TRIALS OF THE TOURIST.

Dunstan Times, Issue 3333, 9 August 1926, Page 8

TRIALS OF THE TOURIST.

(By a Globe Trotter;)

“Tourist's, J suppose!” I overheard the remark whispered' contemptuously as I went up the steps of the Europe Hotel in Singapore, and groaned inwardly. Why the luting scorn with which the word’tourist is always associated? As a friend said when I told him about it. “We can’t see foreign countries unless we tour. And we must see them to educate our ignorant minds out of their insular ruts!” Tourists are divided into two classes; those w*ho see everything with the help of local guides and: what not. and those whose one idea is to escape the observation of the- natives and: not he known for the awful thing they are. Aly ‘friend and I belong to this ostrich class. We conceal our cameras under our coats, stuff our guide-books in our hats, study the customs of the country, and use the local slang. \et everywhere we go we are discovered. In Australia, for instance, everyone wo met asked at once; “Well, what do von think of Australia?” This is not the only way in which the tourist knows that his occupation has been discovered. I wish it were. Everyone charges treble for everything bought or hired —so much so that taxi - cab drivers and curio .dealers at least should love the tourist. They do not, though. Act another sign, but a much pleasanter one, is the treatment the tourist receives if lie asks his way_ in the street. The kind-hearted native consulted takes him under his wing, never leaves him till lie has reached his destination, and shows by his pitying manner that he is sorry for his sad plight. Kindness, however, is sometimes as had as scorn. In Los Angeles, for instance, my American friends were so anxious I should miss nothing iliac wo raced madly round trying to see the whole of California in three days. Another of the tourist’s trials is the kind' but firm acquaintance who has been there before and will not let you do what you want. I wanted to buy a piece of native tapa cloth, made in all the Smithy Sea Islands. I saw a piece in San Francisco. “No, no,” cried an agitated onlooker, “wait till you get to Honolulu. Far better choice there.” Wo reached Honolulu. I asked lor tapa cloth. “Oh! you inusn’t liny tapa here,” exclaimed one of these knowing ones. “Wait till you get to Tahiti. “I’m not going to Tahiti,” I said sulkily, and presently secretly bought what I wanted, and smuggled it guiltily hack to the ship. Seine- day the tourist will form a union and have his interests protected. No resident anywhere will be allowed to ask him what he thinks ol a place till he has been there at least a week. Everyone will be forced to respect him. He will he free to go sight-seeing or not, as he chooses, and no one will be allowed to charge him more than double for anything—not even tho hotel proprietors.