Warm-Hearted Georgia

We have a friend, let’s call him Andrus, who is never locking the doors of his apartment. No reasons to lock, he said. There’s still nothing to steal. Once Andrus came home and saw a stranger sitting on the couch.
– Hello, – says Andrus.
– Hello, – the man replies.
– Would you like to have some tea?
– Yes, thank you.
During tea drinking it was found out that the guest confused an apartment: he came to someone’s wedding. So he left very surprised.

If this story had happenen in Georgia, there would be nothing to talk about – nothing special. The legends about Georgian hospitality are composed, and everything is true. A guest for a Georgian is a messenger of God, and he will be treated better than a fellow countryman, better than a close friend.


On the night of arrival in Georgia we could not find our hotel. Twice we asked the way, twice we were invited to come it for dinner and sleeping. For the second time, we, tired of the road, surrendered: we were fed and drunk by the restaurant workers, and they gave us a whole room in the hostel – with a huge bed and shower.

We rarely wait on the hitchhike for more than 5 minutes. And we are almost getting used to get warm communication with the accent, excursions and treats: cookies, ice-cream, churchkhella, nazuki (sweet bread) in addition to moving… The drivers stopped to run to the store and to buy delicious food for us, or invited us in a cafe – besides they changed their route for us. Our friends caught a car, and the driver invited them to his own winery, arranged a wine tasting for them and presented them a bottle of wine (it costs about 37 lari – $ 15.4, it is an expensive one for Georgia).

In the Magnetti, we four were walking on the beach of the hotel on Saturday night. The workers of the hotel arranged a dinner for us and accepted us as friends. With all Georgian toasts – about guests, about peace in the whole world, about the homeland. Finally we felt quite awkward about their kindness.

In Tbilisi, we were accommodated for free for a few days at the hotel, which will open only a week later. On the third day the owner finally allowed us to help with the preparation – cleaning, assembling furniture.


They say that when God distributed the lands to the peoples, the Georgians were sleeping somewhere, and when they came, there was nothing left. And God says: Ok, I left the best piece for myself here, let it be yours.

“God is living in Belarus,” writes Belarusian poet U.Karatkevich. He also lives in Georgia, it can not be any other way.

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