A Georgian Birthday Party

To say that Georgians like to do things last minute is some what of an understatement. The other afternoon around 2:00pm – a time when I am used to having the flat to myself as my host sister is at work – the front door burst open. I immediately jumped up from the sofa wondering who it could be. It turned out to be my host sister. I asked whether or not she had work today, to which she responded “No. Today I go Italy. I come back next Monday.”

This was admittedly the first I had heard anything about this. “Oh, when do you leave?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes.” And there it was, my notification that I would be spending a week alone in a town where I haven’t yet worked out where to buy fruit or vegetables. Admittedly I wasn’t that sad – I have looked after myself for the last six years so I am sure I will be fine but a little notice would have been nice!

About an hour later I had another last minute notification dropped on me – this one a little more pleasant and requiring less work on my part. This time the messengers at least made their presence known with a polite knock on the door, giving me a few minutes to compose myself. On the other side of the door was my neighbour, Elsie and her teenage son, Giorgi. They have been round to the flat a few times for coffee with my host and it appears that the three have quite a close relationship. Giorgi speaks fantastic English for his age and always seems keen to practise with me.

They had come over to invite me to Giorgi’s fifteenth birthday party – which was starting in no less than two hours (which was at least an improvement on the 20 minute average notice the day had produced so far). Despite my exhaustion from a weekend in Tbilisi and a day at school, I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity to experience more authentic Georgian home life. I had my Georgian lesson for the day and then ran to the shop to buy some chocolate and wine as gifts for my hosts.

When I arrived, sat round the table was Giorgi and several of our neighbours from the apartment block. Coming from an existence where the only contact I am used to having with my neighbours is being on the receiving end of noise complaints for late night partying and occasionally to pick up an Amazon parcel that has been left with them, this was quite the anomaly for me. There were two of the mothers and their children who ranged into aged from toddler to teenager.

The affair itself was simple – a meal and a cake. The meal included the mayonnaise

and potato based dish Russian Salad, some of the best chicken I have ever tasted, khachapuri (Georgian cheese bread) and some sort of aubergine and pepper salad which I really should have asked how to make because it was gemrieli (delicious). The dishes were all laid out in a communal, help yourself fashion.

Most notable was the large vase of amber coloured wine. I quickly noticed this had been poured into the glasses of all the guests at the table. That’s right, children included. Having been brought up being allowed a glass of wine with a meal for as long as I can remember, because my parents wanted me to develop a “responsible” attitude to alcohol (admittedly that worked….until I was about sixteen – sorry Mum and Dad), I was actually pleased to see such a positive attitude towards alcohol.  However what shocked even me, and was no doubt the highlight of the evening was watching a nine year old knock back a whole glass of the wine with the gusto I can down, well….most alcoholic drinks.

In Georgia toasts are a biiiig part of the culture and tend to go on for quite some time, with everything from God to the neigbour’s cat being thanked for in one toast. They also tend to be incessant with many taking place during one event. They are also usually led by men. As the only male guest, giving the toast became the responsibility of the neighbour’s nine year old son. He did so enthusiastically and then proceeded to see off his whole glass of wine with much encouragement from his own mother.

Over the course of the evening we bonded over tongue twisters, my inability to pronounce some of Georgian’s more complex sounds and piano playing. My wine glass was practically never empty. Giorgi acted as translator for the most part but I was able to practise what little Georgian I know.

A dynamic that struck me as odd at first was that the father was not present at the meal and kept to himself in the kitchen. It was very much an affair for the women and children of the neighbourhood. This was made even more strange by the fact that it was also his birthday. He did make an appearance later once his twin, sister and brother-in-law arrived though. They were very pleasant and were keen to know about Scotland, particularly its politics. The brother-in-law enthusiastically declared that Georgia and Scotland have many similarities (a comparison that has actually been made a number of times since I got here).

I would hardly normally consider a fifteen year old’s birthday party high on my list of activities to take part in but I am super glad I went. It was surprisingly fun and I was made to feel very welcome. It’s hard to explain but there is something very warming about Georgians. They don’t necessarily say much or persistently smile to show their affection towards you but somehow they make it very clear that they are happy to have you there and that your presence is appreciated. I look forward to taking part in more Georgian celebrations!