Tag: georgia

I had been driving on Georgia’s far-from-perfect roads for quite some time, leaving behind me the last villages and the last soviet remains, being fully aware that the real challenge was about to begin—a grueling 130-kilometer stretch through the highest mountains in Europe to reach Mestia, the heart of Svaneti. I was in a bit of a hurry, knowing the road would be tough, daylight was short, and driving at night was absolutely out of the question.

Still, my stomach had its own plans. I needed a break—some rest, a quick bite—so I stopped at what the map claimed was the last roadside stop (and indeed, it was the last one). A tiny wooden hut, standing precariously on the edge of a curve, nestled deep in the mountains. There, they sold Georgia’s legendary khachapuri, a pastry overflowing with rich, local cheese—the kind that melts your worries away.

Behind the counter stood a young woman, probably in her early twenties, dressed simply but with an expression that quickly shifted from neutral to deeply confused as she realized I spoke neither Svan nor Georgian. For a brief moment, we just stared at each other—me, hungry; her, puzzled. Then, like a lightbulb flickering on, she figured it out: if I had stopped there, of course, I wanted exactly what everyone else did—a hot drink and a warm, cheesy pie. With the help of some dramatic hand gestures and an intense game of charades, I finally got my hands on the much-desired khachapuri. And it was divine.

As I sat inside the tiny cabin, savoring every bite, something outside caught my eye—something equal parts hilarious and mildly alarming. A group of men, clearly locals, were gathered right in the middle of the icy road, playing with a shotgun. Their flushed faces and swaying movements gave away their intoxication, but what truly sealed the deal was their choice of entertainment: making snowballs, tossing them into the air, and trying to shoot them mid-flight. There they were—wobbling, tipsy, waving around a loaded shotgun—on a frozen mountain road, right in a curve. What could possibly go wrong?

From my experience, people engage in dangerous activities for one of two reasons:

1. They are completely unaware of the risk (which seemed unlikely, as no one from the roadside stop was running out to stop them).
   
2. They live with constant danger, to the point where things that seem insane to the rest of us feel perfectly normal to them.
   

That last thought sat uneasily with me as I got back in my car, ready to continue my journey.

I knew driving through the highest mountains in Europe in January would be tough—but I hadn’t expected it to turn into an extreme driving experience.

But what made the drive truly unsettling was the mountain itself, which—with infuriating consistency—sent down hundreds, sometimes thousands, of small rocks tumbling onto the road. Sometimes they were harmless little pebbles, but other times, they grew into ominously large stones, dropping just 5–10 meters in front of me, forcing me to exhale in relief every single time they didn’t land on my car.

Every now and then, the road would tease me with a stretch of “good asphalt” (a term that, after this journey, had become extremely relative). Just as I’d allow myself to speed up a little, I’d be slammed back into reality—forced to brake hard as yet another crater field appeared, as if the aftermath of a meteor shower had just materialized in front of me.

And then, the real surprise. On one of these rare “clean” sections, I pressed the gas a bit more confidently. Coming out of a curve, I suddenly discovered my lane was gone. No signs, no warnings—just a void where the road should have been. A massive chunk had simply collapsed into nothingness, forcing me to yank the steering wheel hard to the left. Luck was on my side—no one was coming from the opposite direction.

This delightful near-death experience happened just past the halfway point. And weirdly enough, it was exactly the adrenaline injection I needed to power through the rest of the journey.

Then, suddenly, it felt like I had emerged from an endless tunnel of cliffs, abyss, and despair into a world that finally opened up. A small clearing appeared, and with it—the first house I had seen in what felt like an eternity. The first sign of human life after 100 kilometers of untamed wilderness.

And then, as if on cue, the snow began to fall. Not a blizzard, not a violent storm—just a soft, gentle snowfall. Large, lazy flakes drifted down, almost like a holy water blessing, washing away my tension, my stress, my anxiety. It felt like a divine sign whispering, You made it. You’re safe now. At that moment, in the distance, I saw them—dozens of ancient stone towers rising against the snowy landscape, announcing my arrival in Mestia Georgia. The majestic Svan Towers.

That moment—the peaceful snowfall wrapping around the legendary Svan towers—is forever burned into my memory. I felt as light as the falling snowflakes, as happy as a child on Christmas Eve, and as proud as a mountaineer reaching the summit. I had conquered this monstrous road. I had passed through a twisted, merciless portal of stress, chaos, and anxiety. I had suffered enough, and in return, I had been transported into a breathtaking winter painting, straight out of Monet’s imagination.

I had endured. And now, I could finally enjoy my reward. Or at least, that’s what I thought…

They say heaven hides in the skies,
But it’s more hidden where our feet lie.
One heaven shines in joy and grace,
Another’s cloaked in dark disgrace.
One heaven lives within me, too,
And another’s found in the heart of you.

Yet from one heaven to another, a tunnel we must tread,
A tunnel through the moon, the sun, and Saturn’s thread.
A tunnel built from Mars to skies so vast,
A purifying road to cleanse the past.

Wherever, whenever, heaven may be,
It greets you at the door, and sets you free.
It washes your feet, your hands, your mind,
Your thoughts, your dreams, leaving none behind.

Arriving in Mestia during the winter felt like stepping into a dream. The snow fell gently, blanketing the town in a soft, ethereal glow, creating a landscape that seemed pulled from a fairytale.

I stayed in a cozy guesthouse run by a warm and welcoming family, and the memory of the elderly grandmother remains etched in my mind. I can still see her, with practiced hands, adding logs to the old Soviet wood stove, battling the bitter cold as the fire crackled to life. As I set out to explore the town, the atmosphere was nothing short of magical. The snow, the iconic Svan towers rising proudly against the white landscape, and the only sound breaking the stillness was the distant bells of cows echoing through the crisp air.

Talking a bit about this place, Mestia is the heart of Svaneti, a remote and ancient region nestled in the towering Caucasus Mountains, known for its rugged beauty and unique culture. The Svan people, a subgroup of Georgians, have lived here for centuries, preserving their distinct language, customs, and traditions.

The Svaneti region is also home to the Svan towers, striking defensive structures that date back to the 9th century. These towers were once used by families to protect themselves from invaders and the harsh mountain elements. Made of stone and towering above the landscape, they have stood as silent witnesses to centuries of history, from medieval wars to more recent challenges of isolation. Entering one of these ancient towers, I could feel the weight of the past in every creaking floorboard and weathered stone.

The Svan people lived in near total isolation for centuries, nestled in the remote valleys of the Caucasus Mountains. Surrounded by towering peaks, their lives remained untouched by the outside world until the last century. This natural barrier kept them safe and allowed their unique language, customs, and traditions to thrive without external interference.

However, while they may have lived in solitude, their lives weren’t exactly the peaceful, idyllic existence you might imagine. The famous Svan towers, which still stand proudly today, were not just for show—they were designed as fortifications to protect families during the numerous vendettas that often flared up between them. So, even though the Svan people lived in their own little world, it wasn’t exactly a “happy, peaceful paradise.”

Rather than sipping tea and singing around the fire, they were more likely to be defending their honor or family name, with a few heated arguments thrown in. It turns out that even when you live without outside interference, you still find ways to keep things interesting—just ask any of the Svan families with a tower!

Going forward in our current days, being a town in the highest mountains in Europe has its own perks. Mestia is highly appreciated by the locals as a prime destination for skiing, especially during the winter months. The region’s mountainous terrain offers excellent slopes, attracting both beginners and experienced skiers alike.

However, when summer arrives, the focus shifts to hiking, as the region becomes a paradise for outdoor enthusiasts. With its breathtaking views, lush greenery, and well-marked trails, Mestia is an ideal location for trekking and exploring the stunning natural beauty of the Caucasus mountains. The locals take pride in the diversity of activities their town offers throughout the year. In any case, if you are interested to read more about this place from a touristic perspective you can check this travel guide or this CNN article.

The sense of history and timelessness was overwhelming as I walked through the snow-covered streets. However, as I explored, the weather began to shift. What had started as a gentle snowfall soon escalated into a full-blown snowstorm. The wind howled, and the snow swirled around us, transforming the town into a white-out. The road to Mestia, already a challenge with its narrow and winding paths, became nearly invisible beneath the relentless storm.

Would the road even be passable when I left? The thought lingered, unanswered, as the blizzard raged on, and I realized that the mountains were not just a backdrop to this place—they were its fierce protector, and I was at their mercy.

The morning had come, and the snowstorm had been raging nonstop for over 24 hours. I drove to the city center, where I patiently waited in a parking lot for the weather to improve so I could continue my journey. I enjoyed a Georgian pie, this time filled with meat, followed by one more coffee, and then another.

I moved to a different parking spot to check the car. I had something that was supposed to act as snow chains—12 plastic beads, which, placed around each tire, were supposed to increase traction. While I was checking the car, a mysterious local approached with curiosity. A tall, skinny man with a rugged face and a missing eye tried to warn me in Russian that it wasn’t safe to travel in such weather. I knew that, of course, but I had to reach Zugdidi (a town at the foot of the highest mountains in Europe) that evening. Realizing we couldn’t communicate effectively because of the language barrier, he finally left me alone.

With my “chains” on the tires, I waited for a moment when the snowfall seemed to calm down, and off I went leaving slowly the Svan towers behind. The road—absolute horror.

The journey alternated between light snow and fierce blizzards with zero visibility. The road was completely covered in snow, and I knew that parts of it had collapsed. I drove as close as I could to the rocky cliffs, where boulders and chunks of snow and ice were falling. At first, the plastic beads gave me a bit of traction, but within 30 minutes, I had lost them all. Why? Well, the soft snow had covered all the craters in the road, making them undetectable. I hit them all, and slowly, the plastic chains broke. With the loss of the chains, I also lost traction.

The road was just as bad as on the way there, but now I was the only car on it. Visibility was almost zero, the craters were invisible, and with every turn, I was losing control of the car in a horrible drift. For over 100 kilometers, it felt like I was on a sled, barely in control, with no visibility, and rocks falling from the slopes of the highest mountains in Europe. I tried to control the skids as best as I could, but honestly, I think fate and luck were the only things keeping me going. It was terrifying. By the time I reached each curve, I was laughing neurotically. It was bad. Really bad.

Just when I thought I had made it through this nightmarish road, after 3-4 hours of torture, what I had feared from the start happened—there was a giant boulder blocking the road. In front of it, the authorities were waiting for me, probably expecting me. When I saw the boulder, I slammed my head against the wheel, thinking, “What if I have to turn back to Mestia now?” Yet, by some miracle, I squeezed past it and continued forward. After passing that obstacle, I saw the authorities had closed the road. Police crews were turning all the cars around that were heading toward Mestia.

Then, the road improved slightly, becoming a little gentler, and I could see traces of asphalt again. The extreme driving experience, in January, through the Caucasus mountains was over. All that was on my mind was the magnificent pie from the famous stop I had visited on my way there.

I have also taken some shorts videos of this road, captures that you can explore on my Instagram page.