A Real Tragedy

I had a great experience this past week — my wife, Dani, and I took our first lockdown-era airplane-mediated vacation, to get some R&R and together time. And we chose the beautiful Pacific coast city of Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. So why show a boring picture of me and some stranger on the beach of Vallarta? Look closer. Do you see that woman? The one massaging my feet? Her name is Lorenza, although she is called Lore by those who know her. And we spent over an hour getting to know her just little bit that day. More on that in a moment.

Before that hour, I spent a few days sitting on the beach with Dani, watching the people come and go. And the beaches were mostly filled with Mexican weekenders; very few Americans or Canadians, virtually no Europeans, and not a single Asian traveler in sight. Anyone understanding the tourism industry will note significance of these absentee visitors.

So for those days I watched the beach vendors, all masked in ninety-plus degree heat and humidity, as they walked up and down the beach, soliciting anyone who would hear, and even most who wouldn’t. It quickly became clear that nobody was buying. On our second day, two trinket-shilling vendors stopped in front of us. Unaware that I speak Spanish, they spoke freely to each other. They spoke of the difficulty of selling. They agreed about the difficult economy, wondering to each to each other how they will make ends meet. And I thought, is there anything I can do?

What can one person do? How can we fix the disaster our governments have collectively heaped upon us, the citizenry, throughout the world? Is it hopeless, and can nothing be done? I have had many of these questions over the past several months. And I’m no closer to a definitive answer today.

But Dani and I talked about this particular situation; about these particular people we fretted, wondering ‘Will anything we do make a difference?’ The next day we decided to patronize some of the vendors. We bought trinkets, a blanket and some bracelets, and even a few gimmicky face coverings. And then the woman I first mentioned, Lore, sidled by while Dani was buying from one vendor. “Masaje? Por los pies?” I felt a little like Jim Carrey, saying yes to everything. So, yes, Lore, yes I’ll take a foot massage. For how much? Fifteen bucks for half an hour. Okay.

As she zones in on the sore spots of my tourist feet, Lore tells me she’s been working on this beach for 25 years. She lives alone, in a very modest, two-room home nearby, (she built it herself, she tells me) sometimes walking and sometimes taking the bus. “I’m seventy-three,” she says, holding her fingers up to indicate her age. Seventy-three and masked up, walking the sandy beach in blistering temperatures to make ends meet. Her four children are grown with children of their own; three of them living in the region, but one daughter is in the United States. Lore says she hasn’t heard from that daughter in over ten years.

Lore shared more stories as she worked, even as I asked her question after question. I’m practicing my Spanish, I tell her. She tells me times are hard. Almost no work for anyone these days. I’m her first client in over a week. She knows all the other beach vendors by name and they know her. A few pass by and call her by name, asking how her day is going. Some stop to joke, but I can’t help but notice that none of them are selling any of their goods. As Lore expertly massaged my feet, all I could focus on was the disaster our rich, industrialized nations have created for the developing world, especially for those who, like Lore, rely on first-world tourism for income. Our income.

Instead of spending their first-world money supporting the millions of people in the developing world with tourism, the Americans and other first-worlders are currently spending all their Federal-Reserve-fabricated money on themselves. We’re all helping the uber-rich get uber-richer, while those in the travel and entertainment industries spiral ever further into the chasm; a chasm created by the wealthiest world bureaucrats issuing evermore restrictive edicts. And it’s all happening while the richest Richies recline comfortably in their beds and loungers, “staying home and staying safe,” collecting healthy, first-world paychecks.

Yes, I’m glad we went. We breathed the fresh ocean air, enjoyed their delicious Mexican (and, believe it or not, Argentine) cuisine, prepared by mothers, and even some fathers, struggling to put food on their own tables. We connected with people a continent away from our own home, whose kids are kept out of schools just like ours. One dad volunteered that the frustration of distance learning via cellphone feed has pushed his wife to threaten a leap off a high tower. Doesn’t that sound familiar? Their humanity is our humanity; their struggles are our struggles. We are all brothers and sisters in this journey of life.

I believe many of first-worlders can help our distant family across the globe. We more-fortunate individuals whose lives continue in spite of the perpetual lockdown have the means and ways to resume travel, to resume touring, to spread our wealth among those needing it most. We CAN travel. We MUST travel. Mexico and some other countries are opening their arms wide to travelers, removing the most burdensome requirements. The world is bursting with people and places that have so much to offer. Expanding our worldview by sharing their worldview is as easy as Book, Travel, and Spend.

I encourage everybody sharing my love of people, my love of this beautiful world, to make plans now. Go as soon as practicable, share your wealth in those corners of the world most devastated by a global lack of honest leadership. From one traveler to another: support those tourist economies. Patronize the local businesses and vendors. Invest in the livelihood of those providing local goods and services. This is crowd-sourcing at it’s crowdiest and I’m certain the effect will be grand. Do it for Lore, bless her life with your visit and send my greetings when you see her.