Showing posts with label Package vacations.. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Package vacations.. Show all posts

Thursday, July 12, 2012

The Tourist Zoo.

In this zoo, the animals are kept in air conditioned rooms and fed Mojitos and Daiquiris, daily, in giant thermos mugs.


As you step out of the airport, you are faced with rows of buses waiting to bring you to your hotel. Reps are waiting, clip pad in hand, while occasionally shouting the names of different hotels, wearing a shirt with the logo of the company that sold you your package. Some are Canadian, who are shipped off to sunny destinations on temporary contracts.

 It seems that they applied for these jobs in the hopes of adventure in an exotic locale, and that reality set in when they realized that they'd be working six days a week while staying in the shittiest room a resort has to offer, the one with the broken air con. They're tired and bitter. Here you are, bursting out with shiny eyes and your new summer wear, while they may have had food poisoning again for the second time that week, and woken up with a cockroach nestled in their hair. Oh and they're getting paid peanuts, which means they'll come home with empty pockets and irritated intestines.

In Cuba, it's all about the all-inclusive. You needn't worry about anything, except maybe paying for excursions and if you are generous, tips for the staff. Some have proudly brought a roll of American dollars. They'll be sorely disappointed the following day, as they try to book an excursion to Chichen Itza.

 Yes but I paid one price, I am not dishing out any more! will say an angry tourist. Okay, but did you know that they make an average salary of $20 a month, sometimes less? Did you know that they lack basic necessities like toiletries and headache medications? will say a more informed and obviously, more sympathetic tourist.

Angry tourist is hard to sway. He's been to other places before, he knows his business, he says. He's been to the Dominican Republic and Mexico. It's all the same! Soon enough, the debate ceases and angry and sympathetic tourist are both too busy admiring the palm trees and drinking their fourth Mojito to continue the conversation.

More after the jump...

The Road to Paradise.

 
Gisèle, the peahen. Never too far from the cocktails.



In the beginning, I brought notebooks with me. I had this idea, this grand plan of writing about my observations. I imagined myself having deep, philosophical thoughts, but all I could scribble were things like:

Those fucking roosters. If I hear another one, I swear! 
I ate pork again today.
It's funny how sometimes the (I never finished that one)
 trip #45 to the washroom. FML! I am now officially and utterly out of all bodily fluids. I may die in a foreign country.
Those pigs! If I hear another one, I swear!
It didn't taste good, therefore it didn't digest well.
HOT. HOT. HOT. HAWT. 
Two words. Poofy hair. 
Cockroaches and no one bats an eyelash! 
I. Don't. Want. To. Eat. Any. More. Pork.
I can drink the tap water!
Oye bici!
I love him so much.
Beer for a buck!!
I shouldn't drink the tap water. 
Trip #46 to the washroom today. I think I may have already died and this is a crappy afterlife. No pun intended.

Therefore, I've decided to start from scratch, or from memory rather. I'd like to tell you about how my life changed completely in the span of one year. I don't promise you it'll be in order, since anyway, it's been nothing but chaos here! Maybe with bits and pieces of how this all came to be, in between.

More after the jump...