What was supposed to be a closing surprise turned into a chapter I couldn't bear to close: The bittersweetness and wrinkles of Tbilisi

Emerging from the dust of the African wilderness and stepping into the morning mist of Tbilisi still felt a bit unreal. I originally planned to treat Georgia as the "final surprise" of my trip, but after six days and twenty thousand steps, it became the chapter I was most reluctant to leave behind🌆 The old town in the early morning is always wrapped in the scent of bread. Elderly grandmothers in long robes guard the ovens, and the freshly baked "Khachapuri" looks like a plump little boat. The cheese filling is so hot it burns your fingertips, and you have to take a big sip of sour cherry juice before daring to take a bite🍕 Turning the corner, I suddenly stumbled into a graffiti alley. On the weathered walls, remnants of Soviet slogans overlap with cyberpunk patterns. A teenager in ripped jeans sits on the curb holding a guitar, strumming strings wilder than the Tbilisi wind🎸 I especially love exploring those "earthquake cracks"—some dilapidated houses are supported by scaffolding, with peeling walls revealing old newspaper linings, yet window sills are lined with rows of geraniums; some have been transformed into art spaces, where brutalist concrete frames hang with flowing projections of light and shadow, suddenly sprouting gentle touches amid the cold hardness🏗️ In the evening, I drank wine at an old winery under renovation. The "Kakheti" brewed in clay jars carries an earthy aroma. The winemaker said, "Tbilisi is like this wine; it needs a bit of astringency to have strength." The guesthouse I stayed in was hidden beside the cable car tracks. The wooden stairs creaked underfoot, and the landlord uncle always brought out clay pot yogurt at breakfast topped with homemade pickled green plums. When the sourness made me frown, he smiled and handed me a piece of walnut candy: "Life, after all, has to be a mix of sweet and sour." At night, standing on the terrace, I could see steam rising from the sulfur baths atop the old bathhouse, mingling with the heavy bass from a distant Techno club. The breaths of old and new intertwined in the night sky🌃 It turns out some cities are like surprise blind boxes—you think it’s a plain ending, but when you open it, it’s full of light in the wrinkles.