Tourist or Local?
In years past, whenever I traveled to a new place, I shied away from popular activities and attractions, deeming them “too touristy.” I’d comb the literature about the location, looking for the places the locals go, eschewing the tours, the long lines at the historical sites, the overcrowded chain restaurants. “Bah!” I’d say, eager to dash down an alley or sample the freshest locally made fare.
As I’ve gotten older (ahem) and my available time has grown shorter, I’ve found that those tours can show you the major sites of a new city in a fraction of the time it would take to discover them by wandering around. The chain restaurant on the corner is good enough when you only have a half an hour to choke down lunch because you want to explore another secluded beach. The #1 most popular tourist attraction is #1 for a reason: it’s awesome.
Sure, it sucks to have to join the wave of humans in the madding crowd, but when are you going to be back here again? You might as well visit St. Paul’s Cathedral and wonder at the inscriptions in the crypt or inch up the impossibly endless spiral staircase. Get a glimpse of Grand Canyon on your way across the country to start a new job. Have a drink in the revolving restaurant at the top of the space needle. Who cares if everyone else is doing it? You haven’t done it yet.
I’ve found that when traveling alone, I’m more likely to wander off in the direction opposite the dense collections of people. When I’m with my children, the conveniences of an inclusive tourist area prove themselves to be essential. This afternoon on my own, while poking around the north shore of Oahu in my tiny, zippy rental car, I simply followed my whims and found myself on a fairly deserted beach with blown out swells and few locals swimming in the choppy surf. The scene was breathtaking. Nothing out there but ocean – vast, wide, pure aqua blue ocean. The air smelled deliciously fresh and clean. The sand massaged my feet. The sun warmed my neck. Not a tourist trap in sight.
Waialua Beach
But then I got hungry and I had to pee, so I got back in the car, a little bit sad that there were no familiar golden arches along the barren stretch of road that greeted me. Just a little bit, though. I wound up at a local spot famous for its saimin, and slurped down those salty noodles to my heart’s content. To satisfy the tourist in me, I loaded up on tacky souvenirs at an outpost of the ubiquitous ABC store.
At this point in my life, it’s no longer “tourist vs. local.” They’re both inside me, and I indulge each of them when the moments are right.
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