And lo it came to pass that Alfonso took miscreant hoteliers, bar owners and the Children of Albion to the Mount of Magalluf (sometimes referred to as the Hill). There was thunder, for Alfonso was in a thunderous mood. Although the Great God of Magalluf was otherwise detained at his majesty's pleasure, facing Lord knows how many charges, other gods (of greater virtue) gathered on the Mount and spake unto the assembled masses. While the hoteliers and bar owners were vaguely afeared (not much in truth), the Children of Albion were not in the least bit afeared. Nor did they hear the words that the gods spake unto them.
Given this lack of attention, Alfonso went into the midst of the cloud atop the Mount, which wasn't a cloud as such but more a sort of peculiar ozone created from the accumulated fumes of strong alcohol. For forty days and forty nights, he disappeared. Meanwhile the Children of Albion wreaked merry hell. They had no shame, naked in front of the gods. They fought and they fell, either through drink or because of a fist. After the full forty days, Alfonso descended from the Mount with a tablet. He was going to share all his images on the town hall's Instagram channel, but his thunderous mood had grown even more thunderous. It came to pass that he returned to witness scenes of the Children of Albion that he had thought had been expressly forbidden by the gods of municipal ordinance.
Lo, Alfonso's anger waxed hot. He cast the tablet out of his hands and did break it beneath the Mount. But before doing so, he did utter the 64 Commandments. Were the Children of Albion (and miscreant hoteliers and bar owners) paying attention? Were they to be advised that they could not covet a resident's ox and drive it along Punta Ballena?
Thou shalt not argue or fight in public places; Thou shalt not utter abusive language; Thou shalt respect others; Thou shalt not damage street furniture; Thou shalt cooperate with the police or officials; Thou shalt respect tourist facilities; Thou shalt not cause any interference to public events; Thou shalt not give false information about thy identity; Thou shalt not carry any sort of prohibited weapon; Thou shalt not disrespect police officers; Thou shalt not shine laser beams; Thou shalt respect any physical barriers put in place by the police; Thou shalt not damage litter bins, statutes, parks, gardens; Thou shalt not rip branches off trees; Thou shalt not carve names or initials into tree bark; Thou shalt not climb trees.
Thou shalt not litter the street; Thou shalt not damage flowers in parks; Thou shalt not cause discomfort to others with skateboards or balls; Thou shalt not defecate, urinate or spit in public places; Thou shalt not throw down chewing gum, cigarette ends, cans, papers or containers; Thou shalt not interfere with street lighting; Thou shalt not do any type of graffiti; Thou shalt not scratch surfaces.
Thou shalt adhere to safety rules on beaches; Thou shalt not swim when a red flag flies; Thou shalt not bathe anywhere that is prohibited; Thou shalt not wash any type of garment under beach showers; Thou shalt not place buckets under them; Thou shalt not drink from showers; Thou shalt not use soap or gel under public showers.
Thou shalt not have sexual relations in a public place or anywhere visible from public places; Thou shalt not beg; Thou shalt not drink alcoholic beverages in public places; Thou shalt respect the right of people to rest, especially between 8pm and 8am; Thou shalt not take drugs in public places; Thou shalt not go naked or semi-naked in the street; Thou shalt not commit balconing.
The remaining Commandments were ones directed at the miscreant hoteliers and bar owners. Meantime, the Children of Albion scratched their heads. Had there been any mention of an ox? Not as such. So the Children did covet oxen, not all of which were oxen, as they couldn't tell the difference to bulls. And these oxen and bulls were driven along Punta Ballena and the streets of Magalluf until the combined bovine squadron did spy females with red tops or red leggings. And they did charge at these women, scattering them and making the Jezebels flee, never to return.
Whereupon Alfonso did look favourably on this and heard the cheers of the people, who had been released from the scourge of the Jezebels. He called to the Children of Albion, who had coveted the oxen (and bulls), prophesying that they would inherit the Earth, or that bit of it that was Punta Ballena. Which is what they did.
Happy hour again, and again and again ... .
* My thanks to The Independent, which listed all the various regulations ("commandments") for behaviour in Magalluf and Calvia.
Showing posts with label Tourists. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tourists. Show all posts
Saturday, June 24, 2017
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
The High Summer Of Saturation
It's the ducks which do it of course: the ducks and Pep Guardiola. The Manchester City supremo may be a Premier League virgin, but he'll do as a representative. The football season returned not so much with a bang but with the bank vault having been blasted open with a nuclear device and a vast mushroom cloud of cash obliterating the summer skies as the wads rained down on agents and their eager clients. What madness it is. As someone said, money, where English football is concerned, has ceased to have any value.
Curiously, the great stakeholder base, which could once afford a speck on the terraces, remains intact but now scrapes its pennies together in order to pay its tithes to the Murdoch empire and the bastard descendant of Maggie's privatisation of the spun-off telecommunications wing of the Post Office. Fans howl for millions more to be spent in pursuit of a grand marketing masterplan. When money loses its value, the money is meaningless. It's like Monopoly, only million times greater.
This is just as well. The bars (British) of Mallorca count the days until the new season starts. And so it did start, as it always does right around the time that summer begins to splutter before hurtling into its tailspin. This might also seem curious, as high summer is still here, but it's the ducks (as well as the Premier League) which suggest otherwise.
The day of Assumption, 15 August, marks the swim for the ducks of Can Picafort and summer's peak. No doubt the occupancy numbers will remain close to maximum, but once the peak has been reached, there's no mistaking the signs of summer in descent. Slow at first, and then suddenly it's gone. Again.
And as it makes its descent, what will there be to debate? With almost total certainty we know that Mallorca's saturation point of last mid-August will have been surpassed this mid-August. If it hasn't been, then politicians will be disappointed. A point of argumentation will have been undermined.
But what is this saturation? Is it a state of mind rather than wholly physical? What constitutes saturation? The government is hiring experts to explain all. To what end? Will there be controllers at Son Sant Joan with counters which, when they reach a predetermined number, will trigger the raising of barriers? Mallorca's full. Go home.
This saturation does of course bring with it riches and wealth. More riches and wealth. We should be grateful that it does. Shouldn't we? But the riches are often meaningless. They find their way into the investment portfolios of some of Spain's wealthiest individuals. Pickings for others are meanwhile slim ones, sufficient to enable a reasonable winter return on the dole, but slim nonetheless. Unlike football, alienation of the stakeholder base has existed over time. It howls for more money of its own, not for meaningless amounts to be spent on fantasies and the fantastic.
Saturation is not egalitarian. But then tourism never has been. Oh, an original philosophy where the tourist was concerned was predicated on an ideal of equal rights to a foreign holiday (the philosophy of Horizon's Vladimir Raitz anyway). But the equal distribution of wealth has never been part of the equation: only the generation of wealth.
The government would like there to be greater distribution. It may succeed, but will this turn back the tide of negativity, for which saturation is now a chief conspirator? By its very narratives, the government has fostered negativity. It demands that there is now sustainable tourism. Logically this means that tourism, as it is, is unsustainable. Meaning what exactly? Just as saturation has not been defined or quantified, so sustainability is not qualified. Saturation and non-sustainability are thus states of mind, allowed to enter society's consciousness and to become accepted wisdoms.
As part of its sustainability message, the government wishes to now inform the public about the value of tourism. Yet it has allowed a perception of lack of value to take hold, one to be addressed fiscally with a tax. Its mantras include that of "quality", the indefinable platitude that is sustainability's fellow traveller on the way to non-saturation.
So as summer starts its descent, the saturation will lessen. There will still be the Palma-centric obsessing with cruise passengers, a class of saturators divorced from the rest of the island, but otherwise the numbers will fall, just as fall comes round until finally the question is asked: where did everyone go? If only some thousands of summer visitors could be magically moved to November or December. If only ... .
And then, as thoughts begin to turn to next summer, there will be the other saturation. Cyclists. Keys to sustainability and tackling seasonality but the objects of venom. What does this island want? Does it know? And come next August high summer, nothing will have changed. Let's play Monopoly.
Curiously, the great stakeholder base, which could once afford a speck on the terraces, remains intact but now scrapes its pennies together in order to pay its tithes to the Murdoch empire and the bastard descendant of Maggie's privatisation of the spun-off telecommunications wing of the Post Office. Fans howl for millions more to be spent in pursuit of a grand marketing masterplan. When money loses its value, the money is meaningless. It's like Monopoly, only million times greater.
This is just as well. The bars (British) of Mallorca count the days until the new season starts. And so it did start, as it always does right around the time that summer begins to splutter before hurtling into its tailspin. This might also seem curious, as high summer is still here, but it's the ducks (as well as the Premier League) which suggest otherwise.
The day of Assumption, 15 August, marks the swim for the ducks of Can Picafort and summer's peak. No doubt the occupancy numbers will remain close to maximum, but once the peak has been reached, there's no mistaking the signs of summer in descent. Slow at first, and then suddenly it's gone. Again.
And as it makes its descent, what will there be to debate? With almost total certainty we know that Mallorca's saturation point of last mid-August will have been surpassed this mid-August. If it hasn't been, then politicians will be disappointed. A point of argumentation will have been undermined.
But what is this saturation? Is it a state of mind rather than wholly physical? What constitutes saturation? The government is hiring experts to explain all. To what end? Will there be controllers at Son Sant Joan with counters which, when they reach a predetermined number, will trigger the raising of barriers? Mallorca's full. Go home.
This saturation does of course bring with it riches and wealth. More riches and wealth. We should be grateful that it does. Shouldn't we? But the riches are often meaningless. They find their way into the investment portfolios of some of Spain's wealthiest individuals. Pickings for others are meanwhile slim ones, sufficient to enable a reasonable winter return on the dole, but slim nonetheless. Unlike football, alienation of the stakeholder base has existed over time. It howls for more money of its own, not for meaningless amounts to be spent on fantasies and the fantastic.
Saturation is not egalitarian. But then tourism never has been. Oh, an original philosophy where the tourist was concerned was predicated on an ideal of equal rights to a foreign holiday (the philosophy of Horizon's Vladimir Raitz anyway). But the equal distribution of wealth has never been part of the equation: only the generation of wealth.
The government would like there to be greater distribution. It may succeed, but will this turn back the tide of negativity, for which saturation is now a chief conspirator? By its very narratives, the government has fostered negativity. It demands that there is now sustainable tourism. Logically this means that tourism, as it is, is unsustainable. Meaning what exactly? Just as saturation has not been defined or quantified, so sustainability is not qualified. Saturation and non-sustainability are thus states of mind, allowed to enter society's consciousness and to become accepted wisdoms.
As part of its sustainability message, the government wishes to now inform the public about the value of tourism. Yet it has allowed a perception of lack of value to take hold, one to be addressed fiscally with a tax. Its mantras include that of "quality", the indefinable platitude that is sustainability's fellow traveller on the way to non-saturation.
So as summer starts its descent, the saturation will lessen. There will still be the Palma-centric obsessing with cruise passengers, a class of saturators divorced from the rest of the island, but otherwise the numbers will fall, just as fall comes round until finally the question is asked: where did everyone go? If only some thousands of summer visitors could be magically moved to November or December. If only ... .
And then, as thoughts begin to turn to next summer, there will be the other saturation. Cyclists. Keys to sustainability and tackling seasonality but the objects of venom. What does this island want? Does it know? And come next August high summer, nothing will have changed. Let's play Monopoly.
Friday, August 12, 2016
Low-Cost Pejorative Or Imperative?
A pejorative is a word or term that carries negative connotations and is used to criticise, belittle and express a low opinion of an individual or a group of people. it can therefore be deployed, and is, to convey a lack of respect or hostility towards social classes or specific groups which share common characteristics. Depending on how they are expressed and on the context, certain words can assume the status of a pejorative. Expats is a good example.
A further one that is highly germane to Mallorca's socioeconomic circumstances is "low cost". Normally used as an adjective, it has become a substantive in its own right. Low cost as a concept is ipso facto a "bad thing", as it assumes a negative consequence by the very fact that cost is low.
We currently have a great deal of low cost to contend with, all of it business-related and, by implication, also associated with social class. Low Cost Travel Group is an obvious case in point. The name itself, which would have been looked upon in a pejorative manner by many even prior to its collapse, always had an inherent marketing conflict. Attractive to some, it would not have been to others. Because of the collapse, the naysayers will now claim that they were right all along. The business model, regardless of cover from bondholders or not, was flawed on account of the low-cost philosophy.
This isn't and shouldn't be the only conclusion to be drawn. Low cost doesn't have to mean an in-built business weakness. Indeed, the online travel agency would have been inspired by the very success of companies which have made a virtue (and lots of money) out of being low cost. Ryanair is one such.
Airlines like Ryanair have of course been condemned for a variety of reasons: sharp practice, not being as low cost as they might appear and rotten service. But the low-cost model for airlines has become so pervasive that it has overtaken regular airlines in terms of passenger numbers coming in and out of Palma's Son Sant Joan. To the ranks of Ryanair, easyJet, Norwegian, Vueling and others are to be added Air Europa Express, a belated attempt by Globalia to enter the low-cost market, and one which was met with the threat of pilot strike action.
It is informative that statistics are regularly released which indicate the level of this low-cost travel. This is informative not just because of the factual data but also because there is a sense that the data are presented with a pejorative in mind. There is a great deal of resistance to "low cost" in Mallorca of whatever kind it might be. It is a "bad thing".
The assumption, a totally false one, is that if a service is marketed as low cost it will automatically attract a class of traveller castigated by the unthinking pejorative of "low quality". We all know that some travellers are far from well-off, but the folly of this assumption was no better exposed than when the former president of the Majorca Tourist Board expressed it. The response was one of outrage from those who are perfectly well-off, thank you, but who still use low-cost airlines.
The assumption has been shot to pieces even more by an understanding of markets which reveals that consumers - filthy rich, better-off or on their uppers - are now so savvy that they seek out deals. The internet and social media have made this ever easier. Consumers, regardless of circumstance, aren't stupid. If they can spend less, if convenience is satisfied, then they'll make decisions based on these factors. There are naturally those whose aspirations and self-esteem (as well as money) would mean never willingly opting for the pejorative of low cost, but even they might have to if competition has made low cost the main or only option.
It's this word - competition - which says a lot about the antagonism towards low cost in Mallorca. For a tourist destination built on cost that wasn't just cheap as chips but cheaper, it is now payback time, and this comes in the form - it is hoped - of elevated hotel prices with improved quality attracting a tourism class which is the antithesis of what gave the island its wealth in the first place.
But while hoteliers might attempt to sew things up to their RevPar and bottom-line advantage, there is a whole other economy where the competitive forces of low cost are having field days. Airlines are just one example. There are also coach transfer services, car-hire agencies, shops. The list can go on. Hairdressers are another.
Defending local business and economic interests is valid enough, but it is a defence too often predicated on a demonising of operations which have disrupted one-time uncompetitive markets. Low cost is no pejorative, it has become an imperative.
A further one that is highly germane to Mallorca's socioeconomic circumstances is "low cost". Normally used as an adjective, it has become a substantive in its own right. Low cost as a concept is ipso facto a "bad thing", as it assumes a negative consequence by the very fact that cost is low.
We currently have a great deal of low cost to contend with, all of it business-related and, by implication, also associated with social class. Low Cost Travel Group is an obvious case in point. The name itself, which would have been looked upon in a pejorative manner by many even prior to its collapse, always had an inherent marketing conflict. Attractive to some, it would not have been to others. Because of the collapse, the naysayers will now claim that they were right all along. The business model, regardless of cover from bondholders or not, was flawed on account of the low-cost philosophy.
This isn't and shouldn't be the only conclusion to be drawn. Low cost doesn't have to mean an in-built business weakness. Indeed, the online travel agency would have been inspired by the very success of companies which have made a virtue (and lots of money) out of being low cost. Ryanair is one such.
Airlines like Ryanair have of course been condemned for a variety of reasons: sharp practice, not being as low cost as they might appear and rotten service. But the low-cost model for airlines has become so pervasive that it has overtaken regular airlines in terms of passenger numbers coming in and out of Palma's Son Sant Joan. To the ranks of Ryanair, easyJet, Norwegian, Vueling and others are to be added Air Europa Express, a belated attempt by Globalia to enter the low-cost market, and one which was met with the threat of pilot strike action.
It is informative that statistics are regularly released which indicate the level of this low-cost travel. This is informative not just because of the factual data but also because there is a sense that the data are presented with a pejorative in mind. There is a great deal of resistance to "low cost" in Mallorca of whatever kind it might be. It is a "bad thing".
The assumption, a totally false one, is that if a service is marketed as low cost it will automatically attract a class of traveller castigated by the unthinking pejorative of "low quality". We all know that some travellers are far from well-off, but the folly of this assumption was no better exposed than when the former president of the Majorca Tourist Board expressed it. The response was one of outrage from those who are perfectly well-off, thank you, but who still use low-cost airlines.
The assumption has been shot to pieces even more by an understanding of markets which reveals that consumers - filthy rich, better-off or on their uppers - are now so savvy that they seek out deals. The internet and social media have made this ever easier. Consumers, regardless of circumstance, aren't stupid. If they can spend less, if convenience is satisfied, then they'll make decisions based on these factors. There are naturally those whose aspirations and self-esteem (as well as money) would mean never willingly opting for the pejorative of low cost, but even they might have to if competition has made low cost the main or only option.
It's this word - competition - which says a lot about the antagonism towards low cost in Mallorca. For a tourist destination built on cost that wasn't just cheap as chips but cheaper, it is now payback time, and this comes in the form - it is hoped - of elevated hotel prices with improved quality attracting a tourism class which is the antithesis of what gave the island its wealth in the first place.
But while hoteliers might attempt to sew things up to their RevPar and bottom-line advantage, there is a whole other economy where the competitive forces of low cost are having field days. Airlines are just one example. There are also coach transfer services, car-hire agencies, shops. The list can go on. Hairdressers are another.
Defending local business and economic interests is valid enough, but it is a defence too often predicated on a demonising of operations which have disrupted one-time uncompetitive markets. Low cost is no pejorative, it has become an imperative.
Thursday, May 05, 2016
The One-Eyed Monster Of Tourism
Ada Colau is the mayor of Barcelona. In 2001 she appeared in a comedy series called "Two Plus One". It was to mark the start and end of Ada's acting career. The critics panned it, no one watched it and a second series was not commissioned.
Apart from this brief excursion into television, it is hard to identify what Ada has ever done. There are plenty of politicians of whom one can ask this, but career politicians are generally sustained and promoted via a political party system. Ada, on the other hand, appears never to have operated via such an apparatus. She's a professional activist.
One doesn't question her good intentions. She was propelled into public view not by television but by her having been the driving force behind the association for those affected by mortgage difficulties and evictions. Ultimately, and as part of the new wave of political formations in Spain, she was involved with the founding of Guanyem in Barcelona and stood as mayor for Barcelona En Comú, an amalgam of groupings that included Podemos, at last year's election.
Given her activism in relation to housing and so also social and living conditions, one can understand that these subjects are to the fore of her agenda in the city. Related to them is the whole issue of accommodation for tourism - holiday lets, if you like. Earlier this month the city's council approved one of its latest prohibitions. Under this, no more tourist apartments can be made available unless existing ones are made unavailable, and then only in areas away from the centre of the city. (In Barcelona, as in the rest of Catalonia, private apartments can be openly and legally marketed for holiday rental under Catalonian legislation.)
The issue of tourist apartments and so of a sense that parts of Barcelona are being overwhelmed by tourism is of a scale that is far greater than in Palma. It is very much a political issue, with the more extreme elements to both left and right making capital out of it. The new prohibition is not totally unreasonable, given the rapid growth of tourist accommodation. If nothing else, it offers some potential breathing space.
However, it is part of a wider policy on tourism, and it is this which betrays an impression that Ada, a product of her activism, is one-eyed. The eye which is turned towards tourism doesn't like what it sees.
Barely a week seems to pass without there being some announcement from the city council that concerns tourism. In the middle of March, for instance, it was stated that a moratorium on any new tourism development would be extended by a year. Against the backdrop of prohibition and moratoria, it is said that a total of 38 projects have been put on ice or abandoned at a loss of some 3,000 million euros of investment. It might be noted, though, that not everything has gone by the board: Meliá expects to open its five-star Me by Meliá hotel in the city centre in 2018.
But it is the latest announcement which exposes Ada's touristic myopia more than others. She is planning on taxing visitors to the city - not for staying in accommodation, as they are already taxed for this, but for simply entering city limits. It would be a tax on sightseeing. So, while tourists are all seeing in Barcelona, Ada sees nothing other than a further way of extracting a tithe from them and of demonising tourists because of her one-eyed view of reality. More than this, it is a crackpot idea. Ada might believe that logistically tourists on excursion coaches can be fleeced for a euro a day (or whatever the tariff might be), but what of other tourists? Discriminatory her tax would most certainly be.
The mere announcement of an intention to tax ratchets up further the noise directed towards a perceived villain - tourism. Ada's idea might well appeal to certain politicians in Mallorca with equally negative perspectives that pander in no small part to a xenophobic minority. Such attitudes exist because, as with Ada, these politicians are blinded by their activist philosophies.
Yet the narrative emerging from elements of the left reveals nothing of an appreciation of where tourism in its mass form came from. Of course tourism is now corporate and capitalist. Of course it is a long, long way from the 1950s, but the origins of this mass movement of people were firmly socialist, developed by pioneers such as Gerard Blitz and Vladimir Raitz, the latter especially. Tourism was for the ordinary man. It was to be affordable and cross-cultural, a means of fostering understanding in the aftermath of war and persecution.
Yes, there are excesses. Yes, there probably should be limits. Yes, there should be co-existence between visitors and residents, but this becomes less achievable because of a wilful, one-eyed ignorance of tourism.
Apart from this brief excursion into television, it is hard to identify what Ada has ever done. There are plenty of politicians of whom one can ask this, but career politicians are generally sustained and promoted via a political party system. Ada, on the other hand, appears never to have operated via such an apparatus. She's a professional activist.
One doesn't question her good intentions. She was propelled into public view not by television but by her having been the driving force behind the association for those affected by mortgage difficulties and evictions. Ultimately, and as part of the new wave of political formations in Spain, she was involved with the founding of Guanyem in Barcelona and stood as mayor for Barcelona En Comú, an amalgam of groupings that included Podemos, at last year's election.
Given her activism in relation to housing and so also social and living conditions, one can understand that these subjects are to the fore of her agenda in the city. Related to them is the whole issue of accommodation for tourism - holiday lets, if you like. Earlier this month the city's council approved one of its latest prohibitions. Under this, no more tourist apartments can be made available unless existing ones are made unavailable, and then only in areas away from the centre of the city. (In Barcelona, as in the rest of Catalonia, private apartments can be openly and legally marketed for holiday rental under Catalonian legislation.)
The issue of tourist apartments and so of a sense that parts of Barcelona are being overwhelmed by tourism is of a scale that is far greater than in Palma. It is very much a political issue, with the more extreme elements to both left and right making capital out of it. The new prohibition is not totally unreasonable, given the rapid growth of tourist accommodation. If nothing else, it offers some potential breathing space.
However, it is part of a wider policy on tourism, and it is this which betrays an impression that Ada, a product of her activism, is one-eyed. The eye which is turned towards tourism doesn't like what it sees.
Barely a week seems to pass without there being some announcement from the city council that concerns tourism. In the middle of March, for instance, it was stated that a moratorium on any new tourism development would be extended by a year. Against the backdrop of prohibition and moratoria, it is said that a total of 38 projects have been put on ice or abandoned at a loss of some 3,000 million euros of investment. It might be noted, though, that not everything has gone by the board: Meliá expects to open its five-star Me by Meliá hotel in the city centre in 2018.
But it is the latest announcement which exposes Ada's touristic myopia more than others. She is planning on taxing visitors to the city - not for staying in accommodation, as they are already taxed for this, but for simply entering city limits. It would be a tax on sightseeing. So, while tourists are all seeing in Barcelona, Ada sees nothing other than a further way of extracting a tithe from them and of demonising tourists because of her one-eyed view of reality. More than this, it is a crackpot idea. Ada might believe that logistically tourists on excursion coaches can be fleeced for a euro a day (or whatever the tariff might be), but what of other tourists? Discriminatory her tax would most certainly be.
The mere announcement of an intention to tax ratchets up further the noise directed towards a perceived villain - tourism. Ada's idea might well appeal to certain politicians in Mallorca with equally negative perspectives that pander in no small part to a xenophobic minority. Such attitudes exist because, as with Ada, these politicians are blinded by their activist philosophies.
Yet the narrative emerging from elements of the left reveals nothing of an appreciation of where tourism in its mass form came from. Of course tourism is now corporate and capitalist. Of course it is a long, long way from the 1950s, but the origins of this mass movement of people were firmly socialist, developed by pioneers such as Gerard Blitz and Vladimir Raitz, the latter especially. Tourism was for the ordinary man. It was to be affordable and cross-cultural, a means of fostering understanding in the aftermath of war and persecution.
Yes, there are excesses. Yes, there probably should be limits. Yes, there should be co-existence between visitors and residents, but this becomes less achievable because of a wilful, one-eyed ignorance of tourism.
Tuesday, May 03, 2016
Very Many Drunken Tourists
Johanna, 20. Never having been to Arenal, she went off with a friend to take a look. When she returned (to Playa de Muro), she reported, with the slightly mangled English that Germans sometimes betray, that many tourists were "very drunken" (German for drunk is "betrunken", so it's an easy mistake to make).
Drunken tourists are flavour of the month once more. German ones predominantly. Playa de Palma - Arenal and all - is German sunbedsraum land. And German bierkeller land. It celebrates a drinking culture, one in particular of Bavaria, where I used to live. Drink, beer most obviously, is engrained into this culture. Yet it is not like a British drink culture.
Of course, it is perfectly acceptable to get legless. Indeed, when it comes to the annual "Kirchweih" (the peculiarly named village and town fiestas for dedication to the church), local businesses will have their tables at the bierfest. They positively insist that everyone gets rat arsed. But what is not acceptable is to get "very drunken" and out of control. Nor is it acceptable to treat the institutionalised nature of drinking as bingeing. The line might seem fine, but bingeing it is not.
While British drinking culture can appear to have no control and no limits, Germany's has both. But transport an element of the nation's tourists to Mallorca and it's that old rivalry all over again. Very many drunken tourists. Which side is the winner?
There's a newspaper headline. Spanish. "Mallorca declares war on drunkenness in public areas." This, specifically, is tourist drunkenness, though not exclusively; tourists are not responsible for the drunkenness of Santa Catalina's "tardeo". The war has been declared nevertheless, and it is on account of drinking events in public areas: in Playa de Palma with its manifestations of German drinking culture. Controlled for the most part, it is - all the same - inclined to spill out onto the streets with its pants down and its voice at high volume. Bingeing is being organised. In public areas. War has therefore been declared.
It has happened before. Last year, for example. On two weekends in early season, the drunken tourists were of sufficient number to have brought traffic to a standstill. Videos were posted. There was no mistaking the national origin of this drunkenness. Yet little was said or done. The mood has now changed. Or appears to have. Palma has caught the Calvia bug. Tough on drink, tough on the causes of drink. Supposedly, anyway.
Perpetually smiling mayor, José Hila, was joined by the ray of sunshine at the tourism ministry, Biel Barceló. They strolled along the prom in Playa de Palma, the latest head of police walking with them. Why? They were examining the general area where another public-area drinking event (unauthorised) was scheduled for the following day. Would a stroll on the day in question not have been of greater value? See for themselves; that sort of thing. Or, as with other wars, do the chiefs prefer to absent themselves from the front line - Playa de Palma's in this instance - and only learn about casualties via dispatches?
The very drunken tourists of Arenal are not alone of course. Remember Magalluf? Heard about Santa Ponsa? Ah yes, Santa Ponsa, only now coming into Calvia radar distance. You'll surely remember Magalluf though. All those determined to provide the resort with touristic gentrification. Such as tour operators. Such hypocrites. Is TUI, German TUI, alone in its type of publicity? The company has removed it, following a complaint from one of the war chiefs, i.e. Barceló. It was advertising fun until the doctor comes (that was one of the slogans). For 390 euros, 4-star. Yes, you can up the star rating, as Mallorca pursues its up-marketing, but it doesn't mean that you remove the drinking. In the lower part of the season there are rooms and planes to be filled, niche markets to be attracted. The fine words of tour operators and others count for very little. Hypocrites.
Where will the battle lines of this war be? Barceló intimates that there are to be continuous inspections in tourist resorts. Continuous? Inspections? Who by? Which resorts? Shall we guess? The resorts of political necessity, namely Magalluf and Playa de Palma. The war chiefs are largely unaware of the existence of others. Santa Ponsa they are now learning about, but what of Cala Ratjada or Alcudia? In the latter the incidents are minimal, but there have been incidents nonetheless and of an entirely Spanish origin.
In Catalonia they've declared their own war: official disassociation from any company - tour operator, whatever - which promotes drunken tourism, a move driven partly by the promotion of spring breaks, such as that of Salou ("the premier orgy in Spain"). Tough on drink, tough on the causes of drink: the organisers, the promoters. Mallorca should do likewise. It's war, Sr. Barceló.
Drunken tourists are flavour of the month once more. German ones predominantly. Playa de Palma - Arenal and all - is German sunbedsraum land. And German bierkeller land. It celebrates a drinking culture, one in particular of Bavaria, where I used to live. Drink, beer most obviously, is engrained into this culture. Yet it is not like a British drink culture.
Of course, it is perfectly acceptable to get legless. Indeed, when it comes to the annual "Kirchweih" (the peculiarly named village and town fiestas for dedication to the church), local businesses will have their tables at the bierfest. They positively insist that everyone gets rat arsed. But what is not acceptable is to get "very drunken" and out of control. Nor is it acceptable to treat the institutionalised nature of drinking as bingeing. The line might seem fine, but bingeing it is not.
While British drinking culture can appear to have no control and no limits, Germany's has both. But transport an element of the nation's tourists to Mallorca and it's that old rivalry all over again. Very many drunken tourists. Which side is the winner?
There's a newspaper headline. Spanish. "Mallorca declares war on drunkenness in public areas." This, specifically, is tourist drunkenness, though not exclusively; tourists are not responsible for the drunkenness of Santa Catalina's "tardeo". The war has been declared nevertheless, and it is on account of drinking events in public areas: in Playa de Palma with its manifestations of German drinking culture. Controlled for the most part, it is - all the same - inclined to spill out onto the streets with its pants down and its voice at high volume. Bingeing is being organised. In public areas. War has therefore been declared.
It has happened before. Last year, for example. On two weekends in early season, the drunken tourists were of sufficient number to have brought traffic to a standstill. Videos were posted. There was no mistaking the national origin of this drunkenness. Yet little was said or done. The mood has now changed. Or appears to have. Palma has caught the Calvia bug. Tough on drink, tough on the causes of drink. Supposedly, anyway.
Perpetually smiling mayor, José Hila, was joined by the ray of sunshine at the tourism ministry, Biel Barceló. They strolled along the prom in Playa de Palma, the latest head of police walking with them. Why? They were examining the general area where another public-area drinking event (unauthorised) was scheduled for the following day. Would a stroll on the day in question not have been of greater value? See for themselves; that sort of thing. Or, as with other wars, do the chiefs prefer to absent themselves from the front line - Playa de Palma's in this instance - and only learn about casualties via dispatches?
The very drunken tourists of Arenal are not alone of course. Remember Magalluf? Heard about Santa Ponsa? Ah yes, Santa Ponsa, only now coming into Calvia radar distance. You'll surely remember Magalluf though. All those determined to provide the resort with touristic gentrification. Such as tour operators. Such hypocrites. Is TUI, German TUI, alone in its type of publicity? The company has removed it, following a complaint from one of the war chiefs, i.e. Barceló. It was advertising fun until the doctor comes (that was one of the slogans). For 390 euros, 4-star. Yes, you can up the star rating, as Mallorca pursues its up-marketing, but it doesn't mean that you remove the drinking. In the lower part of the season there are rooms and planes to be filled, niche markets to be attracted. The fine words of tour operators and others count for very little. Hypocrites.
Where will the battle lines of this war be? Barceló intimates that there are to be continuous inspections in tourist resorts. Continuous? Inspections? Who by? Which resorts? Shall we guess? The resorts of political necessity, namely Magalluf and Playa de Palma. The war chiefs are largely unaware of the existence of others. Santa Ponsa they are now learning about, but what of Cala Ratjada or Alcudia? In the latter the incidents are minimal, but there have been incidents nonetheless and of an entirely Spanish origin.
In Catalonia they've declared their own war: official disassociation from any company - tour operator, whatever - which promotes drunken tourism, a move driven partly by the promotion of spring breaks, such as that of Salou ("the premier orgy in Spain"). Tough on drink, tough on the causes of drink: the organisers, the promoters. Mallorca should do likewise. It's war, Sr. Barceló.
Tuesday, July 01, 2014
In The Blink Of An Eye: Pickpocketing
I cannot explain why, but in an Eroski store yesterday I suddenly turned my head. What I saw in that flash was a woman, tall, in a greyish sort of dress. In front of her was a boy, her son, with a cap on. Why had I suddenly looked at them? I don't know. But what I didn't see was the whole picture. A moment or so later, while I was studying the green peppers in the greengrocery section, I heard a wail and a crying. It was the woman. A member of staff came to her. She had been robbed. Her purse had been lifted from her bag.
I have, or try to have, an acute sense of where I am. Especially in supermarkets in summer. As I enter I look at people. As I go along aisles, I am looking at people. Turning and glancing. I know to be aware. I have seen it happen too often. Or have I? There was one time, in front of the same supermarket, I could see it unfolding. The woman approached the two tourists. But I didn't see it. I knew what was happening but I didn't see. Or maybe I did but a momentary sense of disbelief, a suspension of belief had prevented me from seeing. My mouth went temporarily dumb. By the time I shouted and ran up to the two tourists, she had gone. Nowhere. She had evaporated.
There is an article on the BBC website about how pickpockets use not so much sleight of hand but tricks to fool the mind. The article says, among other things, that "our brains come pretty much hard-wired to be tricked, thanks to the vagaries of our attention and perception systems" and that "(pickpocketing) is as much about capturing all of somebody's attention with other movements", "it's complete attentional overload".
The article talks about how specific movements can fool us. Moving the hand in an arc is far better at holding our attention to the end point of the movement than moving the hand in a straight line. This has to do with saccade, the fast movement of the eye. In a straight line, there is a blind period. With an arc, there is no blind period, the eye follows the movement continuously.
I'm not saying that hand movements or other attention-changing means have been adopted by pickpockets at the supermarket and nor am I saying that I had some sixth sense which made me seemingly involuntarily and suddenly turn and look at the woman, but I am saying that even being hyper-alert or aware can be of little use if the brain is tricked. If it fails to see. Something had made me want to look but then, for whatever reason, I didn't see. After the event, I remembered there was someone else.
In this moment of a blink of an eye, of a trick of the mind, of guard going down, of unawareness, a holiday was ruined. The woman, Russian, was in a desperate state. She was still in a desperate state outside the store where she was waiting for her husband. Between her blubs she said that she had been abroad many times and that nothing like this had ever happened.
Her desperation was all the greater because she had been abandoned. I hadn't initially noticed the other child in the buggy. Now I did. The woman looked as though she was pregnant. What could I say to her? Why, she asked, were there no cameras in the store? Why indeed? And why no security? Or why is not possible for a victim to be given some help by the store? Why is she left outside in the sun, sobbing, waiting for her husband?
It happens all the time of course. Opportunistic pickpocketing, the flower women, the professional gangs, the bumpers-into, the distractors, the total-attention-grabbers, the ones with hand movements. They are all here. It happens all the time. You should have taken greater care, been more aware. Ah yes, more aware. But sometimes even the aware can be tricked.
I discovered later, was told anyway, that literature advising of potential risks such as pickpocketing was not produced because it would create a "bad image". How much bad image do the resorts need which is the product of inaction, inertia and a failure to warn? How much bad image through there being no assistance for a distraught tourist?
I now have a mobile phone number for the tourist police in Alcúdia. But who else has the number? Supermarkets? Bars? And is the number for the SPAT police, the agents unveiled in May who can assist tourists in their own language? One of whom, it might just have been hoped, could have come to the help of a Russian tourist abandoned outside a supermarket.
* http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20140629-how-pickpockets-trick-your-mind
I have, or try to have, an acute sense of where I am. Especially in supermarkets in summer. As I enter I look at people. As I go along aisles, I am looking at people. Turning and glancing. I know to be aware. I have seen it happen too often. Or have I? There was one time, in front of the same supermarket, I could see it unfolding. The woman approached the two tourists. But I didn't see it. I knew what was happening but I didn't see. Or maybe I did but a momentary sense of disbelief, a suspension of belief had prevented me from seeing. My mouth went temporarily dumb. By the time I shouted and ran up to the two tourists, she had gone. Nowhere. She had evaporated.
There is an article on the BBC website about how pickpockets use not so much sleight of hand but tricks to fool the mind. The article says, among other things, that "our brains come pretty much hard-wired to be tricked, thanks to the vagaries of our attention and perception systems" and that "(pickpocketing) is as much about capturing all of somebody's attention with other movements", "it's complete attentional overload".
The article talks about how specific movements can fool us. Moving the hand in an arc is far better at holding our attention to the end point of the movement than moving the hand in a straight line. This has to do with saccade, the fast movement of the eye. In a straight line, there is a blind period. With an arc, there is no blind period, the eye follows the movement continuously.
I'm not saying that hand movements or other attention-changing means have been adopted by pickpockets at the supermarket and nor am I saying that I had some sixth sense which made me seemingly involuntarily and suddenly turn and look at the woman, but I am saying that even being hyper-alert or aware can be of little use if the brain is tricked. If it fails to see. Something had made me want to look but then, for whatever reason, I didn't see. After the event, I remembered there was someone else.
In this moment of a blink of an eye, of a trick of the mind, of guard going down, of unawareness, a holiday was ruined. The woman, Russian, was in a desperate state. She was still in a desperate state outside the store where she was waiting for her husband. Between her blubs she said that she had been abroad many times and that nothing like this had ever happened.
Her desperation was all the greater because she had been abandoned. I hadn't initially noticed the other child in the buggy. Now I did. The woman looked as though she was pregnant. What could I say to her? Why, she asked, were there no cameras in the store? Why indeed? And why no security? Or why is not possible for a victim to be given some help by the store? Why is she left outside in the sun, sobbing, waiting for her husband?
It happens all the time of course. Opportunistic pickpocketing, the flower women, the professional gangs, the bumpers-into, the distractors, the total-attention-grabbers, the ones with hand movements. They are all here. It happens all the time. You should have taken greater care, been more aware. Ah yes, more aware. But sometimes even the aware can be tricked.
I discovered later, was told anyway, that literature advising of potential risks such as pickpocketing was not produced because it would create a "bad image". How much bad image do the resorts need which is the product of inaction, inertia and a failure to warn? How much bad image through there being no assistance for a distraught tourist?
I now have a mobile phone number for the tourist police in Alcúdia. But who else has the number? Supermarkets? Bars? And is the number for the SPAT police, the agents unveiled in May who can assist tourists in their own language? One of whom, it might just have been hoped, could have come to the help of a Russian tourist abandoned outside a supermarket.
* http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20140629-how-pickpockets-trick-your-mind
Wednesday, June 04, 2014
The Dawn Chorus Of Bellevue
Dawn. There is a riotous chatter of birdsong, one that seems peculiarly alien to the tourism mini-megalopolis of Bellevue, where the chatter is typically of a different style - human and loud. The abundance of alert avifauna is a reminder of Bellevue's roots - those that it stands on. Albufera. To the side of the nature park, some way in the distance, is the tower of Es Murterar, the Kraftwerk craftily located so that the top of the turret invades most views. Its red markings are uncannily reminiscent of the post-Civil War towers along the bay of Alcúdia, its grey smoke merging into morning cloud that is broken by the vivid fire appearing well out to sea and setting ablaze with orangey-red the perfectly shaped forty-five degree incline of the rugged habitat of mountain goats, the Sant Martí mount, the guardian of Alcúdia, an ancient anachronism that abuts the outer limits of modern Bellevue.
At dawn, the evenly dispersed lights along the outdoor corridors at the back of the Fedra block glint as though on a giant electronic scoreboard. The street lights reveal the source of the watery whishing noise, the whirling sprinklers, Joni Mitchell's hissing of summer lawns, giving vehicles fortunately parked right by a partial car wash. At six, they go off. All is not dark, as dawn has brought its early light, but their disappearance is abrupt, taking aback and disorientating the makers of the other dawn chorus: the sound of luggage wheels on tarmac. Departing tourists are wending their way to reception.
Avoiding a sprinkling from sprinklers, they wheel their suitcase barrows through a road broad and a bougainvillea-topped alleyway narrow, bumping over broken surfaces and humps that have risen from something unseen. Their journey is not long but it is long enough. At six in the morning, they trek like refugees to where they will be de-processed, deposited on a coach and driven to their place of deportation.
This happens in reverse. The coaches disgorge their human loads, who line up for their processing, sometimes in queues that tumble backwards out of reception. All their worldly touristic possessions packed inside their cases, they create the clatter and rumble of plastic rolling stock with a metallic syncopation as they go in search of the promised land. Which way? This way? That way? Is this the block? Is that the block? Excuse me, can you help me? Somehow, the maps don't always seem to be readily interpreted.
There are other Bellevues, tourist towns within towns, resorts within resorts. They don't just exist in Spain. France has them, too. They were products of the need to accommodate mass which, on the one hand, begat hotels built to order with standardised designs and standardised room sizes - the prefab sprouting of accommodation - and which, on the other hand, produced the holiday complex, an urban development that owed much to the philosophy of the campsite. From immediate post-war roots in Corsica's Club Olympique site and Gerard Blitz's original Club Med in Alcúdia and through the expansion of the Oltras' camping zone into the bizarre saucer spaceship architecture of Heliopolis amidst the naturist resort of Cap d'Agde, the early complex was one founded on notions of mucking-in and of no-frills before the term had even been invented. And also of the notion of sheer scale.
What happened in the process of constructing the standardised hotel and the complex was that intimacy was lost. Tourism went from being personal to impersonal. Mallorca, prior to the onset of mass tourism, had specialised in small, family, often quite up-market hotels. They remained but were mostly superseded in the dash for mass by the de-personalised edifice. This was holidaying with a feel of the comprehensive school movement. One day I was at a grammar school of 500 where I and teachers knew many people. The next day I was at a comprehensive of over 2,000, the largest anywhere in Britain. The personal disappeared overnight.
Scale combined with egalitarianism created monsters. Forty years or so ago, no one could have foreseen the levels of sophistication that tourism and tourists were to acquire. Marketing attempts to portray the personal and the customer focus, but it is mostly puffery, a disconnection from - in the case of a vast complex like Bellevue - the reality of the logistical impossibility of internally transporting guests in a dignified fashion.
Mallorca, we are told, has embarked on a journey of modernisation, one that will transform resorts and accommodation. It is a journey towards a new standardised model, one of higher stars and spas. Yet, how can this journey be completed when there is such contrast between old and new, between resort mature and resort contemporary youth? When vast scale persists to the detriment of service? When the dawn chorus remains the rumble of little plastic wheels on tarmac?
At dawn, the evenly dispersed lights along the outdoor corridors at the back of the Fedra block glint as though on a giant electronic scoreboard. The street lights reveal the source of the watery whishing noise, the whirling sprinklers, Joni Mitchell's hissing of summer lawns, giving vehicles fortunately parked right by a partial car wash. At six, they go off. All is not dark, as dawn has brought its early light, but their disappearance is abrupt, taking aback and disorientating the makers of the other dawn chorus: the sound of luggage wheels on tarmac. Departing tourists are wending their way to reception.
Avoiding a sprinkling from sprinklers, they wheel their suitcase barrows through a road broad and a bougainvillea-topped alleyway narrow, bumping over broken surfaces and humps that have risen from something unseen. Their journey is not long but it is long enough. At six in the morning, they trek like refugees to where they will be de-processed, deposited on a coach and driven to their place of deportation.
This happens in reverse. The coaches disgorge their human loads, who line up for their processing, sometimes in queues that tumble backwards out of reception. All their worldly touristic possessions packed inside their cases, they create the clatter and rumble of plastic rolling stock with a metallic syncopation as they go in search of the promised land. Which way? This way? That way? Is this the block? Is that the block? Excuse me, can you help me? Somehow, the maps don't always seem to be readily interpreted.
There are other Bellevues, tourist towns within towns, resorts within resorts. They don't just exist in Spain. France has them, too. They were products of the need to accommodate mass which, on the one hand, begat hotels built to order with standardised designs and standardised room sizes - the prefab sprouting of accommodation - and which, on the other hand, produced the holiday complex, an urban development that owed much to the philosophy of the campsite. From immediate post-war roots in Corsica's Club Olympique site and Gerard Blitz's original Club Med in Alcúdia and through the expansion of the Oltras' camping zone into the bizarre saucer spaceship architecture of Heliopolis amidst the naturist resort of Cap d'Agde, the early complex was one founded on notions of mucking-in and of no-frills before the term had even been invented. And also of the notion of sheer scale.
What happened in the process of constructing the standardised hotel and the complex was that intimacy was lost. Tourism went from being personal to impersonal. Mallorca, prior to the onset of mass tourism, had specialised in small, family, often quite up-market hotels. They remained but were mostly superseded in the dash for mass by the de-personalised edifice. This was holidaying with a feel of the comprehensive school movement. One day I was at a grammar school of 500 where I and teachers knew many people. The next day I was at a comprehensive of over 2,000, the largest anywhere in Britain. The personal disappeared overnight.
Scale combined with egalitarianism created monsters. Forty years or so ago, no one could have foreseen the levels of sophistication that tourism and tourists were to acquire. Marketing attempts to portray the personal and the customer focus, but it is mostly puffery, a disconnection from - in the case of a vast complex like Bellevue - the reality of the logistical impossibility of internally transporting guests in a dignified fashion.
Mallorca, we are told, has embarked on a journey of modernisation, one that will transform resorts and accommodation. It is a journey towards a new standardised model, one of higher stars and spas. Yet, how can this journey be completed when there is such contrast between old and new, between resort mature and resort contemporary youth? When vast scale persists to the detriment of service? When the dawn chorus remains the rumble of little plastic wheels on tarmac?
Monday, April 21, 2014
Tourists Are Just Raw Material
Joserra and the faithful architect Martínez went walkabout in Calas Millor and Ratjada last week. President Bauzá, having recently attempted (and largely failed) to charm a discontented Partido Popular part forana in Campos, has now attempted to show that he is a man of the people - the tourism people. Whoever they might be.
This is not an idle question. President and tourism minister deigned to leave their southern cloisters and venture into the neverlands of the east coast of the island (neverlands because they never normally go there) and to see tourism in the raw - as raw as it can be in the pre-season and, in the case of Cala Ratjada, without the lebensrauming youth movement of summer in full lager mode. Of course, they saw no such rawness. They met hoteliers, they met mayors, they admired the new sports centre in Cala Millor, they contemplated the mural in Cala Ratjada's port, they uttered the typical bland statements about tackling seasonality and increasing the quality of tourism, and they strolled along the prom-prom-proms, tiddly-on-pom-pom.
They would have seen something of this thing called tourism, but they would have heard only from hoteliers and local politicians. They wouldn't have heard from those tourism people - tourists themselves. One doesn't necessarily expect Bauzá to be slumming it some bar with a bunch of drunks, listening to moans about the rising price of cigarettes, but is it too much to expect that he, and indeed other politicians, might actually attempt to engage with tourists once in a while?
Tourism is a curious industry. Its raw material is not hotel buildings, not airports, not bars or restaurants. It is people. Without people, there is no tourism. But consider how this human resource, with its attendant feelings, needs and wishes, is treated. It is as if it were mere raw material. Its movement from airport to hotel to room, its supply of food and drink, its processing at airport or reception can be depersonalised as a production line and characterised as a diagram of ASME symbols to denote specific steps along the line.
Much as it might try and convince otherwise, the tourism industry abhors infinite variety and customisation and applies the marketing spin of satisfying customer demand while simultaneously packaging it in ways which are determined by its supply-side process management. Packaging. Never has a term been more apt. The holiday package. The tourism of pre-determination that eliminates as much non-standardisation as possible with the objective of minimising cost and maximising profit. Tourism may not adhere to Henry Ford's customer focus of any car you want so long as it is black, but the principle of the standardised production line isn't so far removed from the general ethos of the tourism industry.
Mass tourism was a Fordist system of human processing. It still is, though to be fair, the industry has gone some way in correcting the standardised model. But it can't rid itself of the model entirely. Of course it can't. There are very good managerial reasons why not. But tourism in its human form and in a Mallorcan style is remote. It is divorced from those who legislate and from those who create the palaces by the sea.
The essential nature of Mallorca's tourism should mean a far closer relationship. But there are so many layers between the raw material - the people who matter - and the decision-makers. Where politicians are concerned, those at government level hear from island councils, who hear from mayors, who hear from their own councillors, who hear from ...? Well, I don't know who exactly. And into all of this are added the voices of the tourism powerful - not tourists themselves - but the manufacturers, namely the airlines, the tour operators and, most significantly in a Mallorcan context, the hoteliers.
A consequence of this process management of tourism is that it gives birth to political processors as opposed to those who, it might be said, operate more by instinct or by understanding or by being told what to think by the tourism powerful. Martínez, the faithful architect, is a tourism technocrat. Go and look at his CV on the regional government's website. His is a background in urban planning. As I mention above, buildings are not tourism raw material; people are.
But buildings are more important and they are easier to deal with, too. They don't talk, they don't have needs or wishes. It is utterly depressing that Martínez can, as he has, trot out the technocratic apologetics for dismissing out of hand proposals regarding holiday lets. You would expect him to, though, as he is representative not just of a government which refuses to consider less standardisation of the tourism model but also of an industry which disregards what the raw material of the tourism people have to say, or might say if they were ever spoken to.
This is not an idle question. President and tourism minister deigned to leave their southern cloisters and venture into the neverlands of the east coast of the island (neverlands because they never normally go there) and to see tourism in the raw - as raw as it can be in the pre-season and, in the case of Cala Ratjada, without the lebensrauming youth movement of summer in full lager mode. Of course, they saw no such rawness. They met hoteliers, they met mayors, they admired the new sports centre in Cala Millor, they contemplated the mural in Cala Ratjada's port, they uttered the typical bland statements about tackling seasonality and increasing the quality of tourism, and they strolled along the prom-prom-proms, tiddly-on-pom-pom.
They would have seen something of this thing called tourism, but they would have heard only from hoteliers and local politicians. They wouldn't have heard from those tourism people - tourists themselves. One doesn't necessarily expect Bauzá to be slumming it some bar with a bunch of drunks, listening to moans about the rising price of cigarettes, but is it too much to expect that he, and indeed other politicians, might actually attempt to engage with tourists once in a while?
Tourism is a curious industry. Its raw material is not hotel buildings, not airports, not bars or restaurants. It is people. Without people, there is no tourism. But consider how this human resource, with its attendant feelings, needs and wishes, is treated. It is as if it were mere raw material. Its movement from airport to hotel to room, its supply of food and drink, its processing at airport or reception can be depersonalised as a production line and characterised as a diagram of ASME symbols to denote specific steps along the line.
Much as it might try and convince otherwise, the tourism industry abhors infinite variety and customisation and applies the marketing spin of satisfying customer demand while simultaneously packaging it in ways which are determined by its supply-side process management. Packaging. Never has a term been more apt. The holiday package. The tourism of pre-determination that eliminates as much non-standardisation as possible with the objective of minimising cost and maximising profit. Tourism may not adhere to Henry Ford's customer focus of any car you want so long as it is black, but the principle of the standardised production line isn't so far removed from the general ethos of the tourism industry.
Mass tourism was a Fordist system of human processing. It still is, though to be fair, the industry has gone some way in correcting the standardised model. But it can't rid itself of the model entirely. Of course it can't. There are very good managerial reasons why not. But tourism in its human form and in a Mallorcan style is remote. It is divorced from those who legislate and from those who create the palaces by the sea.
The essential nature of Mallorca's tourism should mean a far closer relationship. But there are so many layers between the raw material - the people who matter - and the decision-makers. Where politicians are concerned, those at government level hear from island councils, who hear from mayors, who hear from their own councillors, who hear from ...? Well, I don't know who exactly. And into all of this are added the voices of the tourism powerful - not tourists themselves - but the manufacturers, namely the airlines, the tour operators and, most significantly in a Mallorcan context, the hoteliers.
A consequence of this process management of tourism is that it gives birth to political processors as opposed to those who, it might be said, operate more by instinct or by understanding or by being told what to think by the tourism powerful. Martínez, the faithful architect, is a tourism technocrat. Go and look at his CV on the regional government's website. His is a background in urban planning. As I mention above, buildings are not tourism raw material; people are.
But buildings are more important and they are easier to deal with, too. They don't talk, they don't have needs or wishes. It is utterly depressing that Martínez can, as he has, trot out the technocratic apologetics for dismissing out of hand proposals regarding holiday lets. You would expect him to, though, as he is representative not just of a government which refuses to consider less standardisation of the tourism model but also of an industry which disregards what the raw material of the tourism people have to say, or might say if they were ever spoken to.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Getting Shirty: Tourist dress protocol
Many years ago, that legendary lunatic, Vivian Stanshall, took to the streets of Willesden Green in order to ask people about shirts. Was the shirt, he asked one elderly gentleman, still necessary? Should they stop making shirts? Oh no, came the reply. "A man's not dressed if he's not got a nice shirt on, guv'nor, is he."
A few years after Stanshall and the Bonzo Dog Band created their "Shirt" epic, I encountered a different set of lunatics. They had wandered into a college square at university. Who were they, I demanded to know of their escort. "They're from the Anti-Feet On Seats Society."
The problem with shirts. Or no shirts. The problem with feet on seats. Or feet without footwear. The problem with tourists, male predominantly, who are constantly minus shirt. The problem with other tourists who have, it would seem, forgotten to pack their flip-flops or who choose to rest their plates of meat on a bar's nice seats either with or without flip-flops.
It is now five years since I raised the shirt problem with one particular bar owner. "Never thought about it," she replied. Which is as well, given the acreage of flesh typically on display inside the bar and on the terrace. Rare it is for it to be covered, unless by a replica football shirt when the owner, for reasons that escape me, spurn the attractions of the beach on a hot afternoon and opt instead to watch a pre-season friendly being played on the other side of the world.
This same owner, however, has found it necessary to put up a sign respectfully asking people not to put their feet on the seats. The notice was, I understand, due to be slightly less respectful, as in "keep your asterisks feet off the asterisks seats, you asterisks", before someone with greater diplomacy wrote it in respectful terms.
To shirt or not to shirt, that is the question. To be barefoot or not to be barefoot, this is also a question. To put feet on seats or not to put feet on seats, this is yet another question, which comes with its with or without options.
On the shirt front, I am with another bar which has a sign saying "no shirt, no sale". This might seem counterproductive in these days when any sale is a good sale whether it comes shirted or not, but there is still such a thing as decorum. A man's not dressed if he's not got a nice shirt on, guv'nor, is he? Well, it doesn't have to be a nice shirt. It could, for instance, be Liverpool's new away kit, but it is still a shirt. Just. It's the principle which matters even if the shirt, as with Liverpool's, has been modelled (badly) on a retro Space Invaders game.
It is reasonable enough to distinguish, as with smoking, between on-terrace and in-bar shirt protocol. Outside ok, inside not ok. But there again, bars are bars. In-bar informality does stretch to the no-shirt law. A bar, however, is not a supermarket or a chemist.
Though Britain has been experiencing some uncommonly hot weather recently, I very much doubt that the checkout staff at Tescos across the land have been subjected to the sight of pink beer guts drooping over the piles of six packs loaded onto the counter. A supermarket is, after all, a supermarket, except when it is in Mallorca. Eroski, as an example, appears to have given up its fight in trying to get customers to adhere to a shirt and footwear policy. No one took any notice of the notice. Unpleasant it can be to the point of exhibitionist when the non-shirted has only a skimpy pair of Speedos on. For God's sake, cover yourself up, man.
Were the resorts of Mallorca all sparsely urbanised, lacking in main roads and offering only wooden huts under palm trees as beachside accommodation from which the occupants would walk on no more than velvety white sands to the turquoise sea, then the shirt and footwear issue wouldn't arise. But the resorts are not like this. What on earth goes through someone's mind that makes him or her wish to walk on flaming hot concrete and tarmac, through whatever Rover has left behind, on top of whatever the dustmen have left behind without flip-flops on? And then, go and put the feet up on a seat.
The people from the Anti-Feet On Seats Society were plainly mad, but not nearly as mad as some of those who put their feet on seats. They just don't where the feet might have been.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
A few years after Stanshall and the Bonzo Dog Band created their "Shirt" epic, I encountered a different set of lunatics. They had wandered into a college square at university. Who were they, I demanded to know of their escort. "They're from the Anti-Feet On Seats Society."
The problem with shirts. Or no shirts. The problem with feet on seats. Or feet without footwear. The problem with tourists, male predominantly, who are constantly minus shirt. The problem with other tourists who have, it would seem, forgotten to pack their flip-flops or who choose to rest their plates of meat on a bar's nice seats either with or without flip-flops.
It is now five years since I raised the shirt problem with one particular bar owner. "Never thought about it," she replied. Which is as well, given the acreage of flesh typically on display inside the bar and on the terrace. Rare it is for it to be covered, unless by a replica football shirt when the owner, for reasons that escape me, spurn the attractions of the beach on a hot afternoon and opt instead to watch a pre-season friendly being played on the other side of the world.
This same owner, however, has found it necessary to put up a sign respectfully asking people not to put their feet on the seats. The notice was, I understand, due to be slightly less respectful, as in "keep your asterisks feet off the asterisks seats, you asterisks", before someone with greater diplomacy wrote it in respectful terms.
To shirt or not to shirt, that is the question. To be barefoot or not to be barefoot, this is also a question. To put feet on seats or not to put feet on seats, this is yet another question, which comes with its with or without options.
On the shirt front, I am with another bar which has a sign saying "no shirt, no sale". This might seem counterproductive in these days when any sale is a good sale whether it comes shirted or not, but there is still such a thing as decorum. A man's not dressed if he's not got a nice shirt on, guv'nor, is he? Well, it doesn't have to be a nice shirt. It could, for instance, be Liverpool's new away kit, but it is still a shirt. Just. It's the principle which matters even if the shirt, as with Liverpool's, has been modelled (badly) on a retro Space Invaders game.
It is reasonable enough to distinguish, as with smoking, between on-terrace and in-bar shirt protocol. Outside ok, inside not ok. But there again, bars are bars. In-bar informality does stretch to the no-shirt law. A bar, however, is not a supermarket or a chemist.
Though Britain has been experiencing some uncommonly hot weather recently, I very much doubt that the checkout staff at Tescos across the land have been subjected to the sight of pink beer guts drooping over the piles of six packs loaded onto the counter. A supermarket is, after all, a supermarket, except when it is in Mallorca. Eroski, as an example, appears to have given up its fight in trying to get customers to adhere to a shirt and footwear policy. No one took any notice of the notice. Unpleasant it can be to the point of exhibitionist when the non-shirted has only a skimpy pair of Speedos on. For God's sake, cover yourself up, man.
Were the resorts of Mallorca all sparsely urbanised, lacking in main roads and offering only wooden huts under palm trees as beachside accommodation from which the occupants would walk on no more than velvety white sands to the turquoise sea, then the shirt and footwear issue wouldn't arise. But the resorts are not like this. What on earth goes through someone's mind that makes him or her wish to walk on flaming hot concrete and tarmac, through whatever Rover has left behind, on top of whatever the dustmen have left behind without flip-flops on? And then, go and put the feet up on a seat.
The people from the Anti-Feet On Seats Society were plainly mad, but not nearly as mad as some of those who put their feet on seats. They just don't where the feet might have been.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Teasy-Weasy Like Mitchell Johnson
Teasy-Weasy Raymond was the first celebrity hairdresser. He came on my childhood radar not because of his skills with scissors but because of the Grand National. Builder Sid, a drinking pal of my father's, had given the old man a sure-fire tip for the 1963 race: Teasy-Weasy's horse Ayala. Not a great deal of attention was paid to the post-race interview with the victorious part-owner; a quid at 66-1 went a long way back then.
Teasy-Weasy, when not having a horse winning at Aintree, became famous for his innovative hairstyling, but creative snipping of this early-sixties vintage was primarily aimed at a female barnet. For the male, The Beatles were about to further the changes that Bill Haley and Elvis had been responsible for, but otherwise, the trip to the barbers was predictable in its short back 'n' sides outcome and for the way that small boys were shoved out the door when the anything for the weekend question was about to be put.
Were he alive today and being flamboyant in the faux-French style that he adopted, Teasy-Weasy would have far greater scope for hair sculpturing. The male head is no longer a mere support for the one-cut-fits-all approach of an early sixties SBnS. But what would Teasy make of the Mitchell Johnson? The Barmy Army is pretty clear what it thinks. "He combs it to the left, he combs it to the right." Mitchell manages to successfully put his foot in it not just by having a low and misdirected arm but also by sporting one of the greatest horrors to have been witnessed on a cricket pitch. In so doing, he provides the Barmies with hours of endless, drunken amusement.
I can't better the description offered by a "CharlieBronze" on "The Guardian's" website. "It is the haircut of a madman. He must have gone into the barber shop with his scrapbook of American Serial Killers from the '50s and said: 'Give me something that says Crazed Remote Gas Station Attendant who probably has a collection of human feet.' " In fact, the Mitchell bears something of a resemblance to the style favoured by that sad young man who thought he was going to blow up the university in Palma last year. Not, however, that I imagine an Australian left-arm quick would have any great knowledge of wannabe Mallorcan terrorists.
But if the Mitchell is in a similar barbering ballpark to the coiffure preferences of the close to certifiable, what of other examples of male head furniture of the modern day? You can tell a great deal about tourists (male ones, that is) from what is sitting on their scalps. Or not. And Mitchell is highly relevant in this regard.
The cricket writer Vic Marks has a theory that the reason why all Australian cricketers are now called Mitchell can be traced back to when Phil and Grant first turned up in "Eastenders". I am not convinced by this Marksism, but I am convinced that Phil and Grant were and are responsible for the absence of hair on the head of the British male tourist. The Mitchell brothers transformed the British barnet, at a stroke all but doing away with the need for hair follicles and convincing a generation to trade in their Ken Barlows for a Phil. And those who were not previously convinced of this need now most certainly are.
The British male holidaymaker comes with many years of experience of the pre-flight necessity for an appointment with the clippers of a number one. The Russians, on the other hand, have very little experience either of holidaymaking or the correct fashion accessory that is the holiday hairstyle. Years behind everyone else, they betray this inexperience by showing that they are stuck somewhere in the 1980s. And that means the mullet.
A member of a Russian family in Eroski the other day (they'd probably mistaken Eroski for being Russian) was a teenage boy who was in fact Chris Waddle, this being the Chris Waddle of the Hoddle Waddle "Diamond Lights" period. Actually, and although Waddle has passed into hair folklore for being synonymous with the mullet, it is more accurate to say that it was a Hoddle. The Waddle, in its long-at-the-back ingloriousness, appeared a bit later. Hoddle or Waddle, it doesn't really matter to the Russian tourist.
Yes, you can tell the origins of tourists from their hairstyles. So, when you see some bloke who you think looks like he's from the Jackson Five circa 1970, he will in fact be Belgian. Be warned, be very warned. There are Belgians with a Fellaini.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Teasy-Weasy, when not having a horse winning at Aintree, became famous for his innovative hairstyling, but creative snipping of this early-sixties vintage was primarily aimed at a female barnet. For the male, The Beatles were about to further the changes that Bill Haley and Elvis had been responsible for, but otherwise, the trip to the barbers was predictable in its short back 'n' sides outcome and for the way that small boys were shoved out the door when the anything for the weekend question was about to be put.
Were he alive today and being flamboyant in the faux-French style that he adopted, Teasy-Weasy would have far greater scope for hair sculpturing. The male head is no longer a mere support for the one-cut-fits-all approach of an early sixties SBnS. But what would Teasy make of the Mitchell Johnson? The Barmy Army is pretty clear what it thinks. "He combs it to the left, he combs it to the right." Mitchell manages to successfully put his foot in it not just by having a low and misdirected arm but also by sporting one of the greatest horrors to have been witnessed on a cricket pitch. In so doing, he provides the Barmies with hours of endless, drunken amusement.
I can't better the description offered by a "CharlieBronze" on "The Guardian's" website. "It is the haircut of a madman. He must have gone into the barber shop with his scrapbook of American Serial Killers from the '50s and said: 'Give me something that says Crazed Remote Gas Station Attendant who probably has a collection of human feet.' " In fact, the Mitchell bears something of a resemblance to the style favoured by that sad young man who thought he was going to blow up the university in Palma last year. Not, however, that I imagine an Australian left-arm quick would have any great knowledge of wannabe Mallorcan terrorists.
But if the Mitchell is in a similar barbering ballpark to the coiffure preferences of the close to certifiable, what of other examples of male head furniture of the modern day? You can tell a great deal about tourists (male ones, that is) from what is sitting on their scalps. Or not. And Mitchell is highly relevant in this regard.
The cricket writer Vic Marks has a theory that the reason why all Australian cricketers are now called Mitchell can be traced back to when Phil and Grant first turned up in "Eastenders". I am not convinced by this Marksism, but I am convinced that Phil and Grant were and are responsible for the absence of hair on the head of the British male tourist. The Mitchell brothers transformed the British barnet, at a stroke all but doing away with the need for hair follicles and convincing a generation to trade in their Ken Barlows for a Phil. And those who were not previously convinced of this need now most certainly are.
The British male holidaymaker comes with many years of experience of the pre-flight necessity for an appointment with the clippers of a number one. The Russians, on the other hand, have very little experience either of holidaymaking or the correct fashion accessory that is the holiday hairstyle. Years behind everyone else, they betray this inexperience by showing that they are stuck somewhere in the 1980s. And that means the mullet.
A member of a Russian family in Eroski the other day (they'd probably mistaken Eroski for being Russian) was a teenage boy who was in fact Chris Waddle, this being the Chris Waddle of the Hoddle Waddle "Diamond Lights" period. Actually, and although Waddle has passed into hair folklore for being synonymous with the mullet, it is more accurate to say that it was a Hoddle. The Waddle, in its long-at-the-back ingloriousness, appeared a bit later. Hoddle or Waddle, it doesn't really matter to the Russian tourist.
Yes, you can tell the origins of tourists from their hairstyles. So, when you see some bloke who you think looks like he's from the Jackson Five circa 1970, he will in fact be Belgian. Be warned, be very warned. There are Belgians with a Fellaini.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
A Day At The Chemists
I do not need to detain you with the reasons why, and they are not solely to do with the need for medicinal compounds, I am well-versed with chemists in the area. Or pharmacies, to give them their properly and directly translated name.
I like the local pharmacies and pharmacists and their staff (with the exception of one or two, that is). Because of my mysterious need to inhabit these establishments, I know the people concerned pretty well, and knowing them means that they are a rich source of information. If you want to know about national characteristics, go ask a pharmacist; he or she can give you chapter and verse. As in ... The Mallorcans spend hours upon hours requiring explanations for the simplest of drug-taking and then repeat these explanations - several times - in their own unique, shouty, potato-mouth-filled fashion. The Germans spend hours upon hours demanding entire technical specifications and full composition percentages (and still then ask more questions). The British evacuate chemists in embarrassment because of language difficulties and because of anything vaguely to do with private areas. The Russians don't go to chemists to buy drugs but to hand over wads of cash for anything that comes in expensive, designer packaging, like shampoos or cologne washes.
The Russian designer-craving mentality may or may not have something to do with the makeovers that have been occurring to the pharmacies. While I was under the impression that pharmacists were all boracic because the Balearics health service hasn't been handing over what it owes to them, they have been undertaking facelifts that have turned their facades, if not always their interiors, into appearing like designer hotels. Were it not for that green flashing thing outside, you would expect to walk into a pharmacy and book a long weekend of en suite, spa massage and small portions on very large plates that pass for dinner.
This designer impulse is not confined to the pharmacy exterior. Business cards? Works of art in some instances and always a combination of subtle greens (unlike the unsubtle green flashing thing), black and a logo of Adobe Illustrator graphic-design creation. While resort modernisation has concentrated on hotels, the pharmacists have been leading the way. They are über-contemporary, marked and branded with Sans Serif styling but ultimately facades for what generally happens inside. Some paracetamol, please. Yes, that'll be three euros, twenty-five. It will? Oh yes, it most certainly will, unless you are in the know, happen to speak the native or are Mallorcan. Then it will be sixty odd centimos. Same drug, different brands - one generic, the other not. One for locals, the other for tourists.
But then, I don't criticise the chemists or their suppliers for seeking healthier mark-ups. They are businesses after all, though there are some pharmacists in Mallorca who attempt to conceal this business, the president of the Balearics being an example (and I suppose that one should add "allegedly"). That, though, is a different story. The pharmacy represents good business because of necessity, even if the necessity is simply to provide overpriced paracetamol to combat the previous evening's lager and vodka intake.
The pharmacy also represents the most significant point of observation of the tourist class. The pharmacy reveals all tourist and local human life. It is the single most egalitarian come-together point in resorts. Chav or not-chav, Brit, German or Russian, they are all there, and so the pharmacy is the perfect site to witness tourists in their unnatural habitats, tourists of whatever nationality, of whatever background, all seeking creams to treat mosquito bites. The pharmacy should, therefore, demand a position of greater importance in tourism life. It isn't simply a point of sale for suppositories and sunburn lotions. It is the theatre for touristic existence.
In such high regard do I hold the pharmacies, notwithstanding that odd one or two which I don't, so impressed am I with their generally unwavering patience and smiliness that I feel an entire guide should be devoted to them. They should be publicised for the tourist insight that they offer and for their shiny new exteriors. Flogging headache pills for more than is necessary, well, I can forgive them, but, and I know I shouldn't really say this but I will, perhaps such forgiveness also has to do with the white uniforms. And the fact that most of the staff in pharmacies are female and that they look good in those white uniforms. No, I know I shouldn't have said this. Forget it.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
I like the local pharmacies and pharmacists and their staff (with the exception of one or two, that is). Because of my mysterious need to inhabit these establishments, I know the people concerned pretty well, and knowing them means that they are a rich source of information. If you want to know about national characteristics, go ask a pharmacist; he or she can give you chapter and verse. As in ... The Mallorcans spend hours upon hours requiring explanations for the simplest of drug-taking and then repeat these explanations - several times - in their own unique, shouty, potato-mouth-filled fashion. The Germans spend hours upon hours demanding entire technical specifications and full composition percentages (and still then ask more questions). The British evacuate chemists in embarrassment because of language difficulties and because of anything vaguely to do with private areas. The Russians don't go to chemists to buy drugs but to hand over wads of cash for anything that comes in expensive, designer packaging, like shampoos or cologne washes.
The Russian designer-craving mentality may or may not have something to do with the makeovers that have been occurring to the pharmacies. While I was under the impression that pharmacists were all boracic because the Balearics health service hasn't been handing over what it owes to them, they have been undertaking facelifts that have turned their facades, if not always their interiors, into appearing like designer hotels. Were it not for that green flashing thing outside, you would expect to walk into a pharmacy and book a long weekend of en suite, spa massage and small portions on very large plates that pass for dinner.
This designer impulse is not confined to the pharmacy exterior. Business cards? Works of art in some instances and always a combination of subtle greens (unlike the unsubtle green flashing thing), black and a logo of Adobe Illustrator graphic-design creation. While resort modernisation has concentrated on hotels, the pharmacists have been leading the way. They are über-contemporary, marked and branded with Sans Serif styling but ultimately facades for what generally happens inside. Some paracetamol, please. Yes, that'll be three euros, twenty-five. It will? Oh yes, it most certainly will, unless you are in the know, happen to speak the native or are Mallorcan. Then it will be sixty odd centimos. Same drug, different brands - one generic, the other not. One for locals, the other for tourists.
But then, I don't criticise the chemists or their suppliers for seeking healthier mark-ups. They are businesses after all, though there are some pharmacists in Mallorca who attempt to conceal this business, the president of the Balearics being an example (and I suppose that one should add "allegedly"). That, though, is a different story. The pharmacy represents good business because of necessity, even if the necessity is simply to provide overpriced paracetamol to combat the previous evening's lager and vodka intake.
The pharmacy also represents the most significant point of observation of the tourist class. The pharmacy reveals all tourist and local human life. It is the single most egalitarian come-together point in resorts. Chav or not-chav, Brit, German or Russian, they are all there, and so the pharmacy is the perfect site to witness tourists in their unnatural habitats, tourists of whatever nationality, of whatever background, all seeking creams to treat mosquito bites. The pharmacy should, therefore, demand a position of greater importance in tourism life. It isn't simply a point of sale for suppositories and sunburn lotions. It is the theatre for touristic existence.
In such high regard do I hold the pharmacies, notwithstanding that odd one or two which I don't, so impressed am I with their generally unwavering patience and smiliness that I feel an entire guide should be devoted to them. They should be publicised for the tourist insight that they offer and for their shiny new exteriors. Flogging headache pills for more than is necessary, well, I can forgive them, but, and I know I shouldn't really say this but I will, perhaps such forgiveness also has to do with the white uniforms. And the fact that most of the staff in pharmacies are female and that they look good in those white uniforms. No, I know I shouldn't have said this. Forget it.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
MALLORCA TODAY - New law to permit tourist fishing
The Balearics, oddly enough the only coastal region of Spain that has not got a law that permits fishermen to take tourists out on fishing trips, is to get one. This measure is due to be approved along with the rest of a new law on fishing in the final quarter of this year.
See more: Diario de Mallorca
See more: Diario de Mallorca
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
MALLORCA TODAY - Palma bike scheme to be extended to tourists
Criticisms that the Palma bike scheme, Bicipalma, was not available to tourists have been addressed. Palma town hall has approved extending the scheme to tourists who will be able to sign up and pay for it via the internet at costs of, for example, nine euros for three days.
Thursday, September 08, 2011
Tourism Without Tourists
If you were Mallorcan and were of an age to be going to university, you might fancy a few years at the Universitat de les Illes Balears studying tourism. The university has a strong reputation for tourism, Mallorca's main industry is tourism, so a degree should set you up nicely. Or so you might think.
There is a fair old debate going on as to the value of the tourism degree. It has been criticised for not being orientated to the tourism market itself, while obtaining a degree appears to be no guarantee of getting a job any grander than that of receptionist, assuming a job can be got at all.
It's a familiar story of course, and one not solely confined to a tourism degree or to university studies in Mallorca. But tourism is after all what Mallorca does, and the number of places on the degree course is not that high (400), so you would indeed think that something decent, career-wise, might come at the end of it.
Picking over the bones of the debate, however, another criticism emerges, and it is one of the choice of the course in the first place. Tourism, a bit like teaching (or certainly how teaching once was in the UK), is a career to get into mainly because it's there. It is a default choice. But it would seem that students embark on the degree not really appreciating what it entails.
I'm not surprised they aren't aware what the course involves. The document which sets it out runs to an excruciating 247 pages of tables, flowcharts and verbiage. Students, either before or during their studies, are not generally inclined to read what they are meant to; I can say this with some authority, as I certainly never did.
Even assuming they do read it, what do they expect to get from the course? The simple answer is a good job. But what job? This is the nub of the problem, or one of the nubs.
One can draw a comparison between tourism and publishing. I have been asked in the past for advice about "getting into publishing", to which the response has always been - what do you mean by publishing? It's the same with tourism; what is meant by it and what is meant by jobs within the industry?
Were students to read the entire prospectus for the course, they might get an inkling. Without detailing the whole course, some of its key modules cover marketing, management, finance, law and languages. English and either French or German are mandatory, but previous reports on the English-speaking abilities of students leaving the university suggest that two-thirds of them struggle with the language to the point of not understanding it.
But this isn't necessarily surprising. A multi-disciplinary tourism course makes its students Jacos of several trades and maestros of none, other than tourism, or so they might believe.
Yet, amidst the law and the management of the course, there is something which is glaring by its omission. Nowhere does there appear to be anything about the tourist himself. You can learn about some mechanics and operations of tourism but nothing about what it's like to be a tourist. Arguably, this is what the course should be about. Students in Mallorca may have some idea of what it's like to be a tourist, if they have been one, but can have no appreciation of what it's like to be a tourist in Mallorca or little appreciation of the cultures and backgrounds of the people they would hope to be make a living off.
Where are, for example, cultural studies in the tourism course? Cultural studies of the British, the Germans, the Russians or whoever. You come back, therefore, to the criticism that the course is not orientated to the market and therefore the people - the tourists - who make up the market.
Tourism is ultimately about people and understanding their needs and demands. I can think of managers in hotels in Mallorca who certainly didn't study tourism in their home countries, if they studied at university at all. They came to Mallorca and got jobs in the likes of entertainment. And because they were any good, they rose a managerial ladder. Crucially, though, they know about tourists and tourists from different cultures.
I can sympathise, however, with the students. The course seems like a reflection of much of what passes for a general debate about Mallorca's tourism. It is one in which tourism is somehow remote from its raw material, the tourists themselves. It's extraordinary, as though there is tourism but without tourists.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
There is a fair old debate going on as to the value of the tourism degree. It has been criticised for not being orientated to the tourism market itself, while obtaining a degree appears to be no guarantee of getting a job any grander than that of receptionist, assuming a job can be got at all.
It's a familiar story of course, and one not solely confined to a tourism degree or to university studies in Mallorca. But tourism is after all what Mallorca does, and the number of places on the degree course is not that high (400), so you would indeed think that something decent, career-wise, might come at the end of it.
Picking over the bones of the debate, however, another criticism emerges, and it is one of the choice of the course in the first place. Tourism, a bit like teaching (or certainly how teaching once was in the UK), is a career to get into mainly because it's there. It is a default choice. But it would seem that students embark on the degree not really appreciating what it entails.
I'm not surprised they aren't aware what the course involves. The document which sets it out runs to an excruciating 247 pages of tables, flowcharts and verbiage. Students, either before or during their studies, are not generally inclined to read what they are meant to; I can say this with some authority, as I certainly never did.
Even assuming they do read it, what do they expect to get from the course? The simple answer is a good job. But what job? This is the nub of the problem, or one of the nubs.
One can draw a comparison between tourism and publishing. I have been asked in the past for advice about "getting into publishing", to which the response has always been - what do you mean by publishing? It's the same with tourism; what is meant by it and what is meant by jobs within the industry?
Were students to read the entire prospectus for the course, they might get an inkling. Without detailing the whole course, some of its key modules cover marketing, management, finance, law and languages. English and either French or German are mandatory, but previous reports on the English-speaking abilities of students leaving the university suggest that two-thirds of them struggle with the language to the point of not understanding it.
But this isn't necessarily surprising. A multi-disciplinary tourism course makes its students Jacos of several trades and maestros of none, other than tourism, or so they might believe.
Yet, amidst the law and the management of the course, there is something which is glaring by its omission. Nowhere does there appear to be anything about the tourist himself. You can learn about some mechanics and operations of tourism but nothing about what it's like to be a tourist. Arguably, this is what the course should be about. Students in Mallorca may have some idea of what it's like to be a tourist, if they have been one, but can have no appreciation of what it's like to be a tourist in Mallorca or little appreciation of the cultures and backgrounds of the people they would hope to be make a living off.
Where are, for example, cultural studies in the tourism course? Cultural studies of the British, the Germans, the Russians or whoever. You come back, therefore, to the criticism that the course is not orientated to the market and therefore the people - the tourists - who make up the market.
Tourism is ultimately about people and understanding their needs and demands. I can think of managers in hotels in Mallorca who certainly didn't study tourism in their home countries, if they studied at university at all. They came to Mallorca and got jobs in the likes of entertainment. And because they were any good, they rose a managerial ladder. Crucially, though, they know about tourists and tourists from different cultures.
I can sympathise, however, with the students. The course seems like a reflection of much of what passes for a general debate about Mallorca's tourism. It is one in which tourism is somehow remote from its raw material, the tourists themselves. It's extraordinary, as though there is tourism but without tourists.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
MALLORCA TODAY - Traffic fines for tourists
Palma town hall is planning to contract a company which will help it claim fines against drivers or owners of cars who live outside Spain. The town hall believes that the amount that it does not receive in fines from tourists and other visitors amounts annually to 150,000 euros at least. Tráfico is looking at what Palma is doing with a view to establishing a general system that would operate in other countries and which could benefit other town halls which similarly do not receive fines for parking offences.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Personal Touch: Culture of service in Mallorca
Vince Cable is interested in introducing a plan for employee share-ownership at Royal Mail, when or if it is ever privatised. It's all about instilling a change of culture in the organisation. Cable sees John Lewis as a model. It sounds fair enough, but it isn't as simple as handing over some share certificates.
The John Lewis Partnership can be traced back to 1919. The company's culture of service and participation is that historical and ingrained that it is, in effect, what the company is. To give an example of the challenge at Royal Mail, I heard a radio discussion about the plan in which the courtesy of a John Lewis van driver was compared with the two-fingered snottiness of a Royal Mail driver. The point is that the John Lewis "spirit" penetrates every last bit of the company's operations.
Giving out shares is, in truth, an artificial way of trying to engender a different culture. It's almost like a bribe, a financial incentive to create success without the bedrock of inner strength and values - a bit like Manchester City, without a culture of achievement, looking to usurp Manchester United, which has, with the promise of riches. It shouldn't be necessary. A rotten culture is rarely the fault of staff; the blame nearly always lies at the top.
Not long after he became the head of the Fomento del Turismo (aka the Mallorca Tourism Board), Pedro Iriondo spoke in "The Bulletin" about bygone days of a personal touch and smiling, happy people greeting tourists. What he also spoke about was that this personal style, this culture, had to start from the top of the tourism trade and cascade downwards. He was not wrong.
Much is sometimes made of indifferent service and attitudes by those in Mallorca's tourism frontline. We can all cite examples of the good or the bad. Just to give one of the former, I happened to go into the Sis Pins hotel in Puerto Pollensa the other day. I was not a guest, but the beaming and charming greeting was enough to convince me that did I wish to be a guest, then I would be so with full confidence. And this was not forced, it was totally natural, suggesting an atmosphere, a culture if you prefer, of Sr. Iriondo's personal touch. There are plenty of other examples, just as good.
But then there is the bad, made worse by a propensity for those suffering the "bad" to rush off to the internet and tell the world. To suggest that poor service or attitude can be totally eliminated is a nonsense, but perhaps Mallorca has indeed, as Sr. Iriondo has suggested, lost some of its personal touch, lost some of a culture of welcoming. Unlike Royal Mail, which starts from base camp, Mallorca is still well up the mountain, just that it needs to get back to the peak.
Part of the problem may well lie with simple terminology. "Tourists". A generic term and a sometimes pejorative one, which implies a breed apart, one that is a part of Mallorca and yet is separate from it, one that is removed from the process of Mallorca and yet which is fundamental to it. "Tourists" cease to be individuals and become resources moving along a production line, causing it to be forgotten that they are holidaymakers, with all this term implies in respect of the "fun" of holiday, and also guests. Forgotten not just by some businesses and their staff but by everyone.
In Alcúdia, there is an annual tourist day. It is a good idea and a successful event, but it is inherently contradictory. Is every day not a tourist day? When Sr. Iriondo referred to the "top", he wasn't completely right, in that - in organisational terms - it is the tourist who should be at the top of the pyramid; everyone else is in a support role, and by everyone I mean everyone. It is the John Lewis culture writ large, even down to courtesy by drivers.
Of course, embracing everyone in such a culture is an impossibility. It could only be achieved were there an authoritarian regime, commanding the populace to smile nicely and hug a tourist. Yet there used to exist something of that type of regime, at a time in the past to which Sr. Iriondo has alluded. Along the way, something got lost, the result of familiarity, routine, a greater politicisation of the tourism issue and increased wealth. It might also be a consequence of tourists themselves, or some of them; those who do not apply their own responsibilities as guests. Patience can be stretched to the limits at times.
Nevertheless, for the majority of visitors, things do need to come down from the top, be it in bars, restaurants, shops, hotels or wherever, or from the tourism ministry and organisations. Perhaps just a bit of the spend that is made on promotion could be diverted to some "internal" marketing to the staff, as in everyone in Mallorca. A reminder that each tourist is a guest and is unique, and deserves a culture in which he or she is made to feel welcome by all. Mallorca is not the Royal Mail, but were it to be John Lewis then whatever shortcomings the island may have compared with its shiny new competitors would be compensated for - through the personal touch.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Index for September 2010
Art and graffiti - 8 September 2010
Bienestar Activo - 15 September 2010
Books and culture - 22 September 2010
Breast cancer charity concert, Puerto Alcúdia - 26 September 2010
Can Picafort and hotel occupancy - 25 September 2010
Capdepera Christian theme park - 21 September 2010
Carretera Arta works - 9 September 2010
Chopin adoptive son - 10 September 2010
Columbus came from Felanitx - 27 September 2010
Correbou and bullfighting - 2 September 2010, 4 September 2010
Elton John-Andrea Bocelli concert - 3 September 2010
Fiestas, Bunyola and - 19 September 2010
General strike - 29 September 2010
German air tax - 7 September 2010
Golf, GOB and - 10 September 2010
Ironman in Alcúdia - 15 September 2010
Local elections, opinion poll and - 14 September 2010
Palma European City of Culture - 24 September 2010
Playa de Palma re-development - 11 September 2010
Pollensa, its problems, its mayor - 28 September 2010
Port de Sóller promenade development - 16 September 2010
Prostitution - 12 September 2010
Rafael Nadal and tourism promotion - 17 September 2010
Rumours, closure - 23 September
September in Mallorca - 1 September 2010, 6 September 2010
Service and culture in Mallorca - 30 September 2010
Smells and sounds of Mallorca - 18 September 2010
Tourism spend and strategy - 5 September 2010
Travel discounts, Mallorcan residents' - 20 September 2010
Vuelta al cole (back to school) - 13 September 2010
The John Lewis Partnership can be traced back to 1919. The company's culture of service and participation is that historical and ingrained that it is, in effect, what the company is. To give an example of the challenge at Royal Mail, I heard a radio discussion about the plan in which the courtesy of a John Lewis van driver was compared with the two-fingered snottiness of a Royal Mail driver. The point is that the John Lewis "spirit" penetrates every last bit of the company's operations.
Giving out shares is, in truth, an artificial way of trying to engender a different culture. It's almost like a bribe, a financial incentive to create success without the bedrock of inner strength and values - a bit like Manchester City, without a culture of achievement, looking to usurp Manchester United, which has, with the promise of riches. It shouldn't be necessary. A rotten culture is rarely the fault of staff; the blame nearly always lies at the top.
Not long after he became the head of the Fomento del Turismo (aka the Mallorca Tourism Board), Pedro Iriondo spoke in "The Bulletin" about bygone days of a personal touch and smiling, happy people greeting tourists. What he also spoke about was that this personal style, this culture, had to start from the top of the tourism trade and cascade downwards. He was not wrong.
Much is sometimes made of indifferent service and attitudes by those in Mallorca's tourism frontline. We can all cite examples of the good or the bad. Just to give one of the former, I happened to go into the Sis Pins hotel in Puerto Pollensa the other day. I was not a guest, but the beaming and charming greeting was enough to convince me that did I wish to be a guest, then I would be so with full confidence. And this was not forced, it was totally natural, suggesting an atmosphere, a culture if you prefer, of Sr. Iriondo's personal touch. There are plenty of other examples, just as good.
But then there is the bad, made worse by a propensity for those suffering the "bad" to rush off to the internet and tell the world. To suggest that poor service or attitude can be totally eliminated is a nonsense, but perhaps Mallorca has indeed, as Sr. Iriondo has suggested, lost some of its personal touch, lost some of a culture of welcoming. Unlike Royal Mail, which starts from base camp, Mallorca is still well up the mountain, just that it needs to get back to the peak.
Part of the problem may well lie with simple terminology. "Tourists". A generic term and a sometimes pejorative one, which implies a breed apart, one that is a part of Mallorca and yet is separate from it, one that is removed from the process of Mallorca and yet which is fundamental to it. "Tourists" cease to be individuals and become resources moving along a production line, causing it to be forgotten that they are holidaymakers, with all this term implies in respect of the "fun" of holiday, and also guests. Forgotten not just by some businesses and their staff but by everyone.
In Alcúdia, there is an annual tourist day. It is a good idea and a successful event, but it is inherently contradictory. Is every day not a tourist day? When Sr. Iriondo referred to the "top", he wasn't completely right, in that - in organisational terms - it is the tourist who should be at the top of the pyramid; everyone else is in a support role, and by everyone I mean everyone. It is the John Lewis culture writ large, even down to courtesy by drivers.
Of course, embracing everyone in such a culture is an impossibility. It could only be achieved were there an authoritarian regime, commanding the populace to smile nicely and hug a tourist. Yet there used to exist something of that type of regime, at a time in the past to which Sr. Iriondo has alluded. Along the way, something got lost, the result of familiarity, routine, a greater politicisation of the tourism issue and increased wealth. It might also be a consequence of tourists themselves, or some of them; those who do not apply their own responsibilities as guests. Patience can be stretched to the limits at times.
Nevertheless, for the majority of visitors, things do need to come down from the top, be it in bars, restaurants, shops, hotels or wherever, or from the tourism ministry and organisations. Perhaps just a bit of the spend that is made on promotion could be diverted to some "internal" marketing to the staff, as in everyone in Mallorca. A reminder that each tourist is a guest and is unique, and deserves a culture in which he or she is made to feel welcome by all. Mallorca is not the Royal Mail, but were it to be John Lewis then whatever shortcomings the island may have compared with its shiny new competitors would be compensated for - through the personal touch.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Index for September 2010
Art and graffiti - 8 September 2010
Bienestar Activo - 15 September 2010
Books and culture - 22 September 2010
Breast cancer charity concert, Puerto Alcúdia - 26 September 2010
Can Picafort and hotel occupancy - 25 September 2010
Capdepera Christian theme park - 21 September 2010
Carretera Arta works - 9 September 2010
Chopin adoptive son - 10 September 2010
Columbus came from Felanitx - 27 September 2010
Correbou and bullfighting - 2 September 2010, 4 September 2010
Elton John-Andrea Bocelli concert - 3 September 2010
Fiestas, Bunyola and - 19 September 2010
General strike - 29 September 2010
German air tax - 7 September 2010
Golf, GOB and - 10 September 2010
Ironman in Alcúdia - 15 September 2010
Local elections, opinion poll and - 14 September 2010
Palma European City of Culture - 24 September 2010
Playa de Palma re-development - 11 September 2010
Pollensa, its problems, its mayor - 28 September 2010
Port de Sóller promenade development - 16 September 2010
Prostitution - 12 September 2010
Rafael Nadal and tourism promotion - 17 September 2010
Rumours, closure - 23 September
September in Mallorca - 1 September 2010, 6 September 2010
Service and culture in Mallorca - 30 September 2010
Smells and sounds of Mallorca - 18 September 2010
Tourism spend and strategy - 5 September 2010
Travel discounts, Mallorcan residents' - 20 September 2010
Vuelta al cole (back to school) - 13 September 2010
Thursday, September 09, 2010
White Stripes: Why did the tourist cross the road?
Sledging in cricket has produced some fine moments of insult. One of the most famous exchanges went along these lines ... Bowler inciting batsman who was not hitting the ball: "it's red, round, in case you were wondering"; batsman responding, having hit the next ball out of the ground: "you know what it looks like, now go and find it". The true origins of sledges have tended to become confused. This one is sometimes attributed to South Africa's Shaun Pollock and Australia's Ricky Ponting, which is almost certainly wrong. More commonly, it is attributed to Greg Thomas of Glamorgan and the West Indies' Viv Richards. Not that it really matters. This is not an article on sledging.
The sledge has, though, occurred to me when driving along the local main roads. It would be something like: "it's white, striped, now walk on it."
The re-modelling of the main road (Carretera Arta) through Puerto Alcúdia and Playa de Muro and ever eastwards is to enter its third phase in October when the grotty thoroughfare in Can Picafort is given a similar makeover. The whole scheme has been about giving priority to pedestrians, and to a large extent it has been successful in this aim. What has not been wholly successful has been convincing pedestrians to use the white stripes and the non-striped islands as the means of crossing the road.
Bone idleness, especially while on holiday, is pretty much a given, but the planners have failed to comprehend this. True, it might bring traffic to a complete halt were there to be crossings every ten metres - you can have only so many of them, and doubtless they'd still be ignored anyway - but there are some points along the road where the non-crossing is glaring and potentially dangerous. One of the most striking is near to the Palma roundabout on the Playa de Muro-Alcúdia boundary. The Marítimo hotel is just before this roundabout. There is an island a few metres to the left where one comes out of the hotel to cross the road. Who uses it? No one. It's in the wrong place, assuming one accepts the bone idleness theory, and I am who subscribes to it. I don't use the crossing either. Another example is given by the hordes who head out of the Delfin Azul and Port d'Alcudia hotels. The straight line to the beach is halfway between two islands. Consequently, they are also unused.
Why did they undertake the road remodelling in the first place? It was to make the road safer. But how can it be described thus, when there are pedestrians, centre road, waving damn great lilos around and attached to the ubiquitous baby-buggy? The buggy has become that de rigueur that one wonders whether it is used solely for the transporting of infants or whether it houses all the other paraphernalia without which no day on the beach would be complete. Whatever. I am uneasy as I pass a family or several in mid road whilst a truck or coach approaches in the opposite direction. And woe betide if you stop to allow them to cross. Inevitably it takes an age for them to appreciate the fact that you have stopped for that purpose, and meanwhile matey-boy behind is getting into a strop.
When they re-do the road in Can Picafort, they'll probably make the same mistakes, such as the beautification of the Playa de Muro stretch with its crossings where emerging pedestrians are obscured from drivers' vision by parked cars, hedges and palm trees and the failure to prevent the inner roads parallel to the carretera from being used as rapid rat runs. One can but hope, though. The current system of Can Picafort crossings and side roads into which or out of which you can neither enter nor exit is confusing enough as it is, without having to contend with the lilo-flapping jaywalkers. Least they can do is get a new walk, don't walk system: it's white, it's striped, now use it.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
The sledge has, though, occurred to me when driving along the local main roads. It would be something like: "it's white, striped, now walk on it."
The re-modelling of the main road (Carretera Arta) through Puerto Alcúdia and Playa de Muro and ever eastwards is to enter its third phase in October when the grotty thoroughfare in Can Picafort is given a similar makeover. The whole scheme has been about giving priority to pedestrians, and to a large extent it has been successful in this aim. What has not been wholly successful has been convincing pedestrians to use the white stripes and the non-striped islands as the means of crossing the road.
Bone idleness, especially while on holiday, is pretty much a given, but the planners have failed to comprehend this. True, it might bring traffic to a complete halt were there to be crossings every ten metres - you can have only so many of them, and doubtless they'd still be ignored anyway - but there are some points along the road where the non-crossing is glaring and potentially dangerous. One of the most striking is near to the Palma roundabout on the Playa de Muro-Alcúdia boundary. The Marítimo hotel is just before this roundabout. There is an island a few metres to the left where one comes out of the hotel to cross the road. Who uses it? No one. It's in the wrong place, assuming one accepts the bone idleness theory, and I am who subscribes to it. I don't use the crossing either. Another example is given by the hordes who head out of the Delfin Azul and Port d'Alcudia hotels. The straight line to the beach is halfway between two islands. Consequently, they are also unused.
Why did they undertake the road remodelling in the first place? It was to make the road safer. But how can it be described thus, when there are pedestrians, centre road, waving damn great lilos around and attached to the ubiquitous baby-buggy? The buggy has become that de rigueur that one wonders whether it is used solely for the transporting of infants or whether it houses all the other paraphernalia without which no day on the beach would be complete. Whatever. I am uneasy as I pass a family or several in mid road whilst a truck or coach approaches in the opposite direction. And woe betide if you stop to allow them to cross. Inevitably it takes an age for them to appreciate the fact that you have stopped for that purpose, and meanwhile matey-boy behind is getting into a strop.
When they re-do the road in Can Picafort, they'll probably make the same mistakes, such as the beautification of the Playa de Muro stretch with its crossings where emerging pedestrians are obscured from drivers' vision by parked cars, hedges and palm trees and the failure to prevent the inner roads parallel to the carretera from being used as rapid rat runs. One can but hope, though. The current system of Can Picafort crossings and side roads into which or out of which you can neither enter nor exit is confusing enough as it is, without having to contend with the lilo-flapping jaywalkers. Least they can do is get a new walk, don't walk system: it's white, it's striped, now use it.
Any comments to andrew@thealcudiaguide.com please.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Oh What A Night
The heavy storms that finally came in on Sunday have continued to rage. True to form "The Bulletin" dragged out the headline it uses on these occasions - "What A Night" (or day, use as applicable) - to refer to a burst of storms early on Tuesday morning. The dramatic change in the weather after over four months with barely a drop of rain has been welcome in some respects, but not for the Septemberists - the tourists.
On the forum for the Alcudia Guide, someone asked what there is to do when it rains. The answer is very little. It is the nature of Alcúdia and most of the island that everything occurs outdoors. Go to the old town, go to Albufera, go to the mountains of La Victoria. All well and good but not when the rain is descending with the ferocity of ammo from an AK-47. Take a hire car somewhere. All well and good, always assuming you can get one and aren't asked to pay out an arm, a leg and much of the torso, and always assuming you enjoy driving through rivers along the side roads and even some main roads. At one point over 40 litres per square metre dropped onto Albufera, bringing consequent repercussions for roads abutting it. One of the sadder sights is seeing the crowds at bus stops hoping to get to Alcúdia's market. Though additional buses run when the market is on, they nearly all get filled up by the time they've left Alcúdia Pins. But even if people had got on one on Tuesday morning, they would have got out only to be subject to a further deluge. Good news for the bars maybe, but not for anyone else.
When the weather is rubbish, some of the greatest problems are experienced in the all-inclusive ghettoes. Because they, like everything else, deal in the outdoors, namely the pool sides, the sun dispossessed who have to retreat inside in their hordes find little or nothing to satisfy them. Even were the rain to relent sufficiently for them to actually leave the hotels, many are reluctant to do so because that might mean spending money.
Of course there is always the option of just spending all day in a bar. Or if not all day, then up to some time in the afternoon, like near to five o'clock. The local plod van drew up outside the Alcúdia Suite hotel. Out, with some difficulty, came this chap who had been given the taxi home. One step forward and then three steps back. Careful now. Can you get up the steps to the hotel? Whoooahh. No. Let's just lift you up, sir, shall we. Don't let's give the local plod a bad name. Better to just take chummy back to the hotel to sleep it off. And they were finding it all distinctly funny, as indeed did I. But not chummy's wife.
The letters to "The Bulletin" are often a rich source of oddness. Take one from yesterday in which someone argues that hotels closing early this season is a case of shooting themselves in the foot as holidaymakers do not wish to come and see resorts at least partially shut down. Presented with such a scene, they will go elsewhere, so goes the argument. While true that places closed down can give a rather depressing air, are the hotels expected to stay open, uneconomically, just so those tourists who are around can feel that they are not wandering through ghost towns? Seemingly they are. Perhaps bars and restaurants that close early because there are few tourists about or because those which are about are ensconced in an all-inclusive should likewise stay open. In which case, if tourists' perceptions are so important (and it would be wrong to say they are not), then somebody should be paying the hotels and the bars to stay open. And that is not going to happen.
QUIZ
Today's title - as the headline is so regularly trotted out, it's likely we've had this before, but who said that I can't be lazy, too?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
On the forum for the Alcudia Guide, someone asked what there is to do when it rains. The answer is very little. It is the nature of Alcúdia and most of the island that everything occurs outdoors. Go to the old town, go to Albufera, go to the mountains of La Victoria. All well and good but not when the rain is descending with the ferocity of ammo from an AK-47. Take a hire car somewhere. All well and good, always assuming you can get one and aren't asked to pay out an arm, a leg and much of the torso, and always assuming you enjoy driving through rivers along the side roads and even some main roads. At one point over 40 litres per square metre dropped onto Albufera, bringing consequent repercussions for roads abutting it. One of the sadder sights is seeing the crowds at bus stops hoping to get to Alcúdia's market. Though additional buses run when the market is on, they nearly all get filled up by the time they've left Alcúdia Pins. But even if people had got on one on Tuesday morning, they would have got out only to be subject to a further deluge. Good news for the bars maybe, but not for anyone else.
When the weather is rubbish, some of the greatest problems are experienced in the all-inclusive ghettoes. Because they, like everything else, deal in the outdoors, namely the pool sides, the sun dispossessed who have to retreat inside in their hordes find little or nothing to satisfy them. Even were the rain to relent sufficiently for them to actually leave the hotels, many are reluctant to do so because that might mean spending money.
Of course there is always the option of just spending all day in a bar. Or if not all day, then up to some time in the afternoon, like near to five o'clock. The local plod van drew up outside the Alcúdia Suite hotel. Out, with some difficulty, came this chap who had been given the taxi home. One step forward and then three steps back. Careful now. Can you get up the steps to the hotel? Whoooahh. No. Let's just lift you up, sir, shall we. Don't let's give the local plod a bad name. Better to just take chummy back to the hotel to sleep it off. And they were finding it all distinctly funny, as indeed did I. But not chummy's wife.
The letters to "The Bulletin" are often a rich source of oddness. Take one from yesterday in which someone argues that hotels closing early this season is a case of shooting themselves in the foot as holidaymakers do not wish to come and see resorts at least partially shut down. Presented with such a scene, they will go elsewhere, so goes the argument. While true that places closed down can give a rather depressing air, are the hotels expected to stay open, uneconomically, just so those tourists who are around can feel that they are not wandering through ghost towns? Seemingly they are. Perhaps bars and restaurants that close early because there are few tourists about or because those which are about are ensconced in an all-inclusive should likewise stay open. In which case, if tourists' perceptions are so important (and it would be wrong to say they are not), then somebody should be paying the hotels and the bars to stay open. And that is not going to happen.
QUIZ
Today's title - as the headline is so regularly trotted out, it's likely we've had this before, but who said that I can't be lazy, too?
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Posters
Posters, posters. Today I am poster boy. Or rather, yesterday I was. Posters for this. Posters for that. Some arty, most not. The Beata poster looks like art but without close inspection is just a mess and mass of reds and browns. Ignore it. Most people probably do, unless they're Mallorcan. Thousands of people lined the streets of Santa Margalida on Sunday - it says in the reports - but it is unlikely that they needed a brown and red poster to attract them; they knew of the event in any event. The poster for the Alcúdia Ye-Ye, now also a thing of the past. What is "ye-ye" exactly. She loves you, ye, ye, ye perhaps. Or oh ye of so little faith, if you have no time for the religious outpouring of Beata. Beata or Beatles. Who went to the Ye-Ye unless they were alcudienc? Who knew about it? They may have seen the poster but it didn't register. Steve from Little Britain passed me. There's that poster in the shop. A policeman dropped one by, just left it, without so much as a by-your-leave, a hello or a goodbye. Yea, yea, ye, ye, it's a poster, the one about the illegal street selling. It's in Castilian as well as Catalan. No sign on the sign of English or German. Who will register it among the tourism throngs? It's just window-dressing, thinks I. It shows that they're doing something, something being a poster. It is window-dressing because it's in the window of the shop. From the boot of the car I take the Ye-Ye poster and the Mercadets d'Estiu poster. The town hall had given them to me. What was I to do with them? They'll just end up in the blue paper recycling container. What would anyone do with them, unless they are Mallorcan? What is a mercadet d'estiu to a tribe of tourists from Tottenham or Thüringen? It is in fact a small summer market, the pictures just about give it away. But who would know what "jocs" are? A load of Scots spelt incorrectly?
Why do they do all this? Well, the answer is obvious. But where is the publicity aimed at everyone else, all those tourists? Does anyone actually stop and think? And then there is a poster for 10 September. What day is that? It's the Alcúdia day of the tourist, the climax to it being an appropriate gathering of the poor man's tourism experience - tribute acts, a Queen and a Jackson, but no Beatles: ye, ye, ye; no, no, no. Why must there be a day of the tourist? Is every day not a day of the tourist? But at least it's in English - after a fashion. "We wait 4 U," it says. SMS posters. Someone thought: let's be contemporary, funky, in touch with the tourist inner youth and texter. But wait - what is this "wait"? What does it mean? It's that verb. "Esperar". It translates in different ways - wait for, expect, hope. We expect you. That's a command. You don't command tourists to do anything. We hope (you will come). If you hope, you don't expect, except that expect can imply different expectations; it is not only a command. We wait for you, therefore. How long? Does nothing happen until the tourists turn up, the ones they hope for or expect? Does anyone actually stop and think what they're saying on these posters, even when they do them in English. Even if it were the right word, the grammar's wrong.
Posters, posters. Thousands of euros. Thousands of sheets of paper. Printers in business. Designers in business. And probably some useless translator in business, too. And much of it a total waste of effort.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Shakira, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzik1Z6A6xY. Today's title - from the debut album of an Hawaiian soft rocker.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Why do they do all this? Well, the answer is obvious. But where is the publicity aimed at everyone else, all those tourists? Does anyone actually stop and think? And then there is a poster for 10 September. What day is that? It's the Alcúdia day of the tourist, the climax to it being an appropriate gathering of the poor man's tourism experience - tribute acts, a Queen and a Jackson, but no Beatles: ye, ye, ye; no, no, no. Why must there be a day of the tourist? Is every day not a day of the tourist? But at least it's in English - after a fashion. "We wait 4 U," it says. SMS posters. Someone thought: let's be contemporary, funky, in touch with the tourist inner youth and texter. But wait - what is this "wait"? What does it mean? It's that verb. "Esperar". It translates in different ways - wait for, expect, hope. We expect you. That's a command. You don't command tourists to do anything. We hope (you will come). If you hope, you don't expect, except that expect can imply different expectations; it is not only a command. We wait for you, therefore. How long? Does nothing happen until the tourists turn up, the ones they hope for or expect? Does anyone actually stop and think what they're saying on these posters, even when they do them in English. Even if it were the right word, the grammar's wrong.
Posters, posters. Thousands of euros. Thousands of sheets of paper. Printers in business. Designers in business. And probably some useless translator in business, too. And much of it a total waste of effort.
QUIZ
Yesterday's title - Shakira, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wzik1Z6A6xY. Today's title - from the debut album of an Hawaiian soft rocker.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Friday, July 03, 2009
Mother, Mother
On the forum for thealcudiaguide, there was a question about supermarkets and which fiesta days affect their opening hours. I suggested that there were only two, during the main season, that meant they closed for the whole day in Alcúdia - Pedro and Jaime. There are, of course, the other holiday days that you do tend to forget. Like yesterday. Mother of God, it's another fiesta. And that was it. Mare de Déu de la Victoria that is celebrated next to the hermitage in the mountains above the town of Alcúdia. I knew it was the fiesta, but I had never cottoned on to the fact that it affects openings. Oh yes it does - banks closed, chemists closed, some shops and offices closed, supermarkets (the main ones) closing at two in the afternoon. How inconvenient is all this? I only realised all this as I happened to be at the paseo tourist office (which was staying open all day - the others were closed). San Pedro was on Monday; three days later there is another, and hardly anyone knows about it, unless they are truly immersed in the local traditions. I admit, therefore, that I am not, as - Mother of God - I wasn't aware. I am now.
The fiestas are an essential ingredient of the local way of life, they provide colour, spectacle and interest. No-one, least of all myself, is suggesting that they are abandoned. But how sensible is it that they disrupt the normal flow of commerce to the extent that they do? Profound changes have taken place and have impacted upon society and business, and yet, while these changes have occurred, the society itself has refused to change; it is caught in a time-warp. You can argue that the continuation of tradition and of the lack of change to society is an admirable thing in face of voracious commercialism, and you would be right, but there is a dissonance between this maintenance of tradition, this lack of change and the complaints about economic circumstances and all the rest. Now, the fiestas do not fundamentally affect the tourism economy, and so you can also argue that their regularity is at best neutral in terms of productivity, but they are indicative of a psychology that wants everything as it was while keeping all the commercial gains as well. But the poor tourist is inconvenienced. If he has schlepped up from Bellevue to do some economical supermarketing only to find the nearest Eroski shut, he has every right to feel hot, sweaty and more than a bit hacked off. The point is that, in a tourist resort, the tourist should take precedence. It may not be a view that everyone is comfortable with, but it is the tourist who pays for Alcúdia, not a bit of ball de bot by the hermitage.
In the wider context, it would seem that, finally, something is to give where shopping hours in Palma are concerned; it's been a point of debate and criticism for some while that the opening hours are so limited. It's a start I suppose. On top of societal conservatism, one can add the role of unions and Church in opposing change. Some years ago, the Germans, under Gerhard Schröder, attempted a liberalisation; it was burnt down in the flames of Hades by the strength of the religious and union lobbies and quickly dropped. It was a mistake. Of course, you can also argue that the Anglo-Saxon view of market liberalism and the combination of Thatcherite union bashing and religious indifference led to the 24-hour shopping and commerce culture of the UK, and that to view the local situation it is necessary to adopt a different cultural perspective. You would be right in this regard as well. But there should be greater compromise and willingness to change. Last year, as the storms of crisis gathered and there were moans coming from businesses, it was revealing that moaners were happy enough to clear off to Menorca for two to three days to celebrate Sant Joan. Go figure.
QUIZ
Today's title - the first two sung words from one of the greatest songs ever.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
The fiestas are an essential ingredient of the local way of life, they provide colour, spectacle and interest. No-one, least of all myself, is suggesting that they are abandoned. But how sensible is it that they disrupt the normal flow of commerce to the extent that they do? Profound changes have taken place and have impacted upon society and business, and yet, while these changes have occurred, the society itself has refused to change; it is caught in a time-warp. You can argue that the continuation of tradition and of the lack of change to society is an admirable thing in face of voracious commercialism, and you would be right, but there is a dissonance between this maintenance of tradition, this lack of change and the complaints about economic circumstances and all the rest. Now, the fiestas do not fundamentally affect the tourism economy, and so you can also argue that their regularity is at best neutral in terms of productivity, but they are indicative of a psychology that wants everything as it was while keeping all the commercial gains as well. But the poor tourist is inconvenienced. If he has schlepped up from Bellevue to do some economical supermarketing only to find the nearest Eroski shut, he has every right to feel hot, sweaty and more than a bit hacked off. The point is that, in a tourist resort, the tourist should take precedence. It may not be a view that everyone is comfortable with, but it is the tourist who pays for Alcúdia, not a bit of ball de bot by the hermitage.
In the wider context, it would seem that, finally, something is to give where shopping hours in Palma are concerned; it's been a point of debate and criticism for some while that the opening hours are so limited. It's a start I suppose. On top of societal conservatism, one can add the role of unions and Church in opposing change. Some years ago, the Germans, under Gerhard Schröder, attempted a liberalisation; it was burnt down in the flames of Hades by the strength of the religious and union lobbies and quickly dropped. It was a mistake. Of course, you can also argue that the Anglo-Saxon view of market liberalism and the combination of Thatcherite union bashing and religious indifference led to the 24-hour shopping and commerce culture of the UK, and that to view the local situation it is necessary to adopt a different cultural perspective. You would be right in this regard as well. But there should be greater compromise and willingness to change. Last year, as the storms of crisis gathered and there were moans coming from businesses, it was revealing that moaners were happy enough to clear off to Menorca for two to three days to celebrate Sant Joan. Go figure.
QUIZ
Today's title - the first two sung words from one of the greatest songs ever.
(PLEASE REPLY TO andrew@thealcudiaguide.com AND NOT VIA THE COMMENTS THINGY HERE.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
