luxuryliving

WILD
The past,
present, and
future of
ecotourism

by Marc Peacock Brush

GREEN
YONDER
“The future for ecotourism is very challenging, but it’s the only way to go.
This process shows hope for succession of our natural resources. We hope to
educate as much as we can today, so that this can be passed on to the next
generation.”—Kenneth Fournillier

42

In March 2002, before the Maoist cease-fire but after
the royal family massacre, I handed my backpack to a
porter named Ganesh, caught a ragtag Tata bus from
Kathmandu to Pokhara, Nepal, and began a trek to
Annapurna Base Camp. Over the next two weeks, my
girlfriend would cry out loud in a drafty cabin above
treeline, shivering in her down parka and sleeping bag.
I’d lose 10 pounds after a second fateful helping of
fermented pickle. Our guide, a stylish young Brahmin
named Rajendra Prasad Sapkota, would steer us farther
and higher, through rainstorms and blizzards, until we
reached the top of the sanctuary and looked up to an
amphitheatre of giant mountains.
Were we ecotourists?
Ecotourism is a silly word with a big heart. There’s a
roominess to it, as if anyone with an eye for nature and
sense enough to not behave like a raging conquistador
can take the label and feel good about their travels.
Whatever you call it—ecotourism, sustainable tourism,
responsible tourism—there’s a kind spirit that floats
about that roominess, and this spirit is the key to
understanding how we might travel in a green future.
The International Ecotourism Society put a definition to
ecotourism back in 1990: “Responsible travel to natural
areas that conserves the environment and improves the
well-being of local people.” It’s Neel Inamdar’s favorite,
given the lack of an endorsing authority in all matters
ecotouristic. Inamdar is the Senior Advisor on
Ecotourism for Conservation International, an upstart
nonprofit that pulled the rug out from under the
traditional conservation movement and now serves as
perhaps its most important voice. CI made the
paradigm shift early: It’s not about protecting pristine
natural habitats all the time. We need to develop
strategies that incorporate human development into the
mix, strategies about balance and harmony that create
winning solutions for each party involved. Strategies
like ecotourism.
These Locals Put the Eco
in Ecotourism
Eileen Gregory, proprietor of La Villa del Valle | lavilladelvalle.com in
the Guadalupe Valley of Mexico, has a knack for ecotourism. “Any
kind of mindful tourism that does the least amount of harm possible
to the destination would qualify as ecotourism to me,” says Gregory.
“I’m a believer in baby steps more than quantum leaps.” This says a
lot about the larger ecotourism movement, and the special ways that
it’s taking hold in Mexico’s burgeoning wine country. Host to over 80-
percent of Mexico’s wine production, and over a million cases bottled
each year, the Guadalupe Valley is on the cusp of something big.
Construction between Tijuana and Ensenada is rampant, so it comes
as a breath of relaxing, fresh air to know that Gregory takes the
principles of ecotourism to heart in managing her luxury hotel. “Here
in the Guadalupe Valley, we have a very fragile ecosystem due to the
scarcity of water,” says Gregory. “The more people come to the
Valley, the more water is used, putting pressure on the wineries and
ranches. At La Villa del Valle, we built our hotel using passive solar
principles, [non-toxic] paint, all natural finishes, and locally produced,
sustainable materials. We use a grey water system to recycle the
water from showers and sinks for use on the non-comestible gardens.
We’ve left most of our 70 acres wild, and the plantings we have are
largely native and drought resistant.” Keep this in mind as you sit
down to the nightly four-course, prix-fixe dinner, available to guests
and the general public with reservations. The menu changes daily to
keep step with the organic vegetable and fruit garden on premises,
not to mention the inn’s free-range chickens and dedication to
sourcing from local farmers, ranchers, and fishmongers whose
methods Gregory knows and trusts.
There’s more to ecotourism than pristine forests and wild
landscapes. There’s people. Curiosity about indigenous
populations, coupled with respect for their practices and
traditions, is central to the ecotourism movement, so you
shouldn’t be surprised to find a casino in the next sentence.
Barona Valley Ranch Resort & Casino | barona.com is not only
310,000 square feet of modern gaming entertainment tucked
away in the San Diego foothills, just 30 minutes from downtown,
it’s a luxury hotel that pays homage to the Barona Band of Mission
Indians with its 1930s ranch architecture. When it comes to fine
dining options under the stewardship of Executive Chef Dean
Thomas, in accordance with the tribe’s philosophy of conservation
and protection of the environment, Barona has gone to great
lengths to create and use the resources on-site, from growing its
own vegetables and herbs in the chef’s garden to preparing meats
in its own dry-aging room. As often as possible, ingredients are
purchased from local and regional sources. Barona has also
developed a water reclamation facility and innovative water
recovery programs—recognized by the EPA, the California
Hospitality and Lodging Association, and San Diego Earth Works.
Water is collected from every available source, treated at the on-
site plant, and used to maintain the award-winning Barona Creek
Golf Club and to irrigate the landscaping throughout the resort
property. You’ll also find the Barona Museum, right on reservation
grounds, with over 2,000 artifacts of Native American culture and
artistry to help you feel like a true ecotourist.
San Diego knows fresh produce and the importance of
sustainability. To get yourself good and green, watch for
the development of Willow Glen Farm | sandiegoroots.org/
willowglenfarm, somewhere along the outskirts of San Diego’s
urban core. Negotiations remain ongoing about a spot along
Sweetwater River in Rancho San Diego, but wherever the farm
takes root, ecofriendly farming is sure to follow. San Diego Roots,
a network of citizens, farmers, and chefs dedicated to regional
food sourcing, plans to build an education center and wildlife
preserve to complement the organic farm. Everything will be open
to community members and schools as a means to connect locals
with food and farming in tangible, healthy ways. Watch the
website for news, and then head out for a visit.
—Ronald J. Dio
www.diningoutonline.com 43
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“There is more consumer interest in ‘off
the beaten track’ travel,” says Inamdar,
“and more interest in engaging with the
culture and the environment of host
countries. There’s greater willingness
and a greater awareness in ensuring
that local people benefit.” I’m not sure
if Inamdar would approve, but I like to
think of ecotourism in mangled clichés:
Travel lightly and carry a big,
kindhearted stick. Leave no trace,
unless it’s a trace of goodness. If only it
were so easy.
At heart, ecotourism speaks to nature
travelers. There is a very real human
component to ecotourism—respect for
indigenous cultures, inquisitiveness
about how other folks live in the Nepal
world—but glaciers and rainforests tend
to steal the spotlight. Just ask Natural Habitat
Adventures, based in Boulder, Colo. NHA takes
travelers to the world’s most exotic and thrilling
outposts—think Namibian safaris, Alaskan
grizzlies, Patagonian expeditions—and, after all
that adventuring, they buy carbon offsets to
remain pollution-neutral.
When it comes to ecotourism, Matt Kareus, NHA’s
Director of Marketing, likes to ask questions.
“Responsible tourism strives to create winning
Nambia
outcomes for all stakeholders: local people,
communities, the environment, and the traveler,”
says Kareus. “A company intent on being
responsible has to take all these things into
account: Are we hurting the environment? Are we
altering the culture in a negative way? Are local
people benefiting from our activities, or are we
just exploiting them and their surroundings to
make a profit?”
Before my wanderlust for Nepalese mountains, I
spent a week in Trinidad, tucked deep into the
44
rainforests of the Arima Valley. Fred Atwood, the
teacher who taught me my first birdcall,
organized ecotourism trips for his high school
students long before the word even existed. In
Trinidad, I studied the mating behavior of the
Crested Oropendola, a gregarious bird who builds
a nest like a giant, drooping wicker gourd. I saw
hummingbirds and oilbirds—and more
biodiversity than I might ever see in one place
again. I saw this thanks to Mr. Atwood and a
woman named Asa Wright.
The Asa Wright Nature Centre is ecotourism.
The lodge is comfortable and inviting without
pretense, staffed by Trinidadians with big
grins and knowledge to share. There are limits
in place to prevent overbooking. Local
naturalists lead nature walks throughout the
preserved surroundings, and their perspective
is irreplaceable. When a local community
opens itself to a larger world, and people
come to visit, only that community can paint
the specific picture the people have come to
see. In theory, the community takes pride in
itself. The community protects its unique
resources. The community can, in one
theoretical word, blossom.
Or not. As more and more off-the-beaten-path
locales catch the ecotourism bug—from canopy
walks in Ghana’s Kakum National Park to historic
farmsteads in the Brazilian Pantanal—it takes local
communities to develop the destination, groups like
CI to safeguard it, and groups like NHA to explore
and honor it. Some communities are savvier about
this than others. At Asa Wright, you need to stay
three nights before you can even think about
visiting the most accessible oilbird cave in the
world, and this simple requirement goes a long way
toward preventing abuse.
As a potential ecotourist, you might hear
about greenwashing, the disingenuous
practice of capitalizing on ecotourism
without committing to it in any meaningful
way. It’s a very real threat, given the
roominess and friendliness of the movement.
Just because you skip work for a week to
flyfish the Snake River doesn’t make you, or
the fishing guide, an ecotourist. Rather than
that sometimes selfish attitude you might
remember as a traditional tourist—I paid
good money for this, and I’m here to have fun,
so entertain me, damnit!—ecotourism
requires balance, and an ability to enjoy a
place without consuming it. “Unfortunately,
there is now a great deal of pressure on
biodiversity,” says Inamdar, “not just from
unplanned tourism and very fast tourism
growth, but from climate change, poverty,
and rising food prices, which threaten the
integrity of many of the natural places people
depend upon—tourists and locals alike.”
Kenneth Fournillier, Outreach Specialist at Asa
Wright, feels this pressure, but he also fears the
alternative. “The future for ecotourism is very
challenging, but it’s the only way to go,” says
Fournillier. “This process shows hope for
succession of our natural resources. We hope to
educate as much as we can today, so that this
can be passed on to the next generation.”
We’d been traveling for five months by the time
we reached Annapurna. We’d shopped the
floating markets of Bangkok, motorbiked around
the temples of Angkor in Cambodia, even
glissaded glaciers in New Zealand. Were we
ecotourists, standing there beneath 26,000-foot
mountains? I like to think so. I like to think we
learned something about ourselves and about
the world. I like to think there’s room for this kind
of learning in the world to come.
Marc Peacock Brush is the founder and editor of
Wandering Army, an online literary journal full
of adventure that is entirely pollution-neutral.
Angkor Wat, Cambodia