Can you be an anti-consumerism hippie while wearing Chinese made Crocs?

You’ve seen them, the 6 month tourist. They’re usually sitting in the corner of a cafe, enthralled in either the latest edition of an India guide book, a 3″ thick novel by Proust or captivating new acquaintances fresh off the bus. Foreign recommended cafes are safety zones for the homesick vagabond, the disenfranchised Indian wanderers, or the attention seekers desperate to show off what they have “learned” during the past umpteen weeks in India. For years I’ve pondered what the motivation is for people to leave their daily routine only to arrive in popular, but terribly overgrown, tourist traps like Dharamsala, Rishikesh and Ooty.

Name a well known hill station in India and the odds are high it will be crawling with foreigners claiming to be in search of the real India. With backpacks in tow, baggy hippie pants decorated in whimsical patterns, cheap market charms and an overall lackadaisical image, these are some of the most annoying and compelling people to encounter. Newbies start out eager to learn about India only to subsequently impose their beliefs on a system they feel is broken. Mind you it’s the same system their home country thrives under which they fled in disgust. Forget about money. We can exchange good and services with fresh baked bread and poetry lessons! While I generalize greatly about said tourist there is truth in the description.

Fresh faced tourists arrive in Dharamsala/Mcleodganj by the bus loads daily. First they must seek out a “local” in hopes of making housing connections. By local I mean any other foreign tourist who has been in town for more than 24 hours. It’s only after they have secured a bed and bath that they can focus on saving the world one cooking/language/yoga class at a time.

Over breakfast of brown bread, butter and jam at the wildly popular Tibetan cafe Gakyi, I met an Indian born young woman adopted as a baby by Hollanders. She was fulfilling a dream of seeing her home country after 20 some years in Holland. Although her parents were concerned about her safety, being a single female with no contacts in India, they reluctantly gave their blessing. Now one week into her Indian journey, she found herself directionless with 5 months and 3 weeks left before her return home. She asked what places I could recommend after her planned trips to see Rishikesh and Goa. Groan. As I gave suggestions of terrific temples, fabled forts, pleasant palaces and magnificent museums nearby and afar, her eyes began to glaze over. “Uh huh”, she said, “But what about Rishikesh?”, she asked. “Is it cool”? Double groan.

The 6 month tourist is his natural srroundings

Shortly after our conversation trickled to a standstill, a robust white female stuffed into a custom made, obnoxious purple salwar kameez stepped up to the narrow entrance. Turning sideways, she slowly but surely made her way past the door frame and onto an empty seat between myself and Hollindia. Short, spiked hair bleached beyond its natural recognition contrasted against her Indian outfit. Fingers riddled with jewelry clanged with every motion of her hands. Open-toed Birkenstock sandals rounded out her ensemble. Her goal may have been to blend in with the locals but the result was nothing short of a sideshow attraction at the local carnival. “Step right up ladies and gentlemen”, I could hear the emcee blasting over a loudspeaker in my head. “Behold, the lady in purple that tries too hard”.

Violet was here for 6 months or until she tired of India. She had no firm itinerary guiding her through a country with more than 40,000 temples to see. Ashrams were her desired night time respite while canvasing the market filled her days. She was a rich woman in India. Having recently sold her house for more than $300,000, Violet placed all her belongings in storage back in Edmonton, Canada in exchange for an open-ended plane ticket to India. Kerala sun touched her face, Tamil shores soaked her feet and now crisp mountain air was infecting her lungs. It didn’t take long before Violet and Hollindia were chattering away over a Tibetan breakfast. Big plans were being hatched as I paid my bill to leave. I was of no use to these two, an India traveler of several years. I had already visited, dissected and digested Rishikesh. Goa held no interest in me as I hadn’t come 8,000 miles to lay on a beach.

About an hour later I strolled along the main drag of Mcleodganj. I’d been here before, and now 3 years later, I’d extended my two night stay into three. It was time to go wanting more. The idea of leaving only after I had worn out my welcome or the town had worn out its fascination seemed so foreign to me. But this wayward mentality is what fuels the 6 month tourist, hopping from one western tourist draw to another. Just steps away from my hotel I passed Violet and Hollindia. They were shopping for authentic Tibetan jewelry, you know, the kind found in every popular hill station that is imported from South India? I overheard Hollindia break away telling Violet she would be late for her Hindi class but that they would definitely get together later. Two open itineraries, one India, countless sites to behold. And here they stay fixated on cheap jewelry for sale next to the espresso cafe promising free WiFi. Groan.

To be continued…