Tbilisi, Georgia: How Quickly We Fall In Love!

I had dreams about Tbilisi long before I ever went there. The mysterious Georgian capital intrigued me for years, and everything I read about it just made my heart ache to explore it even more. The food! The art! The cafes! I craved it, all of it.

But upon arriving in the splendid city, I struggled to connect with Tbilisi.

That struggle infuriated me. I couldn’t figure out what the problem was. The look and feel of the place hit my sweet spot: the crumbling facades, the shady parks, the curlicue balconies, that hint of Soviet nostalgia… my heart beats harder for all of these things. I even befriended a film-shooting Georgian girl from my hostel on the first day. Yet I struggled.

Maybe it was because my expectations were too high and too specific. I was ready to be knocked over by the artsy, funky energy of the city that I’d heard so much about. I wanted to be WOWED. Instead, Tbilisi by day felt strangely under-populated. At night, I couldn’t figure out where the scene was, where people went out.

How things change.

After a day or two of frustration, I let go of all my preconceived notions and did what I should have done from the start—I decided to just go with the flow. Immediately, the city began to bloom for me.

Because, you see, Tbilisi doesn’t yield its secrets easily. Tbilisi is perplexing, delightful, and mysterious. Fabulous cafes hide behind nondescript corners. Vine-draped courtyards contain quiet bookstores, or kids frolicking, or sometimes just abstract rubble. Ornate buildings lie deserted, pregnant with possibilities. Tiny alleys contain even smaller bakeries. Dim staircases lead to rooms covered in stained glass.

Oh, how things change. Oh, how quickly we can fall in love.

I began noticing more things. I walked side streets and explored abandoned gardens and drank free homemade wine in the back alleys of street markets and it just seemed to add more layers to unravel. I found myself just enraptured by script; the way the Georgian letters and the Cyrillic and the Latin alphabets just crash straight into each other kept my eyes delighted.  I saw stacks of Georgian novels overflowing on sidewalks. I dodged old Soviet cars whizzing past on the streets. I climbed curvy hills that led to glorious cathedrals.

I haunted the Book Corner Café, a suggestion from Naomi that quickly became my main jam in Tbilisi—from the lovely waiter I befriended to the honey cake that tasted like my favorite Prague medovnik to the colorful umbrella canopy on the ceiling, it was swoonworthy in every way.

Every day, every moment, became a pleasure.

A connection with a friend from my high school led to long nights out with (seemingly) half of Tbilisi’s expat population—epic feasts at hidden restaurants, TEDtalk parties in airy apartments, crazy carefree celebrations at a little place called Dive Bar. The scene was raucous, exuberant, and welcoming. People live in this wild city, and they live in it fully.

Oh my, how things change!

That inability to connect in the beginning melted away and left something close to obsession. I am still dreaming about Tbilisi, about that former crumbly glory, about the fresh food, the lively markets, the late-night laughter, the little mysteries that I never quite discovered. I stayed in Tbilisi for nearly two weeks… it was not long enough.

I guess I’ll have to come back.