Embracing Life in the Iconic Georgian Caucasus Mountain Range
Picture this: we’re in Georgia, biting into warm, crispy breaded chicken with a soft, juicy breast inside. If you’re trying to imagine this local Georgian dish, you might be coming up empty. That’s because we were standing at a Wendy’s on the side of the highway, unironically enjoying a delicious lunch. So how did we find ourselves at Wendy’s in the middle of Georgia? We were on a six-hour bus ride from Tbilisi to Zugdidi, the gateway to our week in the famous mountains of Svaneti.
After the long bus ride, arriving in Zugdidi definitely felt like the end of a travel day. But we had no complaints: the unexpectedly great Wendy’s rest stop, which actually uses fresh chicken and outperforms US quality tenfold, had us all impressed. Plus, Zugdidi is known for being one of Georgia’s top gastronomic cities, celebrated for its Megrelian cuisine. We got settled and headed to dinner at one of the city’s most renowned restaurants to get a taste of this unique local cuisine.
Except when we arrived at the restaurant, nobody wanted to seat us. One waiter told us to sit down at a table, but then another waiter came over and started arguing with him, leaving us standing there. The first waiter walked away and continued arguing with him. We asked if it was okay to sit down (the restaurant was also nearly empty at this time), but were met with some grumbles and mumbles. This seemed to be a trend in Georgia so far. From trouble getting into our Tbilisi apartment to issues with the car rental agency, we often found ourselves standing around confused or waiting a long time for someone to respond to us.
Eventually, though, we were indulging in thick, cheesy cornmeal elarji, dumplings in a pot, and flavorful kharcho stew. We were all feeling excited and ready for our next week together in Svaneti, the iconic Caucasus mountain province.
The night ended with us buying canned meat for a sweet and gentle dog at the gas station and making plans to head to the main square to find a driver in the morning. We’d read many articles about how dangerous the roads to Svaneti were, so finding a reliable driver would be important.
The next morning, we asked our host if he knew how we could get to Mestia. Within ten minutes, his friend arrived to pick us up in his Tesla. It struck us how helpful and community-oriented people were here. If you need help, there’s always someone they know to call.
The four-hour drive to Mestia was surprisingly chill, with 95% of the roads paved. We realized it would have been better to have our own car there, and we were feeling a little bummed that we hadn’t known the roads had been fixed this year. Quickly, though, that disappointment turned into action as we scrambled to find a car rental in the small town of Mestia. In our last-minute rush to secure a car, we managed to arrange a rental online that would be driven to us nine hours overnight from Tbilisi. If there’s a will, there’s a way! We were glad to have the freedom of our own car for the rest of our time there.
In Mestia, we stayed at Guest House Nanu, a home just a couple of minutes from the main square but tucked away on a quiet street up a small hill, with a front yard full of flowers.
Despite some huffing and puffing as we tried to find the house, it felt peaceful as soon as we arrived. The guesthome is run by grandma Nanu and her husband Tamaz, though only Tamaz was there to greet us that afternoon. Tamaz offered us the first of many cups of tea we’d enjoy at the guesthouse, along with homemade chacha and wine. During our three days here, we’d come to learn just how sweet Nanu and Tamaz were.
Every time we returned to the guesthouse, Nanu would set out snacks for us and make sure we had tea. Even when we’d come back full from dinner, she’d offer us cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, Svaneti salt, and bread. Multiple times a day, we’d go in and out of the guesthouse, and they’d always be there, ready to welcome us back with smiles. One night, it was raining, and Tamaz gave us an umbrella before standing at the window to watch us walk away down the road. When we returned later that evening, they were both waiting in the kitchen and looked so happy to see us. They gave us a warmth that really felt like being with our grandparents: noticing the small things and never letting us sit down without offering us something to drink.
Nanu and Tamaz helped us arrange a driver for our first hike to Koruldi Lakes. The 4WD jeep jumped over rocks and bounced along the uneven hills to get us to the hike’s starting point. After a short but nauseating car ride, we were ready to be on our feet again. Even though grey clouds covered parts of the mountain ranges and blurred visibility, we were all in the mood to make the best of it. Colorful wildflowers poked out of the grass, parts of the mountains were illuminated by the faraway sun, and two dogs chose to accompany us. We appreciated what we could, in spite of the weather.
Koruldi Lake itself was somewhat underwhelming, more like a small pond. We could’ve gone farther past the lakes in pursuit of a view of Russia, but with rain looking likely again, we decided it’d be best to head back.
That way, we could even visit the small theater in town, which only shows one movie: Dede, filmed in Svaneti by a local filmmaker. So we walked downhill, or, in Jovan’s case, fell down the muddy pathway back to our driver.
Back in our Jeep, we felt the car spin out as we rolled backwards down a muddy hill. Later, Jovan said he’d instantly put his hand on the door handle, ready to jump out of the car if we kept rolling much farther. Derrick and I both laughed that the thought hadn’t even occurred to us. We were just looking out the window, watching our car slide and waiting for the driver to regain control. I guess the Ware survival skills did not prevail on this one.
Almost as soon as our Jeep reached flat pavement again, the sun began to shine as the clouds drifted away. All of the grey gloom of our morning hike felt far away as we ate lunch outside a UNESCO Svaneti tower with the sun beating down on us. It was not exactly the cozy, rainy movie-watching weather anymore, but nevertheless, we made it to the local theater to watch Dede anyway. There’s something that feels really special about watching a movie that was shot in the exact area you’re in. There must have been only 12–15 seats in the small attic room with a projector, and the woman running the operation was the director’s sister. For me, it was such a quaint, immersive experience and one of my favorite things we did in Mestia.
Mountain weather is always unpredictable, but somehow, we kept getting the weather wrong in Mestia. After our day at Koruldi Lakes, we learned our lesson (or so we thought). Our plan was to start the glacier hike later in the afternoon, after the morning rain had cleared. But the sunshine that had appeared earlier was already giving way to shadows by the time we started our hike. Still, we made the best of the rainy weather as we walked through a mossy, green forest that only grew moodier and more saturated in the gloom. It almost felt like we were on a Twilight movie set in Washington.
When we reached the hike’s viewpoint overlooking an impressive glacier, we sat on a rock and talked for a while about career and life goals. It was sweet to get to know each other better in this setting, where it felt like our minds could roam free and open like the wild mountains surrounding us.
We found a cozy wooden hut on our way out of the hike, where groups were sheltering from the rain around a fire. Jovan and Derrick once again warmed up with a beer, and we stayed a while, enjoying our newfound warmth while procrastinating the hour-and-a-half walk left in our hike. Maybe we didn’t get so lucky with the weather, but when one of the last remaining cars in the parking lot stopped to ask if we wanted a ride back, it definitely felt like a stroke of luck. We were all relieved, and especially happy that they could drop us off directly at our chosen restaurant.
It was time for us to wave goodbye to Nanu and Tamaz, who after only three days had given us so much to smile about. We were heading to a new accommodation called Becho House, in a different area of Svaneti only forty minutes away. After meeting the hospitable family at Becho, our legs apparently weren’t tired yet, and we were back in the car on our way to start another hike. This one was one of my favorites yet. It seemed to have a little bit of everything: enchanting pine forests, wildflowers, a waterfall, and a view of famous Mount Ushba on the Russian border. We lucked out this time with blue skies, sunshine, and a pink sunset in our rearview mirror on the drive home.
Roadside stands selling shoti bread often pulled us in with the temptation of warm, yeasty Georgian bread. We stopped so often that there was usually some leftover bread in the car. With a perfect hike complete for the day and Mount Ushba behind us, it was time to head back to Becho for dinner. Only, it was also dinner time for the dogs of Georgia, and one stop to feed our leftover bread to a lucky dog resulted in the whole neighborhood coming outside. Suddenly, Jovan, loaf of bread in hand, was surrounded by not just one dog but maybe ten. The dogs of Georgia are lucky that they’re the cutest and sweetest of any country I’ve been to, and also lucky that we enjoy Georgian bread so much.
The dogs were not the only ones with a lucky dinner surprise. When we arrived at Becho House, our host smiled with a cold beer in hand and told us it was his gift to us after a day of hiking. It’s simple, thoughtful gestures like these that make the people of Georgia so hospitable. Our dinner could not have been better, with the host’s mom preparing us warm lentil soup, cheese, tomatoes, cucumber, khachapuri, and corn salad. We all rested easy after a simply beautiful day of life: good hiking, good food, and good company.
We walked down the stairs at Becho House to find the dining area quieted by the soft morning light. We were prepared to start a long day of hiking to Adishi village along the famous Mestia -> Ushguli trail. But first, a breakfast table was filled for us. The table was piled with omelette, meat, cheese, bread, pastries, ripe cantaloupe, peaches, and cornbread (Chvishtari). We were spoiled. How cool is it to get the opportunity to eat meals cooked by so many different grandmas?! Especially across multiple countries! The grandma at Becho house was especially talented.
Full and ready to hike, we hopped in the car and rolled the windows down. Mountain valleys and winding roads were accompanied by the music of Cat Stevens, The Band, and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.
By this point, no morning could start without coffee. We made our routine coffee stop, resembling addicts at this point, unwilling to begin our hike without it.
The hike started off unforgiving, with a steep climb for the first 2.5 miles, partly along a rocky stream. I panted, lagging behind Derrick and Jovan at times. But I knew the views would be worth it once we got through the tree line.
As we came through the trees, I noticed some people gathered off to the right of the path. They were sitting at tables in front of a small hotel/cafe with drinks in hand. A welcome break for me, and an even more welcome opportunity for Jovan and Derrick to grab a cold beer.
Past the cafe, the sky grew more gloomy over the trail. What were once views of mountains became coated in grey. We were in the middle of the trail, still two hours away from Adishi with nowhere to stop for shelter.
Thunder roared in the distance, loud enough that I convinced myself it was close by. Rain pelted down as we picked up our pace. Thankfully, just as quickly as it arrived, it disappeared, leaving behind some wet mist and soggy feet.
It took us four hours to reach the teeny-tiny (16 inhabitants) historic village of Adishi. A church, school, homes, and a couple of guesthouses and cafes lined the dirt-and-rock pathway nestled between the mountains. Young kids riding their horses around the village helped give us directions to a cafe, surprising us with their good English skills.
We took a cozy rest in the treehouse of a small cafe and were grateful for some soup and beer to warm us up. We had another four hours ahead of us, and we knew it’d be a race against sunset. To pass the time on the way back, we practiced our German with Derrick, much to his bewilderment at our bad pronunciation. We mused about Derrick’s desire to one day do a multi-day thru-hike carrying his own gear.
Though we distracted ourselves with conversation, none of us could avoid the stiffness in our knees after stumbling down the same steep, rocky stream we had climbed earlier. The last hour felt like a race to be done with walking. We could all feel it: exhausted legs, sore knees, and increasingly empty stomachs. I kept myself distracted with thoughts of eating warm, comforting khinkali for dinner. Food is always one of my favorite things to think about, no matter the occasion.
Some of my most cherished moments from these three weeks lie in the routine we settled into around mealtimes. Our eyes would dance around the menu, finding familiar staples each time: khinkali, khachapuri, lobiani, ketsi mushrooms. The distinctiveness of Georgian cuisine made us feel connected to the generations of Georgians who had passed these dishes down. We never tired of it, and we’d always want more than our stomachs had room for.
With my phone in hand and the Notes app pulled up, we’d huddle around our menus and brainstorm the dishes we most wanted. Sharing everything meant we all needed to agree on every dish. It’s an effortless task when you know every option on the menu will be handmade with care and quality. Simply, nothing ever sounded bad. We’d excitedly create our own menu on my Notes app and repeat everything back to the server. We passed plates around the table, making sure everyone had a little of everything until each plate looked like its own little spread of Georgian cuisine. Each meal seemed to end with the belief that we had made the perfect choices. Okay, maybe sometimes we ordered a little too much, but nearly perfect.
I stepped out of the car towards Khinkali House, my wet shoes and socks squishing on the pavement as a cool nighttime wind hit my face. I hurried towards the front door and was met by a smiling server welcoming us in. But I found myself unable to match his smile when I heard the words, “No more khinkali tonight.” In our hunger-induced desperation, we dramatically considered going to a different restaurant for a few seconds.
Coming back to reality, we remembered that all Georgian food is good, and in that moment, almost anything would taste good. We slid into a table by the front door and began our typical Notes app planning. Before we could recite our order back to the server, he started giving us suggestions.
This man needs to go into a sales career ASAP.
The sheer amount of enthusiasm and vivid detail in his descriptions of every dish made my own imagination run wild. His suggestions were more like stories. He gave us images of the preparation, the ingredients, and the regional specialties, and we could hear the pride in the way he described them. So, our plan completely changed, and we ended up having one of the best, most memorable dinners in Georgia.
Our final day in the Svaneti mountains was upon us as we left Becho House and made the drive to Ushguli, where we’d spend our final night. Approaching the medieval villages of Ushguli was an unreal sight. The already tiny old stone settlements looked even smaller, framed by the huge, snowy white mountains surrounding them.
Being old medieval villages, roads were not so much a thing, and Jovan was an absolute champ maneuvering through passages that left us barely two inches on each side of the car as we tried to reach our guesthouse. Our car was constantly beeping alarms at us, and it quickly became clear that we shouldn’t be driving here. With some expert reversing skills, we finally maneuvered out of the narrow village roads and began our day wandering around Ushguli.
We were a little lazy in Ushguli, and that was okay with us after several days of hiking. We knew that if we sat down for a long lunch, we probably wouldn’t have enough time to fit in a glacier hike afterward. But instead of rushing to squeeze everything into our final day, we decided to enjoy the village at a slower pace. We sat outside in the sun for lunch, letting a couple of hours pass as the locals prepared us a fresh, organic meal.
Afterward, we wandered around the old settlements, taking in the scenery and enjoying our last few hours in the mountains. We finished the evening eating dinner at our guesthouse, sharing the meal with the two other guests there. By the end of the day, it felt like we’d spent just the right amount of time there.
The mountains grew smaller in our rearview mirror as we waved goodbye and looked forward to a few relaxing days in wine country. Well, technically, the whole country of Georgia, being a pioneer of wine, could be considered wine country. But we were headed east towards the juiciest grapes in Georgia: the Kakheti region.
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