Saturday    9.8.2025
360km Total: 2991km  6h 55m Total: 41h 21m
  1.58km Total: 43.13km

Late at night, as we approach the coast, we encounter the worst seas of the journey so far, but it is still no worse than it was on the way to Iceland.
When I pull up the roller blind on the cabin window and look out, the sky is dark grey and the rain is pouring down.

As most things on this crossing were somewhat unclear, I assumed I'd missed breakfast at 7.30 a.m. when the phone happily jumped into the Georgian time zone in the morning and we lost an hour.
I was therefore somewhat surprised when I was sitting with my mouth full of a cold ready meal and the announcement came over the tannoy (in English) that breakfast was being served and not to be late.
A bit of a miscalculation but as meals go the one I was wolfing down wasn't bad, so I continued munching away.

A couple of kilometres before the coast, we hear a sound that sounds suspiciously like a giant anchor winch, and sure enough, we come to a standstill.
The advantage of the wait is that the weather cleared up in the meantime.

Whether the arrival time of 10 a.m. was given in Bulgarian time (like breakfast) or local time (which is customary) is, like most other things about this crossing, shrouded in mystery.
And it doesn't really matter which it was because they missed it by quite a wide margin regardless.
It is almost lunchtime before we actually dock, and then there is another wait before we're allowed down to the car deck.

After quite a long time, rumours spread that there is a passport control in the cafeteria that everyone has to go through.
Fortunately, the lorry-drivers where gracious enough to let us tourists skip the queue, as it was taking long enough anyway.

Anyway, with our passports stamped and down on the car deck, we wait again for them to lower the ramp and actually let us leave the ship.
At this point, I start to feel like one of the ghosts on The Flying Dutchman, stuck on the ship for eternity.

We were supposed to dock at 10, so my naive hope was that I might be on my way and on the road by 11.
Shortly after 2 p.m., we were allowed to leave the ship, then checked out at a (thankfully quick) border control and finally allowed to leave the port.
I delayed departure for a short while by completely unnecessarily informing a border police officer that I was indeed from Sweden when he said ‘finish’ and pointed for me to leave.
(In my defence, it should be said that the previous border police officer on the boat listed all the other nationalities on board before he finally realised that I was Swedish).

What follows is one of the longest days of my life.
To begin with, I don't even have to leave Batumi before I realise that domestic animals on the road are something you need to take into account.
OK, that's nothing new, but I've never seen a cow just standing or lying right in the middle of the road in Europe before.
As far as I know, Georgians don't worship them like they do in India.
The goats, pigs and countless dogs spiced the journey up quite unnecessary as everyone else on the road quite obviously was out the get me as well.

When a whole herd of cows stod grazing in the median strip of the motorway I really hoped I'd seen it all.
Apart from suicidal cows, I immediately conclude that the average Georgian drives like a rabid sociopath.
This is aggressive recklessness on a level I have never seen before.

For example, imagining that you will not be overtaken just because there is oncoming traffic is a huge mistake.
Throwing yourself recklessly into the oncoming lane from a traffic queue to get further ahead in the queue is common practice; they don't give a damn if oncoming traffic has to slam on the brakes as they force themselves back into the queue.
I saw an elderly woman with two unrestrained children in a small Toyota practising this when I turned off at one point and tried to wait out the queue (which incidentally didn't work, otherwise I would still be there).
The fact that virtually every car has bodywork damage shows that this is how they think it should be done.

I stop in a small village to drink some water and eat something after a couple of hours in traumatising traffic.
By then, I had only managed just over 60 kilometres.
While I'm eating, a beat-up little Honda pulls into the parking space next to me with a young guy who clearly thinks he's some kind of gangster.
He's obviously stoned and thinks we're Bros because he can communicate at preschool-level English.

He asks me a bunch of completely idiotic questions about the bike in what I assume is Georgian.
I will say that there is room for doubt regarding his language skills even in his native tongue as he probably never was a star student.
The culmination of our conversation is not unexpectedly that he wants me to give him money because we are after all, bros.
I didn't quite share this conclusion and eventually he grew tired of badgering me.
His mate who stayed in the car seemed to think it was pretty humorous, which was nice because two against one had made the odds a bit worse than they needed to be.

The motorway sections are fine, but the stretches where you have to drive on the country road to the next motorway entrance are literally endless queues.
If the GPS indicated that it was ten kilometres to the next slip road, I could safely assume that the traffic queue was that long, because unfortunately it always turned out to be true.

When I pull into a petrol station in the evening to fill up, a confused discussion ensues with a petrol station attendant (Georgia is apparently a country where you don't fill up yourself).
Finally, we agree that the highest octane he can offer is 92, which I naturally accept, and it turned out to not really make any noticeable difference in either performance or mileage.
Considering that petrol cost just over ten Swedish kronor per litre (~€0.9), I can hardly complain, it's by far the cheapest petrol I've bought since Russia in 2018.

The modest 360 kilometres to the hotel in Tbilisi was calculated to be a rather depressingly late arrival from the outset, but the constant endless queues add hour after hour.
When I finally roll into the hotel car park, it is just after 10 p.m. and I have probably taken a total of one hour's break during the whole day.

The trip computer on the bike shows an average speed for the entire ordeal of 52 km/h.
I am incredibly happy that I am staying here for several days before moving on, as my body feels like I spent the afternoon in a cement mixer.
I slept well that night.

The weather wasn't great when we first arrived in Batumi, but it got better.

I left one of the queues on the hard shoulder and drank some water.
However, I made it a short stop as I quickly realised that I would be run over otherwise, given the large number of vehicles that were pulling out onto the hard shoulder to drive further ahead in the queue.

Sunday    10.8.2025 
29.96km Total: 70.09km 

I very rarely sleep as soundly as I did last night.

After the perfectly adequate but rather meagre food on the ferry, the breakfast buffet tasted delicious, and just the fact that there was something other than water to drink felt incredibly luxurious.
And the view from the hotel terrace added to the experience considerably.

I must admit that I actually passed out for another hour after breakfast, so it's after lunch before I head for town.
My first stop is a flea market next to a bridge with an incredible selection of everything from rubbish bin finds to antiques.

From here, I trudged on to Gabriadze's clock tower, which is part of an old puppet theatre.
Apparently, the hatch opens every hour on the hour to release an angel who rings a bell, but I'll have to try to time that later.

I walked down to Anchiskhati Basilica, whose claim to fame is that it is the oldest church in Tbilisi (from the 5th century), but it did not impress me visually from the outside, and I have no idea about the inside as they did not want people wearing shorts inside it.

The Peace Bridge didn't have that much of a wow-factor, but if you're going to build a footbridge, you have to be impressed by what they've done with it.

I next take a look at Sioni Cathedral.
It seems to have been a bit of a sport among Georgia's enemies to destroy this cathedral, so between its original construction sometime in the 5th-6th century, it was destroyed countless times before taking its current form in the 14th century.

I then have lunch at an outdoor restaurant right next to the cathedral, and even though it was right in the middle of the tourist area, grilled chicken with chips and a Coke cost the equivalent of €13.
That would barely have bought me a starter in Bucharest.

I stroll around the wonderfully picturesque old town and get lost in Meidan Bazaar, a bazaar under Meidan Square.
Price-wise, it's a real tourist trap, but it's an experience for all the senses with all the curiosities and smells of exotic teas and local delicacies.
I enjoyed it to the fullest even though I left with nothing but a smile.
(Admittedly, this was partly because I don't want to have to explain to future border guards why I just had to buy a really cool sword or a muzzle-loaded pistol at an underground bazaar in Tbilisi.

Then, through no fault of my own (I swear), I pass MacLaren's Irish Pub for the second time.
Not having a pint under those circumstances feels like tempting fate.
So here I sit while writing this, with no plans for any further major escapades this evening other than a bite to eat and a few more back streets in the old town.

I finally end up at a restaurant called BalconY no12, where I've barely had time to tuck into my roast chicken with blackberry sauce when a lady sits down at a piano behind me and starts playing.
Normally, I wouldn't mind (as long as they don't play jazz) and it's performed with some feeling, but the only feeling she radiated with her music was indiscriminate hatred on a level that suggests she must have driven her car through Georgian traffic to get here.
For laughs, I open a dB meter app on my phone and note that she is hammering away at almost 90dB, which is almost impressive in its own right but not particularly enjoyable.
I pay my bill and take refuge in a more peaceful environment, which ‘happens’ to be a bar just around the corner, whose inviting Guinness sign I saw before I sat down to eat.

At first glance I like Tbilisi very much, but if you're planning to get here on wheels, it's definitely an advantage if, like me, you're a little messed up in the head.

The view from the hotel restaurant's balcony

The flea market

Statue depicting Berikaoba, a pagan celebration of the arrival of spring

Gabriadzes clock tower

Peace bridge

Anchiskhati Basilica

It was very picturesque in the old town

Meidan Bazaar

Rike Park
The incredibly bizarre building is a concert hall.

Me and Ronnie
As I understand it, the reason they have a statue of Ronald Reagan is because they believe he was instrumental in the fall of the Soviet Union.

I never understood the function of these machines, which were located everywhere.
It seems a bit counterproductive to have an ATM for a digital currency.

Monday    11.8.2025
266km Total: 3257km  5h 36m Total: 46h 57m
  11.99km Total: 82.08km

Today is actually the first day I've planned to ride my motorbike for more than just getting from point A to point B as a means of transport.

I leave Tbilisi and head pretty much straight north towards the Russian border.
I'm going to take a road called the Georgian Military Road, a road over the Caucasus Mountains that has been used for everything from trade to smuggling and the occasional invasion since the first century BC.

Eight hundred soldiers transformed what was probably a cow path into an actual road, which was completed in 1783.
An infrastructural masterpiece of its time.
The road is a total of 210 kilometres long from Tbilisi to Vladikavkaz in North Ossetia, Russia.
However, I don't plan to go that far, as I have no intention of entering Russia.

After travelling around in temperatures of 30+ (86+ºF) degrees, the modest 15°C (59ºF) at the top of the Jvari Pass felt cold as hell.
I wolf down a ready meal on top of the pass and venture on but I don't go any further than Kobi, where I see a completely endless line of stationary lorries disappearing into the horizon even though it's still 30 kilometres to the Russian border!

I don't mind having to take the same route back, as it was a sublime ride with completely unparalleled views.

I make a quick stop at a monstrous concrete structure called the Russia-Georgia Friendship Monument.
How much mutual friendship there has ever been between these nations is definitely debatable, and the monument itself can at best be described as brutalist in style, with the inside painted like graffiti.
The view was considerably more beautiful than the actual monument.

In addition to that, it was probably also the fantastic location by the turquoise waters of the Zhinvali Reservoir that made the castle/fortress in Anunuri so captivating, but the complex itself should not be understated either.
It has been the seat of feudal lords since the 13th century and has seen countless battles during its continuous use until the early 19th century.
Admission was completely free, so I would have gladly paid the modest lari that the parking cost, but the parking attendant wouldn't hear of it, so I just thanked him and rode on.

On the way through a village, I managed, through sheer inattention, to slam into the absolute mother of all potholes.
I slammed into i t so hard that I was more or less about to do a less than graceful somersault over the handlebars.
It was more luck than skill that actually allowed me to control the situation.
Initially, however, it doesn't seem to have caused any permanent damage, so the rims on the Tiger must be pretty sturdy after all.

Back at the hotel, I do a quick check of the bike, wash up a bit and then head to the old town for some food.
For some reason, I ended up having a Guinness today as well.

Zhinvali Reservoir

Jvari pass, 2395m

Russia-Georgia Friendship Monument

It really was great riding

Anunuri

Back in Tbilisi, I stock up on supplies at the local shop and discover that you can buy draught beer by the litre.