What Georgia taught me about trusting my instincts
When I stepped out of Tbilisi airport, the air smelled faintly of rain and roasted walnuts.
I’d read that Georgia was a place where history and hospitality intertwined at every corner, where medieval churches stood beside Art Nouveau balconies, and where strangers would pour you wine before asking your name.
It was also the first trip where I decided to rely on my instincts, not just my itinerary.
And that started with something small but symbolic: bringing Georgian lari with me from the UK. I’d ordered it before I left, wanting to avoid queues at airport exchanges and step into the country ready to go.
I didn’t realise it at the time, but that small decision set the tone for the whole journey.
A city that rewards curiosity
Tbilisi is the kind of city that invites you to wander.
Its streets twist and turn, revealing hidden courtyards, street art, and little bakeries selling khachapuri, the kind of molten cheese bread that makes you close your eyes on the first bite.
On my second day, I passed a café tucked under a row of crumbling balconies.
It wasn’t in my guidebook, but something about the warm light and the smell of cardamom made me stop.
Inside, a woman in an embroidered apron was serving Turkish-style coffee in tiny porcelain cups.
I paid in cash, the coins warm from my hand, and she smiled before sliding over a plate of churchkhela, traditional sweets made of nuts and grape juice.
I hadn’t ordered them. “For you,” she said. That moment wouldn’t have happened if I’d been fumbling for my card or worrying about whether they’d accept it.
Learning to say yes
One afternoon, I walked past a small tour stand offering day trips to the Kakheti wine region.
I’d planned to go the next week, but the weather forecast was perfect, blue skies and sunshine.
“Can you leave in 20 minutes?” the guide asked.
The tour was cash-only, and I had exactly what I needed in my bag. I said yes.
An hour later, I was winding through valleys covered in vines, learning that Georgia has been making wine for over 8,000 years.
In a family-run winery, the owner poured ruby-red Saperavi into glasses and told us how wine was traditionally stored in clay qvevri buried underground.
It felt spontaneous and magical, and it wouldn’t have been possible if I’d needed to dash to an ATM.
In the mountains, instinct matters
From Tbilisi, I travelled north to Stepantsminda, a small town in the Caucasus mountains.
The road snaked past snow-capped peaks, and the air grew colder and sharper with each mile.
Here, my instincts were tested in a different way.
A local driver offered to take me up to the Gergeti Trinity Church, perched high above the town. The price was fair, but there was no card machine, no reception, and no way to book it later.
I thought about it for a moment. Then I trusted the feeling in my gut, handed over the lari, and climbed into his battered 4×4.
Ten minutes later, we were bouncing up a track so steep I wondered if we’d make it.
We did, and the view from the top was the kind that stops you in your tracks: rolling green hills, jagged peaks, and the church silhouetted against the sky.
Confidence grows in small moments
Using cash in Georgia wasn’t just about convenience; it made me feel more confident.
I learned to read prices quickly, to recognise the bright notes and the patterns of the coins.
I stopped worrying about whether I’d be “doing it wrong” and just joined in with the everyday rhythm of life.
I also noticed how locals reacted when I paid in lari.
There was an unspoken respect there, an acknowledgement that I’d made the effort to meet them on their terms.
It’s a small thing, but it changes the way interactions feel.
Trusting myself, one decision at a time
By the end of the trip, I realised that travelling with cash had encouraged me to make decisions faster and more intuitively.
If an opportunity came up, a pottery class, a market purchase, a last-minute lift to a nearby village, I didn’t hesitate.
It wasn’t just about the money. It was about trusting myself to say yes when something felt right. And that’s a habit I’ve brought home with me.
Why I’d tell every woman to do it
Travel can sometimes feel overwhelming, especially in places where the language, customs, and currency are unfamiliar.
But Georgia taught me that preparation is power, and power gives you freedom.
By arriving with lari in my wallet, I avoided the stress of hunting down an ATM or accepting bad rates in tourist spots.
I gave myself the option to dive into experiences the moment they appeared. And I gave myself one less reason to doubt my instincts.
If you’re heading to Georgia, I’d say this: learn a few phrases, pack an open mind, and get your currency sorted before you go.
Having cash on hand will make your trip smoother, richer, and far more spontaneous.
My Georgia takeaway
Georgia will stay with me, in the taste of that first coffee, the sight of vineyards glowing under the sun, and the quiet thrill of standing on a mountain ledge.
But what I value most is how it reminded me to trust myself.
Sometimes the best travel memories come from the moments you didn’t plan, the chances you almost didn’t take.
And sometimes, all it takes to say yes is a few banknotes in your pocket, and the confidence to follow your own lead.
