One of the funniest and most unforgettable trips from our solo hiking journeys was our visit to Nedzvi Managed Reserve. It’s a lesser-known hiking route with a relatively new shelter at the end — cozy, peaceful, and surrounded by wild beauty. We were excited to see it.

The three of us packed our backpacks with snacks, food, and all the essentials, and headed to Borjomi to explore the trail and spend the night at the shelter. The route is no joke — over 20 kilometers one way, and the same distance back. For a two-day hike, that’s a serious commitment. But we were motivated and ready.

And as always, the Borjomi forest felt magical. The air was crisp and clean. Leaves shimmered in every shade of gold and green. Mushrooms lined the path. The forest sounded alive — birds, wind, distant rustling. It felt almost unreal.

We walked slowly, laughing, talking, full of anticipation. Following the painted trail markings on the trees, we eventually reached a tiny village along the way.

There was only one resident left in the entire village — an elderly woman named Zina. We called her “Zina Bebo,” which means Grandma Zina. She was genuinely happy to see us. She doesn’t get many visitors anymore. She warmly invited us into her home, offering coffee and even a place to stay. But we wanted to reach the shelter before dark. We took a few photos together, said goodbye, and continued on our way.

At first, everything seemed fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Somewhere along the trail, we must have taken a wrong turn. The markings disappeared — and instead of stopping, we kept walking. Carelessly confident. I laugh about it now, but at the time I was irritated, blaming whoever maintained the trail, convinced they had failed to mark it properly.

Oh, how wrong I was.

We walked for hours along a rough, increasingly difficult path. By dusk, we reached a steep, intimidating mountainside that made one thing painfully clear: we were not on the right trail.

Imagine standing in the middle of nowhere, in an area known for wild animals — including bears — while darkness slowly falls around you.

It wasn’t funny then.

We gathered our courage and turned back. By the time we returned to the abandoned village we had passed earlier, night had fully taken over. Hiking further in complete darkness wasn’t safe. Going back to Zina Bebo’s house was too far.

So we chose one of the abandoned homes and decided to stay the night.

The house was dirty but structurally decent. We found a broom nearby and cleaned a small space. We laid out our sleeping mats and bags, cooked food on my small stove, made tea and coffee, and started laughing at the absurdity of our situation.

Lost. In an abandoned village. Surrounded by forest.

And somehow, still happy.

During the night, mice and rats ran across the floors and walls. I even placed a bit of food farther away, hoping to distract them. It didn’t work. At one point, a rat ran across the head of one of my friends while she was sleeping.

It was horrifying.

And absolutely hilarious.

In the morning, everything felt different. We washed our faces, brushed our teeth, and stepped outside. The village looked magical in daylight — quiet, misty, peaceful. The air was unbelievably fresh. For miles around, there was no one but us.

Just the three of us.

Total freedom.

We explored the abandoned houses, slightly spooky yet fascinating. We made a small fire, roasted marshmallows, took photos, wandered aimlessly, and simply existed in the moment. It was one of those rare experiences where you feel completely disconnected from the world — and completely connected to life.

Eventually, we packed up and started our journey back. On the way, we met Zina Bebo again and told her our story. She smiled and explained exactly where we had missed the correct turn.

A few weeks later, we returned and finally reached the shelter.

But honestly?

That first trip — the one where we got lost — is the one we’ll never forget.

By dusk, we safely reached our starting point and drove back to Tbilisi, exhausted but deeply happy.

Because sometimes the destination isn’t what makes a journey meaningful.

Sometimes it’s getting lost.
Sometimes it’s laughing in an abandoned house.
Sometimes it’s a rat running across your friend’s head.
Sometimes it’s meeting Grandma Zina in the middle of nowhere.

We never reached the shelter that day.

But we found something better — a memory we still laugh about, a story we still tell, and a feeling of freedom that stays with us.

Just the three of us.
Alone in nature.

As perfect as it gets 🍃˚.⛰️⋆☁️ 🎒🏕️📸 👩🏻‍🦰👩🏻👦🏻