Ashes in the Light

After spending the morning surrounded by mountains, we made our way back down into Kazbegi town for lunch.

The town itself was small, quiet, and wonderfully unhurried.

Compared to larger cities, there wasn’t a long list of attractions or bustling streets filled with tourists.

Instead, there were cafés, guesthouses, little shops, and the mountains quietly watching over everything.

It felt like the kind of place where life simply moved at its own pace.

We found a cosy spot for lunch, recommended by our guide, Dean, and took our time over the meal.

After a morning outdoors in the crisp mountain air, there was something especially comforting about sitting down for a warm lunch before continuing the rest of the day.

Rather than calling for a ride back to the hotel, Daniel and I decided to walk.

Along the way, we stopped by a local grocery store to have a look around.

Daniel bought himself an ice cream, convinced that the cool mountain weather would keep it from melting.

Unfortunately, the ice cream had other plans.

By the time we were nearing the hotel, it had already started melting, and he found himself eating it much sooner than he had expected.

It was such a small, ordinary moment, but somehow one that still makes me smile whenever I think back to that afternoon.

The route back to Rooms Hotel Kazbegi was mostly uphill, but we weren’t in any hurry.

If anything, it gave us another excuse to spend more time taking in the scenery around us.

Every now and then we’d stop for a photograph.

Or simply turn around to admire the view we’d just climbed away from.

The mountains looked different from every angle.

By the time we reached the hotel, the afternoon had quietly slipped into evening.

There was nowhere else we wanted to be.

So we stayed.

Dinner that evening was once again at the hotel.

Nothing extravagant.

Just another simple meal shared together while looking out towards the mountains that had already become so familiar over the past couple of days.

As the sun slowly began to set, the light over Mount Kazbek changed almost minute by minute.

The bright afternoon skies softened into gentle evening colours, and the mountains seemed to become quieter with the fading light.

We found ourselves sitting there a little longer than we probably needed to.

Not because we had nowhere to go.

But because it felt like one of those moments you don’t want to rush.

Looking back now, I don’t remember exactly what we ate that day.

I remember the walk.

The mountain air.

The changing light.

And the quiet feeling that somehow, without even trying, Kazbegi had become my favourite place in Georgia.