Aftermath: Kakheti
Blog
Time seems to have flown by as we return to my in-laws’ base for my wife’s father’s ormotsi (40 days after death memorial feast). There have been some noticeable changes in the national situation vis-à-vis the Virus, and these stand out.
Our curfew is lifted, so we can leave as early as we like for the 600 km trek, which really helps. We also find ourselves unable to bypass Kutaisi this time, due to work on the trans-national highway: just as well, as this city and the other three formerly closed are now reopened. We crawl through with the rest of the frustrated traffic, given a mere 16 km of 110 km/h highway from Kutaisi to Zestaponi, the westerly start of the winding 60 km bottleneck pass between the two halves of Georgia. Here, the highway expansion program is even more hugely in view than the last time some weeks ago that I reported on it, seemingly Georgia’s engineering project of the century. At least on the other side of this pass, the highway on to Tbilisi is open all the way, speeding us along as before.
We do also have to divert into Tbilisi to pick up my father in law’s headstone, nicely computer-engraved with his image. I expect this to slow us down hugely, as it’s nearing rush hour in the capital, but to my pleased surprise there’s not nearly as much traffic about as I feared. We cruise from Saburtalo into Vake, perform our errand and are comfortable enough not to need the fast river roads, following Chavchavadze (with some diversions) to Rustaveli and finally up onto the airport highway, then further east towards Kakheti. Time to see what’s new, what’s different since the last visit many months ago.
There has been some heated phone discussion about how and where to hold the feast in the days before our departure. We wanted a restaurant, willing to pay for the freedom not to slave away in the whole neighborhood to make all the necessary dishes and assemble the seating, cutlery and crockery, then store the inevitable leftovers and wash up afterwards. No go: restaurants are limited now to 50 customers, spaced seating, and only outdoor dining. And those near our village aren’t yet able to provide these conditions yet. So we’re forced into the self-service option.
My wife, no surprise, springs into action, because hardly anyone else could, organizing most of the event. Lists of invitees and dishes must be written up, then phone calls and ingredient lists. Shopping follows, and here at least I can be of some voluntary use, driving here and there. Neighbors are pressed into promises of various parts, and it begins to come together. Lots of sweat, though, and plenty of exhaustion in the growing 30-plus heat.
We weren’t even sure if we could do it in one sitting, or if two would be needed; in the end, thankfully, one was enough. The food came, was dished up, tables assembled and set, wine and water poured, a toastmaster chosen, and the ritual began. All the dead, fanning out from the man himself to an ever larger group of his relatives, friends, the neighborhood, the dead from various wars and so on were toasted to. As usual, I bowed out after a suitably polite time, but was asked back to “do that thing with your Svan hat”, where I tip a glass of white wine into my inverted pressed wool cap and toast from it, in the style of my adopted home province. They loved me. Call my agent, I’m available for engagements large or small. Well taught, is all I can say.
Next morning, I catch a shot of the disarray which follows a village feast. The vast remains have been gathered up and farmed back out to neighbors’ fridges for the night. Most of the benches and tables have lost their temporary rolls of paper coverings; one is lying forlornly on its side. Cigarette butts, food and non-food garbage litter the ground. Plastic bottles and empty wine jugs add to the “after” of the math. My niece surveys the carnage in silence. Time to clean up, and re-set some of the tables for today’s rounds, women first, then men. There’s plenty of yummy food to finish, and not enough space to store it all anyway, so we might as well! Gift packages are sent out along the street as well, especially to those who helped. It’s over, and we depart to see more friends in the province, before our return to Tbilisi where we’ll have a break and then… back up to Svaneti for that still-brewing 400 km ring walk. This looms ever larger in my mind now, but a diversion to Kakheti was inevitable. Back on track soon.
Tony Hanmer has lived in Georgia since 1999, in Svaneti since 2007, and been a weekly writer and photographer for GT since early 2011. He runs the “Svaneti Renaissance” Facebook group, now with nearly 2000 members, at www.facebook.com/groups/SvanetiRenaissance/
He and his wife also run their own guest house in Etseri: www.facebook.com/hanmer.house.svaneti
By Tony Hanmer