After another lengthy absence (the to-dos of life and grad school often impede time and travel), I have returned again, from a relaxing spring break (not in the pop-culture, neon wristband, all-you-can-drink, Cabo sense...more an actual break from schoolwork involving actual downtime occurring during spring--although it was in Mexico).
Detroit is not a destination I readily associate with Mexico, although my recent trip to Puerto Vallarta and its environs forced me to begin my journey at seven o’clock in the morning at the Detroit Metropolitan Airport (a quick jaunt from Newark). Accustomed to arriving in Mexico from New York or California (my usual jumping-off points), my multi-cultural sensitivities were appalled by what I perceived to be the overwhelming pale of my fellow travelers—the homogeneity of the crowd in Corona t-shirts and brand new flip-flops forced me to acknowledge that, while I may not want to belong in this group, I certainly looked
the part (I had even foregone my New Yorker black in anticipation of my tropical adventure).
A brief survey of the waiting area as well as a mid-flight lap down the aisle confirmed that was in fact not a single Mexican flying to Mexico, forcing me to acknowledge my part in this cohort of tourists (a word at which I cringe despite the fact that I often find myself traveling as one). I like to think of myself as a traveler rather than a tourist (a distinction I will explore later) so the conversations I overheard (“Mexicans hate Americans,” “We are going to do nothing but drink tequila and sit at the resort,” “Spring Break 2011—how do you say ‘shot’ in Mexican?”) left me feeling embarrassed by the rowdy, overfriendly crowd. As the wheels touched down in Puerto Vallarta and the pilot announced our arrival with a Southern twang, not a word of Spanish was spoken and my discomfort with all of the colonialist connotations of “spring break” reached a pinnacle.
Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett (BKG) suggests in the contemporary tourism economy consumers (tourists) crave experiences that the industry manufactures to “create ‘a
n effect called the real world’…one of tourism’s most valuable assets.” In contrast, I propose that travelers explore the real “lifespace,” to use BKG’s term, “the ‘real world,’ available everywhere, always open, and free of charge,” unmediated by the tourism industry’s attempts to commodify local culture.
Jeffrey Pilcher acknowledges that certain visitors from the United States have often embraced Hispanic culture as a countercultural protest to mainstream American capitalist practices. These bohemian adventurers come close to what I define as a traveler, “in search of more authentic and natural experiences,” seeking out the true lifespace of local peoples, places not mediated by the tourist industry’s constructed cultures (selected based on consumer expectations and notions of what, realistically, can sell). In this case and by contrast, tourists (like a majority those on my plane) arrive in Mexico expecting a watered-down version of Hispanic culture, “demand[ing] to eat their familiar fajitas, margaritas, chips, and salsa,” while absorbing vast quantities of cheap beer and all-you-can-eat resort buffets, largely ignoring the goings on of the peripheral lifespaces that are serving their needs.
It goes without saying that I prefer to categorize myself squarely in the role of traveler rather than tourist, although upon deeper reflection I find that these categories are not hard and fast, just as I have previously (in this same forum) been hyper critical of self-proclaimed travelers who completely ignore the lifespaces in which they find themselves, preferring to establish their cultural capital by collecting passport stamps rather than 'lifespace experiences'. I found the constructed nature of Puerto Vallarta stifling. It brings to mind BKG’s discussion of density and saturation with regards to tourist sites. She argues that industry-created lifespaces (such as resorts) are value-added and therefore more profitable than the true lifespace; furthermore, value-added lifespaces have the benefit of removing the “dead space between attractions,” thus doing away with the messy (or less attractive) aspects of real life.
Personally, I find the low-density lifespaces to be the most appealing, the nooks and crannies where lives are
lived instead of performed for my benefit. In Puerto Vallarta the coastline is crammed with end-to-end resorts such that the essence of any real lifespace is all but removed. While there are still neighborhoods that retain local flavor, these are only accessible by the rickety, local bus into the hills of the inner city, leaving most tourists with a view only of the high-density spaces the industry wants them to see (recall my airplane compatriots claiming they were excited to eat and drink, never leaving the confines of their all-inclusive resort, in effect only seeing Mexico as it is assembled for them). The main resort strip in Puerto Vallarta is dually evocative of BKG’s issue of site saturation, what she describes as the influx of tourists ultimately displacing the local cultures that presented the initial appeal. In Puerto Vallarta, the old town is overrun with Hard Rock Cafes, McDonalds’ and Senor Frogs’ to the point that the historical charm is lost under the rubble of corporate capitalism and glittery, oversized sombreros vying for the all-important dollar.
All of which begs the question: as global tourism brings an influx of travelers and tourists into local lifespaces, are we subsequently eliminating the vibrancy that attracted us in the first place? Like a copy of a copy, is it possible to maintain the lifespace in a constructed and controlled environment? I highly d
oubt it, which forces the true traveler (in the sense of cultural adventurer) to step further and further from the beaten path. And in doing so, reveal the double-edged sword of travel: by forging a path into a heretofore 'undiscovered' village/beach/restaurant we are, in effect, opening it up as a site of tourism for those who come after us. Beneficial to the local economy but detrimental to those seeking 'authentic' experience--is there any authenticity left in the globalized world of information (and people) exchange? Do true lifespaces exist or are they merely the leftovers of tourist sites? As travel necessarily requires a degree of tourism (a traveler by any other name), these tensions weigh heavily as food for thought.
What's more fun and delicious than currywurst, that clever German concoction of spiced sausage smothered in curried ketchup over fries? A Baudrillardian simulacra made of Marzipan of course!!
the part (I had even foregone my New Yorker black in anticipation of my tropical adventure).
n effect called the real world’…one of tourism’s most valuable assets.” In contrast, I propose that travelers explore the real “lifespace,” to use BKG’s term, “the ‘real world,’ available everywhere, always open, and free of charge,” unmediated by the tourism industry’s attempts to commodify local culture. Jeffrey Pilcher acknowledges that certain visitors from the United States have often embraced Hispanic culture as a countercultural protest to mainstream American capitalist practices. These bohemian adventurers come close to what I define as a traveler, “in search of more authentic and natural experiences,” seeking out the true lifespace of local peoples, places not mediated by the tourist industry’s constructed cultures (selected based on consumer expectations and notions of what, realistically, can sell). In this case and by contrast, tourists (like a majority those on my plane) arrive in Mexico expecting a watered-down version of Hispanic culture, “demand[ing] to eat their familiar fajitas, margaritas, chips, and salsa,” while absorbing vast quantities of cheap beer and all-you-can-eat resort buffets, largely ignoring the goings on of the peripheral lifespaces that are serving their needs.
lived instead of performed for my benefit. In Puerto Vallarta the coastline is crammed with end-to-end resorts such that the essence of any real lifespace is all but removed. While there are still neighborhoods that retain local flavor, these are only accessible by the rickety, local bus into the hills of the inner city, leaving most tourists with a view only of the high-density spaces the industry wants them to see (recall my airplane compatriots claiming they were excited to eat and drink, never leaving the confines of their all-inclusive resort, in effect only seeing Mexico as it is assembled for them). The main resort strip in Puerto Vallarta is dually evocative of BKG’s issue of site saturation, what she describes as the influx of tourists ultimately displacing the local cultures that presented the initial appeal. In Puerto Vallarta, the old town is overrun with Hard Rock Cafes, McDonalds’ and Senor Frogs’ to the point that the historical charm is lost under the rubble of corporate capitalism and glittery, oversized sombreros vying for the all-important dollar.
oubt it, which forces the true traveler (in the sense of cultural adventurer) to step further and further from the beaten path. And in doing so, reveal the double-edged sword of travel: by forging a path into a heretofore 'undiscovered' village/beach/restaurant we are, in effect, opening it up as a site of tourism for those who come after us. Beneficial to the local economy but detrimental to those seeking 'authentic' experience--is there any authenticity left in the globalized world of information (and people) exchange? Do true lifespaces exist or are they merely the leftovers of tourist sites? As travel necessarily requires a degree of tourism (a traveler by any other name), these tensions weigh heavily as food for thought.
