Americans: The World’s 2nd Best Tourists?

by Justin Glow on

In a recent poll of 1,500 European hotel managers, Americans were given the number two spot for the world’s best tourists, second only to the Japanese. “Americans were seen as the most likely to try to speak a foreign language and the most interested in sampling local food,” according to the San Francisco Chronicle.

Further, U.S. tourists were ranked third for both “most polite” and “best behaved” tourists (behind the British and Japanese, and Japanese and German, respectively), and ranked first in tipping and overall spending.

Yanks did, however, fall short in a couple of categories. “Americans were seen, by an overwhelming margin, as the shabbiest dressers, the most likely to complain and the second noisiest. Who’s louder? Only the Italians.”

And sorry, France, but you were ranked as the worst tourists in the world — followed by India and China.

Alcohol Shortage on Bali May Impact Tourism

by Catherine Bodry on

Beautiful landscape? Check. Stunning beaches? Check. Amazing culture? Check. Booze? Nope, sorry. Wait, no booze? Forget it. I’ll just go to Thailand.

This checklist is what Indonesian trade ministry officials are worried is going through your mind as you consider a trip to the tropical island of Bali. Due to an “import problem” (read: discovery of an alcohol-smuggling ring and a subsequent customs “reorganization”) there’s been a major shortage of wine and spirits on the island. All-inclusive resorts are suffering the most, since their selling point tends to be, naturally, all-inclusive bars.

Despite the lack of ambiance-enhancing drinks, however (and really, does Bali need any artificial ambiance?), the numbers are up. Tourist arrivals rose a whopping 34% in the first half of 2007 from a year ago.

A Canadian in Beijing: The Forbidden Tian’anmen

by Ember Swift on

The Forbidden City and Tian’anmen Square (situated right next to each other) are the two principal tourist destinations in Beijing. When people come to this city, they usually stop here for these two major sites and then take in The Great Wall before moving on to other parts of China. I mean, these are the bare minimum.

Tourist requirements.

I had already been to Tian’anmen Square a few times and I have walked the outer courtyards of The Forbidden City once before. I have also seen the outer gardens and surrounding moat and quite enjoyed this perspective. I hadn’t yet gone inside, though, and so the arrival of my sister and her fiancé Steve to Bejing meant that I could catch some last-minute tourist sites before heading back to Canada.

I must say, though, that it was all starting to feel a bit strange. My last four days in this beautiful place and I felt like my whole Beijing identity was morphing before my eyes. I was about to leave my new love (China) cloaked once again in tourist garb. I had worn this outfit once before (at the beginning of my trip) and slowly (happily) had changed into local clothes throughout my stay. The arrival of my family meant that I had to revert once again into this tourist attire.

I wasn’t sure it all fit me anymore.

Since I wore those clothes last, I’ve put on some local knowledge.

But, the agenda plowed ahead with no time for philosophical meanderings. I rolled out of bed at 7:00 Saturday morning ready to tackle another tourist day with my family. We were meeting in the lobby at 8:00 and taking transit down to Tian’anmen’s southernmost gate: Qian Men, which literally means “first gate.”

This time, I thought it best to hire a guide. The woman who walked us around had lots of information about the sites, historically, but offered almost nothing politically. I’m not sure why I was disappointed because I had no real expectation for anything but. It’s just that there is a vibration to the square that is undeniable whether unspoken or not. By this, I mean the history here – the massacre or uprising (depending on where you stand geographically, the noun used to describe 1989’s events is different) – sits in the stone and pavement and it comes up through the soles of my shoes. When our guide was asked what she knew about it, she fumbled and became uncomfortable and responded that many powerful events have taken place there and she hastily began to explain the significance of a nearby statue.

What is it about real history that China has trouble with? Something terrible happened here and silence doesn’t erase the vibration of that truth.

Even my Chinese friends don’t talk about it. They don’t want to. What’s more, they don’t know to. It’s just not talked about here (except by the foreigners), or so I’ve found. What’s more, much of the information about such events is blocked on the internet while you’re in China. It’s nicknamed “The Great Firewall of China.” (For instance, the link I placed above on the words “history here” will not be viewable from within China unless someone has found a way around the firewall.)

I always feel shaky near Tian’anmen, almost speechless with the lump that comes into my throat and the ache in my jaw. I haven’t written about it throughout the whole three months despite the fact that I have visited it three times and have felt the same sadness each time. I haven’t known what to really say.

One interesting thing the guide did show us were the public “squatters” that were disguised as sidewalk grates. Apparently at large assemblies, these are opened up to provide the thousands of people a place to relieve themselves. Without this information, I would have thought they were just sewer grates. I guess, in a way, they are just that. I wonder if they provide privacy to each “stall” in those times? The guide said she learned this from her parents who were here during a large assembly that that there haven’t been these kinds of massive events as long as she’s been aware.

Not since 1989, I thought. Of course not.

Being there with my sister and her fiance made it easier. They did not want to linger on the square and marched on ahead to The Forbidden City where it promptly began to rain. We trudged through courtyard after courtyard imagining over three thousand concubines and nearly the equivalent in Eunuchs working and living there, trapped inside the palace walls that both kept intruders at bay and servants hostage.

The place is seriously HUGE. I had no idea.

The rain got worse and the guide asked in her sweet English if this would the appropriate time to describe the weather as “raining cats and dogs.” I laughed out loud. I confirmed that it would be a perfect time to describe it like that and the laughter momentarily relieved both my irritation at the incomplete history lessons as well as the chill that had attached itself to my bones as a result of wearing shorts on such a rainy day.

Two hours later, we emerged on the other side of The Forbidden City, out the North gates. We paid and said goodbye to our guide and then had a brief sidewalk conference about what was next.

I was shivering and hungry (having not thought about breakfast and finding nothing vegan in this tourist area) and there wasn’t a cab to be found. On rainy days in Beijing, if you’re far from a subway it means that you’d better just walk until luck turns your way. The only thing on my mind was a hot shower and a change of clothes and so I put my head down and led the way westward where the streets got busier and the chance at hailing a taxi (I thought) would be greater.

Twenty minutes later we still had no taxi and I had lost my ability to speak. Hunger, fatigue, cold, and the familiar emotional siphoning of a Tian’anmen visit – it was all combining together to silence me. My sister wanted to go and get food at a restaurant and I encouraged her choice if it was to be on their own, but I was adamant about mine. I simply had to return to a hot shower. I knew that I would catch what my Grandmother describes as a “chill” if I didn’t. I know myself. She, of course, wasn’t comfortable going to a restaurant on her own and so when a taxi finally pulled over to let people out where we were standing (what luck!), everyone piled in for the hotel. I had them over a barrel with my language skills and their lack of language skills, and I knew that. But, I also had my physical limits and so I quietly insisted.

The quiet insistence is the most powerful.

Back at the hotel, showered and fed and much happier, I emerged again about an hour later and I was re-energized to be host and tour guide.

Everyone was smiling. The rain had stopped.

Time for more shopping…

(That’s my sister, Temple, and I)

A Canadian in Beijing: Simatai, The Great Wall: Take 3

by Ember Swift on

My sister and her fiance Steve arrived in Beijing on a Thursday afternoon and they hit the ground running. Before the sun had fully set, they had checked into their hotel, eaten a traditional hot pot meal and were in attendance at my last and final performance in Beijing. That night was a late but great one, and it was wonderful to have them there.

Six o’clock the next morning rolled around far too quickly.

We were scheduled to depart for Simatai Friday morning, the most beautiful tourist section of the Great Wall. A car was waiting for us just outside the hotel lobby, thanks to my wonderful friend Stuart who works for a travel company (Intrepid Travel) and who has excellent connections with things like this. He set it up for us and I was thrilled to not have to navigate public transportation with my family after such a late night. I was already bleary-eyed and poised to nap on the two and a half hour trip out of town.

When sleepy, must sleep. That’s my body’s motto.

The driver was very nice and we smoothly exited the city in nearly absentee traffic and quickly found ourselves in the morning mist of the outlying Beijing area. I slipped back to sleep in the front seat while my sister and Steve chatted about the scenery and the different energy of China compared to Canada. I tried to stay awake to act as the translator and tour guide, but it was for naught.

I woke up when we turned the final corner towards Simatai. Off of the highway, this last twenty minutes took us through several small and quaint countryside villages where we could see small-scale farming and country life up close, sometimes just a few feet from the windows of the car.

We all exclaimed at the brilliant greens and natural beauty that is in such contrast with the grey cement of Beijing. I reminded them that there is a lot of green hidden between buildings in the city, but it takes awhile to find it and celebrate it. I hoped I would get a chance to take them to some beautiful places in the city as well. We only had a few days together, and the density of the “intended” schedule was already apparent.

This tourist site is the section of The Great Wall that is farthest away from Beijing. Its beauty took my breath away. The misty mountains, the water below as you climb the several hundred feet up to the wall, the parts of the wall not fully renovated and so still breathing some of the crumbling history into the soles of our shoes – all of it was incredible! Even though this wasn’t the wild wall, it was part of the story. I am continually inspired by this snaking stone wonder that covers this part of China. I don’t think I’d ever get tired of laying my eyes upon it as it weaves its way along the skyline.

All told, seeing this part of the wall completed the cycle between the first section of the wall that I saw (Mutianyu, which was extremely renovated and almost pristine in its square edges) against the extreme rustic beauty of the wild wall that I saw when I went hiking in early June. Here was the middle ground between the two and it felt like the missing link in the chain of historical events.

We climbed the few kilometres up taking many rests in the heavy humidity. At one point, we came upon a group of women lounging along the wall’s edge. They all had sacs and were dressed in the same deep navy blue pants and shirts. I thought they may be workers, but it turned out that they were all vendors and were all selling the same items.

Three of these women greeted us and began to walk with us. When they realized I spoke Mandarin, they got even more excited and the conversation took off. Eventually, I realized that they were planning to accompany us (as though official guides) and I stopped walking. So too did my sister and Steve and I rounded off the conversation. I then gently requested that we be left alone to walk separately. I thanked them for their kindness but explained that we wanted to have some space just the three of us. They responded in kind and then trailed us by about fifty feet as we climbed the wall, always keeping us in view.

Finally, closer to the top, they inched nearer again and began to offer some interesting historical information about what we were seeing. I’m a sucker for history and so I didn’t discourage it and I listened and translated for my sister and Steve who were also interested in what they were saying. Eventually, they pulled out their tour books and asked us to once again consider buying their wares.

My sister wanted a book. They started the price at 180 kuai. I laughed outright at such an inflated price and told my sister to not pay more than 20 or 25 kuai. She eventually paid 50, which we learned was the starting price for the same books down at the base of the mountain where the rest of the vendors were. Oh well, I suppose my instincts were correct in terms of price, but my sister felt their ascent, historical information and overall persistence was worth the extra cash. She has a heart, after all.

We didn’t go right to the very highest point, but instead took the trail towards the cable cars. They wanted to take the easy route down and I relented and agreed. I wasn’t tired but it was threatening rain and I figured being in a covered cable car in the rain was better than getting wet while making our descent. In the end, the cable car ride was about ten or fifteen minutes of peace. I rode alone and they rode together and I took the time to just watch the scenery slowly roll out beneath me – such a carefully and meticulously landscaped valley – and the wall fade into the mist of the mountains behind me. I shut off my brain and let the colours soothe.

It was all very storybook-like. It was lovely.

Our driver was waiting for us at the bottom. We piled in and ate the picnic lunch I had brought while we made our way back to the city. Due to the midday traffic, the trip back was much longer than the trip there, but it was still interesting. The driver and I had a great chat about historical sites in and around Beijing and I fared relatively well in Chinese throughout it all. He was complimentary and taught me some interesting new words.

When we got back to the hotel, I was ready for a nap but happy to have seen the Great Wall of China one last time before I had to go home.

I fell asleep in my hotel room conscious of my great fortune and privilege in being in Beijing for so long. I have seen the Great Wall three times now! Some people – most people – never get to see it even once.

Life is great.

One for the Road: The Naked Tourist

by Kelly Amabile on

I read Lawrence Osborne’s The Naked Tourist last year when it was released. I noticed that it’s now out in paperback — just in time for you to throw in the summer beach bag! And since we have not mentioned it yet here at Gadling…no better time than now: Subtitled, In Search of Adventure And Beauty in the Age of the Airport Mall, the book is a fascinating read, although dry at certain points. (Or maybe those were the parts that were just a tad bit over my head? It’s a smart read.)

During his six-month journey from Dubai to India, followed by visits to Bangkok, Bali and Papua New Guinea, Osbourne shares his personal insights about “the psychological underpinnings of the tourist trade.” He focuses on the why of travel — why the heck do we do it? He wanders while pondering “whereverness”. There is much to contemplate from his travel observations. If you’re in the mood for this kind of deep thought summer reading, than be sure to get your hands on a new softbound copy.