traditional food with polenta) and a good night’s sleep we continued towards another peak, namely Cindrel. A lonely Canadian guy gave us a lift, after enjoying a local beer with me. The process of backpacking towards the top was rather spontaneous and quite exhausting. The beer earlier certainly didn’t help. And the weight of the additional wine bottle and cognac were of equal usefulness. We still managed to reach our camping spot, close to another ranger’s hut. Thanks to Sepp’s amazing singing talent no bear dared approach us… it is, however, likely that he was responsible for the Monsoon-like precipitation the upcoming morning. The high-pitched wind and its never-ceasing, cold company didn’t leave us for about 2 hours, until we finally made it to Cindrel’s top (2245m above sea level). It wasn’t until this moment, when the clouds finally lifted and gave way to a superb view on the landscape at our feet that the cognac tasted well. But the few drops that found its way down our throats onto an almost empty stomach as a reward for the arduous hike and tasted like the most exquisite beverage. The drink reminded me of the – usually very mediocre beer – Kaiser that I received after a similarly arduous bicycle tour to Udabno, Kvemo-Kartli, Georgia.

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After the highly exhausting, close to 50° inclined descent we arrived on a road. Sadly, we didn’t have cookies… (Thanks, OBAMA) so, instead of writing anything reasonable onto our fellow cardboard sign, Paula figured it being wiser to write “Mag/Shop”. By pure luck, some people actually did stop!
Our last stop as a group in Alba Iulia (also known as Karlsburg, but build around a fortress that was highly inspired by the French architect Vauban) was met with beautiful Langos, a few local beers and a freestyle on the grass dance floor within the outer fortress walls.

The next day, the WTF devotees parted ways – but not for the last time! For our trips are INFINITY! Distances are but a small barrier between us. The only thing that we’ll be missing might be watermelons (“Winter is coming”). Luckily, the next summer will come soon and there will be plenty of Cucurbitaceae and we need not worry. The fellowship will live on. See you, dear readers, next time. Til’ then, let us drink за будущее!

 

Here’s a short summary of my itinerary:
Berlin->Dresden->Brasov->Sapte Scari->Sinaia->Omul->Bran->Sibiu->Cindrel->Alba Iulia->Cluj-Napoca->Berlin

 

And some more knowledge that I’ve gathered in Romania:

• it’s acceptable to be racist against Gypsies, because nobody will disagree (at least we haven’t met anyone)
• Russian is useless; I didn’t use it even once
• the country is huge, far more enormous than we had expected… so, always a reason to go back
• everything is German: city names, explanations for tourists, tourists, the entire architecture of many cities

(PS.: I wonder if it makes any difference if you write 0° or -0°C…)

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)

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

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.