I’m in Chiapas at ATMEX, a conference for people who promote adventure travel in Mexico. Nearly all my expenses were paid for.
The morning of the waterfall excursion, I got up early to take pictures and when I was done, set my camera on the windowsill outside my cabin. When it came time to go, I couldn’t remember where I’d put the damn thing. My phone was dead too, my charger cable stored in my luggage back in town. If I was going to get images from my day hike to the waterfalls of El Ocote, I was going collect them with my eyes.
If I’d had my camera with me, I would probably be posting pictures of sparkling light shining down through the cascades of clear mountain water. I’d show you my hiking mates, soaked to the skin, splashing in the terraced pools, drinking beer on the scallop of sandy beach. I’d show you the stair climb, the trail along the edge of the steep cliffs, and maybe our clothes laid out to dry in the sun. I would show you pictures of our guides, who were good looking, charming, smart, supportive, and made me feel safe. I might have asked the shy women who made our lunch (which included some seriously kick ass tortillas and the best salsa I’ve ever had) if I could take their picture, and then, I’d show you their photo, too.
I probably would not show you the collapsed diamond plate bridge or the metal ladder — both terrible hazards. And I wouldn’t show you the most disappointing thing — that upon reaching the most spectacular section of the falls, you are confronted with dilapidated cinder block outhouses and a disappointing array of garbage.
Were I to show you exactly what I saw before that magnificent drop of the falls, you would not want to go there. On the drive back from the falls, I thought about how I shoot pictures. I promised myself I would crop less, that I would use photos that tell the truth about places, that I would apply the same rules to my photography that I try to apply to my writing.
The family that maintains this splendid natural site wanted to know what they could do to make it more appealing to visitors. I felt imperialist and judge-y for being bummed out by the rubbish, and yet that’s what I said out loud — that the garbage was a bummer. I still see drops of water throwing light everywhere when I looked up but I also still see that ugly mess, plastic drink bottles and shiny snack wrappers floating in the muddy puddles at my feet.
And I feel guilty for thinking this way. The people who paid for me to eat the best tortillas I’ve ever had and to squint my eyes in the rainbows of a falling river will not like that I am not just thinking about, but also writing about, the stuff they would like me not to notice, not to share.
They would probably prefer me to crop this stuff out.
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Must read: Frank Bures’ article about travel writing in Nowhere Magazine.
I agree the hardest part for writers is balance. You want your stories to show beauty, passion, and creativity, but what about the ugly? Unfortunately there is a dark side to the world. I think when we take the filter off, our writing becomes more authentic, although it might not represent the story we originally set out to tell. Very thought provoking article, thanks for sharing!
Trash is –therefore indeed should be– part of the picture. As should the hazards you mentioned. You have to wonder why a press officer/PR person would send you on a trip over a dangerous / collapsed bridge.
We were the first group to take this trip as kind of a test run. I think the local guides take the hazards for granted, but part of why they took us — and this was with our consent — was to get feedback on the experience as they build out a new tour. We weren’t easy on them and we were an international group with a wide range of abilities.
Loved the piece about travel writing, except for his characterizations of all the female characters, who were fools and fat. I wanted to share it but I think I’ll pass.
The last official press trip I took was to Chiapas probably ten years ago. We visited Agua Azul via a rafting trip and it was a nightmare — http://www.planeta.com/planeta/00/0012chiapas.html
I’m a big fan of rural travel in Mexico, but there is often a disconnect. Garbage abuts pristine nature in far too many places.
My friend and Mexican guide Marlene Ehrenberg — https://twitter.com/marehrenberg — would be the first to criticize negligent behaviors, because the fact is visitors don’t want to go back to places there are not kept clean. When the boat ride through the Sumidero Canyon floated past garbage, Marlene denounced the lack of care to the TV news and helped launch an effort to clean up the park.
When you see such problems, talk about them and bring your readers or viewers into the conversation. But also seek out examples where the communities are reducing their trash, recycling and making their homes examples of responsible tourism which simply states that a good place to live is a good place to visit.
Chiggers? Any chiggers? Your narrative reminds me of a trip to Russia in 1987. Incredible emotional experience. Lots of crying and spiritual awakenings. But the crappers? OH-EMM-GEE. The KGB? Well…it was eye-opening to be guarded, watched and pampered 24/7. When I shared the bit about western travelers being somewhat put-off by the extraordinary state of the “ladies room” for example, they just brushed me off. OK, then. As it was, it took me several months to parse out the emotions from the creature comforts. What I came away with was this: Russia at the time was undergoing its own cultural revolution…in this case reaching back to connect with its past pre-1917. And indeed, those cultural connections really do eclipse the going-to-the-bathroom experience. Just like the memories of climbing Mt. Everest center on the view and the struggle…rather than…well, you know. HAHA.
No chiggers. A lot of parrots at the other site (gorgeously managed, BTW) and a few mosquitoes.
The awful loos and the KGB (I did a trip in ’86, I think it was, so… yeah) and in this case, the rubbish at the falls, are part of the experience and to take those out, well, that’s some Soviet style revisionism. And if you want people to go and see and understand, it’s good not to mislead them.
Plus, Everest is suffering, so it’s worth laying the groundwork to make sure other places don’t by saying, “Yeah, if things don’t change, this place will be ruined.”
Nepal cracks down on littering tourists
A very American perspective; it’s all about expectations. Just know that what some see as a hot mess, others perceive as edgy + interesting. If you want well scrubbed streets, go to Zurich. Just don’t expect Mexico or any poor country to have the same sanitation standards as Seattle.
Suggesting I should perceive a trash scattered natural site as “edgy and interesting” is to ignore the mission for this site’s use as explicitly stated by both the (local) guide and the (local) land manager. Neither of the binaries you present — hot mess vs. edgy and interesting — are appropriate for a conservation site presented for its natural beauty.
Given that others in my (international) group — including locals — shared my perspective, my take is not exclusively American. Though I suppose it’s easier to dismiss my nationality as the key factor than it is to address the issues of maintaining natural sites in areas where it’s complicated to do so. It also sidesteps the issue that’s my main focus, which is how we leave that stuff out when documenting what places are really like.
Is your point that I should *expect* places to be trashed up if they’re not Switzerland or the like?