Word: tourisme
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...signs of creeping tourism even in my old neighborhood of Fort Cochin, a quiet, leafy enclave with stately mansions and grassy football fields. It's still leafy enough, and local laws have saved the mansions from real-estate developers, but all too many of the old houses have been converted into hotels and tourist lodges. There are also more shops selling antiques than I remember. The area around the Chinese nets has been paved, all the better for tourist photographers to place their tripods...
...People like to say that Indonesians are so friendly and polite, but that kind of view seems to be nothing more than a leftover tourism slogan. There is a struggle going on, and it is being controlled by people in Jakarta?by the very same people who have done such things in the past. As I see it, there is no real leadership at present; there are just people with power. That students are now part of the democratic process is a sign of progress; indeed, the change we have seen can be credited to the younger generation. This...
...Raquira—a Spanish relic that lives off tourism and still looks as if it were 1562—I buy a souvenir; a handcrafted Spanish Caravel. It’s two o’clock on a Saturday and they can’t make change. It’s their first sale...
...town of about 20,000, at least 50 foreigners are here mainly to partake of the opium scene, and another 100 stick around because potent, green, budded marijuana sells for $1 an ounce. (Both drugs are illegal in Laos, though the laws are loosely enforced.) Since opening up to tourism in the early '90s, this sleepy communist country?the hammer and sickle still sags from most flagpoles?has welcomed rising numbers of visitors curious about a place closed to the West since the Indochina wars...
...drink beer and listen to early '90s house music. It's the sort of place you might expect to find on Khao San Road in Bangkok or in Ko Samui?and its appearance along with a few Internet caf?s means Vang Viang is in the initial throes of a tourism boom. Indeed, the first video bar has opened down the street. Martin Dillon hasn't even named his joint yet. But as the twentysomething Englishman sits on a brown sofa, smoking a gigantic spliff while a pirated VCD of 3,000 Miles to Graceland blares in the background, he talks...