Tourists vs locals

One thing that continues to surprise me is the seemingly caste system between tourists and locals. We eat at different places, we pray at different places (sort of), we travel in different ways, and we stay in different places. It is so strange to me that there is such a gap between us, but there you have it. We pay $25 or more on a room some nights, when a C$40 bus ride is often a big expense for a local.

Exhibit A - The differences between the Municipal and the “Artesian” market in Masaya

While I spent my time in Masaya, not doing too much of anything except trying to find the FedEx office in Managua, I happened to visit both markets. I ended up first seeing the Municipal market. It reminded me a lot of the markets in Thailand. People selling belts, notebooks, glue, watches, wedding rings, butchered meat, fruit, and clothing. Everything a local could seemingly want or need. When I walked through there, donned with all my gear, you could tell I was an outsider. I didn’t belong in this group of locals trying to sell children’s underwear. But at the same time, I kind of loved it.

I loved seeing just how raw everything was. People would bicker, people would laugh, people would make jokes between each other. It was natural, it was dirty. While perhaps if I were not in a state of culture shock of the differences just of being in a city again versus a farm, I would have loved it more. As it was, I wanted nothing more than to drop my stuff and just explore. Instead I had to depart. Always with the sound of taxi’s seeking my business.

On the other hand, the next day I went to the Artesian market. Which essentially caters directly to tourists. Selling handicrafts, leather machete coverings (with the machetes), hats, bags, hammocks, etc. Even the most random baskets made of chickens. It was clean. It was pleasant. It was orderly. If I had to pick a country for this market to be, it was Switzerland. All the buses ran on time. While the locals were there selling their stuff, it was not the same. It felt so different. It was orderly, it was pleasant. And while I enjoyed it after the nauseating smells of meat left in the heat from the Municipal market, it did seem lack lustre to me too.

Conclusion

What I ultimately wish were different, was that there was middle ground. I’m not suggesting that the Municipal market clean up its act or that the Artesian market dirty itself up. I’m sure both have their merits. Somehow I just wish there wasn’t a stigma attached to either. A foreigner in the Municipal market is crazy, stupid or lost (or all three). A local in the Artesian market is a vender.

Is this modern day racism? Or is the the way of our times? What do you think?

What are you lookin' at?!