I’m not usually one to compliment the United States. My default state of being really lends itself to complaining and criticizing. However, one grand exception is how much I truly appreciate the abundance and variety of beauty in the natural landscape of the US. Right before moving to Mexico, I was spending a lot of time outside, contemplating nature. I worked at an environmental consulting agency and was living in Portland, Oregon. I spent my weekends hiking and backpacking through the glory that is the Pacific Northwest, as I have frequently romanticized.
With all that said, I believe that Mexico puts the United States to shame. It is staggeringly beautiful. Like the US, Mexico is also a giant, sprawling country with vast unpopulated that lends itself to admiration. What Mexico doesn’t have, however, is a forest service. I quickly realized that hiking in the manner to which I was accustomed was no longer an option. There is no one to maintain trails or campsites. If you want to venture into the great outdoors, you generally need to hire a guide or pay to stay on someone’s private property. This all requires some pretty advanced planning, organizing, and Spanish speaking skills, none of which I possessed at the time. As a result, my hiking habit died out pretty quickly as I moved on to more readily accessible hobbies.
By the time I came back to the United States, I was also older, wiser, and more prone to creature comforts than ever. Camping had somehow morphed from one of life’s more simple, pleasurable activities to a situation that I found uncomfortable and burdensome. So much packing, so much clean up, so much back pain from sleeping on the ground. For my 31st Birthday, my friends introduced me to the joys of “glamping.” We went to Baja California Sur. As usual, Mexico’s landscape impressed me. The rocky cliffs of the desert lead right up to the sands of the Pacific Ocean, creating a surreal clash of environments.
We stayed at the edges of La Ventana. It is a village known perhaps only by the kite surfing community. The specific wind conditions that occur there make it a global destination. It is about a three hour drive north of Cabo San Lucas. It is a beautiful place. You can even use the tide to your advantage to mix the ocean water with the natural hot springs seeping up through the sands of the beach.
The town itself has not yet been converted to a mainstream tourist destination. The roads are rough and unpaved. Cows roamed free through the cliffs and valleys surrounding La Ventana, and occasionally right through the campus where we were staying. Upon arrival at our accommodations, it was immediately clear that the glamping compound was owned by a foreigner. Someone intimately familiar with what American tourists would expect had designed it. The whole place had an appealing modern and minimalist decor. It featured an open-air kitchen and simple rooms for sleeping. We loved it. The whole experience was pretty dreamy
My second clue that the owner was not from Mexico was the name of the light brown mutt roaming the desert from the compound where we were staying and living her best life. Her name was Güera (blonde). But I believe that any Mexican would have named her Güerita (blondie or small blonde) instead. Mexicans are incredibly fond of the “-ito” “-ita” suffix. This demonstrative modifier adds “small” or “tiny” to the meaning of any word. For example, while visiting Peru, at the end of a meal my husband mentioned signing the check with a “firmita” (little signature) instead of “firma” (signature). Our waiter immediately responded to him with some version of, Oh you are visiting us from Mexico. That is how ubiquitous the usage is.
The owner of the place wasn’t present during our stay. His friend was keeping an eye on everything until his return. He appeared before us as surfer stoner vibes incarnate. Hair sun-bleached and matted from the ocean. Skin tanned a deep brown and prematurely wrinkled. He was the kind of hippy where I couldn’t tell if he was a truly peaceful being due to a deep and consistent spiritual practice or just liked to do a lot of drugs. I chose to see it as both. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe he was objectively annoying. Whatever the reason, I disliked him immediately.
While drifting through Baja, he taught spearfishing lessons. He and his friend had experienced tension with the locals. Their spearfishing would disturb the local’s commercial fishing methods. Our host had overheard the locals making fun of them. They haven’t figured out that we speak Spanish yet, the American proudly declared. I didn’t have the heart to tell him, because it seemed so obvious, that the locals surely had figured that out, but why would they care? And that short statement was all I needed to solidify my initial impression that this guy sucked. The sly superiority in the insinuation that he must be smarter than the locals as evidenced by the word choice when stating, They haven’t figured out. That they should care what he thinks of them. That they should accommodate him for some reason. That he was making money at their expense.
The moral superiority I felt when judging him allowed me to distance myself from him even further, which I was only too eager to do. Especially when the reality of our relationship to one another created such cognitive dissonance. The connection between us being that I was buying what he was selling. I am his market. I am the tourist for which this business exists.
Out of all my expensive, niche hobbies, spear fishing thankfully remains untouched to this day. But who was I supporting by paying to stay at this property? And the truth is I liked the accommodations. It’s a nice place and I thoroughly enjoyed my stay. It appealed to my sensibilities as much as the next American. And it put into question for me what my role really is in this situation.
I am critical of people who go on cruises or travel to other countries to stay in all-inclusive resorts. If you are going to stay in a self-contained, sanitized, and Americanized environment for the duration of your “travels,” why not stay in America? If you aren’t seeking anything aside from an escape from the day to day, save yourself some time and find the nearest pool. But here I was doing the same thing, albeit on a less obvious scale.
This short exchange really brought into focus this question. Why had I left the US to go on vacation, if only to recreate the experience of being at home? The whole interaction caused me to recognize myself in every all-inclusive style traveler that I have ever seen and judged so harshly. And it begs the question. Between the environmental cost of traveling and the damage done to the local economy, is there even such a thing as a truly responsible tourist?
The obvious answer is no. And the obvious response is that I am not going to stop traveling. But I do know that if I had the chance to plan my vacation over again, I would rather pick a spot owned by a local, instead of someone who wandered in, if only to avoid the surfer crowd.
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