On the edge of Abkhazia, a resort built to dazzle has become a ghost town. Futuristic ruins, three thousand years of history, and the idea of a port that, perhaps, is finally about to become real.

Somewhere past the last roundabout in Zugdidi, the road stops being what I would normally call a road. The asphalt frays into patches and potholes before giving way to stretches of packed earth. As I drove, I gripped the wheel a little tighter every time the car dropped into an unexpected dip. Soon, I find myself enjoying this process and becoming more and more skilled at it. This is how you enter Mingrelia: slowly negotiating the ground itself, rather than passing through a

A Georgian proverb says, 'A guest is a gift from God.' I had already experienced its truth before this visit — two autumns ago in Tbilisi, when visiting Georgii's cousin and his family, and a few years earlier, during my first visit to Georgia with my family. But Easter week in Zugdidi took that truth to its fullest expression: a house was always open, a table that was always full, and a family who treated me less like a visitor and more like a family member. What follows is