Being a tourist without being a tourist
I’ve always been a snob.
When I was younger I proudly displayed my Stanley Kubrick box set and insisted that I watched “films”, not “movies”. I made an effort to seek out local underground artists in my quest to become a connoisseur of “Hip Hop” while snubbing my peers for listening to “Rap”. In college I loved to take my friends to a particular restaurant in Santa Barbara that I was convinced made “traditional” Japanese food, and forbid them from ordering sushi. In short, I practice a level of snobbery that borders on just simply being a jerk.
In this same infantile spirit, during my trips abroad I have developed a conceptual distinction between “tourists” and “travelers”.
Oh how I loathe tourists! Loud fat sunburned families pouring out of air conditioned busses, with their fanny packs and money belts, clutching their video cameras, frantically waving their guidebooks and yelling at people in English about their free buffet.
Travelers are a different species entirely. To be a traveler is to calmly walk the earth, lightly packed, living off of a few dollars a day, blending in, easily befriending locals, playing with children, petting puppies, and finding remote hilltops to watch the sunset.
This distinction is of course completely absurd.
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I learned an important lesson a few years ago on a trip to Venezuela. A friend and I took an overnight bus to a town called Mérida up in the Andes Mountains, and spent about a week just sort of walking around. Our experience of the place was limited to sidewalks, bars, cafes, restaurants, and small parks. Our interaction with other people rarely went beyond ordering our food. Still, we were proud of ourselves for being “travelers”.
Eventually we got bored and our willpower wavered. We gave in and signed up for a white water rafting tour. It was tons of fun and we finally had people to talk to besides each other. Ironically it was also a more “authentic” experience. We got to stay at their camp way outside of the city, they had a local cook that made fantastic home style Venezuelan food, and the staff was able to clear up a lot of questions that had been confusing us about Venezuela.
For example everywhere we went we saw “Si” and “No” spray painted on trees, walls, rocks, mailboxes, everything. We couldn’t figure out for the life of us why some trees would be yes and others would be no. They explained to us that this was how political activism worked in Venezuela and there had recently been another Chavez election. The “Si”s and “No”s were saying yes or no to re-electing Chavez, the local equivalent of lawn signs and bumper stickers. It would have been a thorn in my mind to leave Venezuela without knowing why, and the people in the tourism company could tell us a lot more about the place than we would ever learn by just walking around.
Being back in Vietnam I’m again faced with the challenge of not being a tourist, except with a twist. I’ve discovered a new level, above traveler, in the hierarchy. Now the struggle is to be respected as an expat. An expat, short for expatriate, simply means someone that has left their home country and moved somewhere else. A human export.
In Hanoi the term is used to refer to the community of English teachers, business folk, NGO workers, volunteers, and other whities. There is a distinct expat scene and the expats make great effort to distinguish themselves from the tourists. You will never see an expat walking around in short cargo pants, tiger beer shirt, and diagonal strapped backpack, taking a picture of a street vendor. They make a point of dressing up when they go out, constantly checking their cell phones, and always being “a regular” at the places they eat, drink, and shop. This is my peer group here now here in Vietnam.
Unlike the other expats though I’m not yet working full time, and by their standards I’ve only very recently arrived. I’m not ready to resign myself to the life of work, errands, and happy hour that I came to Vietnam to escape. I still want to go adventuring.
The challenge is how to adventure without being a tourist.
My solution when I start to get sick of the city has been to get one my regular motorbike drivers to take me on a…. uh… tour outside Hanoi. I have a map of the Hanoi area that has pagodas and temples marked on it, so what I’ve been doing is just pointing at a pagoda or temple and heading off for the day. I have no particular interest in Vietnamese religious sites but I figure that they tend to be situated either in the old parts of their towns or in interesting natural areas. Besides, I can’t easily communicate any other destinations.
So I’ve gone on four trips in this manner so far. Three around Hanoi and one on Phu Quoc, an island in the south of Vietnam off of the coast of Cambodia that I visited for the holidays. These are some of the photos from around Hanoi with my motorbike guy Da:
As you can see I mostly visited a bunch of temples. I was hoping to see more countryside and little old towns. The area around Hanoi is pretty bleak. Mostly it’s just industrial with tons of new freeway construction. The towns were mostly just homes and rickety little businesses built in the same concrete block style as everything else. Also all the fields were destroyed in a recent wave of massive flooding.
An unexpected bonus was that the temples are often built on craggy rocks that have natural caves that you can explore. They build little shrines inside the caves and light incense which makes for a surreal atmosphere.
In Phu Quoc my experience was a bit different.
The island is a big tourist destination, mostly for Germans and Russians. So I never really got the feeling that I was “off the beaten path”. The upside was that being on an island, or perhaps just because of the whims of my motorbike guy, we saw a much greater variation of stuff than I had around Hanoi. The drive itself was also much more scenic.
Again we went to a temple on a hilltop (this one was covered in swastikas which is always feels a bit weird to me). We also had lunch on a beach with very fine white sand that almost like baking soda, saw a weird park with an alligator pond, visited a little fishing village, and had some overpriced beers at a creepy karaoke bar.
Then something really cool happened.
There is a “Holy Grail” in the version of reality that exists in the minds of tourists, and I found it. It is being invited to a local home for a traditional dinner. For whatever reason it is considered to be the most “authentic” experience one can have.
There are tour companies that offer this as part of their trips, but it’s just not the same to have dinner in a house that gets paid to host a van load of tourists every other day of the week. My motorbike guy liked me enough though to invite me to join him for some dinner and meet his wife and kids.
He lived in a ramshackle little dwelling. It consisted of three rooms and a tiny outside area nestled in with a bunch of other similar buildings. It had one dinky little power cord strung in from the street that powered a fluorescent tube in the entry/living room.
We had picked up two kilos of scallops from a street vendor and grilled them on top of a coal fire in a bucket. On each one we plopped a spoonful of sauce made out of oil, green onions, garlic, salt, and then we heaped on some ground up peanuts.
Having had some time to reflect on it I think the key to good tourism, traveling, whatever, is to mix it up. Tour companies are often run by local expats with a real love of the place. They are an easy way to see the sites and make some friends. Going off on your own can be lonely and confusing, but you’re a lot more likely to have a unique experience. Plus you get to feel like a “traveler”.



















































































