Thursday, December 24, 2015

A Different Sort of Tourism

Resting on the cushioned metro seat, feeling the vibration and sway of the train as it passes through the underground tunnels of Prague. No music and little talking. On each side the light of the train illuminated wires, pipes, and walls of the subway through the windows quickly passing by, inspiring a sense of riding a claustrophobic spacecraft at light speed. The loud whirr of the train passing along the tracks mellows the senses and calms the atmosphere. The squealing of the breaks alerts the passengers to brace for the slowed speed as we approach the next stop. Falling out of the underground wormhole, suddenly a whole side of the train is filled with columns, signs, and people waiting. As we begin to slow, they begin to move. Fifty people shift their weight toward the new arrival. Some stand from benches, others begin to stroll toward the tracks. As the train slows to a stop, they take small steps to position themselves in front of the nearest door.

One such passenger, a middle aged woman, with a purple scarf, black boots and pants, and a brown winter coat, holds a canvas bag full of bread, vegetables, and other groceries. She reaches to push a small button surrounded by green lights on the train to signal that the door should welcome her onto the car. As she steps across the gap, she scans for an open seat, quickly claiming one that faces me directly. She positions her groceries on her lap and hastily begins daydreaming while staring passed me toward the back of the train. We make eye contact for a brief moment, and then, with no significant or notable qualities, the moment is over. This was the moment I realized; tourism in Prague was different.

Arriving in Prague, the uncertainty of a new country, place, and culture seemed to be alive and well as we fumbled our way through catching a bus from the airport, missing it twice because we didn’t realize there was a separate pick up and drop off location for different buses (albeit with the same number). However, once on the bus, we were easily able to navigate the public transit, including a transfer to the metro, because each stop was announced and many of the instructions were provided in both Czech and English. Our observation skills were our biggest hindrance rather than any deficiency in information provision.

The ease through which we managed the public transit was quite a bit different than what I have experienced in Nicaragua and Guatemala, where a significant intuition, problem solving skills, and luck are fairly necessary, especially if you don’t speak the language. Conversely, the Prague public transit, and later we would find most of the city, was largely set up for easy and intuitive tourism. You were immediately swept up with directions, signs, and announcements that indicated where and when you were supposed to act. I hardly had a moment to notice the wet smell of winter as we transferred from bus to metro. With our luggage in tow, we arrived at Ota’s House, a small bed and breakfast resembling a hostel more than a B&B, on the outskirts of Prague. Miroslav, the caretaker, welcomed us warmly in English to his home and gave us a wonderful tour of the common kitchen, shared bathroom, and back patio. He offered helpful information, unlimited transportation passes, and even a fridge with beer for purchase.

As we explored Prague, a simple “Hello” upon entering a shop, restaurant, or bar immediately triggered English as the language of communication. On our first night we made the unfortunate mistake of not beginning with hello, staring at a busy bar tender as she spoke Czech to us. When we provided our best impression of a deer in headlights, and asked if she spoke English, she replied quite frankly and somewhat abruptly, “Of course I do. You didn’t tell me you spoke English.” When we entered into a quaint little antique poster and bookshop on the way to the main castle in Prague, the shopkeeper greeted us enthusiastically with both a Czech and English greeting. When we returned an English response, she immediately pointed us to the English section of her shop and pulled a variety of large posters for us to explore. While we perused the communist-time posters, movie advertisements, and random maps she brought us, two more tourists entered. These however, replied to the shopkeeper’s Czech greeting. During our stay, there were many Czech tourists who seemed to frequent the shops of Prague as well. The newcomers asked her a question, and she pointed them to a section in the back, disappearing into her back room for a moment to retrieve something that was apparently relevant to their inquiry. Finally, a young Japanese woman came in, unable to reply to either of the shopkeeper’s greetings. The shopkeeper went to work motioning and pointing. It was unclear if either of them really got much out of the interaction. However for us, throughout this beautiful European city, we were not challenged to learn the Czech language because they already knew ours.

We found one poster that we both enjoyed and prepared to haggle for it. She gave us her price. We told her we would think about it, plus we didn’t want to carry a tube around with us all day. So we left to explore more gothic architecture, Christmas markets, and watch towers. We returned to the store to purchase the poster, assuming that leaving and coming back would potentially help lower the price. Ben asked if she could lower her price by 50 Czech Krona (~$2). She definitively jabbed back, “No.” and gave the exact same price as before. This was new. In shops, markets, and town squares of Central America, I have seen vendors slash their prices in half just to make a sale to tourists. Here, the shopkeeper wouldn’t even budge. If we didn’t want to pay her price, we could take a hike. Desperation was nowhere to be seen in this woman’s eyes.

All of these moments came together to form a realization as I briefly glanced in another Czech woman’s eyes on the metro. This random Czech passenger, riding the public transit home from the grocery store had no idea I was a tourist. With my camera hidden away in my backpack, a skin tone similar to most others around me, and winter clothes that matched the trends of the fellow metro riders, I fit into the crowd of Western European, mostly white, mostly middle-class, mostly comfortable Czech citizens. The constant awareness of my foreignness in Central America was not present here in the Czech Republic, my privilege as a tourist or extranjero was not as overwhelmingly present in every action I took. The power and privilege differentials here were different from those I so commonly experienced in Central America. I cannot presume to say they were less influential or less severe even, but what I do know is that they were different, more hidden and subtle. This was a new sort of tourism and travel for me, one in which I could easily find myself comfortable and hidden, one in which it was much more difficult in many ways to be aware of how my actions relate to the citizens of the Czech Republic; how, or in what way, I was participating in the globalized power structure.

There were two edges to this sword. Traveling here was much more comfortable, easy, and inconspicuous, but at the same time that ease potentially facilitated the blind tourism we often critique in visitors to Central America. It was a challenging and informative endeavor to experience this different sort of tourism, one in which the mind was not so easily handed the ways in which power and privilege exist in the world. However, at the same time, the beauty and ease of Prague was comforting to say the least, and I would definitely go back. Next time though, I would like to have a conversation with that woman on the train to understand her world and country more than through its castles and Christmas markets.

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