Forget postcard-perfect vineyards—I chased Georgia’s soul through Soviet-era stairwells in Tbilisi, hitchhiked with shepherds in Tusheti’s cloud-piercing peaks, and traded stories over *cha cha* moonshine in backstreet bars. This wasn’t a checklist trip; it was a collision of cobblestone mystique and raw, horizon-chasing freedom. Proof that the real magic lies not in the “must-sees,” but in the unscripted moments where the land and its keepers pull you into their rhythm. Ready to rewrite the script?