🌎Are You a Tourist, a Traveler, or a Pilgrim?
Reality Check
It’s not lost on me that traveling the world, learning new languages, and being exposed to different cultures is an absolute privilege.
That privilege became even more apparent this past week when ICE began cracking down on people who had gone to great lengths to live the so-called “American Dream”—forcibly removing them from a country they had nearly given their lives to be a part of.
I watched a video of a woman being deported from the U.S. back to Guatemala, a country that, ironically, seems to be a staple on “the gringo trail” of Central American travel. As she sobbed, devastated by her forced return, I felt a twinge of guilt. Just last week, I had been looking up Airbnb prices around Lake Atitlán, wondering if I should head there after Nicaragua. So many travelers I’d met recently had told me Guatemala was incredible. But if it was so great, why was this woman crying over going back?
I already knew the answer.
Tourists—many from colonizer countries—just see the cheap prices, the gorgeous nature, and the rich culture yet fail to recognize the deep systemic inequalities that force locals to cater to their presence, often at the expense of their own communities, traditions, and way of life. They fail to recognize the very destructive force that is slowly making these places uninhabitable for the people who were born there—capitalism. It’s only a matter of time before the region is overrun, as influencers exploit it for likes and developers turn it into yet another playground for the privileged.
Isn’t it ironic? The promise of the American Dream has people in the Global South risking their lives and going into debt to pay coyotes (human traffickers) while Americans and citizens from other wealthy nations happily pose for selfies in sites popularized on Instagram in the same foreign nations where these immigrants are escaping.
“Are you a tourist, a traveler, or a pilgrim? Tourists want to have fun, travelers want to learn something, and pilgrims seek to be transformed.”
White Guilt and the Illusion of Freedom
I do feel guilty sometimes. Guilty that I come from a wealthy nation. Guilty that my passport allows me to cross borders with relative ease while others must apply, pay, and hope for a visa they may never receive.
But as I reflected this morning, I reminded myself: that traveling the way I do is not for the faint of heart. And I won’t be stopping any time soon.
I don’t stay in gated communities or resorts with armed security. I settle into places for weeks or months at a time, choosing to live among locals instead. Last autumn, I spent three months in a rural Moroccan village—no running water, no Western-style toilet. Like everyone else in the area, I squatted over a humble hole. Now, I am in Playa Gigante, a small fishing village north of San Juan del Sur. Power and water outages are a regular occurrence, but life is overflowing.
By immersing myself in the raw reality of a region, I witness firsthand the impact of capitalism—the chokehold forcing locals to do whatever it takes to feed their families, the dependency on tourism created by globalization, and the exploitation that follows.
Something tells me I wouldn’t see this so clearly if I lived solely in my home country of the United States. Though there are many cracks in my nation’s facade, sure, but capitalism’s ill effects aren’t quite as in-your-face there, making it much easier to ignore. They have pipes that carry sewage away to a treatment facility, clean water that flows effortlessly from a tap, air conditioning to keep them cool, and sanitation workers who whisk away their Amazon packaging and takeout containers to a landfill. When the landfill gets overrun, their ripped Shein clothes and plastic water bottles are shipped off to a trash island in the Global South. Americans are so disconnected from the impact of their overconsumption. Just look at this - according to this article, the United States has created 25% of global greenhouse gas emissions since 1850—more than any other country, despite making up only 4% of the global population. TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT.
A Solution? Maybe.
Some of my friends have sworn off long-distance travel altogether, vowing only to travel sustainably (which, for them, means no flights). Conveniently, they all live in Europe, where train travel is easy and access to different cultures is just a few hours away. While I respect their choice greatly, I won’t be doing the same any time soon—because travel is a fundamental part of who I am. I do try to minimize my long-haul flights and opt to slow travel, staying in places for months at a time but have family in the US and friends all over the world whom I try to see as often as I can. So for now, I will continue to wander (as responsibly as possible).
Though it is sometimes painful for my tender heart to witness income inequality, stray dogs suffering from illness and starvation, and piles of burning trash polluting the air, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Because travel continues to change me.
The eyes cannot unsee what has been seen. And I will not look away.
How Travel Changed Me
Traveling has forever shifted my thoughts on consumption, for example.
“Going shopping” used to be a hobby of mine. My first job was as a cashier at a mall food court, so roaming around artificially lit stores on my break was second nature. But nowadays, I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do less.
It’s also made me less afraid of the world. Some of the kindest people I’ve met on my travels have been locals who live in poverty compared to Western standards. What they lack in financial abundance, however, they make up for in wide smiles, big hearts, and a generosity that no amount of wealth could ever buy.
While hitchhiking back from the beach in Morocco, I turned it into a game: how many locals would pick us up versus tourists?
You guessed it—not a single tourist stopped.
Instead, we crammed into the backs of several old cars, still chugging along by the grace of Allah, with no air conditioning except for a crack in the window. Meanwhile, the tourists gave us a sympathetic wave while whizzing past us, their A/C blasting through their hair like a scene from a Beyoncé music video.
Development or Destruction?
A new coastal highway is currently being built throughout Central America. When I mentioned it to my father on the phone the other night, he instinctively said, “Oh, that will be good for their economy.”
“Yes,” I replied, “but it will also be terrible for them.”
Nature will be depleted. Luxury resorts will rise in their place. Restaurants catering exclusively to tourists will be staffed by locals who can’t afford to eat there. Chinese investors will certainly get richer, but at what cost to the locals?
At what cost to the planet?
Do you consider yourself a tourist, a traveler, or a pilgrim? Why?