Palm Sunday

Today was Palm Sunday in Georgia (Easter Sunday in the U.S.). We started the day out around 3:00 p.m. (still a bit jet-lagged and hence forgetting the camera) and went to G’s favorite Khachapuri restaurant for some of the city’s best Khachapuri. (For those of you new to the blog, Khachapuri is a Georgian cheese bread or cheese lasagna with butter and sometimes egg. A cholesterol nightmare and as delicious as it is bad for you). Once in the door, we went to the counter to order our artery-clogging delights and to the soda fountain for some chocolate crème charged soda, and headed for a table to wait for our food. I wondered if we’re living the life of those in the 1950’s in the U.S. with some slight modifications of course.

Before we had Sophie’s jacket off, three waitresses were hovering around and cooing at her. As soon as our food came, one of the cooks came out of the back room and, likely unable to stand it any more, leapt at the chance to “help” us while we ate by sweeping the baby out of my arms and bringing her back to the kitchen for some oohing and aahing and clucking with the 12 other ladies back there cooking. G and I followed, more because we wanted to see how Sophie would respond rather than out of any real concern for her safety. What we found defied words (needless to say, I was kicking myself for having forgotten the camera): There was Sophie, high in the air like a golden icon, beaming down at a mob of clucking women beaming back at her, each one hoping to catch her eye for a smile to call their own. It was a sight to behold.

Satisfied that Sophie could hold her own, we went back to eating our khachapuri. Periodically, we’d see Sophie come out and go past us to meet other people in the restaurant (I think one of the waitresses’ family was at a table in a separate room) and then back to the order counter for more cooing and cell-phone photos with the ladies behind the counter. Everyone took their turn. When we finished our meal, I found Sophie in the arms of a nice waitress and got her bundled up to go again. When her toy dropped on the floor, another waitress whisked in to grab it off the floor and wash it, back in a jiffy with the newly-clean toy. All cooed and waved goodbye to Sophie, telling us (her) to come back soon and often.

I had to go back for the camera before embarking on our next event of the day.

I’m not sure if this is normal behavior for people here or if Sophie is particularly special. It happened again at the next restaurant we went to too.

After the khachapuri place, we picked up some friends (my maid of honor, Teco, her husband, G’s good friend from law school, Irakli, and their kids) and headed to the church in Mtskheta where G and I were married. Teco and I covered our heads with our scarves, crossed ourselves (forehead, heart, right shoulder, left shoulder) (I had to watch Teco first for the right way to do it) and carried our babies into the church. It was Sophie’s first time in church, so we had to take some pictures. We lit some candles, looked at the graves of kings and wandered quietly around in the ancient building. Upon leaving, we bought some palm branches and asked our favorite busker to sing an old song he knew. His voice leaves much to be desired, but he’s a fixture there in the church yard, sitting under his umbrella, as he’s done for the last 8 years I’ve been coming here.

After visiting Mtskheta, Georgian custom is to eat at a famous lobio restaurant on the road back to Tbilisi. On Palm Sunday, however, it was packed to the gills. But Teco, being the resourceful, or some might say sneaky, woman that she is, found a room full of people leaving, and leapt in to claim it for our own. We weren’t going to stand in line. We had babies to please and get home early. So we ushered ourselves into a private party room, paid 5 lari (approx. $3) to light the fire in the fire place and proceeded to eat a huge meal that arrived almost immediately (which is likely why Georgians feel that this is the best restaurant in Georgia).

While Teco was finding the room, G and I were about to leave because we saw none. We were standing near the entry when a waitress found us. Or rather, she found Sophie. She kissed Sophie’s hands and begged her to “modi chemtan” (“come to me”). Sophie then reached for her and that was the end. She was out of my arms again, being snuggled by another waitress we’d never met or seen before. Her cuddling was cut short, however by another waitress, but this one only cautioned Sophie’s new friend that she should be working instead of playing. Reluctantly, Sophie was handed back to me and we went on our way.

When the meal was over, I decided Sophie had had enough stimulation for one day and pulled rank to go home and stay home. Sophie fell asleep in my arms almost immediately when we got into the car and, as has been yet unheard of for her, managed to stay asleep when I jostled her into an upright position to carry her up the stairs and into her bed. I believe it was her most exhausting day yet. Tomorrow will consist of as much boredom as I can muster in this crazy place!