This Tiny Village Was Cut Off for 100 Years—Here’s What It Looks Like Now

Tucked deep in the Caucasus Mountains of Georgia is a little village called Ilocano (yep, the country, not the U.S. state). For nearly a hundred years, this place was completely off the radar—no roads, no internet, no phones. Just silence, sheep, and snowy peaks.

Now that it’s reconnected with the rest of the world, visitors are finally seeing what life looked like before modern noise took over. And honestly? It’s kind of amazing.

A Village the World Forgot

Ilocano is in a region called Upper Svaneti, not far from the Russian border. And let’s be clear—it wasn’t isolated by choice. The terrain is wild, the winters are rough, and until a few years ago, the only way in or out was on foot or by horseback. For generations, locals did things the old-fashioned way because, well, there wasn’t another option.

Electricity arrived late. Cell signal was a rumor. And modern life? It pretty much stopped at the last ridge.

Life Before the Road

Before 2017, there were no real roads to Ilocano. Supplies came in on donkeys, news traveled slower than a postcard, and everything was built by hand—wood, stone, sweat, and a whole lot of patience.

People here raised sheep, made their own cheese and wine, and spent long winters gathered around wood stoves swapping stories. Weddings lasted for days. Church bells rang by hand. And the stars? Brighter than any city light you’ve ever seen.

Kids walked to school through meadows. Meals came from the garden or the neighbor’s. It was simple, yes—but deeply connected.

Then Came the Road

In 2017, things changed. A gravel road snaked its way into Ilocano, finally linking it with the outside world. Not long after came internet, cell towers, curious travelers, and a trickle of new energy.

At first, it was weird. Imagine growing up without Wi-Fi and then suddenly being able to video call your cousin in Tbilisi. But the village didn’t freak out—they adapted.

Now, you’ll see a grandma making khachapuri (cheese-filled bread) while her grandson scrolls TikTok. Stone towers with satellite dishes. Old meets new, and they seem to be getting along just fine.

What Ilocano Looks Like Today

The village is still tiny—maybe 300 people—but it has a vibe you won’t forget. Think cobbled lanes, medieval stone towers, and goats roaming freely. Add in the scent of pine and fresh bread, and yeah, you’re officially on a postcard.

But now you might also see:

- Solar panels on rooftops. - Kids FaceTiming from a mountaintop. - A guesthouse owner taking online bookings.

It’s a fascinating mix of old soul and new tools.

Why Go?

Because Ilocano feels real. Raw. Honest. It hasn’t been polished for tourists or plastered across a thousand Instagram stories.

Visitors come for the views (they’re epic), the hospitality (Georgians are famously warm), and the sense of time stretching out like the valley below. You’re not rushing here. You’re breathing, walking, tasting.

What You’ll Actually Do

- Hike. The trails are stunning—think alpine meadows, stone bridges, and silence so loud you hear your own heartbeat. - Eat. Homemade bread, garden tomatoes, fresh cheese, and wine that’ll make you forget store-bought ever existed. - Sit by a fire. Hear stories in Svan, the local language, and maybe learn a folk song or two. - Wake up to mountains. Like, serious, snow-dusted, straight-out-of-National-Geographic mountains.

There’s no itinerary. That’s the beauty of it.

How Locals Feel About the Change

Some are excited. A bit of tourism brings jobs, better access to medicine and schools, and maybe even keeps the younger generation from moving away.

Others worry. About losing their traditions. About becoming just another “quaint village” on someone’s travel blog.

But for now, they’re doing it their way. Most guesthouses are run by families. The cheese is still homemade. And no one’s paving over the old paths just yet.

Visiting Without Being That Tourist

Here’s how to do it right:

- Ask before taking photos. People live here. It’s not a set. - Stay local. Support family-owned places. Skip the big booking sites if you can. - Slow down. Don’t rush through. Sit. Listen. Say hello. - Bring cash. ATMs are rare. So is card payment.

Getting There

From the regional capital of Mestia, you can hire a 4x4 or join a local minibus (called a marshrutka). The road’s better than it used to be, but still not exactly smooth. It’s part of the adventure.

Come prepared: layers for the cold, snacks, maybe a phrasebook. But leave room in your bag for stories—you’ll come home with more than a few.