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Recently, my Facebook feed has filled with advertisements for one- or two-day trips run by local tourism companies, accompanied by gorgeous photos – young couples on horseback on a remote forest trail, snowcapped mountains, a muscular man rappelling down a waterfall. Last week my eyes froze on the perfect Instagram shot. A couple, backs to the camera, nonchalantly leaning on the side of a swimming pool, looking out at the most breathtaking view of mountains and a river below. The greens and blues of the landscape matched the pool water perfectly (the first hint that the photo was heavily edited), and it looked like paradise. I impulsively clicked “attending” on the Facebook event and reserved spots on the trip for myself and some friends.
That sparkling pool is located in a small mountain village called Lailashi and the stunning landscape is Racha – one of Georgia’s lesser known regions among international visitors. Racha is mostly known for its take on lobiani (with ham!) and for the stereotypically slow way of life. It is a mostly mountainous region without much in the way of urban development. The largest city is Ambrolauri (pop. 2,047), which boasts a tiny airport and a huge statue of a bottle of kvanchkara, the region’s most famous wine. The village of Kvanchkara is just a few kilometers outside of Ambrolauri. The grapes that can be made into the sweet, velvety red must be from their namesake village, but it seemed that every house in the region had its own vineyard. Trellised grape leaves shone with the blue tint of Bordeaux Mixture in the mountain sunshine, and the occasional vintner assessed his or her crop.
After 6.5 hours of spine-compressing, knee-chafing, nausea-inducing bumping along in a marshrutka, we finally arrived in the village of Lailashi. It was around 1 pm and sweat had plastered my hair to my forehead and my jean shorts to my thighs in such an uncomfortable way that all I could think about was that Instagram-perfect pool waiting for us at the top of the hill. As we trudged upward, I started to get nervous seeing the row of marshrutkas and buses parked along the roadside – this wasn’t the undiscovered gem I had been hoping for.
The Lailashi springs gush ice cold mountain water into a small man-made tiled pool. The pool overlooks an incredible valley, and is surrounded by concrete platforms that, on my visit, were crowded with visitors. Russian and Georgian tourists filled plastic bottles with spring water pouring from mountainside faucets, waited in line to take that Instagram-perfect photo, and slipped on patched of slimy moss on the ground as they fled from wasps. A few local girls sunned themselves on towels, whispering – “there are so many people here today...must be a tour or something.”
Compared to that photo, I must say Lailashi was a bit of a disappointment. The water was much too cold to swim, even in the sweltering heat, and any serenity was dashed by the crowds. Going in with eyes open, however, it really is a fascinating place. Locals have set up a small bar that serves snacks and draught beer, and a small changing room was in the process of being built. There are still no bathroom facilities (heads up), but the place really does have some interesting potential if taken care of.
After the obligatory photoshoot at Lailashi, we were hustled back into the marshrutka and jostled onwards to the next site – the waterfall of love. Qvabtkari Waterfall is maybe 15 meters, flowing almost directly onto the road below, and covered with bright yellow-orange moss. What makes it special is the rock overhang at its base in (vaguely) the shape of heart. They say if you walk through the water into the heart, you will find your true love.
Next, we hiked about 10 minutes down a slippery path to Skhvava Cave. A thick layer of mist hangs in the air above an oval gash in the base of a mountain. The sure-footed can pick their way into the cave, over steep and slick mud, to reach the floor, which stays cold year-round – thus its nickname “the freezer.” Descriptions of the cave say that there is a small lake at the bottom filled with ice cold water, the back wall is covered in ice, and the air temperature is lower than 0° C year-round. On my mid-July visit, however, there was neither water nor ice, and the temperature felt more like 10° C. It was a welcome respite from the heat, though, and has an almost mystical atmosphere.
The last stop on the tour was the 9.2 km2 Shaori Lake. We stopped for a picnic of rachuli lobiani, tomatoes, and cheese we picked up in Ambrolauri. There are a couple open air cafes on the banks of Shaori, with bean bag chairs and Georgian folk music. On the way, we passed other tour groups barbequing in forest clearings between the highway at the lakeshore. The weather at Shaori was cool and blustery, and I sucked in as much fresh air as possible, trying to purify my lungs before returning to Tbilisi. As the sun began to move lower in the sky, a section of the deep green pine mountains that ring the lake was hidden by fog in a romantic farewell to Racha. All the camera-happy tourists (yes, myself included) rushed to the edge of the road to take photos of the foggy mountain over the lake.
Around 5:30 pm, we folded ourselves back into the marshrutka for the drive home. I managed to keep my eyes open just until we left the wonderland of unique landscapes that is Racha before passing out for the next five hours. Waking up in Tbilisi, the bucolic fantasy was quickly shattered by honking car horns and screeching brakes. In my bed that night I still felt the tossing and turning of the road – the same feeling after a day spent on a boat. I dreamt about the misty green mountains and blue-tinted grape leaves of Racha.
This was one of the longest days I have had traveling in Georgia. I am so grateful to have been able to see Racha; it truly is a unique place. It should definitely be on every must-see list, but if possible – try spending a few nights, not just a whirlwind day trip!
By Samantha Guthrie