There Are Two Georgias

There are two Georgias. One is a state in the U.S. The other is an entirely different country—some might say it lies at the edge of the world. It’s nestled between Asia and Europe, by the Black Sea, just south of Russia. Georgia is a land of towering Caucasus Mountains (over 15,000 feet) and deep valleys between them, roughly the size of South Carolina.

Georgian history began long before Christ, even with the Romans. A major turning point came in 1783, when the rulers of Georgia signed a pact with their powerful northern neighbor, Russia—hoping not to face their many enemies alone, especially Iran and Turkey to the south.

The relationship with Russia proved delicate. Russia left its mark on Georgia in many ways, yet Georgia has always resisted total submission, and in many instances, succeeded. After World War I, in 1918, Georgia managed to establish itself as an independent state—briefly—until 1922, when it was absorbed into the Soviet Union and governed once again by Moscow. That lasted until 1991, when Georgia finally gained independence—an independence it still holds, despite ongoing tensions with Russia and frequent internal unrest.

I visited Georgia last summer and have thought about going back ever since. The country offers a long list of compelling qualities—its breathtaking landscapes, its incredibly flavorful cuisine, and its ever-present history. But what draws me in most is its genuine authenticity. Georgia has managed to preserve its original character. Everything feels unfiltered, real. That’s not always comfortable—but it is grounding. Being in Georgia feels like experiencing something true. It’s an honest place.

This time, I’ll only be in Batumi and Tbilisi. It’s another chapter of slow travel. In both cities, I’ve booked old apartments through Airbnb.

The photos here are of the apartment in Batumi, right in the heart of the old town. These kinds of apartments were built in the late 1800s, when Georgia’s economy was booming and a new middle class was emerging. Eager to show off their prosperity, people began buying and building apartments that resembled palaces.

The apartment I’ve booked has 13-foot ceilings (4 meters), a living room of about 430 square feet (40 m²), and windows nearly 10 feet high (3 meters / 120 inches). The wooden floors seem at least a century old. There are cracks in the walls—but also signs of thoughtful modernization: a brand-new bathroom, a modern heating system.

After the fall of the Tsarist regime in 1922, the Soviets “communalized” these apartments. My 430-square-foot room, for instance, would have been divided among three families. A permanent housing crisis forced such measures, often resulting in poor, overcrowded living conditions.

So here I am today, imagining what this place looked like 150 years ago—before the Soviets. I picture wealthy businesspeople, oil barons, merchants, affluent academics, and Russian officials living here in luxury. And then I imagine families of six, crammed into these rooms, children screaming, food simmering on a shared stove, space divided between too many people.

Today, things have changed again. These buildings have been bought, renovated, and lovingly maintained—sometimes by descendants of former residents. Many have become boutique hotels or Airbnbs. Others are still lived in by people who appreciate the scent and style of history.

Either way, the feeling is intense. It’s a privilege to live, walk, and sleep inside history. Times change. But in Georgia, it seems as though history prevails.

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