Category Everything is Terrible

In Defense of Traveling Like A Tourist

August 4, 2014 Comments Off read Everything is Terrible, Travel

“Tourists don’t know where they’ve been, travellers don’t know where they’re going.” Paul Theroux

“Please be a traveler, not a tourist. Try new things, meet new people, and look beyond what’s right in front of you.” – Andrew Zimmern

“The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see.” – G.K. Chesterton

“The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him. He goes “sight-seeing.”” – Daniel J. Boorstin

“If it’s tourist season, why can’t we shoot them?” -Anonymous

Picture a tourist in your head. Mostly likely, you envisioned someone with a camera strapped around their neck, wearing ill-fitting shorts, some manner of shirt with a tropical print or beer logo on it, fanny pack clamped to their waist, and a stripe of sunblock down their nose. Maybe they were even wearing socks with sandals. You may have additionally determined that this person is ignorant of the local customs, of the language, and is looking for the most mundane, prepackaged experience and wondering how they can find the closest Applebees. Don’t get too caught up in your elitist fantasy: that person is you.

Now, you may not necessarily look for a place where it’s “always Friday” and you may have studied the language or read up on the culture. You may dress impeccably. But if you’re visiting an area in which you do not live for the purposes of pleasure or experiencing culture, you’re a tourist. Tourist shouldn’t be shorthand for ignorant, but it’s been this way for years: people mutter about the “damn tourists” in their town, and fancy themselves “travelers” instead, romanticizing a synonym, waxing rhapsodically about their style of travel, and drawing imaginary contrasts between the two words so that they can justify looking down their collective noses.

Lately, the buzz on blogs and magazines and even television is to travel “like a local”: do what locals do, eat what they eat, sleep where they sleep in order to have a more “authentic experience”. It’s a new way to draw a line in the sand between what they do and tourism, and it’s equally arbitrary, and equally rubbish.

Locals eschew the wonders in their own backyards

How many times have you talked to a friend who lives in another city/state/country and asked them about a famous landmark or activity, only to have them respond “Oh, I’ve never been there.” You think “What?! Why not? How is that possible, you’re right there, it would be the easiest thing in the world for you to go!” Turn that eye inward: what in your area have you been “meaning to visit” and “not gotten around to”? A museum? A famous building? A natural landscape? A highly-rated and/or expensive restaurant? How much do you know about local history? Would you say that someone who travels to the area should follow in your footsteps, that it would be the best way to experience the area?

“Like a local” fetishizes a certain type of local

“Travel like a local” is, at its best, disingenuous. The people filling their Pinterest boards with high contrast photos of exotic locales with twee quotes about travel written on them aren’t aching to actually travel like a local. They don’t want to get a shitty job, come home to an overpriced, poorly furnished craphole of an apartment, eat something from a can, and worry about bills. No, they want to travel like a local rich person: someone who doesn’t have to work, eats 16 course tasting menus, and whiles away their days on a lazy bike rides. It’s not that those are bad things, they’re just not the experience of the average local. You want to see new places, make new friends, try new things, and that’s grand. But you don’t want to travel like a local. Not really.

“Local” long term expats shouldn’t be your guide

So many travel guides recommend you locate expat hangouts because you’ll be able to get a wealth of information about the area from them and may be able to cultivate a “local” friendship while you’re in the area. That’s partially true. What you’ll mostly find among any group of expats: an unbelievable amount of complaining. The weather, the traffic, the people, their customs, the food, the health care, the cleanliness…if you sit among a group of expats, what you’ll learn is that everything is terrible, that they hate it all, and everything is so much better back home. This group commiseration is normal; they’re no longer in the honeymoon period, and they need to vent with a group of people who will understand their frustrations. But is that really the best way to see a country: through the eyes of the disenchanted?

There are no secrets

We live in an age of boundless information. There’s plenty that an individual can learn, but there’s scant “discovery” left on Earth. We were born too late to explore Earth, and too soon to explore space. What’s left is tourism and individual enrichment. You can profess that you have “the heart of an explorer” but the reality is that there are no “best-kept secrets” anymore. There are no restaurants that only locals know about in the age of Yelp and blogs. If people like something, they talk about it. Even the best restaurant in the world will go under if no one knows it’s there! Thus, the rub with the “travel like a local” crowd: Are you not going to visit the highest-rated places just because tourists know about them now, too? Which do you want more: the experience or the sense of elitism?

You’re not fooling anyone, anyway

You may have learned some French in high school, maybe brushed up before your visit with the Rosetta Stone. You may place orders in French and dress très chic, sitting at a cafe with your croissant and coffee with nary a fanny pack to be seen. Still, one wrong ‘vous’, an unusual accent, will out you. And yet the world will not end. Locals may actually be more inclined to help you: to give directions, to be more patient when you’re fumbling with their currency or language. And there are some areas of the world in which you never could pass as local, no matter how long you spend in the area…and that’s ok, too.

Tourism makes the world go ’round

Well, not literally. Physics does that. But economically, tourism is vital, regardless of whether you’re eating at a street vendor or a chain restaurant. Tourism bridges gaps between disparate cultures and peoples and creates opportunities for employment for locals. To roll your eyes at those who visit Paris and beeline toward the Eiffel Tower or those whose primary goal when visiting Seattle is to go to the top of the Space Needle is to roll your eyes at tourism itself: the impetus felt to see a wonder in person, to touch history, and to better understand the world we live in. No, locals may not visit those places more than once, if ever, but sites that drive tourism are just as important as your favorite hole-in-the-wall bagel joint. Moreso, actually, as they bring money into the area that’s vital to growth and allows smaller spots to survive that otherwise wouldn’t.

You may only get to visit once

Ironically, there’s no one more dedicated to avoiding tourists than the elitist tourist. I once read an article about a woman who took a class on her trip, just so she could smugly ascertain that there were no other tourists present. …Congratulations? Unless you’re an heiress, you’ll never have as much travel time and money as you’d like. The average American earns one week per year, and of that week, uses four days of it…that is, if your employer offers paid vacation at all and doesn’t penalize you for actually taking the vacation time you’ve earned. Disneyworld may claim “it’s a small world after all,” but unless you make travel a priority in your life, you’ll likely never visit all of the places you’d like to go. So why would you spent your travel time trying to live up to someone else’s standards for where you should go and what you should see or feel embarrassed about what you like?

If you want to visit every tourist trap on Earth, visit every tourist trap on Earth. If you want to rent a room through AirBNB and only eat at Michelin-starred restaurants, go nuts. If you want to hike across a country, do it. Don’t let any magazine or elitist hipster douchelord blog tell you that you’re doing it wrong, because “the best way to travel is ____”. When it comes down to it, no matter how you style your trips, you’re a tourist…and that’s ok. It doesn’t make you ignorant, or disrespectful, or anything other than someone seeing the world on their own terms.

Masticating with Mellzah: The Strawberry Shake Ya Booty

June 24, 2014 Comments Off read Everything is Terrible, Masticating With Mellzah

In June 2011, I went on a trip to Vegas where I made fast friends with some strangers there on a poker tour and I got hammered with them at the Treasure Island bar across from the pirate show, because that’s the sort of thing I do. Put me in a room with a bunch of strangers and eventually I’ll know their life stories and have made plans to vacation with them by the end of the night. While there, I had one (well, two) of the most delicious drinks I’ve ever had in my life: a strawberry lemon mojito. It was so perfectly summery and refreshing on a hot and sticky night that I hounded the bartender until he told me what was in it, which I wrote down, shoved in my pocket, and never saw again.

…until this week. I don’t know where it went, and I don’t know where it came from. One minute, I was sorting papers and the next minute it was in my hand. I was so excited about finding it again, not only to make for myself, but to share with you. How fortuitous that it’s strawberry season, I thought. I’ll make it and photograph the steps like a food blogger, I thought. This is going to be easy. This is going to be great.

There was only an eensy problem in that the list wasn’t all that specific in terms of proportions or, well, anything. It reads:

Cruzan strawberry rum
mint
strawberry lemon juice
soda water
pinch sugar water
shake ya booty

I was going to have to improvise.

I don’t know whether shake ya booty was the name of the drink or my drunken way of saying that the drink needs to be shaken. The whole “voting liquor into the grocery stores” thing sounded like a great idea until it turns out that nobody stocks this specific strawberry rum on their limited shelf space. Did sugar water mean simple syrup? What kind of strawberry lemon juice? Would strawberry lemonade work? I could feel my confidence waning already. This was starting to sound like something on Pintester: one of those ones where she subs all of the ingredients and the preparation and wonders why it didn’t turn out. But I still had some hope that I could create something that bore some resemblance to the drink I’d enjoyed so much, and could tweak it from there, so I attempted to make it with standard mojito proportions, muddling some lemon, mint, and strawberry, adding white rum, simple syrup, and club soda, with a splash of strawberry lemonade.

…It did not look good. It did not look good at all. The taste was no better. It looked and tasted like nothing so much as what came up after the long night of drinking and room-spinning. That’s right. It looked, smelled, and tasted like liquid vomit. I’ll spare you the picture.

It looks like perhaps food blogging is not in my future.

Twilight in Forks, WA

May 19, 2014 2 Comments read Attractions, Everything is Terrible, Pacific, Travel, USA, Washington, West

Initially I planned on reading the Twilight books to see how the fictional town of Forks, Washington compared to the actual town of Forks, Washington. I tried, repeatedly. I just can’t do it. I suppose, more accurately, I really, really, really don’t want to do it. Levels of anti-desire equivalent to not wanting to be audited, to not want a spinal tap, to not want to lick a NYC sidewalk. I made it about twenty pages into the first book, taking a break every couple of pages to get up, wander around, get a glass of water, go to the bathroom, let the dog out, paint a room, clean out my closet, dig a hole in the backyard…basically anything I could think of to avoid the task at hand. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m good at avoidance. I’d get my black belt in avoidance but I just can’t seem to find time to make the meeting; I don’t understand why they can’t just mail it to me. They might have, actually, I haven’t checked the mail in a while. The point is, I’ve been on this self-assigned task for something like three years and I still have not made a dent in even one of these damn books.

When I admitted as much to Jason, he said, “You didn’t even make it to the werewolf part? I hear that’s where the story really picks up.” “Do you want to read them and report back?” “Well…I’ve got some other stuff to do. And I should really read the prequel first: the entire Bible, including the dead sea scrolls and the stuff they only let the pope read. But once I become the pope, my first order of business will be to read the Twilight books, I swear.” So he was basically no help.

I don’t know if the series gets more complimentary toward the town later on, but the part I read stopped just short of calling it a dismal trash hole full of translucent circus freaks, so it’s all the more sad that Forks has embraced Twilight as its sole identity. Nearly every business I saw offered Twilight souvenirs, banners for Twilight tours were plastered everywhere, and even potted plants were emblazoned with the logo. If you lock yourself out of your car while in Forks, try Jerry’s Lock and Key–and while you’re there, browse their available Twilight souvenirs! Obviously everyone wants to capitalize on the tourism this mania has brought to the town, but as the years pass and Twilight tourism dwindles, having all of this outdated grab for relevance everywhere will only serve to make the town sadder than it was originally. Forks is literally a two-intersection town, only one with an actual light. Blink and you’ll miss Forks entirely. On each corner of the lighted intersection is a Twilight-related business. On one corner is the Dazzled by Twilight store. On the second, a pharmacy with “Bella’s First Aid Station”. On the third, a hardware store where you can “get your picture taken in Bella’s work vest!” On the fourth, a Native American and Twilight art gallery.

While I didn’t try on Bella’s work vest or receive Twilight-themed first aid (I know, what sort of half-assed investigative journalism is this?), I did thoroughly check out the Dazzled by Twilight store. I can’t say that I was dazzled, befuddled might be a better word. Dazzled by Twilight had every piece of Twilight-related merchandise a person could possibly imagine, from shot glasses to license plate frames to vampire-scented soap to creepy dolls to “Edward is my boyfriend” magnets to one-of-a-kind furniture to blacklight underwear. Twilight t-shirts? Check. Twilight posters? Check. Twilight toilet seat covers? Probably, I can’t remember anymore. If it had even a tenuous connection to Twilight, they had it.

What they didn’t have was working shingles.

Creepy doll Jacob, keep your shirt on!

I’ve always wanted a table with my favorite book’s title written on it in mixed case in Sharpie, how did you know? The rocks hot glued around the edge really make the piece.

I pressed a penny to mark the occasion, and since Jason and I were both hungry and didn’t want to make the three and a half hour drive back around the peninsula on empty stomachs, we decided to check out the “Dazzled by Twilight” recommended Twilight Lounge and see if they had glitterburgers. …oh. We ended up at Sully’s Drive-In a bit further down the road. Inside, the walls were festooned with grease-spattered dusty Twilight posters; their advertised special was the Bella burger, topped with pineapple, which came with a side of fries and plastic vampire fangs. Obviously, we had to order it.

As it turns out, it’s rather difficult to eat a burger with a mouth full of toy vampire fangs, but a milkshake is somewhat manageable.

Finally, what you’ve been waiting for: Twilight in Forks, WA. The road to Forks is narrow, twisty (especially around Lake Crescent), and requires your full attention while driving, even in broad daylight. The drive back was terrifying: it was now dark, one of my headlights was out, a thick fog covered the road, and logging trucks paid no attention to the speed limit and grade, screaming by with inches to spare on blind curves. I genuinely believed I was about to die in the ass end of nowhere. Should you feel the desire to take a Twilight trip, definitely plan so you’re back on the road before dark to save yourself some white-knuckle time behind the wheel. I checked the Google Maps streetview and as per their 2013 drive-through, it appears that they’re already starting to pare down the Twilight references; only 3 out of the 4 corners mention Twilight now (apparently the work vest didn’t boost the hardware store’s business as much as they’d hoped, because from what I can see of their windows, it’s evidently gone). The banner proclaiming Forks to be the Twilight capitol of the world is similarly gone. The Dazzled by Twilight store location has been knocked down so they are not properly on the corner anymore, but they’re still close by.