I was walking home today and happened to get behind two high school girls walking in the same direction. I didn’t think I knew them and as I was walking at a faster pace than they were, I was debating switching sides of the road.
Before I could do so, a group of Georgian men standing on the side of the road called me over. The first shook my hand and introduced me to his two friends (non of which spoke English). They then proceeded to try to tell me that somebody had died and they wanted me to come in to drink with them. Now, the girls who were walking ahead of me decided to stop and watch this scenario play out. Well, the main guy called them over to translate. And as luck would have it, one of them spoke ‘enough’ English. She again said that his dad and two sons had died (I don’t think recently) and he wanted me to drink with him and his friends. …Okay.
He coaxed the girls into the yard, too. If you are going to have an English speaking guy in your house, best to have a translator, too. In the backyard, they had a separate building that served as the kitchen. On the table was a small supra of chicken, fish, lobio (beans) and cheese. I had told them that I was only going to drink one drink, because I had to get home. Or else they potentially could have kept me there all night. But before I started on my wine, they said I had to eat something first…which makes sense. So I ate some of the chicken. It was really good. A roasted chicken that seemed to be marinated in hot peppers and garlic. Yum. Then we started toasting and drinking.
The girls went to School #3 in town. But the one did a pretty good job translating for me. It was nice of them to stay through the whole ordeal, because I ended up drinking four glasses of wine because I couldn’t stop at two, because three is symbol of God… okay. And I had to drink one more for leaving… okay.
But again, it goes to show the hospitality of the Georgians. They said that they had been noticing me walking to school in the mornings, now they said I can stop by their houses anytime.
The Road Not Taken (excerpt), Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,