A Reflection on Tourism and Authenticity
Story by María García- Juanes📍Utrecht
Not long ago, sparked by the boredom of a Covid-19 afternoon in lockdown, a discussion began with the question: “Where would you travel right now if you could?”. My friend expressed that she felt conflicted about being a tourist in certain places. The reason, she explained, was that she didn’t want the place to change because of her presence. After that reflection, she said she would go for Bali. Good choice, I thought, and also ironic, since Bali is surely one of those places that have deeply changed due to tourism. Some attribute it to the publication of the bestseller from Elisabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love. The island was portrayed in such a captivating manner in its pages that it was hard for those who read it not to imagine themselves living their best life in its paradisiacal shores and exotic temples. That might explain the hordes of tourists that started visiting the island, but why did it have to change?
There’s a rule we should all adhere to when traveling, inspired by the well-known phrase “take nothing but memories, leave nothing but footprints”. The rule is to do our best to adapt to a country and not expect it to be the other way around; to leave it unaltered by our presence, unless the change we bring is positive. That type of change, needless to say, excludes any type of physical litter or waste, but also intangible demands that don’t belong in the local culture and that do nothing to improve it. I believe this is the best way to avoid what my friend was concerned about, while still getting to witness a place’s beauty.
Some months ago, I read Four Corners by Kira Salak, where she describes how, more than two decades ago, she embarked on a three-month solo trip across Papua New Guinea. In one of the chapters, she sits on a plane next to a Christian couple who explain to her their intention to settle in a rural town to evangelize it and perform other social services. Throughout her book, she hints how, for several years, Westerners with the aim of civilizing the island ended up tarnishing its original culture. I am conflicted by this idea. Bringing medicines, innovations and different ways of doing things to a remote country may be seen favorably. But on the other hand, what is the cost? And who are we to assert ourselves into ‘fixing’ others’ cultures?
A loss of uniqueness and originality has happened to places like Bali too, though in a different way. I suspect it comes from tourists who don’t know how to adapt or who simply don’t care.
The first time I visited the island of Bali two years ago, I arrived on a plane from Sorong, where we spent a short layover on our way to the island of Waigeo. Sorong, the largest city in the province of West Papua, is surely not a very touristy destination compared to other areas in Indonesia. Although we could only spend a little over two days there and the city in itself is quite ordinary, the place was fascinating to me.
The day we arrived, we went straight to the pier to have a quiet walk at sunset. There, we discovered some scattered stalls with food, drinks, and pamphlets. Music was blasting loudly from one of them as if there was some sort of local festivity and children were playing, running through the stalls. One of them saw us approaching and pointed at us. All of a sudden, a crowd of little kids darted towards us, phones in hand. They pushed each other chuckling, shrieking, and surrounded us while fighting to take selfies. We were puzzled and it was amusing at first, but then half an hour went by, and the mayhem seemed nowhere near its end. We had to push our way through the madness towards the water’s edge to take a breath. It was one of the first times of many that we would be asked for our picture.
Similar situations had happened when I was living in Shanghai for a few months as a part of my studies, but never with this intensity, nor with the same frequency as it did in West Papua. In Waisai, a town located in the South of Waigeo island, people were sometimes curious about our presence. It made me realize that Raja Ampat was even less of a busy destination than I had initially thought. All in all, it was so foreign and special that I tried to absorb every detail of it: the muddy floors and wooden shacks along the road; the groups of kids trying to poke with sticks at huge butterflies on trees; the rich, thick vegetation surrounding low buildings; the messy convenience stores and their eclectic set of products; local music blasting from shattered cars and the otherwise relative tranquility of the streets as opposed to the hubbub of Yogyakarta. It took us time to find places to eat near our empty hostel. The choices were very limited and the menu options were scarce, but these were the kind of situations that felt special to me.
I came to miss all of it when, a week later, our plane landed in Bali. I had conflicting feelings, as my first impression was that the airport felt a lot like home. Catching a glimpse of Mcdonald’s signature red and yellow sign felt irrationally soothing, but also inappropriate. This was Bali, a predominantly Hindu island full of temples and traditions and tasty local food. Why was there a Mcdonald’s? Furthermore, on our excursions along the southern part of the island, we would bump into pool clubs and bars overflowing with tourists that could have easily been a part of Ibiza’s nightlife scene. Pepito supermarkets, mostly located in the south of the island too, bore almost no difference compared to markets back home in Europe. Kuta’s pizza bars and Canggu’s cafes wouldn’t have stood out either.
That tourism is important for Bali and its people is a fact: around 80% of its economy relies on it. But are locals happy with mass tourism and its effects? Not long ago, a commercial project in Bali’s Benoa Bay, which consisted in creating artificial islands to accommodate a massive complex comprising luxury villas, restaurants and entertaining areas, was rejected by activists and Balinese people. Protesters were concerned about ecological consequences, as the project would threaten much of the bay’s rich mangrove ecosystem, and also about how the emergence of a new point of tourist interest would contribute to the slow destruction of their culture.
It seems that the more unexplored a corner of the world is, the more original and unchanged. Which can mean either: 1) that tourism is not good in itself when trying to keep the world diverse or 2) that there’s certain types of tourism that are harmful. I’d like to think it’s the second option — a lack of adaptation to local customs and traditions — but it’s something we must all reflect on.
With big food and retail chains spreading throughout the world, it’s becoming easier for those who don’t adapt well to different cultures to find a home away from home. They are able to stay within their comfort zones while pretending they don’t, just because they traveled far.
However, authentic places still exist out there, in every region, city and town in the world. It’s our mission at Unfound to uncover them, not so we can turn them into more touristy places, but to diversify choices. Places off the beaten path have a great value: they’re original. They deserve to be considered against big, well-known landmarks and brands and have a platform to be shared on.
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