By JoAnna Haugen.
The plan was this: We were going to spend the day visiting the rural
villages located on the outskirts of Huatulco, Mexico, where we would
learn about the local weaving craft, watch women make local fare, and
tour medicinal herb and coffee farms. Our route on the towns and
traditions tour would follow the one used by the cruise ships, but we
were leaving an hour before the boats pulled into port, allowing us to
avoid the tourists spilling off the ships.
Our first stop was at a homestead where a woman showed us how to make
tortillas and tamales. The “kitchen” contained a large area designed
specifically for frying up generous quantities of traditional foods and
plenty of space for several people to stand. It was decorated with dried
gourds and showed no signs of dishes or other cooking ingredients.
We
ate our tortillas beneath a large shade structure outdoors. Large
tables set up around the edge of the area were covered in handcrafted
goods. Local women stood off to the side with their children as people
fingered the products while snacking on tortillas. Discreetly placed on
the compound were two bathrooms—one for men, one for women, both with
flush toilets. A sink with running water stood outside, between the two
bathroom doors.
“Do people actually live here?” one of the women I was traveling with asked our guide.
“Yes, this is where they live. This is where they cook. This is a traditional Oaxacan homestead,” the guide said.
While the other people in my group counted out coins for the women
who manned the craft tables, I wandered around the side of the house. A
bike was propped up against a nearby building; it was surrounded by
empty beer bottles. Chickens ran wildly in the yard. A primitive drop
toilet with a door hanging on a hinge provided relief for the family.
I walked to the next compound where I observed pencil-drawn pictures
on a dispensary door of people washing their hands and covering their
coughs. Behind the building was a simple playground for local children.
After everyone else had finished shopping, we got back in the van and
sped up and down the rough dirt roads, traveling to a home where we
learned about weaving for a few brief moments before being encouraged to
shop, a medicinal garden with tip jars at every turn and a coffee
plantation selling its beans. Flush toilets, running water, and modern
shade structures and seating were available and conveniently situated at
each location while cluttered clotheslines and traditional housing hid
in the background.
Before each stop, our guide reminded us that we didn’t have to buy
anything but that tourist dollars allowed locals to stay in business.
Along the way we passed three packed vans carrying cruise tourists to
the very same stops we had just left. I doubt we were the only people
encouraged to spend money.
What is cultural tourism?
Travel that involves the integration of travelers with locals has become known as cultural tourism.
Ideally, this kind of travel allows tourists to explore a destination
in a more authentic manner. It encourages people to learn about and
discover otherwise unknown cultures while financially supporting local
communities and helping them to maintain and continue their traditions.
Cultural tourism is found in the hills of Oaxaca as well as the
mountainous regions of Central Asia, the Maasai Mara in Kenya and
countless other places around the world. It sounds good in theory, and
has actually had a positive impact in many instances.
When tourists are introduced to an indigenous culture, they provide
economic opportunities and employment in areas of the world that might
otherwise struggle financially. I suppose it’s even possible that
cultural tourism has allowed particular cultures to thrive in instances
where they might have otherwise faded into nonexistence.
But in my opinion, cultural tourism walks a very fine line between sharing local traditions and exploiting them.
Does cultural tourism exploit the people it is supposed to help?
On our towns and traditions tour, I couldn’t help but feel a little
uneasy about the fact that catering to tourists required additional
buildings to be built and modern plumbing to be installed even though
the locals themselves did not appear to take advantage of either. Their
homesteads felt like living history museums more than homes, with their
spotless kitchens, bench seating and tables of goods spread out for
purchase. Though we were experiencing traditional cooking, crafts and
gardening, I felt like we were doing so in the context of tourism, not
culture.
And
yet, as we bounced along the road, passing small houses made of adobe
where children and chickens ran freely, I began weighing the merits of
cultural tourism in the context of sustainability. Satisfying tourists’
interests in order to provide economic stability is not the answer to
responsible cultural tourism. Every van that drives down the dirt road
and traveler who visits the homesteads leaves behind waste, traces of
their own cultures and a carbon footprint. This kind of travel requires
delicate planning so that sustainability and authenticity are maintained
and local traditions, cultures and ways of life are protected.
But if cultural tourism helps a particular tribe or indigenous group
maintain its traditions, isn’t that a form of sustainability? Without
cultural tourism in the hills outside of Huatulco, would the local
communities have been able to afford to build a dispensary and
playground? Would they have running water and electricity?
If the vans of cruise passengers weren’t passed from homestead to
homestead by van, would the farmers who grew cacti and coffee be able to
afford to grow their crops without a captive audience interested in
buying? If the women weaving hats and fans weren’t able to sell their
products to out-of-town patrons several times a week, would they
continue to make fiber dyes and weave, and would they find any reason to
teach their children how to do the same?
Pushing that idea even further, if the people living in yurts in
Mongolia, mud huts in the Kenyan desert and adobe homes in Oaxaca
weren’t able to make a living off their land, would they give it all up
and move to the closest big city, where they would be more likely to
find mainstream jobs? A changing indigenous culture starts with one
generation and slowly seeps through time until tribal languages are lost
and traditional recipes are commercialized and turned into quick-eat
microwave meals.
So were the stops of the towns and traditions tour really people’s
homes? Yes, but with modifications to please the wayward traveler. Did
we learn about authentic traditions? Yes, but with mass market appeal.
With that in mind, is there a way to balance authentic cultural
practices with outsiders’ interests in exploring them in a manner that
is mutually—and equally—beneficial? That’s the question I don’t know how
to answer.
+++++++
This article originally appeared on BootsnAll.com, your one-stop guide to 'independent travel'. Look to them for cheap flights and round the world tickets, as well as hostels, Eurail passes and adventure trips. BootsnAll also has a strong community of travelers, and recently launched their Travelers' Connect Facebook app.
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