Georgia
Tbilisi
We’re constantly surrounded by advice—people trying to guide us, sometimes helpfully, sometimes manipulatively. But for the sake of this post, let’s assume everyone means well. Because the people I’m thinking of here—I do believe their intentions are genuinely good—It has to be something else that is wrong here.
They speak from their own experience, offering advice they believe will improve your life or help you avoid certain pitfalls. And yet… so often, their advice completely misses the mark. Sometimes being even harmful at large.
Old Tbilisi
While flying from Antalya to Tbilisi, the capital city of Georgia, I found myself rewatching one of my airplane comfort movies—A Haunting in Venice, Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation of an Agatha Christie murder mystery, where Branagh, as always, plays the legendary detective Hercule Poirot.
Haunting in Venice isn’t my favorite installment in the series. And it wasn’t really the plot that struck me this time—but a quiet, final scene near the end. One that echoed something personal and recent in my own life.
Chronicles
of Georgia
I had an image in mind long before I ever set foot in this place. It had to be perfect—this location that, in my imagination, looked as though it belonged in Game of Thrones or The Lord of the Rings. Grand, ancient and unrealistically dramatic.
I waited a full week for snow after arriving in Tbilisi. But the gods, as they often do, had other plans. The temperature unexpectedly rose, the skies cleared out, and I slowly lost hope for what I had envisioned.
But then, on the very last day of my journey, my patience had been rewarded. I was woken by what I was waiting for—a snowstorm!