If It's Called Tourist Season, Why Can't We Shoot 'Em?

Touron (tur ahn): 1. A denigrative appellation for travellers. 2. A combination of the words 'tourist' and 'moron.'

As a visitor to the coolworks site, there's a good chance that you have a working knowledge of the hospitality industry. It follows then, that you've had firsthand experience with people the industry is being hospitable to, i.e. TOURISTS (or, if you prefer, tourons).
Admittedly, I ignore books and articles that give me 'exercises' to do. I blow them off everytime, and just continue my read. But if you'll indulge me for a moment, upon my oath I will make this quick and painless.
When you hear the word 'tourist,' what image comes to mind? What is your first visceral reaction?
Did you do it, or are you a fellow reading rebel?
Whatever image came to mind, it was most likely a simplistic generalization. We've all been tourists at times and we're all different, so you do the math.
I've been on both sides of that social gulf between staff and tourist. I know (lord, do I know) what it's like to
deal with a socially challenged guest. I also know what it's like to be travelling and at the mercy of staff who are 'dealing' with me.
I've ordered tortillas in Spain only to discover that, instead of an inexpensive piece of bread, I've asked for a pricey omlette. I've ordered kapow gai (a chicken dish) in Thailand, and, compliments of my pronunciation, received kapow gop (frog) instead.
Now those might not be choice examples, brought on as they were by my own ignorance and linguistic limitations. But I also know the frustration and vulnerability that arises when other people are in charge of my luggage, my transport connections, and my (relative) comfort.
As a traveller, you are forced to surrender control sometimes. Sometimes a lot of times. A rare few can do this gracefully, and most of us can grudgingly accomodate the phenomena. But many people have a hard time trusting that the world is going to take care of them, and in their insecurity they have a nasty tendency to overcompensate. And, true, some people are just bitches. Who're we kidding?
It is a parasitic relationship that exists between local employees and tourists. They need you as the infrastructure of their trip, and you need them so you can continue to live in cool places :-)
So. How do you handle someone who is overbearing, obnoxious, and socially aggressive? First (and it's a big first), don't personalize it. It's important to choose your battles in life, and the conflicts between staff and guest are pitifully trivial skirmishes. As someone once said, "Don't be the vigilant guardian of the smaller picture."
Now this part you may not like. You may scoff. But..... if a tourist is able to push your buttons, you would be better served looking at your own buttons than at the button-pusher. If you know yourself and have a healthy ego, there's usually no reason to be emotionally impacted by the actions of someone who doesn't.
Here are two things you may want to play around with the next time you're in a challenging confrontation:
1. Pretend the tourist is a very young child masquerading in an adult's body. Really, try looking at them as insecure children. But play along and treat them respectfully as adults. In the long run you'll both be happier.
2. Pretend the tourist is a zen master in disguise; a wise teacher who is giving you exactly the kind of experience you need to process and gain from.
And you know? It really is better, all the way around, if you can be nice to people. Maybe you can't cure world hunger or solve the problems in the Middle East. But you can be nice to people in difficult situations, and that is no small thing. On their end, you may have just been pleasant to someone who has never had anyone treat them with friendliness. That's a major thing, if you think about it.
On your end, how often do you go home angrily and stew about an interaction where you remained pleasant and emotionally stable?
Sure, you have the tools to put people in their place, either blatantly or subtley. As an insider, there's lots of ways (mostly passive-aggressive ones) to win. But, as someone else once said, "the problem with the rat race is that even if you win you're still a rat."

I'm in Alaska!

I moved into a new house upon my arrival back in B-Town. My roommate's name is Mandy. She's a middle school special-education teacher. We met in the Anchorage Airport six months ago when she was in need of intervention. She was being hit on by a guy who was completely inebriated, and I don't think she really understood that this guy was hitting on her. Mandy is very bright-eyed, very sweet, and very naive. I was sitting on the same row of seats as her, and could overhear her conversations on her cell phone. "I'm in Alaska!" she shouted, several times. She was talking to her friends and family back home in Michigan, whom she left behind in hopes of gaining independence as well as first year teaching experience.

We talked a little bit about Bethel. She was very excited about moving there. And that made me nervous for her. Bethel is NOT what you see when you look out the window at the Anchorage Airport. There are no mountains nearby, and no tall trees. And not many moose ever wander around in Bethel. Now, as a tourism promoter, I make sure I make an effort to focus on the positive aspects of Bethel, but never do I build Bethel up to be something it's not. So I made sure she knew what she was getting herself into. She kept calling everyone she knew and shouting in the phone "I see mountains! Alaskan mountains!" So something told me she might need some looking after. She is very petite, and has a disability that doesn't allow her to be as mobile as others. And Bethel can be a hard town to live in if you're not prepared. But I could see a spark in her eyes that let me know she could be ready for Bethel.

We were sitting there chatting, and before I knew it this middle-aged man slid his way down to our end of the row. He started talking to both of us, but was definitely focused on Mandy. At this time, Mandy was so excited to be talking to a "real Eskimo!" Her first one! I could hear the excitement in her voice, and the guy kept asking her all kinds of questions. I could tell the guy was completely inebriated by his body language, but I could also smell the liquor on his breath. And the next thing I hear from Mandy is "Oh, well I don't have a phone yet, but let me show you where I'm going to be living. Here! It's right here on the map!" she so gladly explained. I think I just nodded my head and thought "Oh lord." I figured that Mandy wasn't an expert on getting rid of unwanted attention from men. And I don't think she had any idea that this guy was drunk and was clearly hitting on her. So I made sure I listened closely to every sentence that was exchanged, so I could intervene when needed.

The man kept getting closer to her face. He kept leaning in. And the more he leaned, the stronger the stale liquor smell got. And I was sitting on the other side of Mandy, so I knew she had to be starting to catch on. And the second I could tell she was uncomfortable, I snapped into mean-big-sister mode. I got up and sat in between her and the drunk man. He kept trying to ask her questions, but I would just drown out his voice with general statements, like "Boy I hope the plane hurries up and gets here." He eventually got really annoyed with me and shut up. But I never took my eyes far away from him, just incase. He was on the same flight as us, but sat no where near either one of us. So that was that. We kept in touch, and I helped her get settled into Bethel. And right before both of us left for Christmas vacation we found a 2 bedroom house that we could move into and be roommates. Mandy loves telling people how we met. She always says that I saved her from the creepy, drunk guy, and that's how she knew we would be friends.

To the Lighthouse, Part 2

In my last entry, I was strolling on the beach at Point Reyes National Seashore, marveling at the hideous beasties washed up by the waves. We started coming to Point Reyes regularly a couple of years ago, originally just to see that 19th century lighthouse. On our first trip, we were stopped by the placement of the lighthouse partway down a high cliff that faces the sea. We had read warnings that made it sound like the lighthouse was accessed by rope ladder. Jen, my wife, was five months pregnant. We gave up, and just went to the beach, where I got a big kick out of the tangled horrors that the tide had thrown up.

Our next trip was not until the following year, in the early spring. Again weary of the work routine, we headed first for the most remote beach we thought we could handle with a small baby: McClures Beach, at the literal end of the road running along the finger of land that juts northwest into the Pacific. I strolled again along the high tide line. Atop a boulder draped with black seaweed, a cormorant took a break from fighting the violently agitated water that pounded around the rocks and surged, foaming, in every direction. I hoped to find more of the usual interesting stuff, maybe a killer octopus with a tentacle wrapped around a deep sea diver's neck.

I've made Point Reyes sound like a badly run bait shop, and now like a home aquarium. It is neither, of course. Midway through my walk, I saw a brown thing on the pebbly sand ahead. A cuddly brown thing, I saw, moving closer. A mottled brown thing with big round Anime eyes, soulful sentimental Hallmark eyes, a puppy dog of the sea. It was a harbor seal, hauled out for reasons one could only guess at.

This was spring, and the usual reason sea mammals haul out during spring is to have pups. I walked on, thinking it best to leave the animal quite alone (and in fact, that's what the National Park Service tells people to do). But when I returned this way, the seal was surrounded by every other person on the beach, about a half dozen Marin County natives all tie-dyed and beaded, as is the uniform here. One of them looked like Shaggy, Scooby's pal. So did his girlfriend. They all wanted to help the seal. I crossed my arms over the front of my sweatshirt, so that no one could read the UC Davis logo there. We're famous for our animal science. I myself know nothing about animal science, but people tend to assume that we're so good we have a Veterinary Strike Force that would fly in here by helicopter from the university extension at Bodega Bay and rappel down with IV bags and defibrillators. I can understand the desire to aid a puppy dog of the sea, but no one anywhere near this remote beach would know what to do, and the seal, to me, looked less distressed than embarrassed. I fled. (Later that same day, we tried to go to the lighthouse, and were stopped by darkness. We did not want to descend the rope ladders in the dark, not with a baby).

So Point Reyes is filled with big noble animals, too, animals that fulfill some or all of the usual requirements of nature aesthetics. On nearly every trail, at some point, deer poke their heads out of the coastal scrub and flap their ears. The National Seashore has the usual problem of imbalance between predators and prey--too few of the predators, that is--but mountain lions do cull the deer herd. In season, monarch butterflies bedeck the eucalyptus trees. Along a beach behind the shelter of the point, an elephant seal colony has lately taken hold, in a cove where the beasts have the privacy they need to lumber around and make violent noises at each other, when they're not napping. The Seashore also functions as one of the state's tule elk refuges. Tule elk (it's pronounced too-lee) are named for the tule swamps or tulares that once covered a good portion of California's Central Valley, themselves named for the tough bulrush that lives there. A half million of the elk once ranged that Central Valley, until they were killed off by market hunters and had their habitat transformed into farmland. The present herd descends from a single remnant group that turned up on a ranch in 1874, after they were thought to have become extinct. There are over five hundred in the Seashore today, one of the largest tule elk herds in the state. They are as handsome as any elk.

Still, I think of that harshness I mentioned in my previous entry; Point Reyes has a severity about it that I find appealing. Parts of it went underwater during the heavy rainstorms that hit the middle of California over the New Year's holiday. Other parts toppled and slid. The San Andreas Fault itself passes through here. One can see it quite clearly on a map; note how the Seashore appears to be breaking off and heading out to sea. It looks that way because it's breaking off and heading out to sea. It sits on a crustal plate that is moving north, while the rest of California is going another direction. Park headquarters sits almost exactly on the fault line. Nearby is a fence that stood here in 1906, when the fault shifted mightily and destroyed San Francisco. The fence split in two and was displaced eighteen feet--that is, eighteen feet of empty ground separate the two halves of the fence that were once joined. The empty ground is the San Andreas Fault.

Later in our spring trip, we tried to go to the lighthouse and were stopped by a blistering wind. We had visions of people blown off the rope ladder, although we actually never got close; the NPS closed the whole area. Later still during that trip, we tried to go to the lighthouse, and were stopped by the worst fog I have seen in a while, waves of it dense enough to remind me that these were airborne waves of water. I wasn't sure where we were when I turned the car around. It is a wet place, wet and salty. As I said last time, anything made of steel is eaten alive. The works of the hand get messed up here, just gnawed away. That, I have lately realized, is one reason I like this place.

We don't usually put it in exactly these words, but a great many people today would like to be "part of nature," or at least feel themselves to be. But in a nation filled to the brim with 21st century comforts, it's hard to feel that way. Furthermore, when our thinking is confined within blocks of time of the size we're used to--weeks, months, years amounting only to decades--we aren't really a "part of nature." The kind of big civil engineering projects that a lot of people regret, like landfills and strip mines, seem absolutely permanent, and whatever natural landscapes those projects replaced seem to have been permanently destroyed. The large-scale changes we make on the face of the planet seem to take us eternally away from the natural, with the untouched parts of the globe only waiting their turn. But that is an illusion. Given ten or twenty million years, the biggest chunk of concrete in the world will dissolve like a sand castle on a beach, will become part of that constant motion of matter and energy that is "nature." When looked at on that time scale, all of the human world is natural, because it is all temporary. Blocks of time that large, however, are beyond the everyday thinking of anyone but a geologist.

Here at Point Reyes, the sense that human things are temporary comes very easily. Here, where much of the natural order is still in place, humanity's grip is, for now, nearly as uncertain as that of the other species that live here. And it isn't awful to contemplate, because usually no one gets hurt. After all, it's only salt.

At the end of our most recent trip, we tried to go to the lighthouse one last time. We went and discovered that the curse had lifted. No fog, no wind, no darkness. No rope ladders, either; instead, we found a nice, safe, exhausting stairway, three-hundred-plus steps leading down the cliff face to the lighthouse. Sea and sky were a vivid blue. Out past the blinding shimmer of sunlight on water was the outline, like a shark's teeth, of the Farallon Islands. We stayed down there for a long time, looking for migrating whales. We failed to find any, but we will try again.

The First and Certainly Not the Last Time. . .

So two weeks ago, trying to be the proactive, non-procrastinating girl that I have not been since the sixth grade, I thought I would write my now overdue blog about New Years Resolutions. Well, I kind of let that slip until last week only to hop on the blog site and see Greg had treated the topic beautifully. Damn your flowing prose, Greg! Really, I did not have the material for that one so I was at a loss. What to write about?

Figuring the oddness of Friday the 13th would inspire some grand conspiracy theory or wacky rhetoric I eased my mind and decided to wait. The day came and went without epiphany, minus the interesting tidbit that the fear of Friday the 13th has been indexed and has a ridiculously complicated name: Paraskavedekatriaphobia . . .

That hardly seemed worth more than the mention I just gave it so what to do? After the Steelers heart pounding game against the Colts I though I could write an inspirational piece about the underdog, but I am not a huge fan of sentimentalizing pro sports. While I love pro football dearly, these guys make millions, so why should some hack like me try to wax poetic making metaphors about fumble recoveries?

Yawn.

So it is now Monday night, and I can not sleep and I can not write and the darn little animated Microsoft Word assistant, the paperclip, keeps staring at me as if he expects some magic to appear. That would be a first...

Hey, how about talking about firsts? I will list some of my favorite first experiences, and then I will leave some blank that I am still waiting to complete. How about we make it more interactive and you send in your suggestions. My list ought to serve as a guide for your helping me out.

First Album: Adam Ant Friend or Foe.
First Food Invention: Chocolate-covered Bacon (better than it sounds)
First Dream Job Unrealized: Tambourine player
First Movie Watched over-and-over-and-over-and-over: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension (stop laughing long enough for me to make my case: the guy is heart surgeon, rock star and adventurer even if he is older than my parents, what is not to love, I ask?)
First Book I re-read because I wanted to: Anna Karenina
First Trophy: It was not a trophy so much as a sash: Runner-up Miss Cinderella Tiny Tot (That was the first of many trophies for Beth Ann Jenkins, mind you.)
First Concert: Wang Chung. When you stop laughing or maybe asking, â??WHO?!â?? Understand that it was almost U2. Overprotective Mom, grumble, grumble . . .
First Car: 1979 Rally Sport Camaro. (sweet!)
First piece of writing shared with others: a hideous poem written in the 11th grade called The Kiss. Yes, it was a tortured as it sounds.
First thing that comes to mind when I see a picture of George Bush: How?
First song on my I-pod most played playlist: Ruby Blue by Roisin Murphy.

OK, here are a few firsts I would like some help with: please reply to this blog and send me some suggestions.

First International Destination beyond North America:
First Extreme Sport:
First Reality Show Tryout:
First Karaoke Song:
First Solicited Blog Topic:

They are pretty simple. And I will take suggestions for other wacky first recommendations if yinz(a little colloquial shout-out to my fellow Pittsburghers GO STEELERS!) want to help me spice up my life a little.

Why I Love Seattle

When we decided to move back to Seattle less than 6 months ago, it was based on the people here and the quality of life. So far we haven't been disappointed. I mean where else can you get engaged to be married on Christmas, get a license on Tuesday and have a wedding planned for 3 days later? Oh - you can congratulate me any time - it was a fabulous event!

Wedding Flowers - "Just let us know your colors and preference and we'd be happy to have them ready for you by Friday." (this from the grocery store floral department and they were fabulous).Hair Style - "Of course we can squeeze you in - how about today?"

Wedding bands - "hmmâ?¦ this ring doesn't quite fit you but we can have it sized for you in no timeâ?¦ how soon before you are getting married?.... 3 hours - no problem.

"Witnesses - "sure we can stay an extra day - let me get on-line to check flights.

"Wedding Music - "I'd be happy to bring my violin - what songs would you like me to play?

"Wedding Cake - "A 7 layer Hungarian Dobos Torte to accompany your meal? Why not! That would be fun" - pastry chef at the restaurant.

Wedding Outfit - Mind you I would have been happy to wear jeans but I ended up at the stores taking advantage of the post-Christmas sale.

Champagne - "Comp. them!"

Photographer - On the way to the courthouse in the pouring rain I was giving lessons to the Violinist/Witness/Photographer on how to use a digital camera. She's truly gifted.She even signed my foot in blue ink with "congratulations" so I'd have something blue in keeping with traditionâ?¦. (Something old, new, borrowed and blue)

Did I mention the vows? The Judge had them so well written that friends and family thought we had provided them? We also made her day since she's typically doing criminal sentencing and this way she ended the year with love and laughter. I can't say enough good things about this woman who made our ceremony such a lighthearted event and a delight.

The entire day was brilliant and stress free. In fact, if you have to get married, I can't imagine doing it any other way! But check in with me later on in the year when we have the family and more friends by for a party.

Happy New Year!

Anywhere Else

I woke up this morning with a bad sore throat, yet again. The outcome of many nights spent in smoky bars, catching up with old friends that I left behind in Richmond, (and being too excited to remember to take all of my vitamins.) When I booked my flight for an east coast Christmas back in August, I remember thinking how far away December seemed. It was almost like when you were a kid, and had to draw a picture of how you think the future will look. I always drew pictures similar to The Jetson's, with flying cars and robots everywhere. Well, without the cartoon sound effects, that's almost how December seemed for me. It seemed too far away for anything to be the same as I remembered it. And once I was on my third and final flight, from Seattle to D.C., I couldn't wait to be home and see if things looked the same, smelt the same. I'm not sure why I thought they would be so different. I've lived other places before. I guess living in a place like Bethel has a way of altering your perception of reality. With the short days and harsh winter weather that started back in September, and the absence of bars and Taco Bells, it all adds up to being a completely "trippy" experience at times. So I was ready to see Richmond again.

The second I arrived in D.C., I finally felt like I was home. Though I was still an hour and a half away from Richmond, it was good to be in the same time zone. My good friend and fellow interior design major, Stephanie, was there to greet me at baggage claim. With a huge smile on her face, and a hug at the tips of her fingers, she made me feel as thought I never left. It's amazing what hugs from your friends can do, especially when a good, long hug from anyone is long overdue. Other than the fact that I was in an airport with luggage, it just felt like we were meeting up for monthly coffee to catch up on boy-drama.

I flew in on a Friday, and spent the weekend in D.C. before heading down to Richmond Sunday night. It was a somber drive home with Stephanie, both of us reminiscing about the night we just had. We met up with some friends of a good friend of mine, who was killed in a bad motorcycle accident over the summer. His name was Arya. He was my best friend in Richmond the last three months I was there. He died in June. I was devastated. I've lost friends before, quite a few actually. But Arya's death is definitely the hardest one I've had to deal with. When I left for Alaska, he was sad, but excited for me. He did more research on Bethel than I did before I moved there. He was with me every single night the week before I left. And even once I arrived in Alaska, there wasn't a day that went by where I didn't talk to Arya on the phone, or on instant messenger or in an email.

So it was on a Tuesday, I came to work and sat down at my desk in City Hall. I had three emails from three different people I didn't know. Each email had Arya in the title. I knew something was wrong. By the time I got to the third email I was already in tears. There was never a moment in my life where I wanted so badly for something to be a joke. I remember just walking out of City Hall trying not to cry where people could see me. I walked home to my hotel room that I lived in for three months. I just laid on my bed and cried, looking up at pictures of Arya and myself that I made into a collage on my door.

It was hard being so far away from home at such a raw moment. I had only been in Bethel for two months when Arya died. I had yet to meet anyone with comfortable shoulders to cry on. So I mourned alone, and on the phone with friends in Richmond. That was hard. I had never felt so alone before. I have a hard enough time with funerals that are five minutes away, but to not even have the option of attending was very difficult.

So since June I've been dealing with the loss of Arya, and then also the loss of my grandmother in September. Her death wasn't a surprise, but was still hard to deal with by myself. I never really had a day where I absolutely wanted to just quit volunteering in Alaska and move back to Virginia, but I definitely had moments where I just wanted to be anywhere else than were I was. Living in a place where you can only drive in a ten mile loop is definitely a test for someone who loves taking road trips, especially as a coping mechanism.

Ok, so my friend Arya grew up around D.C. and was only in Richmond for school. He went home every weekend to bartend and to see his friends that he has had since high school. He would talk a lot about them to me and me to them. So when I was making plans for my Christmas vacation, I thought it would be an amazing thing if I could get as many of Arya's friends together so we could all meet each other, and have a fun night out in Arya's honor. And that's exactly what we did my first weekend back on the east coast. I had no idea how much he talked about me to them, and it made me feel even closer to Arya when I was around his best friends. And every time I would introduce myself to one of his friends, I would hear "Oh! So YOU'RE the girl that moved to Alaska?!"

That one Saturday night lasted forever, and I've never felt more at peace with a friend's death than I did after that night. I still have moments where I really miss him. Every place I've been to these past two weeks reminds me of him, our long conversations, his black pea coat, and the manhattans he drank that I used to steal the cherries out of.

In many ways losing Arya has made me realize how good I have it here. My family is amazing, and so are my friends. I know that Arya would have died no matter where in the world I was, that's something I don't have control over. I keep having these moments where I'm certain I don't want to end up in Richmond. Then I think of how happy these people make me, and how I want to cherish the time I have with them. So then I change my mind. And then I think about Sandra and Dave, who are my two best friends in Bethel and prove that good friends are everywhere. So then I change my mind back to being fearless and adventurous, wanting to get a work visa and travel overseas for a while when I'm done in Alaska. I'm sure by next week I will have changed my mind again, and have created two more options for myself.