Dippin' a toe in the orient

The most numerous (and harmless) type of tourist is the westerner who, finding themselves with some weeks or months to spare before the start of the next term or the expiration of unemployment benefits, decides to head to India to experience something a little exotic. It's a good choice: travel costs are low, the colorful culture is famously alluring, and, most importantly, Indians only kind of look like terrorists.

These tourists usually come to India with pretty high expectations for Indian culture-- parades of elephants/camels/palanquins, orange-clad holy men, colorful gods, etc.-- but thankfully tend not to have strong preconceptions. So they quickly fasten on the obvious, like cows in the streets and constant noise from temples, and are content to just see the sights and feel the vibe. They make excellent travel partners because they will treat every detail you point out as if it is the greatest insight ever made.

Their only major faults stem from their necessary naivety towards Indian culture. On the one hand, they remain oblivious to many of the more interesting (or distressing) aspects of Indian culture, for the most part never moving beyond the facade of poverty, religion, and cacophony. More annoyingly, they can joke for hours about the apparent irrationality of India, at once telling it just like it is and at the same time betraying the fundamental cultural arrogance that afflicts us all.

Tourist stereotypes: Karmic krusaders

Spiritual tattoo? Dreds? Hippie clothing? Glazed-over eyes? Caveman stench?

Why some people think that India, home to one of the most capitalistic, materialistic, class-driven, ambition-friendly, image-obsessed cultures on the planet, is some haven of spirituality where karma comes to get down is absolutely beyond me. Yet think they do- at least as well as they can while perpetually stoned- and at the slightest provocation will deliver a monologue on familiar New Age themes. Actual conversation at the guesthouse:

UNWASHED HIPPIE : Hinduism's all about love, man.
ME: I'm not so sure. Have you read the Bhagavad-Gita?
UNWASHED HIPPIE: No, but I've been meaning to. It basically says we're all one, right?
ME: Not really. It's about duty.
UNWASHED HIPPIE: This world is transient, we're just lost souls seeking liberation.
ME: What does that mean for the here and now?
STONED RAVER: Now and here, man: nowhere!

I'm all for people opening their hearts and minds to new cultures, new ideas, and new ways of life, but this is something else. Trying to relive the individualism and idealism of the revolutionary 1960's in today's world is hedonistic and irresponsible. So go ahead and have your Paulo Coelho-fueled journey of spiritual self-discovery, but at least have the decency to conform to the hygenic standards of the culture at whose expense you're naval-gazing.

Tourist stereotypes: introduction

When I first visited India two years ago I was disgusted by most tourists. It seemed to me like everyone who came here was intent on reliving some 1960's journey of spiritual self-discovery, while in fact their Lonely Planet led them to trendy exotic placenames where Indian entrepreneurs, seeing the dependable signs of white skin, poorhouse clothing, and dubious hygiene, sold them bhang lassis made with filtered water that cost three times more than an average Indian family made in a day.

Needless to say, this is a very harsh and over-generalized view that has since softened. Still, there are very distressing aspects of tourism particular to this country. There really are a lot of people who come to India for material renunciation, temporarily forgetting the price of their airfare. Many come espousing New Age spirituality's roots in Hinduism or seeking a yoga ashram, only to reveal that they've never read the Bhagavad Gita and couldn't pick Vishnu out of a crowd (he's the blue one). The carefree egalitarianism of hippies- or even of the most conservative Westerners- is fundamentally at odds with the rigid class system of India, the consequences of which go over the heads of all but the most observant visitors. As I spend more time here, I am beginning to see an even more sinister side to tourism: that most hotels are run my the mafia. No joke.

But my daily exposure to tourists at the NRCC and at the guesthouse have begun to steel me to their faults (just like shacking up with a hipster made me finally accept that I, too, am a hipster deep down inside) and I've even begun to take a perverse joy in hearing their predictable rants and formulaic pontifications. So please allow me to share the enjoyment only a hater can get from the idiocy of his fellow humans in this new series, Tourist stereotypes.