Encounters with Georgians
Categories: holidays, people, food, georgia
Date: 25 August 2009 10:43:19
It's been almost a month since the last post on Georgia, but I am dragging this blog back there for there is a great deal more to say about my travels there. While I had the most wondrous group I travelled with, and each and everyone inspired me in some way as I linked to here, some of the most unexpected joys of the trip were my encounters in unique ways with Georgians on my travels.
The memory that has stayed with me most, and still makes me teary when I talk about it [as I did on Saturday] or write about it [as I am now], was in the town of Telavi. On one of my many solo wanderings, exploring the town, I came across a cemetery and was looking around, particularly intrigued by the gravestones with photos of the dear departed on them. As I walked down the path to leave, a taxi driver had pulled in and stopped near a series of graves. As I walked past he asked, "American?" I replied "Australian", and, with me speaking no Georgian and him no English, via gestures and signals we talked for a short while about where we were from and what we did ["computer" seems understood everywhere]. He then motioned me to follow him, and he took me to a grave: which I realised, via gestures, was his son's.
I expressed my sympathy in signs [hand on heart] and expressions, and we prayed, each separately, each in our own language, but joined in compassion and unity in Christ and unity as human beings. I can but pray that my being there, at that moment, and my humble prayers and words/signs, brought some comfort to him. I am still stunned, and humbled, by this experience: it was one of the most moving experiences I have ever, and I suspect will ever, have in my life. A walk in a cemetery in an unknown town leads to this moving experience. May God bless him and grant him comfort, and also to all mourning the loss all-too-soon of a family member or friend.
One of the joys of staying in rural towns was seeing everyday life for Georgians that is so different from my life in a city: such as driving cattle to a river and pasture early in the morning, and seeing them return in the evening. After an early evening walk, on my way back to our homestay, one of the cattle owners called me over and, again, via signs and waving and actions, told me about the village, how long he has been here, what he does, Mt Kazbek and the Gergeti Trinity Church, where I have been, and then many questions on me and my life -- I think we even communicated how long our families had been in our respective cities [10 generations for him and 4 for me: use of mama, papa, motioning backwards with hand and counting on fingers seemed to get us there...]. These impromptu conversations were wonderful, yet also deeply challenging to me: rarely do we discuss such 'intimate' matters as family and religion with people on the street in Oz. It also challenged me as to how I perceive how others see me: as someone worthwhile [and interesting] to talk to? Could that be true?
Even walking past men working on a church, or building a bell-tower in this case of the church high on a hill above a grove of trees on the right, I would be called over and questions asked about where I was from and what I was doing here in Georgia. My prayer rope raised the question if I were Orthodox [one Georgian asked me if I was Catholic or Orthodox by crossing themselves each way respectively which I thought a rather wonderful gesture!], which led to surprised expressions [a fair, light-haired Orthodox? ;) ] from many, and generosity in a many instances: such as an icon shop owner giving me an icon of St John the Forerunner [Baptist], given my name is the same as John.
Even in a big city I had unexpected encounters: while wandering the residential streets of Tbilisi, I recall one man in particular calling out from his balcony, "Tourist?" I looked up, replied "Yes" in Georgian, and a 'conversation' [more non-verbal than verbal] began. Was I Orthodox [prayer rope gave it away]? Where had I been? Where was I going? Where was I from? And while this conversation was more in-depth than others, it was an experience that repeated itself: Georgians are truly hospitable and loving people, and so interested in the guest to their country. A restaurant experience I had shows this best.
I stayed behind in the town of Mtskheta after the tour group returned to Tbilisi as I had not seen all they had on a previous visit [I had the morning to myself]. Needing dinner, I found a restaurant by the river and decided to try my luck. No sooner had I sat when I was called over to a table by a man seated with two other men. It soon became apparent that he was the owner, and was happy for me to join them as one should not dine alone. Though his English was limited, and my Georgian not even that, through signs and signals and the occasional guess, we covered all manner of topics. My Lives of the Georgian Saints book proved again to be a talking point, and he stated he had been to many places I had and plenty I had not: he had even climbed to the Bethlehem Cave on Mt Kazbek, the mountain in the region we had just returned from that day! He ended this wonderful night by paying for me and calling a taxi. Humbling.
But it seems typically Georgian: I believe there is a Georgian saying, "Guests come from God." All I met, of which the above is a sample, highlights indeed, but a sample nevertheless, treated me thus, and made me feel not only special but exceptionally blessed to receive such love and hospitality. Thanks and praise be to God.