Georgia is a good example of how tourists and tourism live in one world while the daily life of locals exists in another, writes Aimar Ventsel.
I have a friend in Russia, in southern Siberia. We talk from time to time and he writes to me about the latest news. Most recently he wrote that Russians are tired of the war, yet people are afraid of the war ending. First, no one knows how the Ukraine–Russia war will end. Second, many Russians have made the war a source of income — a growing number of people enjoy all kinds of state support, and many do not want to see that abundance end.
I am currently in Georgia, in Batumi, and the abundance found in Russia has reached here as well. The beach is full of Russian tourists, and many Russians who have moved to Georgia can also be seen (for example, cars with Georgian plates). At the same time, I feel many Georgians are quietly fed up with Russians. For example, I have repeatedly encountered situations where stores serve customers only in Georgian. On the other hand, everyone who wants Russian money serves Russians in Russian. At the market, in pharmacies — everywhere it is possible to get service in Russian.
Batumi shows a few paradoxes. While international communication in Tbilisi increasingly takes place in English, Batumi has traditionally been a Russian‑speaking city where even many Georgians speak Russian as their first language. Another thing reminds me of Soviet times: although many service workers speak Russian to customers against their will, they are still stuck — they simply do not know enough English to switch to it.
I walked through the city listening to an English‑language podcast about Georgian politics. It turned out interesting things have happened: members of parliament got into fistfights, and the European Union was declared just as much an enemy of Georgia as Russia. This makes the situation interesting again, because the agenda of joining the European Union has not been officially removed from the table.
There is one new thing as well. A year ago store clerks did not ask what card I was paying with. Now Russians are here with their Mir cards, and apparently the payment system must be switched for them. But I must say that no one here lets the conditional or real fights happening far away in Tbilisi bother them. The tourist season is at its peak, money wants to be earned, and money, as we know, does not smell. Three years ago Russian tourists were not welcome anywhere because they were seen as chronic cheapskates, but now Russian tourists have returned to their money‑throwing behavior and at first glance pay without hesitation.
Alongside Russian money, European money is also welcome. One acquaintance told me he works in the mountains for a German construction company building roads. I want to go to the mountains tomorrow, and we will see whether it is an EU‑funded project or not. In general, the European Union has visibly invested a lot in Adjara near the Turkish border: small hotels in small towns and villages often have signs saying the construction was supported by EU funds.
Overall, the contrast between Batumi and Tbilisi is most visible in terms of politicization. While daily protest marches continue in Tbilisi, the young staff at the hipster hotel where I am staying watch Russian talk shows on their phones. Georgia increasingly reminds me of Kazakhstan. Russia's cultural and information presence is massive — you can see and hear it everywhere. Many taxis play Russian pop music, posters advertise concerts by both opposition and pro‑government Russian artists, and stores are full of Russian goods. There is no sign these informal ties with Russia will weaken in the future.
Around the corner from me are several cafés run by Russian emigrants, and walking around the city I found new Russian places. The same is said to be happening in Tbilisi: new Russian bars push out alternative venues, including cafés run by opposition‑minded Russians. In other words, gentrification in Georgia is largely Russian‑language.
The other side of gentrification in Batumi is Turkish‑ and Arabic‑language. Tourism from Iran is currently at its peak, and people from the Middle East and Turkey are reportedly buying property in Batumi. This can be seen in the city's expansion, which is rapidly growing toward the Turkish border.
Another interesting paradox: while the podcast talked about corruption scandals in Georgia's ruling elite, the taxi driver who brought me from the airport to the hotel — a Georgian who grew up in Turkmenistan — praised Georgia as a country with practically no corruption. This says more about Turkmenistan than about Georgia.
Georgia is a good example of how tourists and tourism live in one world while locals' everyday life exists in another.
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Editor: Mirjam Mäekivi, Argo Ideon