A Lonely Tourist
Picture a stretch of five Italian towns nestled precariously between the rocky hills of Liguria and the foaming sea below. Picture those fertile hills, facing the afternoon sun, planted with vines heavy from ripening grapes. Picture a collective of old Italian men, working daily in that hot sun to tend their vineyards, and imagine for yourself the quaint towns they return to when a day's work is done.
The Cinque Terre, or five-lands, is a dramatically unique place in northern Italy. Five tiny villages, colorful in their stucco-construction, seemingly rise out of the landscape itself, separated by sheer cliffs and beautiful coast. The towns are organic. They were not planned, but evolved—fitting perfectly into the rocks like puzzle pieces.
These pearls of civilization have an aggregate population of 6,000. Yet somehow, more than two million tourists frequent the area each year. Originally, these were settlements dependent on fishing and their production of wine, but now clearly the most valuable economic asset is tourism. The wineries are just now beginning to feel the lack of labor encroaching on their production. Many hectares of arable land have been lost to shrubbery, only for the lack of manpower to tend it.
I was lying on the beach, watching a scraggly old man collect his net, and I began to wonder: is he part of the show that these people put on for me? Every sign had an English translation. I saw no markets but counted over 6 gelato stands in one town alone. Something had changed, and I felt myself partly responsible. I wondered then if there were any places left untouched in the world.
Being in that place, no longer quite as cozy and humble as it must have been once, raised an important idea in my mind about the differences between a tourist and a traveler. A tourist wants to feel at home in a foreign place—to have that place conform to what they expect to find: gelato, pizza, a foreign accent, and a romantic sunset. A traveler goes somewhere to be impacted by that place and grow as a result of the impact felt while being there. A traveler goes somewhere as a nobody, as a stranger with their native land left far behind them. They are ready to be influenced by it and bring that influence back to the place they came from.
It was almost time for the sun to set in Vernaza, probably the most famous of Cinque Terre. The red and purple illuminated the clouds and gave even more color to the row-apartments, which by this time were full of old men and women doing whatever it is that the elderly Italians do. These old men probably no longer work in the vineyards or on small fishing boats as their fathers used to.
Perhaps I should not complain. Perhaps it is true that these people have capitalized on a great financial opportunity- and are living better for it. No one can criticize that. In the end, though, I still feel like I have missed out on some quieter, more peaceful time when the world was not so full of people looking for a ready made home in a foreign place, but that's just me.