I’m a California-based writer in my thirties, and I recently spent two months living in the country of Georgia.
Why Georgia?
I wanted to challenge my assumptions about the world and myself.
In my case, traveling solo to a country I knew little about felt a bit scary – which is exactly why I knew I had to do it. What I found was a place that shattered my expectations in the best ways possible.
Georgia welcomed me with open arms (sometimes literally) and taught me lessons I never expected. From the bustling streets of Tbilisi to the quiet museum in Gori (yes, the town where Stalin was born), and up to the snowy peaks of Mestia in Svaneti, I got a crash course in safety, hospitality, budgeting, and adjusting to daily life far from home.
Here are the key lessons I learned, each one a mix of personal story and a bit of psychology-backed insight.
Fear vs. reality: Georgia is safer than you think
Before arriving, I grappled with the usual solo travel jitters:
Is it safe to wander alone? What if something goes wrong?
I’ve mentioned this before but our brains are wired with a negativity bias – we instinctively focus on potential threats more than positive outcomes.
This bias had me triple-checking locks and scanning streets for danger on my first nights in Tbilisi.
The surprise?
I quickly realized Georgia feels incredibly safe.
In fact, it ranks among the top 35 safest countries globally, scoring 86 out of 100 in Gallup’s Law and Order Index (on par with Japan and Germany). Even solo female traveler surveys rank Georgia 33rd safest worldwide with a 4.6/5 safety score.
What did that mean on the ground?
For one, I found myself strolling down Rustaveli Avenue in Tbilisi well past midnight, feeling completely at ease as families and couples also enjoyed the warm night.
Riding in a Marshrutka (minibus) from Tbilisi to Gori, locals would strike up a friendly conversation rather than eye me suspiciously.
In Gori – a town known mainly as Stalin’s birthplace – a museum guide eagerly walked me to the bus station after closing time to ensure I got back safely. My worries started to melt away.
The lesson here is psychological as much as practical: often, the fear of the unknown is a mirage. The world isn’t out to get you.
Georgia taught me that sometimes reality is much kinder than our imagination.
Hospitality overload
If there’s one thing Georgian culture is famous for, it’s hospitality.
Locals don’t just welcome you — they adopt you (at least it feels that way).
I lost count of how many times I was invited to join a dinner or offered help without even asking.
In Georgia, there’s a saying: “A guest in the house is God in the house,” meaning every visitor is considered a blessing from above. I experienced this ethos firsthand.
In Mestia, a tiny mountain town with stone defensive towers poking out of autumn-colored hills, I stayed at a family-run guesthouse.
My host, an older woman named Marina, treated me like her long-lost nephew. Every morning she prepared a breakfast feast large enough for a wedding party – fresh bread, homemade cheese, honey from their own bees. If I barely dented the spread, she looked genuinely concerned.
One evening, Marina noticed I returned from hiking looking tired and promptly insisted I sit while she made me tea and Chikhirtma (a hearty chicken soup). It was comfort served with a smile. Honestly, the hospitality was so over-the-top I felt a little guilty.
I wasn’t used to receiving so much, so freely.
Psychologically, accepting generosity can be oddly challenging.
Studies show many of us find it harder to receive help or kindness than to give it. We worry about imposing or owing something in return.
In Georgia, I had to get over that mental hurdle. It dawned on me that saying “yes, thank you” to kindness can be as important as offering it.
By the end of my two months, I started leaning into the warmth instead of resisting it. I even helped my guesthouse host’s family make Khinkali (soup dumplings) one night, turning the dynamic into a shared experience rather than a one-way street.
Cost that won’t break the bank
Coming from California, I’m used to high prices and budgeting anxiety.
In Georgia, my wallet breathed a sigh of relief.
Daily life is remarkably affordable – and not at the expense of quality.
For example, in Tbilisi, I regularly ate a huge lunch of Khachapuri (cheese-filled bread) and salad for around $5, and a taxi across town rarely cost more than $3.
A monthly pass for the clean, efficient metro? Under $10.
Even splurging felt cheap. One weekend, I joined a guided day trip to the wine region Kakheti with a small group – tastings and transport included – for roughly $30, a price that’s unheard of in Napa Valley.
To put it in perspective, the cost of living in Los Angeles is over 215% more expensive than in Tbilisi.
That gap is massive.
It meant that in Georgia, I could say “yes” to experiences I might have skipped elsewhere.
I went skiing in Mestia (lift pass and gear rental for a day was about $20) and didn’t think twice about taking detours to try a new café or coworking space.
When you’re not stressing about every lari (Georgian currency) spent, you feel a lightness that frees you to focus on the experience itself.
Georgia’s low costs essentially removed the price barrier to rich experiences.
One practical tip: I found Booking.com to work better than Airbnb for accommodations here. Many small guesthouses (especially in places like Mestia) aren’t on Airbnb, or if they are, they respond faster through Booking.
A remote work heaven (with great coffee)
Travel wasn’t a vacation for me – I was working full-time during those two months.
Thankfully, Georgia is increasingly friendly to remote workers and digital nomads. I discovered a couple of fantastic coworking spaces that became my temporary offices.
In Tbilisi, I joined Impact Hub Tbilisi, a 24/7 coworking community tucked inside a trendy reused industrial space
. A swipe card got me in any time, and I was greeted by fast Wi-Fi, endless coffee and tea, and a mix of local entrepreneurs and fellow travelers hunched over laptops.
On days when I craved a change of scenery, I’d head to Terminal, another popular coworking network with locations in different parts of the city (their Vake branch was my favorite for its quiet focus zones).
Adjusting to a new routine in a foreign place was both challenging and refreshing.
Mornings became my time for a quick walk to grab a Georgian pastry (nothing like a hot khachapuri to start the day) before diving into work.
By lunchtime, I might be giving a Zoom presentation to colleagues halfway around the world, then stepping out to a nearby park for a break under the walnut trees.
There was something almost poetic about this rhythm – as if blending work and exploration made each day feel fuller.
I’d log off in the evening and immediately switch into explorer mode: one night I’d be at a jazz bar in Tbilisi’s old town, another night soaking in the historical sulfur bathhouses that the city is famous for.
Thus, productivity-wise, I actually thrived.
Contrasts: Stalin & the snowy peaks
In a span of two months, Georgia showed me a startling range of environments and histories, sometimes in the same day.
One week, I stood in Gori, in front of the house where Joseph Stalin was born – preserved like a time capsule – and toured the Soviet-era museum dedicated to him.
The very next week, I found myself in Mestia, gazing at medieval stone towers and the snow-capped twin peaks of Ushba mountain piercing the sky.
Talk about contrasts.
It’s almost hard to believe Gori and Mestia are in the same country, let alone just a few hours’ travel apart.
These contrasts taught me the value of staying open-minded and adaptable.
Daily life in Tbilisi, the capital, felt urban and buzzing – cafés, art galleries, traffic jams, young professionals in stylish clothes.
Meanwhile, daily life in a village in Svaneti felt like stepping back in time. I watched an elderly couple herd their cattle down the main road at dusk, and the biggest excitement one evening was a supra dinner with the neighbors that lasted four hours (and maybe four too many toasts of homemade chacha grape brandy for me!).
Neither is “the real Georgia” – they both are.
Georgia contains multitudes, and embracing that diversity enriched my experience.
On a personal level, bouncing between such different settings was like a crash course in adaptability.
I had to switch from city navigation mode (metro cards, Google Maps, fast-paced) to mountain village mode (ask locals for directions, plan around the single daily marshrutka departure).
The big lesson? Perspective.
Experiencing both extremes – historical weight and natural grandeur – put my own life in perspective. My everyday worries shrank a bit in the face of centuries-old towers and stories of an era when people had far bigger troubles than a delayed email.
Putting it all together
Two months in Georgia as a solo traveler did more than fill my camera with stunning photos – it challenged my psychology and shifted my mindset.
I learned that safety is often a story we tell ourselves, and the world can be far more welcoming than we fear. I learned that radical hospitality might feel overwhelming until you embrace it with gratitude.
It turns out that adjusting to a new cost of living and a new routine can spark joy and creativity.
And I learned to find comfort amid contrasts, adapting to whatever environment I was in – city, village, or mountaintop.
In the end, the biggest thing I brought back with me wasn’t a souvenir, but a renewed sense that the world is both my teacher and my playground.
Georgia taught me lessons about life and myself that I didn’t know I needed.
If you ever find yourself wondering whether to take the leap on a solo adventure or a big life change, remember: the unfamiliar is often where we grow the most.
Take it from a guy who headed to the Caucasus mountains looking for something and found more than he bargained for.
