Borjomi & Bakuriani: Where Two Hearts Meet the Mountains

Some places do not ask for your attention.
They simply take it.

Borjomi is one of those places.

Nestled gently between the Borjomi and Nedzvi Nature Reserves, stretched along the calm flow of the Kura River, Borjomi feels less like a town and more like a quiet agreement between nature and time. Mountains rise protectively on all sides, forests breathe deeply, and the air itself feels filtered, clean, mineral, alive. From the very first steps, Borjomi does not overwhelm you. It invites you in slowly, almost cautiously, as if it wants to be sure you are ready to feel something.

At the heart of the town lies Borjomi Central Park, a place that feels suspended between reality and a fairy tale. The park opens like a green corridor of life, trees arching above stone paths, the sound of the river never far away, and the scent of pine and mineral water floating effortlessly in the air. Walking here feels instinctively slower, as if the park itself asks you to match its rhythm.

Crowning the park is the elegant Crowne Plaza, standing proudly yet harmoniously with its surroundings, while nearby, Golden Tulip Borjomi appears like something imagined rather than built warm, intimate, and storybook-like. Together, they give Borjomi a sense of gentle sophistication, never intrusive, always respectful of the nature that defines the town.

Then, a little beyond Borjomi’s gentle embrace, lies a different kind of calm: the path up to Mtsvane (Green) Monastery. Hidden deep within the forest, the monastery rises quietly from the greenery, its stone walls tinted by moss and pine needles accumulated over centuries. The main basilica dates back to the late 9th or early 10th century, while the modest bell tower was added several centuries later, likely in the 15th or 16th century. Time has never tried to polish this place, it has only deepened it.

The walk toward the monastery is almost sacred in itself. Towering pine trees line the path, their scent sharp and grounding, and with every step upward the sounds of the town dissolve into silence. The monastery was abandoned for more than two hundred years after violent invasions in the 18th century, its grounds slowly reclaimed by nature, until monastic life returned in 2003. Nearby stones along the stream, tinged with a faint reddish hue, quietly recall the tragic events of the 1550s, when monks lost their lives during Persian raids. Standing there, you do not feel sadness as much as humility, an awareness that faith, nature, and history coexist here without explanation.

And then there is the water.

The Borjomi mineral spring rises from deep within the earth, from a well that feels almost mythical in its depth and history. The water is strong, unmistakable, unapologetically mineral, an acquired taste that becomes addictive once you understand it. Locals drink it with quiet reverence; visitors sip it with curiosity. It is not just water, it is Borjomi itself, bottled by the earth long before humans decided to brand it.

A walk through the park, hand in hand with someone you love, feels like a scene from an old European film. The kind where nothing dramatic happens, yet everything matters. Fresh air fills your lungs, footsteps echo softly on wooden bridges, and conversation fades into comfortable silence. In Borjomi, love does not need to be spoken loudly, it blends naturally into the environment.

From the park, the cable car lifts you gently above the town, rising toward panoramic views that reveal Borjomi in its full embrace of green. From the top, rooftops peek through forests, the river cuts a silver line through the valley, and the town feels small in the best possible way, a reminder of how beautiful it can be to feel insignificant in the presence of something greater.

Not far away lies Hotel Borjomi Likani, modern, elegant, and surrounded by an environment so serene it almost feels curated by nature itself. The palace-like architecture stands among centuries-old trees, and time seems to slow the moment you step onto the grounds. Sitting in the hotel café, cappuccino in hand, the loved one next to you, watching sunlight dance through branches, becomes an experience in itself. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is forced. You simply exist, and that is more than enough.

Borjomi and Bakuriani are not opposites.
They are companions.

One teaches you how to slow down, breathe, and feel.
The other reminds you how to move, explore, and smile.

Together, they form a story best experienced with someone you love, where every walk, every view, every shared silence becomes a memory that lingers long after the journey ends.

Enjoy your adventure, and don’t forget to share your experience with me—I’m sure my recommendations will make your trip even more memorable.

From Borjomi’s reflective stillness, the road begins to rise.

The journey toward Bakuriani unfolds through rolling hills and dense pine forests, climbing steadily into the mountains. Whether by road or by the charming narrow-gauge railway affectionately known as Kukushka, the ascent feels like a gentle transition between worlds. At around 1,700 meters above sea level, Bakuriani greets you with open skies, crisp air, and a sense of playful energy.

Bakuriani is where Borjomi’s calm turns into motion.

The ski resort spreads across several zones, Didveli, Kokhta, and Mitarbi, each offering its own personality. Lift systems carry skiers up toward elevations of nearly 2,700 meters, opening access to roughly 26–30 kilometers of groomed trails. Beginners find confidence on wide, forgiving slopes, intermediates enjoy long, flowing runs through forest corridors, and experienced skiers test themselves on steeper descents from the Kokhta peaks. Here, skiing and walking exist side by side: one moment carving through snow, the next strolling quietly through pine woods as snowflakes settle softly around you.

Bakuriani feels alive, youthful, and adventurous, yet it carries the same soul as Borjomi. The same forests. The same mountains. The same unspoken respect for nature.

And when the day draws to a close, when skis are set aside and the forest grows quiet again, you realize something simple and profound.

Borjomi, Georgia

Bakuriani, Georgia