Arnie Weissmann
The Mexican tourists who were mistaken for terrorists and shot by Egyptian authorities in the White Desert near Bahariya Oasis were the first victims. Those who work in the slowly recovering Egyptian tourism industry were the second.
It's hard to imagine how despairing it must be for them to finally see tourists returning and then suffer the effects of this self-inflicted wound.
The third victims were tourism workers in Arab countries like Jordan, whose tourism efforts can be buoyed or buried by what happens in Egypt, the traditional tourism powerhouse of North Africa and the Middle East. As in Egypt, where tourism is also important to the economy, the potential damage to a prime sector of the gross national product can be far-reaching. (Travel Weekly readers can potentially mitigate the damage to Jordan with a quick geography/poli-sci lesson for clients.)
And the fourth victim is the broader image of Arabs and Egyptians.
That this should happen in Bahariya added a layer of sadness for me. When I was backpacking through Egypt in the mid-1980s, I told the proprietor of the Cairo guest house where I was staying that I was headed for Bahariya next.
He told me he had a friend who ran a guest house there and wrote the person's name and address, in Arabic, on a piece of paper, as well as a note of introduction. After arriving by bus at the ancient town, I showed the paper to people who eventually directed me to a whitewashed house on a nondescript street. I knocked on the door.
A young woman answered, and I showed her the note. The woman spoke English haltingly. Yes, this was the address on the paper, but no, she did not know the name of the person I was supposed to meet, nor was her home a guesthouse. But, she insisted, I must come in.
She called her brother and parents in and served tea.
I have experienced Arab hospitality throughout the Middle East and North Africa, but never have I felt it in purer form. The family was poor, that seemed certain. The woman's brother showed me his prized possession, a 1959 Swissair calendar.
They gave me a full tour of the oasis and brought me home for dinner; they served me in one room, while they ate separately. I suspected they gave me food that was superior to what they were eating.
And they would accept nothing in the form of payment.
This aspect of Arab culture, I fear, is in a way another victim of the disruption that roils North Africa and the Middle East. I'm certain this selfless hospitality still exists, finding expression where it can. But it's a narrative line that is easily overwhelmed by regional images and stories of strife and tragedy.
The media are accused of sensationalism and only focusing on the negative. In times of strife, I believe that tragic stories, even narratives of unimaginable horror, must be told. But so, I think, does this one.
• • •
I was in Chicago last Monday night, attending the Apple Vacations Golden Apple Awards Gala, held at the Art Institute.
Before dinner, I was torn between the opportunity to converse with colleagues who had gathered in a reception hall or wander the museum before dinner.
Through the glass of the reception area, I could see the Seurat masterpiece A Sunday on La Grande Jatte. I nonetheless stayed in the reception area until the dinner bells chimed, then walked somewhat hurriedly through galleries, which held, among other priceless works, some of Monet's and Van Gogh's most famous paintings. My opportunity to see these masterpieces without crowds had passed.
I was born and raised in Chicago, and I can't help but feel that much of what drives the city's passion to be an international cultural center is wrapped in its identity as the Second City, a moniker it wears with ironic pride.
When, after the 1990 census, Los Angeles surpassed Chicago in population, Tom Bradley, who by then had been mayor of L.A. for almost 20 years, was asked what it felt like to be running America's second largest city. He replied that he didn't see any reason to be proud to be second in anything.
That's too bad. As Avis let the world know when it was the No. 2 rental car company, No. 2 tries harder, and you find joy in things that those who are obsessed with being No. 1 never even see. I don't think I could ever have conveyed to Bradley, for example, the emotional highs and lows that come with being a Cubs fan.
I thought about second cities Wednesday night as I watched a New York Football Club soccer match in Yankee Stadium, sitting next to Nick Brooks-Sykes, director of tourism for Marketing Manchester.
Manchester is England's second largest city, and it has taken up the challenge to do spectacular things. In 2007, it created the Manchester International Festival, a biennial showcase of new and original art. Some pieces, like this year's dance performance "Tree of Codes," ended up touring internationally. (It is currently performing 10 sold-out shows in New York's Park Avenue Armory.)
Brooks-Sykes' description of the festival and other Manchester attractions made me want to visit. There might be some truth in Samuel Johnson's observation, "When you tire of London, you tire of life," but that hardly means a visitor must remain a prisoner within the confines of that city.
We Second City-ers know that slaves of London (or New York) eventually prove narrower in perspective than those who branch out to see what's happening in Manchester and Chicago.