The iconic Gergeti Trinity Church, a 14th-century stone sentinel at 2,170 meters, Stepantsminda. Behind it looms Mount Kazbek - Mkinvartsveri, the "Ice Mountain" - a dormant volcano that last erupted in prehistoric times. Locals say the church was never robbed because any thief would have to be part mountain goat.

Georgia - Sakartvelo, land of the Kartvelians - called to us like a folk song you can't stop humming. We started in Tbilisi, where sulfur baths and tangled balconies feel like a movie set. But our real hunger was for the Caucasus. These peaks aren't just pretty postcards; they're the crumple zone of a 30-million-year tectonic pile‑up. The Arabian plate rammed into Eurasia and the mountains are still shrugging upward - approx. 20–30 mm a year. Not fast, but enough to remind you that geology is patient and you are not.

This Georgian Military Highway road trip would become our obsession. Two hundred kilometers of switchbacks, forgotten Soviet tunnels and sheep who think they own the asphalt. (They do, by the way. We just rent it.)

As historian Charles King suggests, the Caucasus is often less a distinct place than a condition - a perpetual state of encounter between peoples, empires and ideas.

Fuel for the journey: shotis puri, the canoe‑shaped bread from Tbilisi. The baker slaps dough into a toné - a clay well using an ancient technique used in the Caucasus for millennia. UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage? Not yet, but we’re lobbying.

You can’t tackle the Georgian Military Highway on an empty stomach. That’s a rookie mistake. So before we aimed north, we stalked a toné oven in Tbilisi’s old town. Shotis puri comes out blistered, chewy and tasting faintly of smoke and history. The dough sticks to the vertical clay walls, bakes in two minutes and is yanked out using two specialized tools: the kavi (a long hooked skewer) and the safkheki (a metal scraper). It’s a high-stakes operation where the baker essentially dives into a 400-degree pit to retrieve your lunch. Carbs haven’t changed much in thousands of years and neither has the risk of singed eyebrows.

We threw our rented white sedan - nothing fancy, just four wheels and a prayer - into the fray for this self-drive Georgia road trip toward the Russian border at Verkhnii Lars.

One-Day Blitz: The Ultimate Georgian Military Highway Road Trip Itinerary

We packed the entire route - Tbilisi to the Russian gate - into a single, dawn‑to‑dusk expedition. No tour bus, no guide, just a rented sedan and a caffeine‑driven will. Here’s how the stops stack up, with insider distances, altitudes and the unpolished truth about each one.

Stop	Distance from Tbilisi	Altitude	Highlight	Insider Tip
Tbilisi (start: Tbilisi to Kazbegi Drive)	0 km	500 m	Sulfur baths, shotis puri	Grab bread at 7 a.m. before the line forms at the old‑town toné.
Zhinvali Reservoir & Ananuri	~50 km	750 m	Sunken Church of the Cross (winter), 17th‑c. fortress	Visit when water levels drop significantly (typically winter to early spring) to see the dome break the surface; arrive by 9 a.m. for glassy reflections.
Pasanauri – Aragvi confluence	70 km	1100 m	Black & White rivers, bronze deer	Try the off‑menu lamb khinkali at a roadside dukani - often cited as the best khinkali on the Georgian Military Highway - locals keep it quiet.
Vedza Mineral Spring (Bidara Gorge)	~100 km	2196 m	Naturally carbonated mineral water (Travertine)	Bring 5‑L bottles; the water is rich in iron and tastes best fresh from the source.
Gudauri – Friendship Monument	120 km	2200 m	Soviet mosaic, paragliders, Devil’s Valley	Sunset paints the interior mosaics gold - and the tour buses are gone.
Stepantsminda – Gergeti Trinity	150 km	1750 m	14th‑c. church, Mount Kazbek	Hike at 6 a.m. for sunrise and zero crowd; the “loaf” vans start rattling up at 8.
Verkhnii Lars border	170 km	1300 m	Only land gate to Russia, Terek gorge	Pack a picnic and a book - weekend waits can exceed three hours.

Zhinvali Reservoir & the Ananuri Fortress Complex: Where a Church Plays Hide‑and‑Seek

Fifty kilometers north of Tbilisi, the valley suddenly fills with turquoise. The Zhinvali Reservoir looks like someone tipped a giant bottle of mouthwash into the Aragvi. But this lake has a secret - one that only reveals itself when the winter drought hits.

The Sunken Church of the Cross

In 1986, Soviet engineers dammed the Aragvi and drowned two dozen villages. Most people moved. The 12th‑century Church of the Cross (Jvari Patiosani) didn’t. From when the reservoir level drops significantly (typically in winter and early spring), the church’s dome and bell‑tower poke through the surface like a penitent diver coming up for air. It’s become a pilgrimage site for the morbidly curious.

Local hydro‑engineers told us that the dam’s turbines produce 130 MW - a major contributor to Tbilisi’s power supply - but nobody talks about the graves resting 70 meters below the pleasure boats.

The Zhinvali Reservoir, an artificial lake born in 1986, with Ananuri Fortress watching over it. Underneath that mirror finish: a medieval church, two dozen homes and one very persistent legend. Visibility is 5 meters; historical angst is eternal.

Vagabond Tip – Sunken Church: Most visitors peer at the reservoir and leave. But if you really want to see the dome of St. George, come in mid‑February. That’s when the water bottoms out and the entire bell tower emerges. Locals leave candles on the concrete abutment near the old bridge - bring a lighter and add your own.

The famous confluence near Pasanauri. Left: White Aragvi (glacial flour). Right: Black Aragvi (organic stain). They'll eventually merge, but they're in no hurry. The bronze deer doesn't judge.

The Aragvi Confluence: Black Meets White, Neither Blinks

Near Pasanauri, two rivers collide but don’t fully commit. The White Aragvi runs milky with glacial flour - rock ground to powder by ice. The Black Aragvi flows dark, colored by the black slate and shale of the Gudamakari range.

Why the Colors Don’t Mix - At Least Not Right Away

Geologists call this a “sediment‑loaded confluence.” The White carries silt from the Caucasus’ paleozoic schists; the Black drains forested slopes of the Gudamakari range. Different densities, different temperatures. They need a few hundred meters to agree. It’s like watching two introverts at a party.

The Deer Statue and the Soap Opera Legend

A bronze deer watches the confluence from a small overlook. Nobody knows why it’s a deer. Maybe because the old Georgian hunting deity was a stag. More locally, the story goes that two sisters - one blonde, one brunette - loved the same hunter. He couldn’t choose; they wept themselves into rivers. The rivers never merge completely, just like the sisters never reconciled. We prefer the geological explanation, but the tragedy sells postcards.

Vagabond Tip – Khinkali Detour: Just before the confluence bridge, a beaten path leads to a roadside dukani - a wood‑shed restaurant with no English sign. Order the “mountain khinkali” (lamb, mint, wild garlic). It’s not on the paper menu; you have to ask the matriarch in the apron. Worth the charades.

Vedza Mineral Spring (Bidara Gorge): Free Sparkling Water

We pulled off near the Jvari Pass because our map showed a blue dot labeled “mineral water.” Turned out to be a pipe jutting from the hillside, hissing like a radiator near the Bidara River. We filled our bottles. The water was cold, ferruginous and aggressively carbonated - nature’s club soda, no membership required.

How the Fizz Happens

Deep below, rainwater percolates through Jurassic shale, picks up CO₂ from ancient volcanic degassing and surges back up through fault lines. It’s the same geology that gives Borjomi its fame, but here there’s no spa, no entrance fee - just a pipe and the occasional shepherd refilling his own bottle.

We met a man from Tbilisi who drives up every month with twenty‑liter jerrycans. “Better than Borjomi,” he said, “and the government hasn’t figured out how to tax it yet.” We toasted to that.

A natural mineral spring near Ganisi, on the Georgian Military Highway. CO₂ from deep volcanic systems carbonates the water on its way up. We call it free and delicious.

Vagabond Tip – Vedza Spring: There are actually two pipes here - the roadside one everyone uses and a rustier one 50 meters uphill behind the concrete barrier. Locals swear the upper pipe has higher carbonation and less iron. Bring a headlamp; the path is muddy but the fizz is worth it.

Gudauri: Soviet Engineering, Paragliders and a Monument That Aged Poorly

The road to Gudauri is a series of switchbacks that make you grateful for guardrails - and for the Soviet engineers who drilled through the Cross Pass in 1861. At 2,200 meters, the air thins and the views expand.

The Friendship Monument: Awkward Mosaics, Killer Views

Perched over the Devil’s Valley, the Russian-Georgian Friendship Monument was built in 1983 to celebrate 200 years of the Treaty of Georgievsk (it was us who added it to Google Maps). The interior murals depict happy Russian and Georgian peasants holding grapes. The irony today is thick enough to ski on. But the panorama of the Caucasus Main Ridge? Still bipartisan.

Summer Paragliding: Launching into Thin Air

Gudauri is a winter ski hub, but come June the chairlifts haul paragliders. We watched a dozen humans run off a cliff and float over the valley like confused condors. One pilot landed near our car, packed a 10‑kg wing into a backpack and said, “Best office in Georgia.” Hard to argue.

Gudauri in early spring: still some snow, but the paragliders are already circling. The Russian-Georgian Friendship Monument hides around that cliff, waiting to make things awkward. Altitude: 2,200 m. Oxygen: optional.

Vagabond Tip – Monument Without Crowds: The Friendship Monument is overrun by tour minibuses from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Go at 6 p.m. The low sun ignites the blue mosaics and you’ll likely have the balcony to yourself - except for the five or six stray dogs that treat the place like a throne.

Up close with Gergeti Trinity Church. Stone walls: 60 cm thick. Purpose: avalanche‑proof, invasion‑proof, boredom‑proof. The historic wooden door - touch it and you touch medieval Georgia.

Gergeti Trinity Church: The Church That Refuses to Be Humbled

Stepantsminda - Kazbegi under its Soviet name - is the last real town before Russia. And above it, on a lump of basalt, sits Gergeti Sameba. Built in the 14th century, maybe earlier. Nobody kept precise records; they were too busy surviving.

Why Build a Church Up Here?

Strategic faith. When Tbilisi was sacked by the Persians in 1795, the monks hauled the cross of St. Nino and other relics up this hill. The trail is steep; invaders with siege equipment couldn’t follow. Plus, the acoustics are amazing. We heard a lone choir practicing inside - stone walls bouncing sound like a celestial compression chamber.

The Hike vs. The Soviet‑Era Taxi

You can walk from Stepantsminda - 90 minutes of huffing, great calf workout. Or you can ride one of the UAZ‑452 vans, colloquially known as “loaves” because they’re shaped like bread boxes. These 4x4s have been rattling up this slope since Brezhnev. Our driver had no working seatbelts but an immaculate cassette deck. We made it. Barely.

Vagabond Tip – The 6 a.m. Blessing: Skip the UAZ van. Start hiking from Stepantsminda at 5:45 a.m. You’ll crest the hill just as the sun strikes the church’s east apse. The complex grounds are open - and if you're lucky, the church door might be unlocked early - allowing you to experience the site alone, surrounded by 600‑year‑old incense soot. Bring a headlamp.

Verkhnii Lars: The Only Land Gate to Russia

We drove the last 20 kilometers to the border through the Daryal Gorge. The Terek River roared beside us and the valley narrowed into a choke point historically known as the "Gates of the Alans." This fissure in the rock has been fortified since the 1st century BC. This is Verkhnii Lars - Zemo Larsi in Georgian - the only legal land crossing between the two countries since 2010.

A Border With a Resume

This pass has hosted Scythian horsemen, Persian couriers and Russian imperial troops. Pushkin came through in 1829, heading to the Ottoman front. Lermontov immortalized the area in his writing. In 2021, it’s mostly clogged with Armenian cargo trucks and the occasional Land Cruiser with diplomatic plates.

We didn’t cross - no Russian visa - but we watched the line of trucks stretch two kilometers. Drivers cook rice on portable stoves. Some have been waiting three days. For them, the view of Mount Kazbek is just the backdrop for a bureaucratic purgatory. Spoiler: we will actually cross the border into Russia later on our epic quad-continental Silk Road Expedition.

The Verkhnii Lars / Zemo Larsi border crossing. Only legal land route between Georgia and Russia since 2010. On a good day, wait time: 1 hour. On a bad day: bring a book. And snacks.

Tsanareti Restaurant, Arsha: Khinkali, Broth and a New Religion

Exhausted, borderline hypothermic, we turned south and dropped elevation. At the village of Arsha, a wooden sign promised “Tsanareti – Traditional Cuisine.” We parked, we ordered, we wept with joy. Not really. But the khinkali was that good.

The Physics of Eating Khinkali

A proper khinkali is a dumpling‑soup hybrid. The filling - spiced beef and pork, raw onion, coriander, chilies - steams inside the dough, creating a pocket of liquid. You hold the twisted topknot, bite a tiny hole, suck out the broth, then eat the rest. Never bite the whole thing. That’s how you burn your chin and embarrass your ancestors.

The topknot is purely utilitarian - a handle. You’re not supposed to eat it. Folklore claims a perfect khinkali should have 28 folds, representing the years of the solar cycle. Georgians leave the knots on the plate like tiny doughy tombstones, which also helps the waiter tally your bill. A pile of ten knots means you’ve just inhaled ten dumplings. We left a small cemetery.

Khinkali at Tsanareti, Arsha. Note the twisted topknot - that’s the handle. Suck the broth, abandon the knot, repeat. There is no known upper limit.

This drive - Tbilisi to the Verkhnii Lars gate - is only 200 kilometers. But it packs a millennium of history, a pinch of tectonics and enough khinkali to feed a small army. Sakartvelo doesn’t shout about its wonders. It just places a 14th‑century church on a hill and waits for you to hike up and notice. If you’re planning your own Georgian Military Highway road trip, take our advice: bring a camera, empty stomach and at least one cousin who knows a guy with a UAZ loaf.

Next: A Day Trip Through Kakheti: Wine, History and Georgian Charm | Georgia the Country in Europe.