Ellen Smyth wins £200 for her account of a raucous birthday feast in a forest in Georgia, where she experiences drinking from a ram horn.

A Georgian friend invited my partner and I to a birthday feast – known as a supra – near the town of Mtskheta, 20km north of Tbilisi. In a forest where the Mtkvari and Aragvi Rivers meet, fellow revellers led the way through leafy trees, shying away from the shadow of a large cathedral just enough so as not to feel its chill.

Mist cloaks the monastery at Mtskheta Credit: ALAMY

As we hugged its shadowy perimeter, one impatient pilgrim swigged from an unlabelled plastic bottle of the homemade Georgian spirit, chacha. He passed it back, saying: “Christianity was established here in 327AD.” Well, I thought, the former Georgian capital of Mtskheta seems an unlikely place for a party.

At an opening in the trees, we set about layering plates of small Georgian dishes across several long tables – walnut-smothered eggplants, smatterings of pomegranate seeds and dozens more morsels. The only supra essential missing was the khantsi, a horn traditionally used for drinking wine. A guest asked if I had ever drunk from a khantsi. Remembering foot-long ram horns on display in local family homes, I assured him between toasts that I had not.

Instead we drank from what I hoped to be manageably sized shot glasses. Conducted by the party’s elderly toast-maker – the tamada – who sat at the head of the table closest to the homemade wine, I accepted a fully filled glass and with a nod in our direction he announced, “To international ties!” We stood, clinked and downed. Refilling our glasses once more, the tamada paused before saying, “mshvidoba!” With murmurs of appreciation we all drank to what was translated to me as “for peace”.

When the chacha bottles too were all but dredged, custom called for the last drops to be balanced on thumb nails. I looked around in confusion as huddled men locked eyes, kissed the last of the liquor off the tip of their nail and raised both head and eyes to the skies with a theatrical wave. I drifted towards a group of bonfire builders and was pleased to see my home-baked cheesecake half devoured.

A shop sells ram horns - known as khantsis - which Georgians use as a vessel for liquor Credit: ALAMY

Moments later Shota emerged from the trees on horseback, brandishing a khantsi. The shape of the beast told me everything I needed to know. Large, curved and seemingly impossible to put down between sips. Pointing behind me, he descended to navigate a brawl that had broken out. I spun back to the merriment I had left, and from my vantage point, tried to interpret the scuffles and blows. But before anyone could say vine-vodka, these gave way to embraces.

Upon hearing a word I recognised – mshvidoba – I too was drawn into hugs. Utterly bewildered, I laughed along with the throng and I found myself echoing their sincere proclamations of peace. And just like that, we were all friends again. Now, where did that khantsi get to?

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