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Last week we tried to cure cabin fever by venturing southwest for a few days. When you live in a tourist zone where locals are peons, the fast way to elevate your social standing is to become a tourist yourself.
It's like visiting a different country. In Routineland, you establish a network of routes and stores -- roads relatively free of traffic, shops where you know the owners, that sort of thing. In Touristia, you're on the franchise strip between Ramada and Motel 6, between Denny's and Burger King, between Shell and Chevron.
A few days in Touristia made me realize what a hypocrite I am. Often I have argued that tourists should explore the history and culture of whatever town they're in -- visit the museums, stay in an old downtown hotel by the railroad station, eat in non-franchise diners, etc.
But I didn't venture beyond Touristia in Flagstaff and Holbrook. I really didn't care what town I was in, and certainly didn't explore. Why chance a ma-and-pa cafe when there are all those familiar signs?
No matter whether you're in desert or forest, Touristia offers the franchise motel row, punctuated with chain restaurants and gas stations.
This isn't new, of course. A century ago, when people traveled by train, the greasy spoons and flophouses were in the tenderloin closest to the depot, with the more respectable places a couple of blocks away.
The traveler getting off the train then in any city was in familiar terrain, just like the modern traveler who drives down the off-ramp into Touristia.
We managed to participate in many of the ways that tourists are separated from their money in northeastern Arizona: Painted Desert, Petrified Forest, Meteor Crater, Four Corners.
Since our legislature is in session, and since tourism is a major industry in Colorado, I offer a suggestion.
Years ago when we lived elsewhere in this state, we and some friends visited this area and saw all the signs for the Royal Gorge. We drove up seven miles of twisting road from Parkdale, only to discover that admission was $6 a head, about $5 more than we could afford. We turned around. We never would have gone up that road if we'd known how much it would cost to enter.
The Royal Gouge is hardly unique in failing to mention
its price until you've arrived at the gate, where most
people will think well, we've come this far, so we might
as well go on in.
There are scores of signs for the meteor crater in Arizona, which sits six miles off the highway, and not until you get there do you learn that it costs $8 a head. Four Corners is on Navajo land a ways off the highway, and the Dineh charge $1.50 per person. Cave of the Winds outside Colorado Springs fills plenty of billboards, and only after you get to the remote gate do you learn what a tour costs.
My proposed law: Any enterprise which advertises with signs along any public highway must, on those signs, publish its admission prices in a size large enough to be easily legible to passing motorists.
With the costs published on signs before the turn-off,
the traveler could make an informed decision: We can't
afford $36 for the Scorpion Petting Zoo, but we can afford
$10 for the Mummified Historic Vigilante Lynching
Victim.
Some enterprises might complain about this requirement, but if they're embarrassed about publicizing their admission prices, perhaps they should adjust their prices.
The Fully Informed Tourist Law
would be in the
best interest of the tourist industry. With it, Colorado's
reputation would rise above that of our neighbors, and more
people would spend money here instead of Utah or New
Mexico.
One stop on our trip was noteworthy for its long lines, jostling crowds, congested traffic, impossible parking, rude people cutting into lines, people shouting at each other in foreign languages, and similar metropolitan features.
This urban zone was the Grand Canyon. If it was that crowded in March, I hate to think of what it's like during peak tourist flow in the summer. Little wonder that Arizona was willing to pay the feds $18,000 a day to keep the park open during the recent partial government shutdowns.
Despite the crowds, Grand Canyon lived up to
expectations, although I kept remembering a comment by
Peggy Godfrey, cowboy poet (or cowgirl poetess, or some
combination thereof) of Moffat. If the Soil Conservation
Service had been on the job six million years ago,
preventing erosion, we wouldn't have a Grand
Canyon.
After comparing public vs. private tourist attractions, I've concluded that we get a good deal from the National Park Service.
The meteor crater in Arizona is private. It is clean, well-run and informative, just like Painted Desert, which is public. Meteor Crater cost us $16, Painted Desert $5. The difference is $11.
But do we pay an extra $11 in taxes for national parks? No, it's about $2 a year. I'm all for privatization when it saves money, but in this case, the federal government appears to be a lot more efficient.
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