We left Borjomi after breakfast, heading south towards Akhaltsikhe. On the map, it looked like a straightforward drive, but the forty kilometres unfolded slowly, the landscape changing with every bend. This part of Georgia feels different almost immediately — broader valleys, starker hills, and a sense of moving away from the familiar routes.

Akhaltsikhe appeared without drama. Founded in the ninth century and once known as Lomsia, the town sits quietly today, close to the Turkish border, carrying layers of history without announcing them loudly.

Akhaltsikhe Castle (Rabati)

The castle complex rises above the town, overlooking the Potskhovi River. Known today as Rabati, the site reflects centuries of shifting power. Georgian, Ottoman, and European influences sit side by side — sometimes comfortably, sometimes awkwardly. A mosque stands near an Orthodox church; a minaret rises within sight of medieval stone walls.

The restoration work completed around 2011–12 has made the complex accessible and visually striking, though it does feel polished in places. We walked through courtyards and along ramparts, aware that this was once a defensive stronghold rather than a cultural attraction. From the higher points, the view opens towards the surrounding hills, and the town below looks small, almost incidental.

Sapara Monastery

If Rabati feels curated, Sapara feels discovered.

A short drive from Akhaltsikhe takes you into dense woodland, where Sapara Monastery sits quietly, partially hidden by trees. Unlike many religious structures in the region, Sapara escaped significant destruction during Ottoman rule, and that sense of continuity is palpable.

The complex dates back to the tenth century, with later additions in the twelfth and thirteenth. The stonework is darkened by age, the frescoes subdued but present. There was very little activity when we visited. We walked slowly, instinctively lowering our voices, not because we were told to, but because the place demanded it.

Sapara was not on our original list. It ended up being one of the most memorable stops of the day.

Towards Vardzia

From Akhaltsikhe, the road continues south, tracing the Mtkvari River. The terrain grows more dramatic — wider valleys, exposed rock faces, and fewer signs of habitation. Somewhere along this stretch, the anticipation begins to build, even before Vardzia comes into view.

Vardzia Cave Monastery

Vardzia was created in the twelfth century during the reign of Queen Tamar, originally as a defensive complex and later expanding into a fully functioning monastic city. At its height, it housed thousands — monks, scholars, and artisans — complete with chapels, living quarters, storage spaces, and an underground irrigation system.

Carved into the slopes of Erusheti Mountain, Vardzia does not reveal itself all at once. It stretches horizontally, a vast honeycomb of openings cut into stone, impossible to grasp in a single glance.

Walking through Vardzia is physically demanding. Narrow passages, steep staircases, uneven stone underfoot. But the effort anchors you in the place. This was never meant to be easy or comfortable.

Some chambers are bare, others still hold fragments of frescoes. The main church preserves artwork that hints at the sophistication of medieval Georgian art. From higher points, the view over the Mtkvari valley is expansive, the river winding quietly below as it has for centuries.

There is a legend tied to the name — Queen Tamar, lost as a child in the caves, calling out “ak var, dzia” (“I am here, uncle”) — but even without it, the place carries weight. Vardzia is not just impressive in scale; it feels purposeful, resilient.

By the time we finished exploring, daylight was fading and fatigue had set in — the good kind, earned through movement and immersion.

Staying Near the River

We spent the night close to Vardzia, at Valodia’s Eco Cottage, set near the Mtkvari River on the road to Upper Vardzia. The accommodation was simple and new at the time, surrounded by gardens that lay dormant in winter. The river flowed steadily nearby, its sound constant and calming.

We walked down to the water, took a few photographs, and stood watching it for a while. After a day shaped by stone, history, and effort, it felt grounding to end beside something that simply kept moving.