When I told Larissa I would accompany her on her friend's church group trip, I didn't realize I was signing up for a pilgrammage to three ancient monastaries. I also didn't realize that nobody would actually know how to get to two of them, which would result in one of them remaining stubbornly unfound. The above photo is evidence of one of several failed paths. Some might consider this a disaster, but honestly I'd rather slog around in the woods than look at another church, anyway.
We found the third church, mainly because our leaders asked the right random farmer, who walked us way, way up the side of the mountain to the ruins of a church they said was from the 5th century. (The monastary is the dark spot on the left up there.) I didn't take a picture of the skeleton we saw in one collapsed room, but if I had better internet I would post a video of the polyphonic chanting some of the men did in the other one, a haunting, ancient sound that captured perfectly the mood of the rain softly falling and the desolate, forgotten spot.
On our way back down the hill, the farmer led us to his house, brought out the 5-liter jug of homemade wine and insisted that we drink a toast or three and bless his family. Of course, the American was called upon to say a few words but luckily they didn't expect me to drain my glass the way everybody else did.
It was way too many hours in a crowded, overheated minibus, but a glorious day.
I've heard that Georgians are known for their hospitality, and your experience seems to bear that out. I hope you came up with a good blessing for him!
ReplyDeleteI'm pretty sure the woman who was translating on my behalf made it more flowery and appropriate... she seemed to say quite a bit more than I did originally!
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