I’m not really a hiker. People are surprised about this, given I consider Oregon my home place, but hiking combines a number of things that make me nervous: people, exercise, unpredictability, pokey things (like thistles and some bugs), and exercising with people (a.k.a. performance anxiety).
Malkhaz loves hiking, and so when I heard he was going to take us on a hike, I instantly started re-organizing my packing lists and worrying over this particular day. I knew it would be formative, meaningful, spiritually rich, blah blah blah. I knew I would be glad we went. I knew it would be a treasured memory. I just didn’t want to have to make the memory first.
Our first day in Georgia, Malkhaz mentioned that being in nature brings us back to our humanity. I asked him why that was. He replied that nature reminds us who we are, that we are part of the land and the animals. We are dependent on them, and they are dependent on us. He added that being in nature is akin to contemplation and meditation, as well. Now that I get. Only I usually like to find a bench and sit in nature, rather than walk miles through it.
Despite my uncertainty, today we went on a pilgrimage. A traditional pilgrimage, as we walked through various Georgian landscapes. The only constant was the sunshine and the wildflowers in a vast array of colors. And the deep and utter silence, broken only by the rustle of wind through grasses and trees…and the occasional cow mooing.
We started at the top of some medium-sized mountains, walking along their ridges with the wind whipping our hair across our faces. From these heights, we could see lakes and towns, and just hints of the Caucasian Mountains. This part of our journey was actually an ancient pilgrimage route, so we gathered stones and placed them in a cross at one of the pilgrimage points. We then ate snacks–almonds, raisins, dates, cookies, pistachios–in the shade, watching a herd of cows eat the trees just below us. A butterfly perched on Malkhaz’s shoulder for a while; they seemed the most comfortable companions.
Then we walked down the mountain, carefully watching our feet. We walked into a flat, dry area, where our main companions were grasshoppers of various sizes, shapes, and colors. A giant one flew up and hit my sunglasses. Another one, three inches long, hitched a ride on my shoe. I tried to channel Malkhaz’s calm from earlier, but I’m sorry to say I don’t quite feel as kindly toward grasshoppers as I do butterflies, which is a bias on my part from my days finding grasshoppers in my bed in South Dakota. Even so, I squelched any squealing, and brushed it off as gently as I could. Soon, I started seeing the swirling of grasshoppers that rose up every time my fellow pilgrims and I took a step as a whirlwind, a welcome, a brief disturbance in their silent world, and I felt kinder toward them.
The last section of our nine-mile hike was scaling large rocks, finding narrow routes between them and around them and down them. We ended up in a protected historical site, a town that began to be carved from the rock in 2nd century BC. We rested in rooms that had been hollowed out in the 2nd century AD. The shelves of the pantry still exist, as do the great hall and the amphitheater. This town was thriving through the 13th century, finally dying away in the 1700s. That’s almost 2000 years of life, and now, three hundred years later, we visit it as ancient history.
Malkhaz had said our hike would be eschatological– hot, unpredictable, filled with who knows what…and ending with a feast. And we did feast, at the family home of a young man in Scott’s NYC congregation. They fed us everything delicious: chicken, pork, beef, fish; the best cucumbers and tomatoes I’ve ever had; homemade red and white wine; stuffed peppers and stuffed eggplant; cheese made yesterday and bread that came off the pan today. We ate until we were stuffed, and drank until we could barely string together another toast to the family.
The hike, the pilgrimage, was meaningful. I’ll remember it forever, and I’ll be processing the experience for a long while. But that starts tomorrow. Tonight, my calves are burning, and my feet are dirty, and I’m worn out from the longest eschatological hike I’ve ever been on.
However, here is one immediate takeaway from today’s adventure, no processing required:
If all hikes concluded with a wine-soaked feast around a multilingual table, I’d be the best and most enthusiastic hiker you know.
Tbilisi Pilgrims 