The Pearl of the Black Sea
Batumi, located in western Georgia, is a beautiful port city facing the Black Sea. As the central city of the Autonomous Republic of Adjara, it has flourished since ancient times as a crucial junction on the Silk Road where Eastern and Western cultures intersected. Blessed with a subtropical climate, the palm-lined coastal boulevard evokes Mediterranean resort towns, yet the essence of the Caucasus distinctly breathes through it.
The charm of this city lies in its diversity. Ancient mosques from the Ottoman era coexist with Soviet-period architecture and modern skyscrapers, while the bells of Georgian Orthodox churches and the call to prayer echo across the sky. Batumi’s old town features narrow cobblestone alleys lined with old houses, with small cafés and family-run restaurants nestled here and there.
The warm climate of the Black Sea has blessed this land with abundant nature. Behind the city stretch verdant mountains covered in lush vegetation, and the botanical garden, with its subtropical plants, is world-renowned. The Adjara region also possesses a unique culinary culture, and dishes that skillfully combine the bounty of the sea and mountains never fail to captivate visitors’ palates.
I chose this city because I was drawn to its gentle demeanor and somehow nostalgic scenery. Though Batumi is a tourist destination, the daily lives of local people blend naturally into it. A 2-night, 3-day journey spent in such a place would surely leave a deep impression on my heart.
Day 1: Welcomed by Sea Breeze and Cobblestones
I took a morning flight from Tbilisi to Batumi. The Caucasus Mountains, viewed from the small propeller plane’s window, were mystical, wrapped in morning mist. After about an hour’s flight, the landscape changed from mountains to sea, and eventually the blue waters of the Black Sea spread out below. Batumi’s airport was small, and upon stepping down, the scent of the tide caressed my cheeks.
In the taxi from the airport to the city center, the driver Giorgi gave me a tour of the city in broken English. “Batumi is beautiful city, you will like,” he said while driving along the coastal road. Outside the window, palm trees lined the way, and modern high-rise buildings appeared in the distance. The city seemed much more sophisticated than I had imagined.
I had chosen a small guesthouse in the old town for accommodation. An old stone building converted into lodging, I was warmly welcomed by the owner, Nana. The room was simple but clean, and from the small balcony I could look down on the cobblestone alley. After putting down my luggage, I decided to go out for a walk.
I had lunch at a small restaurant called “Adjara” in the old town. The menu was written in Georgian, but the smiling proprietor explained everything carefully. When I ordered Adjaruli Khachapuri (boat-shaped cheese bread), a raw egg was dropped into the center of the hot bread, with melting butter. As I broke the egg with a fork and mixed it with the cheese, a simple yet profound flavor spread through my mouth. Paired with local white wine, my travel fatigue pleasantly melted away.
In the afternoon, I walked slowly through the old town. In front of the Orta Jame Mosque, elderly men sat on benches chatting. The mosque’s beautiful minaret stood out against the blue sky, and next to it rose the bell tower of a small Orthodox church. I felt that in this city, different faiths coexisted quietly, transcending religious differences.
At Batumi Cathedral, preparations for the evening mass were underway. While gazing at the beautiful frescoes inside the sanctuary, I was moved by the devout figures of believers illuminated by candlelight. Stepping outside, the light of dusk painted the cobblestone alleys golden.
Walking to Batumi Boulevard along the coast, I found locals enjoying their evening stroll. Families, couples, groups of friends, and solo travelers like myself—all spending time by the sea in their own ways. The promenade, dotted with contemporary art objects, contrasted with the traditional townscape yet somehow harmonized with it mysteriously.
For dinner, I savored seafood at a seaside restaurant. The grilled sea bream from the Black Sea was firm-fleshed, with an exquisite balance of lemon and herb aromas. At the neighboring table, a Georgian family dined noisily, and enveloped in their warm atmosphere, I too quietly enjoyed my solitary meal.
At night, I had traditional Georgian tea at a small café near the guesthouse. The proprietor, Mariam, spoke fluent English and told me about Batumi’s history. Learning how this city had accepted and fused so many cultures heightened my anticipation for tomorrow. Returning to my room, I could see the streetlights gently illuminating the cobblestones from the balcony. Wrapped in the distant sound of Black Sea waves, I fell asleep with the day’s memories in my heart.
Day 2: Nature’s Bounty and Cultural Melodies
I woke to birdsong in the morning. Stepping onto the balcony, local people in the alley below had already begun their day. The fragrant smell from a bakery drifted through the air, evoking the freshness of a new day beginning. The breakfast Nana prepared consisted of freshly baked bread with cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers, and rich Georgian tea. Simple, yet each item offered a strong sense of its natural flavor.
In the morning, I headed to the Batumi Botanical Garden. About 20 minutes by marshrutka (shared minibus) from the city center, the botanical garden spreads across hillsides overlooking the Black Sea. Upon entering, the first thing that caught my eye was flowers of every color. Subtropical plants grew thickly, with rare plants from around the world coexisting.
Walking through the grounds, the silence of the Bamboo Grove cleansed my heart. The sound of bamboo leaves swaying in the wind somehow reminded me of Japanese bamboo forests. Beyond that, from the observation deck, a grand panorama of the Black Sea unfolded, with the boundary between the blue sea and sky blurring toward the distant horizon. Sitting on a bench, I tried sketching the landscape in my notebook. I have no artistic talent, but I wanted to record this beautiful scene in some form.
I had a light lunch at a café in the botanical garden, then in the afternoon returned to the city center to visit the Batumi Archaeological Museum. Though a small museum, it displays precious artifacts telling the history of this region from ancient times. Gold crafts from the Colchis Kingdom era, Roman-era coins, Byzantine-era religious relics—all testifying that Batumi had long been a crossroads of civilizations.
Leaving the museum, I happened upon a street performance of traditional music. An elderly man was playing the panduri (a traditional Georgian instrument) while singing an old folk song. The melancholic melody resonated in my heart like wind blowing from the Caucasus Mountains. Small children gathered around, clapping along—a heartwarming scene that made me want to capture it in a photograph, but I decided to keep this moment stored in my heart instead.
Late in the afternoon, I visited the local market. Batumi Central Market buzzed with activity, packed with fresh vegetables, fruits, spices, cheese, and more. Particularly impressive were the honey from the Adjara region and the colorful array of spices. The market women were all friendly, and when I called out “Gamarjoba (hello)” in broken Georgian, they happily returned smiles.
In the evening, I walked the coastal boulevard again. This time I headed in the opposite direction, extending my steps toward Batumi Tower. This modern skyscraper, with its design of two towers intertwining overhead, shone golden in the sunset. Drinking espresso at a nearby café, I was captivated by the boldness and beauty of this architecture.
For dinner, I went to a home-cooking restaurant recommended by a local. A small place called “Family Kitchen,” it truly exuded a homely atmosphere. I ordered Adjaruli Kharcho (spicy beef soup) and Mtsvadi (Georgian-style kebab). The Kharcho warmed my body with its moderate spiciness, and the Mtsvadi’s charcoal-grilled meat aroma was exquisite. Midway through the meal, the proprietor’s wife kindly asked, “Delicious?” Her warm consideration made me feel a family-like warmth even while traveling.
At night, I strolled near the guesthouse. The cobblestone alleys gained even more character after dark, with old streetlights conveying the weight of history. Guided by piano music coming from somewhere, I discovered a small wine bar. Inside, local musicians were quietly playing jazz. Listening to the music while sipping a single glass of Georgian red wine, I reflected on the day’s rich experiences, surprised at how comfortable this foreign night felt.
Day 3: Farewell by the Sea and Lingering Memories
On the last morning, I woke earlier than usual. Under the still-dim sky, the alley visible from the balcony was wrapped in silence. Thinking I had to leave this beautiful city today filled me with a certain sadness. After getting ready, I decided to walk through the early morning streets.
The old town at around 6 a.m. showed a completely different face from its daytime bustle. Only the sound of my footsteps on the cobblestones broke the silence. In the church bell tower, the bells for morning prayer began to ring. As that sound reverberated between the old buildings, I could feel the entire town quietly awakening.
Reaching the coastal boulevard, the morning sun was painting the Black Sea’s surface golden. A few locals enjoying early morning walks were visible here and there. People jogging, walking dogs, elderly people sitting on benches gazing at the sea—each spending their morning time as they pleased. I too sat on a bench, trying to engrave this beautiful morning scene in my heart.
I had breakfast at a small café by the sea. Freshly baked croissants and cappuccino, with bread thickly spread with local jam. Simple, yet breakfast with a view of the sea had a special taste. The café owner saw me off with a warm smile, saying, “Please come back again.”
In the morning, I visited the market once more for last-minute shopping. The honey-selling grandmother I’d spoken to yesterday remembered me: “The Japanese from yesterday.” When I bought small jars of honey as souvenirs, she proudly told me, “This is from my village.” The honey was rich, with a fragrant floral aroma.
I also purchased handmade ceramic small plates I’d found at the botanical garden café. The beautiful blue glaze, inspired by Batumi’s sea, seemed perfect as a souvenir of this journey. The shopkeeper told me, “When you drink tea from this plate, you’ll surely remember Batumi.”
For lunch, I returned to “Adjara,” where I’d gone on the first day, to have Adjaruli Khachapuri again. This time I could chat a bit with the proprietor. He had been running this shop for 20 years, welcoming travelers from around the world. “Everyone likes this dish. That’s my pride,” he said, his eyes shining.
In the afternoon, I finished packing and chatted with Nana, the guesthouse owner. She had worked in Moscow in her youth but returned to her hometown of Batumi to start the guesthouse. I understood that her desire to “share the charm of this city with people around the world” was the source of her warm hospitality.
With time before departure, I walked the coastal boulevard once more. This time heading in the opposite direction, I extended my steps toward the old port. There I glimpsed a scene of local fishermen drying their nets—an aspect of Batumi’s everyday life different from the touristy areas.
In the evening, before heading to the airport, I passed through the old town one last time. The cobblestone alleys, old buildings, small cafés, and the warm smiles of people—though it had been only 2 nights and 3 days, this city had definitely been carved into my heart as a special place.
On the way to the airport, every scene visible from the taxi window felt precious. The palm-lined avenue, the modern building complex, and the distant Black Sea—all remained in my heart as travel memories.
During the wait at the airport, I reflected on my experiences in Batumi. Though a short stay, I had fully felt this city’s diversity and the warmth of its people. The time spent in this city where tradition and modernity harmonize, where different cultures coexist, had become an irreplaceable experience for me.
What Felt Real Despite Being Imaginary
The plane took off, and the city of Batumi grew small below. The blueness of the Black Sea visible from the window, the green of the mountains, and the city’s vibrancy were beautiful like a postcard.
The faces of people I met during this 2-night, 3-day journey rose one by one in my heart. Nana who welcomed me warmly, the restaurant people who made delicious food, the women at the market who offered smiles, and the many people I encountered on street corners. Even without complete verbal communication, our hearts certainly connected.
Batumi was truly a crossroads of cultures. The solemn beauty of the Georgian Orthodox Church, the delicate decoration of Islamic architecture, the powerful buildings from the Soviet era, and modern skyscrapers—all coexisting while maintaining a mysterious harmony. This diversity must be Batumi’s greatest charm.
The food also told the story of this city’s diversity. The simple deliciousness of Adjaruli Khachapuri, fresh Black Sea seafood, dishes utilizing mountain bounty—all filled with local people’s affection, warming a traveler’s heart.
The beauty of nature is also unforgettable. The Black Sea’s blue surface, the botanical garden’s lush scenery, the coastal boulevard illuminated by morning sun. Though a city, it remained close to nature, with many moments that calmed the heart.
And above all, the warmth of the people remains in my heart. Not the superficial kindness of those accustomed to tourists, but pure, heartfelt hospitality. That warmth was something that transcended language barriers.
Now, as I write these words, I can remember the texture of Batumi’s cobblestones, the smell of sea breeze, the sound of church bells, as if they were yesterday. Though certainly an imaginary journey, it remains in my heart unmistakably as a “lived” memory.
Perhaps travel is not simply moving from place to place, but about the heart being moved. The emotions I felt in Batumi—gratitude to the people I met, wonder at beautiful scenery—these feelings exist certainly within me, even if imaginary.
If I ever truly visit Batumi one day, will I be able to actually experience the emotions I felt on this imaginary journey? Or will the journey in my imagination feel more beautiful than reality?
Either way, what this imaginary journey taught me is certain. There are still beautiful places in the world I don’t know, and warm people I haven’t met. And it is the longing for travel and curiosity that enrich our hearts.
Imagining the scene of the Batumi sunset sinking, I hold longing for yet another new journey. That too may become an imaginary journey. But that’s fine. As long as I travel in my heart, the world spreads infinitely.
