Dealing with Tourists

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LOVING OUR ENEMIES: Dealing With Tourists

For this piece I used a technique called ‘felted wool painting.’ It is a laborious process, and each one takes upwards of 20 hours to complete. I source my wool from a small family farm in North Dakota which is committed to providing their beloved sheep with a natural and joyful life.

Inspiration:

I leave my home, and I enter chaos.

The scene: People literally bumping into each other nonstop, clumps of teenagers crowding in front of doorways, bartenders unloading bottles in the background of wedding pictures, a delivery truck honking through a music video, and a few children screaming out in boredom and photo fatigue.

I live in a very touristy neighborhood. It's like this all the time. (Then it becomes a ghost town around 7pm.)

The neighborhood is called Dumbo, and the advent of Instagram brought a wildfire interest in this stretch of Brooklyn, particularly for this one view (depicted). I want to aggressively point to the signs around Dumbo saying "Be respectful: People actually live here!"

I know it's a ridiculous thing to get worked up about. As my friend noted, "Your biggest complaint about where you live is that your street is too photogenic."

But it's the most common collective woe about the neighborhood. 

Whenever I say where I live, I hear the same response, "I love Dumbo except for all the tourists."

Except for the tourists. Too many tourists. Do the tourists get annoying? I couldn't stand all the tourists.

It's an ugly but natural defense that comes up in me often as I walk the blocks around my apartment building, essentially: I belong. You don't.

Meditation:

It's very easy to be annoyed with tourists because we can so easily "other" them. They eat at restaurants that we wouldn't be caught dead in. They stand in line for offensively mediocre pizza. They're easily swayed into overspending. They're nothing like us!!!

But...they are exactly like us.

And when we talk to tourists individually, we remember that. There's a winsome man traveling alone with his guide dog, a golden retriever who is bilingual in French and English and is "a little jet-lagged so she's grumpy." There's a couple who are eating pancakes for the first time, and can't stop grinning. There's a young woman who took the wrong express train and ended up an hour from her hotel. We've all been there. I was there a week ago.

While New Yorkers (like me) seem insistent on avoiding tourists, the alternative is sweeter: When I give up whatever impulse is compelling me to assert my belonging, I chill out and enjoy. I appreciate hearing ambient Danish. I adore watching people gasp as they finally catch a glimpse of the bridge. I happily give directions (apologies to anyone I've given directions to).

We're all both guest and host, wanderer and welcomer, and just because someone's taking a selfie on my street doesn't make them any more ridiculous than I am. (Though I hope they think I'm cool when I go into my building.)

Before performances of Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda would remind the cast, "This is someone's first show, and this is someone's last show."

When I'm elbowing my way through the flocks of selfie-ers and matching- shirt tour groups, I remind myself of the same. This is someone's first trip, and this is someone's last trip. Treat them accordingly.