Educated Tourism

As a tourist, it's important to have some knowledge of the place you are to visit. To do otherwise is to embrace ignorance and to tarnish the good name of tourism. Don't feel like you need to be an expert, but a little information and understanding begets much more of the same.

Above all, don't ever fall for anything resembling this hippie bullshit: "Going somewhere with a clean slate really gives you a pure experience man." This serves only as an excuse for laziness and ignorance.

Example:

I was recently in Belgium with my brother and my mother. Before our mother arrived, on our first night in Brussels, Andy and I watched JCVD as cultural research.

The hippies might've said, "Don't stay in your hotel room, man. Go out and experience something!" At the risk of repeating myself, this is terrible advice because I'm neither lazy nor ignorant. Plus it was a Sunday and there was absolutely nothing happening in the city. It was almost frightening.

So we got a taste for how Belgians feel about the Muscles from Brussels. It was a real local perspective on an international star. And we planned to visit the neighborhood where most of the action takes place to really solidify our appreciation for our new cultural understanding, but there just wasn't enough time unfortunately.

However, we did get to live a bit of culture in Bruges. In Bruges, brother, mother, and I watched In Bruges. I'd seen it before, but really benefited from the refresher.

After watching the film, we were armed with the knowledge that we were in the midst of a fairytale fucking town, full of canals, bridges, cobbled streets, churches and other fairy tale shit. And swans; the swans are still there.

We made a little In Bruges walking tour in Bruges. Naturally, there is the belfry, the Basilica of the Holy Blood (not actually featured in the film, that scene with Jesus' fucking blood is in the Jerusalem church), the Grote Markt and so forth. The dwarves, fat Americans, and annoying Canadians were nowhere to be seen.

We tried to find 17 Raamstraat. There actually is a Raamstraat, but it wasn't where the scene was shot. That was somewhere east of Jan van Eyckplein.

So take my word for it: don't be an uninformed tourist! Arm yourself with knowledge and understanding, and you will be richly rewarded.

Amsterdam

I was in Amsterdam for a night about seven years ago. I ate the best steak I've ever had at an Argentinian place I wandered into, watched Germany and Holland tie in the Euro tournament, and wandered into a coffee shop bored, and out high as a kite.

I walked in one direction until I was out of the insanity of the city and sat on a park bench, awake, until the sun came up. I ate breakfast, and took a train back to Berlin.

I was looking forward to actually getting a feel for the city on this trip. I met my brother in a hostel, and we walked around the city. The central area is a true tourist hell-hole, the Khao San Road of Europe, but with astronomically inflated prices.

How do people who aren't filthy rich enjoy places like this? A slice of pizza is about five bucks. A bottle of water is about two, and a beer at a "cheap" bar is about six. Sleeping in a bunk bed in a crowded dorm is like thirty bucks.

I took my brother out for a birthday dinner at an Argentinian steak restaurant, hoping to relive the meal of seven years ago that still makes my mouth water when I recall it. I spent $100 on a pile of meat I could've bought in any grocery store and grilled up in my backyard.

We tried seeing some non-weed/sex attractions. The Anne Frank house had a line that snaked out of the door and around three or four buildings. The Van Gogh museum wasn't much better.

The city redeemed itself the next day! Mainly because we got the hell out of the central area. There is a brewery and pub affixed to an old windmill that had great beer we drank. The neighborhood was quiet and uncrowded. There was space. We ate sandwiches that we made from a local supermarket, and scoped out a little library and record shop.

Then the best part of Amsterdam came early in the morning of our last day. I got to watch live hockey on a real TV, from a real TV channel. We woke up at 2AM to watch hockey in the hostel bar, and the Bruins FUCKING KILLED the Canucks. It was glorious.

Hustlers of Istanbul: Part 1

There are touts and hawkers and hustlers anywhere there are tourists. Part of travel is recognizing that anything too good to be true almost certainly is a hustle, and the sort of locals that start up conversations with tourists are almost certainly hustlers.

There are things one comes to expect. The taxi driver that charged me 10 Lira for a 5 minute ride in Erzurum is to be expected. Tourist prices at markets are to be anticipated. One can compile a decent list of common scams after a few months in southeast Asia. But you can always count on learning a new one the hard way after enough time goes by.

I was walking down the hill towards the football stadium in Beşıktaş as a shoe shiner was packing up his stuff. As he got up and set off down the sidewalk, a brush fell out of his case. Being the kind man I am, I picked it up and handed it to him. I was rewarded by a smile of disproportionate gratitude which should have been my first warning.

He promptly sat down, and started shining the thin strip of rubber on the toe of my boots.

"That's okay, I'm not interested" He clearly was going to ask for money.
"No problem, no problem. Thank you"
"How much is this?"
"No problem. Money no problem"
"I don't have any money."
"Where you from?"

He proceeded to do a half-ass job on my boot toes and fed me some story about sick kids, extortionate surgery bills, and a cancer-riddled wife, all while saying "Money no problem." He talked as fast as he worked as before I knew it he was asking for his money, 18 Lira, which is about $12. For a shitty toe shine.

The brilliance of this guy, beside the fact that he made me think that he had accidentally dropped the brush in the first place, was that he ran his scam so quickly and well that I almost thought I had gotten off cheap by giving him 5 Lira and telling the broken-hearted look on his face that I knew it was a good price and that was all he was getting.

The correct response would have been to laugh in his face when he asked for money and walk away, but that's not what happened and that's why he's a professional and I'm a sucker. I was half pissed off at myself, and half impressed at how smoothly the whole hustle went.

I was able to avoid all other scams, especially the obvious ones that I got lots of practice at. Walking alone down Istiklal Street on three occasions I was overtaken by solo Turkish guys who nonchalantly started asking me something in Turkish, then looked surprised when I had a stupid "I have no idea what you're saying" look on my face.

"Oh, I thought you were Turkish!" Helen Keller wouldnt've misjudged me so poorly. Or maybe all the blonde-haired, green-eyed , pale-skinned Turks hang out somewhere I've never been.

I was flattered the first time I got this line, since the dude pointed to the mustache I hadn't yet shaved off. But it wasn't convincing when they started chatting me up and eventually steered the conversation to the point where I was invited to a cafe. On none of the occasions did I feel like getting slapped with a several hundred Lira bill for a couple beers, to be paid under the glare of enormous bouncers. Nor did I want to get drugged, robbed, and possibly raped. Maybe if I didn't have class the next morning, I am a sucker for romance, after all.

The same dude even tried it on me twice. The second time, after he asked where I was going, I said I was going the same place I was going when he asked me two days prior.

"Oh, you...uh..." as he pointed at my hair.
"Yeah I shaved and got a haircut." Dumbass. Apparently we sucker Americans all look the same.

My classmate wasn't quite so astute as he was wandering around the side streets looking for my apartment one night. When he saw that he was lost, some hustler convinced Ayoub to take a look at his "bathhouse". He was plunked at a table that was instantly covered in fruit platters, bottles of alcohol, and surrounded by three Russian hookers.

When he tried to leave, they kindly handed him a 450 Lira bill. He hadn't touched any food, drink, or hooker. After he showed them he had no money, and they searched his clothes and pockets, he only got off because the manager was Syrian and Ayoub pleaded his broke-student case to him in Arabic, their common language. He considers himself lucky the dude let him out easily. I do too.

Next to come, part two: The Biggest of Hustlers in Turkey

Sight Seeing! The Basilica Cistern

The Basilica Cistern, otherwise known as the Yerebatan Sarnıcı or Sunken Cistern - was number one on my list of tourist sights. I like the idea of cisterns, mostly because I recall playing Tomb Raider and swimming through underwater tunnels and climbing over pillars and jumping into bright clear water lit by crumbing overhead domes.

It wasn't quite like that, believe it or not. The entrance was an unimpressive block with a ticket window and staircase inside. It's an underwater reservoir though, so I don't know what I was expecting. It was built and fed by aqueducts more than 1500 years ago to keep fresh water against any possible siege of the city.

James Bond rowed through the place in From Russia With Love, before there were walkways built through it. I was a little let down with the crowds of people chattering among the dimly lit marble columns perspiring with water that dripped from the brick ceilings. And with the trade show style tables set up at the base of the stairs to advertise other tourist destinations. And with the lovely photos placed here and there among the walkways. I mean, sure they were great water-themed photos of some beautiful place in Turkey with blue skies and bright sun and sunken ruins, but when did an ancient cistern become an art gallery? The final touch of tack was the "Cistern Cafe" at the end of the walkway, signed in diner-esque neon.

But I liked it! Sure, the water was only a foot deep or so, ruining my fantasies of swimming through underwater passageways, but it was still calming and peaceful despite the chatter. They could've chose some classier lighting than orange and red tungsten, but the hundreds of columns in precise rows created a feeling of depth and distance beyond the actual size of the place, which is pretty big anyway.



Where there was enough light, you could watch ripples spread out in perfect circles as the ceilings dripped perspiration, and lazy fish floated here and there. There are mysterious blocks with Medusa's head carved into them at the base of two columns, and I was hit with fat drops of water a couple times, forcing me to clean off my glasses and camera with my t-shirt.

Something else that was particularly impressive was that when I exited up a different set of stairs, I realized I was halfway down the block, and all the buildings and roads and traffic are driving on top of the cistern. I would've liked to have seen the place with less people, and I even went on a Monday, but who am I to complain? I'm a bloody tourist too.

Siem Reap, Angkor Wat, and The Dread

I've realized I've completely forgotten to write about the tourist mecca of Angkor Wat. It is the largest religious structure in the world, and undeniably one of the largest tourist attractions as well. I suppose it does warrant my attention.

Please do pardon me, but before we even set eyes upon this ancient city of temples I was filled with a sort of dread. It's the Dread that tells you that you won't actually be that impressed by something that should very well impress you.

The Dread is caused by the gradual dulling of your impressability by the parade of temples, wats, churches, cathedrals, stellae, museums, mountains, monuments, and mausoleums that you've spent the last three months looking at.

Now forgive me for sounding so cynical and jaded - I know you're probably reading this from a fluorescent-lit cubicle somewhere - but as Joe Walsh said, "I can't complain, but sometimes I still do."

Before our tuktuk driver even got within viewing distance of the ancient city of Angkor, before we got off the bus in Siem Reap even, my brain began to come up with a metaphor for Angkor, and Angkor Wat specifically:

I saw an ornate cake of ridiculous proportions and gaudy decoration. It was abandoned and forgotten in a jungle and teeming millions of ants crawled all over it, taking picture in flip-flops and sunglasses.

The Dread was not without reason, but it wasn't terrible either. I was impressed by the ruined temples and cities of Angkor - it's difficult not to be - but I wasn't awestruck by it. Everyone has seen pictures of it, and the closer you physically get to it - from America to Asia, Asia to southeast Asia, to Cambodia, to Siem Reap - the more you hear about it from other travelers. It would be hard to be surprised by the place.

The tourists were out in droves, no doubt about that. Siem Reap, being nuzzled right up to Angkor, is the place where everyone stays, and there are all sorts of everyones there: scrubby backpackers like us, couples on vacation, young families showing the kids something to forget before they get old enough to appreciate it, French checking out the old empire, Koreans in massive group tours, et cetera, et cetera.

Siem Reap is a town built on tourists, and the city handles it well. The dining and drinking district is great, with close alleys warmly lit and lined with open air restaurants to watch people from, and beer so cheap you can pass out on five dollars.

I'm glad I went to Angkor and Siem Reap, no way I couldn't be, but it was not the solemn holy experience I hoped it might be, under those crumbling towers and shady stone hallways. It was a great experience sneaking into the temple itself before dawn, and having an hour or so of solitude and quiet while the hordes were snapping photos in front Angkor Wat's reflection on the pool, but mostly it was a trip on the ultratourist bandwagon.

Fortunately there was enough great cheap food to eat, cheap cold beer to drink, and plenty of sun-scorched temples to scramble over and pick at and inspect along with everyone else. In fact I even learned something about the history that would come as no surprise to Jared Diamond. The whole kingdom collapsed due to environmental factors, specifically to some abnormally dry monsoon seasons that their advanced water management systems couldn't cope with. Among minor contributing outside factors, of course. I learned this after the fact of my three day visit, naturally.