Morning Errands in a Slow City

I slept in a little and got up after 8:00 a.m., leaving the bike post around 10:30. My first stop was the bank. I exchanged the last of my rubles — about 2,900 in small bills — and withdrew some local currency. The clerk hesitated before accepting them. Whether it was sanctions or simple caution, the process felt slower than expected.

By 11:00 a.m., I took the metro toward Independence Square.

Independence Square and a Change of Plans

Independence Square sits at the heart of Tbilisi, surrounded by elegant 19th-century buildings, government offices, and fountains. At its center stands the statue of St. George slaying the dragon — a powerful national symbol.

From there, I started walking toward the Botanical Garden. Halfway there, I spotted the cable car in Rike Park. For 2.5 lari, it offered a shortcut upward — and a view I couldn’t refuse.

The cable car climbs from the old town up toward the Narikala ridge. First installed during the Soviet era and later modernized, it now serves as both transport and viewpoint. As the cabin rose, the city opened beneath me: the Kura River cutting through the center, tiled roofs clustered along the slopes, and modern glass structures blending into centuries-old streets.

It was the first moment I truly grasped Tbilisi’s layered character.

Kartlis Deda and the Walls of Narikala

At the top stands Kartlis Deda, the “Mother of Georgia.” She towers over the city, holding a sword for enemies and a bowl of wine for friends — a perfect summary of Georgian hospitality and resilience.

Just beyond her lies Narikala Citadel, the ancient fortress that has guarded Tbilisi since the 4th century. Originally built by the Persians, it later passed through Arab, Mongol, and Georgian hands. Its walls once controlled trade routes along the river and defended the city from countless invasions.

I climbed the highest accessible section of the walls. There were no stairs, just rough stone paths and careful footing. From above, the city spread out in every direction. It was easy to imagine sentries standing here centuries ago, watching the same valley.

While on the walls, I met a group of Scots. They told me more than 2,500 had traveled to Tbilisi for a football match against Georgia that evening. The city felt unusually international that day, buzzing with anticipation.

Churches, Bridges, and the Walk Back Down

After descending, I stopped for food and a short rest. Then I headed to Holy Trinity Cathedral, the largest church in Georgia. Its golden dome dominates the skyline, and the interior feels vast and solemn, built to inspire awe rather than intimacy.

From there, I walked back toward the old town and crossed the Bridge of Peace. The modern glass-and-steel structure arched over the Kura like a ribbon of light, linking historic neighborhoods with newer developments. It felt symbolic — a quiet conversation between old and new Tbilisi.

I took the funicular up to Mtatsminda Park, a hilltop amusement park overlooking the city. The funicular has been climbing this slope for over a century, and the views improve with every meter gained.

At the top, the park mixed nostalgia and spectacle: a Ferris wheel, old rides, cafés, and terraces facing the city. I stayed until sunset, watching Tbilisi light up street by street, bridge by bridge.

After dark, I walked back down through the old town. Narrow streets glowed with warm light. Cafés hummed quietly. The city felt alive but unhurried.

A Small Wrong Turn to End the Day

I took the metro back — in the wrong direction. Before I realized it, I reached the final stop. Luckily, it only meant a few extra stations on the return.

I arrived back at the bike post late. The place was silent. Everyone was already asleep.