Tbilisi was never on the list. We were aiming roughly toward the Caspian, a friend mentioned cheap flights into Georgia and a spare room going unused, and somewhere in that sentence the whole summer rerouted. This is, we're learning, how slow travel actually works — not as a plan but as a series of yeses.

We are so glad we said yes.

The food first, because we can't not. A supra — a Georgian feast — is less a meal than a small civilization. A toastmaster stands and speaks; you drink to your ancestors, to children, to the people not at the table. Our host's mother fed us khinkali until we begged off, then produced more, wounded that we'd stop. Ines, who has refused vegetables on three continents, ate an entire plate of badrijani because a grandmother she'd met that afternoon told her to.

The hospitality genuinely undid us a little. We are not used to being folded so quickly and completely into other people's lives.

A practical note on the border: most nationalities get a generous visa-free stay on arrival — up to a year for many passports — but check yours, and check it again, because the rules shift and the land crossings are stricter and slower than the airport. We almost got caught short on Tomas's documents and would not recommend the adrenaline.

We meant to stay four days. We've been here eleven.

— The Okafors