One of Us

The first fact that any traveler to Georgia will carry away with them is that Georgians love to make toasts, something that (strangely enough) came up in the toast post. The tradition of toasts is deep-seated, and even if the order of toasts varies from region to region, certain orders of business do not.

- No sipping wine between toasts

- Toast to the dead must be drunk to the bottom

- The merikipe must fill your glass before you toast, even if you only pretended to drink the last one

- Toast with your right hand only

- Never toast with beer


As you may be aware, the beautiful cultural idiosyncrasies of a nation become commonplace when you live there for a while, unfortunately, and in the case of toasting rules, somewhat oppressive. What if the wine's really tasty and I don't want to chug it like it's a PBR? What if I was in the middle of watching an episode of The Wire when I was called down to the supra and I'm just looking for an exit toast?


So you can imagine what the volunteers dream of when they think about dinner parties with Americans. I'll give you a hint-- it's the same thing the huddled masses dream of: FREEDOM. Freedom to drink with whatever hand is closest to the cup, freedom to drink something other than wine, and-- most importantly-- freedom not to toast. Freedom to sip!

The identities of Americans with drinks have been concealed for their protection.

Then, like dogs who stay in their cage even after the door is unlocked, we toast at our dinner parties. It just doesn't feel right without it. We even keep up the right-hand rule, although occasionally we toast with beer. Someone told me the Georgian tradition of toasts is not (or didn't used to be) about getting the party-goers drunk, but rather about keeping the table unified and giving each supra a progression rooted in the subconscious of the attendees, knowing how far along they were in the evening and how much further they had to go. A skilled tamada pulls those at the supra out of their side conversations periodically, reminding them of the purpose for the party and connecting each person with all the others at the table.

This is just one example of the way pieces of our minds have become Georgian. There's also volunteers who offer snacks to visitors and won't take three no's for an answer, volunteers who use phrases like "He studies well" and "When I was at university," volunteers who crave khachapuri, et cetera. And in 115 days, we'll return to America and be the very model of a model Peace Corps weirdo who's completely disconnected from their own culture. I have no problem with that.