Rikoti Live Camera · Latest

the sun cracks the spine of the Caucasus. The camera’s iris adjusts. Suddenly, the world is sharp: the guardrails painted in Soviet-era yellow, the gravel shoulder scattered with crushed red berries, and the old man in a wool cap selling jars of wild honey from the trunk of a Lada. He waves at the camera. Not for us. For his daughter in Tbilisi.

Then the buffer clears.

the camera sees nothing but the ghost of itself—fog rolling up from the lowlands like a slow avalanche. The headlights of a lone Kamaz truck appear as two pale orbs, swimming through the milk. They hesitate at the tunnel entrance, then vanish. The pass swallows another traveler. Rikoti Live Camera