Jana Dene Adventures: ქრისტე აღსდგა! (Christ has risen!), ჭეშმარიტად! (Truly has risen!)

Easter this year in Georgia was on Sunday April 15 (the week after the day in America), according to the Orthodox calendar. To me, it felt as though Easter was as a big of a deal, if not bigger than Christmas is here. Lint begins around the same time as it does for those who follow those traditions in America. However, it is not the same as just giving up something one cares about in respect of Jesus’ sacrifice. It is a more concrete foregoing of certain food products for the duration of Lint that the more devout Georgians observe. Most of the individuals I encountered said they could not eat meat the entire time, versus only on Friday for Catholics. Dairy products were also primarily not allowed, and the consumption of alcohol was limited to a few glasses of wine a week (depending on who you asked). In an effort to somewhat take part in the tradition I abstained from drinking all dark soda (and only drank a sprite twice). This of course is the Catholic way of practicing Lint, but I wouldn’t be able to survive on potatoes and bread alone for 40 days.

The Thursday and Friday before Easter we were let out of school. Many individuals went to church on that Wednesday, although I’m not sure I ever entirely figured out why. Then, midnight on Saturday is the main time to attend church in observance of Jesus’ resurrection. When greeting individuals on Easter Sunday you do not simply say “Hello”, but rather “ქრისტე აღსდგა!” (Christ has risen!), to which one responds with “ჭეშმარიტად!” (Truly has risen!).

Eggs are died red and only red from the branches of a fruit tree, and onion leaves. The red represents Christ’s blood. My host mom decorated the eggs the day before Easter. She made designs, only in a different way than to which we are accustomed. She took children’s modeling clay and made designs on the eggs with it. Then she boiled the eggs in the aforementioned produce mixture and wherever the clay was stayed white. It worked much like the white crayon we write with on eggs.

Finished product on the Supra table.

The day or two before Easter, a special cake is made by virtually every woman in the country, called Pasca. It is only made for Easter, as my neighbor explained to me, that you don’t want it any other time of year. It was the best treat I have eaten yet in this country- as most people know I am not particularly fond of treats and I ate 5 or 6 pieces in 2 days! It is not very sweet, with a taste comparable to an unsweetened cupcake or panettone. There are different variations, and one of the other versions I ate tasted quite like a cinnamon roll- again without all the icing. Some of them have dried fruit pieces throughout, nuts, or both. I am not keen on dried fruit typically, but I loved it in these little cakes. There are different ways to make them, but the gist is evidently a large amount of yeast (which I surmise is symbolic of Christ’s rising). They can be made in a regular oven, but the traditional way is in a large brick oven. My family has one, so it was a day for us to spend time with the neighbors as they prepared their cakes in our oven.

1.) First they get a roaring fire in the oven.

2.)Then, they clean away all of the fire trash, let it cool, and then put the doughy cakes in different metal containers into the oven.

Ready for the Oven

3.) They cover the opening and let the cakes sit in the oven for about 20 minutes. My host mom was literally in the oven which hours later was still exceedingly hot putting them into position. Then 25 minutes later we were able to eat them and they were fully cooked through!

My neighbor and host mom. :)

My neighbor taking the cakes out of the tins (post-oven).

The little cylindrical ones are my favorite.


The larger ones taste somewhat like cinnamon rolls.

In the evening on Easter Sunday, we had a large Supra. My host dad was the Tamada (toast master) at one head of the table, and I was the Moadgile(literally second place, but essentially I was the Supra’s first mate) at the other end of the table. Because I am a girl the rules usually don’t apply to me and I can participate as I please in the toasts and the rest of the Supra rituals. It is an interesting position to be in as an American woman. We are never viewed in the same way as Georgian women, and very often we are treated as somewhat sort of the guys. My host dad is very loving and protective of me and eager to share the Georgian culture with me whenever he can. So, although traditionally women do not attend Supras with only men, with my host father I am able to participate when it is just his friends and him. At Easter dinner, I was therefore already acquainted with all of the men, and I guess they decided I have graduated to following the guidelines a little more exactly, although I am still a girl. Every time my host father gave a toast, I was to repeat or reiterate its basic meaning followed by the traditional “Garmarjos” (men typically are the only ones who address the entire table in toasts- women will usually only say them to each other more quietly). This is their version of “Cheers” and it literally translates to victory. The Tamada is the first person to drink the wine, and the Moadgili is the second.

My host father Givi at the head of the table.

No one else at the table is permitted to partake of their wine until these two individuals have taken a drink first. I was very unaccustomed to this practice, especially since I usually can just do whatever I want at the Supras. Repeatedly I had other guests prodding me to at least take a sip of my wine so they could drink. At one point one man for probably the fifth time implored me to drink and then my host mom immediately told me to first wait for my host father. It was all very confusing, and I was learning as I went along, so I messed up a lot. Mostly I just provided free entertainment for the guests, and everyone continues to enjoy talking to the Americans at the table. Despite my repeated flubs, it was my most enjoyed Supra yet. Perhaps it is because as my language continues to improve so too does my enjoyment of participating in the festivities, but also this was the moment that I felt like one day I will look back on remember I was truly acting as a member of this society. I wholly felt like a part of the family and not as much as a foreigner or outsider anymore.

My host mother Ketino on the right.

My host brother Dato on the right.

Goodloe was a guest at my house for Easter. For certain toasts, which again I have never fully figured out which ones or why they choose to do this, two individuals will link arms and drink their wine this way. In a toast that particularly related to Goodloe and me, we were prompted to do this. We obliged, everyone clapped and all was well. However, they subsequently all began telling us to kiss. You have to understand that although at times we now have the language abilities to have the most in-depth conversations, on a dime conversations can turn and the language barrier is as if we just arrived in country. This was foreign territory and neither of us understood what they were getting at or why. Many people believe us when we say we are only friends, although male and female friendships, not in a big group, are rare once you are of marrying age i.e. post pubescent. We both smiled and laughed along and told them no and grew progressively more confused. Even if they thought we were an item we didn’t understand why they would want us to kiss as PDA is also not common here, even among married couples.

Eventually my host mother, who was coming and going the whole meal refilling plates and tending to the guests, explained that when friends do such a toast, which has a greater meaning tied to it, then everyone always kisses each other on the cheek 3 times. People kiss their friends here, male and female, almost every time they see one another so it made sense. Men and women both young and old are significantly more touchy feely and affectionate with each other all the time here than I have ever experienced in the West. So while relationshipy PDA is scant, hyper-affection among friends is routine. We once again obliged and the toast was officially concluded, but not before I blushed more than I ever have in my entire life!

She keeps me on top of the rules of the customs.

I wish you could actually see how red
I was!

The friendship toast with my host papa!

I think he's saying "See, it's the tradition."

Last anecdote: They play a fun little game with the boiled egg where you smack the egg on the egg of someone else’s and the person whose cracks, eats it. I don’t really know why, but it’s a fun way to crack them nonetheless. :)