Travel Inspiration And News
Buzz in Guria
Where the salty breath of the Black Sea mingles with the crisp air of green mountains, where eucalyptus and alder forests climb into the ridges carved by the Supsa River, Guria comes alive — Georgia’s little pearl. This land has welcomed people since the Lower Palaeolithic Age, and across centuries nature, history, and human hands have woven together a world unlike any other. Guria is the homeland of unapparelled ethnography, bold traditions and quick wit; land of ‘Firali’ rebels and
daredevil riders who raced the wind; It is also the cradle of ‘Lelo burti’, the wild ritual ball game that later became the root of Georgian rugby. Within this living culture, in widespread courtyards among evergreen shrubs, proudly stands the Gurian Oda. Perched on wooden stilts, as if tiptoeing to keep
watch on the road, the house seems always alert, always alive. Its carved balconies stretch out with long benches, from where the yard unfolds like a stage, shady trees, the tall ‘Nalia’ granary, the modest ‘Fatskha’ shed, the cooking corner where irresistible aromas rise, and of course the buzz, bustle, and laughter. Even the rain cannot dampen the mood. As the stone-trimmed fireplace crackles, warming both house and heart. Rain or shine, the Gurian Oda throws open its doors. Here a guest can spend the night in timber-scented rooms, in quirky clay Qvevri glamping pods, or in berry-themed eco-cottages. On the farms, visitors taste Guria in its purest form: the tea culture that
once grew deep roots in this soil, fresh goat cheese still warm from the churn, or join in baking bread in hot ‘Tone’ ovens, or try hands on ritualic harvestings. And when the table is set, it bursts with colorful ‘Pkhaleuli’, hearty Gurian ‘Kharcho’ and other unforgettable dishes spiced just right. Every gathering is lifted with sparkling Chkhaveri wine and even more sparkling Gurian humor. In a Gurian oda, you don’t just watch life, you step into it. You become part of the living story, with laughter
echoing long after you leave.
Racha, My Beloved
Racha is the fairytale chapter of Georgia’s great book. Nestled in the valley of the Rioni River and its tributaries, the land lies shielded to the north by the towering wall of the Caucasus. Across its gorges rise ancient temples: Nikortsminda, breathing through its delicate carvings; Barakoni, poised like a swan; and countless tiny chapels, eternal imprints of Georgian architecture. Crystal alpine lakes, waterfalls veiled in green, the silver glaciers, and the autumn blaze of colors over Shaori Lake together shape a workshop crafted by nature itself. Within this realm, the steadfast Rachians built a vibrant, many-layered world of folklore, ethnography, and legend; here, even simple cooking became true art. From this soil was born Khvanchkara, a ruby-red wine, sealed by a pact between sun, earth, and human hands. They say that just as Khvanchkara flows in their veins, so does the gift of breathing life into wood. So, In the 18 th and 19 th centuries, Racha became the cradle of “Wanderer woodcraftsmen,” and with their artistry its green slopes dressed themselves in lace-carved wooden dwellings. In the traditional Rachian imagery a winding trail weaves between mountains, slowly gathering height before slipping into the village, where beneath the shade of walnut trees, the time- faded tiles of rooftops begin to appear. This is the Oda, a singular dwelling that with its wide balcony, lace-like wooden curtains, stone chambers merging into the hillside, and smoke curling skyward from the chimney, rises like small fortress of life. Hosts welcome travelers with colorful adventures: nights in wooden houses, family museums and craft workshops, ancient wine cellars and evenings of folklore. The taste of Lobiani, Shkmeruli, and smoked ham lingers long in memory, while a toast raised with Khvanchkara unlocks every sense. And, as in the iconic Georgian film, the guest cannot help but exclaim: “Racha, my belovev!” For in a Racha Oda, the story always ends with return, with love found, and with the timeless promise of a fairytale’s happy ending.
Imeretian Heartbeat
Imereti lies at the very heart of Georgia. Here, history pulses through stone walls, while beneath the earth the secrets of an ancient kingdom rest. The flourishing of the fabled Colchian culture on these lands is traced back to the 15th–13th centuries BC, with its capital at Kutaisi, the legendary city of Aia, rising proudly on the banks of the Rioni. In the Middle Ages, this historic city wore the crown of Georgia’s capital: here King David the Builder was anointed, and Imereti became the heartbeat of the Georgian state. This land welcomes its guests with a thousand layers of history: from the footprints of dinosaurs to the crystal waterfalls of Okatse Canyon; from Bagrati Cathedral, symbol of united Georgia, to the Gelati Monastery complex, once hailed as the wellspring of the nation’s spirituality, culture, and learning. Amidst such immense heritage is shaped and unfolded everydayness of Imereti, one of its brightest expressions being the Imeretian oda. Wooden houses scattered against a backdrop of colorful, geometric fields, with four-sloped roofs clad in clay tiles, balconies draped in vines, wine presses and granaries heavy with corn — this scene looks and feels like a painting brought to life by Georgian artist David Kakabadze. Imereti’s odas open their doors wide, offering nights by the fireplace in houses adorned with antique furniture, tastings of Tsitska and Tsolikouri in family wine cellars, the baking of the iconic Imeretian khachapuri alongside the host, shared tables laden with the region’s rich cuisine, explorations of ethnographic museums, and encounters with the stories of great writers, poets, and artists who gave breath and soul to Georgian culture. For lovers of adventure, the region promises exhilaration: canyoning through caves, climbing sheer cliffs, or rafting down wild rivers. The Imeretian oda is, a place where past and present pulse together. And if you catch its light, hopeful rhythm, you will find your own steps aligning with the beat of the future.
Tailwind from Samegrelo
Bound by the Black Sea and three untamed rivers, Rioni, Tskhenistskali, and Enguri, there lies a land long revered as the light of Georgia’s eyes. This is Samegrelo, the threshold from which the sea opens westward. Long ago, when the Argonauts sailed in pursuit of the Golden Fleece and cast anchor on the banks of Phasis, myth and history were forever woven together. Today, the heir of that ancient Phasis is Poti, a city that never sleeps, its vast port tying Georgia unceasingly to Europe. Samegrelo itself feels like a living myth. The silver water of Tobavarchkhili poured among cliffs, enchanted canyons and caves; the relict forests and rare biodiversity of Kolkheti National Park, all merge with half-mythical customs, sacred rituals, incantations and folklore. The millennia of history remain etched in the ruins of Nokalakevi, the towers of Rukhi, the monasteries of Khobi and Martvili, and the regal Dadiani Palace in Zugdidi. Yet for all its weight of memory, Samegrelo is first and foremost a land in constant motion, never still, always keeping pace with the present. From this restless spirit was born the Kolkhetian Oda. A Megrelian homestead resembles a small royal garden. Across its broad yards, barns, granaries, and sheds are set in harmony, leading back toward the working garden plots. In the front unfolds the white yard — a great meadow, filled with orchards and flower gardens around old wells, where the lace-adorned Oda rises like a crown. Around this entire complex, a living fence blooms, tangled with blackberry, pomegranate, wild mandarin, and laurel. Megrelian Odas await their guests with singular hearths, silver-painted ceilings, handcrafted furniture, pianos that still carry the echo of distant eras, and enchanted wooden bedrooms. The Megrelian hosts open their doors with pride, guiding guests through vineyards, orchards, and greenhouses before laying out a feast fit for royalty: cheese delicacies, sulguni, elarji, satsivi, tabaka, and fiery adjikas that awaken every sense. At last, the ancient wine cellars open, and from the dark emerges Samegrelo’s oldest pride — the brilliant deep crimson Ojalashi. With its taste, the Oda transforms into a living memory of Colchis, echoing the palace of King Aeëtes.