Wanderlust

What 5,434 miles with Caravan has taught me about responsible tourism

Ihave an innate urge to escape, to learn about different cultures, to feel a sense of newness. I think many of us do. Caravan makes these desires a reality.

Baja California is a special trip — my sixth and last with Caravan and first time making this journey across the border.

I wake up to a slight throbbing in my chest and tightness in my stomach. It’s 6 a.m., yet I’m energized. Caravan trips, a whirlwind of constant movement, are grounded in my eagerness to absorb new experiences.

It was not an immediate adjustment. I’m definitely an itinerary gal. An incessant alarm setter. A planner aficionado. But after a series of misfortunes during my third Caravan trip in Portland — a frenzy to fix a memory card that maxed out at 20 images, a hectic sprint to capture the sprawling Lan Su garden before closing time, a rental car key disappearing — I started to doubt our frantic traveling strategy. Looking back, Portland is still my favorite Caravan trip.

Even if I can’t control how fast we do things as a club, I can change how I absorb experiences — and realign with the reason I joined Caravan in the first place. I was trained in black and white analog photography for a humbling seven years of my life. The entire process is slow, from shooting to developing. Instinct told me that giving an honest attempt at capturing Baja California meant shooting on 35mm black and white film, and summoning my dusty camera sitting alongside an untouched spare roll of toilet paper in a dark drawer. With a finite number of exposures and manual settings, I would need intention behind each camera click.

Greeting us in Rosarito is a house dressed up for your average amenity-seeking tourist. A large stainless steel fridge, marble island, tiled backsplash, and filtered water cooler. Dark gray cabinets, white walls, and cursive quotes spelling inspiration on beach-themed pillows. Contrasting the familiar scene is a bathroom sign asking us to please not flush our toilet paper, free-spirited dogs roaming outside our Airbnb, and the hustle of Baja California’s vibrant street life.

I try letting go of any preconceptions of Mexico. Films and television shows, news reports, stories our friends and family share — they all shape our perceptions of place. Without being in a place ourselves, our understanding is overwhelmingly shaped by the narratives we are fed.

Be present.

A woman holding her infant child in one arm sells candy under the beating sun. A lone girl enters the restaurant, enticing us with her box of irresistible De La Rosa Mazapan. Men weaving through cars offer us black coffee at the crack of dawn. Niko contemplates buying a cup.

Perseverance.

I devour grilled cactus enveloped by delicious tortillas at Casa Urbina. My sweet-tooth is triggered at every turn: exceso calorías and exceso azúcares warn the not-so-effective labels. Vendors make donuts dance in warm oil and gently fill churros with gooey dark chocolate. Shayla is on a mission to buy some. We indulge with pleasure.

Service.

I’m hunched on a couch, in a circle, amid quasi-strangers. But I’m reminded, reminded of campfire storytelling and whispering at sleepovers with friends, cherished times when there were no phones to distract us. Hours pass and I’m still squished, but bursts of laughter fade into vulnerability and remerge as laughter once more.

Quiquiriquí!

I sigh in relief after applying an arnica patch from one of the numerous farmacias in Tijuana’s Zona Centro.

A donkey painted somewhat convincingly like a zebra vies for my attention. In the background, men gesture us into a restaurant with fervor, calling on us to snag deals on alcoholic drinks. Through a dimly lit narrow corridor lined with independent shops, Mexico’s Hogsmeade. All of the artisans I glance at meet me with a shy smile; one with an eccentric fashion sense poses for my photograph.

We stumble through Tijuana’s Mercado Hidalgo, lost and hungry amidst countless stands of fresh produce and colorful trinkets. A woman ushers us into their restaurant stall, and we scrutinize a handwritten chalk menu on a vibrant orange wall as chairs are shuffled around. A lady, who has already finished her meal, graciously translates from Spanish to English and back again.

With traveling comes risk. When Americans travel, we consider the risk to ourselves. Will the food from street vendors make me sick? Will I be pickpocketed? Will the water be safe to drink?

But rarely do we think: How is traveling detrimental to the environment? Does my presence change how a place can be experienced by locals? Is it possible to be culturally sensitive as an outsider?

Barring a few bumps in the road — yes, quite literally, too — our travels went smoother than I imagined.

Without Montse our trip would not have been possible. We depended on her knowledge, generosity, and skills to navigate the unexpected. While we may have complained about waking up before the sunrise to cross the border, we had Monte’s family to guide us through. We had it easy. My car was not searched. We were sheltered from the elements, crossing from Mexico to the United States in less than five hours. Our experience was far removed from many laborers’ crossing conditions, having no other choice but to face the outsized dangers of the Sonoran desert. I felt guilt about the contrast of our lived experience, guilt for hardly muttering a sentence in Spanish despite learning the language in high school, guilt for feeling like I was in a place (the Carnaval en Ensenada) I did not belong, guilt for attempting to haggle a 100 pesos bracelet (about $5) down to 70 pesos.

I frequently ponder what my life would have been like if I were not adopted. I grapple with why and how I got lucky. We don’t choose when and where we were born or who we are raised by. We just come into this world with disadvantages and advantages. I welcome the discomfort and perspective traveling brings. I never want to take what I have for granted.

Traveling is meaningless if you’re not constantly reflecting, if it doesn’t teach you things that carry on with you for the rest of your life. It is meaningless if it doesn’t compel you to action, if your reflection does not influence how you treat others and yourself.

Before joining this club (thanks Niko), I’d never been on a proper road trip with friends, the kind romanticized in coming of age films, the kind where you realize you’d rather sit in silence after blasting music for eight hours straight. I’d never been to Las Vegas either — as a kid I’d beg my dad to bring me to his sporadic music gigs, but I was always met with a gentle smirk and a pat on the back.

I am grateful Caravan is intentional about how we travel and critical of traveling as a concept. I am lucky to find a group of people I enjoyed traveling with in college — a group that prioritizes exploring places beyond their attractions that drive ever-so- present social media influencers. The people in Caravan have allowed me to more deeply discover the world and my place in it.

Here are lessons I’ve learned through Caravan that serve as a guide for conscientious traveling:

1) Always do research about a place before you go! Understand its history and culture.

2) Visit during the off season for more opportunity to engage with locals. Be genuinely curious, but don’t intrude if you’re not welcome.

3) Try your best to learn the language beforehand and speak when you are there. 4) Be a respectful and trusting traveler (always assume the best in others).

5) Go with the flow because things will not go to plan. Flexibility and adaptability are key to a positive experience.

6) Be there to support others in your group (if you are traveling in a group). Group wellbeing should come before individual desires.

7) No matter how hospitable locals are, always show your gratitude and give back in ways that make sense.

8) Be aware of your surroundings and your emotions. Journaling throughout a trip helps, especially for turning self-reflection into action.

9) Leave no trace.

10) Smile and have fun!

Words: Appolonia Cuneo

Photos: Appolonia Cuneo

Design: Nam Doan