Tbilisi’s Grungy Vibes Will Charm the Hell Out of You

The Gabriadze Clock Tower and Theatre in Old Town Tbilisi, Georgia

If all your travels feel like a visit to Disney World, you’re doing it wrong.

If I haven’t yet made it abundantly clear, I’m effectively allergic to experiences that glisten with that over-polished sheen of contrivance. Organised trips, cruises, theme parks, forced attempts at culture and authenticity: I hate feeling like the world is bending to fulfil some cartoonish expectations of what a place should look, feel, and taste like.

The world is not Epcot; it’s messy. It’s rough around the edges. There are hiccups and delays and there is boredom and trash on sidewalks and traffic and busted ATMs and flat tires and bar fights and roadwork and rainy days and any number of visceral reminders that not everything exists solely for your entertainment.

This is important: I see lots of allegedly well-travelled people who still seem to operate under the impression that the world exists for their consumption. When you navigate the world in this way, everything starts to feel like a personal affront. The crowded subway, the overbooked hotel, the opportunistic pickpocket, the delayed flight: it all becomes so pointed and intentional.

The alternative to this very frustrating (and deeply self-centred) perspective is to navigate the world with a sense of understanding, adaptability, and compassion. To remember your own insignificance; to manage your own inflated expectations; to remind yourself that the internal lives of other people are just as complex as yours. Probably more.

If I sound like I’m paraphrasing David Foster Wallace’s This is Water speech, well, I probably am to an extent.

But I promise you, it makes the ups and downs of life (and travel) infinitely more tolerable.

This is what I was thinking about last summer as I stood in line at the Istanbul Airport, waiting to rebook myself on another flight to Tbilisi, Georgia. My flight from Amman to Turkey had been delayed, resulting in a missed connection (and extended layover) at my least-favourite airport of all time.

The woman at the counter next to me was hysterical. I just kept thinking, ‘Why would you let a little hiccup like this ruin your mood? Why would you choose anger, frustration, and sadness over understanding, patience, and flexibility?’

I was rebooked on a later flight without a fuss. After grabbing my new ticket, I headed to a café for a 7AM mimosa (airport rules: there are no rules), and then made my way to the airport spa for a massage. The spa also had showers, which means I was able to relax and freshen up AND get a full body massage for less money that it would cost to pay for basic-ass lounge access.

Don’t just roll with the punches: turn them into opportunities.

I did, of course, make it to Tbilisi eventually, arriving later that afternoon, just in time to check in to my hotel and head out for a delicious dinner at Sofia Melnikova’s Fantastic Douqan. Located down an unremarkable alleyway, inside an unmarked courtyard, this gem of a restaurant serves up all the classic Georgian dishes. It was a wonderful introduction to Georgian cuisine (a topic I’ll be expanding upon in another one of my upcoming posts, which is why I’ve tried to gloss over it a bit here—no easy task!) and a great way to welcome myself to the country’s capital.

Sofia Melnikova’s Fantastic Douqan might look a little rustic and rough around the edges, but the food is absolute perfection

I fell in love with Tbilisi pretty quickly, although I will admit that the city and I weren’t always perfectly in sync: I’m a beer and cocktail drinker, while Georgians adore their wine (and rightly so: the country has some of the best wines I’ve ever tasted). I love a good breakfast, but in Tbilisi, nothing opens before 10AM. Georgians are late to bed and late to rise, and I’m quite the opposite.

The next morning, I was up with the sun, and when I left my hotel for an early stroll, many residents were just heading home after their night out. There were groups of young club kids lingering outside of bars and nightclubs. There was a drunk taxi driver singing opera to a raucous audience of equally inebriated onlookers.

But being out of sync with the city was somehow perfect for me: as the late-night drinkers finally retired, the streets emptied out. The walk up to Narikala Fortress and the Mother of Georgia Statue was quiet and peaceful. The area around my hotel (The House Hotel in Old Town Tbilisi—an absolute gem of a place), normally bustling with visitors, felt like some ethereal, whimsical, slightly grungy fever dream. I was out of sync, sure, but I was in heaven.

The Mother of Georgia statue (Kartlis Deda) stands high above Tbilisi: she holds a bowl of wine in one hand, for those who come as friends, and a sword in the other, for those who come as enemies

You see, Tbilisi has this grungy kind of old-world charm: remnants of its multifaceted past are everywhere, layered atop one another, crowded and eclectically appointed and delightfully chaotic. There’s this otherworldly mix of ancient grandeur (with churches and fortresses dating back almost 2,000 years), brutalist architecture (from the country’s Soviet era), contemporary eccentricity (as seen at landmarks like Gabriadze), and sleek modernism (take, for example, the city’s Bridge of Peace).

In Tbilisi, there are gangs of stray cats and ubiquitous graffiti (especially of the anti-Russian flavour) and sketchy pedestrian underpasses and dimly lit underground wine bars and men passed out drunk on market steps at 10AM. There are, of course, also chic courtyard cafes and trendy modern food courts and any number of well-heeled destinations, but it’s all of the former that give Tbilisi its indefatigable charm.

A gang of street cats guard their turf

That first morning, after my early AM trek around the Old Town, I met up with Paul Rimple, an American who’s been living in Tbilisi for more than 20 years. (If you’re a die-hard Anthony Bourdain fan, you’d probably recognise him from the Georgia episode of Parts Unknown.) In addition to working as a writer and journalist, Rimple runs Meet Me Here Tbilisi, offering guided tours of the city’s famous Dezerter Bazaar, as well as introductions to Georgia’s incredible culinary scene. After meeting up near my hotel, we headed straight to the bazaar, where I soon found myself taking numerous shots of chacha (a viciously strong Georgian brandy made from grape pomace) well before noon. We sampled a wide array of yoghurts and cheeses and meats and spices and sauces and imbibes, and visited the market’s last remaining traditional wine bar before heading to lunch, where the menu indulged in more contemporary takes on classic Georgian fare.

Tbilisi’s Dezerter Bazaar is the perfect place to get a taste of Georgia’s rich, eclectic culinary tapestry

Post-lunch, we took a long stroll across town to a more modern local wine bar, where I received an introduction to Georgia’s incredible wine scene. Remember when I said I’m not much of a wine drinker? It turns out that I just hadn’t discovered Georgian wines yet. As one of the oldest wine-producing countries on Earth, Georgians have been making wine for at least the past 8,000 years. Kvevri wine, in particular, is a delight: using white grapes and leaving the skin on, the wine is made and stored in large terracotta jars, resulting in an amber-hued beverage that is closer to what the world’s earliest wine drinkers consumed—and a far cry from what you’ll find in modern-day France, Italy, or California (with the exception of a few vineyards that have started to repopularise the practice worldwide). It’s fantastic.

Of all the fabulous wines I sampled in Tbilisi, this one was a stand-out favourite

After wine tasting, I (rather hazily) made my way back to my hotel for a nap (to sleep off all the booze). That night, I quelled my hangover with a hearty dinner at Keto & Kote.

The next morning, before heading off on my road trip to Kazbegi (where I spent several days hiking in Georgia’s breathtaking Caucasus Mountains), I paid a visit to the Holy Trinity Cathedral, where the haunting church hymns moved me nearly to tears. I am not the least bit religious, but I am capable of recognising beauty in all its forms—and I lingered for as long as my schedule would allow, soaking up the atmosphere. Beauty is my personal form of spirituality: it’s why I love great music, great art, great architecture, great natural wonders. It is everywhere, and it is worth all the reverence we can muster.

The city’s Holy Trinity Cathedral is absolutely majestic

I returned to Tbilisi a few days later, feet blistered, head buzzing from the mountain air, and heart full, and spent the last couple days of my trip once again poring over Georgia’s delightful capital city. That first evening back, I paid a visit to Mtatsminda Park, a Soviet-era amusement park that opened in the 1930s. Accessible via an old-school funicular, the park sits high atop the city, and is precisely the kind of quirky, grungy, steampunk-style oddity that makes Tbilisi such a distinctively charming place.

Instead of taking the funicular back down, I chose to traverse a winding walkway through the forested hillside, before making my way to Tamtaki for a dinner that seemed to toe the same lines that weave through the rest of Tbilisi: traditional and modern, laidback and elevated, street food and refined dining, all rolled into one mesmerising flatbread meal.

Mtatsminda Park is a bizarre oddity of a place that you absolutely can’t miss when you’re in Tbilisi

The next day, I was up early for an appointment at Gulo’s Thermal Spa—and an experience I won’t soon forget. Reservations are done by room, on an hourly basis. I booked an hour in one of the larger baths: each space includes a hot, sulfur-rich thermal bath and a cold plunge pool, and the idea is to alternate between the two. I also booked a full scrub-down during my hour, which was where the adventure truly began. After about 15 minutes in the baths, a large, imposing, big-breasted Georgian woman entered the room, removed her top (to keep it dry, presumably), and instructed me to lie face-down on a slab of cold marble.

Straight away, she gives me a hard, startling smack on the back. She then proceeds to scrub and wash me down from head to toe, using the thermal bath water to rinse off the soap. This lasts for a while—me, turning and moving as she instructs—until she has me sit up so that she can wash my hair and face. My eyes are closed tightly as she rinses off the soap—and then, without warning, I get a bucket full of ice-cold water right in the face.

Tbilisi’s thermal sulfur baths provided one of my most memorable experiences in Georgia’s capital

I immediately gasped—and then broke into laughter. As many times as I’ve visited Turkish and Moroccan hammams, nothing compares to the experience of visiting Tbilisi’s thermal baths.

I left feeling absolutely revitalised, and immediately headed across the river and up to Lagidze Water. Lagidze water is a popular Georgian beverage invented in 1887: soda water is combined with natural syrups to create a bubbly, flavourful beverage that harkens back to the soda fountains that were popular in the US during the 1950s. I ordered a tarragon-flavoured Lagidze water with a khachapuri adjaruli (the instantly recognisable boat-style khachapuri, filled with cheese and topped with an egg): both were beyond exceptional.

Khachapuri adjaruli and a tarragon-flavoured Lagidze water

After this late breakfast/early lunch, I strolled over to the Dry Bridge Market. I love flea markets in Eastern Europe: you’re always guaranteed to find lots of wonderful gems. I bought several pieces of old Soviet and Czech porcelain, a book of stamps, and a few other little knick-knacks, and then went to a nearby cat café to escape the humidity.

I spent much of that afternoon perusing the National Gallery, and then lazily wandering around town. Toward the evening, the weather began to change: dark clouds rolled in overhead, the winds picked up speed and intensity, and a coolness settled in across the city. I made it to Ezo for an early dinner just as the rain began to pour down. I lingered at my table long after dinner, ordering cocktails and dessert and waiting for the deluge to subside.

The next morning, I was off to the airport, my week in Georgia reluctantly coming to an end.

For me, Tbilisi is one of those cities that’s just effortlessly cool: the entire place has this devil-may-care sort of vibe. It’s rough around the edges in the best possible way. Tbilisi is not going to bend to your will, dear travellers, but it’s all the better because of it. It will give you a hard smack on the back, a bucket of ice-cold water in the face, and you’ll leave wanting to do it all over again.

(Editor’s note: Yes, I realise that I’ve suddenly switched from writing in American English to writing in British English. I’ve just been doing a lot of work in British English lately, and it’s become my default setting. And I’m too lazy to edit back into American English. Deal with it.)