Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Responsible Traveling and the Ethics of being a Tourist
One of the luxuries of this millennium is the ability to travel to virtually any part of the world. As we baby boomers enter into our mid and later years, many of us are able to explore areas of the world that earlier we only dreamed of seeing. I have just been to my tenth country on this year long sabbatical and all along the way I have been blessed with incredible experiences and awesome sights. I sipped red wine in the south of France, hiked from one village to another in Italy’s Cinque Terre, stood in the Pantheon in Athens, Greece, marveled at the Blue Mosque in Turkey, circumambulated the Bodhnath Stupa in Nepal, got harassed in Bangladesh (okay, not so great), walked the beaches of Goa, India, zip lined in Costa Rica, trekked the ancient Inca Trail to Machu Picchu in Peru and searched for geckos with my grandson Owen in St. Lucia. Not too bad for nine months.
But there are issues that arise from traveling the world, concerns that are increasingly beginning to nag at me. The first one that comes to mind is the mountain of plastic bottles used by tourists. Keeping oneself hydrated is absolutely essential but potable water is not always available. A wise traveler will beware of drinking any tap water in any form, including ice cubes, unless they have a steady supply of cipro on hand. So the plastic bottles pile up. In Peru, my traveling partner Helen and I bought one bottle after another, in spite of the fact that we had water purification drops. We chose to put our trust in bottled water rather than our own treatment plan. On our hike to Machu Picchu, we were able to refill our bottles at each camp with boiled water, but that was only for four days. In St. Lucia, the heat drove my family and me to buy copious amounts to quench our thirst. We consciously put the plastic bottles aside, having been told that the island recycles. But later I watched in dismay as the manager of the villa threw them in with the regular garbage. I even attempted to boil water but the saucepan was only big enough to boil two eggs, let alone water for five people. In almost every country that I traveled lately, empty plastic bottles littered the side of the road, were thrown in ditches or lay scattered in waterways. Most surprising for this was Costa Rica, renowned for being an ecological island and St. Lucia, renowned for its natural beauty. It makes me feel very sad.
Then there is the other garbage. On our hike on the Inca trail, my trekking team all made a concerted effort to carry out every scrap of garbage that we generated. With the help of our porters, of course. But occasionally along the historic path we came across wrappers and bottles, discarded by others trekkers. Although not nearly as bad as photos that I have seen of base camp of Mount Everest, the trend was the same. The only saving grace is that according to our trekking guide, the Inca trail is cleaned every night as a concerted effort to preserve it. In Saint Lucia I often wondered where all the garbage goes generated by wealthy tourists. It is an island after all.
Another travel challenge is our carbon footprint. I’ve lost track of the number of flights that I have taken, it must be well over twenty in the last few months. Ask me how sick of airports I am. It worries me but I must confess that I am not quite sure what to do about my carbon footprint, given that I am a voracious traveler who needs her fix at least once a year if not more. Perhaps I will look into buying back my carbon footprint but worry that it is just another feel-good gimmick. Also, trekking ancient paths and climbing stone steps as old as Methuselah is enchanting but also worrisome as more and more areas of historic sites are being cordoned off, worn down from the footsteps of thousands upon thousands of tourists. I want my grandson’s children to be able to marvel at the imaginations of the ancients.
Finally, an issue that has been plaguing me for some time now is photographing the locals. I am as interested in people as I am in buildings, if not more. The life stories that old wizened faces have to offer beckon my camera. I try very consciously to be respectful of their privacy but it is not always easy. Some countries are more difficult than others. The Buddhist monks in their maroon robes in Nepal and the Sadus in India were very enticing but difficult to capture without offending. In Peru, the barrel-shaped women with bowler hats and very colourful dresses knew their uniqueness and always stretched out a hand for some coin in return for a snap. Some even went out of their way to dress in the traditional way, a child strapped to their back, another one in tow, complete with a llama or two. I never hesitated to give to them as I admire anyone who tries to do some sort of work rather than beg. One of the most fascinating photo-ops was on Lake Titicaca, Peru where just a handful of people live on floating reed islands, in reed houses with reed boats for transportation. The remote island of Taquille on the same lake was also fascinating, where men traditionally knit and women weave. Everywhere on the island, young and old men walked in clusters, a pair of knitting needles flying in their hands, a colourful ball of wool in their pocket. I tried my best to shoot only from a distance and never felt more like a tourist.
To all these issues, I have no answers. To not travel would be unthinkable for me. Travel gets the horizon off my nose. It makes me realize that the world is vast, that we are nothing but tiny ants on this earth. It helps bring perspective to our lives when we see the suffering of human beings in less fortunate countries. Travel allows us to enrich our lives but we must always remain mindful to enrich and not destroy the lives of those who grant us a vision into their world.
But there are issues that arise from traveling the world, concerns that are increasingly beginning to nag at me. The first one that comes to mind is the mountain of plastic bottles used by tourists. Keeping oneself hydrated is absolutely essential but potable water is not always available. A wise traveler will beware of drinking any tap water in any form, including ice cubes, unless they have a steady supply of cipro on hand. So the plastic bottles pile up. In Peru, my traveling partner Helen and I bought one bottle after another, in spite of the fact that we had water purification drops. We chose to put our trust in bottled water rather than our own treatment plan. On our hike to Machu Picchu, we were able to refill our bottles at each camp with boiled water, but that was only for four days. In St. Lucia, the heat drove my family and me to buy copious amounts to quench our thirst. We consciously put the plastic bottles aside, having been told that the island recycles. But later I watched in dismay as the manager of the villa threw them in with the regular garbage. I even attempted to boil water but the saucepan was only big enough to boil two eggs, let alone water for five people. In almost every country that I traveled lately, empty plastic bottles littered the side of the road, were thrown in ditches or lay scattered in waterways. Most surprising for this was Costa Rica, renowned for being an ecological island and St. Lucia, renowned for its natural beauty. It makes me feel very sad.
Then there is the other garbage. On our hike on the Inca trail, my trekking team all made a concerted effort to carry out every scrap of garbage that we generated. With the help of our porters, of course. But occasionally along the historic path we came across wrappers and bottles, discarded by others trekkers. Although not nearly as bad as photos that I have seen of base camp of Mount Everest, the trend was the same. The only saving grace is that according to our trekking guide, the Inca trail is cleaned every night as a concerted effort to preserve it. In Saint Lucia I often wondered where all the garbage goes generated by wealthy tourists. It is an island after all.
Another travel challenge is our carbon footprint. I’ve lost track of the number of flights that I have taken, it must be well over twenty in the last few months. Ask me how sick of airports I am. It worries me but I must confess that I am not quite sure what to do about my carbon footprint, given that I am a voracious traveler who needs her fix at least once a year if not more. Perhaps I will look into buying back my carbon footprint but worry that it is just another feel-good gimmick. Also, trekking ancient paths and climbing stone steps as old as Methuselah is enchanting but also worrisome as more and more areas of historic sites are being cordoned off, worn down from the footsteps of thousands upon thousands of tourists. I want my grandson’s children to be able to marvel at the imaginations of the ancients.
Finally, an issue that has been plaguing me for some time now is photographing the locals. I am as interested in people as I am in buildings, if not more. The life stories that old wizened faces have to offer beckon my camera. I try very consciously to be respectful of their privacy but it is not always easy. Some countries are more difficult than others. The Buddhist monks in their maroon robes in Nepal and the Sadus in India were very enticing but difficult to capture without offending. In Peru, the barrel-shaped women with bowler hats and very colourful dresses knew their uniqueness and always stretched out a hand for some coin in return for a snap. Some even went out of their way to dress in the traditional way, a child strapped to their back, another one in tow, complete with a llama or two. I never hesitated to give to them as I admire anyone who tries to do some sort of work rather than beg. One of the most fascinating photo-ops was on Lake Titicaca, Peru where just a handful of people live on floating reed islands, in reed houses with reed boats for transportation. The remote island of Taquille on the same lake was also fascinating, where men traditionally knit and women weave. Everywhere on the island, young and old men walked in clusters, a pair of knitting needles flying in their hands, a colourful ball of wool in their pocket. I tried my best to shoot only from a distance and never felt more like a tourist.
To all these issues, I have no answers. To not travel would be unthinkable for me. Travel gets the horizon off my nose. It makes me realize that the world is vast, that we are nothing but tiny ants on this earth. It helps bring perspective to our lives when we see the suffering of human beings in less fortunate countries. Travel allows us to enrich our lives but we must always remain mindful to enrich and not destroy the lives of those who grant us a vision into their world.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Costa Rica Part Two
Montezuma
As we head back down the rutted mountain road to Montezuma, this time in a shuttle van, Meghan and I discuss my rating of WOW factor. I have had many absolutely incredible experiences and sights during my expensive travels and have decided to rate them from one to ten on a WOW factor. A ten constitutes a combination of any of the following: a high adrenalin rush, incredible sights, a natural wonder of the world, a high level of physical activity or something that is very different from my everyday life. Some tens that come to mind immediately are Jaisalmer fort in Rajasthan, India; Cinque Terre, Italy; the town of Oia on San Torini Island, Greece, and my recent zip lining experience in Monteverde, Costa Rica. WOW.
I find that the more I travel, the harder it is to be impressed. As we leave Monteverde, I wonder if we are making a mistake leaving so soon with so much more to do there. One of the challenges of a short stay in a country is that one cannot see or do everything. And the transitions from one place to another have to be made quickly when there are only a limited amount of days. With this in mind, Meg has planned three days for us in Monteverde and three days in Montezuma. The remaining days in Costa Rica are designated for travel.
As we arrive in Montezuma, I worry that this hippy town will be too quiet, with not have enough to do. But I was mistaken. In our usual style, we check into one hotel but then scout around for another in the morning. As we walk down a dusty hot beach road, we are rewarded for our efforts. Beckoning us is Amor de mar, a beautifully maintained old wooden inn with a water front to die for. Hammocks attached to swaying palm trees call our names. A grassy lawn leads out to the ocean. Our steps quicken as we head inside to see if there are any rooms available. We are in luck, there is one room left. We leave a small deposit and dash back to our hotel for our backpacks.
Repacked and backs laden, Meaghan suggests we take a taxi, but of course, I see the walk as a gym workout, in absence of a gym. So we walk, and sweat. Excited about spending the next three days in the hammocks. Back at Hotel Amor de Mar, we don our bathing suits and head out to our hanging chairs. All of a sudden my desire for exercise is gone and I a m happy to sit and read my book. But every few minutes, I look up and marvel at the amazing views around me. The sun is scorching, perhaps because we so closer to the equator. Our white Canadian skin quickly begins to burn in spite of our 30 sunscreen and we decide to go for a swim at the beach right beside us. Then we jump in another swimming hole enclosed in rocks in front of us. Afterwards, we retreat back to the hammocks in the shade of the verdant palm trees. Meg brings me a glass of white wine and I feel pampered. Not one to sit still, I am finally brought to a halt, happily so.
One of our surprises in Costa Rica is how early the sun sets. By four, it is low in the sky and by six, it is pitch black out. We shower the salt water away, dress and head out for dinner. A delight has been the exceptional food. Each dinner we have is elegantly served and extremely tasty. The only downfall is that few hotels and restaurants accept credit cards and in Monteverde we attempted to withdraw cash at four different ATMS with no success. Finally in Montezuma, we are lucky and the one ATM machine in town works, dispersing both Colonnes and US cash. Just in time too. Otherwise we might have had to eat wieners and beans.
My world slows down as I switch gears into true relax mode. But the days go by way too quickly, punctuated by great meals, awesome fresh fruit drinks, swimming in the ocean, a small hike up to the Montezuma waterfalls, a dip in the natural pool beneath it and lots of reading. Meaghan and I discuss life and all its twists and turns and wonder what the future holds. We imagine her wedding (to whom and when as yet to be determined) on the grounds of this amazing hotel. It is truly a magical place.
All too soon, it is time to return to San Jose for Meg to fly back to Canada. I know that I will definitely return one day to Costa Rica, perhaps for a wedding, who knows. But for now I’m off to Peru to hike the ancient Inca trail to Machu Picchu.
As we head back down the rutted mountain road to Montezuma, this time in a shuttle van, Meghan and I discuss my rating of WOW factor. I have had many absolutely incredible experiences and sights during my expensive travels and have decided to rate them from one to ten on a WOW factor. A ten constitutes a combination of any of the following: a high adrenalin rush, incredible sights, a natural wonder of the world, a high level of physical activity or something that is very different from my everyday life. Some tens that come to mind immediately are Jaisalmer fort in Rajasthan, India; Cinque Terre, Italy; the town of Oia on San Torini Island, Greece, and my recent zip lining experience in Monteverde, Costa Rica. WOW.
I find that the more I travel, the harder it is to be impressed. As we leave Monteverde, I wonder if we are making a mistake leaving so soon with so much more to do there. One of the challenges of a short stay in a country is that one cannot see or do everything. And the transitions from one place to another have to be made quickly when there are only a limited amount of days. With this in mind, Meg has planned three days for us in Monteverde and three days in Montezuma. The remaining days in Costa Rica are designated for travel.
As we arrive in Montezuma, I worry that this hippy town will be too quiet, with not have enough to do. But I was mistaken. In our usual style, we check into one hotel but then scout around for another in the morning. As we walk down a dusty hot beach road, we are rewarded for our efforts. Beckoning us is Amor de mar, a beautifully maintained old wooden inn with a water front to die for. Hammocks attached to swaying palm trees call our names. A grassy lawn leads out to the ocean. Our steps quicken as we head inside to see if there are any rooms available. We are in luck, there is one room left. We leave a small deposit and dash back to our hotel for our backpacks.
Repacked and backs laden, Meaghan suggests we take a taxi, but of course, I see the walk as a gym workout, in absence of a gym. So we walk, and sweat. Excited about spending the next three days in the hammocks. Back at Hotel Amor de Mar, we don our bathing suits and head out to our hanging chairs. All of a sudden my desire for exercise is gone and I a m happy to sit and read my book. But every few minutes, I look up and marvel at the amazing views around me. The sun is scorching, perhaps because we so closer to the equator. Our white Canadian skin quickly begins to burn in spite of our 30 sunscreen and we decide to go for a swim at the beach right beside us. Then we jump in another swimming hole enclosed in rocks in front of us. Afterwards, we retreat back to the hammocks in the shade of the verdant palm trees. Meg brings me a glass of white wine and I feel pampered. Not one to sit still, I am finally brought to a halt, happily so.
One of our surprises in Costa Rica is how early the sun sets. By four, it is low in the sky and by six, it is pitch black out. We shower the salt water away, dress and head out for dinner. A delight has been the exceptional food. Each dinner we have is elegantly served and extremely tasty. The only downfall is that few hotels and restaurants accept credit cards and in Monteverde we attempted to withdraw cash at four different ATMS with no success. Finally in Montezuma, we are lucky and the one ATM machine in town works, dispersing both Colonnes and US cash. Just in time too. Otherwise we might have had to eat wieners and beans.
My world slows down as I switch gears into true relax mode. But the days go by way too quickly, punctuated by great meals, awesome fresh fruit drinks, swimming in the ocean, a small hike up to the Montezuma waterfalls, a dip in the natural pool beneath it and lots of reading. Meaghan and I discuss life and all its twists and turns and wonder what the future holds. We imagine her wedding (to whom and when as yet to be determined) on the grounds of this amazing hotel. It is truly a magical place.
All too soon, it is time to return to San Jose for Meg to fly back to Canada. I know that I will definitely return one day to Costa Rica, perhaps for a wedding, who knows. But for now I’m off to Peru to hike the ancient Inca trail to Machu Picchu.
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