Tourism and civilisation are intimately linked. But tourism is much more robust. Warfare, drought, famine, earthquake, and tsunami are just minor inconveniences. The Russian, Mongol, and Qing dynasties, like the Persian, Roman, English, and American empires, have all faltered. But not tourism. Throughout all of recorded history, good, bad, and catastrophic, tourism not only survives; it thrives.
Tourism is history
Two thousand five hundred years ago tourism invented the Roman Empire. Unlike all their neighbours, these guys cleared the swamps, built drainage canals and aqueducts, plus a quite inviting café culture. It was especially inviting as it was compulsory. The simple demand of these organised and well-armed entrepreneurs was to become ‘civilised’ or else. Either commence wanting the things that a civilised person wants, or die. It was a convincing argument. So, pretty soon, the whole of the rim of the Mediterranean was thoroughly ‘civilised’.
Then for several hundreds of years the ‘Roman Empire’ franchise developed and ran a lucrative tourism consortium. It was wildly successful. Every citizen was urged to travel the empire, view the majesty and might of the Imperium, and stay at one of the local, friendly, licensed establishments.
For your business traveller, a Stabula was sited next to every important crossroads or notable tourist destination, providing comfortable, convenient motel accommodation and stabling. They kept their prices low as they mainly relied on slave-labour, which also serves to illustrate that while much has changed, much has stayed the same.
If you were a single soldier or just young and footloose then you would likely seek out a local Caupona where it was probable that more than just lodgings, ale, and food would be on sale. Also, as always, there were more niche markets. The well-to-do who would not be seen dead in a shabby dive or even a clean little Stabula, had their own extensive network of beautifully appointed, state sponsored Mansiones, where flocks of specially trained imperial arse-lickers would stroke the official ego. Yet this only serves to canvass the tiny part of the tourism sector that was devoted to housing the passing throng.
Every town or tourist trap in the Empire was surrounded by a cluster of establishments that were all catering to the passing trade. But of course the real money earner for the aristocratic class were the dozens of select waterfront locations, scattered right around the rim of the Mediterranean, that had been transformed into specialised fun-in-the-sun resorts. All operating in accord with much the same template for gouging that has been working since time immemorial. The tourism industry does not give a damn about your history or politics. Just – ‘how much do you have to spend and how do you want to spend it?’
Thus, when you peer with x-ray specs at what was occurring in all of the seaside towns and resorts, across the Roman Empire, and strip away all of the surface differences, very little has changed. Virtually every seaside town had its lupanarium district, crowded with bordellos, drinking shops, and ne’er-do-wells. Along the coast in a beautiful secluded bay the rich had their own little beachside villa’s, with hot and cold running arse-lickers on tap. Then closer-by were the class-conscious and wallet secured establishments, where sneers and coinage forever served to keep the plebs at bay. As it is now, so it has ever been.
Tourism and warfare
Even as the Roman Empire was fracturing, other parts of the known world were quick to service the unmet demand. As a consequence, as the wars became a little predictable, and slow decline seemingly inevitable, when the Huns would come a-pillaging your average citizen of the greatest republic was as likely to reach for a brochure about ‘time-share in the Levant’, as he was for a sword. After all, you have to be able to get away every now and again. You can’t be fighting Huns, all day, every day, month after month, year after year, without a break.
Hence it comes to pass that for the last two thousand years, even as war ever rages in the middle-east, hordes of tourists are still in transit. Clients will come and go. Yes, some will be incinerated. Avenues for commerce will close. But others will instantly spring open.
This is because every human is a rabid tourist at heart. The demand is always there. It is seemingly instinctual. Every culture since the ark made landfall has made allowance for the tourist. It is always a good little earner. Most especially in times of conflict. It’s just the way it always has been. If you have filthy lucre, need a place to stay, and want to do ‘unusual’ things, the world is your oyster.
In the early days many promoters didn’t adequately cotton on to the fact that being a tourist is more a state of mind than actually being about going somewhere. Also that many tourists are truly happy to pay to see not-much and do very little, as long as it is an ‘exclusive’ experience. Thus, a war itself can be an exciting drawcard. Think of the bragging rights? How many plebs get to visit a war, or the south pole, or near-earth orbit?
As a result, heated planes will always hazard the long journey to the south pole to allow Davie and Marsha to experience genuine cold. Air-conditioned half-track desert vehicles will crawl all the way to the centre of the salt pan so Davie and Marsha can experience genuine heat. War zones will part and fighting will pause so the two lovebirds can get through the lines and spend a bit of money. Commerce is commerce. It’s the irresistible cultural imperative. Which is why, for the tourist industry, the Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire was just another blip on the radar.
Tourism and religion
Tourism and God always mix well. Any God, any epoch. Take your pick.
Christianity gave the whole tourism market a good kick along after a few bad years during the dark ages. Especially notable is the long running ‘Crusades’ marketing campaign. Locating all of your most significant shrines at the other end of the Earth to where you actually practice the religion, is a divine stroke of marketing brilliance.
More recently the Buddhists outshrine even the Christians, and it’s an ever-competitive market. The best way of demonstrating deep religious conviction in most Buddhist countries is to go on a nice little tour of the provinces, for a few years, and visit all the picturesque shrines. Tourist or true believer is just a matter of labels. After all, we are all looking for genuine spiritual enlightenment, and we all love a good deal.
The MegaRich
It’s the top end of the market we all aspire to and expect we’ll never see. Ah well.
Even as we holiday in our nice condominium on the coast, we know the Stars are out there somewhere, experiencing a holiday of unimaginable luxury. All wearing huge visible glows of contentment, with each celebrity having their huge visible glow of contentment carefully fanned by only the best fresh imported contentment fanners, direct from the Island of Grovel, in the Sea of Niceness. The bastards.
We know it extremely unlikely, yet still dream that one day we’ll sit there with them. That we too will listen to the scurry of gorgeous naked contentment fanners running to their stations. Our room will be just ‘so’. With a nice balcony over the beach, fresh flowers, and little umbrella’s in all the drinks. We’ll have lots and lots of hungry angular sex with gorgeous other hunks of person, and all without the intervention of a single particle of sand. All under a gentle moonscape and/or a rising or setting sun.
Tourism in the real world
In the bigger scheme of things, when all of human history is taken into account, a vacation is not just an option, it is actually an inevitability. So buck up. The human race has never found it possible to abolish war, gross racism, overt misogyny, or golf; but we do a good holiday. Whatever your interest, perversion, or depth of purse; someone, somewhere, has you covered. It is not a lot, but it is something!
For those who are particularly religious, or both foolhardy and rich, the holy land and the gulf states are still an option. As long as there is no actual declared world war, then bookings are available. But the rest of us will be aiming closer to home. Maybe replacing the planned bed-sit in So-Ho with six nights in Darlinghurst, or even a wild fortnight in South Newcastle. We are so lucky, domestic options abound.
Even now, as we jointly and collectively worry our way through the hellscape of modern Australia, where coffee is always getting slightly more expensive, and paying someone else’s mortgage requires that a family scrimp and save – there are still providers available, at every level, catering for virtually every need. Why pine for a holiday in a Mediterranean seaside village when you can book a shack in Ballina, and hire a dingy, for much the same price? If the south of France is not an option, then a caravan in Kakadu will have to do. As long as the service is at least three star with cable, the difference – at a genetic level – will be indistinguishable.
Just aim lower and enjoy yourself. In two thousand years, after you are nothing more than an abstraction in a future authors’ ponderings, it will be assumed that you did take the time-off. So stop sulking and book that weekend in Ballarat. It ain’t the south of France, but you will have fun, and fighting the tide of all of human history is plain silly.
PS: Stonehenge was originally designed to be a nice little ballroom slash execution parlour, with a north facing extension. But what with one thing and another it was never completed. Let’s face it, completing that bit of tomfoolery was hardly the biggest thing on any given Druid’s mind. But what a little ripper of an earner. 4 stars.
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