Photo by Csaba Labancz
Sighnaghi, a small town in Eastern Georgia, on the cliff of the Gombori Range, deep beneath us the wide plains of the Kura and Alazani rivers, across the mountains of Azerbaijan. By midnight, only a small Georgian company sits in front of the wide screen in the restaurant of the only hotel, on the day of Saint George, the patron saint of Georgia, on which I first arrived to Georgia twenty years ago. Messi kicks the second goal. A member of the company rises to toast, with an archaic clay vessel in the hand, filled to the brim. Drinks it out, and passes it to the next. “What do they drink to?” I ask of the waiter. “To the ancestors. On St. George’s night we drink to the ancestors, who died, so Georgia could live in freedom.”
Add comment