It
was my first peek at a marani (Georgian wine cellar) where Shota's
family produces its own wine with grapes plucked from the vines
hanging over the courtyard. It was also my first taste of
Gerogian chacha,
the local firewater. Stored in large glass jugs containing sticks of
oak to add color and flavor it tastes, at least to me, like some sort
of twisted combination of vodka and tequila. Yummy nummy. Not quite.
In the immortal words of Ralph
Wiggum, it "tastes like burning!"
Shota,
being the host and designated tamada (toastmaster), raised glass
after glass of wine to Georgia, to his loving family, to his new
friends, and to everyone's continued happiness. Such toasts are an
inextricable part of Georgian society and a phenomenon of which I am
quite fond.
After
stuffing our faces with local sausage, cheese, fresh salad, omelets,
and some great tasting wine we watched Shota's
rambunctious afro-sporting
nephew bounce around the courtyard like it was his job. His mission?
Who the hell knows? But whatever it was he was going about his
business with a palpable sense of determination. I sat there
observing, trying to decipher the esoteric Code of the Toddler. It
still eludes me. Smashing steps with some form of digging apparatus,
stuffing his arm inside a rain gutter, doing circles on his tri-cycle
(in a dastardly attempt to avoid my camera lens), tapping his foot
like he was revving himself up for a sprint, repeatedly removing the
lid from plastic barrel, and screaming like a banshee were all part
of epic unfolding within the confines of his mind. If only I could
reenter that world and rediscover what we are all destined to lose.
It is an impenetrable mystery known only to children and completely
unfathomable to the likes of nonmembers.
Shota
also brought us up to a 6th century monastery on a
nearby hill for a look around. Perched on a hill overlooking the
surrounding forest and presided over by an adjacent watch tower it
borders on the sublime (notwithstanding the cacophony associated with
ongoing construction and the revelry emanating from a wedding
reception in the adjoining forest). It was
a good day. It was a very good day.
"Naive you are / if you believe / life favours those / who aren't naive."
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'Love me or hate me, but spare me your indifference.' -- Libbie Fudim