Being a Tourist

Molyvos is a beautiful village that sits on the northwest corner of Lesvos.  The houses are perched on the side of a hill dominated by an ancient castle.  If you look across the Aegean Sea to the west you see Turkey, so close you can almost reach out and touch it.  The streets are cobblestone and very steep. Many of the streets have a lattice work structure overhead that is covered with wisteria vines, the trunks of which must be several hundred years old.  I desperately want to come back in the Spring when they are blooming.  The streets are very narrow and, because of the wisteria, limited in height.  But that doesn’t stop cars and delivery trucks from navigating them and you often need to step into doorways to let vehicles pass. 

The harbor contains most of the shops and restaurants and the tables go right up to the sea.  In fact, you better be careful when you get up from dinner.  Make sure that when you scoot your chair back from the table you not scoot too far and end up in the Aegean.  I have heard from others that cats seem to dominate the Greek islands and Molyvos is no different. As your food is served, you will find several cats under your table looking for a bite of fish.  Last night there was one lone dog sitting in the doorway of a shop barking madly at all of the cats that tried to enter.  When night falls you can hear multiple cat fights as they claim their territory.  You also have to avoid the cars that drive literally in between the dinner tables.  There are no established roads in the harbor area and this is the only way cars have to turn around as they head back to the main entrance. 

I haven't traveled outside of the United States for many years and have forgotten how much we are noticed as Americans.  I am sad to see that America followed me to both Dublin and Greece.  Lesvos is less Americanized than the Athens airport, which was filled with Starbucks, Burger King and Cinnabon.   I wish American culture had something more interesting to import than coffee and fast food.  It is disheartening to know that many Americans want to see the world, but still expect to feel like they are home.  And that the rest of the world, seeking the tourism dollar, is willing to cater to that comfort.  I want to visit other places to see their culture, not to be reminded of my own. 

Much of Molyvos is closed for "the season". Talking to our hosts, it seems as though the village is very happy that the season is over.  Post-covid, people are venturing back into the world and this summer was particularly busy. There is an exhaustion that is palpable.  Tired of dealing with people that don't know the customs, don’t know where they are going and don't speak the language.  Waking every day to the same scenario and the superficiality of people being in your space but knowing nothing about you.  Knowing your livelihood depends on tourism, but also knowing that having us there is a necessary evil.  Tourists support the economy, but we change the life.

There is a similar exhaustion felt in Colorado ski towns at the end of the season.  I remember feeling that way as a teen, frustrated by people not knowing the slopes and how exhausting it was to be around their unwillingness to learn what they needed to navigate through "my world".  Back then it was the Texans that invaded the slopes every year. Loud and obnoxious and thinking that their money and willingness to spend it superseded my right to be in my own home.  It was our job to cater to them at all times.

Maybe I am feeling more invasive  than normal while visiting here because I realize the interlopers, who used to only be in the mountains, have now made their way down to Denver.  To where I live. People have discovered that Colorado is a fantastic place.  The population has exploded and with it the cost of living.  And traffic.  And crowds in open spaces that used to feel calming and sacred.  People are everywhere. I too lose my patience with people who do not know their way around and are unwilling to learn even a little bit about the place they came to visit, and often now call home.   Most also want to bring their politics and culture with them; changing the landscape of Colorado to look more like what they are used to experiencing. 

It is naïve to think that things will always stay the same.  Change is inevitable.  However, there is something so fundamentally important about respecting those you are impacting.  The ones already there.  A respect that seems to have been lost. As humans, we move closer to wanting everyone seeing the world from "my" point of view, as if it is the only correct one.  Yet all 8 billion of us cannot individually have the  only correct point of view.  We listen, but we don't hear. We talk at each other, not to each other.  We care about where we want to go, but not how we get there as a group.  We don't respect each others homes.  We want to explore, but we don't want to get too far from a Starbucks.

Perhaps my point of view is tainted by me trying to step outside of my own box.  I have been pushing myself into uncomfortable territory and my own fear of the unknown seems to be making me a tad judgmental.  Not everyone is self-centered.  Not all tourists or people that have moved to Colorado are selfish.  Maybe it is just a reminder that growth is hard.  Personally, socially, culturally.  The opposite of growth, however, is stagnation.  Even if it is challenging or uncomfortable or I am in complete disagreement with how it is happening, I will take growth over stagnation any day.