Tbilisi is a city of layers. Established in the fifth century, its buildings wear their
history like patchwork coats—crumbling facades held together by timber
supports and memory. The cobbled streets twisted and turned, revealing
sagging clotheslines and faded balconies. I wandered through the old town,
chasing echoes of my younger self, seventeen years removed. The city had
changed, but its soul remained intact.
Modernity pulses through Tbilisi now. Renovation projects hum along,
scaffolding clings to buildings like exoskeletons, and yet, the old rhythms
persist. Elderly women in black shuffle to markets, exchanging quiet words with
neighbours. Their presence is a gentle reminder that life here moves at its own
pace—unhurried, deliberate, dignified.
One of the first cultural nuances I encountered was the Georgian demeanour.
Aloofness, at first glance. Serious expressions. Smiles reserved for familiarity.
It’s not coldness—it’s custom. In Georgia, casual banter with strangers can feel
insincere, a relic of Soviet restraint. Public cheerfulness was once discouraged,
and the echoes of that era still shape social norms. I found it fascinating, even
comforting in its honesty. It fascinated me as it reminded me that travel isn’t just
about seeing new places—it’s about learning new ways of being.