23 March 2026
The Green Bazaar in the heart of Kutaisi is a bustling hub of vendors selling fruit and veg, fresh cheese, meat, and locally made bread. When you Google “things to do” in Kutaisi, this is one of the first suggestions.
Situated right next to the big park and the Colchis Fountain in the city center, many people go there to shop for fresh produce. Unfortunately, it also seems to carry the familiar scent of a tourist trap. As in so many places around the world, there appear to be “local prices” — and then the prices we pay. Something eaten daily in local homes and sold for next to nothing suddenly becomes a rare delicacy worth ten times more… especially if you speak English.
Yesterday, my newest friend Steve — from England, but living in Georgia for some time — went hunting for fresh ginger with me. We were certain we had seen it in the bazaar before, but aisle after aisle revealed everything except ginger. Eventually, we stopped and, in very broken Georgian, he asked a sweet older lady if it was sold anywhere. She looked puzzled until I pulled out trusty Google and showed her a picture.
Suddenly, she jumped up and shuffled forward, gesturing for us to follow. We assumed she would simply point us in the right direction. Instead, she began loudly calling out across the bazaar — with great authority — what we could only assume translated to: “Who has ginger for these tourists?!”
Caught off guard, we both tried to stifle our laughter as she continued marching forward, loudly announcing our mission to the entire market.
Across the hall, a hand shot up. The yelling intensified as we were ushered toward the ginger lady. Mission accomplished, our enthusiastic guide returned to her wooden stool and waved us off.
Still laughing, we asked for the price per 100g. We couldn’t clearly see the weight of the piece we had chosen, but when we were told it would cost 5 GEL, we both immediately knew we were being overcharged. I wasn’t about to pay that much, and slightly annoyed, we began to walk away. As expected, this worked. Just like in India, prices drop quickly when vendors realize you’re not completely naïve. I had 4 GEL in coins, which was reluctantly accepted, while the yelling above our heads resumed and we were dismissed with the usual grunt.
5 GEL is not a lot of money. And I understand that vendors are trying to make a living. It’s the principle that lingers — the feeling of being taken advantage of. Honesty seems to be a fading currency in many places, and instead of building trust and long-term support from visitors, experiences like this push people away. It’s difficult not to question the logic behind it.
We had a similar experience in Gaziantep, Turkey, at a local restaurant. After finishing our meal, we asked for the bill. The woman told me it would be 600 lira. At first, I assumed she meant for both meals Andreas and I had ordered. After some translating and the appearance of two calculators, it became clear that this was the price per plate. The absurdity left me momentarily speechless. In Istanbul, we had paid around 270 lira for a much larger meal. There was no reasonable explanation for rice, vegetables, a small bowl of soup, and a portion of stew costing 600 lira.
Neither of us had that much cash, and Andreas reluctantly offered his card. “No,” we were told. No card? Instead, they insisted on payment via IBAN — a far more complicated process that would also involve additional bank fees. At this point, frustration was building quickly. I could feel my Taurus nature rising, and I was very close to walking out altogether.
Eventually, as if by magic, a card machine appeared, and we paid what was easily the most expensive meal we had during our time in Turkey — ironically, at a place supposedly known for being affordable for locals. The sheer audacity of it makes you question whether you want to continue supporting places that treat visitors this way.
And so, with fresh ginger in my bag, we continued our walk through the city. As much as we try to understand the local culture, it remains somewhat elusive — a slow, unfolding process of learning, observing, and, perhaps one day, being welcomed a little more openly into these Georgian hearts…
