BY JOELLEN COLLINS
I don’t dislike tourists. I certainly have been one, many times, in my travels around the world. I hope that I have been a good one, not the “ugly American” of loudmouths and privileged reputation.
I am thinking about the idea of tourists because our small part of the world is experiencing the summer influx of many travelers, those who may fall in love with “our hometowns,” some who may impose big-city angst on our laid-back ways, and those who, like most, will also enrich our coffers, making it possible for most of us residents to be able to enjoy this magical place.
So today I remind myself and others who are occasionally frustrated by the emergence of crowds, the lack of parking, the often-unsafe bicycle use, and other changes of this season, of the reasons most of the locals are here at all.
I was once a tourist here, coming to visit on a Fourth of July weekend after my former neighbor moved here with her two sons, the ages of my daughters. Her family was building a house in East Fork. My girls and I fell in love with this place, and later, when I returned to visit again in the winter and went skiing, I was doubly impressed with the courtesy and friendliness of the vendors who helped me as a beginning skier. In the days of Louie’s restaurant, we met many locals who encouraged us to enjoy our times here. Later, I moved to East Fork, just a couple of acres away from my friend and her husband and sons, and we knew that we had found a remarkable home.
I have never regretted learning to live in a more rural area and absolutely cherish the sense of community I have gained. One of my teaching friends, when I taught at Beverly Hills High School, wondered why in the heck I would leave the ocean and Santa Monica and head up to the high desert. I replied that if Ernest Hemingway had chosen the Wood River Valley, there must be something to it. Of course there is.
So we are once again in the position of loving so many of the things our tourism has given us—the presence of great performing, visual and literary artists, fabulous restaurants and entertainment venues. These supplement the inherent physical access to wilderness, mountains, water, sports and quiet spaces, and, most especially, to a population which has kept the spirit of compatibility that initially attracted most of us.
When I traveled to Mexico, I was warned of getting the “turistas,” the stomach ailment that occasionally afflicts people eating the food of a new culture. I choose to forget that word if someone thinks tourists are like the turista… a plague upon the place they visit.
Certainly visitors need to respect the mores and practices of their hosts, but we, as residents, must also remember that most likely we have been tourists, too, if not here, then somewhere. That way we can maintain our good spirits and welcoming environment.