There is a cattle market in Marneuli, which was launched in 1996 and now is Georgia’s second largest cattle market. It locates about 400 animals.

Vazha, Rezo and Misha are standing at the large old Soviet trucks on the highway in Chalaubani, Kakheti, waiting to be hired by farmers to help harvesting grapes. Most of the people waiting there at the same time are farmers themselves, but since this year’s vintage was almost a nightmare for them, they had to somehow earn more money to make a living.

Hundreds of families in 2012 settled in the village of Khelvachauri, in the hope that the new government would help solve the economic problems or housing. With wood, cardboard and other materials, their built shelters, without electricity, gas and water.

A successful Georgian woman made the unique choice to dedicate her life to her son and become an activist to make his world better. After her only son was diagnosed with hallucinatory paranoia, she seeks to make his life more colorful and to raise compassion amongst people towards patients with mental illness.

People in the mountainous settlement of Svaneti, North West of Georgia, still practice the ancient tradition Lamproba each February 14th. It is an ancient tradition where people come to visit deceased family members, setting fire and feasting on the graves.

Illegal constructions, garages, extensions and rusty commercial booths are just a few examples of the uncontrolled architectural developments inherited by the city of Tbilisi from the 1990s. 

Razeta, 51, is one of the most well-known women in Pankisi Gorge, a valley region, North East of Georgia, bordering with Chechnya, where the traditions of old are strictly followed. Razeta makes dresses, specifically national Chechen dresses, wedding dresses, clothes for graduation parties, everyday clothes, clothes for children, even curtains and bed sheets, and hijab for women. Her clothes are worn all over the gorge, even beyond.  

Once a year, a village in southern Georgia stages a festival attracting thousands from across the region, and beyond.   Every August since 2014 the One Caucasus Festival, or “a festival of the next generation” in the organizers’ intention, brings to the 250 families in Tserakvi, in the municipality of Marneuli, a peaceful invasion of concerts, film screenings, workshops, and art to shape an event like no other in the region.   In the organizers’ intention, One Caucasus is not only a music event, rather a feast of friendship and cultural diversity - essentially a cross-border project aiming to create a peaceful environment for young people living in a region which has long suffered from a cycle of conflict, tensions, and hostility.  

Two sisters from a remote ethnic Azeri populated village went through different paths - one got married at the age of 16, the other continued her education and wants to become a teacher.

Every day, at 7.30am, Leila packs her bags and hops on a train to go to work. She gets off nine hours later, but that’s flexible - as an informal seller, the train is her shop - passengers are her customers and sluggish sales mean she stays on the wagons for longer. In her seventies, Leila has been selling snacks and newspapers on the trains for the last ten years after her husband, the family’s sole breadwinner, died. Her regular itinerary takes her to the resort town of Borjomi, in central Georgia, from Ksani, the closest station to Dzalisi, her village.  

The only difference is the iPad. The tablet on Liliana’s lap is the only hint of the 21st century -- all the rest around her, on the palm tree-dotted promenade overlooking the Black Sea, looks like her first beach holiday in Abkhazia in the 1970s -- then the USSR, today one of Georgia’s two breakaway regions.  

Every Easter, people in Shukhuti, a small village in Guria, western Georgia, clash in the centre of the village over a heavy, 16–17 kg ball. This tradition, a kind of game of honor, is called Leloburti. Shukhuti is divided into two parts — Zemo (upper) and Kvemo (lower) Shukhuti — both of which field teams which clash every year.

A shift in the traditional landscape of the city, rendering Tvereli Church nothing more than a distant memory.