Georgia: Drinking with Ghosts in the Caucasus
Author: Elena Vasquez
Published: 2026-03-14
Category: Culture & Food
Country: Georgia
Word Count: 1,445
Slug: georgia-caucasus-cultural-guide
The first time someone invited me to a supra in Tbilisi, I didn't understand what I was agreeing to. Three hours later, I was seated at a table groaning under the weight of forty dishes, listening to a man in his sixties deliver a ten-minute toast about the nature of friendship while holding a glass of wine made from grapes grown eight thousand years ago. Nobody had checked a phone. Nobody was discussing work. The toastmaster—tamada—spoke, we listened, we drank. Repeat. For seven hours.
Georgia does this to you. The country sits at the intersection of Europe and Asia, wedged between Russia to the north and Turkey, Armenia, and Azerbaijan to the south. It's been invaded twenty-six times in recorded history, survived seventy years of Soviet rule, and emerged with its language, its Orthodox faith, and its wine culture intact. That survival wasn't accidental—it was cultural armoring, and you see it everywhere.
Tbilisi: Layered History in a River Gorge
The capital sprawls across a valley where the Mtkvari River cuts through limestone cliffs. This geography dictated the city's development—Tbilisi literally means "warm place" for the sulfur springs that bubble up through the rock. But the real heat is in the architecture.
Start in Sololaki, the old neighborhood climbing the hill west of Rustaveli Avenue. The houses here are wooden balconies cantilevered over narrow streets, carved with motifs that blend Persian, Russian, and Georgian elements. Many are crumbling. Some are being renovated into boutique hotels. The tension between preservation and decay defines Tbilisi right now—it's in the awkward adolescence of post-Soviet reinvention.
Fabrika on Egnate Ninoshvili Street encapsulates this moment. A Soviet-era sewing factory converted into a hostel, co-working space, and cultural venue, it's where young Georgians gather for craft beer and electronic music. But go two streets over and you'll find grandmothers selling churchkhela—walnuts suspended on strings of thickened grape must—just as they have for centuries. The neighborhood functions as a time machine if you walk slowly enough.
The sulfur baths in Abanotubani are essential. The brick-domed structures date to the 17th century, though the tradition is older. Gulo's Thermal Spa on Abano Street offers private rooms with sulfur pools for 70 GEL ($25) per hour. The water smells of rotten eggs but feels like silk. The experience is unisex during the day, segregated in the evening, and entirely naked—no swimsuits allowed. Bring your own towel and flip-flops; theirs are worn thin.
Narikala Fortress overlooks the city from a hilltop east of the river. The walls are Persian foundations with Georgian and Russian additions. Take the cable car from Rike Park (2.5 GEL/$0.90) up at sunset. The view encompasses the entire architectural timeline: medieval churches, 19th-century tsarist facades, Soviet concrete blocks, and the glass-and-steel Peace Bridge built in 2010. Georgia's entire history is visible from one vantage point.
The Supra: Understanding Georgia's Ritual Feasts
You cannot understand Georgia without experiencing a supra. The word means "tablecloth," but refers to the entire ritual of feasting that structures Georgian social life. Birthdays, weddings, funerals, departures, arrivals—any significant life event warrants a supra.
The structure is rigid. The tamada proposes toasts in a specific sequence: to peace, to the dead, to children, to friendship, to the motherland, to specific individuals present. Each toast requires a full glass of wine. Refusing is possible but requires explanation. The tamada controls the pace, ensuring nobody drinks alone and the emotional register deepens as the night progresses.
As an outsider, you'll likely be invited to supras if you stay with families or join cooking classes. Taste Georgia on Leselidze Street runs market tours followed by home cooking experiences with local families. The cost is 150 GEL ($54) per person, which includes enough food for two days and serious wine consumption. The women who teach these classes are usually Soviet-educated professionals—doctors, engineers, teachers—who saw their salaries collapse in the 1990s and reinvented themselves as cultural ambassadors. They're sharp observers of Georgia's transformation.
Kakheti: Where Wine Was Invented
East of Tbilisi lies Kakheti, the wine region where qvevri winemaking originated eight millennia ago. The method is UNESCO-recognized: grapes are crushed and placed in clay vessels buried underground, where fermentation occurs with the skins, stems, and seeds. The resulting wine is amber-colored, tannic, and utterly distinct from European styles.
Sighnaghi is the regional hub, a walled town perched above the Alazani Valley. The views are genuinely spectacular—vineyards, mountains, and the distant snow-capped Caucasus. It's also becoming touristy. The restaurants on the main square serve decent food at inflated prices. For the real experience, rent a car or hire a driver (150-200 GEL/$54-72 for the day) and visit smaller villages.
Pheasant's Tears in Sighnaghi was founded by an American expat but works closely with local growers. Their tasting room offers five wines for 40 GEL ($14), served with bread and cheese. The wines are natural—unfiltered, sometimes funky, alive. The saperavi (red) and rkatsiteli (amber) are the varieties to know. Saperavi is dark, inky, capable of aging decades. Rkatsiteli transformed through qvevri becomes something closer to oxidized sherry than white wine.
For deeper immersion, Lagvinari in the village of Tibaani offers winery tours that include qvevri-making demonstrations. The clay vessels are still hand-built by families who've passed the skill through generations. A full tour with lunch costs 120 GEL ($43). Winemaker Giorgi Solomnishvili speaks English and explains the chemistry without romanticizing tradition for tourists.
The Mountains: Kazbegi and the Military Highway
North of Tbilisi, the Georgian Military Highway climbs into the Caucasus Mountains, following the route Russian troops used during the 19th-century conquest of the region. It's still the only road connecting Georgia to Russia, and it passes through some of the most dramatic alpine scenery in the former Soviet Union.
Stepantsminda (formerly Kazbegi) sits at 1,750 meters beneath Mount Kazbek, a 5,033-meter dormant volcano. The town exists for two reasons: the military highway and the Gergeti Trinity Church, a 14th-century stone structure perched at 2,170 meters with Kazbek looming behind it. The juxtaposition of human architecture against that scale of mountain produces something approaching the sublime.
Hiking to Gergeti takes 90 minutes from Stepantsminda on a steep trail. Taxis wait in the village square offering rides up for 50 GEL ($18). The hike is worth it—the views open progressively, and you'll avoid the tour bus crowds that arrive at 11 AM. Sunrise from the church, if you're willing to stay overnight in Stepantsminda, is quiet and cold and extraordinary.
Accommodation in Stepantsminda ranges from Soviet-era hotels to family guesthouses. Kazbegi Cabins offers simple but comfortable rooms for 80 GEL ($29) with breakfast and mountain views. The family speaks limited English but communicates effectively through Google Translate and hospitality. Dinner—khinkali dumplings, khachapuri cheese bread, trout from mountain streams—is additional and excellent.
Juta Valley, 20 kilometers east of Stepantsminda, offers more remote trekking. The trail leads to the Chaukhi Massif, a series of jagged peaks that draw climbers from across Europe. Day hikes are manageable without guides; multi-day routes into the range require local knowledge and potentially border permits, since the Russian frontier is close.
What to Eat (Beyond the Obvious)
Khachapuri is the cheese bread that has become Georgia's culinary ambassador. The adjaruli version—shaped like a boat with an egg yolk and butter in the center—appears on every tourist menu. It's good, but it's not the whole story. Try imeruli khachapuri, the round version from Imereti region, which is simpler and more focused on the cheese. Ghvineria on Iashvili Street makes excellent versions of both.
Khinkali are soup dumplings, larger than Chinese xiaolongbao, filled with meat and spicy broth. The technique is specific: you hold them by the dough knot on top, bite a small hole, drink the broth, then eat the filling. The dough knot is traditionally discarded. Zakhar Zakharich on Ingorokva Street serves khinkali that would impress in Shanghai.
Pkhali are vegetable pâtés—spinach, beetroot, beans—bound with walnuts and spices. They're served cold, often on the same plate with multiple varieties. Every supra includes several. The walnut is the constant; the vegetable provides variation.
Churchkhela, the "Georgian Snickers," is grape must thickened with flour and poured over strings of walnuts. It dries into a leathery sweet that hikers carry into the mountains. Buy it from grandmothers at Dezerter Bazaar rather than souvenir shops—the quality varies dramatically, and the market vendors let you taste before purchasing.
Practical Logistics
Getting There: Direct flights from major European cities to Tbilisi. Wizz Air offers budget connections from London, Berlin, and Milan. Turkish Airlines routes through Istanbul for most North American travelers.
Visas: Citizens of EU, US, UK, Canada, Australia, and many others receive 365-day visa-free entry. This policy, implemented in 2017, transformed Georgia's tourism economy.
Transportation: Tbilisi's metro costs 1 GEL ($0.35) per ride and connects the airport to the city center via the 37 bus (also 1 GEL). Marshrutka minibuses handle intercity routes—they depart when full, cost 10-25 GEL ($3.50-$9) depending on distance, and are chaotic but functional. Rental cars run 70-100 GEL ($25-$36) per day; driving standards are adventurous but manageable.
Money: Georgia uses the lari (GEL). Credit cards are accepted in Tbilisi but cash dominates in rural areas. ATMs are widespread. Tipping is not customary but appreciated—round up or add 10% for excellent service.
Language: Georgian is unrelated to any major language family, uses its own alphabet, and sounds like nothing else. English is increasingly spoken by younger generations in Tbilisi; Russian remains the second language for older Georgians. Learning "madloba" (thank you) and "gaumarjos" (cheers) earns goodwill.
Safety: Georgia is statistically safer than most European countries for tourists. The exceptions are the breakaway regions of South Ossetia and Abkhazia—do not attempt to visit independently. The border areas with Russia proper are also sensitive; stick to marked trails in Kazbegi.
Final Thought
Georgia is not an easy country. The wine will give you headaches, the toasts will test your stamina, and the driving will terrify you. But it's honest in a way that sanitized tourist destinations aren't. The poverty is visible, the Soviet damage is still being repaired, and the geopolitical situation—Russian occupation of 20% of the country—creates real tension.
What Georgia offers instead is intensity. The hospitality isn't performative; it's a survival mechanism from a culture that faced extinction multiple times. When a Georgian invites you to their table, they're engaging in something ancient and serious. The wine is older than European civilization. The mountains were here before human memory. And somehow, improbably, so were these people, speaking this language, toasting their ancestors in the same way, refusing to disappear.
That resilience is worth crossing the world to witness.
Elena Vasquez is a cultural anthropologist and food writer based in Mexico City. She has conducted fieldwork in the Caucasus, Balkans, and Andean regions, focusing on ritual foodways and post-Soviet cultural preservation.