After spending an extra day in Kazbegi, driving around Stepantsminda and edging as close as we could to the Russian border, we began our return to Tbilisi after breakfast. The plan was simple enough — reach the city by afternoon and spend the rest of the day exploring the city. Georgia, however, had other ideas.

Somewhere along the way, curiosity won over caution. A short off-road detour turned into several anxious hours when our vehicle got stuck deep in the snow. What followed was a mix of concern, cold fingers, laughter, and patience — the kind of situation that feels stressful while it’s happening and oddly memorable once you’re out of it. Standing there in the cold, waiting and working our way free, we weren’t really thinking about missed sights in Tbilisi. This, too, felt like part of the journey.

By the time we finally reached the city, daylight was already thinning. Lasha, without hesitation, offered to take us around the following day as well — even though the original itinerary had no activities planned for our departure day. It was one of many small gestures during the trip that made the experience feel personal rather than transactional.

Our first stop, even before entering the city proper, was the Russia–Georgia Friendship Monument near Gudauri. Built in 1983 to mark the bicentennial of the Treaty of Georgievsk, the circular structure is impossible to miss. Its murals depict scenes from Georgian and Russian history, but what stays with you more is the setting — perched dramatically above a sweeping valley, the monument feels suspended between politics and landscape.

Once in Tbilisi, we began with Holy Trinity Cathedral (Sameba). Completed in 2004, it dominates the skyline with its scale and golden domes. Inside, the space feels vast and solemn, the frescoes and icons quietly commanding attention. It was a fitting re-entry into the city after days spent in mountains and snow.

Time was tight, so instead of walking up, we took the cable car from Rike Park to Narikala Fortress. Floating above the city offered a brief pause — rooftops, the river, and the old quarters unfolding beneath us. The fortress itself, with origins going back to the 4th century, stands as a layered witness to Tbilisi’s long history. Persian, Georgian, Mongol — all have left their marks here. Within the walls sits the small St Nicholas Church, modest but enduring.

A short detour brought us to Kartlis Deda, the Mother of Georgia. Sword in one hand, bowl of wine in the other, she looks out over the city with a balance that seems to define the country itself — hospitality without naïveté, resilience without aggression.

Descending into Old Tbilisi, the city felt more intimate. Narrow streets, uneven stone paths, balconies leaning towards each other. We walked past the Leghvtakhevi Waterfall, a surprising pocket of nature tucked into the old quarter, crossed the love-lock bridges, and wandered through Abanotubani, the sulphur bath district where the city’s name — the warm place — finds its origin. Steam curled into the air from domed rooftops, and the past felt very much alive.

We paused briefly at smaller landmarks — the Tamada statue, the Bridge of Peace arching lightly over the Mtkvari, and the equestrian monument of King Vakhtang Gorgasali, founder of the city, surveying the old town below.

The day ended high above it all, riding the newly reconstructed Mtatsminda Funicular. As the city lights slowly came on beneath us, the pace finally eased. At the top, cafés, quiet viewpoints, and the simple pleasure of looking back over everything we’d crossed.

We had arrived late. We had missed a few things. But Tbilisi waited — and in doing so, felt less like a checklist of sights and more like a city we would return to.