Local Culture, My Ass

[Martin Hash]

Lake Titikaka 2.JPG

I freely admit it – I’m a tourist in the “all arrangements made” sense of the word. I’ll sleep on the ground, poop in a hole, go days without bathing, dig a truck out of the mud – as long as the situation is legitimately ”authentic.” By that I mean we’re not talking about a low-rent Disneyland where the characters come out in costume, tell me to dance with them, ask me for money, change back into regular clothes then go back home - leaving me a bit light on cash.

In my South American travel experiences there has often been a fine line between play-acting and real pathos but usually the underlying intentions are sincere enough that I don’t feel conned. Occasionally though I want to slap someone, take my football and go home. A case in point would be the abysmally commercial “stay with a family” at Lake Titicaca, Peru. Not only was the experience uncomfortable, it wasn’t even enjoyable. I’ve been exploited before, and I’ll accept a certain amount of social pressure to “support the local people,” but callous abuse of my temporary helplessness to espouse propaganda, foist machine-made synthetic “local” goods on me, eat poorly but expensively, and be treated like the tourist I am is unconscionable.

Normally I never fill out comment cards or evaluations – my opinion means nothing - but I am so abashed by the treatment I received on that “tour,” that I would actually condemn it. I may be a stupid American but you better not treat me like one.