I fell head over heels for Europe’s last hidden gem — it just got easier to explore

‘I’ve cooked for men I should have poisoned,’ reads the neon green scrawl on one of Tbilisi’s graffiti-covered buildings.

Gutsy, ambitious and colourful at every turn, my first glimpse of Georgia’s ancient capital is a sign of things to come.

Founded over 1,500 years ago, this hidden gem in the South Caucasus is the perfect antidote to Europe’s crowded cities, with world-leading wine, a spunky underground scene and a dark but fascinating history.

In a 2016 episode of Parts Unknown, the late Anthony Bourdain observed that few people can place Georgia on a map.

Almost ten years later, as I explore Tbilisi’s enchanting Old Town and the dramatic valley that cradles it, there are moments when I still get the sense of going where no tourist has gone before.

A feast for the eyes and mind

Tbilisi has never been a popular city break for UK travellers, largely because getting there was, historically, a headache — up to 10 hours of flying time and an irritating stop in Istanbul or Kyiv, before the Ukraine war.

But reaching the Georgian capital is now a breeze, after easyJet and British Airways launched direct flights earlier this year. Non-stop routes from London, which take around five hours, run Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays. In July, return fares start at £465. From Tbilisi airport, the city centre is about 20 minutes by taxi, depending on traffic.

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Leaving my digs at the Wyndham Grand near Freedom Square on the first morning of my four-day visit, it’s immediately clear that Tbilisi is many things at once.

Brownstone buildings have been allowed to dilapidate, but they are still used as everything from pharmacies to second-hand clothing boutiques.

Inside derelict warehouses with crumbling balconies are trendy restaurants and hipster wine bars. Under wide tiled domes are historic (and reputedly healing) sulfur baths. Hidden in overgrown courtyards are aesthetic cafes full of remote workers, a nod to Georgia’s rising star as a top choice for digital nomads. Lonely Planet recently ranked it 8th in the world.

It’s affordable, by Western standards, and people from over 90 countries can stay visa-free for up to a year.

The city feels both small and large; the best way to explore is on foot, weaving in and out of 10 main districts, all with distinct personalities. Like the people who come here to work remotely, I feel I could easily live here.

Lela, a local guide with BTL Travel, shows me the best Tbilisi has to offer,starting with a short hike to Narikala Fortress and the Mother of Georgia, a monument erected in 1958 that watches over the city, holding a bowl of wine for friends and a sword for her enemies.

The Georgian belief in ‘Motherland’ is strong.

We take photos in the Old Town, of the leaning clock tower and tiny puppet theatre, and rummage through antiques at the Drybridge market. We marvel at the Holy Trinity Church that towers over the city, and scrub our skin soft at the mosque-like Orbeliani Baths.

We drink amber wine at the Instagrammable Stamba Hotel and the unparalleled Dadi Wine Bar, and chat over classic Georgian favourites like khinkali (Georgia’s giant dumplings) and khachapuri (cheese-filled boats of bread) at Shavi Lomi.

English is widely spoken in hotels and restaurants, particularly in the Kala, Mtatsminda, Vera and Chughureti districts. But if you’re looking for a locals’ only haunt, head to Abastumani Street for the Dezerter Bazaar.

The market, named after the Czar’s military deserters who sold their belongings there, is a time-warp to years gone by. Raw and teeming with life, I imagine this was what Berlin was like just as the Wall came down.

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Mountains and molecules

Size-wise, Georgia is comparable to Ireland, but it is astonishingly diverse: a land of lakes, vineyards, mountains and monasteries, where you can be lounging on the tropical Black Sea shore and skiing atop snowcapped peaks in the same two hours.

Tbilisi has enough to keep you overstimulated in the best way possible for a solid three days. After that, it’s time to explore the regions around it.

Whizzing past verdant valleys and remote monasteries, we reach Mtskheta, a Silk Road outpost that was once Georgia’s holy capital.

Today, it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, with three impressive churches and riverside restaurants that serve excellent lobio (kidney bean and walnut stew).

Further along the road to Tbilisi, we branch off down a dirt road to Château Mukhrani, a vineyard and former royal estate that once hosted the Romanov family.

In the cobbled halls of the vaulted cellar, we are guided through the ancient art of Qvevri wine-making, where clay vessels of grapes are planted in the ‘belly of the earth’. This is world-first stuff — no other country can trace its wine-making history so far into the past.

I’ve never tried Georgian wine before. Why do people know so little about it? ‘We drink it all, that’s how the saying goes,’ sommelier Mariam says.

Sipping qvevri-aged red beneath the glittering chandeliers of the orangerie, it’s hard to believe such a place exists at the end of an unpaved track.

As the sun edges near golden hour, we head for the city with a detour to the Tbilisi Sea (really, a large reservoir) and the Chronicle of Georgia, a bizarre monument open 24 hours that commemorates key figures from the country’s 3,000-year history.

From its perch on a hillside overlooking Tbilisi, I see sprawling estates of Soviet apartment blocks and snowcapped peaks in the distance. The scale of Georgia’s mountains makes me feel like a molecule.

Water and oil

On my way down Rustaveli Avenue, a leafy boulevard that is the city’s main thoroughfare, I walk past cultural institutions like the Tbilisi Opera and National Ballet Theatre and the imposing high-arched parliament.

Its golden walls have seen many momentous events, including the deaths of 19 Georgian hunger strikers at the hands of Soviet troops as the USSR started to disintegrate in 1989. Since November, it has been the site of nightly protests against the ruling Georgian Dream party’s decision to suspend talks aimed at joining the European Union until 2028. 

I chat to demonstrators who are unequivocal about their views: they want EU membership, and ties cut with Russia.

Sandwiched between Turkey, Armenia, Azerbaijan and Russia, this is a place where east meets west in the truest sense. Georgia has been ruled by almost every empire you can think of, from Arabs and Persians to Ottomans and Soviets, but its people have never forgotten who they are — or who they want to be.

In the capital of Sakartvelo, the Georgian name for Georgia, there is a more full-throated embrace of the EU than I have seen in any EU country.

Along Rustaveli Avenue, there are blue flags with golden stars and street art declaring ‘we are Europe’. Down alleyways, but still in plain view, are tags that read ‘f**k Putin’ and ‘Ruzkis go home’.

After Putin’s ‘partial mobilisation’ order in September 2022, many Russians fled to Georgia to dodge the draft. While organisations such as Idite Lesom (Go by the Forest) have helped young Russians to escape, the people I spoke to in Tbilisi were unimpressed with their presence, largely due to the impact it has had on the cost of living.

‘They came all at once, 10 kilometres of people lining up at the border, it was so long you couldn’t believe it,’ a barman, who asks not to be named, tells me.

‘Rent is much more expensive now. We live like water and oil, we are rarely mixing.’

A double-edged sword

The world is waking up to the treasure that Georgia has to offer.

The country welcomed a record number of tourists in 2024, and insiders are already predicting that 2025 will be its biggest year yet, with millions expected to visit Tbilisi and support acts like Batumi and Kutaisi.

Tourist spending helps to build much-needed infrastructure and community spaces. But the further I veer off Tbilisi’s main track, the more I worry that this is not a place equipped for anything remotely approaching large-scale tourism.

On one occasion, my taxi driver mutters profanities after we almost plough into a giant hole spanning the width of a side street next to the Holy Trinity Cathedral. On another, we are forced to reverse half a mile up a dual carriageway to make way for a convoy of trucks coming from Armenia.

I ask Lela if she thinks they are ready for an influx of visitors.

‘Absolutely not,’ she laughs without hesitation. ‘We are vulnerable. We’re not like Turkey, they have resorts. We can’t deal with huge numbers.’

A 10-year development plan aims to help travellers navigate the country solo, without joining a tour group, by improving public transport, international sign-posting and building new roads.

Georgia wants tourists, but Lela is adamant that it only suits a specific type. ‘This country is for seasoned travellers. People come here after they’ve been everywhere else.

‘It has so much to tell, but it reveals itself slowly. If you don’t have the patience or the attitude to receive it, then it’s a waste of time.’