Personal accounts of community-based tourism

Ode Editors | April 2009 issue

Traveling with the locals in Russian

By Aimee Gertsch, Ode reader

"There is nothing quiet like getting to know a city from the perspective of those who know it best."

Photo: Aimee Gertsch

Just two short years after the people of Russia voted out communism, a group of friends and I packed our bags and headed to the newly formed Russian Republic. It was such an exciting time in the country. It was also an exciting time for us, since it was the first time traveling out of the United States for most of us, but we didn’t travel like tourists. We traveled like locals!

Forget about fancy hotels, we spent our time with the families of those who were going to be traveling with us through Kazan, Moscow, and Saint Petersburg, for the next two months. Not only did we stay with families, but we also stayed in two orphanages and a youth camp. We got to see the real Russia, the parts that tourists don’t get to see.

Sure, we visited Red Square in Moscow and the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg. Of course we watched the changing of the guard at Lenin’s tomb, went to Peter’s Summer Palace, and marveled at the amazing architecture of the mosques. But we did so much more than just see things, we got to know the people, the places that they hang out and the things that they do. The little known areas that fast became our favorite memories of the whole trip.

I even got to drive a car out to our family’s dacha (summer house) in the country. We spent a wonderful evening there, with fresh-caught fish grilled for dinner, and the promise of a fishing trip in the morning. We hunted wild mushrooms, took a swim in the river, and spent a relaxing time in the banya (bath house). Had we not been staying with our family, I would probably never known about dachas or banyas!

On another evening our family took us to an area in the city of Kazan where you could look out over the entire city. It was so gorgeous. We were also told that this was a popular spot for young lovers, it was easy to see why, with such a romantic view of the city. Our host even told me that he could easily find me a husband.

We also got to hang out in “the frying pan”, eat ice cream in a bar that is made to look like a cave complete with stalactites and stalagmites, and even do our own grocery shopping. Grocery shopping in Russia is an experience in and of itself, with trips to many different shops to get all that you need. Milk from the dairy shop, bread from the bread shop, sugar from the candy shop, and the most amazing fresh flowers and produce from the markets.

Being invited into the homes and hearts of the people was amazing. It changed the way I look at traveling; there is nothing quiet like getting to know a city from the perspective of those who know it best.

Boat hopping through the Caribbean

By Holly Gee, from www.3mphroundtheworld.com

An alternative to cruise ships.

Photo: Holly Gee

Most people go to the Caribbean for the holiday of a lifetime in an all-inclusive resort, or they tour around the turquoise waters on a cruise ship hosting 3,000 other sightseers. If a break is what you're after, then I´m sure both these trips provide you with exactly that. However, we opted to travel down the Caribbean a little differently, without flying, and in doing so discovered its people and charms in a way that I’m sure most visitors miss.

On the 21st January, after 30 days at sea, crossing the Atlantic on a rickety old sail boat, we arrived in St Maarten. This sun-drenched island, no bigger than Greater London, is shared by Holland and France and sits at the Northern tip of the Eastern Caribbean island chain. Within a month we had made our way down the chain to Venezuela using only local boats and buses. At the outset we were a little nervous about this challenge. The Caribbean is famed for rich resorts and there is little, if any, backpacker infrastructure. Surprisingly, there are also very few ferry services between the islands. In the end, this just made the whole experience even more rewarding.

From the moment we looked into getting South from St Martin it became apparent that talking to everyone and anyone we met would be a key ingredient in boat hopping down the islands. Tourists fly or cruise their way around the Caribbean and so any passenger boats tend to be reserved for locals. Our first tip off was during a rum-fuelled conversation at a local bar. Whilst we were getting sympathetic back rubs from the owner Rose, we explained the situation. At first she didn't know why we would want to leave her beautiful island, but after explaining the challenge we had undertaken and getting the cook involved, we find out that there is a cargo boat leaving for Dominica every Saturday and it might take passengers. So with slightly sore heads the next morning, the trail to find the boat begins...

Next step was to ask at Bobby's Marina, the point of departure for inter-island ferries. We are told there are only ferries to the next island, St Barts, and not beyond. The ferry was then pointed out to us. It was slowly gathering dust 20 yards away with a flea-bitten dog asleep underneath it. It wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. So next step was a bus to Marigot on the other side of the island. A walk to the tourist office and an embarassingly sweaty conversation ensued, and it was more of the same. Only to St. Barts, not beyond. This was then echoed by ferry operators, restauranteurs, hoteliers and everyone else we met until we spoke to a guy who signs people out on the St. Barts ferry. 'Maybe you get a ferry from de commercial port along de way'. Cue another long sweaty walk to the commercial port forty minutes out of town. We get there, chat to the guy under the tree playing the harmonica who tells us to follow a very fat man on a forklift down to the quay. There we meet Mano, captain of the M.V. Emmanrick. HE TAKES PEOPLE TO DOMINICA ON SATURDAY! If he hadn't been a slightly shifty-looking guy flanked by 6 scarred-looking sailors on a very rusty boat I would have kissed him. How much? $115. Well under the $200 quoted by harmonica man. Great.

The next day at 3pm we arrive at the dock with a little anxiety, not quite sure what to expect. After three hours watching the comings and goings of the commercial port and some rather entertaining drunken debates between sailors, we are on the banana boat and underway. 24 hours on the M.V. Emmanrick was an extraordinary experience: unexpected in the main, but also friendly, beautiful and hard. Nestled amongst about 10 other passengers, 6 or so crew and lots of boxes of everything from nappies to bananas, we were two 'crazy white folk' that had clearly got a little lost on their trip around the Caribbean. Nonetheless we were welcomed warmly, receiving a bed to sleep in and even getting 20 or so strong dolphin fly-bys in the morning.

Since we had spent the last night with so many locals we had great tip offs about local guesthouses, what street vendors to eat from and what to do when we got to Dominica. This happened the whole way down the chain, so we merrily hopped from local boat to bus to guesthouse to exploring beaches and jungles at our own pace rather than being limited by a guided tour.

Yes the Caribbean has beaches, sun, rum, rainforest and all that, but what makes it really unique is the bizarre mix of people that hang out here. Something we would never have appreciated had we plonked ourselves in a big resort.

Lake Titikaka homestay, organised by local tour company Edgar's Adventures

By Emma Todd, travel blogger at www.responsibletravel.com

Photo: Emma Todd

We headed to our homestay for the night on the Isla de Amantani. We arrived to see a line up of about 10 women, all in the most beautiful, traditional outfits which were heavily embroidered - skirt, blouse and shawl. Jane and I then had to choose who we would go and do our homestay with, and as there were more women than the GAP group, we had to pick and leave someone out which was so hard. It felt like being back at netball practice being chosen for the team! The woman we picked was lovely, called Celia with 2 young children, divorced (yay for womens lib), but did happen to live AGES away. So we trekked through ploughed fields, hills and streams to get to the house, which was so much more advanced than homestays I have done before - we had our own super comfy bed, plus our very own toilet as well.

The living conditions for the family though were super basic - no electricity, everything cooked with wood in the fire. I did almost expect to turn round a corner to see a room with Sky Plus and a Plasma screen, as you are always a bit suspicious of homestays, but this really was genuine, and we got such a good insight into how these people live.

We trekked up to the main square where the boys were playing the locals in a game of altitude football. Mark had a strategy of aerial football (i.e. the locals were short so just lop the ball over their heads), but this didnt seem to pay off too well as the locals won in the end. We went back to Celia's house and had a delicious dinner of potatoes, veg and rice, and then were dressed up in traditional clothes for that night's "disco" and "entertainment." We soon realised that we would be the entertainment dressed up as we were, although I did feel pretty girly and came to dearly appreciate the pain that a corset must entail. We got to the village hall, where the local band were maxing out on the pan pipes, I think this is the only time though where I actually really enjoyed listening to them. I think it's also safe to say it will be the only time I ever dance to pan pipes, too.

Celia was one lethal dancer, as were the other locals, they basically got you in a line and you just get pulled round as quickly and fast as you possibly can. For about 10 minutes. So out of breath after that. The other dancing consisted of being twirled from left to right and making your skirt shimmy as much as possible, again after about 5 minutes you are absolutely knackered. We of course blamed everything on the altitude.

The dance ended at 10pm, and we went home to bed. In the morning we were greeted with rain and delicious pancakes. Luckily the rain wore off and we trekked back to the shore and said a heartfelt goodbye in Quechua to Celia.