Jvari, the Georgian word for cross, stands on a rocky bluff above the point where two rivers meet, the brown Mtkvari and the greener, faster Aragvi. The church dates from the end of the sixth century, and it is a small, dark, stern building, almost square, with a design that influenced much of Georgian architecture later. The reason it stands where it does is a legend: in the early fourth century, Saint Nino, the woman credited with bringing Christianity to Georgia, is said to have raised a cross of grapevine on this hilltop, and the king converted soon after. Georgia calls itself one of the first Christian nations, and this is where that story is anchored.
From the terrace by the church, the view is the real reward. Below, Mtskheta's old streets and the cathedral roofs are laid out in miniature, with the confluence of the rivers shining below like a hinge. The nineteenth-century poet Mikhail Lermontov came here and was inspired to write Mtsyri, the story of a boy who runs away from a monastery, and the setting is still wild enough to explain why. Inside, the church is cool and silent, with candles, icons and a plain stone cross at its centre.
Getting up there is half the fun. A narrow road climbs from the town in a series of tight hairpins, between scrubby oaks and stony ground, and is just wide enough for a car and a bike to pass with care. The surface is sound, but the corners are steep and sometimes dusty or gravelly, and tour buses make the upper section a little congested at peak times. A bike is far easier here than a car. There is a car park at the top and a small shop selling drinks and souvenirs, but not much else.
For fuel, Mtskheta is a few minutes down the hill, and Tbilisi is only twenty kilometres away, with every service. Go early or late, when there are fewer groups and the light is better, and expect the wind to rise in the afternoon. In clear weather you can see the dark line of the Caucasus to the north. Cover your shoulders and be quiet inside, as this is a working place of prayer.