Easter Sunday

Easter is a 2-day event here, beginning at midnight on Sunday morning. At midnight, the churches are mobbed with people celebrating the rising of Christ. We gave the church visit a miss, not feeling up for a midnight adventure with a 6-month old baby (and finally not likely to be awake then as we’re over jet-lag). The next day (Easter Sunday) is filled with feasting and parties and usually involves a slaughter (many Georgians have been honoring Lent for the few weeks before). Although Giorgi and his father weren’t honoring Lent, they wanted to partake in the festivities of the day, namely meat-eating and wine-drinking. The best place to do this is, of course, in the village. Giorgi’s cousin was having such a party, and, next to Giorgi’s father, this cousin (Gogita) is the pinnacle host. There was no question: Giorgi had to go. Sophie and I decided, however, that we could give it a miss. So Giorgi and his dad set out for the party Easter morning and Sophie and I had a quiet day at home until Irina called asking us to visit.

We headed down to G’s childhood home on Petriashvili street, where Irina waited. On our way down the road, a nice woman called to me from the balcony of her hotel room. She had locked herself in her room and needed help getting out. She had to tell me in English because she didn’t speak Georgian. I, however, being the master of Georgian that I am, was able to traipse into the hotel with the baby in the sling and her huge diaper bag and my camera over the other shoulder to tell the man about the problem. He understood and ran upstairs with the extra key. I didn’t hear anything for a while, so went up the narrow stairs myself (with all of my cargo) to see whether I could help. It turned out that the man had opened the door for the lady, but then she closed the door to show him how she had locked herself in, effectively locking both of them in. I offered to hike back down the stairs and catch the key over the balcony, but the man called the owner of the hotel to rescue them. So I went on my way to Irina’s.

By that time I was incredibly hungry (after hiking up 5 flights of stairs with about 40 pounds hanging off my shoulders), so I stopped at a little khachapuri window on the way and bought my favorite “street” khachapuri: panowani. Proud of my independence, I hiked down to Irina’s house, where I found a neighbor waiting to talk to Sophie and learned that another had just left, having waited a while. Irina raced out the door when I arrived and called up the street to that neighbor and she came back to snuggle Sophie. After trying to speak in broken Georgian for about 10 minutes and just as she was leaving, she broke out her perfect English. It seems that people do this here, afraid to speak to me in English lest they make a mistake. I can only imagine what I sound like to them! But I digress.

Irinal and Sophie and I then went visiting people who stayed in Tbilisi for the Easter holiday. We first went to Giorgi’s cousin’s house (it seems that we’re always visiting some form of cousin, perhaps that’s because Giorgi seems to be related to the entire town), where we ate good Easter bread and khachapuri. Easter tradition here requires all families to have a good stock of Easter bread (called Baska) and dyed eggs. When offered coffee or soda, I again surprised my hosts by asking for water (at this point in my life, I know that they will bring me something even if I say I want nothing, so I might as well as for something good for me). Thinking it a bizarre request but honoring it nonetheless, my hostess brought me a glass of water on a saucer. It tasted wonderful.

At the same time, Sophie was, of course, whisked away from me. I learned after a few minutes that she had gone out to the yard to visit the men folk who were partying there. I’d never visited their yard before. It was a good arrangement really: all of the neighbors use a common yard that holds some fruit trees and a long table for feasting. Food and drink can be brought from anyone’s house surrounding the yard and the men drinking there are in their own private party, shut off from the road and passers-by, as well as shut out of the house, where peace can still be found. There was of course a dog present, and that was about it. Sophie and I visited the drunken men for a few minutes and then took our leave, hurrying back inside to be with the rest of the women.

One thing I’ve figured out in my time here is that sexism really isn’t all that bad. In fact, if segregating women from men is sexist, I’m all for it. I’d really much rather be laughing and telling stories with a bunch of women who aren’t intoxicated, even if it includes cooking or doing dishes (which isn’t necessary, but happens anyway because women seem to get things done when they’re together anyway) than sitting at a table full of drunk men telling the same tall takes and smoking cigarettes. The only exception is when Giorgi’s dad sings. Then, all of the above goes out the window and I only want to listen. But again I digress.

So we visited the cousins and then got a call from Gocha to meet us for his wife’s family’s party down the street. So we went. By that time, however, Sophie was hungry and there was no place there to feed her. I finally took my leave and went home. It all worked out well because Sophie and I could finally get some much needed rest while Giorgi was in the village with his father.