Between Past and Present. In the Mountains

 

Our morning technically started the night before. Around 10pm, to be precise - when our hotel decided to host a “private party”. Even the dishes in our room were gently vibrating. Scott called reception and politely asked if they could maybe, possibly, consider turning the music down. Reception politely explained that there was a private party on the sixth floor and stopping it was apparently not on the table. Scott, however, was equally firm in his position of not wanting to listen to subwoofer-induced existential dread. Eventually, miraculously, the music was turned down. Peace was restored.

Since we had very wisely booked a tour for today, sleeping in or changing plans was not an option. At 8:20 sharp, a car was waiting outside, and with it - Avto.

Avto was enthusiastic. Extremely enthusiastic. By the time we left Tbilisi, he had already shared detailed information about everything we could see - and quite a few things we couldn’t.

Our first stop was the Tbilisi Reservoir. Think local Ülemiste järv, but upgraded: vast, calm, and a very photogenic shade of light blue. From there, we moved on to a fortress at the other end of the reservoir.

Next came one of those “nature is showing off again” moments: the meeting point of two rivers - one black, one white - that flow side by side without mixing. Apparently, they only blend once temperatures equalize. Until then, it’s a clear visual separation.

Georgia takes honey seriously. So, naturally, our tour included a honey tasting. Raspberry blossom, chestnut, rhododendron, peppermint - side by side, the differences were surprisingly obvious. We did what any reasonable people would do: bought some.

At this point, I was hungry enough so we stopped at a place called Drunk Cherry.

We were the only customers. Ordering one salad and one sausage took over 30 minutes to prepare, but the establishment made up for it by providing us with two dogs for company. Outside, it was snow on the ground, but the sun had warmed the terrace into something surprisingly pleasant. A slow lunch, but at least we weren’t alone.

Next up: the Russia–Georgia Friendship Monument. Built quite a while ago and still standing strong, presumably powered by irony. Getting there involved trudging through snow, but the views were absolutely worth it - wide, dramatic, mountainous.

Eventually, we reached Kazbegi - specifically the village of Stepantsminda, with the iconic Gergeti Trinity Church built above it. Slightly less snow than the previous stop, but the views remained spectacular. And just 12 km away: Russia. Back in the village, we took a walk and had a late lunch - kharcho, khinkali, and syrniki )cottage cheese pancakes) - on a terrace overlooking the only road connecting Russia and Georgia right now. The road itself barely fit two vehicles side by side, yet an endless stream of trucks passed through the village. Logistics at its finest.

On the way back, we played a fun regional game: Will the tunnels be open?

Apparently, if the police decide to let the hundreds of waiting trucks through, the tunnels close for about two hours for the other side. Luckily, we made it through without delay. A small but meaningful victory.

At a rest stop to use toilets, I noticed a sign stating that using the toilet costs one lari. Seeing no one to pay, I proceeded anyway. On the way out, a woman appeared behind me and shouted something in Georgian. Turns out, the cashier had returned mid-visit. I handed her two lari. She then spent a solid minute looking at me, then at her change, then back at me, clearly reconsidering several life decisions. Eventually, she gave up and handed me one lari back. Honestly, I expected a follow-up with a mop to the back of the head, but no - this time, I got lucky.

About four hours later, we were back at the hotel. The plan was simple: a short walk, a quick stop at a shopping mall, a few snacks, and done. However, crossing the street in this city is a strategic operation involving tunnels every 500 meters, so we ended up walking much farther than intended.

On the bright side, we discovered a café that not only sold coffee but also drew your portrait on the cup. Unexpected. Definitely a win. A box of sweets later, we returned to the hotel.

Between Past and Present. Of Markets and more Nostalgia

 

The plan for today was ambitious - a 3.5-hour mountain drive to Kazbegi. And hike. And drive back. And then… this morning we were still tired and after hearing the alarm, Scott made a very reasonable life choice: maybe not today. The alarm was turned off with confidence, and we drifted back into sleep like responsible adults prioritizing their well-being.

Instead of conquering mountains, we opted for something slightly less demanding but equally impressive: the Chronicle of Georgia.

And what a place. Massive, dramatic, slightly surreal. Towering pillars covered in intricate carvings, telling stories. The views were just as striking, stretching out over the city - and, amusingly, offering a glimpse of what looked like a local version of Lasnamägi. Concrete blocks included. Some things really are universal in Eastern Europe. Just like the toilet there. Paid 2 lari and walked into a glorious stall with … hole in floor. After washing hands later, the money-collecting lady handed you a tiny piece of paper towel to try to dry your hands. Didn’t really work.

On the way down, we grabbed a taxi to the railway station with a simple plan: walk back toward the city center through the market. Simple plans, however, are not always respected by Tbilisi. We somehow ended up on a viaduct crossing the railway - one that had been creatively transformed into a marketplace using whatever materials were available. Boxes, wooden planks, improvisation at its finest. And of course: counterfeit goods. Lots of them.

After navigating this unexpected bazaar, we reached the actual food market. The entrance was lined with vendors selling what could generously be described as “smoothie fruits.” Realistically, most of them were one step away from fermentation. But inside? A completely different story - a proper fruit wholesale market, colorful and very few people. Bliss.

We kept walking and suddenly found ourselves on a wide, elegant promenade lined with beautiful buildings - grand, polished, bright and beautiful. And then, literally one street over: total abandonment. Houses crumbling. Yards overtaken by wild greenery. The contrast hit again - Tbilisi’s signature move. Stunning and neglected, side by side.

Next stop: a retro market. An eclectic mix of Soviet nostalgia, antiques, and - because why not - a random Temu iten here and there.

After all that exploring, we rewarded ourselves with cake at a cozy old-town café (priorities intact), followed by a strategic return to the hotel for a nap.

In the evening, we headed out again, crossing a bridge decorated with bronze statues and made our way to the cable car. This is where things took a very nostalgic turn. Apparently, we didn’t validate our transport card fast enough - or correctly - or in whatever very specific way is required - because within seconds, we were being passionately scolded and yelled at by a local guard in Georgian. A full performance. Tone, volume, hand gestures.

The ride up was so worth it. Two short minutes of absolute magic as the city opened up beneath us, in pre-sunset light. Tbilisi glowing, the river winding through it, rooftops catching the last golden rays - it was one of those really memorable moments.

At the top, we lingered, watched the sun go down, and let the city settle into evening and walked back to the hotel.

Between Past and Present. A Trip down the Nostalgia Lane

 

We left Tallinn right on schedule - 9pm on Monday with the plan of spending the night on airplanes, in airports, and yet still wake up in Tbilisi like functional human beings.

By the time we landed at 5am, we had fully transcended normal human needs like comfort, and proper sleep. Immigration was quick, efficient, and delivered with just the expected amount of emotional warmth - meaning none at all. A masterclass in “you may enter, but don’t expect a smile.”

Outside, a swarm of taxi drivers greeted us like long-lost relatives. After some light dodging and polite refusals, our app ordered ride arrived and by 6am, miraculously, we were already in our hotel room.

Breakfast started at 7am. We decided instead to proceed with a nap. At 10am, feeling like semi-reassembled human, I headed down (Scott decided to skip breakfast) for what I assumed would be a glorious 5-star breakfast experience.

What it wasn’t, was a 5-star experience. Let’s just say expectations were high, and the buffet was… not. A polite disappointment. The kind where you eat anyway but silently judge every croissant.

Refueled (emotionally if not gastronomically), we stepped into the city.

First stop: Liberty Square - grand, open, and a perfect introduction to Tbilisi’s personality. Then another square (names blurred slightly), followed by streets that felt like stepping into two different worlds at once.

On one side: stunning wooden houses with delicate lace-like balconies.

On the other: completely abandoned buildings, slowly surrendering to time.

The contrast was striking - beautiful and crumbling, alive and forgotten - all in the same glance.

Hunger hit quickly, and we answered with a proper Georgian introduction: kharcho and khinkali. Rich, hearty, and flavorful. From there, we wandered toward the Bridge of Love, drifting into the famous sulfur bath district. Nearby, a waterfall appeared in the middle of downtown like the city just casually decided nature should be part of the architecture.

Then came the real cultural highlights:

• Wine ice cream (yes, it exists, yes, it’s amazing)
• Oily donuts that tasted exactly like childhood nostalgia

We crossed the futuristic Bridge of Peace - a glowing contrast to the old town - and eventually admitted defeat to our energy levels.

After a short recharge at the hotel, we headed out again for dinner. More kharcho (no regrets), eggplants with walnuts, trout - each dish better than the last. Georgian cuisine was quickly establishing dominance over our entire trip.

A quick stop at a shopping mall followed - because nothing says “cultural immersion” like chocolate browsing and staring at home goods while half-asleep.

And then… to the pillow issue. Earlier in the hotel, we encountered what might have been the most unexpected challenge of the day: the pillows. They were enormous. Dense. Unyielding. Like sleeping on stacked concrete blocks - specifically, Narva cinder blocks for those who know.

We had checked with the reception:

“Do you have thinner pillows?”

→ No.

“Maybe something softer?”

→ No.

“Children’s pillows?”

→ No.

“For babies?”

→ Still no.

At this point, we had decided to take matters into our own hands.

Right before heading back to the hotel, we made a quick stop in Jysk and two pillows later, we returned victorious, ready to finally sleep like civilized people.