Georgian food is arguably one of the world’s most underrated cuisines, featuring flavors from Greece and the Mediterranean, as well as influences from Turkey and Persia. This Georgian food guide is drawn from experiences traveling across the country — visits to local markets, meals in family homes and restaurants, and even an impromptu cooking course. It offers an extensive list of traditional Georgian dishes as well as tips on what to eat and drink when you visit the Republic of Georgia.

Georgian food is quite appropriately an expression of the culture. Warm, gooey comfort food like khachapuri (cheese-stuffed bread) finds balance with matsoni (yogurt). Herbs like tarragon, flat parsley, dill and coriander combine with walnuts and garlic for rich fillings and sauces.

Understanding Georgian Food

Eating, hospitality, toasts and the supra bind family and friends and snare visitors to Georgia into long, table-bound interludes. Georgian food and hospitality surrounds you…and can sometimes suffocate you under its weight.

We developed a deep appreciation for Georgian food during our travels there, particularly due to helpful friends and host families who enjoyed providing us a quick and tasty education in Georgian cuisine and dishes.

The following is just a taste of Georgian food and some of our favorite dishes from almost two months of traveling throughout the country, from the capital city of Tbilisi to Kahketi, Svaneti, Borjomi and other areas in the east. We sampled Georgian food in restaurants, markets, street food stands, and family homes. In other words, we dove deep into Georgian cuisine during our visit to this fascinating, unusual destination.

If you do visit the Republic of Georgia and can't find a particular dish, just ask local people where you can find it and they will be more than happy to help you discover their cuisine. Georgians are proud of their cuisine and culture, and happy to share it with curious visitors. And, you'll likely have a great story to tell about that experience and meal.

Note: This post was originally published on July 20, 2007 and updated on October 19, 2018.

Traditional Georgian Food

Khinkali (Georgian Dumplings)

Beautifully twisted knobs of dough, khinkali are typically stuffed with meat and spices, then served boiled or steamed. The trick with khinkali is to eat them without making a mess or spilling the hot broth inside all over yourself.

How best to eat khinkali: sprinkle with black pepper, grab the dumpling by the handle and turn upside down. Take small bites from the side, slurping some broth as you go.

Lali taught us how to make khinkali from scratch when we stayed in Kakheti. After a few disastrous attempts, we finally got the hang of how to turn and tuck the dough around the meat. Remarkably, our dumplings maintained their form as they boiled and the broth remained inside. We’re told our khinkali-making certificate is in the mail.

Although traditional khinkali typically features meat, vegetarian khinkali featuring fillings of mushroom and cheese/curd are often available if you ask for them.

Badrijani Nigvzit

Roasted eggplant (badrijan) strips, served flat and topped with walnut paste. Sweet and savory, this dish is one of Audrey’s favorites.

Lobio (Bean Soup)

A cross between bean soup and refried beans. The consistency and taste of lobio varies widely. That it often bears a resemblance to Mexican bean dishes is almost always satisfying.

For full effect, the traditional way to eat lobio is with a round of mchadi, Georgian corn bread. We often searched for lobio after we'd been exhausted by meat and bread, and found it quite often, including in some unusual locations.

Qababi (Kebabs)

Grilled minced meat sprinkled with sumac and onion slices, wrapped in a thin lavash-like bread. In some small Georgian towns, this was the only dish available. We were surprisingly never disappointed by it.

Dolmas

Steamed, roasted, or boiled vegetables or leaves stuffed with minced meat, herbs and rice. Though we don’t especially associate dolmas with Georgia, our friend Rusiko's rendition — featuring stuffed fresh grape leaves from her garden — was something special and tasty.

Chakapuli

Traditional herbed lamb stew from Kakheti, chakapuli is typically eaten around the holidays (e.g., Easter). Chakapuli typically features a meat like veal or lamb, and is further flavored by onions, tkemali (sour plums), white wine, garlic and mixed herbs.

Mtsvadi (Shashlik, meat skewers)

Fire-roasted chunks of pork, salted. For the perfect mtsvadi, cut some fresh onions and place in a metal bowl, then stir it over a fire. We were lucky to have mtsvadi in an impromptu barbecue in the mountains. It was among some of the best barbecued meat we’ve ever had.

Be careful, chunks of the prized chalahaji (or back meat) are usually in limited amounts and meant to be shared with the group. Audrey learned this after unknowingly taking the whole skewer for herself to shrieks of objection. She then shared.

Satsivi

Poultry (chicken or turkey) served with a thinned paste of walnut, garlic and herbs. Considered a winter dish (“sivi” implies cold in Georgian), satsivi is usually eaten around the Christmas holiday and the New Year, particularly in the region of Adjari. Though we’ve enjoyed this at Georgian restaurants abroad, we unfortunately didn’t have an authentic opportunity to try it this time around.

Mashed potatoes and lots of cheese

Mashed potatoes are the traditional Svanetian farmer food. We’ll never forget waking up at our host family's in the town of Adishi to a giant plateful (for each of us) of the stuff. We took a few spoonfuls and could barely move.

Georgian Breads

Khachapuri (Georgian Cheese Bread)

No visit to Georgia would be complete (or possible) without a few tastes of khachapuri, the warm, gooey cheese-stuffed bread that oozes and drips with heart-stopping goodness. In addition to the standard round pie stuffed with cheese, other variations include egg-topped (Adjarian khachapuri), the four-fold filo dough pocket, and tarragon, mushroom and rice-stuffed pies.

Arguably the best khachapuri can be found at a home stay when it’s made fresh for breakfast – just as we enjoyed it in Tbilisi and Kisiskhevi. You can also find khachapuri in the Svaneti region, where you may also find it stuffed with leek. If you aren’t staying with a family, don’t despair – you can find khachapuri stands on almost every street corner in Tbilisi.

Puri / Tonis Puri (Georgian Flatbread)

Tonis puri is the Georgian bread staple. Baked in a ceramic circular hearth oven with the dough stuck to the side (like Indian naan), puri comes out moist, with a tinge of sourdough flavor, and perfectly tainted with black bits from inside the oven.

You'll notice that the edges of tonis puri are often browned and taste faintly of matzo. The most memorable version of tonis puri we tasted was in the town of Borjomi, next to the bus station. This might not come as a surprise, as Borjomi is famous for its water, a key ingredient in Georgian bread.

Lobiani (Bean-stuffed bread)

Lobiani is similar to khachapuri-, except that it is stuffed with bean paste rather than cheese. Lobiani is typically quite moist and is just slightly healthier than its original cheese cousin, khachapuri.

Kubdari

Kubdari, a bread specialty originally from the Svaneti region, is a khachapuri-like dough stuffed with small chunks of meat, spices and onions. The best versions of kubdari that we tasted were in restaurant stops along the road between Zugdidi and Mestia, as well as in home stays along the hiking route from Mestia to Ushguli.

Chvishtari

Cheese corn bread (a Svanetian version of mchadi with cheese). This will stick to your bones for days. It makes excellent trekking food.

Georgian Cheese and Yogurt

Matsoni (Georgian yogurt)

A rather sour fresh yogurt that usually shows up topless (well, without a lid) at the table. Trial and error usually works to suit your taste. You can eat it savory served with warm meat, vegetables, or khachapuri. For a sweeter version at breakfast-time or for dessert, you can blend matsoni with fresh honey or fruit.

After matsoni straight from the farm, store-bought yogurt will never taste the same. Matsoni is a culinary and cultural Georgian staple. Since it's made from boiled fresh milk and a bacterial starter, matsoni is certain to have medicinal qualities.

Sulguni (Georgian cheese)

As far as we could tell, sulguni is *the* national cheese of the Republic of Georgia. A salted, water-soaked cheese that features a stringy shell and moist middle, sulguni is typically eaten by itself or with a round of tonis puri bread and a plateful of herbs and tomatoes.

Georgian Condiments, Pastes and Sauces

Adjika (Chili Paste)

Adjika, a spice paste condiment, is best compared to spicy Indian pickle-like paste. We were always served adjika with cucumber and tomato salad.

Tkemali Sauce (Sour Plum Sauce)

Taken in small doses alongside cheese, khachapuri, or meat, this sour plum sauce is said to be a cleanser. Whenever we had a meal with a family, out came the canning jar of tkemali sauce.

Pkhali

A paste made from spinach, walnuts, and garlic. Excellent with tonis puri or khachapuri. Typically served as an appetizer, or mezze-style with other small, flavorful dishes, the fresh, local flavor of pkhali made it another of our favorites.

Svaneti salt

So-called Svaneti salt serves as a perfect complement to vegetables, cheese or salad. Made from salt, dried garlic, chili pepper and a blend of various spices and herbs like fenugreek and coriander, Svaneti salt and its aroma will have you thinking you’re inching closer to Persia or India.

Georgian Sweets

Tatara or Pelamushi

Confection made from boiled, pressed grape extract. Can be eaten as a sort of pudding as dessert. The liquid is the sweet coating used to make churchkhela.

Churchkhela

Brown rubbery truncheons made from strings of walnuts dipped in tatara and dried. Sometimes referred to as “Georgian Snickers.” Don’t eat the string!

Mushmala

A juicy, persimmon-colored fruit about the size of a walnut. It’s dark, shiny seeds look like tiger-eye jewels.

Georgian Drinks

In no way does Georgia suffer from a lack of alcohol…or the endless toasts to go with it. Here's a quick rundown of Georgian wines, brandy, and grappa.

Georgian Wine

Georgia is believed to be the birthplace of wine, with the oldest evidence of winemaking dating back 8,000 years. Traditional Georgian winemaking used qvevri, terra-cotta containers that are buried underground to store and ferment the grape juice after it has been pressed and stomped.

Georgia's wine landscape features many different unique and ancient grape varietals. Our recommendation: opt for the Saperavi (red wine). Saparavi is the most famous of all Georgian varietals; when it's of quality, it can be really good. But Saparavi often needs a bit of time to come into its own, so be sure to decant it in advance and let it breathe for a bit of time.

If you're curious about Georgian wine, consider booking a walking tour of Tbilisi that includes wine tasting, a one-day wine tour around Kakheti or drop in on a Georgian wine bar in Tbilisi and fashion your own wine-tasting to learn about the various Georgian wine varietals.

Georgian brandy

Surprisingly smooth and easy to drink, Georgian brandy is worth seeking out. Though Armenian brandy gets a lot of press, Georgian brandy is under-appreciated.

Chacha (Georgian Grappa)

The drink of sadists and masochists throughout the Georgian countryside, the Georgian grappa-like firewater called cha-cha is the choice of toast-makers, particularly as the night or occasion advances. Oddly enough, it's common practice to have a small drink of cha-cha in the morning, apparently to ease the effects of traditionally heavy morning meals in the countryside.

Raki

A lower octane version of hooch/moonshine that makes frequent appearances at the table and in the streets of Svaneti.

Where to Eat in Tbilisi

Many of our eating experiences took place with friends or host families. Below are a few restaurants and cafes worth a visit in Tbilisi.

• Chashnagiri Restaurant (25 Leselidze street): Used to be called Shemoikhede Genatsvale Restaurant, but changed its name recently. It serves artful khinkali. Some of the nicest looking khinkali we've had. And very tasty.
• Salobie: Located near Mtskheta, this large outdoor restaurant is a Georgian institution. Apparently, it’s always been dishing out great lobio, even during the civil war times of the early 1990s. Our friend, Lena, and her family introduced us to many of the greats of the Georgian table here – khinkali, lobio, qababi, mchadi.
• Hole-in-the-wall deli and bakery (Vashlovani street): That's not really its name, but we know it's located near the Chinese restaurant Picasso between M. Kostava and G. Akhvlediani streets. Offers trays of pkhali, badrijan and tomato ratatouille dishes to go. Each dish is 3 lari. Next door is a bakery with lobiani and various forms of khachapuri. Perfect for assembling a picnic or light evening meal.
• Mitropane Laridze on Rustaveli: The site of our first khachapuri experience. Once a Tbilisian institution, this underlit mosaic-lined soda fountain on Rustaveli makes for an inexpensive mid-afternoon break of khachapuri and gaz voda (egg cream-like syrupy soda).

Georgian Cooking Courses and Foodie Tours

To go even deeper into Georgian cuisine, consider a home-cooked meal in a family home, a food tour, or get your hands dirty and take a Georgian cooking course.

Our friend had a great experience with this home-cooked family meal experience in Tbilisi. It's not only delicious, but also lot of fun with a warm and personable host. For a more comprehensive experience you can also book a Georgian cooking class in Tbilisi.

Alternatively, opt for the “best of” Georgian food by sampling nine traditional dishes by booking this food tour around Tbilisi's Sololaki neighborhood, one of our favorite areas of the city.

The post Georgian Food: The 15 Best Foods to Eat in Georgia appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Before this journey, our experience with the disputed regions in the Caucasus – Abkhazia, South Ossetia, and Nagorno-Karabakh – amounted to a few news articles and flashpoint body-count news tickers drifting across the bottom of our television screens.

Something bad had happened, people had died, but we never truly appreciated or understood the details.

Laundry lists of personal concerns and modern media’s facile compartmentalization of just about everything made it easy for us to become desensitized and stow it all away. These were simply areas of conflict someplace far away.

Although we didn't venture into Abkhazia, South Ossetia, or Nagorno-Karabakh, we did meet some people displaced and affected by the disputes. For us, their personal tales conveyed a human face to areas that previously only amounted to just another set of flashpoints halfway around the globe.

Abkhazia

The only thing everyone seems to agree about Abkhazia is that it is a beautiful place – the Caucasus Mountains on its one side and the Black Sea on the other. After that, agreement yields to chaos; nothing is black and white about the war, who started it and how it might someday be resolved. The reality is that an estimated 200,000-300,000 refugees from Abkhazia are now spread throughout Georgia. We met just a few.

Abkhazian Refugees at Hotel Telavi

Our first encounter with Abkhazia occurred in the opposite corner of Georgia, in the Eastern region of Kakheti. In search of great views of Telavi and the surrounding countryside, we found ourselves climbing the crumbling steps of the Hotel Telavi, a once-desired address now inhabited by Abkhazian refugees driven from their homes more than ten years ago.

Common rooms on the ground floor are gutted and scattered with trash and rusted Brezhnev-era remains. Extended families are squeezed into old, decaying Soviet hotel rooms. Children have turned the grand ballroom into a velodrome and cycle the long hours of uncertain days away while their parents hang out of the windows, drawing smoke from cheap cigarettes as they watch time drift by. Uncertainty seems certain here; no one knows when or if he’ll ever be able to return home.

So Close, Yet So Far

We met Lena after enjoying an impromptu feast at the Zugdidi market. She was forced to flee her home in Sukhumi (regional capital of Abkhazia) 15 years ago and subsequently settled in nearby Zugdidi. Tears welled up in Lena's eyes as she drifted into the past and described her beautiful home and her former life. She eventually grew silent and her eyes dropped as she returned to the reality of the present. Her hope to one day return home was also waning. All we could do was nod empathetically.

Unexpected Caretaker

A friend in Tbilisi told us about how she used to spend summers as a child at her grandfather’s house in Sukhumi. After the war, borders were closed and her family could obviously no longer take advantage of the summer home.

When phone lines were reconnected a few years ago, our friend dialed the phone number of her old summer home out of curiosity. A man answered the phone and explained that he was a Chechen and now living in the house. He wanted to know whether there was a car that went with the house. He’d found some car parts in the garage and wanted to take full advantage of all the house had to offer.

To reassure our friend, he said: “Don't worry. I'm taking good care of the house. If politics change, it will be in good condition for when you return. It's a nice house.”

Nagorno-Karabakh

In Azerbaijan, it would be an understatement to say that feelings run strong regarding Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh. The continual pain and anger from this conflict finds expression in so many – often bizarre – ways, from the moment you enter the country until the moment you leave.

Offending Guidebooks – Rip Out the Maps!

One of the teams from the Mongol Rally that we met in Uzbekistan shared an apt tale of the Azerbaijani attitude towards this disputed territory. The drivers carried a Lonely Planet Caucasus guidebook with them. The Lonely Planet's characterization of Nagorno-Karabakh as distinctly separate from Azerbaijan apparently did not fit with the Azerbaijani government’s view. As they entered Azerbaijan from the border with Georgia, the Azerbaijani guards confiscated the book, citing the offending map and characterization of Nagorno-Karabakh as an entity separate from Azerbaijan. After considerable discussion, the guards showed their generosity by allowing the Mongol Rally team to continue their journey into Azerbaijan.

We also had our guidebook and map examined by several Azerbaijanis in Baku, Shaki and Lahic. Each paid special attention to how Nagorno-Karabakh was depicted. Fortunately for us, our Trailblazer guidebook and its especially pro-Azerbaijani view (it was, after all, primarily a guidebook for Azerbaijan) and the Avis map (given to us by the Azerbaijani embassy in Tbilisi) both passed the test. We were kindly allowed to keep our materials and were not forced to travel blindly.

Offending Photos – Hide Them!

Just when we thought we were in the clear as we departed Azerbaijan, one of the border guards pulled us aside. The Armenian visas in our passports drew his ire. Our exit from Azerbaijan included 45 minutes of questioning regarding our activities in Armenia. We assured him that we hadn't visited Nagorno-Karabakh. He insisted that we show our photos on our laptops to prove we were never there. Impeccable logic, eh? Given his tone, we worried that he would force us to delete all photos from Armenia as punishment for visiting the offending country. Luckily, we received a brief lecture instead about Armenian-Azerbaijani relations and were allowed to board the ferry to Turkmenistan.

Although our engagement with these disputed regions was relatively superficial, our encounters with refugees and others affected lend gravity to the conflict and humanity to those involved. This also demonstrates another reason why we choose to travel the way we do. When a place has a face, desensitization begins to wear off. Human connections make these places more difficult to dismiss as “some war, some place, and some people halfway around the world.”

The post This Land Is Not Your Land appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Trekking in Svaneti, an area the high Caucasus mountains of the Republic of Georgia, is so much more than just a physical experience. Yes, you are surrounded by stunning mountain landscapes and vistas. But the Svaneti trekking experience is one steeped in Svan culture, history, cuisine and all the people you meet along the. Here is our experience trekking from Mestia (Mulahi) to Ushguli in Svaneti.

When you get there, you'll meet the Afghan at the telephone pole.

These instructions given to us in Mestia by the Svaneti Mountaineering Tourism Center left us baffled. Is our mountain guide a member of the Mujahideen who’d lost his way and made his home in the mountains of Georgia? After all, in Svaneti just about anything seems possible.

Meeting our Svaneti Trekking Guide

The Afghan at the telephone pole happened to be a compact, blue-eyed, gold-toothed Svan named Avgan. His crooked nose hinted that he’d seen his share of conflict, but his gentle smile suggested something more thoughtful than a mountain brawler. Equipped with a walking stick and a leather military rucksack, he would guide us over mountain passes the next four days as we hiked 40 miles from his village of Mulahi to Ushguli.

Our journey here would be as much mental as physical. Avgan’s path took us surprisingly deep into the psyche of the region, whose nostalgic desire to re-capture its past is underscored by its current economic uncertainties. The beautiful mountain landscape that draws most visitors here became almost secondary for us, providing a dramatic backdrop and linking together our most memorable moments of Svaneti and its people.

Hills and a Struggle with Death

As we followed Avgan into the hills that first day, Audrey attempted to absorb, in Russian, Avgan’s continual shower of Svaneti mountain trivia. He was once a full-time mountain guide in Soviet times leading tourists from the bordering Russian republic of Kabardino-Bulkaria to Svaneti. Audrey, in her ignorance of Soviet geography, thought he was saying “Bulgaria” until she realized how difficult it might be to walk from Bulgaria to Georgia in one day.

Avgan spoke nostalgically of Soviet times when 40+ tourists used to cross the pass near his house and stay in his village each day during the summer high season. In Mestia, nearly 200 tourists would arrive daily. Hotels were packed, subsidies were flowing, petrol was cheap, roads were paved and life was good. The old days stand in stark contrast to today’s tourist trickle and deteriorating infrastructure.

As we made it over our last pass in the early evening, we glimpsed our reward: a magical view at the base of a mountain where the village of Adishi and its iconic Svan towers marked our first stop and home stay. Although our hosts, husband and wife farmers, didn’t know we were arriving, they quickly assembled a feast in minutes – sulguni (cheese), puri (flat bread), meat, potatoes, and matsoni (Georgian yogurt). Everything was homemade and farm-fresh. Once the rachi (low-octane local vodka) came out though, the tempo changed and Avgan quickly assumed the role of tamada (toastmaster).

We had noticed a look of chronic sadness and exhaustion – a sort of depression – on the husband’s face. During an early toast we learned the cause, the death of his daughter several years prior in a car accident. A memorial hung on the wall behind us as we each poured a few drops of our drinks on the table in a nod to her and the deceased.

The mood eventually lightened as Avgan became more poetic. He led toasts to Svaneti being remembered for its mountains and not its guns, to future tourists, to his sons winning more mountaineering competitions, and so on. Audrey struggled to keep pace with the 10-minute long toasts, roughly translating Russian into English for Dan’s benefit.

At one point, Dan tried to explain how he couldn't possibly squeeze in any more food or drink because he had eaten enough for 2-3 days. Audrey's charades and attempted translation gave Avgan the impression that Dan was constipated. For the next laughter-filled fifteen minutes, Dr. Avgan listed a host of natural remedies such as warm milk and enemas in order to cure Dan's “problems” and get things moving again.

Approximately ten shots later, we tried to excuse ourselves to our room. As we prepared to go to sleep, we were called next door into the daughter’s bedroom. Shrine-like and eerie, it remained as it was just before her death. Her clothes were laid out across the bed in the shape of her body, as if she were still there sleeping. In one final toast of sadness where a drop of liquor is poured on the floor to those that have passed, the father shared his continued grief with us.

When Avgan awoke the next morning, he kindly allowed an extra 15 minutes and gave a knock on our door at 6:30 AM. Considering how much rachi we’d consumed the night before, we were certain he was joking. After the third knock, we reluctantly extracted ourselves from bed and dragged ourselves to the breakfast table.

Heaping plates of Svaneti cheese mashed potatoes awaited our arrival. Stringy and paper-weight worthy, the potatoes loomed, almost mocking the rachi-carved pits of our stomachs. Our hearts began to palpitate at the thought. We could only manage a few spoonfuls of potatoes and yogurt and we were on our way to the clearest of the available mountain passes accessible from the valley.

Amazing Vistas and Abandoned Villages

The most difficult climb lay just ahead. A steep snow chute was followed by thick wild mountain rhododendron. We could feel new muscle groups coming into use as we pulled ourselves up with their roots. Once we reached the top, we were exhausted. Our reward: spectacular 360 degree views and a chance to nap in the passing sunshine. Avgan even gave us a lesson on how to make natural Svaneti Viagra from the roots of purple flowers. Even while resting it seemed that we were always learning something.

We descended next into Khalde, the village known for holding off Russian forces in 1876. Mention of Khalde evokes a spirit of pride and tough independence, but highlights one of Svaneti’s contradictions. Everyone is proud of Khalde's resistance, but they seem to secretly hope for the return of the Soviet Union one day so that life may be good again.

Most of Khalde’s homes were in surprisingly good condition, particularly for having been abandoned ten years ago. After dislodging the front door to one, we entered what was once Avgan’s mother’s home. Photos remained on the wall, furniture was still in place, but no one lived there. The whole thing was eerily and morbidly fascinating. Finding some dusty plates in the cupboard, Avgan suggested we take our remaining food for lunch, but no one was hungry. It was clear that Avgan was intent on leaving all that remained of our aging food stash to the spirits of the house and to his mother.

We followed the cows home to the village of Iprari and encountered a young woman on horseback – in command and on the search for a few of the herd that lost their way.

Later that evening, we find out that the woman on horseback was one of our host family’s six daughters. Peaceful and sophisticated, the father seemed to reflect a lifetime of experience surrounded by women. Three daughters were still on the farm while the others had moved away because of marriage, studies or work. This story seemed to encapsulate the nature of life in this village, where young people move away when they have the opportunity. The village population was 150 people about a decade ago; only a mere 20 remain today.

The girls seemed wary of us at first, serving us food efficiently without much engagement. Later in the meal, Dan thanked one of the girls in Svan, “ivas suhari.” A foreigner attempting to speak even the most meager bits of the local dialect opened things up. The daughters couldn’t contain their surprise…or their laughter. All barriers seemed to fall at once.

After lunch the next day, which included some of the best khajapuri(cheese-stuffed bread), matsoni (yogurt) and honey in all of Georgia, one of the girls brought out a small stringed instrument and sang traditional Svan folk songs for us. Her voice seemed to carry all of Svaneti’s emotions at once – strength, sadness, pride, and a glimmer of hope. We were mesmerized.

We decked ourselves out in rain gear for the remaining ten kilometers to Ushguli. Audrey protected her camera bag under her windbreaker, giving the impression of a large belly. Everyone started pointing and cheering when they saw her – the hint that maybe one day that bulge would be a baby instead of a camera proved exciting for our host family. It was hard to pull ourselves away from their warmth, but Ushguli was calling.

Ushguli: The Highest Village in Europe

Because of the wet weather, the only path open to us was the main road to Ushguli, famed as the highest inhabited village in Europe. This label is confirmed by every second person you meet here. “Do you know…?” “Yes, I know…Ushguli is the highest village…”

About halfway there, a Russian jeep pulled up and greeted Avgan. We piled into the back seat where we're introduced to representatives of Svaneti's remarkably friendly police force. Their jackets, most likely a gift from a foreign donor, were embroidered “Criminal Police.” With a rifle poking out from the front seat, our jeep gave us an odd feeling of safety.

Once in Ushguli, we were stopped three times by different groups inviting us for a snack in the 200-meter walk from our home stay to the Ushguli Museum. Not wanting to offend Ushguli's local police force, we accepted their invitation and shared beer and khachaapuri in the day’s drizzle while taking in the rich, rain-soaked mountain landscape around us – Svan towers, patches of glacier, green hills and plenty of cows.

Because of the rain and all the cows, Ushguli's paths were a mixture of mud and cow puddles. With little success, we tried to hop around from one rock to another. Audrey's reaction upon being engulfed in cow poop soup captured the moment, “I don't think I've ever seen so much cow shit in my life!” Our hiking boots will never be the same.

Later as we huddled in our hosts’ kitchen to share dinner with Avgan, an older woman shuffled in. Dressed entirely in black and lugging buckets of fresh milk, she seemed to carry the sadness of the world in her dark eyes. Avgan greeted her warmly. She was his cousin from Khalde, the abandoned village we’d visited the day before. They hadn't seen each other in over a year, so it was an emotional greeting. As Avgan described the condition Khalde was in, they both began to cry. As if to justify his actions to us, he explained that Svan men are allowed to cry. Not a surprise, given that sadness and nostalgia feature so prominently in Svan life.

Eventually, Avgan snapped out of his dark mood and resumed the role of tamada at our makeshift supra. The effects of the bad white wine hit us the next morning as our livers pickled around the edges. Avgan's knock at 8 AM – with a bottle of beer to cure our hangover ills – didn't help. We wondered how this 63-year old – appropriately nicknamed “the wolf” – could feel so good after so many successive evenings of drinking.

I made a promise to himself. Next trip to Svaneti, I'm a Mormon on antibiotics.

Home to Mestia

There is no public transport between Ushguli and Mestia, so we hired a jeep. As a result, we were the public transport that day and four additional opportunistic local guys jumped in with us. Invoking God's protection, they crossed themselves; we began to wonder what we’d gotten ourselves into. Fortunately, our driver knew the area well and we stuck to the “no looking down” rule as our jeep veered toward the cliffside. To describe the paths that jeeps take through Svaneti as “roads” is generous. Comic relief came in the form of large inebriated men singing (shouting?) Svan songs. Ringing ears aside, the ride to Mestia was relatively uneventful and included only one curious stop to tighten the wheels on the jeep.

Strangely enough, we ran into the same policemen on the street in Mestia. Again, all smiles as they asked us how our journey went. As we told others in Mestia about our trek and rattled off the names of the villages we’d visited, we received approving nods and invitations to go drink some more. We would graciously decline, but appreciated the warm invitation all the same. Apparently, we were beginning to be truly accepted in this unique place.

Photo Essay: Hiking Across Svaneti

Organizing a Trek in Svaneti

• How to get there: See the post Svaneti: How and Why To Go
• Where to stay: The Svaneti Mountaineering Tourism Center (SMTC) can arrange home stays in Mestia and the surrounding villages. Their website [used to] feature a listing of families. We stayed with Jora Kaldani in Adishi and Ucha Margvelani in Iprari. Home stays are clean. Toilet facilities tend to be simple, usually meaning an outhouse in the garden. Ucha's house in Iprari (Kala) has a hot water shower, a welcome luxury after an exhausting hike. The agreed cost for accommodation and three meals is 35 Lari/person. You pay the families directly.
• Where to eat: You will never go hungry, but if you are lactose intolerant or a vegetarian, eating to your needs may be a challenge. The food at the village home stays is all fresh from their farms, meaning cows and pigs. There is lots of cheese, khachapuri, matsoni, chunks of meat, kubdari (meat stuffed bread) and potatoes. Vegetables are in short supply, except at meals in Mestia. Read more about Georgian cuisine.
• Arranging a mountain guide: Unless you are an experienced mountaineer and can read old Soviet maps, we would recommend taking a mountain guide until SMTC is able to clearly mark all of the trails. Contact SMTC and they will find a guide for you. English speaking guides are also available. Cost: 50 Lari/day.

The post Hiking in the Fabled Land of Svaneti, Republic of Georgia appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Some cities seem to exist in two dimensions, best taken in with a camera from afar. Not Tbilisi. Its turbulent history is a veritable bullet list of invasions, destructions, occupations, and reconstructions. As a result, it tends to reveal itself in layers, both architecturally and culturally. Labyrinthine and tactile, Tbilisi invites visitors to dig into it like urban archaeologists intent on determining its composition and its narrative.

Although travelers could be well-served by checking out some of Tbilisi’s more traditional sights (e.g., cathedrals, castles, and museums), we’d like to suggest a scavenger hunt to discover the real Tbilisi.

1. World’s Friendliest Immigration Official

After arrival at an ungodly 3:30AM (for some reason, all flights from Europe arrive at this time), Dan staggered up to the immigration window in a post-flight haze and was asked the purpose of his visit.

“Travel,” his early morning brilliance reveals itself.

Unfazed, the immigration officer asks, “Your first time in Georgia?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Welcome to Georgia!” The immigration officer could barely contain his excitement (and his smile). Or, at least he faked it ‘til it felt good. Either way, the guys at Georgia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs seem to be writing the book on how to make a foreign tourist feel welcome. It’s working. All smiles, even at 3:30AM.

We knew we were going to like this place.

2. Georgia’s Fastest Growing Government Expenditure

We’re not 100% sure, but we think it may be military spending. As our hosts drove us from the Tbilisi airport to town, we encountered an enormous military caravan of armored personal carriers and other military hardware. Heads in helmets popped out from the top of tanks and peered out into the night in curiosity. As you might imagine, we were a little off-put, particularly at 4 AM. “Figures we'd happen to visit Georgia when it's being invaded,” we thought.

“Eto normalne?” (Is it normal?) we queried our hosts. Their laughter and matter of fact reply in the negative didn’t do much to restore a feeling of security. A few minutes later, they remembered that Georgia was about to celebrate its Independence Day with a military parade.

The Independence Day procession that morning seemed to feature every last chunk of Georgia's heavily foreign-financed military hardware, including helicopters skirting rooftops and fighter jets spewing jet streams in red and white, the colors of the Georgian flag. Georgians were out in droves and in patriotic mode – children had their faces painted and waved little Georgian flags while they cheered on the troops.

3. George W. Bush Highway

A big smiling portrait of George W. Bush welcomes you to Georgia. Surreal, especially at 4 AM.

Relations between Georgia and the U.S. are very close, particularly between George W. Bush and Georgia’s President Mikhail Saakashvili. Saakashvili decided to reward America’s financial and symbolic support by renaming the highway from the airport to the town center after his new friend.

4. BARF

What works better to clean your clothes than Barf?

You’ll find this ill-named Iranian laundry detergent gracing the shelves throughout the Caucasus and Central Asia. Barf actually means “snow” in Persian. Some of the newer boxes actually offer this explanation in English micro-font for silly tourists like us.

5. The Alien on the Metro

(Hint: It’s you, the tourist.)

If you visit Tbilisi and wear a backpack, you’ll endure plenty of stares and curious whispers. No need to worry, though, nothing malicious here. Georgia just doesn’t have many independent tourists at the moment.

Budget travelers that we are, we piled onto Tbilisi’s metro with our large backpacks instead of taking a taxi. As a trainload of people stared out at us like we had just been beamed down from outer space, we began to wonder about them as much as they wondered about us. Who are these people? What are their roots? Where did they come from? Who do they look like?

Deep, refined, and mildly mysterious…that’s the Georgian culture, whether you take it in on the street or you find it staring out at you from the seats of an under-lit metro train.

6. Singing Kids of Sololaki

Every city needs young ambassadors like these. We were intent on seeing sites, including the Kartlis Deda statue on the hill, but spent most of our first evening with the good-natured and gregarious kids of Sololaki after peeking into one of the courtyards there.

If we could bottle their spirit, humor and good nature and release it into the world's water supply, we would.

Tbilisi’s Sololaki (or “Sololucky” if you are a cheeky graffiti artist) has an unassailable spirit and is loaded with rickety old buildings, admirable architecture and courtyard charm. Hopefully, Tbilisi's property developers will find a way to take advantage of the beauty that is already here, rather than tear it down and build anew.

Provided Georgia finds some political stability, this will become one of Tbilisi’s premier places to be for atmosphere. We were contemplating buying a place there with a help of a Georgian friend. If we had extra cash (and weren’t traveling around the world), it would make a great investment.

7. A Beggar

Tbilisi’s streets bear a surprising load of begging…even more than Cambodia’s. We were taken aback by this when we first arrived.

Elderly beggars line the steps of churches, underpasses and busy street corners. Georgia’s transition from the Soviet era and its recovery from civil war have both left many worse off, especially amongst its elderly population. The pension from the state is only around $30 per month, not nearly enough to cover winter heating bills.

Beggars seem only outnumbered by pensioner women selling nuts, sour plums and sunflower seeds. How much supply of nuts, seeds, and little green plums can one city absorb?

8. Italskaya dvur (Italian courtyard)

Tbilisi is a city intended for wandering. Get lost and go places where you’re not sure you’re supposed to be. Explore. Peek into courtyards and have conversations with the people living there. Tbilisians are friendly and if you show a little curiosity, they will be more than happy to show-and -tell about their homes, neighborhoods, and their lives.

The “Italian” courtyard we wandered into off of David Agmashenebeli Avenue contains 22 families and offers some of the best preserved wooden balconies in town, but there are others. Go and find them!

9. The “Women Against Saakashvili”

The current Saakashvili government is somewhat controversial. Many people that we spoke to who support it, seem to follow with “it’s the best option we have right now.” Georgians are definitely not afraid to voice their opinion, be it positive or negative. We came across a group of older, pension-age women who feel left behind after the collapse of the Soviet system. They’ll frown, point their thumbs downward, hoot and holler “Saakashvili plocha” (bad, in Russian).

Find them in a doorway full of vegetable vendors in the general area of the Italian courtyard.

10. Gotcha

For obvious reasons, he shouldn’t be difficult to find. Once you find him at the main market (near the train station), consider running the other way unless you are interested in a drinking contest. Dan barely escaped. Audrey and a group of cheese vendors finally pried him from Gotcha’s friendly but vise-like grip.

11. Sulfur Baths

In all guide books, these are easy to find and well worth a visit. You may smell like eggs (sulfur) afterwards, but you’ll be so relaxed you won’t care.

12. A City Map

At the moment, a majority of tourist information in Georgia comes in two varieties – non-existent or totally inaccurate.

The good thing is that people on the street are very friendly. You will find no shortage of help to find your way. Sometimes people don’t actually know what you are looking for, but they’ll find a way to help you whether you need it or not.

Note to Tbilisi’s Tourism Bureau: Open an office in central Tbilisi and distribute simple maps of the city for free!!

13. Your Favorite Sign in Georgian Script

Artistic and old-worldly, Georgian script is some of the most beautiful in the world, resembling a blend of Thai and Tamil with a few bent Greek symbols thrown in for good measure. Even the most mundane signs take on a certain elegance in Georgian. Find your favorite sign and take plenty of photos.

14. Best Sunset View

It’s not from a castle, cathedral or tourist spot. It’s from a peacefully empty soft piece of ground on a hill above the sulfur baths. We’re afraid to say too much for fear of ruining the place for our friend who took us there. If you do find it you will not be disappointed; it's an ideal place to take in and appreciate Tbilisi. Finish the evening with a drink at Rasta Café on the river next to Sioni Cathedral.

15. A Free Meal

As we waited to catch an evening train to Baku from Tbilisi, we ordered a light lunch in a restaurant near the train station. In an unexpected but fittingly Georgian goodbye, we learned that some men at a corner table paid for our lunch and a bottle of lemonade for the road when we tried to pay our bill. Our departure from Georgia was as welcoming as our arrival.

A hearty note of thanks to our friend Aleko Elisashvili for his contagious gigari (passion) for old Tiflis, his impromptu walking tours, and his seemingly endless knowledge of even the smallest of Tbilisi’s details. Our visit to Tbilisi would not have been the same without him.

Tbilisi Travel Tips: Transport, Accommodation and Activities

• How to Get There: We flew Air Baltic (Berlin-Riga-Tbilisi) as it was the cheapest, although not most direct, option. Other major European airlines like Austrian Airways and Lufthansa service Tbilisi. It’s also possible to fly to Istanbul and connect by bus.
• Hotel Charm is in the heart of old town at 11 Chakhrukhadze Street (+995 32 985333, 986348). The owner, Nino, is an energetic and friendly host. Most rooms are in the $40-$60 range, but we were lucky to get a basement room for $30. Comfortable, and the free internet is a nice bonus. Compare prices of other hotels in Tbilisi.
• Where to Eat: See our post on Georgian Food.

The post Tbilisi, Georgia: A Scavenger Hunt appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Every inch of our map of Georgia seemed to covered with little icons marking churches, monasteries, ancient settlements, caves, mountains, towns, villages, and vineyards. We spent close to a month in Tbilisi, and here are a few of the nearby sights we experienced in that time.

We also traveled further afield to explore the historical sites, monasteries, vineyards, mountains, towns, and villages of Georgia. Here are some of the highlights form the almost two months that we spent traveling in the Republic of Georgia.

Jvari and Mtskheta

It's worth a day-trip outside of Tbilisi to visit the simple 6th-7th century monastery of Jvari, perched high on a hill and Svetitskhoveli Cathedral in Mtskheta (dangerously difficult to prounounce) in the valley below.

We enjoy churches, but as we've seen hundreds of them during our travels in Europe we tend to reach church saturation very quickly. Svetitskhoveli Cathedral is different. It's one of the most moving religious sites we've visited. Yes, it's beautiful with old frescos , 11th century architecture, two-dimensional iconography typical of the Georgian Orthodox style, but there's a pleasant emotional heft to the place, as if it stands on truly hallowed ground.

The church is not at all a museum, but an active, living church that people still use and love. The environment inside is welcoming and warm, even for more intimate ceremonies held inside its small chapels.

For example, in a mystical candlelit chapel, we witnessed a renewing of vows between a couple that had been legally together for 30 years, but had never had a church wedding (religion was restricted during Soviet times). A thickly bearded priest harkening back to the ancients held the couple arm-in-arm and repeatedly walked around the chapel in prayer. The gravity and emotion was like nothing we've ever seen or felt before.

Akhaltsikhe

The town of Akhaltsikhe itself doesn't offer too much excitement for the visitor, but it serves as a jumping off point for Vardzia and Sapara.

Vardzia

An Armenian driver with an old hulking Volga made requisite stops for water and enthusiastically endorsed Brezhnev with two thumbs up for building the now abandoned tourist hotel at Vardzia. The drive to Vardzia stretches from green hills and valleys to desert spotted with rock outcroppings. It also looks like an opportunity to kayak or water raft.

Vardzia is a monastery complex cut into the rocks and cliffs that dates from the 12th to 13th century. Only a fraction of the caves and tunnels are open to the public, but it's enough to give the sense of how deep and vast the network originally was. The main church, also carved into the rock offers a look at some beautiful, dark, mysterious frescoes. Ask the priest to turn on the lights and open the gate to the cave next door, a fresh water spring, and tunnels to another section of the cave complex.

Sapara Monastery

The small road leading up to Sapara is hazardous in a big Volga. If you happen to be in similar wheels, consider keeping your eyes fixed on the road rather than the cliffside. After the road parts wildflower dotted meadows, the forest thickens and Sapara monastery simply appears tucked into the mountainside.

George, Sapara's resident English-speaking monk, gave us a tour of the complex. The earliest structures date back to the 10th century while the main church was built in the 15th century. Sadly, the monastery was used for a summer piano camp during the Soviet era. Though many of the interiors and frescoes are worse for wear, a few remain and others are being uncovered or restored to their original beauty. Today, about ten monks (or novices) live at the complex in Sapara. Although difficult to get to, Sapara monastery is beautiful, peaceful, and worth the effort.

Of the monasteries we visited, Sapara was our favorite.

Transport to Akhaltsikhe, Vardzia and Sapara

• How to get there – Akhaltsikhe: Marshrutka from Borjomi – leaves hourly, 3 Lari/person
• How to get there – Vardzia and Sapara: Taxi – Most taxis at the bus station offer 60 Lari for a return trip (including waiting time) to Vardzia (about 2 hours each way), but it’s possible to get the trip for 50 Lari. Sapara is an additional 15 Lari, but very much worth the extra cost and time (take a sedative if you are afraid of heights and adventure driving).
• Bus – The cost is much less – 4 Lari/person – but you have to stay flexible. A friendly guy searched out the Vardzia-based bus driver to get all the times for us. The only return trip in one day is the following. Otherwise, you have to spend the night there. From Akhaltsikhe: 10:40, From Vardzia: 15:00
• Where to stay: Hotel White House on Tetri Sakhli street (perpendicular to Rustevi street). Just ask around, as everyone seems to know it. 50 lari/double room, including breakfast. There is also another hotel on Rustevi street with similar rooms for 40 lari without breakfast and 50 lari with breakfast. Hotels are a bit of a walk from the bus station (walk across the bridge with the castle/old town at your back).
• Where to eat: Limited choices here. The restaurant on Rustevi street has a nice balcony overlooking the valley. The people working there are very nice, although the menu is rather limited (note: the fish contains hundreds of thousands of tiny bones).
• What to do: Walk up to the church on hill, walled old town, and admire all the signs about tolerance (paid for by USAID and other foreign aid organizations).

Borjomi

Many Georgians seem to sing the word Borjomi, THE Georgian mineral water and spa town, with a longing in their voices and a hands over their hearts. What we learned is that most people haven't visited in 20 or 30 years…some things have changed since the time when Borjomi was one of the most famous spa towns in the Soviet Union, a place for the elite to drink the waters and recover from all the drinking, smoking and poor eating the rest of the year.

Our stay in Borjomi was short, just long enough to wait in line with the locals and drink the famous mineral water directly from the source. Difficult to gulp down, the water tastes faintly of iron filings, but is supposedly the equivalent of “drinking a pharmacy,” (not something we're certain we want to do) according to Marina, our homestay host in Borjomi.

Georgians hold water dear to their hearts and believe that if you drink enough, you might just wash away the effects of all your vices. We're not so sure.

Borjomi Travel Tips: Transport, Accommodation and Food

• How to get there: Marshrutka from Didube station in Tbilisi – 7 Lari/person.
• Where to stay: Marina Abugadze, Kovtava 17 (267 2 09 30). A simple homestay in a courtyard walking distance from the park, train station and bus station. Marina doesn't speak English, but others in the courtyard do. She is a very sweet host. 10 Lari/person.
• Where to eat: The train station has two restaurants in its vicinity. The bakery right next to the bus station serves up heavenly bread (perhaps the best tonis puri we'd tasted in Georgia).
• What to do: Drink the waters directly from the source (don't forget your own water bottle). Hike in Borjomi National Park. Check yourself into a sanitorium to cleanse all your ills.

Bakuriani

Once an Olympic site contender, the ski village of Bakuriani fell on tough times after collapse of the Soviet Union. A Georgian multi-millionaire is now attempting to reverse time by pouring cash into the improvement of skiing facilities and construction of new hotels and guest houses. Village roads are now packed with Turkish trucks stacked with construction supplies, minibuses packed full of construction workers, and SUVs with local construction inspectors.As we climbed the hills around Bakuriani, construction crews gave way to herds of dairy cows feeding on hills of electric mossy green. As we climbed higher, a Soviet era van offered us a ride up the hill. We declined and it left in a plume of smoke that smelled distinctly of a shashlik barbecue.

On our descent, one of the shepherds invited us to join him for the evening cow milking. “You need to be strong,” he said. Though tempted, we graciously declined, noting the rolling clouds and disappearing sun. Only minutes later the Soviet era van pulled up again. The front door opened and the driver's hand shot across the front seat as he offered Audrey a bouquet of red plastic flowers. No words were exchanged, the door closed, and the van barreled down the hill, leaving Audrey in its wake with a curious gift.

A few minutes later, a second old van drove by. We accepted their offer for a ride and joined the construction workers as they crammed into their seats to allow us ample room. Later, when we tried to buy some Georgian flat bread in the village, the local baker wouldn't accept payment. Everyone was certainly doing his best to make us feel welcome.

The following morning we learned that Bakuriani's unofficial motto: more hotels, less information. Armed with information from the tourist office regarding the departure of the kukushka (cuckoo in Russian), the scenic train that runs between Bakuriani and Borjomi, we arrived at the train station ten minutes early. The lone train station employee there informed us that the train left 15 minutes ago and pointed to a sign from March 2007 with new train times. There are only two trains per day; it's not complicated. But apparently complicated enough to prevent a heads-up phone call from the train station to the tourist office just up the street.

Lesson of the day – always get your transport information at the source, no matter how shiny the tourist information office and its brochures may look.

Transport to and Accommodation in Bakuriani

• How to get there: By marshrutka directly from Didube station in Tbilisi (10 Lari/person – 3 hours) or from Borjomi (3 lari/person). Train from Borjomi – morning and afternoon departures. Check with the train station directly regarding times, as they change often, without the tourist information center's knowledge.
• Where to stay: Hotels are going up at every corner of the village, so this is the one place in Georgia with an overabundance of accommodation (at least in the summer). We stayed at Vera's place – the yellow house right next to the tourist information center. Nice rooms with en suite bathrooms. 20 lari/person, including breakfast, fresh milk from her mother's cow and some snacks at dinner. Very nice family.
• Where to eat: There is a cafe on the main road around the corner from the information center. Good khinkali and kebabs. Reasonably priced.
• What to do: In the summer, hike around and try and get away from all the construction roads and building. The higher you go, the more beautiful it becomes. In winter, ski your heart out.

Other places we visited in Georgia:

For details on other worthwhile sights in Georgia, check out our articles on Kakheti, Zugdidi, Svaneti, and Tbilisi.

What we didn't see this time…but would like to next time:

Tusheti, Shatili, Kazbegi, David Gareji, Nekresi, Bagrati Cathedral and Gelati Monastery (outside Kutaisi), Ushba and Shkhara (Upper Svaneti), Lower Svaneti, Khevsureti mountains, Batumi, and Uplistsikhe.

The post Georgia Travel: A Beginner’s Guide appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Svaneti, the high Caucasus mountain region in the northwestern corner of Georgia, has a long reputation of fierce independence characterized by the 12th century defensive towers that still dot many of its villages. More recently, Svaneti has been feared as outlaw territory where bandits and escaping terrorists from nearby Abkhazia, Chechnya and Ingushetia took refuge as locals holed up in their homes with guns at the ready.

I tell you, the Svanetians are crazy. Their brains are deficient in oxygen.

a Tbilisi resident describing how the high altitudes of Svaneti have affected its people.

To many Georgians, Svaneti still echoes mysterious, beautiful, wild, and dangerous. Our Georgian friends, both anxious and supportive of our desire to explore this mountainous region, suggested taking a tour or finding a local guide to ensure our safety.

Unfortunately, the Georgian tourist infrastructure for the region is minimal and printed material is glossy, lightweight, and tends to point all travelers in the direction of tour operators. For independent budget travelers like us, the $150+/person/day price tag of a typical Svaneti tour was far too steep and didn't include much in the way of hiking or exposure to the people and culture of inner Svaneti, the “real” Svaneti tucked between the bookend touristed villages of Mestia and Ushguli.

Thankfully, a friend in Tbilisi turned us onto the Svaneti Mountaineering Tourism Center, a newly opened non-profit organization whose charter is to assist and expand independent travel to and through Svaneti. The Tourism Center maintains a homestay network, can recommend local trekking guides and is currently in the process of marking hiking trails throughout the region.

Because of this and government efforts to improve safety in the region, travel in Svaneti is now accessible and relatively secure. The few difficulties – from bad roads to numerous drinking opportunities – that you may encounter these days will simply provide humorous color to your Svaneti experience.

Our Jeep, Zugdidi to Mestia

After slowly making our way across Georgia by marshrutka, we picked up a Russian jeep at the Zugdidi bus station on a Sunday morning. Bags of sugar, toys and other goods pile into the jeep while Audrey conducted a photo session with the driver. Ten passengers climbed in for a snug fit and we were on our way.

A male passenger took to us quickly, finding amusement in asking us a battery of questions in Russian. The women passengers, on the other hand, were a bit frosty. One passenger noticed her relatives in the jeep as she boarded and was visibly overjoyed.. When she saw us, however, the delight in her eyes narrowed to a squint of curiosity, skepticism and fear. Georgians had warned us that Svans don't like outsiders; we were beginning to feel the social frost taking grip of our jeep.

Fortunately, a few Russians at a UN checkpoint (near the Abkhazian border) provided a new target for the Svan ire. When questioned, the women in the car openly mocked the soldiers and gave everyone a laugh.

Not long after the checkpoint, a roadside stop appeared. Women decked out in blue eyeliner, short skirts and disco pumps dished out fresh khajapuri and kubdari for the occasional travelers and workers at a nearby dam.

After we downed a few slices of kubdari (meat and onion stuffed bread), the driver invited us to join his table for shots of rachi (a low octane, often homemade, version of vodka). We were relieved to see that he wasn't drinking. Excusing ourselves from a third (or maybe a fourth?) shot, we retreated to another table where the rest of the passengers were eating. The women and their daughters eyed our approach suspiciously, but eventually warmed up to us. Realizing that they weren't about to get rid of us, they offered us their food, agreed to have their photos taken, and even cracked a few smiles. The social frost was starting to melt. When we tried to pay for our food, we learned that one of the fellow passengers had already done so.

How Do We Get Rid of the Husband?

Back in the car, the driver asked me repeatedly about Dan's status: “Your brother, yes? We can find you a good husband in Svaneti.”

I responded: “Husband.”

“Brother?” they asked, just to make sure.

“Husband,” I confirmed. A flurry of conversation in Svan erupted as the group sent glances our way, gesticulated wildly and laughed deliberately in a way that meant the joke would only be private to us.

We could only imagine the conversation went something like this:

“We could get a lot of money for marrying off the girl in Svaneti.”

Laughter.

“Yes, but we need to get rid of the husband first.”

Laughter.

“If we drop him off that cliff over there, his body would float along and wouldn't show up at the UN/Russian checkpoint for four days, meaning it should be unrecognizable by that point.”

More laughter.

Imagined conversations regarding Dan's demise aside, our drive followed the syncopated rhythm of the Turkish music pumping out of the jeep's stereo. Deep gorges, emerging mountain passes and the thick grey rapids of the Enguri River defined an increasingly severe alpine landscape. Our rocky climb into the mountains included stops for water, vomiting, alcohol, cigarettes, oil checks, oil refills, and a hammer exchange with a broken-down Soviet bus.

An Introductory Drink

As if our journey up the mountain from Zugdidi to Mestia wasn't long enough, our driver seizes one last opportunity to draw it out even further. We turn off the road for the last remaining passenger. Mountain-framed pastures dotted with dairy cows give way to ever ascending peaks.

We're invited inside a covered stable area where the driver and the men of the house take a break. The table is covered in large, fresh leek-stuff khajapuri (cheese-stuffed bread) pies. Jugs of curiously pink alcohol are passed around and the tamada (toastmaster) tradition starts. A plethora of toasts to family, friends, the dead, Georgia, and Svaneti take us through a series of refills of fresh, sparkling berry wine. Although we don't know what to make of the whole thing, it's a friendly affair where nothing other than smiles and perhaps a few photo opportunities are expected in return.

Svan Hospitality

As we'll come to find out, this is only the first of many toasts and opportunities for Svans to display their hospitality and open their homes and hearts to us. We quickly learned that the only physical danger we would face would come from Svan hospitality (outrageous amounts of food and drink), rather than from any violence in the region.

Photo Essay: Trekking Across Svaneti

How to Organize Your Own Svaneti Trekking Adventure

• How to get there: From Tbilisi there is a marshrutka from Didube station leaving at around 6 AM (get there early though). Cost is 25 lari per person and takes around 12 hours. From Zugdidi, jeeps depart from the bus station near the Svan tower. Arrive at around 7 AM and then wait until the jeep is full to depart. Cost varies between 15-20 lari per person, depending upon the size of the jeep. Normally the trip takes 5 hours, but ours took close to 8 hours with all the khajapuri and wine/vodka stops.
• Where to stay in Mestia: There is a network of homestays in Mestia and it's not as difficult as it sounds to find a place to stay. We stayed with Msevinan (+995 99 14 97 93). Tsiouri is also well known and down the street (+995 99 56 93 58). Kakha (+995 55 49 51 18) and Koba (+995 98 43 27 31), the guys who run the guesthouse at the Svan Tower (next to the bus station) in Zugdidi, have a network of relatives throughout Svaneti. The Svaneti Mountaineering Tourism Centre also has a network of families (35 Lari/person, including all meals). Even if you don't have a contact in advance, the driver in Zugdidi (or from Tbilisi) could probably find you a place to stay easily – everyone knows everyone.
• Where to eat: Homestays normally provide breakfast, lunch and dinner. You will never be hungry and depending upon the family, there may be large amounts of wine and vodka thrown in as well.
• Where to stay in Zugdidi: Kakha and Koba have three rooms for tourists near the bus station (look for the Swan Tower) – 15 Lari/person. Hotel Zugdidi has comfortable rooms with hot water for 40 Lari/double room.
• What to do in Svaneti: Trekking is the big attraction here. The Svaneti Mountaineering Tourism Centre can provide information on where to go and arrange guides (40-50 Lari/day), if necessary. The Mestia museum (10 Lari) is interesting with 1000 year old books and religious icons. The Ushguli museum (10 Lari) is disappointing and well worth skipping.

The post Svaneti: Why and How To Go appeared first on Uncornered Market.

While putting the finishing touches on our website, we spent a considerable amount of time at internet cafés in Tbilisi, Georgia. At one café, we noticed a semi-private room set up with couches, comfortable chairs and computers outfitted with webcams for video Skype calls. The typical configuration: children and grandmother crowded around the computer and Mommy or Daddy on the video screen. So, what's going on here?

This is a case of missing parents – those who have left Georgia to work in Europe, America, or Russia to support their families back home.

There was the girl we met in Tbilisi's Sololaki neighborhood on our first day. At 14, she was bright, friendly and spoke remarkably good English. Her parents, trained as doctors, moved to London two years ago. She now lives with her grandmother and voices her hopes that her parents will be able to visit Tbilisi soon. She asked us questions about our visits to London in an attempt to obtain an objective opinion on her parents' new home.

In nearby Borjomi, our host Marina explained how she began to rent out a room in her apartment to tourists in order to earn money to raise her son. Her husband died shortly after her son was born; there was no work for her in Borjomi. Although most of her friends have moved away to work in Europe, she couldn't bring herself to leave her mother and son behind, even if it meant a lower standard of living. She's one of the few from her high school class in Borjomi who has resisted the temptation of moving abroad.

We're all used to watching news pieces of families separated for economic reasons in transitional and developing economies, but it carries a different meaning when you actually meet the people affected. Is there a viable alternative until more jobs and a sustainable economy emerges in Georgia? It's difficult to say, as those left behind suffer emotionally while depending on their parents contributions from abroad.

The post The Case of the Missing Parents appeared first on Uncornered Market.

We were enjoying a late evening stroll in the Kakhetian countryside with Lali, our guide and host, when we were beckoned by a group of young men having a picnic at the church. Lali and Audrey sacrificed Dan to Shota and Misha, the leaders of the group, and waited out the encounter at a distance.

Homemade bacon (think glistening white chunks of pork fat) was offered up on a plate while a five liter gasoline jug full of murky white wine was dragged out and glasses filled to the rim. To avoid the fat, Dan played vegetarian. Shota and Misha couldn't understand the non-meat thing, but gave him a pass. No such pass when it comes to drinking wine in Kakheti, though. At Dan's pleading, Lali and Audrey finally joined, if only to extract him from the situation.

A few toasts later, Dan was struggling to put back the tainted brown wine. Relief came when the group's focus shifted and Misha pulled out his guitar and started belting out Georgian ballads. Eventually, we pulled ourselves away, but not before Misha enlisted us in an expedition to some nearby caves the next day. Lali had lived in the region her whole life but had never been. How could we say no?

Our Adventure in Kakheti Begins

The next morning, Misha and Shota proudly told us how they had each drunk three liters of wine the night before and were up at 5 AM that morning to milk the cows. How do you say “you win” in Georgian?

We piled into Shota’s battered Renault and headed for the hills. While Shota drove, Misha played road strategist, guiding Shota's car over ruts and through sinkholes. When the road literally ended in the woods, we stopped and emptied the trunk of all the requisite ingredients for a Kakhetian picnic – metal skewers, five liters of wine, kilos of pork, vegetables, stacks of Georgian bread, and a guitar in a cardboard box.

After our initial climb to the church ruins, Misha stayed behind to man the fire for shashlik (grilled pork) as Shota led the way up an even steeper hill to the caves. Shota would grab each of us by the arm and vault us up to catch the nearest tree branch or root, all the way up to the cave entrance.

The caves were simple shelters from the 8th and 9th centuries when the area suffered frequent invasions. Women, children and old men would retreat there to hide while younger men stayed below in the villages to fight. You could see where wine and water were once stored; black stains remained as evidence of an ancient kitchen. It wasn’t so much what we saw in the caves, but the remote location and experience of getting there that made it special.

After exploring a few more caves, all linked by paths just centimeters wide, we descended, sliding down leaf-covered chutes in a form of skiing. Upon reaching the bottom, Misha handed two candles to each of us and instructed us to light them in the ruined church at the makeshift altar. One candle a thank you for safe passage thus far and the next for safe passage in the future. How prescient the second candle.

A Georgian Feast in the Forest

Our feast included sizzling pork shashlik, tomatoes, cucumbers, Georgian bread, herbs (flat parsley, purple basil), and, of course, wine. Just salted, the meat was incredible. As the eating frenzy subsided, the toasts began. To Georgia and its beauty, to family, to America, to our ancestors, to friendship – apparently each deserved its own glass of wine. Our contribution was to gigari, the Georgian word for passion or spirit, attributed to people who have this inside them. This was met with great applause…and even greater drinking.

Misha pulled the guitar out of its cardboard home and sang a ballad for Kakheti – coincidentally the same ballad for Kakheti he'd sung the night before and likely the same ballad he sings at each and every picnic.

Crazy Ride Home

The ride home was akin to an amusement park visit – one part roller coaster, another part spinning teacups, with a haunted house thrown in. Misha's navigation skills were a bit worse for wine-saturated wear. Along the way, Shota decided it was the right time to visit a distant relative running a flourmill. And who could say no to a late afternoon dip in a Soviet-esque cement swimming pool? Shota pulled up the car (almost into the pool), stripped to his underwear in the front seat and dove in. Lali shook her head “It’s dangerous to swim after drinking.” It occurred to us, “Isn’t it dangerous to drive after drinking too?!!”

When we finally made it home, Lali prepared coffee for a late afternoon revival, and Shota and Misha invited Dan in charades and broken English to “we find girls.” Dan explained through Lali, his trusted interpreter, that it probably wasn't a good idea “to find girls,” especially as the invite was in front of his wife. Audrey crossed her arms in the role of the tough American wife, shook her head “ara” (No, in Georgian). Our pals were shocked. They eventually departed, defeated but not deterred.

Several hours later while we were having dinner and our livers worked through the day's wine, there was a knock on the door. “Can Daniel come out to play?” Misha asked smugly through an alcoholic slur. Lali shooed him away as if to a stray dog and scolded him not to come back again that night.

We didn't see Shota or Misha again during our remaining days in Kakheti. Perhaps they were busy nursing hangovers, milking cows, or finding girls.

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Before arriving in the Georgian wine region of Kakheti, we'd imagined rolling hills and old vines. Throw in some looming mountain ranges, medieval churches, bad roads, small villages full of crumbling houses, beautiful rose gardens, donkeys, old Russian cars and large gasoline jugs filled with murky wine and you’ve got Kakheti. And while the region is full of mysterious churches and historical sites, our best experiences always seemed to happen along the way.

We stayed at a friend’s house and vineyard in the village of Kisiskhevi, several kilometers from the regional capital of Telavi. (Note: while you say the name of the village, be sure to cough up a lung while pronouncing the “kh”, otherwise locals will not understand.)

Lali, the caretaker and winemaker, escorted us into the hills for an orientation of the surrounding mountains, rivers and villages. Pastoral distractions were plentiful – Lali scolds a donkey tied up outside the gate, a grandma cuts Audrey a bouquet of giant roses, cows fill the road upon their return for milking, half-wild/half-domesticated pigs dot our peripheral vision, and time passes in our search for the best fresh matsoni (Georgian yoghurt). We're even invited to an evening picnic and toast with Misha and Shota at the church ruins. Like all Georgian adventures, our opening evening in Kisiskhevi saw no shortage of unexpected countryside excitement.

A Detour into a Temporary Abkhazia

After recovering from our adventure with Misha and Shota, we spent the remainder of our days enjoying Kakheti at a more leisurely pace. In search of great views of Telavi and the surrounding countryside, we found ourselves climbing the crumbling steps of the Hotel Telavi, a once-desired address now inhabited by Abkhazian refugees driven from their homes more than ten years ago.

The entire structure is in shambles. Common rooms on the ground floor are gutted and scattered with trash and rusted Brezhnev-era remains. Extended families are squeezed into old, decaying Soviet hotel rooms. Children have turned the grand ballroom into a velodrome and cycle the long hours of uncertain days away while their parents hang out of the windows, drawing smoke from cheap cigarettes as they watch time drift by. Uncertainty seems certain here; no one knows when or if he'll ever be able to return home.

Telavi Market

While Telavi also has some pleasant churches, museums and other historical sites, the highlight of our visit was the main market. Scruffy and dingy around the edges (like any good market should be), it offered the usual suspects – cheese, meat, mushrooms, spices, fruits, vegetables, herbs, and coffee – often in great quantities bursting out of the trunks of Soviet era automobiles like Ladas and Volgas. The region's ethnic diversity also displays itself here. We later found out that the Georgians tend to sell fruit, cheeses, meat and mushrooms while the ethnic Azerbaijanis deal in vegetables and herbs.

Apparently, tourists rarely pay visits to the market, as our appearance was a visible and audible novelty. This is what rock stars must feel like, minus the swooning fans falling at their feet. With few exceptions, everyone wanted to talk to us, to know where we were from, to shake our hands, to know what we thought of Georgia, and to understand why we didn’t have children (a common topic of conversation). In a reversal, shopkeepers asked *us* to take their photos. When we finally exited the market, we were sent off with waves and smiles; our visit would likely be the talk of the market for days to come.

Exploring Kakheti: A Day in a Volga

We took a day and a driver (with an old Soviet-era Volga) to see the main sites – Alaverdi, Tetris Giorgi, Ikalto Academy, Shuamta (old and new) and Gremi. The time of our visit coincided with the end of the school year, so we shared the sites with minivans full of school kids. When these young excursion-goers would find out we were American, they took copious pictures of us as proof of their close encounter. Again, it was fascinating to be on the other end of the shutter.

Sites were loaded with history, often in 100 and 500 year chunks and the surrounding countryside was scattered with grazing cows and sheep. Our personal favorite, Ikalto Academy, was not particularly impressive in size or in history. But its peaceful grounds – loaded with flowers and outfitted with a quaint stone priest’s house that fell out of a Mediterranean countryside – had a special feel.

Set in and amongst the hills of Kakheti, the monasteries of Alaverdi and Gremi appear dramatic, particularly from afar. We didn’t make it to Nekresi monastery nor Sighnaghi, but both are supposed to be worthy of a visit.

Georgian Wine Tasting: A Different Wine Culture

Our driver took us off-road past his vineyards and reminisced about how things used to be (i.e., in Soviet times) when he worked at the now shuttered wine cooperative. In the old days, tourists would fly directly from Russia to Telavi, the wine industry boomed, and life was good.

Now, the wine industry is attempting a comeback. But it’s difficult when many of the old vines were destroyed, the main export market (Russia) has been closed off, and the capital and interest required to revive it are in short supply. Every family seems to have enough grapes to make wine for themselves. A few corporate wineries also bottle and sell wines for export and for sale locally. Compared to the growing list of competitors from around the world, the prices seemed high ($12-$15 and up for a decent bottle). Considering that $8-10 and a little effort can fetch you an imminently drinkable bottle at the Independent Vintner’s Salon in Strasbourg, the Georgian wine industry has a long road ahead.

The essence of the wine culture in Kakheti is different than what you would find in other European wine centers such as France, Italy or Spain. Combined with the Georgian Tamada (toastmaster) tradition, wine can seem more about the consumption of large quantities than thoughtful appreciation. Red wines made with saperavi “black” grapes are a better, tastier bet and seem to earn a more deserved appreciation.

Wine tasting at the vineyard in Tsinandali offers a bit of the unexpected, too. After the caretakers kindly opened the facility just for us, we were escorted into a room that seemed just smaller than a football pitch. We paid a small fee ($3 per person) to taste a white wine and two reds (one sweet, one dry). The tasting proved disappointing, especially since the dry red had obviously oxidized. Afterwards, when it was time to purchase bottles ($12-$20), we were told that the wine for purchase is much better than what we'd been given to taste. She explained that the bottles used for tasting sit open in the refrigerator. Hence, they slowly spoil through the trickle of tourist traffic. A bizarre approach for promoting and selling wine, by any measure.

It was not exactly what we were expecting from a premier winery in a region that, according to some, “invented wine” several thousands of years ago. In other words, you don't come to Kakheti exclusively for the wine, but rather for the experience…and there is no shortage of those.

Georgian Hospitality: The end of one meal is the start of the next

The remainder of our time in Kakheti was spent eating. We kid you not. Lali is a fantastic cook and when we showed interest in food and Georgian cooking, she sought to introduce us to the “best of” Georgian cuisine in a round-the-clock eating marathon squeezed into a few days. We returned to Tbilisi perhaps several kilos heavier, but much better equipped to navigate the variety and complexity of Georgian cuisine.

How to Explore Kakheti and the Georgian Wine Region

• How to get there: Take the Tbilisi metro to Isani station and exit to the left. Taxis will be lined up with their drivers yelling “Telavi” when they see you. Look for the car with the most people in it (i.e., leaving soon). Cost is 7 GEL/person. Depending upon whether or not the driver took his insanity medicine that day, you’ll get to Telavi in up to 2.5 hours. Minivans also depart from there for around the same price. Driver for a day to sites listed above was 40 GEL.
• Where to stay: We stayed at a friend’s place in Kisiskhevi, but Telavi is supposed to have a good network of home stays. If you don’t have contacts in advance, stop by the friendly tourist office in Telavi for a list of home stay and accommodation recommendations.
• Where to eat: There are a couple of cafes and restaurants in Telavi, but the best food will likely come from your home stay family.
• What to do: See above for the main sites. Women wearing pants are provided a complimentary tie-around burlap sack at Alaverdi and New Shuamta.

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Though we know we owe our readers and our blog some more Georgian stories from recent experiences, we’ll jump to the present for a moment. Today’s experience is simply too good not to share immediately.

We arrived in the western Georgian town of Zugdidi this afternoon and sought out the market, as we are apt to do. We expected the familiar piles of tomatoes, herbs, and spices scattered about requisite aisles dedicated to cheeses and meat.

What we didn’t expect was to be treated to a Georgian feast and drowned in hospitality.

We befriended Leila (center) – or rather, she befriended us – an outgoing honey vendor holding court in the midst of the cheese and matsoni (Georgian yogurt) section. After the cursory questions, “Where are you from? Are you married? Do you have children? Do you like Georgia?”, we enjoyed a pleasant conversation and departed to continue our market stroll.

But maybe she knew where we could get our hands on some lobio (a sort of Georgian bean soup crossed with refried beans). Absolutely delicious stuff, but surprisingly hard to find on the road. We’re told it’s fallen out of favor in some circles because of its association with the civil war period. Apparently, it was the only thing that some people ate.

Maybe Leila would know?

“So where can we find lobio?” we warbled in broken Russian. She thought out loud for a moment, in fits of broad gesticulation. We had generated a stir in the cheese aisle.

Leila disappeared, returned, cleared a space aside her honey stand and put us, the Americans, front and center. Minutes later, a feastful tray loaded with lobio, bread, cucumbers with Svaneti salt, tomatoes, and adjika (a spicy Indian pickle-like paste) appeared. Not to be left out, other vendors from throughout the market descended upon our table and delivered chunks of cheese, more vegetables, yogurt, honey, coffee and sweets.

Ia, salt and pepper hair and striking clear blue-grey eyes, sidled over with a water bottle filled with a firewater Georgian-style grappa known as cha cha. Think “better in the gas tank.” She poured us each a 3-shot dose and rolled out a toast in Georgian. All 65 years of her downed it in one gulp, while we simultaneously choked on our first sip, hoping for a pass. None to be found. Peer pressure, particularly from our cha cha’ing friend Ia, forced Dan to follow. This is what open heart surgery must feel like without anesthesia.

After downing her cha cha with arguably less gusto than her buddy Ia, Leila’s attempt to find a chaser landed her a passed water bottle. She began pounding to put out the fire. Unfortunately, it too was filled with cha cha. She almost choked, chasing fire with fire.

Later, she arrived with an assist for all of us, a honey and water blend she called a cocktail. She spent the next 15 minutes cooling herself off with bottles of ice.

We were the talk of the cheese section. Each time we turned around, we found all the vendors – mostly women, dressed curiously in black – watching us, eagerly looking for signs of approval for the lobio, the cheese, and most of all, the cha cha. Echoes of Georgian-inflected “America” bounced off the market’s overhead beams, as the news passed from one table to the next. Every now and then, a person would walk by and greet us, asking where we were from, just to be sure we were honest-to-goodness Americans.

In the end, we attempted to pay Leila and the countless other vendors who contributed to our feast, but they all roundly refused. The more we pressed, the more food they insisted we take with us on our trek into Svaneti.

Leila called us “guests,” which in Georgia carries great weight. Hospitality is serious here; guests are often treated as if a gift from God. If if we had insisted too much, we would have insulted her and the other vendors who had contributed to our feast. It’s really moving to be treated like this, particularly by people who earn very little and likely struggle to get by.

This experience is exactly why we travel and why we travel to places like Georgia.

Tomorrow morning we catch a Russian jeep to take us to the high Caucasus mountains. We hope to emerge…with some new stories and the ability to do our recent Georgian experiences justice in more posts.

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