It’s been some time (16 years) since I planned a vacation in Asia, the long flight over the pacific with two kids was always daunting. Europe and Mexico were where we spent our tourist dollars, with intensive planning to optimize the value we got for every cent. Most countries we visited have a well established tourism industry, and we appreciated the thought given to making life easier for us, whether we were on a top ten things to see trip or rent an apartment buy a baguette wander around trip. But this vacation reminded me how valued tourism income can be for some countries.
I thought the hostesses in Bangkok were the nicest, charming to a fault, always impeccably dressed, gorgeously made up (it’s amazing how sparing yet smoothly finished it looks), willing to assume blame and responsibility, ready to humor every little whim and rush to help when they can. Bangkok, being Bangkok, is a modern Asian city, and like the others, surreally juxtaposes luxurious high rise hotels with just out of plain sight hidden alleys of abjectly small vendors and shop fronts. Every time I hesitated on a street, wondering which fork of the road to take in my random walks to hunt out untouristed corners, someone would pause and point out the nearest temple with a Buddha that was either 50 foot standing, or 150 foot reclining or made of gold or emerald or marble or dancing the watusi. They were genuinely distressed by my insistence on walking, offering discounted tuk tuk fares even when they clearly weren’t tuk tuk drivers!!!! At one point, one gentleman seemed so upset that I had reached the Grand Palace square right when they close for lunch that when I refused his suggestion to go to a temple which might be open at that hour, he seemed ready to argue about it endlessly. I couldn’t walk away because he had drawn an elaborate map, and was so obviously genuinely invested in my vacation planning, I just couldn’t be rude.
But Cambodia is a whole other experience. Knowing its history, it’s current political and financial condition, the walk into the obsessively clean airport building, the efficient handling of visa applications, the multitude of immigration agents ready to process the documents, painfully cheap transportation into town, everything carefully planned to make the vacation just perfect. Driving down the obvious tourist corridor with massive themed hotels and “authentic” Cambodian restaurants, even a cultural village experience, I felt every confusing inch a first world tourist in a third world country.
At the beautifully appointed lobby of this hotel, I wanted to gasp and photograph the carved furniture, silver and brass pieces, the plants (oh the plants, the pAlms, the ferns, the heavy scented waxy flowers) but my hostess was waiting to escort me and explain everything, the bar, the business center, the pool, the restaurant and of course the concierge armed with a thick file of temple tour options. Start at five am, no problem, zigzag across the paths to see only certain sites in order of priority, no problem, English speaking guide exclusively for me who knows when to stop talking, no worries, if I can pay, I can dictate. I am queen for the day, and it’s shocking how little it takes to achieve that status.
Service service service, compliant, cheerful, accommodating at every step, I am now stricken with guilty feelings of being so fortunate that I can command an entire set of people who need and depend on this frivolous birthday wish of mine. I realize it’s an accident of birth, and but for the grace of God, I would not have the easy privilege I take for granted, demanding more, and still be unwilling to bend or sway. The white man’s burden feels heavy on my very brown shoulders today and I wish there was some way to express my very real gratitude for this experience.
