Today was the one year anniversary of the death of my host father's father. I'm quickly learning that death plays an immense role in Georgian culture. After a person dies, there is 40 days of mourning, which includes wearing black and fasting from meat. There is then a one year anniversary. Depending on who has died and depending on the extent of tradition in an individual, the person mourning may wear black for years.
In any case, I laid in bed until around 11 before waking up to go next door. I set down my tea to help Tiko and my host parent's daughter, Sopo, dry the billion plates that had been rented for guests who would be coming later to eat. I then watched as my host mother made khachapuri - enough to feed an army. It was quite the process. I believe I have watched it being made so many times that I may have a shot at making it on my own. Dough, make it into a ball, kneed it slightly, fill it to the gills with Georgian cheese, gather up the corners to once again make it into a ball, then smoosh it out to resemble a cheese filled pizza, and place in an over on a pizza pan.
While my host mother was completing a task I'm sure she's accomplished many times in her lifetime, my host sister-in-law and a cousin took charge of me to get me to the cemetery with everyone else. We took marshutkas to the cemetery to perform a tradition of offering wine to the dead by sprinkling it over his grave and drinking a bit. There was also an offering plate of food which we were supposed to eat off of. As I was offered the platter, I tried to take the tomato as I'm missing fresh produce in my life,, but was instead instructed to take khachapuri. I may never know why...but was left looking longingly after the tomato.
From there, we hopped back on the marshutka to come back to my host father's mother's house next door where I was led upstairs to take part in another tradition of sprinkling something over a fire and dipping bread in wine and eating it. I was mortified to see a cow's head (eyes open, tongue sticking out) and the remains of a lamb lying underneath the table.
From there I was led to an upstairs area that had tables lined up from end to end that had been decorated with fruit (FRUIT!) and loads of other food. I had some of my fave - badrijani (eggplant with walnut paste). After that I also had some khachapuri, gomi with cheese, and some salads...followed by a precious banana. I will never take fruit and veggies for granted again!
After that, it was time for the men to drink and for the women to hang out downstairs. I managed to stay up until 9 or 10 before heading upstairs to pass out.
All in all, a very interesting cultural experience.
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