Ashley Sytsma, Rick’s publicist, is a guest writer this week. She’s reporting on her travels to Georgia (the one over by Russia).
Georgian drinking culture is infamous to those who’ve visited the country. For particularly celebratory occasions, the men regularly consume 3-5 liters (4-7 bottles) of wine per person. Knowing this, I expected to find drunks all over the streets of Tbilisi, but I was wrong. I didn’t see a single one.
Now, I’m not condoning binge drinking, but once I learned more by experiencing it firsthand, I had to give Georgians props for having a unique and, dare I say, heartfelt booze culture. And for better or worse, I found I could hold my own – to the delight of the locals.
High up in the Caucasus Mountain near the Russian border, my husband and I ran into a humble country restaurant to seek shelter from the bitter cold. We ate lunch with our driver, Greg (who looked like a cast member from a mafia movie), and our guide, Levan (a Harvard-educated, professional-snowboarding, Georgian-folk-dancing, Renaissance Man). Being inside didn’t help the cold much. I could still see my breath while the lonely waiter wore a knitted cap and puffy jacket.
As we sat down next to the only wall heater, Levan asked us what we wanted to drink. Lemonade, beer, vodka? When traveling, a lunchtime beer is a fun addition, but being so close to the Russian border, we figured what the heck? Let’s have a shot of vodka with our meal! To our surprise, Levan didn’t order one round of shots, he ordered an entire bottle.
While steaming hot plates of stewed lamb, red beans and dumplings came flowing out of the kitchen, Levan exclaimed in his charmingly flawed English, “I’m going to teach you the tradition of the toast-ies!”
Often considered a defining part of Georgian culture, every single feast and celebration (or humble lunch in our case, I guess) is assigned a “tamada” or toastmaster. This person leads the attendees in a series of toasts as dictated by a very old tradition. Levan was to be ours.
He poured and passed ice cold shots, and with deep sincerity and reverence he began. “I first wish to honor that which is everything…is all…is forever the guiding light of our life. I wish to give a toast-ie to our loving and beautiful God.”
Coming from a culture where shots tend to be a part of bachelorette parties and other such debaucheries, I was surprised God was making an appearance. But I tentatively raised my glass, tried my best to thank my Higher Power, and knocked back my first warming (and surprisingly smooth) shot of Georgian vodka.
Perhaps sensing my bewilderment, Levan explained that the tamada never toasts frivolous things like possessions or shallow feelings but rather that which makes life worth living – those intangibles that bring a spirit, spark and light into our lives.
Within a minutes, he poured another shot. “Next I wish to honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice, those who without which we would not be here, those who honor us with their spirit and make us the people we are at our very core. I wish to give a toast-ie to our family members who have passed on – to our ancestors.” And back goes another shot.
Over the course of an hour, Levan led us through a heartfelt, soulful collection of toasts that honored the love of our parents, the safety and security of our homes, the support of our life partners, the protective touch of our unseen guardian angels and many more.
With each shot, I loosened up. With each shot, I followed Levan’s emotions more closely. With each shot, let’s be honest, I became more and more a sentimental fool. From the outside (meaning poor Greg, our very sober driver) we looked like sorry, sloppy, slurring drunks. But from the inside of our inebriated circle we were sharing…communion. We collectively felt the love for our families. We shared the last time we spoke to our guardian angels. We draped arms around each other’s shoulders and whispered secrets (funny because…who was going to hear?). We connected. We all “got it”! We were brothers and sisters! We celebrated life’s spark! It was actually quite a touching experience. Seriously.
By the end we three had consumed two bottles of vodka, a bottle of wine, and one large beer. Our only saving grace was the seemingly pounds of rich meats, cheese and bread we ate. It was by far the most I’ve drank without getting sick. And I had to buck up too. There was still a half-day of sightseeing left.
When Levan and Greg dropped us off at our hotel that evening, I was more than sleepy. As I stepped out of the car, Greg winked at me and chuckled in Georgian (Levan translated), “Good work today. I’ve never seen a blonde woman drink so much!” Levan assured me that this was a compliment.
