Introduction
Kutaisi, the ancient capital of western Georgia, sits quietly along the banks of the Rioni River, about 230 kilometers west of Tbilisi. This tranquil city has carved its place in history for over a thousand years as the seat of the Georgian Kingdom. Two UNESCO World Heritage sites—Bagrati Cathedral and Gelati Monastery—stand as silent guardians over the town, nestled within the lush embrace of the Colchis Plain.
With a population of around 150,000, Kutaisi offers a gentle respite from the bustling energy of Tbilisi. Time seems to flow more slowly here, wrapping the entire city in a blanket of calm serenity. The cityscape tells Georgia’s complex story through its architecture—Soviet-era buildings standing alongside medieval churches, creating a tapestry of historical layers. Situated at the foothills of the Caucasus Mountains, this ancient crossroads once thrived as a vital junction on the trade routes connecting Europe and Asia, where diverse cultures intersected and mingled.
Day 1: Gateway to the Ancient City
The marshrutka (shared minibus) departed from my Tbilisi accommodation at 7 AM, winding its way through rolling hills for the four-hour journey ahead. I pressed my face to the window, watching Georgian countryside unfold in pastoral scenes, until the Rioni River came into view and Kutaisi revealed itself in the distance.
Arriving at Kutaisi’s central bus terminal just after 11 AM, I shouldered my heavy backpack and began the fifteen-minute walk to the old town’s cobblestone streets. My first destination was the guesthouse where I’d be staying. The narrow lanes revealed a mixture of Soviet-era apartments and ancient stone houses, with laundry fluttering from windows and balconies adorned with tomato plants and basil pots. The scent of daily life permeated these authentic neighborhoods.
Nana, the guesthouse owner in her sixties, welcomed me with broken English and animated gestures. When I greeted her with “Gamarjoba” (hello), her face lit up instantly. My room was simple but spotless, with a window overlooking a courtyard where grapevines climbed wooden trellises.
After settling in around 1 PM, I ventured out to explore, my stomach already rumbling. Following Nana’s recommendation, I found “Restaurant Samegrelo,” a small establishment bustling with locals. The menu was entirely in Georgian, but when I pointed toward the kitchen, the owner smiled broadly and personally guided me through the options.
I ordered khachapuri imeruli (Imeretian cheese bread) and chakhokhbili (chicken in tomato sauce). The khachapuri arrived fresh from the oven, its cheese center melting luxuriously. Though simple, the balance of wheat aroma and salty cheese was perfect. The chakhokhbili combined tomato tartness with fragrant herbs that elevated the chicken’s natural flavors. I used pieces of shoti (Georgian bread) to soak up every drop of sauce. An elderly man at the neighboring table asked, “Gemrieli?” (Tasty?). When I replied “Diak gemrieli” (Very tasty), he nodded with satisfaction.
At 3 PM, fortified by lunch, I began exploring the old town, setting my sights on Bagrati Cathedral, the city’s crowning symbol. The twenty-minute climb up cobblestone paths to the hilltop cathedral wound through ancient churches and residential homes. Ivy clung to weathered walls, and stray cats dozed in sunny patches along the way.
Bagrati Cathedral, built in the 11th century, stands as a magnificent architectural testament. Though parts were destroyed during the Soviet era, recent restoration has returned much of its former grandeur. Inside, frescoes emerged from the dim interior, illuminated by flickering candle flames against stone walls. In this sacred silence, I could feel the presence of prayer. Local worshippers crossed themselves quietly, offering their devotions with reverent solemnity.
From the cathedral heights, Kutaisi spread below in all its beauty. The serpentine Rioni River wound between banks dotted with red-roofed houses, while the distant Caucasus Mountains faded into misty silhouettes. Evening light began painting the entire city in shades of gold.
Around 5 PM, I descended into the old town center, wandering through David Agmashenebeli Square. Amid the Soviet-era buildings stood the Colonnades—elegant white pillars where locals gathered for evening conversations. Children’s laughter echoed across the square as they played, and the gentle rhythm of daily life continued its peaceful course.
For dinner, I chose “Restaurant Rioni” along the riverbank. Listening to the water’s gentle murmur, I savored mtsvadi (Georgian-style grilled meat) paired with tkhali (Georgian white wine). The mtsvadi was beautifully simple—pork skewered and charcoal-grilled until the meat’s essence was concentrated, while herbs perfumed each bite. The tkhali was crisp and dry, its subtle acidity complementing the meal perfectly.
Watching the city lights reflect on the river’s surface, I spent a quiet evening absorbing my first impressions of Kutaisi. This was a gentle, welcoming place—not overly touristy, where one could easily slip into the rhythm of local life. It had been a day filled with authentic charm and human warmth.
Day 2: Nature’s Symphony and Sacred Stillness
Bird songs roused me at 6 AM, and opening my window, I breathed in the fresh morning air. The courtyard grapevines glistened with dew, sparkling like diamonds in the early sunlight.
Nana prepared a traditional Georgian breakfast: naduga (cottage cheese), honey, shoti bread, and strong tea. The naduga had a pleasant tang that balanced beautifully with the honey’s sweetness, while the reheated shoti was crispy outside and tender within.
At 8 AM, I arranged a taxi to Gelati Monastery. My driver, Giorgi, was a friendly man in his fifties who spoke no English but communicated wonderfully through Georgian phrases and expressive gestures. We left the city behind, traveling through verdant hills toward this sacred destination.
Arriving at Gelati Monastery around 9 AM, I entered a sanctuary built in the 12th century—one of the most important sites in Georgian Orthodox Christianity. The grounds enveloped visitors in profound silence and spiritual reverence. The stone buildings, though austere in decoration, revealed their architectural beauty through clean lines and noble proportions.
The main cathedral’s frescoes took my breath away. Byzantine-influenced religious paintings covered every wall surface, emanating mystical light from the darkened interior. Watching local believers offer their prayers in hushed devotion, I could feel the depth of their faith resonating through the ancient stones.
In the monastery courtyard, one of the monks tended his garden. When I nodded in greeting, he responded with a warm wave. Though we shared no common language, his serene expression conveyed a sense of deep peace. Within the monastery’s silence, I felt time moving at a different, more contemplative pace.
At 11 AM, we departed the monastery for Kutaisi. Along the way, Giorgi suggested, “Would you like to see Prometheus Cave?” This limestone cave, about thirty minutes away, was apparently one of Kutaisi’s hidden gems.
Reaching Prometheus Cave around noon, I was surprised to discover vast chambers beyond its modest entrance building. Colorfully illuminated stalactites created a fantastical underground world, while the sound of subterranean streams echoed mysteriously throughout the cavern.
Walking the cave’s pathways, I marveled at nature’s sculptural artistry. Stalactites formed over tens of thousands of years resembled carved masterpieces. At the deepest point, visitors could take a boat journey along the underground river—a fifteen-minute voyage through what felt like a passage to another realm.
Returning to Kutaisi at 2 PM, I chose “Cafe Kutaisi” near the central market for lunch, where I sampled western Georgian specialties: gebzhalia (bean soup) and elarji (corn flour dish).
Gebzhalia, made from white kidney beans with onions, garlic, and herbs, offered humble comfort with its balance of bean sweetness and aromatic seasonings. Elarji, corn flour cooked with cheese, had a distinctive chewy texture. Though rustic, these regional dishes carried a nostalgic familiarity.
At 4 PM, I explored the central market, where local vendors displayed abundant fresh vegetables, fruits, spices, and cheeses. The spice section particularly captivated me—coriander, fenugreek, saffron, and other vibrant seasonings sold by weight. The friendly market women encouraged me to taste their offerings.
I also discovered a wine tasting corner, where I sampled “Tsinandali,” a white wine from the Imereti region. Light and fruity, it seemed perfect for food pairing. I purchased a small bottle to enjoy with dinner.
At 6 PM, I strolled along the Rioni River, where willows lined the banks and evening light shimmered on the water’s surface. Local residents walked their dogs or sat on benches chatting—ordinary moments that felt deeply peaceful.
For dinner, I returned to the guesthouse, where Nana prepared a homemade feast: lobio (bean stew), pkhali (vegetable walnut paste), and khachapuri. Every dish carried the warmth of home cooking, and sharing the meal with Nana—communicating through broken phrases and gestures—while sipping my purchased wine created a perfect evening.
Returning to my room at 9 PM, I reflected on the day’s experiences. Gelati Monastery’s sacred silence, Prometheus Cave’s mysterious beauty, the market’s vibrant energy, and the riverside’s tranquility—Kutaisi had revealed its many faces in one fulfilling day.
Day 3: The Melody of Farewell
On my final morning, I woke earlier than usual, feeling the bittersweet awareness that I would soon leave this place behind.
After breakfast, I bid farewell to Nana. When I said “Madloba” (thank you), she clasped my hands and spoke at length in Georgian. Though I couldn’t understand her words, her warmth needed no translation. She pressed homemade churchkhela (traditional Georgian candy) into my hands as a parting gift.
At 9 AM, I began my final exploration, seeking out lanes I hadn’t yet discovered and finding small churches and old buildings I’d previously missed. Deep in the old town, a tiny Orthodox church sat tucked away quietly. Its doors stood open, and inside, an elderly woman prayed alone in contemplation.
Near this church, I witnessed something wonderful: in a courtyard, an grandfather was teaching his grandson traditional Georgian dance steps. The boy moved lightly to hand-clapped rhythms, his joy infectious. I felt privileged to observe this moment of cultural transmission from one generation to the next.
At 11 AM, I chose “Restaurant Argo” for my farewell meal, ordering khachapuri acharuli (Adjarian-style cheese bread)—Kutaisi’s specialty. This boat-shaped bread arrived with an egg nestled in melted cheese at its center, meant to be mixed together while hot. The combination of molten cheese and soft egg was exquisite—a perfect final taste of this city.
Just after noon, I returned to collect my luggage from the guesthouse. Nana saw me off with kisses on both cheeks, her genuine affection touching my heart. “Nakhvamdis” (Until we meet again), she said, words that lingered in my memory.
At 1 PM, I headed toward the bus terminal, pausing for one last look at Bagrati Cathedral rising majestically from its hilltop perch. This architectural guardian would continue watching over all who come to visit this ancient city.
Boarding the Tbilisi-bound marshrutka, I claimed a window seat. As departure time approached, the driver greeted passengers with friendly “Gamarjoba"s. My fellow travelers were equally warm, offering final evidence of Georgian hospitality.
At 2 PM, the bus pulled away, and I pressed my face to the window, watching Kutaisi’s streets flow past while replaying three days of memories. Bagrati Cathedral’s majesty, Gelati Monastery’s sacred silence, Prometheus Cave’s underground mysteries, the market’s lively energy, and above all, the genuine warmth of every person I’d encountered. Though my stay was brief, this city had definitely found its way into my heart.
The bus wound through hills until Kutaisi disappeared from view, but the sound of the Rioni River, church bells, and people’s laughter remained vivid in my memory.
In Closing
This journey exists only in imagination. Yet the portrait of Kutaisi drawn from literature, photographs, and the experiences of actual travelers is far from fiction. The quietly flowing Rioni River, ancient cobblestone lanes, church bells’ resonance, market bustle, and people’s warm smiles—all of these elements truly exist in that place.
Though imagined, this trip carries the vividness of lived experience. The landscapes, sounds, scents, and flavors stored in memory feel as real as any actual journey. Perhaps travel is not about leaving footprints, but about etching scenes into the heart.
Should the opportunity arise, I would love to transform this imagined journey into reality. When that day comes, I trust these memories will merge with present experience, creating new discoveries and deeper appreciation. I believe that Kutaisi continues today as it always has—quietly, beautifully, marking time with ancient rhythms.
