The Ugliness of Tourism
Though we travel to discover and explore the beautiful and profound crannies of the globe, it has been my repeated experience that ugliness seeps out of these nooks just as often. Perhaps it is nothing more than greed - the selfish desire to possess these places ourselves, to deny the existence or validity of the other's whose pilgrimages mirror our own so closely - but obviously as travelers we must be more diplomatic, we must accept our responsibility as ambassadors and conduct ourselves with poise, grace and most importantly, thanks.
To be honest traveling is a strange and privileged phenomenon and one that can mess with your head after a few months if you don't keep yourself in check. Where else in the world do we spend our days doing nothing but consuming: consuming sights, images, tastes, sensations. All day it is our privilege to consume full time, but these privileges are often mistaken for rights.
An experience at Angkor Wat:
I am at Ta Prohn, one of the most popular temples of ancient Angkor not only because of its size and beauty, but also because the keepers of Ta Prohn decided not to tear down all the trees, choosing instead to leave it in a state of overgrown collapse. The result is amazing; 300 foot trees towering above the ruins, their massive roots twisting between the carved sandstone pillars and bas-reliefs.
In this temple there is one area in particular that makes Indiana Jones fans sprout wood themselves - I would estimate more photos are taken here than anywhere else, save maybe Angkor Wat itself at sunrise which is another story entirely. As I stumble onto this scene about fifty Chinese tourists are waiting impatiently in a mob fanning themselves and pushing past each other for pole position. Each one wants to climb up onto the ruin and have a photo taken giving a peace sign. To the immediate right of this seething group of sun-visors, wide-brimmed sun hats and clashing floral-print parasols are four or five art photographers each armed with thousands of dollars on camera equipment hanging off belts, straps and packs. Each of these art photographers (no doubt solitary humans with limited social integration skills) want the whole scene to themselves - they want to capture the perfect light filtering through the silk-cotton tree onto the ancient ruin and dedicate all their millions of pixels to the perfect exposure.
It began with the art photographers asking - with frustration and spite spilling from their lips - if please, they could just have one goddamn minute with the rocks and trees. The Chinese tour guide, diplomatic, speaking some English and wishing to avoid a scene, holds back one of his Chinese telling everybody to wait for half a second. As a volley of shutters release another group of twenty or thirty Chinese comes spilling into the area and seeing that nobody is standing in front of the ruin, dive right in. The art photographers scream in passive-aggressive mumbles of Czech, or German or Japanese, while the Chinese tour group that was held back starts screaming in high-pitched mandarin at the second group.
Not taking well to being screamed at, the second Chinese tour group starts yelling back. In a matter of seconds we've got two ladies paired off, screaming, pointing and spitting the lowest of Mandarin syllables at teach other, threatening blows and scratching each other's eyes out as the two seas of plaid and flora fabrics hold them back. The groups fan themselves nervously, embarrassed at this complete loss of face. The art photographers are actually saying things like, "I can't fucking believe these people," and busy themselves with switching lenses and applying lens caps, believing perhaps that they have no role in this scene.
It seems like everybody is itching for blood.
Your humble narrator, made more or less ill by the scene and the heat, decided to leave without photo. He found an old Italian woman some 20 meters away at an equally beautiful and totally empty cranny. She sat there slowly painting the rocks and trees in a small journal and offered me half of her cookie.
"They are making crazy," she said gesturing behind her in a manner that seemed quintessentially Italian. "Five years ago, there is four of five peoples. Now everybody want a be crazy."
I sat with her until my heart rate returned to normal, thinking about how delicate cultural relations really are.
To be honest traveling is a strange and privileged phenomenon and one that can mess with your head after a few months if you don't keep yourself in check. Where else in the world do we spend our days doing nothing but consuming: consuming sights, images, tastes, sensations. All day it is our privilege to consume full time, but these privileges are often mistaken for rights.
An experience at Angkor Wat:
I am at Ta Prohn, one of the most popular temples of ancient Angkor not only because of its size and beauty, but also because the keepers of Ta Prohn decided not to tear down all the trees, choosing instead to leave it in a state of overgrown collapse. The result is amazing; 300 foot trees towering above the ruins, their massive roots twisting between the carved sandstone pillars and bas-reliefs.
In this temple there is one area in particular that makes Indiana Jones fans sprout wood themselves - I would estimate more photos are taken here than anywhere else, save maybe Angkor Wat itself at sunrise which is another story entirely. As I stumble onto this scene about fifty Chinese tourists are waiting impatiently in a mob fanning themselves and pushing past each other for pole position. Each one wants to climb up onto the ruin and have a photo taken giving a peace sign. To the immediate right of this seething group of sun-visors, wide-brimmed sun hats and clashing floral-print parasols are four or five art photographers each armed with thousands of dollars on camera equipment hanging off belts, straps and packs. Each of these art photographers (no doubt solitary humans with limited social integration skills) want the whole scene to themselves - they want to capture the perfect light filtering through the silk-cotton tree onto the ancient ruin and dedicate all their millions of pixels to the perfect exposure.
It began with the art photographers asking - with frustration and spite spilling from their lips - if please, they could just have one goddamn minute with the rocks and trees. The Chinese tour guide, diplomatic, speaking some English and wishing to avoid a scene, holds back one of his Chinese telling everybody to wait for half a second. As a volley of shutters release another group of twenty or thirty Chinese comes spilling into the area and seeing that nobody is standing in front of the ruin, dive right in. The art photographers scream in passive-aggressive mumbles of Czech, or German or Japanese, while the Chinese tour group that was held back starts screaming in high-pitched mandarin at the second group.
Not taking well to being screamed at, the second Chinese tour group starts yelling back. In a matter of seconds we've got two ladies paired off, screaming, pointing and spitting the lowest of Mandarin syllables at teach other, threatening blows and scratching each other's eyes out as the two seas of plaid and flora fabrics hold them back. The groups fan themselves nervously, embarrassed at this complete loss of face. The art photographers are actually saying things like, "I can't fucking believe these people," and busy themselves with switching lenses and applying lens caps, believing perhaps that they have no role in this scene.
It seems like everybody is itching for blood.
Your humble narrator, made more or less ill by the scene and the heat, decided to leave without photo. He found an old Italian woman some 20 meters away at an equally beautiful and totally empty cranny. She sat there slowly painting the rocks and trees in a small journal and offered me half of her cookie.
"They are making crazy," she said gesturing behind her in a manner that seemed quintessentially Italian. "Five years ago, there is four of five peoples. Now everybody want a be crazy."
I sat with her until my heart rate returned to normal, thinking about how delicate cultural relations really are.
posted by Michael J.P. Hall at 11:10 PM
4 Comments:
oh michael,
I love your tales.
I can't help but love the Italian Woman and am so glad you encountered someone like her in a place so full of people not like her.
There is beauty every where!!
Indeed, the secret to life to to find beauty in ugliness. Its just about the best way to cope.
See you in 7 weeks!
I follow your story with great interest. It is probably not kind to say so due to all the suffering involved but one of the beneficial (if that is the word) side effects of war was the complete lack of multitudes of tourists.
Regards
http://vnpersonalwar.blogspot.com
"To be honest traveling is a strange and privileged phenomenon... All day it is our privilege to consume full time, but these privileges are often mistaken for rights."
Indeed.
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