Having worked in the tourism industry for many years, I was always rather wary of TripAdvisor.  The impression it gives can be so unbalanced.  One bad review can have enormous consequences for an operator, and while many of the reviews are rational and objective, I know from experience that the venom of just one guest can completely alter the impressions of thousands of potential travellers.

 

                    And not all of these negative postings are venomous. I recall a review at one of the resorts I managed from an  elderly lady who was rather agitated and confused during her stay – and who repeatedly and angrily accused the staff of wetting her pants.  I did not wish to be unkind, or to show no understanding towards the lady, but her time at the hotel was challenging, and I grew concerned when she posted her TripAdvisor review relating tales of mysterious wet underpants in an accusatory tone.  Fortunately, the post had the opposite effect of her bewildered intentions – every guest that arrived for months afterwards would come up to me, awestruck, and ask if I had been here during the stay of the underpants lady, then insist upon buying me a drink and hearing the full story.  (I believe it was in the aftermath of this fiasco that myself and some friends, also hotel managers, came up with the idea of GuestAdvisor – a website on which we would essentially rate clientele, and advise other proprietors of potential guests - the Delightful, the Deplorable, and the Difficult, all given a rating).

 

                    But recently, I have been drawn to TripAdvsior as a source of profound amusement, and as a fascinating insight into society’s expectations - not only of service providers, but increasingly, of cultural locations, and the environment itself .  I do not, I should assert here, wish to belittle TripAdvisor as an institution.  Many of its reviews offer valuable insider perspectives - the real story behind various hotels, resorts, and restaurants all over the world.  I do, however, find the “Attractions” section of the TripAdvisor website to be interesting reading.  It seems that in addition to restaurants and accommodation, there are  a myriad of locales – from temples and ancient ruins, to forests, waterfalls and volcanoes - which are up for review.  (Nature, like TV shows, has become something that we rate online now).

 

Many reviews that assess the natural world or various cultural attractions seem to be a stark indication of what Michael Foley calls the Age of Entitlement (in  his excellent book The Age of Absurdity; Why the Modern Age Makes it Hard to be Happy.  Mr Foley does at times come across like an elderly man shaking his stick at passers by from the front porch, but I thoroughly enjoy his work, nonetheless).

 

                    The perspectives and perceptions of travellers, it seems, can be rather subjective.  For example, in a recent piece about a visit to Goa Gajah, a marvellous Balinese ruin dating back centuries, I believe I wrote fairly and objectively about the stones, the moss-covered sculptures, and even the toads - concluding that the site was a marvellous place for anyone interested in Balinese history.  I was rather amused to note several dissenters to this view who had taken the time to air their opinion on TripAdvisor.  One reviewer wrote rather simply that the site was a “total waste of time. Very disappointing.”  Another related that there was “nothing really impress me here [sic]. Just stones and nothing more.  The staff wanted to tell us the story about the cave but we told him we are not interested.”  Another informed potential travellers that “After seeing the 'cave' which is super tiny, only fits a few people in at a time, we walked towards the 'budhist [sic] temple' which is just a ruin barely anything left”.   And yet another vigilant reviewer warned tourists that the site was “a waste of a valuable 40 minutes. Much is in ruin and no effort has been made to clean moss or dirt from what is a religious site. Some moss covered statues, a small cave with weathered carvings around the entrance and a stream with a collapsed figure.”

 

                    I cannot help but chuckle at such reactions.  Call me old-fashioned, but I rather like my ruins moss-covered.  I am amused by wondering if the devotees hollowing out this Buddhist cave-refuge so many hundreds of years ago could have ever imagined that centuries later, tourists would express their displeasure at the small and inconvenient proportions of the interior.  One cannot help but wander what exactly these visitors expected an ancient ‘ruin’ to look like, given the displeasure expressed over the fact that the site was in ruins.

 

                    These reviews, along with all others for Goa Gajah, contribute to the TripAdvisor ‘status’ of Goa Gajah as an attraction of interest in Bali.  A cursory glance would serve to warn future travellers that, despite the awe and delight of many other visitors, there were a small handful of persons who found the experience so thoroughly unsatisfactory that they felt the need to tell the world. 

 

                    I am similarly intrigued to read reviews on other places I have found to be particularly moving or spectacular.  One of my favourite places in Asia is the beautiful and immaculately cultivated Orchid Garden in Singapore.  I find a trip to the Orchid gardens an overwhelming experience – I am dazzled at the colour, the endless variety, the care and precision of the gardens.   When walking at a slow pace and taking the time to observe each flower, the grounds seem like an endless maze, and every corner seems to hold a dazzling and complex array of new species.  And yet, my enthusiasms are not shared by all.  One traveller warns that the garden is “Nothing special really, it's like Singapore streets with more flowers. Maybe interesting for scientists but going there in a hot day in March is not recommended”; another writes that the place is “a bit dull. Over rate [sic]. Try Darwin. Not as famous, but things are really happening there = more variety, more color. More insects.”  Another reviewer who titles his entry “Not Impressed” huffed that his “local florist has a better array of Orchids.”  Yet another comments that although “there is a good variety of orchids, there really isn't anything innovative or different that has been done to make the garden interesting.” 

 

                    I find these reflections to be fascinating (I have, personally, ‘tried Darwin’, and although there were some magnificent national parks in the vicinity, I do struggle to understand the parallels drawn between ‘Darwin’ and the ‘Singapore National Orchid Garden’).  I ponder, too, what it takes to make a garden ‘interesting’.  Is it possible that persons who leave the place unhappy may not be capable of appreciating a garden by definition (i.e. a collection of plants)?  The Botanical Gardens in Singapore (which house the National Orchid Garden, amongst a variety of other natural treasures) was founded in 1859, and has prided itself on being a top tourist attraction for decades.  Perhaps therein lies the problem – the garden continues to market itself as a top attraction in the modern age, against the competition of shopping malls, theme parks, or even the bustle of “Singapore streets”.  To find this so-called top attraction revealed as no more than a collection of flowers is evidently a disappointment. 

 

                    It is particularly interesting to read the reaction of some TripAdvisor reviewers to natural phenomenon which man has played no part in cultivating or arranging.  During the time that I was stationed in Komodo National Park, I noticed an interesting trend in guest responses to the Komodo dragons.  Varanus komodoensis, the reader should note, is a colossal lizard inhabiting a small handful of islands off the west coast of Flores.  They are found nowhere else in the world, and there is not another reptile on the planet that can be compared to them.  They can reach a length of 3 meters, and can weigh as much as 70 kilograms.  Their scaly, flat feet support talons of extraordinary length and sharpness.  Their saliva is a unique and highly toxic cocktail of bacteria and venom.  It is not possible to fully appreciate these creatures until you visit them face to face in the national park, where there are no enclosures and no fences.  Observing them waddle towards you gives a sharp appreciation of the speed at which they can move when they wish to do so. 

 

                    And yet, it seems these colossal creatures so often fail to impress!  One rather  disappointed TripAdvisor reviewer conveyed that  he “didn't expect them to be so invisible and lame […]. one was digging holes and the other taking a nap under a tree. I guess that's what they do, but we thought they'd be a little more active than they were”.  Other dissatisfied visitors expressed their displeasure at the guide failing to procure for them a lizard in the wild: “We were told that we were unlucky and that seeing komodo dragon in wild is not guaranteed. This is the first time that and [sic] this was by far the worst one. One can see more animals going behind my parents house than we have seen on this trip”.  Another visitor warns that “The Komodo's themselves were underwhelming and not that inspiring compared to orangutans or saltwater crocodiles” adding later “its a long way to travel just to see Komodo's, and we don't believe it's worth the effort.”  One visitor, who travelled to the region onboard a luxury cruise ship wrote “Frankly I found it boring, as I hadn't come to the island to look at trees or birds - all of which are plentiful elsewhere. It soon became obvious that there were about half a dozen of these [dragons] which always congregated at a particular spot, about a 5 min walk from where we set off!”  (This particular luxury traveller also remarked with evident irritation that one of the “downsides” of the trip was the market area near the national park which was “ full of children begging”.  To which I permit myself No Comment.)

 

                    The well thought-out comparisons made in some of these reviews lead us down a path of deep philosophical notions.   (Question: Which can be said to be more inspiring?  Komodo dragon or saltwater crocodile?  Who would win in a fight?? Komodo or orang-utan?  etc.).  But there is a conspicuous lack of attention to the fact that, other animals aside, these colossal creatures are extraordinarily rare, and extremely unique in their appearance and habits.

 

                    Naturally, as reptiles of enormous girth, the dragons spend a good deal of time lazing in the sun warming their blood and digesting their food.  Even a wildly enthusiastic visitor such as myself does not require more than a few hours to observe them satisfactorily.  But it is interesting to see the kind of experience that we humans feel we are entitled too, and how we come to acquire our expectations of such experiences in the first place.  Everything, one gets the impression, must be big, fast, and in a state of action to warrant our attention.

 

                    Perhaps the modern disposition of entitlement and discontent is beyond our control – we have been given too much, we have access to too much, we have seen too much.  Sleeping lizards on a hot, dusty island are boring when one can watch Godzilla on the big screen in an air-conditioned theatre with a coke in hand.   Ancient ruins are disappointingly silent and still, and do not tell the story of their past in technicolour or epic Hollywood battle scenes.  A garden is interesting at a quick glance, but it is, in reality, just a bunch of flowers.  I love the way Alain de Botton phrases his frustrations with humanity’s inability to live in the moment and appreciate experiences.  He writes, in his excellent book The Art of Travel:

 

"It was as if a vital evolutionary advantage had been bestowed centuries ago on those members of the species who lived in a state of concern about what was to happen next.  These ancestors might have failed to savour their experiences appropriately, but they had at least survived and shaped the character of their descendants, while their more focused siblings, at one with the moment and with the place where they stood, had met violent ends on the horns of unforeseen bison."

 

                    I do not pretend to be immune to the modern disposition of discontent and entitlement, although the form that my own displeasure takes is not the kind that gets posted on TripAdvisor.  I am prone to Internet Rage to a degree that is alarming to anyone in the general vicinity (connections in remote island destinations where I choose to live are sporadic and slow).  I have been known to have tantrums upon finding that the particular book I wish to purchase is not available on kindle.  I sometimes privately lament the personal tragedy of living in a remote, pristine wilderness environment and suffering the injustice of no access to shops that sell good cheese.  I book long air travel journeys that would have taken months a hundred years ago, and groan at the unavoidable 4 hour layovers.

 

                    Its hard to appreciate what is in front of you in an age when the next bigger, better, faster, thing is just a click away (unless you live in the remote islands of Indonesia - in which case the next click takes some time to produce results).   Sir William Barret once wrote that "every age has the Art it deserves", and implied that to express dissatisfaction or disapproval of modern art was folly – the culture behind the art is what it is, and thus the art of the age could be none other than as it is.  Perhaps our fickle disposition falls along similar lines?  Our discontent and entitlement are a product of who we have become as a technologically advanced society, like it or not? How then does one un-spoil oneself, re-sensitise oneself?

 

                    Obviously this is possible, although difficult.  The prevailing modern attitude often makes me think of the great men and women from history who embodied the very opposite sentiments – contentment and the faculty for appreciation of beauty in small and quiet, as well as colossal and flamboyant, forms.  Some of these persons risked their lives for such encounters.  The legendary plant hunter Frank Kingdon Ward spent years traversing the steep and treacherous mountain paths of Northern China and Tibet, surrounded by glaciers, often freezing, wet and hungry – but transported by the sight of a small and rare alpine flower.  I think of Oliver Sacks, a passionate admirer of cycads and ferns, who once said rather shyly in an interview that he “rather disapproved of flowing plants”.  When not engaged in making neurological breakthroughs or writing exceptional and profound books, Dr Sacks spent a good deal of time floundering through forests and fields with the fellow members of the American Fern Society - an eccentric group of enthusiasts who are also moved to great emotion by the smallest and (to the laymen) simplest plant specimens (see Sacks’ delightful Oaxaca Journal).  Gene Stratton-Porter was a passionate amateur lepidopterist – her Moths of the Limberlost is a delight to read, mostly because her own delight at every specimen she finds leaps out of the pages. 

 

* * *

 

                    Sometimes I fall into daydreams whereby I assume an undercover cyber-identity and become the Grand Poet of TripAdvisor, like some kind of literary Batman who gives happy reviews instead of fighting crime.  I would post ecstatic verse on the flowers and colours of a garden, wax poetic on the glorious history of an ancient ruin; perhaps write a happy Ode to the Ferocious (But Sleepy) Komodo Dragon.  Perhaps I might even branch out into hotel reviews.  I would post verses under the reviews that complain incessantly about features of a hotel that are clearly way beyond the control of the operator (i.e. the weather, the general cleanliness of the city the hotel is located in, the presence of other tourists in the destination – if you think I am making these examples up, you don’t read enough TripAdvisor reviews). I would happily rave of the joys of equally irrelevant and serendipitous circumstances that were beyond the hotel’s control, that I enjoyed during my stay.  I was struck by this notion on a recent vacation in Flores, where very early one morning while sipping my coffee on the hotel porch, I spied a Hummingbird Hawkmoth in a nearby flowering papaya tree.  I have seen this creature only once before in my entire life, and was so excited that I immediately woke up my partner who bolted out of the room in his underpants with his camera and telephoto lens.  It was the first time he had ever seen this extraordinary creature, and we happily scrambled around the garden following the high-speed darting of the moth from flower to flower until we became aware of the alarmed gaze of the housekeeping staff, and hastily shuffled back indoors.  The experience was enough to make me feel a great affection for the hotel – that very porch itself is now part of a happy memory.

 

                    I would certainly stay there again.  After I left, I noted with amusement an irate tirade on their TripAdvisor page from a previous traveller about how often it rained, and (ironically) the unacceptable amount of insects in the garden, as well as various other factors that had little to do with the actual hotel and good deal to do with the perspective of the traveller (I believe the post was titled “I cant believe this is called a hotel!”).  In the interest of balance, I wrote them a wonderful review.