Somewhere between 9 a.m. and 11 a.m., when the streets of Tbilisi aren’t yet a frying pan, I like to walk. Not “exercise-walk.” Just… walk. These unhurried morning walks through Old Tbilisi feel like a gentle pause in the rush of the world. The city is a funny mix of fading grandeur and everyday life. Balconies lean like curious people. Grapevines twist around wires and drainpipes, as if they’re in on some quiet joke. The world’s rushing, but not here. I take the same streets often — not because I don’t like exploring, but because repetition softens things. Familiar bricks. Familiar turns. And somehow, they still surprise me. Today, I…