Growing up as an only child, I was lucky enough to be able to experience some great trips to places with my parents, and usually a friend of my choosing (good call mom and dad!!) Since we spent lots of time in the car traveling, I became somewhat of an adventurous spirit. When it was time to choose what high school I wanted to go to, I chose the school on the opposite side of town from all of my friends, heading out completely solo. When it was time for college, I thought, “Hey! Why not move across the country, thousands of miles from my family and friends?” And so began my life as a traveler. I love getting to see new places, especially when I can visit someone I already know and stay with them for free – and get the inside scoop to the REAL place I’m visiting.
Fast forward a few years into my college life…
My first visit to Puerto Rico was fantastic. I was swept up from the airport by my friend, Jenny, who was studying abroad for a year on the island. She piled me into a car with some of her friends and we went straight away to a beach. Mind you, I was in college at the time… so I took a redeye out after a full day of classes to spend as much of my Thanksgiving break with her. Please don’t mind my unwashed appearance!
The whole trip was fabulous. We went to beaches full of locals! I spoke Spanish! We ate at tiny booths on the beach with kabobs of fresh meat, and with owners who chopped coconuts open in front of you! We traveled to nearby islands and explored a bioluminescent bay! I ate with a group of international students and we all made some of our home country’s favorite foods for an eclectic, yet delicious, Thanksgiving dinner. I truly got to experience some of the local culture by visiting places that many tourists aren’t normally going to see. And I loved every minute of it! (Can’t you tell by my face above??)
So, when my parents surprised my boyfriend and me a few years ago by taking us on a Christmas cruise, I was extremely excited to see that we would be stopping in San Juan. I couldn’t wait to get myself back into the country, if only for a short while, and experience that culture again. However, as many others who have taken cruises before may understand, this experience was a bit different. When you get off the boat, there are hundreds of locals just begging for your money. They speak English. They thrust cheaply made pieces in your face and beg for your dollars.
This was nothing like my previous experience of the fantastic four days.
Not that we weren’t able to escape the chaos for a bit. We wandered for what seemed like forever (hot and humid… not quite conducive to wandering) and found some quaint, somewhat local spots. We were able to eat in a tiny alleyway restaurant where “mama” still cooked everything with her authentic recipes, and her own hands.
But we had to return to the ship. And we had to pass through the throngs of people trying everything to get your money. We had to push past the vendors selling the things they thought Americans wanted to buy – maracas, sombreros, churros. Even things that weren’t part of the Puerto Rican culture were being sold as though they were traditional, authentic wares. At each port of call on every cruise I’ve been on, it seems like there’s this line of vendors waiting to prey on the rich Americans getting off the ship. Perhaps it’s a CD by the local steel drum band. (My parents bought for one for $10 in Haiti. When we got back to their house after the trip, we all thought how fun it would be to remind ourselves of the sounds of the islands. Unfortunately, it sounded like someone was standing in the back of a crowded room, holding a microphone above their head, with a distant sound of the steel drums…) But always outside of this sphere of where most Americans go lies a culture very different than what is portrayed to many tourists.
In my Rhetorics of Travel Writing class, we’ve been reading many interesting articles and blogs from numerous authors. We read a blog entry about a woman, Lavinia Spalding, who traveled to a small, Mexican city to mourn her father’s death. We read about different Native American cultures who historically call the Grand Canyon home. We read a chapter of a story about Quoyawayma, a Hopi who left home in search of a better life. All of these stories talked about people who traveled and immersed themselves within a different culture. Some, like the Native American tribes from the Canyon, were forced to integrate with the “better” population; to assimilate them to the white population and culture that was taking over their land. Some, like Quoyawayma, left voluntarily to see if there was a better life outside her culture – to see if the grass was actually greener on the other side.
All of these stories made me wonder what the future held for these ports of call. Will their native cultures prevail? Or will the travelers spread their influence throughout the islands and countries, changing the inhabitants to what the travelers wish to see?
All I know… is now I really want to sip some coconut milk, on a deserted beach, listening to local musicians playing happy music and the waves rolling up on the beach… and let’s just throw in a sunset while we’re at it! Who’s with me??