The morning traffic in Tbilisi, Georgia, had been a little intense. But now, outside the city, the horizon opened up, and a broad and beautiful rural wonderland unfolded in every direction. On one shoulder of the road, a guy was fixing a broken-down Lada. On the other, someone was riding a horse. A spine of green, hazy mountains awaited us further down the road.
“This country is a melting pot,” my young guide said. She was standing with her back to the driver, somehow balancing at the front of a van jam-packed with our small tour group. She delved into the country’s long and fascinating history, noting that the Georgian language is unlike any other, with an alphabet recognized on UNESCO’s list of intangible cultural heritage. “But our most important word?” the guide said, waiting just a moment for the punch line. “Of course, it’s wine.”
Georgia is a rather fascinating place. Sitting in the heart of the Caucasus, in both Europe and Asia, it’s long been a crossroads of the world. Thousands of years of history have produced a country of unmatched dynamism and diversity.
My week in the country began in the capital city of Tbilisi. It’s home to around 1.2 million people, about one-third of all the people in Georgia. Upon arrival, a quick ride on a cable car gave me a sweeping perspective. The city is split by the muddy bends of the Kura River, and the view included domes and spires and buttresses. I stood next to the Mother of Georgia, a huge Soviet-era statue of a woman, which gazes down on it all. In one of the figure’s hands is a bowl of grapes, to welcome; in the other is a sword, to defend.
My days in Tbilisi were filled with walks around the historic district, where I strolled past Catholic, Orthodox, Islamic, and other places of worship. The city is full of history, as it was once a key way station on the Silk Road. Plus, it offers so much good food. Khinkhali is similar to a soup dumpling, filled with meat and broth, which you sip before you eat. Khachapuri, a crusty dish that will remind you of pizza, brings together egg and cheese, mixed together just before you eat it.
But my day trip to the east was all about the region of Kakheti, Georgia’s biggest and best-known wine region. Vino is a big deal in this country. Archaeological evidence shows that its cultivation dates back some 8,000 years. Even the word “wine” (in Georgian, “ghvino”) probably originated here.
While the U.S. state of Georgia was named after England’s King George II, who granted it a charter in 1732, theories vary on how the country of Georgia got its name. Some think it relates to farmers or to St. George. But my tour guide preferred a fiercer interpretation. “We’ve always been fighters,” she said. “The Persians called us the country of wolves.”
She added that they now use those fighter’s skills in athletic competitions: boxing, wrestling, rugby, and soccer. Georgia provided the Cinderella story of this past summer’s UEFA European Football Championship, where their hardworking, lightning-fast national team made the Round of 16, an estimable accomplishment for a small nation.
On our first stop, a brief one, we watched an older woman bake bread in a stone oven. We tried the hot, steaming fruits of her labor alongside three kinds of cheeses in her little vineyard out back. Unlabeled wine, grown on-site, was served from a plastic bottle. It was delicious.
In Sighnaghi, known as the City of Love, we walked the cobblestone streets, then along the top of its extensive fortifications, built in the 18th century. Then, we were served a lunch that was actually a feast. The food just kept coming—salads, stewed chicken, barbecued pork in a tart plum sauce, and, of course, khachapuri.
Keeping with Georgian tradition, we went around the table and offered toast after toast with amber wine in our glasses—to the guide, to the cooks, to the Korean newlyweds celebrating their honeymoon on this trip. The meal ended with a shot of chacha, a very potent sort of wine vodka made from the leftover parts of grapes.
Finally, the velvety green of the Caucasus Mountains rose ahead, their flanks a little obscured by the late afternoon hazy heat. It was harvest time, and that was evidenced by a long line of trucks on the road, all of them just brimming with newly picked grapes.
First, we joined a whirlwind tour and tasting at a co-op that makes 14 types of wine, and dates back to the 16th century. We walked past French oak barrels as well as huge green tanks that originated in Soviet times—still in use today—and finished by sampling three of their best vintages.
And finally, we visited a small, family-owned winery. Parking the car on the street, we approached along a driveway draped in 125-year-old vines. Our guide showed us the qvevri, clay pots sunk into the ground, the most traditional Georgian wine-making vessels. “Most households make 200 or 300 liters of wine every year, just for the family,” she said.
Settling into seats at long tables in the shade, the tasting began anew—and the toasting, too. We raised our glasses to a beautiful country, with a long and fascinating history; to a fun tour group; and to a safe drive that evening, as we headed back to the busy streets of Tbilisi.
