There is an old saying in Georgian, that “every guest is a gift from god.” Georgian hospitality is legendary. It is not an act, or a facade, or a calculated publicity stunt. It is all too real.
It is Saturday night, and I am at one of my favorite places. At first glance, a local wine shop where people spill out into the street smoking and drinking and talking on any given afternoon. But that is just the top of the iceberg. It is a passion project, and the center of a massive wheel where wine makers and wine lovers and everyone in-between cross paths, strangers for a minute and never more. If you ask me what makes life good here, I will say that this place is a five minute walk from our apartment. And tonight, winemakers I have not met are presenting their bottles. I am on time, but the winemakers are not even here yet and none of the guests. Of course, the owner Kicha is striding from the back room and we crack the usual jokes about “Georgian time”. Glasses are set out, music plays, and we wait. Kicha brings a special bottle to the table, that is not even on the menu for tonight. The label is a painting of him, staring down into a wineglass. I know who made the wine, and who made the painting but neither of them are here. It is a Pet Nat, from white chinuri grapes and some skins from shavkapito, a red one. This is some madcap rosé, if you must give it a name. It is bright and fresh, chinuri on the nose, and that magic balance as you sip. There are only two hundred something bottles of this in existence, and they are numbered. But Kicha puts it out for us for free, because that is his way.
The winemakers show up an hour after the tasting was supposed to start, and then people begin to show up another half hour after that. I know a few faces, but I do not have anyone familiar to sit next to, and end up in a chair next to a wine maker nicknamed Chichi, because he speaks a few words of English.
At one point, in a room where I have so many memories, I understand that I am still the outsider. I have been trying to learn Georgian which is profoundly difficult. If I can order the right thing on a menu, or ask where the bathroom is, say please and thank you and how are you, that is not much help in this room tonight. They are speaking about life and wine and wine and life, in epic metaphors, slowly getting tipsy, and I sit in a chair in the corner guessing at everything, grasping for context, sipping and thinking about each grape, trying to catch some moment with an English-speaker to discuss the latest bottle that is in front of us. But the night is running away, and I am a foreigner. In moments like this, I sense that hospitality takes a well-deserved break, like when parents take their children to school for the first time and come back to a quiet and empty house. This is their room now as it should be, and I am a welcome interloper, on my own. It is not anyone’s job to translate for me. I see their faces shift, relaxed and relieved, effortless as the conversation drifts around, as people go to the front steps for a smoke, as chairs are shoved next to other chairs at one of the smaller tables so people can whisper in the corner.
Eventually a winemaker friend shows up, from the tail end of a different tasting a few blocks away. He speaks perfect English and we spend the rest of the night talking about the bottles that were presented, a pale, tart chkaveri and a brassy khikvi, a refined rkatsiteli and a spicy mtsvane, then a saperavi mukuzani blend and tsitska Pet Nat. They are all balanced, all full of control and character, gentle and soft, substantial - all at once, in every sip.
A toast is made to the winemaker, Rezy. Later I have the toast translated and it is a long, romantic ramble about how wine can be like people, with personalities and lives, and that is how me must treat them.
Later, I make my way home. The streets are empty and it has started to rain just a little.
For some reason, I smell cloves.
Loneliness is palpable in this one.💙
Sounds like you landed in the right place, it almost seems fated. Just wondering, are you hearing about women's basketball over there? Caitlin Clark fever has gripped the nation and it's a really big deal. It could make women's basketball, and women's sports in general, much more popular than it is now. I'd love to see women's sports taken seriously.