Travel broadens the mind. Travel is good. I love travel. There is nothing like that feeling you get when you arrive in a new city on the other side of the world. Everyone should travel.
But…….is it too easy these days?
I saw this travel shop in North Street, Brighton. The picture is of Ko Phi Phi, an island off the coast of Thailand. Ko Phi Phi has to be very close to paradise yet now we can gawp at it as we trudge through the sludge of an English winter. We can enter the shop, buy a ticket and queue up along with thousands of others to sit alone on the top of the hill and gaze out at this natural wonder.
Elan Adventurer, Ko Phi Phi, 1991
I visited Ko Phi Phi in 1991 when I arrived as part of the Europa 92 round the world yacht rally. I was asleep in my bunk when we arrived and was awoken by what I assumed was a tractor engine. I imagined we’d arrived in some horrendous industrial port but when I popped up my head I saw this fantastic tropical island. The noise was from the enormous engines that the locals attached to their canoes. Later, I was chatting to an English sales rep from a marine engine company. He told me that they sold the engines with silencers but that the Thai’s removed them as they loved the noise.
.
.
The kids would run up and hang off the side of the local canoes.
There was a story where, I think it was Phineas, liked to go hiking on his own and commune with nature. He discovered a wonderful patch of Marijuana and he would sit there crossed legged, smoking a joint and watching the sun set.
Then, one day as he arrived he saw 3 other lone hikers all approaching from different directions. Each had thought that he alone knew of the secret marijuana patch. They all ran for the marijuana and grabbed a much of it as they could and ran off. And the last line of the story is “…and that was the end of the secret marijuana patch”.
One of the Fat Freddy Cat stories is also apposite. As Fat Freddy says: ‘Tis but an infinite stroke of eternity’s brush this stretch of beach, this stick of Thai and they, m’dear!
Recently The Guardian ran an article reporting that India is to crackdown on what are termed “human safaris” where comparatively rich tourists visit the Jarawa tribe people of the Andaman Islands in the Bay of Bengal.
The Jarawa people have long been isolated from the rest of the world and are now being affected by a major road built across their land by the Indian government. A video accompanied the report showing Indian tourists getting the tribes people to dance for food.
Of course we sympathise with the Jarawar and abhor the idea that tourists casually throw them food in order to capture a few second of video footage.
But are we so very different? As a keen photographer I keep an eye on Flickr and, today, I came across this picture which appealed to me. The picture shows a couple of Ugandan children walking down a dirt road carrying baggage on their heads. The girl also carries a large container probably for water. It’s a nice shot. The colours are subtly beautiful and the girl’s expression is interesting.
But take a step back here. How would we feel if tourists wandered around poor areas of America with expensive cameras, capturing images of people struggling with bags and then drove back to their hotels in the evening to eat and drink too much?
I am in no way condemning the photographer of this shot. I have taken similar pictures and have to defend photography as an art form and state that, while the streets of western countries are fantastic subjects for photography the scale is less and less human. The beauty of pictures such as The Long Way Home may be related to their simplicity and humanity.
I guess there have always been disparities in wealth and power between the haves and have nots but these days cheap air travel seems to allow we who live in the rich world to objectify people from the “developing world” without a thought.
The people of Berlin are protesting about the large number of tourists who visit their city and I have every sympathy.
Mass tourism is a scourge on society. The enormous buses clog our streets obscuring the very views that the tourists have come to see and eventually the local culture is displaced by an international tourist culture of burgers, beer and bullshit. Local charm is replaced by shops selling plastic beefeaters and pictures of how things used to be before mass tourism.
We all love to travel and from the tourists point of view mass tourism is a boon enabling us to see the world. Without mass tourism many of us would have no experience of anything outside our immediate vicinity.
But mass tourism destroys the thing it loves. A herd of tourists cannot visit a city without damaging it like some socio-economic version of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle.
When a person reads of the Left Bank in Paris he learns of Picasso, Matisse and Hemingway. He thinks that he too must experience this seminal environment and he buys his ticket. But the locals have seen him coming. They know that the age of art has passed and the age of commerce is upon us. So they open themed cafés, bars and restaurants with names like Bar Les Artistes or Le Lucernaire.
When our gallant traveller arrives he finds that he is not rubbing shoulders with writers or poets but engaged in a drinking competitions with a IT Administrator from Milton Keynes. Our intellectual explorer is now in the minority. The majority of the clientele are not interested in culture but feel they should “take a look while we’re here”. They have been sold culture in the same way that they are sold breakfast cereal and aftershave.
Our cities become caricatures of themselves, Ko Samui becomes Blackpool and an Indian tourists sits and enjoys the ambiance of Paris while eating a Big Mac.
The tourist industry markets travel as a liberating experience but mass tourism is not so much a manifestation of freedom as of greed, globalisation and hyper-commercialisation.
The population of Greater London is estimated at approximately 7.7 Million people. Wikipedia considers that London receives 15 million tourists each year and it is a safe bet that the vast majority of these concentrate their activity in central London. At the moment, the tourist industry sees no limits on how many people it can push down the subway at Oxford Circus. This has been detrimental to the quality of life of Londoners and no doubt Berliners suffer similarly and so are right to object.
Industry and commerce have long involved the appropriation of commonly held land for exploitation by self appointed “owners”. Communism recognises this when it declares that “property is theft”. We generally consider this property to be land used for homes, farms or factories and we assume that this confiscation means exclusion of the public but we neglect the public space in between private property. We neglect the commons.
This common space is owned, used and valued by all of us yet government and commerce now seem hell bent on exploiting it to herd around disinterested tourists in such wretched conditions that their goal, once they emerge from their air-conditioned packaging, is to take a piss, grab a burger and get back on the bus.
The Tragedy Of The Commons may sound like a Thomas Hardy novel but is, in fact, a concept used by economists. To quote Wikipedia: “The tragedy of the commons is a dilemma arising from the situation in which multiple individuals, acting independently and rationally consulting their own self-interest, will ultimately deplete a shared limited resource, even when it is clear that it is not in anyone’s long-term interest for this to happen.”
The scenario usually given is where common land is used by multiple individuals to graze their cattle. It is in the interest of each individual to graze as many cows as possible yet this will eventually ruin the grazing land to the detriment of all.
One solution often proposed is that the commons should be privatised and access restricted to those with the ability to pay. The owner would then work in his own self interest to ensure that the asset was maintained in good condition. This could mean that the owner would limit access but this is, by no means, certain.
Intuitively I am against the continued expansion of the private sphere and I find modern shopping malls a poor replacement for a thriving high street.
Another way of addressing TTOTC is intervention by local government. Legislation could be implemented to limit use and protect the asset. In the case of mass tourism this might mean metropolitan rules restricting the number of Bulk Tourist Deliveries (BTDs) in a given period.
However, local government derives a lot of revenue from allowing companies to graze their tourists in city streets and officials often see their role as maximising revenue. According to Wikipedia “The Government Office for London states that tourism revenues constitute 10 per cent of London’s gross value added and contributes to the employment of up to 13 per cent of London’s workforce. According to the London Development Agency, visitors to London spend around £15bn each year.”
Obviously cities will not wish to give up this revenue but at the moment we are sacrificing our environment for short term profit. Reversing this trend and protecting our cities will make them better places to live and ensure that they continue to attract tourists well into the future.
Many years ago, over too many pints, I recall discussing the idea of creating a tour operator which would specialise in giving tourists an authentic night out in London. We would offer a standard service tailored to the Japanese businessman and start with a few pints in a local boozer followed by a trip on a big red double decker bus down to Fitzrovia. More pints would be consumed and a Japanese man would be cajoled into thinking that his beer was off and pushed into taking it back to the bar. The barman would be bribed to take a sip, pause, frown and then apologise profusely before telling the Japanese businessman that he had a “very discerning pallet sir”. More beer would be consumed and the Japanese businessman encouraged to approach a specific young woman who would be bribed to slap him soundly around the face.
The frivolities would continue in an Indian Restaurant where large portions of Vindaloo would be consumed and the waiter paid to talk some bollocks about how this was the hottest curry ever consumed. Eventually the tourists would be emptied into taxis and left to find their own way home when hopefully a minority would vomit in the back of the cab and end the night sleeping in a railway station.
The company was to be called Here We Go Tours and we considered that visiting Australians would make the best tour guides.
The 20th century was the age of standardisation, the production line and economies of scale. The 21st century looks set to change all that. From Internet shopping to 3D printing, globalisation and technology are enabling consumers to customise their purchases to suit their tastes. House swaps and couch surfing are two examples of how independent travellers are using The Internet to bypass the mass tourism industry.
Why not go further, why not reject the standardised tours set by self appointed experts and design your own itinerary? In the past this may have been difficult but in the 21st century the tools are readily available. The Internet allows us to research an area, Google Street View lets us wander the streets before we get there and our GPS equipped smartphones allow us to navigate once we get there.
Why not create an itinerary and share it with your friends on Facebook?
The concept of tourists destroying what they visit is not new and was deftly described in a 1975 Science Fiction story by Garry Kilworth named “Let’s Go to Golgotha”. To quote Wikipedia: “In the future period where the story takes place, time travel has been invented and made commercially available. Among other historical events, tourists can book a time-travelling “Crucifixion Tour.” Before setting out, the tourists are strictly warned that they must not do anything to disrupt history. Specifically, when the crowd is asked whether Jesus or Barabbas should be spared, they must all join the call “Give us Barabbas!”. (A priest absolves them from any guilt for so doing). However, when the moment comes, the protagonist suddenly realizes that the crowd condemning Jesus to the cross is composed entirely of tourists from the future, and that no actual Jewish Jerusalemites of 33 AD are present at all.”
Yesterday I drove over to Hastings stopping off at Bexhill on the way. The gossip in Brighton is often that Hastings is an option. A sort of cross between how Brighton is supposed to be and a fall back position. Brightonians argue through the ideas that Brighton has become too expensive, trendy, busy, full of tourists….(take your pick) and that Hastings may be an option.
War Cafe
Hastings has excellent architecture, lots of interesting passages and back streets and, indeed, it seems that the alternative set may be moving in if one judges alternative by cowboy hats, chopper trikes, idiosyncratic shops and sartorial inelegance – not that I decry such inelegance; on occasion I admire it.
We ate in a nice little restaurant which was perhaps a tad too expensive. (£18 for a steak – in Hastings?! With my reputation?!) though the fish was good value and the ambiance excellent. Later we had coffee in a quaint though ghastly little sea front cafe which appeared to have been decorated by some kind of second world was appreciation society. Churchill and Union Jacks everywhere.
approaching Ditchling Beacon
As we drove back Ditchling Beacon looked very impressive on the horizon.
Any discussion regarding relocating to Hastings usually ends with the observation that there is no work there and the rail and road connections are not good. That, then, usually is the end of the matter. However, perhaps there is another reason. On arriving back in Brighton we drove down Grand Avenue and the city felt busy and switched on. It was dark and the lights beckoned us to the pubs. To be sure, Hastings, is a nice little town but it is just that. A little town. One gets the feeling that after frequenting the gaggle of little shops and pubs downtown for a year or so one might feel a little constricted. It lacks the anonymity of a city. As Brighton does to some extend compared to London. This is not necessarily a bad thing but it is, perhaps, difficult when one is not used to it.
Of course, this is not the end of the debate. With me, it is rather like my yen to emigrate to America or move back to London. A constant theme which will, most likely, rattle around my head until the day I die.
It is the curse of those who have travelled and lived in different places to always feel dissatisfied as everywhere will lack something from somewhere else. A city will feel too big or a village too small. Africa will feel too foreign while England too mundane. Many years ago I attended The Isle of Man TT motorbike racing and we did some pubbing with the locals. They told us that The Island full of retired ex-pats who the locals term “When I’s” because they preface most statements by the words “When I” - As in “When I was in Bahrain” or “When I was in Aden”.
A friend is about to go to AntArctica to live for a few months. When he returns, will he yearn for the interminable bitter cold? Perhaps not but he’s bound to miss something.
I have been to Cologne this week. Flew from Gatwick. God how I detest British airports! The Blair/Brown years have morphed every public environment into a disgusting shopping mall. You sit there, trapped, waiting for them to tell you which gate to go to while numerous shops play disparate music at you. What happened to the ideas of a departure lounge? The bread head bastards at BAA realised this was an ideal place to trap the public and flog them crap. Make the environment so awful and unendurable that you are forced to traipse around and eventually relent and buy some piece of crap.
Only at that last minute will the bastards announce the gate and you are allowed to escape and sit in some squalid glass box before being herded into the aircraft.
I frequently travel, mostly throughout Europe, and fairly often further afield and I can attest that British airports are the most disgusting I have ever endured. And let me add that this comparison includes Lagos, Port Harcourt and Charles de Gaulle.
We used to call it tourism but we’re all too pompous to admit to this these days. Instead we go “travelling”. We go to the other side of the earth and drink Heineken and eat McDonalds.
I’ve written on this before. The upshot is that the other side of the earth looks like England and England looks like a bus park.
When mobile phones first emerged in the 80s I predicated that one day you would be able to stand on an isolated beach anywhere in the world and make a phone call. Well it seems it’s now possible.
However, along with the advance of communications technology the ability to travel has become more available. This sounds great. It means we can all see the world. Not only that, we can call home and say “I’m on a bus travelling along Sukhumvit Road” or “I’m on this beach and I’ve just had my fifth tequila slammer”. Now the Chinese have let us say “I’m standing on top of Mount Everest…..what?…..yeh, yeh, it’s bloody cold”.
I guess what I regret about this is that it homogenises the world. The last time I visited Ko Samui I was sitting down with a bunch of Englishmen within hours eating a mixed grill.
The other downside is, of course, green house gas emissions. Our politicians are afraid to increase the cost of travel as they believe it would be unpopular. Not with me. If I am to travel half way around the world to visit a different culture then I do not want to have the option of a mixed grills and I also believe that I should be willing to pay for that privilege; for it is a privilege not a right. I should be willing to pay with my money and my effort.
Of course one can argue that I can afford to pay more than some. Well at the moment I may have the money but I don’t have the time. When I was younger I had less money and more time.
It is worth remembering that cheap international travel not only destroys remote cultures it destroys local culture too. Whenever I walk along the Embankment in London I am vaguely irritated that my view of the river is obstructed by a wall of enormous tour buses.
We destroy our environment to build massive airports, then destroy the environment of our destination by our mass presence. On a recent visit to Bangkok I stayed just off Rama IV and was told that I must visit the shops and restaurants at Lumphini Park. I did.
I can’t say it’s horrible. It was very good. Excellent food and lots of shops and stalls selling clothes and whatnot at good prices. But this is not Thailand anymore than Blue Water is England.
The travel industry panders to our laziness. It allows arm chair travellers to really travel and take their arm chair with them. I am as guilty as everyone else of course.
However a few times when I have been travelling I have actually felt that I had personally achieved something. Probably the best was while working in Nigeria. I took a car and a driver and travelled from Port Harcourt north to explore. Myself and Victor, my driver, ate boiled eggs and peanuts every morning for breakfast while hurtling along at break neck speeds with the windows wide open. Victor cracking the eggs on his forehead.
In the West we are taught to be cautious of everything. We hide behind our TV screens and tour buses and forget that the world existed before accident insurance and emergency services.
My car was an old Peugeot 303. The driver noticed the knocking noise first. We stopped near some traditional round thatched huts. A young man took a look at the engine and drew the dip stick through his fingers. He rubbed his oily fingers together and felt swarf. We stopped at the next town with a “mechanics village” and I had the engine completely stripped down and rebuilt. Three days later we went on our way.
I negotiated countless check points and was held by police in Abuja for driving the wrong way down a one way street.
Northern Nigeria
Benue State, Nigeria, 1997
No gorgeous beaches, no tourist tat and no fancy food. But I did feel I was alive.
I remember hiring a little motor bike in Thailand and touring around. One Englishman told me he would not do this as he had no insurance.
Modern technology enables an Englishman to be anywhere on the face of the earth in around 72 hours. I think we should ask ourselves: Is there anywhere in the world that actually needs an Englishman delivered in 72 hours?
Tis but an infinite stroke of eternity’s brush, this stretch of beach, this stick of Thai and thy, m’dear
Tags: #crowdedworld, crowded world, Fat Freddy's Cat, Freak Brothers, globalisation, Ko Phi Phi, Paradise, Phineas Phreak, Thailand, Travel
Sta Travel
Travel broadens the mind. Travel is good. I love travel. There is nothing like that feeling you get when you arrive in a new city on the other side of the world. Everyone should travel.
But…….is it too easy these days?
I saw this travel shop in North Street, Brighton. The picture is of Ko Phi Phi, an island off the coast of Thailand. Ko Phi Phi has to be very close to paradise yet now we can gawp at it as we trudge through the sludge of an English winter. We can enter the shop, buy a ticket and queue up along with thousands of others to sit alone on the top of the hill and gaze out at this natural wonder.
Elan Adventurer, Ko Phi Phi, 1991
I visited Ko Phi Phi in 1991 when I arrived as part of the Europa 92 round the world yacht rally. I was asleep in my bunk when we arrived and was awoken by what I assumed was a tractor engine. I imagined we’d arrived in some horrendous industrial port but when I popped up my head I saw this fantastic tropical island. The noise was from the enormous engines that the locals attached to their canoes. Later, I was chatting to an English sales rep from a marine engine company. He told me that they sold the engines with silencers but that the Thai’s removed them as they loved the noise.
.
.
The kids would run up and hang off the side of the local canoes.
.
Does anyone remember the The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers?
There was a story where, I think it was Phineas, liked to go hiking on his own and commune with nature. He discovered a wonderful patch of Marijuana and he would sit there crossed legged, smoking a joint and watching the sun set.
Then, one day as he arrived he saw 3 other lone hikers all approaching from different directions. Each had thought that he alone knew of the secret marijuana patch. They all ran for the marijuana and grabbed a much of it as they could and ran off. And the last line of the story is “…and that was the end of the secret marijuana patch”.
One of the Fat Freddy Cat stories is also apposite. As Fat Freddy says: ‘Tis but an infinite stroke of eternity’s brush this stretch of beach, this stick of Thai and they, m’dear!
One Fine Day At The Beach
St Malo Beach
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