“I hope you’ll remember me,” one of my guides said after a lovely day. “If not me, I hope you’ll remember my people and my country. I hope you’ll remember us as people who know how to live, and I hope your trip taught you a thing or two about how to live. I hope you love your country as much as we love ours.” Then he held out his glass of wine and said, “May this be the worst day of our lives. Gaumarjos!”
How their words for saying “cheers” and “hello” are rooted in the word for victory already speaks volumes of their history. Geographically flanked by some of the greatest empires the world has known, this isthmus connecting Europe to Asia has been bathed in blood for centuries. It is crazy to think that I have lived far longer than their democracy.
I have written my guide’s words in my journal, and they keep coming back to me as news of the intensifying protests reaches me here at home. I witnessed the peaceful protests in Tbilisi first-hand and it made me question if the media had exaggerated things. But I just saw a tranquil avenue I walked through many times swarming with protesters, now I’m not sure what’s really happening out there anymore. I can’t ask the people I’ve met because, as a rule, I rarely exchange contact details with people I meet in my travels.
But I do keep Georgia and her people on my mind. I remember them as people who know how to live. I know how much profound pride and love they have for their country, far from the shallow, sloganeering kind of pride and love for country. I hope their streets and their pathways remain free from conflict and violence, because I, for one, found peace walking down those avenues and through those pathways.
The Book-Butterfly 