Nestled southwest of Russia, east of Turkey and the Black Sea, lies Georgia—one of the three nations often loosely grouped as the Caucasus states. Known internationally for years by its Russian-derived name, “Gruzia” (a Russian name Japan and other countries used until 2014), this country is a former republic of the Soviet Union now forging its own distinct path.
However, this “Caucasus Triangle” label is somewhat misleading. Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan—though neighbors—are distinct independent nations with differing political systems, religions, and geopolitical leanings. There’s little sense of shared identity among their residents; in fact, political and economic friction, even outright hostility, can exist between them. The term “Caucasus Triangle” is largely a relic, a vague designation born from Moscow’s perspective (and subsequently adopted by foreign ministries like Japan’s) for a peripheral region within the former Soviet sphere. Today, Georgia stands out, leaning strongly towards the EU and pursuing economic development with a clear “de-Russification” stance. This shift is precisely why the country insisted on changing its official foreign name to the English “Georgia.” Incidentally, in the Georgian language itself, the country is called “Sakartvelo,” and naturally, that’s what Georgians proudly call home.
Arriving in the capital, Tbilisi, you’re greeted by a comfortably dry air reminiscent of American high plains under a vast, high blue sky. While some architecture reflects the minimalist, stark designs common in former Soviet republics, what truly defines the city’s character is the pervasive greenery. Towering trees line nearly every street, casting generous shade, while grapevines heavy with leaves and fruit spill from private gardens. It evokes a sense of a prosperous city living in harmony with nature—part desert oasis, part charming Eastern European town, perhaps even hinting at a Middle Eastern resort.
A walk through Tbilisi quickly confirms its reputation as a culinary treasure trove. Markets, supermarkets, and street stalls overflow with an astonishing variety of fresh vegetables, meats, and dairy products. You’ll find stunningly red, sweet local tomatoes and intensely flavored watermelons alongside a unique coffee culture hinting at Arab influences. And beyond the vibrant local fare, restaurants and cafes offer flavors from every corner of the globe.
Indeed, Tbilisi’s history is deeply intertwined with global exchange. It was a key trading post on the western edge of the ancient Silk Road. Routes stretched east through Central Asia to distant China, west via Turkey and the Black Sea to Europe, south towards Persia and the Arab world, and north bordering Russia (including modern-day Chechnya). The city’s origins trace back to the 5th century BCE, while the Silk Road itself emerged around the 2nd century BCE. For millennia, this land has shone as a vibrant cultural crossroads, a place where diverse peoples and their traditions have constantly converged, mingled, and evolved through ceaseless human migration.
Among Tbilisi’s local culinary delights, Khinkali (sometimes pronounced Hinkali) is an absolute must-try. Visually similar to Chinese xiaolongbao (soup dumplings), these iconic Georgian dumplings often boast savory fillings of lamb mixed with fragrant local herbs. It’s easy to imagine Chinese culinary traditions migrating westward along the Silk Road over centuries—or perhaps the influence flowed in the opposite direction. Tasting Khinkali is a delicious reminder that food truly transcends time and space.
Furthermore, Georgia is widely celebrated as the birthplace of wine. Northeast of Tbilisi, in the vast plains of the Kakheti region nestled at the foot of the Greater Caucasus Mountains, vineyards stretch as far as the eye can see, punctuated by historic wineries. The immense pride Georgians take in their 8,000-year-old winemaking legacy is palpable. And rest assured, the sheer variety and exceptional quality of Georgian wine live up to its “world’s oldest” title.
The Mtkvari River (also known as the Kura) flowing through Tbilisi has, since ancient times, been regarded as a symbolic boundary between Europe and Asia. For countless travelers heading east from Europe or west from Asia, crossing this river was a significant milestone. One can only imagine the mix of emotions it evoked: relief for some, heightened anxiety for others, perhaps the pure thrill of the journey for many. Still standing vigilantly on its banks is the Metekhi Church, originally founded in the 5th century CE. For long stretches of history, it served as a vital sanctuary for weary travelers—a silent stone witness to millennia of human movement across Georgia, a role it seemingly continues to fulfill today.
Within Georgia, extensive railway and air networks are less common. The primary way to get around is via the Marshrutka—small, shared vans—or shared taxis. These are your ticket to exploring the aforementioned wine region of Kakheti, the stunning mountain landscapes of Kazbegi in the north, the Black Sea coastal city of Batumi, and even venturing across borders to Baku in Azerbaijan or Yerevan in Armenia.
A Marshrutka ride might not epitomize comfort, and the drivers and fellow passengers may not seem overtly friendly at first encounter. Yet, moments of genuine human warmth often break through their reserved exteriors. Perhaps it’s less simple friendliness and more an ingrained, ancient tradition of accepting travelers and outsiders (even non-believers). This deep-seated attitude is intrinsically linked to Georgia’s historical role as a cultural crossroads. For thousands of years, countless travelers have arrived, stayed, and passed through. Interacting with strangers wasn’t unusual; it was the fabric of daily life. Georgians learned to welcome visitors, offer hospitality, engage in trade, sometimes form alliances, and other times defend their land. It was the essence of survival, a complex skill honed and passed down through countless generations.
Embodying this spirit is the monumental Kartlis Deda (Mother of Georgia) statue overlooking Tbilisi from a hilltop. In her left hand, she holds a bowl of wine; in her right, a sword. The symbolism is potent and clear: “We welcome all who come. Friends are offered wine; enemies will be met with the sword.” Their collective experience in navigating encounters with the unknown has been refined to an almost immeasurable degree.
Traveling through Georgia, whether by Marshrutka or on foot, often means traversing dry, sometimes rugged terrain. It’s land that can feel harsh, yet strangely familiar. You might find yourself contemplating that your own distant, nomadic ancestors could have risked everything to cross these very plains and mountains. That uncanny feeling of déjà vu sparked by the Georgian landscape might not just be the product of a traveler’s fertile imagination—perhaps it’s the echo of distant memories, encoded deep within your very genes, stirred by the ancient spirit of this remarkable land.
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