The Traveler's Paradox

(this is from sometime in the wee hours between Saturday and Sunday)

Yesterday, Morgan and I spent our last day in Uganda visiting Sipi Falls. We had heard amazing things about the falls and in general, they didn’t disappoint. High in the foothills over Mbale, the falls are nestled amongst banana and coffee trees in beautiful countryside. While it’s not at the top of the list of tourist destinations in Uganda, it was easily the most touristy place that we visited. And while the beauty was unmistakable, it was in some ways the ugliest place that I experienced.

I’ll remember Uganda as the home of super friendly people, where generosity far surpasses aggression, where smiling curiosity is the norm, where strangers are made to feel very welcome. I didn’t feel that at Sipi Falls. I saw Ugandans jaded by a sea of visitors, trying to sell us whatever they could. I saw a place where capitalism rules the day, and where honesty is only used when convenient. In short, I saw many of the qualities of a border post—generally some of the slimier places on earth—nestled gorgeously up in the verdant hills.

I don’t blame the Ugandans for this. They’re just playing the game as anyone likely would if visitors were over-running your home. It’s a transaction, and transactions are by definition less authentic than fascination and/or curiosity about the other. And it’s also something that I hope doesn’t happen to other parts of Uganda, the Uganda I came to know and love.

Now what I’d be most interested to learn is whether the falls have brought a higher standard of living, better health indices, and more education, among other things, to the community. If that’s the case, I can’t argue their actions. But if it’s just changed the type of work and their way of being, then it seems rather tragic. And if it’s created a dependency on something that at some point will dry up, then it’s altogether problematic (though I can’t imagine the falls drying up, though I guess they literally could).

I think that the paradox for many travelers is that we want to find a place that’s untouched, yet by touching it, we somehow dilute it. And perhaps for the first ten, or hundred, or ten thousand, the community will remain mostly “authentic” but then a time will come when it’s become saturated, where attitudes have changed, where lifestyles and work choices are tailored to the visitor, and then we want to move on to the next untouched place. Or we look to one of these untouched places and think to ourselves “wouldn’t this place be great with cabins along the river or with a restaurant with cold beers”, and slowly we want to take all the exotic and soften it with the comforts of home. In the end is there anyplace we can visit that we can both love to pieces without taking pieces of it, or breaking it into pieces?

When I studied Development Studies a few decades back, I was definitely more eloquent with the ins and outs of such things. I am no longer. Now I think that I’ve just become more aloof. I don’t want to go to where the flood of other travelers are going. Somehow for me those places are kind of ruined. Yet do I always realize that my trailblazing along the road less traveled might be pushing more communities down that slippery slope?