As many of my friends know, I am obsessed with all of Anthony Bourdain’s travel/foodie series. Bourdain is a chef turned writer and traveler, taking audiences around the world to sample local and exotic cuisine. By far my favorite element of his shows is the cultural experience. Even though I’ve traveled to Europe, I’ve never been to a country where I have seen or been a part of a culture completely unknown to me. There is something so incredible to me about how different cultures express themselves differently, not only through language, but also through the body, gesture, food, and daily habits. Last night, I discovered a new Bourdain series called Parts Unknown (this is particularly dangerous as it is midterm time (although midterms at Brown last from approximately the fourth week of the semester to two weeks before finals, so this isn’t really news)). I watched Bourdain travel to Myanmar, previously known as Burma, in Southeast Asia. For years, Myanmar has been closed to tourists due to political, military and cultural strife. Much of this strife continues, but mostly near the borders beyond what is now dubbed the “tourist triangle.” The tourist triangle includes the largest city Yangon, characterized by its eroding British-colonial era buildings, and a verdant stretch of the country filled with incredible Buddhist temples, almost untouched by tourists.
But what will happen to Myanmar now that it is opening up to the perhaps economically beneficial market of tourism? Although tourism provides jobs, there is always a melancholic element to the popping up of westernized hotels with westernized food, the desire to learn English and move away from a culture that seems in parts completely unblemished. In his show, Bourdain rides a rickety train through rice paddies where Myanmar locals wade through the flooded fields just as they would have centuries ago. Bourdain and a friend tour a lush field of temples surrounded by the vast expanse of countryside, but here the first remnants of tourism’s affects plague them. Children come up to sell them goods; when Bourdain’s friend purchases a swath of fabric from one, a girl complains in impressive English that he must buy her postcards if he’s bought items from the others. Many of these children have left school in order to sell these items, hoping that as tourism grows, so will their prosperity.
Myanmar is not the only country where this has happened. While taking a class in Rome, I was struck by the frequency of vendors, all plaguing tourists with the incessant whine of their products. The one I’m remembering is a globular, neon toy which when thrown onto the ground would squish flat and emit a high-pitched squeak. At the Spanish Steps, men roam offering women roses, handing them to you as if they are free and then demanding payment. I should mention that it is extremely difficult to get them to take back the rose and leave you alone. Perhaps these seem like harmless affects of tourism, but it is difficult to experience a new culture and the aesthetics of a new environment when you are constantly faced with locals attempting to cater to what they believe you want. It is impossible for us to get lost in a new culture, to have to rely on ourselves and be completely independent when surrounded by these attempts to comfort, but most importantly, it is sad to watch a culture be marred by our presence. Although it is wonderful that we are now able to experience pieces of Myanmar, I hope that those pieces remain as untouched as possible.