We have always had a soft corner for train journeys. We enjoy trains that get you efficiently from A to B, just as much as the stubborn, meandering kind that seem to resist the idea of haste altogether. The narrow-gauge train from Borjomi to Bakuriani — affectionately called the Kukushka, or the cuckoo sits on the slow side of the spectrum — unapologetically slow, and entirely comfortable being so.

Our travel agent had warned us in advance that repair work was underway on the line, and that the train might not be running. So, when we reached Borjomi station and were told that it was running, we smiled. The smile faded quickly when we heard the second part of the news — the train had left on time. Without us.

We could have let it go. A drive up to Bakuriani would have taken less than an hour. But something about this small, old train made us unwilling to give up so easily. We decided to try our luck and chase it.

About ten kilometres up the road, at a place called Daba, we found ourselves at a station that barely felt like one — a small, tired building, quiet and deserted, with no sign that a train ever stopped there. Officially, it doesn’t. But the driver was kind enough to slow down and stop for us. And just like that, we were aboard.

The Kukushka is not in a hurry. It never has been. The journey takes close to two and a half hours to cover just 37 kilometres, climbing steadily through forested hills. This is not a ride meant to impress with speed or convenience. It is meant to be experienced slowly — the rhythm of the tracks, the pauses, the way the landscape unfolds without demanding attention.

Tour operators often sell this train ride as a “short fun experience”, sometimes promising it will take no more than thirty minutes. That mismatch became apparent once we settled in. A large family from Sharjah, seated a little away from us, began voicing their annoyance as soon as they realised how long the journey would take. This was clearly not what they had signed up for. We felt the opposite.

Across from us sat a Chinese couple who slept through almost the entire ride. I watched them in disbelief. The forest slipped past the windows, the hills rose and fell, the train curved its way through valleys — and they missed all of it. I couldn’t quite understand how one could sleep through a journey like this. But perhaps that, too, is part of travel — different people seeking different things.

The Kukushka runs through thick conifer forests, occasionally opening up to glimpses of rivers and deep ravines. In winter, the upper stretches are often blanketed in snow, transforming the ride into something almost fairytale-like. We were there in early December, and the snow had not yet fully claimed the hills. Still, the quiet, the cold air, and the steady climb made the journey deeply satisfying.

The train itself is modest — two small carriages, recently renovated, with heating that makes it comfortable even in colder months. Standing near the doors, or by an open window when possible, felt far more rewarding than sitting inside. This was not a journey to be endured; it was one to be watched.

The Kukushka has been running in some form since 1902. Originally steam-hauled, it earned its nickname from the ku-ku sound the engines made as they laboured uphill. Today, electric locomotives take over the task, but the spirit of the journey remains unchanged. Even the bridge it crosses — built by Gustave Eiffel — passes almost unnoticed unless you know to look for it. You don’t so much see these details as you feel them.

By the time we reached Bakuriani, we knew this ride was not for everyone. And that was precisely why we enjoyed it. It rewards patience, curiosity, and a willingness to slow down — qualities that rarely make it into package itineraries.

For us, the Kukushka was never about getting to Bakuriani. It was about choosing the longer way, and being entirely at ease with that choice.

PS: The train on this line is hauled by Škoda “crocodile” locomotives — named for their long snouts — a visual reminder that this isn’t just any train, but one with character and history.