Georgia tours & trips

Most journeys begin in Tbilisi, a warm, weathered capital of sulphur baths, crooked balconies and natural-wine bars, before heading out along three very different routes. North lifts you into the High Caucasus: the Georgian Military Highway to Kazbegi and the medieval tower-villages of Svaneti and Tusheti, where footpaths cross 2,900-metre passes and shepherds still summer their flocks. East rolls into Kakheti, the sun-warmed wine country where families press grapes in clay qvevri buried underground. West falls toward the Black Sea, the subtropical greenery of Adjara and the palm-lined promenade of Batumi.

Our trips are built around that geography, not around a checklist. Group departures are small (typically 6–14 travellers), guided by licensed Georgian guides who grew up on these roads, and run in vehicles that are inspected and insured. Private trips are shaped entirely around you — the pace, the hotels, the balance of mountains and wine. Either way, no day is a bus-window blur: we build in the hike, the cellar, the roadside khinkali stop that people actually remember.

When to come. May to early July brings wildflowers and green alpine meadows; September and October are golden, warm and the grape harvest is in full swing — arguably the finest time to visit. July and August are hot in the lowlands but perfect high in the mountains. Winter turns Gudauri into a genuinely good, low-cost ski destination from late December into April.

A few honest practicalities. Citizens of more than 90 countries, including all EU member states, the UK, the US and Canada, enter visa-free for up to a year — we spell out the rules on each tour page. The currency is the lari (GEL); cards work in cities, cash rules in the mountains. It is, by every measure travellers report, one of the safest countries in the region for solo travellers, families and women. And it is still remarkably good value: comfort here costs a fraction of Western Europe.

Whatever route you choose, the thing people carry home from Georgia is rarely a photo of a mountain. It's the memory of being fed, toasted, and made to feel — by total strangers — completely at home.