Sintra Isn't Disneyland

As I got to town for lunch, on a break from my tour of Sintra Castle, an hour’s trip from Lisbon, Sintra was bustling with tourists. Every other shop seemed filled with anything and everything, from a drinks-and-food deal for a traditional Portuguese meal, to trinkets ranging from the practical: mugs, pens, coasters galore, to the ornate: handmade blue detailed ceramic tiles. In spite of the town’s bright abundance, I felt an impersonal disconnect from it all. A quick Google search presented me with what I was looking for-a section of town that accurately portrayed a slice of life, instead of this market perfectly curated to amass pocket money. Hidden by ivy, the path to get there poked out from beside an orange advertisement. I descended down, feeling replenished with each step, as soft mossy green hushed the swarm of people, noise, stuff.

A strange parasitic world is bubbling up; diverse communities are simultaneously prospering and crumbling through an onslaught of tourism. The commodification of culture has reached a precipice in which the ability to consume any material product, almost instantaneously, has cheapened consumption and idealized the one product that is seemingly different; an experience. Forces have culminated, from the urge to explore after the isolation of COVID, the rise of remote work, and the proliferation of budget airlines driving down ticket prices, to accelerate travel. In 2023, travel and tourism accounted for 9% of the global GDP at 9.9 trillion dollars.

The omnipotent presence of social media and influencers have only accelerated the mythicism of travel. Every other post on my newsfeed reveals a shiny new world of possibility; gorgeous blue seas, entrancing slices of mountain, sun, and character-full architecture that mocks the cold perfection of modern concrete builds. Globalization has transcended mass production, and extended to the intangible; culture itself. Although acquiring cultural capital has always been a status symbol, the pursuit of it has never been so elusive. Now, every obscure cultural secret from a grandma’s generational beauty elixir to a countryside baker’s homemade bread can be bought. Social media has further dissipated mysticism surrounding the more well-traveled routes, inviting ventures into places less broadcast.

However, the inhabitants of these areas don’t necessarily want an influx of foreigners trampling over their home. The path I followed cut alongside a hill, revealing entrancing views of clear blue sky rooted in colorful flowers and marbled cobblestone streets. Just as I was turning the corner into the town, entranced by the mountainside’s soft hues, a cutting message brought me back to my body. “Sintra ≠ Disneyland” the unmissable, yellow sign shouted to unsuspecting tourists passing by. It provided a sharp contrast to the welcoming atmosphere that seemed to happily envelop Lisbon. Sintran residents are outraged over how the visitors are making their home untenable, as many can’t even expect an ambulance in emergency situations, due to the sheer volume of cars now littering their quaint city. A memory came knocking; when I had hiked the Incan Trail in Cusco earlier that year, violent protests over tourism (and the government) had erupted. In fact, I had barely escaped being stranded there, as the airport got shut down the day after I left. An AK-47 touting guard had stopped my cab to give me a once over, before I could proceed on my way back to Ayacucho.

Culturally rich landscapes are facing physical deterioration from such an onslaught of tourism. In fact, parts of Machu Picchu have been permanently cordoned off, to prevent any further destruction from tourists trampling on it. Moreover, as demonstrated by Sintra, these places are being transformed to cater to tourism, uprooting its distinctive spirit. Conversely, tourism does provide communities with a new influx of money. An astounding 1.6 million people on average visit Machu Picchu. This deluge of tourists to such a concentrated area of Peru, has created a funnel of money for just two districts within this region of Peru, with local citizens seeing little benefit as many jobs available to them are low-paying. Nearly 20% of kids under five in Cusco, the city closest to Machu Picchu, are suffering from malnutrition.

Therefore, though this tourism brings new resources, it exacerbates class inequality. A perhaps insidious form of colonialism shinily packaged as appreciation, mass tourism can silently crush local culture. The indigenous community suffers the most, as their history is sold as an exotic experience to be had. Every path in Cusco was inked by this cultural coup. Incan flags flutter over restaurants, shops, and museums, covering real Incan descendants standing cold on the streets. Despite the fact that three out of four people in Cusco are indigenous, and its economy revolves around its identity of evolving from the Incan empire, indigenous Peruvians remain excluded from power and decision-making.

However, there is also no denying that simultaneously these places appreciate, and may even depend on the influx of money tourists bring. These two realities must be reconciled, as tourism and local economies have become intrinsically linked. In Portugal, tourism accounts for 20% of its national economy. From both a cultural heritage and conservation perspective, tourists must take accountability for how they travel, in partnership with local governments, to interact with these places conscientiously. There are two proposed themes to prevent this cultural bloodshed; restriction in the volume of tourists approved for travel at a time, and uplifting the power of local residents. Slowly but surely, governments are enforcing ticketing systems to ensure that only a select amount of people can visit a place at one time. Further, tourists must also travel thoughtfully by seeking out tour guides/experiences that are led by residents rather than big corporate agencies. One unique solution proposes stays at resident homes, instead of Airbnbs that drive gentrification, as it allows tourists to both learn about local customs while distributing their resources directly to a resident, rather than a company.

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