Uncle Paul
A night to remember. It started as a simple decision to go out for a team dinner, and turned into a this:
Nathan wanted to take us to a special restaurant, but after our trek up the brick road we found that it was closed for the season. A bit further up the road we saw a restaurant that looked open, so we went for it. They were clearly surprised to have customers but welcomed us none the less. We ordered and enjoyed a nice meal. We were getting ready to ask for the check when the waitress came in and started dancing. Her smile and relentless gestures got the whole team on their feet. We were all laughing, and thinking, ‘What is happening?’ Little did we know, it was just the beginning of the evening. Before we knew it, a middle aged, English-speaking man was pulled off the street to visit with us. He, unlike the rest of us stood firm on no dancing. To be honest, we were a bit taken back at the man’s forwardness, but luckily, we finally picked up on the dry humor. Before we knew it, we were slowly approaching a beautiful log cabin on a hill. Uncle Paul, our new friend, gestured to areas in the yard as he described gardens, berries, compost, and dreams of meditation areas. The sun set over the beautiful snowcapped Caucasus Mountains, and then we headed inside to continue our conversation around the fire. As we toured his wine cellar, he educated us on the traditional Georgian brewing techniques including buried large clay vessels.
We learned about Georgian culture, its intimate relationship with wine, and its elaborate toasting culture. First, we each chose our drinking vessel of choice. Some chose a traditional glass, while others were drinking out of a clay deer. We sipped and passed, noticing the distinct difference in taste from glass, to natural clay, to treated clay. Uncle Paul, the “tamada” or toastmaster, guided us through traditional toasts.
We toasted: to our meeting, to God, to our parents, to our ancestors, to children, to Georgia, to women, to peace, to those who could not be at the table but are in our thoughts, to the host, and perhaps more that I forget. As we went around taking turns at leading toasts, Uncle Paul kept us on our toes by pointed questions and clarifying that “to health and happiness” is not even close to an adequate toast. He wanted more depth, and when it wasn’t initially presented, he asked for more until he was satisfied. It was invigorating to actively participate in extensive toasts and conversations that spanned from controversial social-political topics to intimate life stories. When midnight passed, we found ourselves saying our goodbyes.
The seven of us had an extra bounce in our step (maybe a slight wobble… the hills were steep) and pockets full of giddiness on our walk home that evening. Some say, you don’t find adventure, it finds you. It rang true for us that day.
My uncle unexpectedly passed away recently. While I wasn’t thinking about him as I wrote this blog, I’m thinking of him now. He was a great adventurer. A visionary. An out of the box advocate. I think he would have loved that I said yes to the unknown, and would have taken great joy in listening me retell this story.
