IMAGINING TOURIST SPACES AS LIVING SPACES Towards a Relational Approach to Alternatives and Morals in Tourism
Solène Prince Main supervisor: Professor Dimitri Ioannides Co-supervisor: Doctor Sandra Wall-Reinius
Faculty of Human Sciences Thesis for Doctoral Degree in Tourism Studies Mid Sweden University Östersund, 2017-09-29
Akademisk avhandling som med tillstånd av Mittuniversitetet i Östersund framläggs till offentlig granskning för avläggande av filosofie doktorsexamen fredag den 29 september, 2017, Mittuniversitetet Östersund. Seminariet kommer att hållas på engelska.
Imagining Tourist Spaces as Living Spaces – Towards a Relational Approach to Alternatives and Morals in Tourism
© Solène Prince, 2017 Printed by Mid Sweden University, Sundsvall ISSN: 1652-893X ISBN: 978-91-88527-24-0 Faculty of Human Sciences Mid Sweden University, SE-831 25, Östersund Phone: +46 (0)10 142 80 00 Mid Sweden University Doctoral Thesis 268
Table of Contents Abstract ............................................................................................................... v Svensk Sammanfattning .................................................................................. vii List of Papers ..................................................................................................... ix List of Tables ...................................................................................................... x List of Figures ..................................................................................................... x Acknowledgments ............................................................................................. xi 1 Introduction .................................................................................................... 13 1.1 Aims and Research Questions ..................................................................... 15 1.2 Structure of Thesis: Two Cases, Four Articles ............................................. 16 2 Thinking about Tourist Spaces Relationally ............................................... 19 2.1 Imagining Tourist Spaces: Fragmentation and Negotiation .......................... 20 2.2 Imagining Tourist Spaces: Encounters and Embodiment ............................. 24 2.3 Imagining Alternative Tourism ...................................................................... 26 2.4 Imagining a World of Relations ..................................................................... 30 2.4.1 Dwelling ............................................................................................. 35 2.4.2 Sincerity ............................................................................................. 38 3 Research Design ........................................................................................... 40 3.1 Case Selection ............................................................................................. 40 3.2 Methodology ................................................................................................. 46 3.2.1 Narratives ........................................................................................... 47 3.2.2 Focused Ethnography ........................................................................ 48 3.3 Data Collection ............................................................................................. 49 3.3.1 Bornholm’s Craft-artists ..................................................................... 49 3.3.2 Sólheimar Eco-village ........................................................................ 53 3.4 Methodological Considerations .................................................................... 59 4 Presentation of Papers ................................................................................. 63 4.1 Craft-art in the Danish Countryside (Paper I) ............................................... 63 4.2 Dwelling in the Tourist Landscape (Paper II) ................................................ 66
4.3 Working towards Sincere Encounters (Paper III) ......................................... 68 4.4 Contextualizing Alternative Tourism (Paper IV) ............................................ 70 5 Discussion ..................................................................................................... 73 5.1 Imagining Tourist Spaces as Living Spaces ................................................. 73 5.2 New Discursive Anchors ............................................................................... 76 5.2.1 Dwelling in the Tourist Landscape ..................................................... 77 5.2.2 Sincere Encounters............................................................................ 78 5.3 Researching Living Spaces .......................................................................... 79 5.4 Moral Implications and Practical Considerations .......................................... 81 6 Conclusion and Future Research ................................................................ 84 7 References ..................................................................................................... 87 8 Appendices .................................................................................................. 106 8.1 Interview Questions .................................................................................... 106 8.2 Participant-observation Guide .................................................................... 108
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Abstract Many actors are taking advantage of the flexible barriers to entry of the tourist industry to engage in the production of varied forms of tourism closely related to their lifestyle, professional and communal ambitions. With the increased popularity of forms of tourism bringing the guest close to the host, it becomes relevant to ask questions related to lived experiences and close encounters in tourism scholarship. This is a moral conviction that the plurality of human experiences and critical reflexivity matter in the conception of tourist spaces and their management. In this thesis, I look for new ways to conceptually embed local people in their living spaces by approaching forms of tourism displaying non-economic elements as phenomena that create new and complex relations imbued with various implications. Tourism geography highlights the negotiated and fragmented nature of tourism, and its performative and embodied character. I apply relational geography to apprehend the multiple relations that make up local spaces and identities. With its post-structural character, relational geography uncovers voices once neglected in research, and proposes new ways of being in the world. My two qualitative case studies reflect my interest in exploring the northern European context. Firstly, I investigate craft-artists on Bornholm, Denmark and their relation to the tourist season. I do this through interviews and narrative analysis. My second case study, a focused ethnography at Sólheimar ecovillage, Iceland, centres on the management of host and guest interactions. In terms of spatial formation, results show that local actors have the agency to form networks and redefine their identities in the wake of tourism development. They form a hybrid space by fulfilling goals related to their lifestyle, livelihood and professional ambitions simultaneously. Moreover, mundane practices are presented as an integral part of a tourist landscape. In terms of management, results show that the various spatial complexities faced by communities exacerbate host and guest relations. This will require a commitment from local coordinators and managers to promote a reflexive and critical exchange during these close encounters. I ultimately argue for the imagination of tourist spaces as living spaces, where I conceptualize tourism as a mundane, yet complex, material and social experience for those living in tourist spaces. I propose two new discursive anchors that reflect the metaphor of the living space: dwelling in the tourist landscape, and sincere encounters. I contend that researching living spaces finds its moral grounds in its openness to the various ways local people dwell and encounter during tourism, and to the diverse ways researchers make sense of these practices, and of their own.
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Svensk Sammanfattning Många aktörer drar fördel av de flexibla barriärer som kännetecknar turistindustrin för att engagera sig i produktionen av olika former av turism som är nära relaterade till livsstil, professionella och samhälleliga ambitioner. Med ökad popularitet av turism som tar gäster nära lokalbefolkningen är det relevant att ställa frågor som rör upplevelser av dessa nära möten. Detta är en moralisk övertygelse att mångfalden av mänskliga upplevelser och kritisk reflektion har betydelse för föreställningen av turistrum och deras förvaltning. I den här avhandlingen söker jag nya sätt att konceptuellt integrera lokalbefolkningens vardag i det turistiska rummet genom att närma mig former av turism som visar icke-ekonomiska drag och som skapar nya och komplexa relationer med olika konsekvenser. Turismgeografi belyser turismens förhandlande och fragmenterade karaktär samt turismens utförande och förkroppsligade karaktär. Jag tillämpar relationell geografi för att förstå de många relationer som utgör lokala samhällen och dess identiteter. Relationell geografi med dess poststrukturella karaktär avslöjar röster som blivit försummade i forskningen och föreslår nya sätt att vara i världen. Mina två fallstudier speglar mitt intresse att utforska den nordeuropeiska kontexten. Först undersöker jag hantverkare på Bornholm i Danmark och deras relation till turistsäsongen genom att använda mig av intervjuer och narrativ analys. I den andra fallstudien inriktar jag mig på ledning av värd- och gästinteraktioner genom att använda fokuserad etnografi i Sólheimar ekoby på Island. Resultaten visar när det gäller rumsligt skapande att lokala aktörer har förmågan att bilda nätverk och omdefiniera sina identiteter i turismutvecklingens spår. De bildar ett hybridutrymme genom att uppfylla mål som relateras till deras livsstil, försörjning och professionella ambitioner. Dessutom utövas vardagliga praktiker som en integrerad del av det turistiska landskapet. När det gäller ledning och styrning visar resultaten att de olika rumsliga förhållandena i samhället förvärrar värd- och gästrelationer. Det kommer att krävas åtagande från lokala ledare och samordnare att främja ett reflexivt och kritiskt utbyte under dessa nära möten. Jag argumenterar slutligen för föreställningen av turistrum som vardagliga rum, där jag ser turismen som en vardaglig, men komplex, materiell och social upplevelse för de som lever i turistområden. Jag föreslår två nya diskursiva utgångspunkter: att leva i turistlandskapet och uppriktiga möten. Jag hävdar att undersökningar av lokalbefolkningens vardag finner sin moraliska grund i öppenhet kring olika sätt som lokalbefolkningen lever och möter turismen, och kring olika sätt som forskare tolkar dessa praktiker och sina egna.
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List of Papers Paper I: Prince, S. (2017). Craft-art in the Danish countryside: Reconciling a lifestyle, livelihood and artistic career through rural tourism. Journal of Tourism and Cultural Change, 15(4), 339-358. (DOI: 10.1080/14766825.2016.1154064)
Paper II: Prince, S. (2017). Dwelling in the tourist landscape: Embodiment and everyday life amongst the craft-artists of Bornholm. Tourist Studies. Epublication ahead of print, 19 May. (DOI: 10.1177/1468797617710598)
Paper III: Prince, S. (2017). Working towards sincere encounters in volunteer tourism: An ethnographic examination of key management issues at a Nordic eco-village. Journal of Sustainable Tourism. E-publication ahead of print, 10 March. (DOI: 10.1080/09669582.2017.1297450)
Paper IV: Prince, S., & Ioannides, D. (2017). Contextualizing the complexities of managing alternative tourism at the community-level: A case study of a Nordic eco-village. Tourism Management, 60, 348-356. (DOI: 10.1016/j.tourman.2016.12.015)
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List of Tables Table 1: Short summary of individual papers ………………………...………18 Table 2: Summary of individual papers …………………………...…………..64
List of Figures Figure 1: The location of the two case studies in northern Europe……..…....41 Figure 2: Creations from the wood workshop at Sólheimar……….….….…..43 Figure 3: Svaneke, Bornholm, during the tourist season……………….…….44 Figure 4: Boutiques in Gudhjem, Bornholm……………………..…….………51 Figure 5: Boats at a fishing village, Bornholm…………………………………51 Figure 6: Volunteers and residents working at the ceramic workshop…..…58 Figure 7: The organic greenhouse at Sólheimar…………………….…...…...58
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Acknowledgments I would say that I started imagining spaces at the age of 7. It is at that time that I received from my well intentioned mother my very first atlas. My initial obsession was with the flags of the different countries. It wasn’t enough to learn them all by heart, I had to draw them all to put together a garland worthy of the United Nations’ headquarters for the holiday season. My first international travels to these fascinating places would have to wait for a few years though. As a child, it was the forests of New-Brunswick and the farmlands of Québec that I encountered first as a traveler. As much as I write about practice and everyday life, it is those moving images I detachedly observed from the comfort of the car that first animated my fascination for landscape. I couldn’t read in the car of fear of getting motion sickness, so these landscapes became my books. Here I am, nearly 25 years later, with my nose still in books about places around the world. Many of them which I was blessed enough to be able to visit, others which I still only can imagine. The flags have been replaced by scholarly articles that I also display in a decorative manner. This time around my office space. The forests of New-Brunswick have been replaced by those of Sweden, and the farmlands of Québec by the mountains of Jämtland and the fjords of Norway. Picture albums and photos now side with my school books, reminding me that I have done more than dreaming. When I look back, I think 7 year old me would be quite pleased. Along the way of becoming a doctor there are always people to acknowledge. My mother not only gave me that atlas, there were always books, paper, pens and scissors in the house. The perfect tools to foster the imagination. My father was usually the one driving the car, but he was also the one who had ideas, stories and knowledge to share. That stuff also gets you thinking. As I reflect upon this achievement, I am very grateful that you were me and my sister’s parents. I should go home more often. As one evolves in academia there are also the colleagues to thank. I have had the chance to be part of a dynamic and supportive team at our department. Thank you all for that! More specifically, I want to thank my two thesis supervisors, Dimitri Ioannides and Sandra Wall-Reinius. You have been great mentors helping me become a better scholar, while giving me the space to write a thesis I can truly call mine. Thank you Dimitri for sharing your academic contacts with me, making this experience positively international. I will always remember Tage Petersen at the CRT on Bornholm as a resourceful and thoughtful man. To Joseph Cheer at Monash University,
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you have been a wonderful accomplice. My experience at Monash University was undoubtedly the high point of my time as a PhD student, and I have you and all the other amazing people in Melbourne to thank for that. As I circle around the globe, I also want to acknowledge the goodwill and hospitality of the Sólheimar community. To Herdís Friðriksdóttir and Axel Benediktsson, thank you both for your involvement and interest in my project. Coming back to Mid-Sweden University, there were also the other PhD students. There were many of you and all the laughter and conversations we shared are still much appreciated. To my closest friend and colleague at the department, Lusine Margaryan, this journey would not have been the same without you. What a gift it was to have a confidant like you through these five years! I wish you all the best! I would also like to thank Erika Andersson Cederholm and Theano Terkenli for their valuable comments on my work along the way, for my halfway seminar and my final seminar respectively. The map of my case areas was kindly made by Arie Stoffelen at KU Leuven. The last paragraph goes out to my fantastic partner in life. If I now feel at home in the forests of Sweden it is because of you Andreas Olofsson. You have been an exceptional source of inspiration and information. With you the landscape is much more real. The endless roads much more than a dream. Though I would still get car-sick if I were to try to read. I am incredibly grateful to have you by my side. I love you.
Solène Prince Östersund, August 2017
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1 Introduction The integration of tourism within living spaces has created new landscapes where local practices and strategies are rearranged to the point where tourism manifests itself in every aspect of contemporary life (Franklin, 2004; Franklin & Crang, 2001; Hall, 2013). The fact remains that tourist spaces are foremost spaces of dwelling where people have to compromise, harness and cope with tourism in the wake of an array of other aspirations related to their position in a complex system that simultaneously enables and limits them (Chaperon & Bramwell, 2013; Milne & Ateljevic, 2001). This is very much the case with forms of tourism, like volunteer tourism, community-based tourism, ecotourism and rural tourism, which encourage visitors to experience local livelihoods and products by connecting with their hosts through close encounters. As homes, workplaces and other personal and communal spaces increasingly become tourist attractions, additionally attempting to elicit a more sensitive and authentic experience for the tourist, it becomes important to consider the moral dimension of the spatial dynamics of tourism. Tourism scholarship dedicated to the study of these localized forms of tourism remains largely focused on how to integrate the latter within this array of new sites to make the consumption of experiences, lifestyles, cultures and local products a key element of local development (Blackstock, 2005; Mair, 2006), or of personal development for the tourist (Mostafanezhad, 2014). There is little scholarly attention given to such tourist spaces as complex moral realms of performance and negotiation between a host and its guests. As a social practice, tourism is of course negotiated through a variety of moral issues (Mostafanezhad & Hannam, 2014). Tourists are constantly confronted with ethical dilemmas during their travels. It could be about the decision to fly long-haul in spite of climate change, embark on a volunteer experience to do good, consume local products, or inform oneself about the local culture (Butcher, 2014). As for suppliers, they can find themselves having to make compromises between economic profit and other goals such as environmental sustainability and professional aspirations (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012; Deville, Wearing & McDonald, 2016; Mostafanezhad, 2016). Macbeth (2015) contends tourism researchers have a long history of adopting a rhetoric of tourism, which places it either as sinner or savior. While tourism has been praised in the work of D’Amore (1988), it has been depicted as a source of cultural and environmental destruction by authors such as Mowforth and Munt (1998). This kind of dichotomous reasoning is far from effective in a world where tourism is constantly growing. Fennell (2006)
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argues that those interested in defining the virtues of tourism have been mostly concerned by its impacts. Butcher (2014; 2003) warns that the tensions around ethical norms in tourism often end up revolving around how to turn a holiday into a responsible act of consumption. To Butcher (2014; 2003), this is again a dichotomous view of tourism, which oversees how it is experienced and handled by a variety of different actors. Hedonism, profit and ethical decisions are intrinsic features of tourism, but they are not always easily reconcilable for neither the host nor the guest. Tourism scholar Kellee Caton (2012, p.1907) concedes that “[…] those of us working in tourism studies operate on loaded moral territory, confronting a phenomenon that at once speaks of light-hearted pleasure and heavy social consequences”. Caton (2012) contends that there is little philosophical questioning in tourism literature over the values and assumptions at the foundation of our visions of what tourism ought to be doing in the world. Nonetheless, with a moral turn taking place in tourism research in light of morality gaining grounds in social sciences since the 1970s, scholars have suggested the application of critical reflexivity and different philosophical traditions to study and promote moral principles in tourism (see Ateljevic, 2009; Feighery, 2011; MacCannell, 2011; Tribe, 2009). The moral turn in social sciences represents a scholarly interest in differences, which geographer David Smith (2000, p.14) defines as: “[…] the fact of diversity, or pluralism, in moral beliefs and practices, as they vary from place to place (and from time to time), as integral features of human cultures and ways of life”. It is not enough to study the world through spatial and quantitative means when we are faced by a host of injustices and inequalities (Smith, 2000). The emergence of new foci of interest such as rural livelihoods, feminist theory and mobility in fields like geography attests to the plurality of human experiences. These themes are ultimately loaded with moral implications. Within tourism scholarship, the interest in a critical and reflexive study of morality has flourished in the last decade. Caton (2014; 2012; 2011) has contributed to the moral turn in tourism by proposing methodologies more sensitive to the subjects’ understanding of the world. The recent book by tourism scholars Mary Mostafanezhad and Kevin Hannam (2014) Moral Encounters is further testament to the significance the moral turn is gaining in tourism research. The plurality of human experience at the heart of the moral turn in social sciences is a significant feature of tourism development. Tourism is a fragmented industry, made up of diverse actors from both the public and private sector, participating to various degrees in formal and informal economies (Gibson, 2009; Hall, 2013). This is especially the case when tourism
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is used for non-economic purposes as diverse as artistic development, cultural exchange and social sustainability by various local actors, and reportedly enjoyed for more than hedonistic reasons by tourists. It must also be considered that the boundaries are increasingly blurred between tourism and other forms of travel (Gibson, 2009). Volunteer tourism and working holidays exemplify the new mobilities tourism researchers have to deal with. These alternative forms of tourism have moral implications as host and guest meet in intimate ways, such as in homes and communal spaces. Mostafanezhad and Hannam (2014), therefore, chose to define morality in tourism in terms of encounters. It is not surprising since encounters would have to be the defining feature of tourism. As Gibson (2012; 2010) explains, we travel in order to live the pleasures of encountering, might it be friends, people, information, places, cultures or particular physical features of the landscape such as the beach. Moralizing on the meaning of tourism would thus compel the tourism researcher to focus on the myriad relational aspects of the experience of hosting tourists, including all the socio-cultural implications and spatial dynamics behind them.
1.1 Aims and Research Questions An engagement with the moral turn in tourism scholarship opens an avenue for the researcher to question the kind of spaces tourism creates. My primary aim is to imagine new ways for researchers to conceptually embed people closely involved with tourists within their living spaces by approaching tourism as a multifaceted phenomenon that creates new and complex relations imbued with various spatial, but also personal, social, communal and professional implications. I use the word imagine to denote my interest in forming a mental image of something not yet present. More exactly, I seek to contribute to new ways of conceptualizing close encounters and spatial dynamics in tourism. To achieve this aim, I identify the processes behind the construction of places and identities, which outline the plurality of coping strategies, embodiments and negotiations that make up two particular tourist spaces. More specifically, I do this in the northern European context, where I explore the actions and ambitions of rural stakeholders and of an eco-community. I address my aim through the following research questions:
In what ways do local people deal with the presence of tourism in their living space in regards to their particular spatial, personal, and professional identities? (RQ1)
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o
o
How are places formed through the actions and strategies of local groups as their living spaces simultaneously become tourist spaces? (RQ1.1) Why would these responses legitimize the presence of tourists and tourist infrastructure within a living space? (RQ1.2)
How are encounters between host and guest experienced by the host as the latter makes sense of particular communal goals and alternative tourism strategies simultaneously? (RQ2) o How can encounters be managed in the light of these different ambitions? (RQ2.1)
In a second instance, I explore the moral implications of scientifically researching and practically fostering different types of alternatives in tourism in highly dynamic and performative spaces. It became apparent as my research project unfolded that my role as a reflexive and attentive researcher was closely linked to the achievement of my aim. Contributing new ways of thinking in tourism studies implies working with methodologies that consider local experiences as fundamental to the study and practice of tourism. An emerging aim which I will take up later in this dissertation is to outline methodologies sensitive to the experience of people navigating ambiguous positions in a complex realm.
1.2 Structure of Thesis: Two Cases, Four Articles The aims of this thesis are reached through the study of two northern European research contexts. Table 1 gives a short summary of the four articles I have produced. I address my research questions as follows: Paper I: Through an engagement with rural geography and rural tourism literature, I identify strategies used by craft-artists in Denmark negotiating multiple goals through rural tourism. The integration of the countryside into global processes impact individual and collective strategies related to lifestyle entrepreneurship, rural identities, the commercialization of rural symbols and products, and local modes of production. I conclude that rural actors consequently create for themselves a hybrid space, strategized and redefined in relation to the complexities of residing in a countryside integrated within a global system.
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Paper II: I explore the embodied practices of craft-artists that turn a landscape of everyday life into a tourist landscape. Through the application of nonrepresentational theory, I present the tourist landscape as a realm of dwelling where local materials, techniques and spaces mediate interactions with tourists, but also where encounters mediate local interactions with materials, techniques and spaces. This non-representational analysis of local narratives, collected in the study participants’ realm of involvement, is done to offer a way for researchers to embed local people in their cultural landscape. Paper III: I investigate host-guest dynamics at Sólheimar eco-village, Iceland, in order to contribute insight to the conceptualization of transformative learning in volunteer tourism. I propose that the experience that binds the host and its guests cannot solely be about learning to do things alternatively and sustainably. It can be sincerity over the difficulty of doing things alternatively and sustainably that characterizes this experience. I argue that transformative learning during the volunteer experience should be conceptualized to include the promotion of sincere encounters, and made to concern both the host and its guests to become a more useful practice in volunteer tourism. Paper IV: I examine the managerial contradictions and difficulties that arise as alternative tourism is developed in the name of sustainability at Sólheimar eco-village. The coordination of alternative tourism venues requires practical efforts that go beyond notions of keeping operations small, interactive and contextually sensitive. I conceptualize alternative tourism as a forum for discussion between host and guest over the complexities of generating sustainable development. Immersing the researcher in the study context is proposed to bring forward the complex dynamics alternative tourism stakeholders face. As for the structure of this thesis, I first present my theoretical framework where I delve into tourism geography and relational geography. Following is the chapter on my research design where I describe my research context, methodological approaches and data collection process. A section of the research design chapter is also dedicated to some methodological considerations. All four articles are presented through extended abstracts before I discuss my findings and their main moral, practical, theoretical and methodological implications.
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Table 1: Short summary of individual papers
Paper I Research
Paper II
Paper III
Paper IV
question(s)
RQ1 o RQ1.1 o RQ1.2
RQ1 o RQ1.1 o RQ1.2
RQ2 o RQ2.1
RQ2 o RQ2.1
Theoretical
Relational
Non-
Volunteer
Alternative
underpinning
space and
representational
tourism and
tourism and
rural
theory and the
transformative
community
geography
dwelling
learning
sustainability
perspective
Case study
Bornholm’s
Bornholm’s
Sólheimar eco-
Sólheimar eco-
craft-artists
craft-artists
village
village
Type of
Rural
(Non-
Volunteer
Alternative
tourism
tourism
applicable)
tourism
tourism
Open-ended
Open-ended
Participant
Participant
interviews
interviews
observations
observations
Narrative
Narrative
Focused
Focused
analysis
analysis
ethnography
ethnography
Data collection
Method
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2 Thinking about Tourist Spaces Relationally In this section, I will firstly direct my attention to tourism geography. Tourism geography concerns itself with the analysis of tourism as a social phenomenon occurring in time and space (Mitchell & Murphy, 1991). With tourism becoming an object of increasing concern for society, the environment and local livelihoods, new research frontiers have evolved in geography taking the shape of critical thoughts related to themes as diverse as justice, social interactions, uneven power relations, species and cultural preservation and the experience economy, to name a few (Gibson, 2008; Hall, 2005). Tourism geography, with its interest in the socio-cultural formation of tourist space and its ethical dimension, is thus a highly relevant approach to the study of lived experiences and encounters. In my account of tourism geography, it is the fragmentation and negotiations that make up tourist spaces that interest me on the one hand (Paper I), and the performative and embodied nature of these hybrid social and material spaces on the other (Paper II). These represent the two levels at which tourism can be conceived: the spatial and the interpersonal. Both are important to consider as they complicate in their own way the dynamics of encounters in tourism. Additionally, alternative tourism is a significant concept to address in a discussion on more sensitive ways to do tourism. Its many forms have been criticized by tourism scholars for failing in this mission (Weaver, 2009; 2007; 2006). Looking closely at social performances and spatial negotiations reveals the plurality and complexity of managing and living with alternative tourism (Papers III and IV). In terms of morality, it becomes increasingly relevant to consider the multiple complex local experiences tourism creates in order to reflect upon, and hopefully improve, the meaning of encounters as tourists penetrate more intimately their hosts’ spaces. The theoretical approach which I use to underpin my contribution to the moral turn in tourism scholarship is relational geography. Relational geography implies the world is formed through the way spaces, objects and people relate to each other (Cresswell, 2013; Murdoch, 2006). With its foundation in post-structuralism, relational geography does not reflect interest in single entities and their essential characteristic, but rather in the processes that bring these entities into being (Cresswell, 2013; Murdoch, 2006). I present relational geography as a means to appreciate the diversity of figures, voices and regimes that make up space as networked, negotiated and
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performative. I outline the post-structural character of relational geography to propose new ways of thinking about social and material relations. I ultimately use relational geography to advance an enriched conceptualization of the processes and experiences that make up tourist spaces, and to propose the formation of new language to describe alternatives and morals in tourism to define more adequately how the latter ought to be. I highlight the potential of applying language related to dwelling (Paper II) and to sincerity (Paper III) to tourism geography.
2.1 Imagining Tourist Spaces: Fragmentation and Negotiation The tourist experience implies an immersion in unfamiliar territory and varying degree of contact with new people, their culture, customs and language. To understand tourism as a social phenomenon impacting local experiences and spaces around the world, scholars have early on been caught up in dichotomies between the authentic and the modern, and the exotic and the ordinary, which link travel to a search for the pre-modern and extraordinary. Dean MacCannell (1976) articulated this form of reasoning by advancing that tourism was the result of staged-authenticity where cultural groups showcase their cultures in different staged form to satisfy the viewers’ desire for exotic sights. Under this rhetoric, tourism is founded in the search for otherness. The relevance of this type of authenticity has been questioned to suggest a consideration for post-modern hyper realities and new purposes of travel not centered on exotic sights (Stephen, 1990; Urry, 1990; Wang, 1999). John Urry (1990), who first came up with the concept of the tourist gaze, was inspired by Michel Foucault’s (1973) medical gaze where the way the doctor sees the body through his or her medical approach ultimately defines the way the body will be manipulated, and, as such, formed. As tourists look for sights, experiences and novelties they cannot find at home, their gaze influences the way places around the world are (re)made. Wang (1999) concedes that the theories of staged-authenticity and the tourist gaze fell short of explaining post-modern sites and social phenomena in tourism such as attraction parks, visiting friends, outdoor activities, beach holidays, ocean cruising, and the pursuit of hobbies such as fishing or shopping while traveling. In this regard, Franklin and Crang (2001) claim that tourism is not solely done for escapism. Furthermore, the growth lately in working holidays, educational tour and volunteerism demonstrates that tourists can become actively involved in their destination (Wearing, 2001).
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Such conceptual and theoretical developments challenge notions of tourism as an out of the ordinary experience (Cohen & Cohen, 2012). The rapidity of changes and intermixing that make places multiple, extroverted and integrated in the global system are complicating the differences between what is home and away, host and guest, ordinary and extraordinary, and even place and placelessness (Massey, 2005; 1991). Tourism is not part of a clearly defined bounded system, and rather evolves in relation with multiple local and extra-local phenomena (Britton, 1991; Ioannides & Debbage, 2004; 1998). The complex features of tourism were made obvious through the work of economic tourism geographers. In the first instance, though tourism has to various degrees homogenized certain places into standardized destinations, it has also fragmented many of them into complex spectrums of consumption and production (Ioannides & Debbage, 2004; 1998; Torres, 2002; Williams, 2004). Even in highly touristic areas, global accommodation and transport chains have paved the way for smaller operators, artisans, street performers, musicians, stallholders, sex workers and drug dealers, to make a livelihood out of encountering tourists (Gibson 2009). The tourism industry is, therefore, difficult to assess as it encompasses various alternative types of regimes of accumulation. Stephen Britton (1991), in his seminal paper on tourism commodification, presents tourism as related to the Fordist regime of mass consumption and production, but other scholars have identified in tourism pre-Fordist regimes of artisanal production typical of small-scale enterprises with new niche markets showing great flexibility (Williams, 2004). For instance, Torres (2002) identifies a blend of regimes of accumulation in Cancun, where the predominant market of mass consumption has evolved to cater to specialized markets of consumers interested in more than a beach holiday. The evolution of various forms of niche tourism attest to the fragmentation of the tourism industry. Increasingly, traditional production sites are transformed into spaces of touristic experience. The line is often blurred between the workplace and the place for leisure as the consumers end up sharing the same space as the workers (Everett, 2012). For example, Everett (2012) observed that food tourism brought small producers to open up their bakeries, smokehouses and dairies to tourists, confusing the distinction between the workplace as a sanitized space of production, and the tourist space as one of consumption and experience. Furthermore, Ateljevic and Doorne, (2004) speak of tourism businesses as often the result of the consumption of a particular lifestyle by its producer, such as surfing, hiking or diving. In Paper I, I have studied Bornholm’s craft-artists as consumers of a rural lifestyle and producers of a
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brand based in professionalism. Here again, consumption and production share the same space in a blurred fashion as niche markets are created. With such fragmented dynamics, tourism is more of a hybrid economic formation intermixing various industries, state regulations, nature and culture, the informal sector, capitalist and non-capitalist economies, and all kinds of technologies, commodities and infrastructures (Darbellay & Stock, 2012; Debbage & Ioannides, 2004; D’Hauteserre, 2006; Gibson, 2009). Secondly, tourism is difficult to conceive as one realm of mass accumulation as it relies on the consumption of varying experiences (Crang, 2004). Tourism is in large the result of a performance, rather than the acquisition of a series of products created and subsequently consumed (Edensor, 2000; 1998; Franklin & Crang, 2001). As Ateljevic and Doorne (2004) express, places are (re)created according to the behaviors performed around them. This is significant for spatial dynamics as it implies that tourists and tourist entrepreneurs alike will go where their values are, or can be, imprinted (see also Ateljevic & Doorne, 2001). This is why Hultman and Hall (2012) believe that during the development of a destination, a new locality is made to appear. The construction of tourist spaces implies interplay between tourist, intermediaries and local inhabitants and stakeholders as the meaning of what exactly the local attraction will consist of is negotiated (Ateljevic, 2000; Ateljevic & Doorne, 2004; Gordon & Goodall, 2000; Hultman & Hall, 2012). These negotiations will define the legitimate tourist activities performed by the host, guests, and other stakeholders involved, fostering the values, institutions, sanctions, customs and rules that will upkeep the development of a certain form of tourism at a destination (Ateljevic & Doorne, 2003). Irene Ateljevic (2000) calls this phenomenon circuits of tourism, where consumers and producers communicate and negotiate within particular social and institutional contexts the nature of the product at stake, eventually producing and reproducing discourses and practices that uphold this construction. Tourism has become a ubiquitous feature of modern life. The integration of tourism within local spaces has created new landscapes where local practices and strategies are rearranged to the point where tourism manifests itself in every aspect of contemporary life (Darbellay & Stock, 2012; Franklin, 2004; Franklin & Crang, 2001). As tourism is integrated into new places, it engulfs people into a dynamic system where they continuously have to re-negotiate and re-affirm themselves. The third point of interest for economic tourism geographers is thus related to the interrelated dynamics of dependency and agency at play in tourism development. Milne and Ateljevic (2001) emphasize the need to study the networks that enable local actors to
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collaborate to overcome their disadvantages. These networks can come in the form of professional associations that protect the quality of local products, such as arts and crafts as I show in Paper I, in the light of commodification and standardization in tourism development. Many tourism scholars contend that we should not view nations, regions and communities as powerless in the face of tourism, forced to comply with economic and cultural globalization (Amoamo, 2011; Ateljevic & Doorne, 2003; Oakes, 1999; Meethan 2003; 2001). Milne and Ateljevic (2001) believe the overarching challenge is to enable local economies to thrive and unique socio-cultural and environmental resources to survive in a globalized world. Tourism is as a transaction process driven by global priorities where actors such as residents, governments and entrepreneurs interact to face these phenomena (Milne & Ateljevic, 2001). Researchers have illustrated through case study research the dual forces of agency and dependency faced by actors involved in tourism processes (see Bramwell, 2011; 2003; Bramwell & Meyers, 2007; Meyer, 2013; Pastras & Bramwell, 2013; Torres & Momsen, 2004). For instance, Chaperon and Bramwell (2013) demonstrate that actors on Gozo were able to oppose a national project to construct a golf course by coming together as residents, environmentalists and nature-users to demonstrate their opposition. The protestors’ agency encouraged the formation of a global association to network with extra-local agents, ultimately preserving Gozo according to the locals’ wishes. Su and Teo (2008) describe how residents in Lijiang, China reclaim their local square from the growing numbers of tourists for their own purposes by attaching their daily activities to it. Through performing their own traditional dances on the Square unannounced, the local dancers’ actions become: “[…] part of the vernacular landscape, which is also incorporated into the everyday of tourism in Lijiang” (Su & Teo, 2008, p.164). Local actors are here presented as active agents in the formation of a cultural space. These two cases show two different kinds of activism emanating from the individual and collective will of actors strategically thinking within a tourism system that engulfs them in the dynamics of globalization. Examples of local negotiations and compromises are also evident in rural spaces where local actors produce and distribute goods and services that reflect values such as their local identity, belonging and autonomy (MacDonald & Jolliffe, 2003; Sims, 2009). Sims (2010) observed that local producers would modify their definition of local foods to surpass practical issues as their relations with other actors in the chain of production evolved. Local suppliers who expanded their businesses to the extent that they could no longer get the ingredients they needed for their shops, cafés or restaurants from local producers would
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redefine their status as local suppliers in terms that could accommodate these practical changes. Similarly, I demonstrate in Paper I that reconciling an artistic career, rural lifestyle and livelihood implies redefining what is local and authentic in the creation of crafts, and what success is, in the pursuit of an artistic career. Agency is here seen in the ability of stakeholders to redefine their position and identities within global chains of productions.
2.2 Imagining Tourist Spaces: Encounters and Embodiment An interest in the way local actors respond to the complex and fragmented nature of tourism development gives insight into the diverse ways of experiencing tourism as a pervasive global phenomenon with significant spatial implications. However, it cannot be disregarded that at the foundation of tourism there are performative encounters and multi-sensorial experiences, which also impact local spaces (Crang, 2004). Since its apparition in tourism discourse, Urry’s (1990) tourist gaze has been criticized for its neglect of experience and consciousness (Larsen & Urry, 2011). Some scholars deplored the lack of consideration for social interaction and other senses, such as touching, feeling, smelling and hearing, while on holiday (Edensor, 2006; Johnston, 2001; Obrador-Pons, 2007; 2003; Perkins & Thorns, 2001). These considerations gave rise to the espousal of the performance turn in tourism scholarship, which ultimately implied a recognition that tourism emerges from corporeal and relational performances, and not merely by its imposition on a scenic backdrop (Baerenholdt, Framke, Larsen & Urry 2004; Edensor, 2006; 2001; 2000; Larsen, 2012; 2010). Through the performance turn, Edensor (2006; 2001; 2000) presents tourism as materially and symbolically staged through the work of key staff members following scripts and using props to guide the tourists in their performances. Larsen (2012; 2010) also highlights how tourism resembles theatrical performances where workers are cast members wearing costumes and trained to play their act, which often includes smiling and being polite to guests. As I explore in Paper II, the craft-artists of Bornholm are cast as performers during their island’s tourist season as their workshops and boutiques have become part of the tourist landscape. Under such terms, places are made and managed to adhere to the nature of tourist performances, rather than a gaze (Baerenholdt et al., 2004; Edensor, 2006; 2001; 2000; Larsen, 2012; 2010). They become the nexus where hosts, guests, workers, buildings, props and machines are constantly brought together to perform their social
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role (Hannam, Sheller & Urry, 2006). These theatrical stages are constantly enacted through the embodiments of diverse individuals and the enrollment of various material elements, transformed each time they are played out by these actors (Baerenholdt et al., 2004; Edensor, 2006; 2001; 2000; Larsen, 20102, 2010). The performance turn is a recognition that tourism is a social performance related to doing, touching and being, which taken together generate tourist spaces (Coleman & Crang, 2002). The performance turn has enabled tourism researchers to look more closely at the various types of actions occurring during the host and guest encounter. This type of analysis focused on movements has led tourism scholars to call for the de-exoticization of tourism as it exhibits the mundane nature of these performances, often far from the extraordinary (Larsen, 2008; 2005). The tourist never fully escapes familiar and prescribed coded patterns of behavior. Often with the help of tourism workers, tourists carry quotidian habits and responses with them on holiday, which offer reminders of situations of control at home (Baerenholdt et al., 2004; Edensor, 2006; 2001; 2000; Obrador, 2012). For instance, wake-up calls and bathroom breaks are often based on a schedule reminiscent of the one from a busy day at work, bodies are groomed to fulfill the same beauty standards followed at home, and the souvenir shops sell banal objects such as t-shirts, magnets and mugs. The performance turn recognizes that there is always room to uncover creativity and detours, making tourism performances innovative for all actors involved (Edensor, 2001; 2000; Larsen, 2012; 2005). Human activities are fluid and spontaneous, rather than deterministic, and can lead to various unscripted and unexpected performances (Weaver, 2005). Performances between host and guest are not solely mediated by the socio-cultural expectations of a tourist gaze. As Maoz (2006) demonstrates in her study of Israeli backpackers in India, local Indians project the performances expected of them back at Israeli backpackers in search of spiritual gurus. This shows that power is not the property of any particular actor during the tourist encounter, but rather flows between the host and guest who both gaze at each other, provoking particular performances in return (Maoz, 2006). Moreover, interrelational performances found in being with friends, family members, team members or with other individuals on holidays are sometimes more pleasurable than following scripted gazing (Haldrup & Larsen, 2010; Obrador-Pons, 2007; 2003). Tucker (2007) and Edensor (1998) both observed in different settings young participants on guided tours who ended up paying more attention to each other, and even making fun of their guide’s scripted performance and the iconic scenery, during their group travels. The social
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character of tourism attests to the everydayness of its practice as most tourism performances are done to derive pleasure of being with friends and relative, rather than seeing the extraordinary (Haldrup & Larsen, 2010). With the adoption of performative theoretical approaches in tourism scholarship, an increasing amount of tourism scholars are now more mindful of the multisensory interactions between human, non-human, and materials that take place in fluid and complex ways in tourism (Gibson, 2012; 2010; Grimwood, 2014). Non-humans such as mundane objects, technologies, plants and animals mediate the performances that connect the body to an environment (Crouch, 2000; Michael, 2000). Mundane materials such as gardening soil and walking shoes, as well as cameras, guide books and bungie cords, involve the human subject directly in the world (Bell & Lyall, 2002; Haldrup & Larsen, 2006). Bodies and objects function to give space its practical, symbolic and expressive form (Whatmore, 2002). Tourism scholars have researched the interactivity of social bodies with nature for instance (see Cloke & Perkins, 2005; Waitt & Cook, 2007; Waitt & Lane, 2007). Waitt and Cook (2007), researching the embodied nature of practicing ecotourism, argue that experiencing nature does not truly move participants towards a new perception of their relation to its non-humans. Rather, discourses of environmental ethics prevent the participants to appreciate nature beyond gazing. As for me, I use Paper II to demonstrate that, in the case of Bornholm’s craft-artists, the materials of their crafts have a way to guide their interactions with tourists. The materials that require more showy techniques are more appealing to the tourist audience. Studying encounters thus relates to the way various mundane interactions are mediated through an interplay between the social, bodily, spatial and material in tourist spaces.
2.3 Imagining Alternative Tourism Imagining how spatial and social dynamics evolve during tourism is important as this industry keeps expanding. Too many people find travelling to be useful to their lives, and too many people depend on it as a source of income in an industry with traditionally low entry costs. This is why Gibson (2012; 2010) upholds that tourism encounters necessitate constant analysis and reflection. Looking closely at both embodied social performances and spatial negotiations in tourism coincides with the moral grounds of plurality and relationality I discussed in the introduction. It becomes relevant to consider the multiple and complex local human experiences tourism creates in order to reflect upon, and hopefully improve, the meaning of encounters as tourists are penetrating more and more their hosts’ spaces.
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Local experiences of close encounters with guests display to varying degrees alternative elements to what Obrador, Crang and Travlou (2009) call the industrialization of leisure, characterized by the standardized holiday in the highly touristic space. While I use Papers I and II to explore a form of tourism that finds its alternative element in the contact between the consumer and the producer of a place-based hand-made product within a personal local space, there are forms of tourism that foster more direct engagement in living spaces. The emergence of the concept of alternative tourism substantiates the pervasiveness of tourism in modern society. Living spaces are increasingly becoming tourist spaces where an intimate cultural learning experience is offered by the host and expected of the guest (see Deville, Wearing & MacDonald, 2016; Miller & Mair, 2015; 2014; Mostafanezhad, 2016; 2014). Alternative tourism gained increasing popularity in discourses of ethics, responsible tourism, community empowerment and sustainability because of its purported sensitive approach to the needs of host communities (HigginsDesbiolles, 2008; 2006; Scheyvens, 2012; 2002a; Singh, 2002). Moreover, alternative forms of tourism are meant to foster close interpersonal exchanges between host and guest, where learning and helping are often key binding factors (Higgins-Desbiolles, 2008; 2006; McIntosh & Zahra, 2007; Zahra & McGehee, 2013). Alternative tourism thus promises a more just and honest form of encounter between host and guest, based in reciprocity, rather than reflecting modern consumer culture (Jafari, 2001). In Papers III and IV, I take a managerial outlook on close encounters and community sustainability to explore the dilemmas behind a type of tourism, volunteer tourism, commonly associated with the concept of alternative tourism. The conceptualization of a form of tourism supporting non-economic objectives opposite to traditional tourism has its roots in the emergence of notions of making tourism a tool for local development (Weaver, 2006). With the rise of global concerns for sustainable development in the 1980s came concern over the impacts of tourism. There was a notion that tourism should be beneficial for more than economic purposes, and at least be benign to the cultures and environment it touched (Butler, 1999). Alternative tourism was recognized by some academics as the form of adaptability that was needed to procure alternative options to mass tourism (Gonsalves, 1987; Holden, 1984; Dernoi, 1981), the latter often conceived as destructive for local environments and cultures by bringing hordes of people to fragile spaces. The commitment to make tourism a more ethical practice is obvious in the theoretical description of alternative tourism. Alternative tourism was defined as a form of tourism related to: “[…] authentic, cultural,
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historical and natural attractions that are perceived to capture a destination’s unique sense of place and allow for interactions between visitors and local residents” (Weaver, 2006, p.38). Alternative forms of tourism are associated with limited environmental and social impacts and greater participatory opportunities for local businesses as their activities are smaller in scale (Kirsten & Rogerson, 2002; Oriade & Evans, 2011; Weaver, 2006). Different niches of alternative tourism have emerged over time proposing experiences in for instance: ecotourism, rural tourism, pro-poor tourism, volunteer tourism, communitybased tourism, and agro-tourism (Weaver, 2006). Besides entrepreneurs, as explored in Papers III and IV, communities, such as Sólheimar eco-village in Iceland, have opened up to volunteers to help them meet their sustainability goals. This promise to move towards a more localized, sensitive and interactive form of tourism would arguably set the ground for the imagination of an alternative economy where ethical practices would matter (GibsonGraham & Cameron, 2007; Wearing, McDonald & Ponting, 2005). However, imagining alternative tourism as a best-practice does not come without its dilemmas. The different forms of alternative tourism have been criticized, fostering skepticism in tourism scholarship as to their ability to promote the sustainable development they promised (Butcher, 2005; 2002). Alternative types of tourism turned out to be only partial solutions as tourist destinations with small carrying-capacities became increasingly flooded with visitors regardless of their targeted size of audience (Butler, 1999). It is now evident that the logic by which there is, on one end of a spectrum, a good form of tourism, such as alternative tourism, and, on the other end, another form of tourism, mass tourism, which is bad, is now discarded as too simplistic and impractical (Weaver, 2013). To Cohen, (1972), Scheyvens (2002b), and Wheeller (1997), numerous forms of tourism, initially meant to be sensitive and small-scale such as eco-tourism and backpacking, have intensified in the past decades becoming increasingly standardized, and not so diversified from the mass tourism they were meant to replace. Alternative tourism has been accused of being a mere marketing scheme to generate higher business profits, rather than being the result of environmentally and socially conscious entrepreneurship (Butler, 1999; Weaver, 2009; 2007). Many volunteer tourism organizations offering volunteer experiences in poverty stricken places are accused by tourism scholars of seeking their own reproduction as capitalist ventures, following the conventional procedure of cultural commodification and uneven power relations, which undermines local developmental goals (Guttentag, 2009; Palacios, 2010; Sin, 2010).
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Evidently, bringing the host and guests closer together within the complex tourist system will require better solutions than to content ourselves with offering small-scale alternatives (Clarke, 1997; Weaver, 2013). It cannot be forgotten that the negotiations and performances behind the development of alternative tourism are linked to processes of hybridization taking place around the world at tourist destinations. If the process of negotiation and fragmentation described earlier in this section teaches us something it is that the spatial dynamics of tourism are complex and involve many actors, objects, and places (Britton, 1991; Darbellay & Stock, 2012; Hall, 2013; Ioannides & Debbage, 2004; 1998). What is especially problematic with alternative forms of tourism is that, not only are local actors handling the presence of guests in private and communal spaces such as their homes, natural environments, and workplaces, they are doing this with more than economic goals in mind. The unfortunate reality that economic goals are given priority over other socioenvironmental goals in alternative tourism can be linked to the sheer nature of the capitalist system that equates survival with profit (Mostafanezhad, 2016). As Coghlan and Noakes (2012) outline, in this case in terms of charitable organizations, stakeholders must ultimately compromise between making money from selling an experience and following their alternative mission. Mostafanezhad (2016) illustrates this reality nicely with her study of organic farm volunteering holiday, where environmentally conscious hosts were forced to buy in bulk at food chain stores to afford feeding their guests. The food they grew on their farm was too expensive to give away to volunteers, highlighting that their goals of environmentalism could not outweigh their economic survival. Negotiations, reinvention, and compromises intensify as non-economic goals, such as professional artistic development (Paper I) and community sustainability (Papers III and IV), side with economic goals in a global system (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012). It is all the more apparent in spaces that are meant to foster alternative lifestyles, such as the organic farm or eco-village, that the volunteer’s desire to experience and learn is not always compatible with local practical goals (Deville, et al., 2016; Mostafanezhad, 2016; Yamamoto, & Engelsted, 2014). I highlight in Paper III that this divergence is often identified by tourism researchers, but mostly overlooked as a managerial issue needing reflection. Re-imagining alternative tourism as a moral practice requires meticulously looking at how local actors handle their close encounters with tourists within their own living spaces. As Salazar (2012, p.18) contends, in terms of community-based tourism: “Local communities must develop strategies for receiving and interacting with tourists as well as displaying themselves and their
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visible culture”. Looking closely at encounters is a moral assertion that local experiences, the way they are negotiated and performed, matter to the elaboration of spatial theory and managerial plans in tourism (Caton, 2012; Mostafanezhad & Hannam, 2014). I thus propose contextualizing the complexities of managing alternative tourism through my study of Sólheimar eco-village in Paper IV It is my conviction that through the application of relational approaches in tourism geography, it becomes possible to unravel further some of the dynamics of managing and coping with the complexities associated with noneconomic goals in tourism. These complexities are apparent in alternative tourism as the latter is developed on a background of spatial negotiations and embodied performances. It is important to reflect on the way various forms of relations come to exist, fashioning both a material and social space, in order to start proposing moral ways of thinking about lived experiences and encounters between hosts and guests. Importantly, as I will define next, bringing forward the plurality and complexity of relations characteristic of spaces of tourism ultimately means we need to reflect on the language we use to speak of them.
2.4 Imagining a World of Relations Significant to the re-imagination of alternative tourism is a relational understanding of the spaces where social interactions occur, and how they come into being through negotiations. The agency to negotiate that relational geography concedes to its actors is significant to the imagination of moral conceptions of space (Massey, 2005; 1991). It is important to think of space as multiple, extroverted, and integrating the global and the local into one complex realm. Geographer Doreen Massey (2005; 2004; 1991), who through various publications has theorized the relationality of space, critiqued the concept of place elaborated by humanistic and structuralist geographers calling it a simplistic dualism, essentialist, limiting and omitting power relations and wider forces of inclusion and exclusion. Massey (2005; 1991), and other proponents of relational geography (see Amin 2004; 2002; Escobar, 2001; Gibson-Graham, 2004; 2003; 2002; Woods, 2007), believe it is impossible to retain any sense of a particular space in the face of increased mobility and intermixing. It is thus better to think of space as having many senses; the multiple identities of people translate into multiple spatial identities (Massey, 1991). Space is made up of constellations of social relations, meeting and weaving together to form a particular locus, including those relations with the wider world.
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Before delving into the singularities and possibilities found in relational geography, which inspired in different ways my individual papers, I want to first highlight the post-structural nature of relational geography. Language is crucial to highlight the relations people cultivate with each other and with their material world in order to give them significance in social, political, and economic discourses (Gibson-Graham & Cameron, 2007; Grimwood, 2014). In the social sciences, post-structuralism has contributed to the creation of words, concepts and metaphors describing processes that would have otherwise been kept invisible without their emergence through discursive or nonrepresentational analysis (Gibson-Graham, 2004; 2000; Jackson, 1989; Popke, 2009). Post-structuralism had been embraced by many geographers by the 1980s, and opened up a new world of possibilities, which had been rather unimaginable under positivism (Cresswell, 2013; Murdoch, 2006). Post-structuralism basically solves the structuralist binary of agency and structure by doing away with these two concepts as analytical tools, instead wishing to scrutinize the assumptions and interplays at their very foundation (Cresswell, 2013; Murdoch, 2006). The incursion of poststructuralism in geography has greatly impacted the topics and methods of interest for geographers. Geographic discourses have become more inventive and concerned with style and form, rather than solely with the scientific rigor it fostered before (Barnes & Duncan, 1991). The development in the social sciences of the generation and analysis of textual meaning to understand the world translated in an interest to engage with cultural forms, text and imaginaries in geography (Murdoch, 2006). Murdoch (2006) argues that an interest in post-structuralism amongst geographers led to a shift of attention towards cultural analysis, rather than economic structures, coinciding with the ascension of cultural geography to the theoretical mainstream. Post-structuralism can be defined as: “[…] a body of thought that insists that ‘reality’ and ‘truth’ are an effect of what we think and do rather than a cause” (Cresswell, 2013, p.206). Under the post-structuralist orientation, researchers engage with the plural meanings emerging from a text and context. Essential truths are illegitimate and replaced by ambiguity, subjectivity, instability and uncertainty (Foucault, 1971; Smith, 2001). Going back two centuries, Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900) (1954 [1873]) stated that truth is intellectually structured, having us believe in essential meaning, and forgetting about the violent and unfair compromising it required to become the truth (Babette, 1999; Sherratt, 2006). These concepts become our own benchmarks for truth, and leave little place for diversity in our interpretation of the world. Echoing Nietzsche in more current terms, Michel Foucault (1926-1984) (1980) claimed
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that each society has its mechanisms to define what is true or not, and that these have been formed through various historical constraints and struggles. In this regard, understanding social phenomena requires an approach where the nature of the link between truth and power can be studied in relation to their proper context (Howarth, 2000). Though Foucault himself never appreciated being given the label of post-structuralist (see Raulet, 1983), his work is nonetheless widely considered to be at the foundation of poststructuralism, and cannot be disregarded when referring to the linguistic features of social life (Sherratt, 2006). Foucault (1979) defines how power is transmitted through social relations in a way which forms truths over the state of society and its institutional systems. Just as a truth could not emerge without the power of a mechanism which establishes its legitimacy, power could not function without establishing truths over its legitimacy (Foucault, 1979). Truth and power are therefore inseparable as they cannot occur without the pervasive reach of the other. Foucault (1979) calls this relational process discourse (see also Howarth, 2000). Madness would not exist if we would not have created the language to conceive of it in the first place. The diagnosis is in fact a categorization where actors in positions of authority (i.e., doctors, researchers, legislators, psychologists) assign labels to medical patients to define their ailments (i.e., depressive, compulsive, psychotic). The process reaches a disciplinary form as the subject is trained to conform to normal standards, such as through taking medication or being interned at a medical facility. Eventually, the subject is meant to internalize the disciplinary process and see to her own conformation to standards of normality. In Foucault’s (1980) terms, the effects of power are subtle, and do not necessarily amount to resistance by those affected by it. Power is a productive process that normalizes behaviors and opinions so that individuals accept their state of affair. It does not belong to particular individuals, but rather is diffused through society by regimes such as schools, research institutes, clinics and media. (Foucault, 1980). When we consider Foucault and Nietzsche’s arguments on the interplay of knowledge and power, we come to appreciate the social nature of the words and concepts we use in our daily interactions. This situation underscores the importance of the researcher’s situatedness in poststructuralist investigation (Sherratt, 2006). Social and cultural systems cannot be understood without considering the relation between those that produce knowledge, and those whom knowledge is produced about. Belhassen and Caton (2009) agree that knowledge production is a linguistic process, negotiated during conversations between stakeholders such as academics,
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policy makers and study participants. What researchers produce are in fact metaphors which they feel best describe the contexts they study (Belhassen & Caton. 2009). What becomes knowledge is the interpretation of particular findings that seem most logical to those producing and disseminating it as information. Knowledge emerges from the interplay between the discursive systems put in place through such regimes as scientific communities and the localized social practices studied by these researchers. From a poststructuralist viewpoint, language is where agency is produced. Unfortunately, at times, linguistic production gives a voice to certain identities, while overlooking, or even deliberately ignoring, other identities (Spivak, 1992). It thus is important for the post-structuralist researcher to reflect on the way language is constructed in her discipline as multiple authors and subjects are involved in this process. The proponents of post-structuralism have contributed to the emergence of radical geographies on a mission to formulate worldviews embracing the complexity and multiplicity of social identities (Cresswell, 2013; Dixon & Jones, 1998; Harrison, 2015; Murdoch, 2006). Post-structuralism gave rise to forums for discussions in geography where actors once neglected through structural and positivist theories could be given a voice (Jackson, 1989). It promoted their emancipation by revealing the symbolic forces that disempowered and disenfranchised them (Gibson-Graham, 2004; Popke, 2009). The flourishing of feminist, queer, post-colonial and moral geographies are examples of the cultural turn geography took as it embraced poststructuralism. Relational geography is a product of the post-structural ethos. The world is no longer made of discrete things with distinct essences, rather it is formed through the ways various people, things and spaces come into being through their relations (Murdoch, 2006). These interrelations come into being through forces of competition and cooperation, shifting through time, and give spaces their unique character (Massey, 2005; 1991). Relational geography implies that the formation of space: “[…] will always be an invention; there will be need for judgment, learning, improvisation” (Massey, 2005, p.162). The processes behind the constitution of spatial identities themselves are the matter of interest, not the essences constituting these identities. I explore these features of relational space in Paper I where I present rural tourist spaces as made up of local and extra-local networks. This approach enables us to think about spatial heterogeneity as the defining feature of any political, economic and social condition, agreeing that the relational emergence of space is both a consensual and contested process (Massey, 2005; 1991). Important to consider is Simonsen’s (2012, p.22)
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contention that each individual: “[…] approaches the political as a field of forces and struggle for co-existence”. The way individuals experience social life is at the foundation of social critique (Simonsen, 2012). Maintaining a sense of human agency is crucial to a notion of relational geography engaged with ethics. Amin (2002) proposes that a relational understanding of space under globalization shifts the focus away from an uneven balance of power, onto a vision of networked space, where new voices can be heard and alternative politics advocated. Terms embracing an ethos of relationality, reformulation and open discussion are further needed in tourism scholarship to keep uncovering and demystifying what is hidden under the surface of tourism development schemes and encounters. Gibson-Graham (2004; 2003) and Gibson-Graham and Cameron (2007) encourage putting into words the non-capitalist ways in which we are connected. They write: “Given the impoverished field of economic possibility, the ethical practice of subject formation requires cultivating our capacities to imagine, desire and practice noncapitalist ways to be” (Gibson-Graham, 2003, p.54). This implies considering the other ways people are involved in the economy, such as within their households and community organizations, and through volunteer work, barter, collective enterprises, and so on. The message to take is that by focusing on naming the effects of globalization at the performative and contextual level, we avoid the colonization of our imagination by a unique imaginary (Gibson-Graham, 2004). Tourism geography has progressed conceptually and theoretically through the adoption of various post-structuralist approaches during its critical and cultural turns of the past decades (Gale, 2012). It can evidently progress further from these approaches. For example, Grimwood’s (2014) elaboration of new relational metaphors to speak of tourism more fairly in indigenous contexts is an example of how a relational approach can be related to morality. By acknowledging embodied experiences of the Arctic through new relational terms (i.e., emplacement, wayfaring and gathering), the contemporary livelihoods of the Inuit people Grimwood (2014) speaks of are made to matter in the articulation of tourism discourses. Belhassen and Caton (2009, p.343) call such words “[…] discursive anchors around which academic conversation can progress”. The authors name authenticity and community as such terms, stating these words do not have a single definition, but rather serve to fuel conversation amongst tourism scholars around their various meanings and implications (Belhassen & Caton, 2009). I now showcase two concepts, based in relational understandings of space, which I see as discursive anchors that can help scholars advance
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discussions of local experiences in tourism geography. I refer to these two concepts as: dwelling, as imagined by Tim Ingold (2011), and sincerity, as proposed by John Taylor (2001). Both these scholars are in fact anthropologists, but their work is significant to a relational conception of social space and to the management of encounters. Dwelling is featured in Paper II and sincerity in Paper III. These two concepts ultimately reflect the salience of the poststructural ontology of re-imagining social and material relations, and have guided me in my elaboration of new terms to speak of alternatives and morals in tourism. 2.4.1 Dwelling The adoption of post-structuralism in geography has enabled the dismantling of social structures and their symbolic meaning (Creswell, 2013; Murdoch, 2006). However, for some scholars, this mere dismantling was not radical enough. Post-structuralist approaches were criticized for not doing away completely away with the tyranny of structures and their impingement on social life in their deconstruction of discourses, symbols and texts (Massey, 2000; Rose, 2002). To conceptualize the world with as few of these structures as possible, some scholars went even further in reimagining the world around them. As touched upon earlier in the description of the performance turn in tourism, increasing attention in human geography is given to varied notions of performance relating to practice, materiality and embodied agency (Wylie, 2007). All of these processes are central to relational thinking. A shift towards a more performative notion of space has been seen mostly as a critique of deeply intellectual ways of thinking about the world in terms of signs, structures and symbols (Thrift & Dewsbury, 2000). Geographer Nigel Thrift (2008; 2004; 2000; 1996) was seeking a deeper re-conceptualization of space in geographic theory when he proposed what he called non-representational theory. Instead of seeing space as a container of action, Thrift (2008; 2004; 2000; 1996) argues that space is produced through performative moments. Nonrepresentational theory worked well as a critique to the primacy of text and discourse which disregards that the world is in a constant state of becoming, filled with moments of creativity and liveliness (Thrift, 2008; 2004; 2000; 1996). This is not to say that representation can be completely dismissed from social analysis. It is impossible not to give names and form categories as we express ourselves through language. Rather, representation is to be seen as performative in itself, as part of a realm of embodied practices and performances that situate the subject as in and of the world (Dewsbury, Wylie, Harrison & Rose, 2002). In my work, I thus conceive of non-representational
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theory as Geographer Hayden Lorimer (2005) did when he coined the term more than representational theory. This precision in the term is used to avoid the misconception that we can do away completely with representation. As Lorimer (2005) asserts, the researcher now seeks to give meaning to performance and practice in her portrayal of the world. In his words: “The focus falls on how life takes shape and gains expression in shared experiences, everyday routines, fleeting encounters, embodied movements, precognitive triggers, practical skills, affective intensities, enduring urges, unexceptional interactions and sensuous dispositions” (Lorimer, 2005, p.84). Instead of uncovering meaning and assigning value to human action, the researcher focuses on the material compositions and conducts of what she sees (Dewsbury et al., 2002). McCormack (2008) notes that certain activities find their meaning in tangible corporeality of individual expressions that cannot be explained through a conventional representational frame. With non-representational theory, the aim is ultimately to imagine new frames of reference to speak of people’s involvement in the world (Lorimer, 2005). I suggest, in Paper II, that corporeal ways of being involved in tourist landscapes can be revealed through the non-representational concept of dwelling. The dwelling perspective, established by Tim Ingold (2011), exemplifies the formation of new language to imagine embodied subjectivity and its effect on space. Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s (1962 [1945]) notion of a body that inhabits space and time, rather than merely finds itself in space and time, is central to the dwelling perspective (Ingold, 2011). Opposing the mind and body dichotomy, Merleau-Ponty (1962 [1945]) argues that the body is not to be seen as an object, but rather as the condition and context which enables one to have a relation with the objects of the world. Human performance is the result of embodied practices that contain transformative elements that can fashion space in enduring ways (Cloke & Jones, 2001). Ingold (2011) was also inspired by Martin Heidegger’s (1889-1975) (1971) phenomenology, where humans inhabit their world through their ongoing practices. By inhabiting space, humans make the latter meaningful, a realm of daily involvement, where they both find their way and feel at home (Simonsen, 2012). Dwelling implies people extract resources over time through various mundane practices, build and refashion structures, form institutions and hold bonds of different nature and strength with their material space and its other inhabitants, human and non-human alike. Ingold (2011) proposes that landscapes arise from the practical activities of those who dwell therein. This formulation implies a landscape is formed through movements of incorporation. The processes that give rise to
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human activity weave themselves in the environment, evoking that: “[…] the landscape is constituted as an enduring record of – and testimony to – the lives and works of past generations who have dwelt within it, and in so doing, have left there something of themselves” (Ingold, 2011: 189). This process of incorporation is what Ingold (2011) considered to be embodiment. Incorporation differs from inscription whereby a cultural template is used to give meaning to landscapes. A hunter knows how to track prey because of repeated immersion in the noises, compositions and smells of the forest. This knowledge comes from the inhabitation of a space, not because of learning through text or imagery. The notion of dwelling in a landscape implies that humans have a connection to a material world (Ingold, 2011). A consideration of materiality gives objects a form of agency that entangles them in the realm of the social (Latour, 1996; Whatmore, 2002). Whatmore (2002) explains that materials foremost have their own agency which affords us bodily capabilities by enabling certain performances. Whatmore (2002) argues that the substance of human and non-human bodies are not solely the receptacle of social retroprojection; they are also the vehicle of performances in the social ordering. This must not be misunderstood to mean that objects have the same agency as human subjects, acquiring agency through their movements, or by being moved around by outside forces: “An actant can literally be anything provided it is granted to be the source of action” (Latour, 1996, p.373). Non-humans stimulate reactions amongst social beings. It is the relation between the human and nonhuman that becomes significant as performance stems from there. Popke (2009) believes that these accounts of how we construct and perform our world in relation to each other and with other non-humans enables us to conceive of our position in the world differently. When we see the world as ongoing fluxes of becoming, our attention is directed towards hybridity and corporeality (Whatmore, 2002). The webs of connections we foster within our material world are based in discursive as well as corporeal actions which orient our senses in the world (Ingold, 2011; Simonsen, 2012). As we are made aware of how non-humans and spaces are brought into being through our relations to them, we can enact our responsibilities towards them (Hinchliffe & Whatmore, 2006; Popke, 2009; Whatmore, 2002). By raising the conceptual possibilities found in applying the dwelling perspective, I explore in Paper II some of the multiple and fluid identities of things and beings situated in relation to each other in the tourist landscape. I contend that a conception of tourist spaces as realms of dwelling makes us more attuned to the different possibilities that emanate from living in close relation to tourism.
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2.4.2 Sincerity In the past, some scholars have tended to view tourism as the perpetrator of a negative dominant culture of consumption patterns, habits and prejudice, where guests end up imposing their subjectivity on their host (Wearing & Wearing, 2006; McCannell, 1992). This view of tourism has mostly lost currency with the emergence of relational ways of thinking about space and culture as both hybrid and dynamic (Hollinshead, 2009; Meethan, 2003; 2001). To view tourism as the perpetrator of discourses of subordination does not benefit local actors negotiating their way through the development of tourism (Milne & Ateljevic, 2001). Cultural groups are open to certain re-figuration and influences brought about by tourism, making hybridity a central concept to the conceptualization of tourist spaces and their people (Amoamo, 2011; Hollinshead, 2009; 1998; Oakes, 1999; 1993). Cultural changes occur through a transformative process where dominant discourses are challenged and reformulated as they materialize locally; blurring new and old identities in complex and unpredictable manners (Meethan, 2003; 2001). Wearing and Wearing (2006) hold that the integration of tourism to local strategies should promote the emergence of a spatial hybridity positive to the host-community. Werbner (1997, p.5) calls such hybridity a deliberate deployment of culture meant to: “[…] shock, change, challenge, revitalize or disrupt through deliberate intended fusions of unlike social languages and images”. Amoamo (2011) studied Maori operators who select, recollect and present their own stories of their colonial past along with their modern day context as post-colonial agents by taking tourists on alternative tours. These tours are used to showcase Maori culture as dynamic and adapted to the global economy. Amoamo (2011) thus identifies a new space where a hybrid culture takes precedence over one frozen in primitive times. The assertion of cultural hybridity in tourism is demonstrated to be a strategic instrument to deal with discourses and structures of globalization (Amoamo, 2011). Of interest in Paper III, John Taylor (2001) proposes the cultivation of negotiations between host and guest over the meaning of their cultural encounter, which he defines as a gesture of sincerity. MacCannell (1976) famously coined the term staged-authenticity, implying that there is a backstage to tourism where the host’s culture is more authentic than what is staged for consumption. The popularity of alternative forms of tourism related to cultural encounters, such as volunteer tourism, attest to a growing interest amongst tourists to live back-stage experiences. However, cultures, as well as their authenticity, are social constructions influenced by an array of interrelations (Wang, 1999). It is problematic for host communities to display
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true essences to please tourists (Taylor, 2001). For instance, Conran (2011) criticizes the search for back-stage authenticity amongst volunteer tourists stating that it creates a contrived notion of intimacy where tourists are left searching for cultural essences and interpersonal bonds. The volunteers’ search for intimacy during such cultural encounters overshadows the structural inequalities at the core of their relationships, and denies the host her own critical voice (Conran, 2011). In light of this shortcoming, Taylor (2001, p.23) innovatively presents his conception of sincerity in his discussion of cultural tourism, saying: “The notion of sincerity is significantly different from that of authenticity in that it occurs in the zone of contact among participating groups or individuals, rather than appearing as an internal quality of a thing, self, or Other”. Sincerity is, for Taylor (2001), about moving away from the deceit of essences and representations. An interest in sincerity implies an openness to let communication between host and guest flourish where values and identities can be negotiated (Taylor, 2001). Sincerity, as I present it in Paper III, is meant to direct attention towards the possible ways hosts and guests can attentively meet through alternative tourism at the eco-community. I wish to propose that sincerity is an assertion that tourist encounters can be imagined in creative and dynamic ways. Sincerity can be linked to alternative community development as it implies a form of management of host and guest encounters based in social exchange. In the case studied by Amoamo (2011), the alternative narratives presented to tourists are organized as objects of communication and negotiation, forming realistic pathways for this cultural group’s development. Gibson-Graham (2004; 2003) and Gibson-Graham and Cameron (2007) argue that the theorization of alternative local development can be used to see the multiple openings that provide space for new possibilities. An interest for sincerity in alternative tourism at the eco-community is not a suggestion to re-imagine global economic and political systems in provoking ways. The global capitalist system cannot idealistically be dismantled and replaced to foster unproblematic encounters between hosts and guests, but communication between the two stakeholders can be fruitful. The search for drastic utopian mentality reflects that often the sustainability of social endeavors and community projects are judged in unrealistic terms (Gibson-Graham & Cameron, 2007). In Paper III, what I seek to unravel with the concept of sincerity is rather a re-imagination of how we define the successes and failures of alternative solutions in terms more sensitive to the relational nature of spaces and local cultures.
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3 Research Design As I became a doctoral student, I was given the exciting, yet very challenging, task of putting together my own research project. I have thus chosen my case studies and their methodologies myself. The two cases I am about to present are related to places I have grown very fond of through my own travels. Visiting them as a researcher with a baggage of critical theories made me see these places in a different way, but did not suppress my interest to learn more about their people. I relate their selection to their unusual features in an attempt to bring new stories forward, but also to the salience of studying the type of alternatives they foster in their integration of tourism. These cases, anchored in the northern European context, are: rural tourism and the craftartists of Bornholm, Denmark (Papers I and II) and volunteer tourism at Sólheimar eco-village, Iceland (Papers III and IV) (see Figure 1 for the locations of the two case studies). It was obvious from the beginning that I would need qualitative methods of inquiry to research these cases with the ambition of understanding their people’s experiences of tourism. In this chapter, I explain why I chose to work with narratives (Papers I and II) and ethnography (Papers III and IV), and the implications of these modes of analysis for my research process. As for the data collection, I describe in detail how I went about collecting interviews and participant observation through different sets of fieldwork. This description is essential to inform the reader in the best way possible as to how I formed my conclusions. It is important to consider the constructed nature of knowledge in science, and therefore I leave the last sub-section of this chapter to methodological considerations. These thoughts are related to my positionality and the validation process of qualitative inquiry in the poststructuralist realm of thinking.
3.1 Case Selection Both my cases are paradigmatic to the re-ordering of socio-economic lives towards tourism development highlighted in my theoretical chapter. Paradigmatic cases function as reference points to the characteristics of society, and can support the establishment of schools of thoughts (Flyvberg, 2006). In both instances, I have chosen to work with cases that reflect the complex nature of tourist encounters in spaces meant to represent and foster different types of alternatives in the northern European context. My selection of my cases, in terms of their applicability to my research questions, is twofold.
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Firstly, to open up to the complexity of tourism as a lived phenomenon for the host, I favored the peculiar in my selection of craft-art and rural tourism on Bornholm. Secondly, to contribute to the field of tourism through critical thinking and re-conceptualizations, I chose the case of Sólheimar eco-village where I studied host-guest encounters in volunteer tourism. Case studies as a method of inquiry are practical to investigate reallife phenomena occurring within contemporary bounded systems (Creswell, 2013; Yin, 2009). As I seek an in-depth analysis of the relations that shape spaces and lived experiences, methods that enable me to assess closely social and spatial features are necessary. Proximity to reality is a prerequisite to learn about it, and the case study approach offers that possibility. Flyvbjerg (2006, p.224) explains that: “Predictive theories and universals cannot be found in the study of human affairs”. It thus becomes important to access first-hand this reality where narratives, perspectives and behaviors which characterize social action come together (Flyvbjerg, 2006). My two case studies are to be seen as in-depth involvements with two different social context in order to bring forward a diversity of clues and impressions over the complex and multiple realities of living with tourism, especially while fostering non-economic goals.
Figure 1: The location of the two case studies in northern Europe (Map by Arie Stoffelen at KU Leuven, 2017)
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Case study research is not only appropriate when it can be used for generalizing theoretical and conceptual applications (Eckstein, 1992; Flyvberg, 2006). In this regard, two points must be remembered. First, case studies can be used to falsify theoretical assumptions, instead of only aim at generalizing (Eckstein, 1992; Flyvberg, 2006). By carefully selecting a critical case with strategic relevance to the research questions of the study, the researcher can go on finding theoretical inconsistencies in her context of study, provoking the revision or rejection of a theory. Falsification is a rigorous scientific method, which Karl Popper (1959) presented to avoid the researcher bias stemming from verification. With falsification, instead of looking for the signs that will confirm one’s theory, the researcher is interested in the signs that will disprove its generalization (Popper, 1959). This strategy implies that choosing a case that is at first glance likely to fit a theory can instead be used to find how it does not (Eckstein, 1992; Flyvberg, 2006). My selection of Sólheimar eco-village to study host-guest interactions in volunteer tourism is such a case study (Papers III and IV). If even in this ideal community, intentionally formed through social and environmental goals of sharing and learning, there are tensions in the management of volunteering guests, there must be managerial tensions in other lesser ideal community-contexts of volunteer tourism. Through this case study, falsification can become a form of generalization. Sólheimar eco-village, Iceland is where about a hundred individuals live and work. This is a community whose ideal of sustainability is reflected in its goals of social integration for adults with mental handicaps, local economic subsistence and promotion of sustainable best-practices and environmental education (Bang, 2002). Residents with a mental handicap compose about forty-five percent of the village’s population. They are employed at the different businesses and workshops that have flourished at Sólheimar over the years, or at other positions around the villages. Their tasks correspond to their abilities, and are meant to stimulate feelings of self-worth and inclusion. Individuals without a mental-handicap fulfill administrative and coordinative duties, and have to adapt to the form of organization the disabled residents necessitate. The village receives long-term guests all year round, through different volunteer, internship and student programs, to help at its workshops, and businesses, including its educational center (see Figure 6). There are six artisanal workshops producing wood works, wool works, soaps, candles, ceramics and art made mostly of organic materials (see Figure 2). The businesses are: an organic greenhouse, a tree nursery and a center for sustainability and environmental education built in 2002 (see Figure 7).
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Volunteer tourism is a popular research topic in tourism scholarship, most likely due to its increasing popularity amongst young travelers in the recent years (Wearing & McGehee, 2013). Community volunteer tourism is arguably the form of tourism that solicits the closest form of encounter between host and guest as the latter is invited to share the same space as her host in the hope of gaining a profound cultural learning experience (Wearing, 2001). The problematic explored by scholars often revolves around the commodified nature of sending out privileged youth to experience poverty and exotic lifestyles, while the latter does very little to actually contribute to lasting local development (Guttentag, 2009; Palacios, 2010). These dynamics are characteristic of cases in the global South, which are out of the geographical scope of this thesis. In Paper III, I relate the situation of Sólheimar to the organic farm experience, where hosts open their homes to guests who are willing to provide free labour in exchange of helping out with the eco-friendly business. I do this to highlight the position of the eco-village in a developed context and its ambition to provide a learning experience to guests on top of having them contribute to their welfare. Cases investigating alternative space like an eco-community or family farm in developed contexts have mostly been used to conceptualize the positive aspects of this type of volunteer tourism (see Kosnik, 2014; Miller & Mair, 2015; 2014; Terry, 2014).
Figure 2: Creations from the wood workshop at Sólheimar (Photo by Solène Prince, 2010)
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Opening up the alternative community in the developed world to more scrutiny is thus of interest in the study of volunteer tourism. Papers III and IV narrow down on management issues that creep up on the host due to the intrinsic nature of offering a volunteer tourism experience where service and comfort are juxtaposed to hard labor. The second point to remember about case study research is that the narratives extracted from the case are in themselves meant to be a rich source of valuable information (Flyvberg, 2006). It thus becomes interesting to look for cases that are rich in content and social action, regardless of concerns with generalization of how typical or average these are in relation to a wider context (MacLure, 2013). The more actors involved in a context, and the more diverse these are, represents an interesting chance for increased insight into the processes that make up social life. In my case study on the arts and craft community on Bornholm in Denmark, I was interested in investigating the peculiarity of an art cluster thriving on tourism in the countryside (Paper I). Tourism in the countryside is usually related to food and drink production. This case thus brings a new perspective to the fore. Important to keep in mind is that this countryside is a hybrid space, displaying the complex spatial interrelations discussed by Massey (2005; 1991), which link it to global processes and problematize its definition as an essentially rural space (Heley
Figure 3: Svaneke, Bornholm, during the tourist season (Photo by Solène Prince, 2011) Figure 4: Tourists in Svaneke, Bornholm (Prince, 2017c) 44 Figure 5: Tourists in Svaneke, Bornholm (Prince, 2017c)
& Jones, 2012; McCarthy, 2008; Woods, 2009; 2007). Bornholm, with its population of 39 829 permanent residents (Statistics Denmark, 2016), hosts around 750 000 tourists during its summer tourist season (Larsen & Rømer, 2013) (see Figure 3). The experiences and ambitions of the members of its arts and craft community thus represent an attractive case to study tourism in a complex context of local and global interactions. With this case study, I also follow MacLure’s (2013, p.660) proposition to: “[…] acknowledge that data have their ways of making themselves intelligible to us”. In this regard, the researcher should go towards the moments that she finds interesting during her data collection. It is with this spirit that I turned to non-representational ways of analyzing space in my study of craft-art and rural tourism on Bornholm (Paper II). A case reflecting the multiple aspirations and challenges faced by those tangled in the production of a rural tourist space is salient to a discussion on coping strategies and spatial dynamics in tourism. It has become a significant field of interest in tourism research to gain insight on the structures and potential of tourism to generate development in European regions lagging in development due to economic restructuring (see Saxena & Ilbery, 2010; Saxena, Clark & Oliver, 2007; Oliver & Jenkins, 2003). Bornholm underwent major economic restructuring where several European and national programs were implemented, starting in the 1990s, to counter the island’s collapsed economy. Many of these incentives were aimed at boosting the tourism industry (Ioannides & Petersen, 2003; 2001). The restructuring stimulated the development of various micro-businesses involved mostly with specialized foods, hospitality, and handcrafts, which now characterize Bornholm’s economy and destination brand (Ioannides & Petersen, 2003; 2001; Manniche & Larsen, 2013). In the early 2000s, the development of the arts and craft cluster garnered attention from local politicians who were seeking to boost tourism on Bornholm by branding the Hasle municipality as a center for craft-art. This sparked the grassroots formation in 2002 of the Arts and Crafts Association Bornholm (ACAB). Interestingly, the ACAB is meant to provide a competitive advantage to its members on the international craft scene and during their island’s intensive tourist season by enabling them to pool resources. The complex web of relations created through regional development on Bornholm is a significant element to the study of rural tourism. Rural tourism is usually associated with place-based experiences related to rural infrastructure of production and processing (Lane, 2009a; Sharpley, 2004). Importantly, the rural space is not just a physical space, but also comes into
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existence through signs and symbols related to particular traditional practices, products and lifestyles embedded within the notion of rurality (Ray, 1998; Kneafsey, 2001). One of the most compelling image of rural spaces in the European context is the rural idyll, implying a space of peace, spirituality and tranquility (Avraham, 2003; Bunce, 2003; Jepson & Sharpley, 2015; Shields, 1991; Short, 2006). As I explore in Paper I, the production of arts and crafts also enters imaginaries of idyllic rurality sought after by its inhabitants and by the tourists looking for sites of localized hand-made and small-scale production, opposite to the fast-paced and standardized elements of the traditionally urban space (see also Prince, 2017d) (see Figures 4 and 5).
3.2 Methodology The appropriate methods of inquiry and analysis for my study were those that enabled me to capture relational experiences of living with tourism. Caton (2012) encourages tourism researchers to always ponder on the purpose and effects of their research. This argument is shared with other tourism scholars concerned over ethical and moral research (see Tribe, Xiao & Chambers, 2012; Feighery, 2011; Tribe, 2009). I use social research to look into the managerial and negotiated complexity of systems where the non-economic and economic activities and ambitions of local individuals take centre stage in creating tourist spaces. This focus on lived experience is done in the hope of avoiding to overly reduce local involvement to behavioral models, scientific theories and intellectual critique. Such conception of scientific knowledge risks severing research from the world of the living by dehumanizing its subjects, and consequently losing public appeal (Ingold, 2011; Thrift, 2001). Besides promoting the creation of new knowledge and understanding, social research can also attempt at fostering compassion and connectedness between the lived and academic world (Freeman, 2004). A focus on local experiences arguably calls for: “More interpretive techniques, such as ethnography, open-ended interviews and focus groups, which enable participants to speak from their own perspective” (Ateljevic, 2000, p.382). Understanding is as vital as explanation, if not more, when a study revolves around different facets of social life (Freeman, 2004). It was thus important for me as a researcher to look into stories, cultural encounters, daily practices, and spatial visual and material assemblages at the heart of local experiences. The two interpretive techniques I used are: narratives for the case of Bornholm’s craft artists (Papers I and II), and focused ethnography at Sólheimar eco-village (Papers III and IV). It will become apparent that these two techniques are for researchers interested in finding data everywhere.
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3.2.1 Narratives Narrative research is about collecting stories from individuals about their experiences, lived and told, in order to shed light on their identities, in an attempt to understand how these individuals see themselves (Creswell, 2013). Narrative research is a vehicle for understanding the particular features of the lives of individuals, and therefore also provides insight on social reality (Freeman, 2004). Czarniawska (2004, p.17) holds that: “Narrative is understood as a spoken or written text giving an account of an event/action or series of events/actions, chronologically connected”. Narratives have an episodic dimension where time becomes linear, just as human experience. The stories forming a narrative are compiled to foster a sense of understanding, and thus are more about suggesting social possibilities than about convincing readers of a definitive truth. Freeman (2004, p.79) therefore believes that narrative research is a: “[…] project of articulating and explicating meaning”. Narrative analysis is guided by the nature of the phenomenon, where attention is given to what is interesting and worth saying about a situation (Freeman, 2004). Freeman (2004, p.64) concedes that narrative research is used: “[…] to practice greater fidelity to the reality of human experience and thereby to tell a more truthful story about it”. The stories of interest to narrative research are central to human experience, and relate to the multitude of lived moments that appear as comedy, tragedy, chaos, shock, happiness, disappointment, beauty, and so on. (Freeman, 2004). Truthfulness implies forming understanding through the collection of rich data. The accumulation of narrative data goes beyond the traditional in-depth interview focused solely on a dialogue between interviewer and interviewee. An interest in narratives implies also looking outside the interview context into the realm of involvement of those studied as it is a chance to gather data related to people’s lives. Data is everywhere for the researcher interested in life itself. It is found in everyday encounters with those around us (Freeman, 2004). It therefore becomes important for the researcher interested in narratives to be attentive to the particularities and regularities of social life as it happens. In-place methodologies situating conversations and observations in the emotional and active realm of the participant better reveals these types of lived-experiences (Anderson & Jones, 2009; Anderson, 2004; Bondi, 2005; Nash, 2000). In their work, Anderson and Jones (2009, p.300) found that in-place methodologies helped access: “[…] languages that recalled more detailed emotional and embodied experiences” as study participants were approached in their social contexts of everyday life.
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3.2.2 Focused Ethnography When it comes to studying tourists, an ethnographic approach is complicated as it is difficult to maximize time with individuals with transitory identities and mobile bodies (Frohlick & Harrison, 2008). In the case of volunteer tourism, nonetheless, it is quite common for researchers to resort to spending extended periods of time in a community to study hosts and their guests (see Hammersley, 2014; MacIntosh & Zahra, 2007; Mostafanezhad, 2014). Put simply, ethnography is about the study of social and cultural patterns within an entire defined culture-sharing group (Creswell, 2013). Wolcott (2008) explains that the ethnographer is interested in identifying patterns of social behavior and organization, and shared cultural and ethical values. The ethnographer will therefore look at the material activities and language used by the cultural group under study (Fetterman, 2010; Wolcott, 2008). This is executed in order to form a novel understanding of a group of which little is known, resulting in the development of a cultural interpretation (Fetterman, 2010; Wolcott, 2008). Ethnography is not only to be used in a classic anthropological sense, where remote societies are studied through the extensive presence of a social researcher in an exotic field. Increasingly, the socio-cultural patterns found in workplaces, schools, and various other social contexts have become topics of interest for ethnographers (Wall, 2015). Tourists positioned as objects of ethnographic investigation also attest to this type of research interest (see Frohlick, 2008; Harrison, 2008; Mathers, 2008). This type of ethnography, looking at groups in emerging cultural contexts, is sometimes called focused ethnography. Focused ethnography revolves around the study of emerging cultural contexts where patterns of behaviors are found in individuals with common perspectives, goals, sub-cultures and social affinities, rather than in a cultural group that differs completely from the researcher in a cultural sense (Knoblauch, 2005; Wall, 2015). A focused ethnography moreover implies the researcher enters the field with specific research questions guiding her observations, rather than with the aim of broadly observing a cultural group (Knoblauch, 2005; Wall, 2015). This enables ethnographic research to make valuable contributions to social science in diverse and creative ways. Regardless of its form and specificity of its aim, ethnography implies immersion in the daily lives of people belonging to a sociocultural-sharing group (Fetterman, 2010; Wolcott, 2008). Participant observations, coupled with other methods such as interviews and document analysis, are used to collect relevant information (Creswell, 2013). Creswell (2013) notes the qualitative validation process implies prolonged engagement and persistent
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observation in the field in order to build an informed picture of the situation. It becomes crucial for the researcher to sustain and maximize contact with the study participants in their cultural settings during the ethnographic fieldwork. The success of ethno-methodologies such as participant observation therefore rests in the ability of the researcher to foster positive social relations with the study subjects (Amit, 2000). Many ethnographic researchers include the practice of listening in their active engagement, where conversation is as important as observation during the immersion process (Forsey, 2010; Hockey, 2002). Onsite informal conversations are important to the appreciation of the subject’s perspective (Belsky, 2004). Frohlick & Harrison (2008) write that it is the researcher’s complex entanglement with tourist and tourist spaces that enables her to understand tourist experiences and subjectivities as she participates in these realms of involvement beyond mere observation. Similarly, Hammersley (2014) argues that community membership and the researcher status are complimentary, rather than contradictory, during ethnographic data collection. Hammersley (2014, p.861) describes her research as: “[…] based on a sense of mutual understanding and shared confidence between the researcher and research participant”. The ethnographer thus finds methodological depth by being a sympathetic ear to her study participants (Frohlick & Harrison, 2008).
3.3 Data Collection 3.3.1 Bornholm’s Craft-artists I have been twice on Bornholm to do fieldwork for my doctoral research; once for two weeks in the fall of 2013, and again in the fall of 2014 for five weeks. I chose the autumn period to do my two sets of fieldwork because it is then that the tourist season winds down on Bornholm, leaving time for craft-artists and other stakeholders to participate in interviews. However, the tourist season was not completely over, and thus it made it possible for me to gather firsthand observations at local galleries, museums, boutiques and events, before most of them closed down for the winter. The observations and informal conversations I gathered during my fieldwork were used to complement the interviews, and were therefore noted down as part of my field notes. Using contextual interviews seemed to be the most appropriate way to gather the narratives that interested me in the case of Bornholm’s craft-artists. The contextual aspect was important in order to situate conversations and observations in the emotional and active realms of the participants (Anderson, 2004; Anderson & Jones, 2009; Bondi, 2005; Nash, 2000). Visiting people in
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their homes and workplaces generated a personal atmosphere where I felt like I entered their world. Visiting these individuals in their realm of involvement meant I was often given tours and explanations about their creative work and the techniques they used. It led to a lot of off-topic discussions on matters related to craft-art. This interest became more than a mere strategy to get people (including myself) at ease before the real interviewing started as the information I heard from these moments became very compelling to me. I had to discard these moments when I wrote Paper I, but I wanted to present them as meaningful to the study of tourism, and this is why I wrote a second article (Paper II) focused on materiality and practice in the tourist landscape. I interviewed at their workshops, boutiques or homes nineteen of the sixty-four members that composed the ACAB at the time of my research. I found the contact information of the ACAB members on their association’s homepage. My first round of fieldwork was used to gather preliminary data on this group. Therefore, the craft-artists I contacted at that time for an interview were meant to form a representative sample of the members of the association, considering their various medium, experiences and ambitions. I was able to interview one potter, three glass designers and five ceramists. The ceramists represent the largest proportion of craft-artists in the association, and so it was natural that I interviewed more of them during both sets of fieldwork. I also enhanced this study with interviews with two key actors in the promotion of the arts and tourism on Bornholm during my first round of fieldwork. Those were: the director of the Bornholm Art Museum (who is also a member of the jury determining ACAB membership), and an officer at Destination Bornholm, the island’s official tourist association. The interview of the officer at Destination Bornholm was actually carried out as part of a destination planning course at the master’s level given by my home university. I was kindly allowed to be involved in this practical part of the course due to my interest in Bornholm. I gathered information at this seminar by listening to her presentation of tourism on Bornholm, and participating in the session for questions. This seminar helped me understand tourism dynamics on Bornholm and clued me in on the development of arts and crafts on the island. The director of the Art Museum provided insightful information about the historical development of craft art on Bornholm and its current status. Though these interviews do not figure concretely in my findings, both were important in gaining background information that would help me contextualize the dynamics of tourism and craft art on the island.
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Figure 5: Boats at a fishing village, Figure 4: Boutiques in Gudhjem, Bornholm (Photo by Solène Prince, 2011) Bornholm (Photo by Solène Prince, 2011)
Once I finished my first round of fieldwork and was back at my home institution, I started working on my exploratory findings to prepare for my second round of fieldwork. I contacted each craft-artist of the ACAB that I had not yet interviewed by email. As with the first round of emails, I shortly stated my interest and status as a researcher. Through my emails, I again approached the craft-artists in an informal manner, asking to meet them wherever suited them to speak about their art. Each message was personalized to convey interest and create a rapport of confidence with the participants. In order to generate as much of a representative sample as possible, I contacted some particular non-responsive individuals twice or approached them in person instead. The individuals I interviewed during my second round of fieldwork turned out to be: two glass designers, one woodworker, one textile designer, one knitwear designer and five ceramists. After this total of nineteen interviews, I had reached a point of saturation in my data collection where the information from respondents formed distinct patterns. Within the overall sample used for this article, three of the glass-artists, with two of them working as partners, ran full-fledged businesses providing them with full-time employment. These glass-artists have their designs
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outsourced and/or reproduced by employees. The rest of the craft-artists interviewed chose other strategies to pursue craft-art, such as taking on a second job or subsisting from the earnings of a spouse. The artists not running businesses are represented to capture the whole spectrum of that experience; from those who work other jobs, to those for whom their craft-art is viable. Three of these craft-artists are originally from Bornholm. The others moved to the island either for professional reasons, to follow a spouse or because of the appeal of the place. Fifteen are of Danish origin, while the others are as follows: one of Japanese, one of Swedish, one of American and one of German origin. All study participants, like most of the craft-artists on Bornholm who are members of the ACAB, permanently live on the island. I also tried to interview participants from different locations on Bornholm to capture a comprehensive picture of the different experiences amongst the ACAB members as the localities around Bornholm differ in their touristic appeal. Four were from the capital Rønne, one from Allinge, four from Rø, two from Nyker, two from Nexø, four from Svaneke and two from Gudhjem (see detailed maps and an interview table in Papers I and II). I used two main questions to guide my study, which I could explore more in depth with open-ended questions during the interviews (see appendix 8.1). These main questions were related to: what does it mean to be a crafts person on Bornholm, and, how is it to live with the tourist season? As I was interested in extracting information on the everyday practices of my respondents to form narratives on the meaning of their actions, the interview questions subsequently centered on their everyday practices, where I asked, for example: How did you establish yourself on Bornholm? What do you like about living here as a craft-artist? What is challenging? Who are your customers? How is the ACAB helpful for you? The interviews lasted on average an hour and were recorded with permission of the participants. I transcribed the interviews from the first round of fieldwork as soon as it was completed. I thus had the time to assess my preliminary findings before going in the field again. During the second set of fieldwork, I started transcribing my interviews during my data collection. This enabled me to constantly sharpen my questions of inquiry as I interviewed my participants. I took notes after each interview to capture the context of each respondent. This was done to strengthen the validity of the data analysis process (Creswell, 2013). I did all the interviews in English, which did not pose any significant problem since the participants were mostly proficient in the language. My knowledge of Swedish, a language similar to Danish, helped to solve some minor confusions. I analyzed the data to form narratives about the meaning
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of these participants’ actions and thoughts. After many readings of transcripts and field notes, I formed the analytical categories of Papers I and II. I gave my interview participants pseudonyms to preserve their anonymity. I informed the participants before every interview that I would give them pseudonyms in my research. It did not seem to be a great matter of concern to them. The topics covered were not overly sensitive, but anonymity is usually used in research out of concern for the participants. I did not do any formal member-checking towards the end of my study. Member checking entails approaching the participants for their perspective on the credibility of the researcher’s interpretation (Creswell, 2013). I judged member-checking unnecessary because I had tested my conclusions throughout the interview process with my participants, and even with other actors encountered during fieldwork. This was done, first, with my preliminary study, and, second, with my transcription during data collection, which all led to a constant cycle of checking and refining my interpretation of my findings during fieldwork. 3.3.2 Sólheimar Eco-village To study Sólheimar, I conducted focused ethnographic research during a sixweek period in early 2015. My research targeted the interactions of the volunteers and community members as the latter seeks to benefit and educate these guests. This led me to perform focused observations, instead of trying to interpret the whole register of interactions between the two parties. I chose the ethnographic method because I wanted to study social interactions in their actual occurrence. I gathered most of my data through on-site informal conversational interviews during daily activities at the eco-village where I approached volunteers, visitors, students and community members alike in their context of experience (i.e., their workplace, and social spaces such as the lunch hall, at morning meetings, and community events of all sorts), when it seemed appropriate. I used more formal interviews to collect my data in some instances during fieldwork. It was important to sustain maximum contact with the different actors at the village of interest for my study. I found myself constantly observing, discussing, and writing down field notes. My stay in 2015 was in fact my third visit to the village, and my second extended stay in the community. I firstly integrated the Sólheimar community for three months in the fall of 2010 as an intern looking for academic credits at the master’s level. As an intern, I worked on educative projects and worked at the organic greenhouse, and other places around the village in order to contribute to its livelihood. I also participated in a variety
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of local activities such as communal lunches, morning meetings and social events as interns and volunteers are expected to do to contribute to the community’s social well-being. As I considered using Sólheimar as a case study for my doctoral project, I shortly visited the community again to share my interest and ideas with key individuals. This was a way to ask for permission to join the community and study it. I offered to write a report for the coordinators of the volunteers and interns in order to help them in the development of their intern program and the management of their volunteers. This prospect of exchange was well received, and I was able to integrate the community as a researcher. I was eventually given a list of emails and access to previous reports to compile information that could be helpful to these coordinators about their volunteering guests. I saw the task of writing this report as a way to give back to the community as a researcher. My contact to the fifteen guests that volunteered at Sólheimar during my fieldwork was facilitated by my integration in the community as what could be considered one of them. I shared their accommodation (for convenience), worked as a volunteer around the village (for observations), and was around their age and foreign like them. It became relatively easy to sustain positive social relations with them. I could thus easily observe them and approach them with questions during my fieldwork. They were aware of my researcher status, and could feel free to discuss my topics of research with me from their perspective. More specifically, I observed the volunteers at their workplaces during three working days in total helping at the bakery and four working days in total helping at the greenhouse. As I had office space at the educational center, I could regularly observe the volunteers involved there during working hours. Many observations of the volunteers were done on a daily basis in communal spaces, such as at the morning meetings, lunch hall, and during various social activities on the evenings and week-ends. I noted all this information as field notes every day. As for the other guests who shortly visited Sólheimar, I studied them through covert observations and informal conversations in communal areas. I also got access to reports and was given information about blogs written by previous volunteers where they had reflected on their experience. The eight reports in question came from volunteers who came to Sólheimar through the European Volunteer Service (EVS). The EVS requires its participants to write reports of their experience to discuss different learning objectives. The coordinators of the volunteers at Sólheimar had copies of the reports written by their EVS volunteers, and they shared them with me for my project, but also for the report I promised them. I revisited my own report
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I wrote after my initial visit in 2010 as an intern. I had to write a report on my learning experiences and activities at Sólheimar to get internship credits for my master’s degree. This exercise turned out to be useful when I selected Sólheimar as a case study as I could reflect on the conclusions I had drawn from my experience as an intern as I designed my doctoral research project. At the time of fieldwork in 2015, there were also ten students from an American study program called CELL, after The Centre for Ecological Living and Learning, whom I encountered informally through the same activities as the volunteers. I observed them by following them on one fieldtrip to Reykjavik and attending three of their regular lectures. These students and their coordinators were informed of my researcher status. I formally interviewed their two coordinators to get their impressions on the management of their study program at Sólheimar. This interview was mostly done to find recommendations for the report I promised the coordinators at the educational center. This program is based on community participation and self-transformation, and represented nonetheless an interesting case in pedagogic curriculum development and volunteer management. It was valuable in terms of understanding the meaning of transformative learning (which I use as a theoretical concept in Paper III), and for collecting data about student project at Sólheimar (which I present in my findings in Paper IV). The interview took about an hour and was done at the educational center. This interview was recorded, but eventually not transcribed as the many notes taken during and after it, coupled with the notes taken from the ongoing interactions with the CELL group, were sufficient for my analysis process. Before embarking on my fieldwork, I prepared themes to guide my conversations and observations at Sólheimar (see appendix 8.2). I centered my interactions with volunteers, interns and students on why they came to Sólheimar, their background and what they liked and disliked about their tasks and the place. It was important to investigate their overall impressions of their experience at the village, and the lessons they were learning from their stay. As for the community members, the questions of inquiry centered on how they experience their interactions with the long-term guests that integrate and work in the community. Mainly, discussions and interviews with these individuals centered on how it was to host and work with volunteers, students and interns; what is good about them, whom do they prefer hosting, if they had examples of projects involving these guests, and what challenges they felt their community faced. I gave all the participants pseudonyms, though I must admit I did this automatically without informing them about this during my interactions with them. Key individuals were
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informed of my interest in studying volunteer tourism at Sólheimar, and it never was an issue that I would use the village in my doctoral work. I therefore did not keep the whole village anonymous in my work. I resorted to five interviews with key staff members to avoid researcher bias as much as possible that could stem from spending more time with the volunteers. My affinity and close social interactions with the volunteers meant I had to be creative to approach the managerial and coordinating staff, and other community members throughout my fieldwork. I suspect that I was positioned as a volunteer in the eyes of the community members, and, significantly, in those of the coordinators of the educational center. They sometimes asked me to help out with activities unrelated to my observations, such as tour guiding and cleaning. I felt obligated to fulfill these tasks out of respect for my host. I was nonetheless able to regularly approach the community members during the day at their workplaces and in communal spaces, to observe their activities and practices, and talk with them. I had wished to interview more local people in a formal manner, but quickly realized that these participants questioned the need for a formal setting to discuss mundane topics with someone they considered a volunteer or guest, preferring to chat informally. Caton (2013) argues that methodological choices, often stem from the researcher’s own sensitivity towards the research participants. I therefore realized that informal onsite conversations would be the best means of collecting data, and that I would have to find ways to maximize my social contact to these individuals throughout working days, at events, and through social relations of trust. I did the formal interviews in English as I do not speak Icelandic. Most Icelanders are highly proficient in the language, and so it did not pose any major issue. I interviewed the two coordinators of the educational center who deal with the volunteers by managing the selection process, welcoming them, and seeing to their integration. It is also part of the coordinators’ responsibility to manage the center, the local guesthouses and offer guided tours of the village, involving them further in the management of visitors. My office space at the educational center placed me in close contact to these coordinators’ daily managerial tasks, enabling me also to conduct many on-site informal conversational interviews with them during fieldwork. It was important to interview the managers of the organic greenhouse and tree nursery as these businesses get the biggest share of volunteers, students and guests. I also interviewed the manager of the wood workshop to get more depth in the perspective of community members involved with creative workshops (though most creative workshops accept very few or no volunteers at all).
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I did not record the interviews as they often took place in common areas (e.g., the coffee house and lunch hall) and workplaces (e.g., the greenhouse and the educational center) where there was noise and disturbances from the surroundings. I realized that intensive note-taking and regular member-checking during fieldwork would be better ways to gather valid data. This realization was especially the case after my interview with the manager of the greenhouse in his office. I recorded the interview, but it felt, on the one hand, like it created an uncomfortable situation for the participant, and, on the other hand, that there were too many things happening around to capture quality sound. Not having any transcripts of the interviews prevents the usage and analysis of extensive quotes. I nonetheless ultimately decided that I wanted to place the interview participants in their realm of involvement, and prevent the development of an overwhelming uneven relation between me and my respondents. I thus did not carry on with recording interviews. The other members of the Sólheimar community included in this study were approached through repeated casual on-site conversations and contextual observations. I notified the participants of my role as a researcher during these conversations which occurred in English. These individuals were: the disabled residents, the music teacher, the social coordinator, nursing staff, the manager of the local store, and managers and employees at the other businesses and creative workshops. Some of my observations of the community members at their workplaces were done while helping as a volunteer, as I described earlier. More specifically, all the creative workshops were observed through three informal visits lasting on average twenty minutes. The greenhouse and the tree nursery were also observed three times, each through informal visitation of about twenty minutes. Observations of the community members were also done regularly in communal spaces. During my time at Sólheimar as a researcher, I could return to people of interest and inquire further on points that had caught my attention. My close contact with the social group therefore eased the validation process of my research as continual member-checking could be carried out casually throughout fieldwork with different actors as I interpreted my data. I could find these people in common spaces or at their workplace and start a conversation again, when appropriate. By constantly observing people, I could assess the validity of the statements I heard during my discussions. After the six week of fieldwork, I reached a point of saturation as patterns of behavior were emerging in my data.
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I nonetheless used my dissemination of my report on volunteers at Sólheimar to further confirm the validity of my conclusions by seeking member-checking after fieldwork. I contacted two staff members who had been long-term international volunteers previously, and one of the coordinators of the educational center. These two former volunteers showed interest in my research project and gave me information mostly in terms of their volunteer experience during my fieldwork. I therefore saw them as people with whom I shared confidence, and with whom I could discuss my interpretations of the community and its volunteers. I sent them, and the coordinator, by email the report, and included some thoughts about my general conclusions of my projects in the same email. While these two participants responded with their feedback as I shared my conclusions and report, the coordinator wrote me back mostly as a thank you for sharing my work than to give feedback on my conclusions. I believe this reflects again that I was perceived as a volunteer, rather than a researcher, by the coordinators at Sólheimar.
Figure 6: Volunteers and residents working at the ceramic workshop (Photo by Solène Prince 2010)
Figure 7: The organic greenhouse at Sólheimar (Photo by Solène Prince, 2010)
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3.4 Methodological Considerations As I adhere to the spirit of post-structuralism by choosing to work with relational geography, I must address some particular methodological concerns at this point. I say this because the post-structuralist celebration of ambiguity and multiplicity does not sit well with all scholars; some of them have labelled it too relativist (Cresswell, 2013). Relativism leaves very little ground for certainty and this can be very frustrating for those looking for it, especially when making a political or social critique. If we are left with many explanations, which one is the right one? How do we find legitimacy in the claims we wish to make through post-structuralism? Feminists, for instance, would love to claim to hold the truth about gender oppression. However, as Pratt (2008) deplores, if knowledge is always socially constructed (which feminists do see as an accurate affirmation) how can this group validate its interpretation of society in the light of its marginal position? Validity in poststructuralism becomes a complex process. Inevitably, for some critics, poststructuralism’s inability to proffer a political or epistemological stance gives it little value for the advancement of progressive programs (Harrison, 2015). The real has undeniably become contested territory in the scientific world (Lyotard, 1984), but it does not mean that we should stop believing that knowledge can exist. It rather means that we need to ponder on how knowledge comes to existence. It becomes important for the research to examine the situatedness of the claims she constructs through her data collection and analysis. When we stop believing in pure essences, it is what frames our way of seeing that becomes central to our claim to knowing (Derrida, 1978). Lather (1993, p.676) writes that validity, under poststructuralism, concerns: “[…] making decisions about which discursive policy to follow, which ‘regime of truth’ to locate one’s work within, which mask of methodology to assume”. Validity, for the researcher involved in post-structuralism, is hence about reflecting on the ways she went about constructing what she calls knowledge (Bennett, 1990; Lather, 1993; Pillow, 2003; Woolgar, 1988). It implies problematizing validity as something that requires theorization from the researcher (Lather, 1993; Pillow, 2003). This deprives research of its positivist innocence and perfection, acknowledging that we are dealing with multiple contexts, experiences, agendas, and values as we create knowledge. The subjectivity of qualitative investigation is significantly evident in ethnography. Frohlick and Harrison (2008) argue that ethnographic research presents only partial knowledge as the researcher is situated in a context where she needs to deal with social relations. The social intimacy
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ethnographic fieldwork requires calls for creative demands from the researcher. There is a constant need to access stories and observations in a balanced and rich way, while physical, practical, and emotional challenges can complicate this ambition (Frohlick & Harrison, 2008). The findings will ultimately reflect the researcher’s ability to form bonds of intimacy with her study participants. These bonds are furthermore analyzed through the lens of a particular theoretical framework. The quote below attests to the partiality and creativity of ethnography: As such, [ethnography] is a method about representing multi-vocal and parallel discourses in which stability and firm representation are challenged. Multi-perspective epistemology and multiple standpoints contest the privileging of any single ethnographer’s representation. Ethnography is thus an impressionistic but also reflexive method, flexible in techniques, and is an approach rather than a set of specific procedures. (O’Gorman, MacLaren & Bryce, 2014, p.51) My own ethnographic research has been speckled by moments of creativity and intimacy, which all contributed to the emergence of the conclusions I will present. As I tried to integrate the Sólheimar community to observe it, I believe that I quickly fell into the role of volunteer in the eyes of those involved in the community. It most probably skewed my results in favour of the volunteers’ perspectives. As I mentioned through my description of the data collection process, I tried to direct my attention towards the Icelandic community members involved with the volunteers to get as much as possible their perspectives into the equation. Nonetheless, I did not develop as close bonds of intimacy with the staff as I did with the volunteers. I thought I had a quite close relation with the coordinators of the educational centre, but it seemed that this relation was still based on a volunteer-manager basis as member-checking did not work well with these individuals. My constant attempt to see and hear everything in a balanced way was challenged by my position in the community, in itself due to my personal characteristics. One cannot help but have more affinity to a certain group, and even with certain individuals, than with others. My findings thus reflect a partial perspective of volunteer tourism at an eco-village.
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Interview situations must also be recognized for the way they enable the researcher to construct knowledge. Interviews are ultimately dominated by the questions and presumption of the researcher (Kvale, 2006; 1996). This is something that Kvale (2006; 1996) claims cannot be avoided as there will always be someone asking the questions, thus leading the interview in a certain direction, which suits the person asking rather than the one being asked. The contextual aspect of my interviews and my time running around in the field were meant to counter this situation. The idea was that my observations of various facets of social life would reveal what I would not think to ask in ways I did not think to think. It remains that I was after information related to a particular theme, and steered conversations and observations in the direction I was interested in. This interest gave prominence to certain themes over others that could have been considered to be more relevant by other researchers, or even by the study participants. Tourism scholars have pondered on the constructed nature of their field of study (see Belhassen & Caton, 2009; Caton, 2013; Hall, 2015; 2010; Jamal & Hollinshead, 2001; Tribe, 2006; Tribe et al., 2012). Tribe (2006) listed a number of factors he considered central to the construction of tourism knowledge, deploring that these are largely hidden as significant elements driving tourism research forward. He outlines that personal interests of all sorts can direct a researcher towards a particular subject area, research project, institution or department (Tribe, 2006). Not only are the ideologies we pursue to frame tourism significant, but so are the wider, often unspoken, rules that compel researchers to, for instance, publish in good journals, finish a project on time, bring in money to the department, follow the flow to fit in, etc. (Hall, 2015; 2010; Tribe, 2006). These are all factors that have most probably impacted my own research, and this in ways that I do not even understand. My findings, from both Bornholm and Sólheimar, should not be discarded nonetheless for their partial, constructed, and subjective methodological features. In the end, they do bring new perspectives to the fore of tourism scholarship. The themes and the related language I created to speak of my respondents’ experiences can serve as discursive anchors in a discussion on moral encounters and coping strategies in tourism scholarship in fruitful ways. Also important to consider is that this project had the freedom to take whichever path it liked. It unfolded as it did with no strict practical expectations or restrictions from a supervisor or organization. This freedom created auspicious grounds to work with theories and ideas in creative ways. Nonetheless, following the article-based model implied getting results out quickly to have publications ready for this thesis. I believe the
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fragmented nature of the ensemble of my articles reflect the reality of compiling publications to get a doctoral degree. Rather then presenting one long story, I am left piecing together four different stories.
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4 Presentation of Papers In this section, I present the four papers that form my doctoral thesis. Table 2, on the previous page, is a summary of the individual papers, compiling their respective titles, focuses, methodologies and findings.
4.1 Craft-art in the Danish Countryside (Paper I) In Paper I, I explore some of the dynamics and complexities faced by the members of the Arts and Crafts Association Bornholm, Denmark as they simultaneously negotiate their position as rural tourism stakeholder and professional artists. Rural spaces become hybrid spaces as local individuals and groups negotiate in various ways their position in a global system (Heley & Jones, 2012; McCarthy, 2008; Woods, 2009; 2007). The overarching theme of Paper I follows the affirmation that rural actors, and their daily activities, cannot be perceived as completely controlled by extra-local manifestations. Rural actors such as the craft-artists of Bornholm are adapting to the influences of global socio-economic changes by participating in the service economy as tourist entrepreneurs. In their search for customers and spectators, these craft-artists have created a quality brand through the grassroots formation of their local association, allowing them to benefit economically and professionally from the short, but intensive tourist season, on their island. I assert that the study of professional artists working with rural tourism contributes a novel dimension to the conceptualization of individual and collective strategies related to lifestyle entrepreneurship, rural identities, and the commercialization of rural symbols and products. Rural tourism is the concept used to define tourism related to the production and consumption of traditionally rural symbols, lifestyles and products embedded within rural spaces (Lane, 2009a; Ray, 1999). Of interest is that as rural actors participate in tourism, they are left to operate a web of relations and expectations often not compatible with their inherent ideal of a rural lifestyle. As Brandth and Haugen (2011), Burton and Wilson (2006) and Sims (2010) indicate, these actors often end up modifying their values, identities and practices over time to accommodate their position in dynamic extra-local chains of production, regulations and events. Rural actors cannot resist all the pressures they face from extra-local phenomena, but they have the ability to adapt their networks, value systems and internal structures to take advantage of these (Bell, Lloyd & Vatovec, 2010; Chaperon & Bramwell, 2013).
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IV. Contextualizing the complexities of managing alternative tourism at the community-level: A case study of a Nordic eco-village (Prince & Ioannides, 2017).
III. Working towards sincere encounters in volunteer tourism: An ethnographic examination of key management issues at a Nordic eco-village (Prince, 2017c).
II. Dwelling in the tourist landscape: Embodiment and everyday life amongst the craft-artists of Bornholm (Prince, 2017b).
I. Craft-art in the Danish countryside: Reconciling a lifestyle, livelihood and artistic career through rural tourism (Prince, 2017a).
Articles
6 weeks of participant observations at Sólheimar eco-village, including interviews with 5 key stakeholders. Both host and guests were studied.
6 weeks of participant observations at Sólheimar eco-village, including interviews with 5 key stakeholders. Both guests and hosts were studied.
What managerial challenges do communities face in their attempts to reconcile their social mission with that of their overall economic goals through alternative tourism?
19 open-ended interviews with craftartists on Bornholm during two sets of qualitative fieldwork.
How can tourist landscapes be conceptualized to embed local people in their realm of everyday life?
What lessons can be learned from the Nordiceco-village in terms of the pedagogical dimension of volunteer tourism?
19 open-ended interviews with craftartists on Bornholm during two sets of qualitative fieldwork.
Data
On what ground is rural tourism negotiated and legitimized by actors navigating the complexities of rural spaces, and their own multiple identities?
Questions
Focused ethnography with thematic analysis of data.
Focused ethnography with thematic analysis of data.
Narrative analysis by condensing data into themes.
Narrative analysis by condensing data into themes.
Methods
Alternative tourism management requires a commitment on behalf of coordinators and managers involved in the practice to promote a reflexive and critical exchange during close encounters between host and guest. This commitment should include the contextualization of the complexities faced by the local stakeholders.
The complexities faced daily by local communities exacerbate host and guest relations, and should be discussed sincerely between the two parties and other intermediaries to make volunteer tourism beneficial to the host. The host-community has an important role to play in the volunteers’ learning experience.
The daily interactions of local actors with their material realm mediate their interactions with tourists, while their encounter with tourists mediate their interactions with their material realm. This makes mundane practices an integral part of the tourist landscape. The tourist landscape is as such a realm of dwelling.
Local actors have the agency to form networks and redefine their identities in the wake of rural tourism development. In this way, they form a hybrid space where they fulfil goals related to their lifestyle, livelihood and professional ambitions simultaneously.
Findings
Table 2: Summary of individual papers
I explore the agency, networks and negotiations of Bornholm’s craftartists during the tourist season through three analytical categories in Paper I: Craft-art and rural livelihoods, Commercializing spaces of artistic integrity and Negotiating modes of production and professional identity. Firstly, these craftartists find themselves juggling a livelihood with a desired lifestyle as they are drawn to the countryside for personal preferences. Lifestyle entrepreneurs have been observed to enact traditional business-like practices though they put much emphasis on the unconventional aspects of their enterprise (Andersson Cederholm, 2014; Andersson Cederholm & Hultman, 2010). All craft-artists use the tourist season to sell their creations to tourists in order to profit from their rural location. Their professional success is linked to their ability to sell crafts that interest the public, even if producing for a tourist market may seem counterintuitive to their lifestyle and career aspirations. Secondly, the association plays a significant role in preserving elements of rural authenticity and artistic integrity in the work of the craftartists. The high standards of entry, requiring a professional background and permanent location on the island, have enabled the craft-artists to strive professionally in the face of commercialization. The craft-artists believe that tourists interested in their crafts are searching for rural authenticity where close contact to the producer and the handmade nature of the crafts fulfill this desire. Through their association, they create a brand that not only ensures, but also celebrates these reciprocal interests. As Ateljevic and Doorne (2003) and Su and Teo (2008) explain, tourism is not necessarily actively resisted as it threatens to commodify local attributes, rather it can be attuned by local stakeholders to preserve cultural originality. In Paper I, I demonstrate that through the creation of their association, the craft-artists increase their agency to negotiate relations of trust with tourists in the face of the commercialization of their work and workshops by upholding a professional and local brand. From the craft-artists’ commercialization of their creative spaces, there ensue new discourses and materialities aimed at reconciling new modes of production with a professional and ideally rural identity. In the third analytical category, I define how the craft-artists that have chosen to turn their art into a viable business are more likely to define their professional success in terms of sales. These craft-artists send their designs down chains of productions or have employees recreate them, which does not affect their notion of artistic success. Similarly to what Sims (2010) and others have established, it is the definitions suiting the livelihood, lifestyle and professional ambitions of the craft-artist that will be adopted, and which will materialize in their practices and interactions with tourists as rurality.
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I use Paper I to contend that the challenge for the tourism researcher is to understand how local actors form rural space by constructing and diffusing a variety of definitions of it that suit their realities and ambitions. I concede that local strategies such as the ones used by the craft-artist during the tourist season confound any clear distinction between lifestyle aspirations, career ambitions and livelihood necessities. In turn, there is no clear distinction between the commercial, professional and rural nature of the space they present to tourists. The type of agency described in Paper I makes local stakeholders meaningful actors in the construction of hybrid and dynamic rural tourist spaces.
4.2 Dwelling in the Tourist Landscape (Paper II) Paper II is an extension of Paper I where I demonstrate that actions and strategies linked to tourism development also produce a landscape of everyday life. Non-representational theories are valuable to social scientists interested in the study of the social, spatial and material production of everyday life (Thrift, 2004; 2000). Tourism occurs through the performance of mundane actions, where bodies corporeally engage with their surroundings using various objects (Crouch, 2003; 2000; Haldrup & Larsen, 2006). However, in Paper II, I assert that tourism scholars do little to examine tourism as a part of the everyday life of those who dwell within toured landscapes when they apply non-representational theories to tourism scholarship. Often, it is the tourist’s experience of being at a destination that is researched. When locals are involved in non-representational research, it tends to be to study their performative interrelation with tourists, such as at a particular event. In Paper II, I present the tourist landscape as a mundane space formed through the embodied practices of those who dwell therein as they make sense of the materials, people and spaces around them. I use Ingold’s (2011) dwelling perspective as a theoretical point of departure. Ingold (2011) saw landscape as emerging from the social activities and practical engagement of those who dwell therein. In Paper II, I assess and compare the relation glassartists and ceramists on Bornholm have with their materials, techniques, and creative spaces during their island’s tourist season. Through my analytical categories, I demonstrate that the everyday practices and embodied movements of these craft-artists fashion the emergence of a realm of dwelling, rather than an exotic domain. I formed three categories to develop this conceptualization: Materials, Techniques and Creative spaces.
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In Materials, I present clay and glass as having agentic properties which weave themselves in the everydayness of interacting with tourists. Clay is wet and sticky, and thus comes in the way of interacting with tourists when customer transactions need to be made. Ceramists are thus more prone to separate the creation process from sales. Glass is quicker to handle due to its material properties. It is however not suited for letting tourists touch or come too close due to the high temperatures needed to fashion it. While the creation process of the glass designer does not force her to separate creation and sales, it does put a limit to how much she can involve tourists in her world. Materials have as such their own ways at guiding tourist interactions. In Techniques, I discuss how local skills become performances attracting tourists, reflecting the fusion of tourism dynamics in the taskscape. This discussion takes further the agentic properties of materials, describing how they lead to certain types of performances. While glass blowing is exciting and attractive to crowds of tourists, handling clay is a long and dull process that is not conducive to the entertainment of an audience. In Creative Spaces, I argue that craft-artists ultimately incorporate their social and material relations in the physical landscape. The craft-artists embody their art to the point of recreating particular spaces that reflect their relation to the tourist season. The glassartists build showrooms, while the ceramists are more reserved in the way they build their interactive spaces. In line with the dwelling perspective, I conclude in Paper II that the tourist landscape is the product of the skills and techniques these craft-artists have developed over time to work with their different materials, and of the creative spaces which they have built. The materials, techniques and creative spaces used by these craft-artists mediate their interactions with tourists, but also, these encounters mediate the craft-artists’ interactions with these entities. The landscape of mundane embodied practices cannot be detached from the landscape the tourists encounter. It becomes crucial to consider the various elements that make up the everyday lives of those involved in the emergence of a tourist landscape. Excessively reducing local involvement to behavioral models and scientific theories risks dissociating science from the world of the living by disembedding subjects from their realities (Ingold, 2011; Thrift, 2008; 2000). I wrap up Paper II writing: “With the dwelling perspective, the emphasize is put on the observation and sensation of activities and practices, which can reveal how individuals shape their environment by resisting creatively, coping with, taking advantage and following the dynamics of tourism through everyday practices” (Prince, 2017b, p.18). Scholars can use the dwelling perspective in their analysis of tourism to embed local people in their cultural landscape.
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4.3 Working towards Sincere Encounters (Paper III) In Paper III, I investigate a popular form of alternative tourism: volunteer tourism. Scholars no longer see volunteer tourism as a tool to international development, but rather perceive it as a chance to offer learning experiences to guests aimed at deconstructing prevailing ideologies between cultural groups (Mostafanezhad, 2014). In this regard, transformative learning became a popular academic benchmark on which to assess volunteer tourism (Coghlan & Gooch, 2011). It is under this light that I explore the host-guest dynamics at Sólheimar eco-village, Iceland, in order to contribute to the conceptualization of transformative learning in volunteer tourism. At this eco-village, the host and volunteers come together to share similar goals and meaningful experiences related to social integration and environmental bestpractices. This interaction based in idealist goals gets complicated as the ecovillage must inevitably operate under market norms. In Paper III, I explore how research in volunteer tourism has come to include volunteering on organic farms. Many tourism scholars, such as Kosnik (2014), Miller and Mair (2015; 2014), Mostafanezhad (2016), Terry (2014), and Yamamoto and Engelsted (2014), have broadened conceptions of volunteer tourism by assessing and celebrating the host and guest’s mutual dedication to diffuse environmental best-practice. I recognize that these conclusions contribute to the conception of volunteer tourism as an alternative activity with the potential to communicate skills in organic farming and promote a lifestyle that defies the afflictions of capitalism. However, these studies do not advocate the conceptualization of the pedagogical dimension of such alternative holidays beyond intimacy. Alternative lifestyles are in other words not presented as projects impacted by global structures and discourses in this kind of volunteer tourism research. I make this argument and propose a new pedagogical dimension to volunteer tourism through three analytical categories: Staging sustainability, Reflecting on self and participation and Searching for sustainability. The eco-community invokes appealing images of sustainability to volunteering guests. However, as explained in the first analytical category, there is displeasure amongst the volunteering guests as they recognize the market-oriented nature of the village and its use of volunteers to provide it with cheap labour. The identification of this difficulty led me to the conception of the second analytical category where the idealist and educational expectations of the volunteers often clash with the practical shortterm goals of the community. The task of reflecting on self and one’s
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participation is also necessary at the idealist community as sustainability and alternative lifestyles can mean different things to different actors. I did not observe that these diverging opinions were discussed amongst volunteers and coordinators at Sólheimar. Their encounters seemed more based in managing the comfort and experience of the volunteers than the latter’s transformative experience. I observed nevertheless the emergence of critical thinking on sustainability during the volunteers’ close encounters with community members. The notion of sincere encounters, which Taylor (2001) presented in his discussion of cultural tourism, is useful to re-imagine the learning process during the host-guest encounter. Taylor (2001) defines sincerity as a shift towards negotiation between host and guest over the meaning of their cultural encounter, instead of the guest looking for, or the host posing as, essential cultural objects. I thus argue that a focus on sincerity reinforces a critical approach to conceive of host-guest encounters, as the focus lies on the agency of the toured host, rather than on the volunteer’s self-actualization. With this approach, both host and guest can participate in constructing new narratives for tourist spaces (Amoamo, 2011; Wearing & Wearing, 2006). I conclude Paper III saying that: “The transformative experience that binds the host and its guests together cannot solely be presented, by researchers and intermediaries alike, to be about learning to do things alternatively and sustainably through an educational approach focused, on the one hand, on the self-development of volunteers and, on the other hand, their hard labor” (Prince, 2017c, p.14). By advocating sincerity in volunteer tourism encounters, Paper III contends that sending organizations, people in leadership positions, and movements such as Willing Workers on Organic Farms should be more honest with guests over the difficulties alternative hosts face. Focusing on sincere encounters to conceptualize transformative learning in volunteer tourism avoids reducing the host-community into a mere pawn to enrich volunteers, instead of a meaningful agent and benefactor in the practice. Otherwise, volunteer tourism mostly remains what its critiques have accused it to be: an experience to consume for the volunteers (Guttentag, 2009; Palacio, 2010; Sin, 2010). Furthermore, I argue in Paper III that community members have a responsibility and interest in the transformative experience of their volunteers. The benchmark I propose to assess volunteer tourism is thus related to the ability of community members to communicate, but also modify, their goals and visions through their direct interactions with volunteers in the manner that suits them.
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4.4 Contextualizing Alternative Tourism (Paper IV) I continue my discussion of close encounters in volunteer tourism in Paper IV, where, with Ioannides, I explore the managerial contradictions and difficulties that arise as alternative tourism is developed in the name of sustainability. Here again, I am interested in outlining new ways of thinking to reconcile conflicting interests that emerge between host and guest involved in alternative tourism. Alternative tourism is often considered a form of sustainable tourism, where its smaller-scale and more sensitive operations can be used effectively to generate local bottom-up development (Weaver 2006). However, as we outline in Paper IV, a primary challenge associated with alternative tourism as a path to sustainable tourism is that sustainability is a multi-dimensional concept, meaning its operationalization can mean different things to different players (Butler, 1999). The complexity of reconciling the multi-dimensional character of sustainable development also implies that there is always the real risk that economic growth may divert local actors’ interests away from their original objectives (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012; Lane, 2009b; Weaver, 2013). It is inevitable that any enterprise, even those aimed at fostering alternative tourism, through their sheer need to survive, might appear profitoriented, while in reality they are working strategically to stay afloat. Paper IV is grounded in the notion that bridging alternative tourism with sustainable tourism development requires a consideration of the managerial compromises actors make within their distinct contexts while seeking to fulfill particular goals. It is important for the researcher to acknowledge the internal social processes of communities in order to move beyond solutions focused in economic growth, and promote environmental and social equity goals (Matarrita-Cascante, 2010; Matarrita-Cascante, Brennan & Luloff, 2010). Acknowledging the importance of social processes implies looking at how communities handle tourism and its impacts (Salazar, 2010). In paper IV, we establish that those behind the management of volunteering guests regularly struggle to coordinate these respective groups in a manner that balances economic objectives with environment and social equity goals. The difficulties stem largely from the reality that idealist spaces also have concerns over their economic sustainability as they are forced to function within the capitalist system (Deville et al., 2016; Mostafanezhad, 2016). Through its commercial endeavors, Sólheimar diffuses a brand to its visitors based on the organic and socially responsible in a way that generates much needed revenue. This is not an alternate plan for fostering the
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subsistence of a community outside of the current economic system. These challenges are presented in Paper IV as significant practicalities to be addressed to promote alternative tourism, in this case volunteer tourism, as a strategy to generate sustainable tourism at the community-level. The results of Paper IV are divided in two analytical categories: Reconciling comfort with contribution and Managing productive and creative volunteers. Firstly, the management of the village is not always compatible with the desires of those who wish to learn from it. This is the case when the village seeks to use its volunteers for labor at designated businesses for profitoriented purposes, while the latter would wish to work on tasks deemed more enjoyable. Many members of the community feel misunderstood as they believe the volunteers do not understand the relevance of their practical needs. In Paper IV, we outline that, without critical reflection between host and guest, alternative tourism is highly comparable to any other standardized form of tourism with an economic concern over the comfort and experience of its guests. This demonstrates that the learning component of alternative tourism does not happen automatically simply because host and guest are in close contact with each other. Furthermore, the management of alternative tourism requires more than the provision of instructions to guests in order to foster desirable long-term impacts on the community. Secondly, managing volunteers is complicated by the fact that most volunteers are not professionals, and need guidance to execute their tasks. Using the help of volunteers is often seen as a solution to counter structural and economic disadvantages faced by communities (Mostafanezhad, 2014). However, as we observe, these guests need to be coordinated and monitored to ensure desired outcomes. The coordinators of the educational centre at Sólheimar find themselves managing volunteers and their projects, rather than overseeing the improvement of local sustainability by dealing with professionals. We interpret local managers as trying to foster economic growth without investing in resources to develop the volunteers as creative assets. It thus was argued in Paper IV that limited human resources and strategic knowledge exist at the community to fulfill all the host-community’s goals through alternative tourism. We conclude Paper IV stating that fostering alternative tourism requires looking beyond simplistic notions of keeping operations small, interactive and locally sensitive. In this regard, we propose conceptualizing alternative tourism: “[…] as a forum for discussion between host and guest over the complexities of generating sustainable development” (Prince & Ioannides, 2017, p.354). This redefinition implies: “[…] investment in knowledge transmission over
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practical matters such as conflict resolution during the tourist experience, and critical reflection and cultural communication between host and guest over local matters that go beyond simple instructions” (Prince & Ioannides, 2017, p.354). The pursuit of alternative tourism for a sustainable development requires a discussion over the challenges of being ethical in the modern capitalist context. We reinforce that tourism scholars interested in community development should acknowledge the complexities of the local contexts within which managerial decisions are made.
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5 Discussion The aim of this thesis is to imagine novel ways for researchers to conceptually embed people closely involved with tourists within their living spaces by approaching tourism as a phenomenon that creates new and complex relations, imbued with various spatial, but also personal, social, communal and professional implications. In this discussion, I firstly identify the processes behind the construction of places and identities, which outline the plurality of coping strategies, embodiments and negotiations that make up the tourist spaces I have studied. This identification is used to suggest that tourist spaces should be conceptualized as living spaces. The metaphor of the living space is a moral matter and stems from a relational approach to tourism. It moreover addresses my two main research questions: In what ways do local people deal with the presence of tourism in their living space in regards to their particular spatial, personal, and professional identities? How are encounters between host and guest experienced by the host as the latter makes sense of particular communal goals and alternative tourism strategies simultaneously? I subsequently present two new discursive anchors to speak of tourist spaces as living spaces. I call these: dwelling in the tourist landscape, and sincere encounters. Dwelling in the tourist landscape is explored by addressing the subquestions: How are places formed through the actions and strategies of local groups as their living spaces simultaneously become tourist spaces? Why would these local responses legitimize the presence of tourists and tourist infrastructure within a living space? Sincere encounters is presented by asking: how can encounters be managed in the light of different ambitions. Lastly, I discuss some of the challenges related to fostering different types of alternatives in tourism by exploring the methodological and moral implications of the findings of my doctoral project for research and practice.
5.1 Imagining Tourist Spaces as Living Spaces I chose to use relational geography to theorize about the formation of tourist space as produced through diverse social and material encounters. The poststructural elements of relational geography imply an awareness of the networked features of human experience as lives are lived through complex human, and non-human, interactions (Cresswell, 2013; Murdoch, 2006). Such analysis provides a conception of tourism anchored in the plurality and connectivity of human experience celebrated by the proponents of the moral
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turn in tourism scholarship (Caton, 2012). This consideration is crucial since space is a site of negotiations where identities and experiences are constructed in relation with a multitude of other spaces, people and entities at every geographical scale (Massey, 2005; 2004). Paper I reflects the effect tourism has in reshaping local identities in various ways. Reconciling a desire to live in the countryside with the aspiration to become a professional artist is unavoidably tied to the dynamics of rural tourism. Notions of rural authenticity, artistic norms and agency are simultaneously used to recreate a cultural landscape that fulfils different ambitions within a highly connected world. Relational geography encourages us to think in terms of agency where local stakeholders respond differently to globalization through their negotiations (Massey, 2005; Woods, 2007). Such negotiations were discussed in Paper I. The grassroots formation of the Arts and Craft Association enables these craft-artists to retain and diffuse the brand of professionalism that suits their artistic aspirations to benefit from their island’s intensive tourist season. On an individual level, these craft-artists have the ability to redefine their conception of success, authenticity and rurality to adapt to the changing dynamics of their space and profession through rural tourism. Calling people and places victims of the changing nature of social life is not a productive spatial analysis (Amin, 2002; 1997; Gibson-Graham, 2002). Individuals are constantly making decisions which impact their multifarious positions as residents, community members and professionals within a networked space, and not solely as tourism stakeholders. The actions of stakeholders who get involved in tourism while driven by multiple ambitions form a space highly tied to everyday life. A serious commitment to understanding the dynamics of local agency implies an interest in the multiple social and material relations that emerge in everyday life (Thrift, 2000; 1996). It is important to remember that tourism forms a realm of embodied performances (Coleman & Crang, 2002). These amalgams of interrelations blur the line between what comprises a tourist space and a living space, making the two an inseparable realm. As demonstrated in Paper II, material relations give clues about the ways the living space is interrelated to the tourist space in mundane physical, social and practical ways. The interactions of local actors are impacted and impact the formation of a landscape to be experienced by tourists. Ingold’s (2011) conception of dwelling proved useful for tying the ordinary and material to the construction of a tourist landscape. For Bornholm’s craft-artists, the precise material used to build a professional identity becomes the medium through which a creative space is experienced as a tourist space. In turn,
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tourism becomes a part of the ordinary for the host as the former influences the practices they use to make their crafts and build their creative space. Important to consider are the features and impacts of the encounters hosts have with their guests, especially in cases where the guest penetrates more intimately the host’s realm of everyday life. The case of Sólheimar presented in Papers III and IV outlines this specific complexity where stakeholder ambitions and local context must be reconciled during host and guest encounters. Since tourism is used as a strategy for the sustainable development of the Icelandic eco-village, this goal must be reconciled with the volunteer’s search for a learning experience. This search is often filled with expectations of encountering an idealist living space, to which the village has difficulties to live up to. The encounters between host and guest in spaces of alternative tourism are ultimately mediated by the host’s everyday task of navigating sustainable solutions in a capitalist world. Compromises over money and mission are intrinsic to the sustainable development tourism actors such as organic farms seek for their enterprises (Mostafanezhad, 2016), and to the success of non-profit organizations (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012). As discussed in Paper IV, such compromises influence the dynamics of the relations between hosts, coordinators, managers and tourists, which should encourage the researcher to contextualize tourist encounters in local and extra-local settings to understand the former’s trajectory towards sustainable development. These answers to my research questions reflect the relational nature of tourism, meaning the latter cannot be delimited nor detached from the multiple phenomena taking place simultaneously around and within its organization (Darbellay & Stock, 2012). Tourism is a fragmented industry where various stakeholders can be making sense of their situation with different ambitions in mind. As shown in this dissertation, these ambitions are obvious in the study of forms of tourism that present some degree of alternative to the standardized holiday, and can be related to local desires of living a rural lifestyle, becoming a professional artist or building a sustainable community. Tourism is a lived phenomenon for these local actors through the negotiations, performances and various relations they embody and entertain with the spaces, people and non-humans around them. It should become evident that my interest in relational geography lies in the performative and social processes of spatial production that bring entities into being, forming simultaneously hybrid and embodied living spaces. I consider relational geography of great relevance to the study of tourism geography as the latter encourages the study of particular and
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complex relations between host and guests. I propose imagining tourist spaces as living spaces. This allows the researcher to capture the everydayness and complexity of tourism in the study of the lived experiences of local stakeholders closely involved with tourists. Tourism is mundane because it has become paradigmatic to the re-ordering of socio-economic life (Franklin, 2004). Its complexity plays out nonetheless in the way it reinvents spaces, identities and social interactions in different manners due to its fragmented and intimate nature (Milne & Ateljevic, 2001). A moral approach to tourism will be one that sees these social processes and individual positions as meaningful to the study of tourism. To Caton’s (2012) moral concern over what tourism ought to be doing, there can be added the concern over how tourism becomes a mundane, yet complex, experience for those living in tourist spaces. In practice, this means making local experiences matter in the planning and development of tourism as stakeholders deliberate what tourism ought to be doing. As a moral conception of tourism ought to make the practice do more than bring economic growth, it is important to understand the meaning of tourism’s emergence beyond numbers, dollars, plans and schemes of all sorts for the sake of those who are directly involved and concerned by its development. As for when it comes to research, I now wish to present two discursive anchors to encourage researchers to speak of tourist spaces as living spaces.
5.2 New Discursive Anchors Belhassen and Caton (2009) call discursive anchors conceptualizations without true definitions that are meant to foster scholarly discussions. A commitment to imagining tourist spaces as living spaces is foremost a commitment to form concepts anchored in moral principles to guide scholarly discussions. It is important to think about the language we use as scholars, and how we apply it to make sense of the local strategies we observe and comment on during our research. I wish to argue that the new ontological possibilities brought about by thinking relationally are relevant to a spatial analysis of tourism with a moral foundation. In this sub-section, I explore two new such ontological possibilities by presenting two concepts stemming from an analysis of my results, embedded in relational geography: Dwelling in the tourist landscape and sincere encounters. These two discursive anchors are introduced as an acknowledgment that local experiences, embodied practices, and communal and personal ambitions matter in scholarly discussions interested in the social formation and ethical management of tourist spaces.
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5.2.1 Dwelling in the Tourist Landscape Local responses and conditions are important to consider in the study of tourism as it is factors such as the political atmosphere, administrative structures and environmental amenities, that by large legitimize the type of tourism that flourishes at a destination (Ateljevic, 2000; Hultman & Hall, 2012). It is equally important to consider that, in turn, the new conditions that tourism creates become part of the material, practical and social everydayness of local stakeholders. This is why I propose adapting Ingold’s (2011) dwelling perspective on landscape to the study of the formation of tourist spaces. The dwelling perspective is an acknowledgment that people influence the production of a landscape through their practices and creative movements, but also that the spatial features of this landscape influences the practices and creative movements of those who inhabit it (Ingold, 2011). I argue that this relation is also seen in tourist landscapes where tourism is embodied in the actions of local stakeholders as they fashion a living space through their interconnectedness to various people, processes and environments in the wake of tourism development. Social performance and embodied practices are central to the formation of tourist spaces (Coleman & Crang, 2002). It is important to add that these movements go beyond the performative encounter with the tourist during a confined intimate, and even sometimes staged, moment. I made this critique in Paper II. The idea of a theatrical stage filled with props, which scholars such as Edensor (2006; 2001) and Larsen (2012; 2010) advance, places local stakeholders and their performative space as only relevant as objects of study when in direct contact with tourists. Performance and embodiment, as I imagine them, relate to everyday life, including the multiple temporal and spatial interrelations the latter implies. With this conception of tourist spaces, the line between the theatrical stage and the living space becomes highly blurred. Dwelling in the tourist landscape can thus replace the theatrical stage and other metaphors based in fleeting staged encounters as a discursive anchor that fosters a moral approach to performativity by acknowledging the dynamic, but also temporal, nature of spatial bonds. Considering tourist landscapes as realms of dwelling recognizes the presence and influence of local people in spaces consumed and enjoyed by tourists. The craft-artists of Bornholm have formed a tourist landscape through years of professional training, adaptations to economic downturns, strategic networking, costly investments in physical infrastructure, and so on, all of which attest to their particular ambitions and experiences. All these events and decisions weave themselves in the landscapes tourists encounter,
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making the latter enduring, yet also dynamic and hybrid. Dwelling in the tourist landscape thus denotes that there is a practical and mundane side to the spaces tourists observe, which are highly connected to the social and material realities of local people. 5.2.2 Sincere Encounters Scholars have looked into transformative learning to find new benchmarks to define the success of volunteer tourism, rather assessing it in terms of interpersonal relations than international development (McGehee, 2012; Mostafanezhad, 2014). Such discussions around transformative learning are fruitful to tourism scholarship, but can be expanded to acknowledge the compromises local stakeholders face daily and practically due to their precarious position in a global capitalist system. As I criticize in Paper III, transformative learning focuses on the learning experience of the guest, and by and large overlooks the agency and ambitions of the host in the conceptualization of volunteer tourism. The way cultural groups and communities experience globalization is seen in their hybrid and dynamic features, which authors such as Wearing and Wearing (2006), Taylor, (2001) and Amoamo (2011) argue should be at the forefront of host and guest interactions. There seemingly lacks compelling discursive anchors aimed at imagining new ways of doing alternative tourism that would consider the complexity of fostering close encounters while attempting to live alternatively and sustainably. I propose the notion of sincere encounters to fill this gap. This proposition is inspired by Taylor’s (2001) discussion of sincerity in cultural tourism, where the focus lies on the agency of the host to present her interpretation of her condition. The concept of sincere encounters is a moral assertion that honesty and critical reflection should matter during alternative tourism encounters. Working towards sincere encounters implies being attentive to the compromises communities and other stakeholders make within their particular context. This term differs from notions of authenticity and intimacy, which are often implied and problematized in the study of the experiences of tourists, especially of those involved in alternative spaces, such as the organic farm or eco-community. The impossibility to reform a local system beyond capitalist means of production makes the ideal alternative space and experience more of a dream than a possibility (Gibson-Graham, 2003). The idea of sincere encounters acknowledges this difficulty, and focuses instead on critically discussing the different ways hybrid modes or production are negotiated between host and guest.
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Geographers have conceptualized the non-capitalist ways humans interact, putting emphasis on social interactions to evaluate community success (Gibson-Graham & Cameron, 2007). A focus on sincere encounters encourages reflexive communication between host and guest, making the success of alternative forms of tourism, such as volunteer tourism, a matter of communication, rather than solely economic productivity for the community. In Papers III and IV, I promote the involvement of local stakeholders in critical discussions with volunteers when it comes to the difficulties of reaching a sustainable development. In this way, alternative tourism becomes a forum for critical and reflexive discussion between host and guest. However, effective communication between host and guest cannot be left unchecked, assuming that it will take place effectively on its own simply because the practice is labelled alternative. Managerial plans based in notions of sincerity need to be integrated in tourism development schemes if they are to be successful and beneficial to the community. I thus suggest with Paper IV that sincere encounters should connote a form of managerial commitment to honest exchange on behalf of managers, organizers and community members as they invite guests to explore and contribute to the well-being of a living space.
5.3 Researching Living Spaces It became apparent early on in my research that reaching my aim would be closely related to my role as a reflexive and attentive researcher. To suggest imagining tourist spaces as living spaces must be complemented with a discussion about the methodological implications for the researcher. Developing discursive anchors in tourism studies implies working with methodologies aimed at capturing subjective particularities (Belhassen & Caton, 2009), which in this case would relate to the experience of living in close relation to tourism. I wish to briefly outline the relevance of using methodologies sensitive to the experience of people navigating ambiguous positions in a complex realm. This engagement undoubtedly implies, as Ateljevic (2000) argues, more involvement with qualitative approaches in tourism studies such as with ethnography and open-ended interviews, in order to empower participants to share their own perspectives. There is space during qualitative data collection for the researcher to be attentive to confusion, creativity and unexpectedness, which hint at lived experiences (Freeman, 2006). It was this type of attention that led me to write Paper II to decipher the materiality of the tourist landscape the craft-artists of Bornholm fashion. As for Sólheimar, paying attention to the details of everyday life was essential to understand the meaning of contextualization in
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management as I presented in Paper IV. Interpretive techniques such as narrative analysis and ethnography can guide the researcher in finding data through multiple sources such as conversations, movements, events, texts and images, all of which testify to the complex composition of everyday life. As MacLure (2013) concedes, the researcher should go towards the moments that she finds interesting during the data collection process. I wish to argue further that these are the moments that will reveal new ways of thinking, such as those I advocated throughout this thesis, about how humans, materials and spaces come together in all sorts of ways. Researching living spaces in tourism moreover implies a theoretical commitment to understanding the meaning that the fragmented, negotiated, interpersonal and performative nature of tourism has for different stakeholder groups. A theme of this thesis has been to advocate relational geography as a theoretical tool to study tourist spaces. Relational geography opens up the researcher to the complex assemblages that form tourist spaces. In Paper I, I demonstrated that these assemblages are seen in the development of rural tourism where local discourses and practices are coupled with global processes, forming hybrid spaces. In Paper II, I held that non-representational approaches are particularly interesting for giving importance to the objects and moments that show how local lives mediate and are impacted by the formation of space. Furthermore, the close encounters central to alternative tourism can be studied in relation to the local and extra-local processes that create particular managerial contexts. Though not explicitly using relational geography theory in Papers III and IV, I have demonstrated that, in the case of volunteer tourism, the negotiations local stakeholders make daily weave themselves in the interactions they have with tourists. Overall, relational geography represents a fruitful theory to anchor one’s research in contexts of lived experience. The constructed nature of knowledge entails that there are limitations to the claims the researcher can make about her findings (Lather, 1993). What matters is not to secure exact definitions to explain the world as it is, but to open up to discussions about the different ways to interpret these events in the world (Belhassen & Caton, 2009). Tourism studies has much to gain from a multiplicity of regime of truths operating side by side in a constructive manner. To imagine tourist spaces as living spaces implies looking into a dynamic and complex object of study. Even within relational geography there are different strands of thinking, which have their focus on specific elements. It means that the conclusions researchers elaborate about living spaces in tourism will always be partial, and will need to complement each other. The
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stories of the craft-artists and Sólheimar community I have presented mirror my engagement with these individuals as a researcher interested in particular theories, geographical areas and types of tourism. In the case of Sólheimar, my engagement with the community as a young international guest placed me close to the volunteers. This position generated a particular type of findings for Papers III and IV, and required creativity to reach community stakeholders. Researching living spaces with the qualitative methodologies discussed in this thesis implies a close involvement of the researcher with study participants in the field, and as such, an openness to reflect on the constructed and creative nature of research findings.
5.4 Moral Implications and Practical Considerations In this sub-section, I propose that researching living spaces finds its moral grounds in its openness to the various ways local people dwell and encounter during tourism, and to the diverse ways researchers make sense of these practices. Subjectivity, creativity, and partiality do not automatically discredit the relevance of qualitative inquiry and interpretive techniques. Rather, they reflect the multiplicity of the attributes of social life itself, and thus must be considered in its study. Embracing the inventive nature of research findings is a commitment to taking seriously the diverse ways of being involved in the world, and of those of making sense of it as a social being. Managerial plans and policy-making are closely linked to the language used by researchers and practitioners as they work to conceptualize tourism development and the benchmarks for its success (Belhassen & Caton, 2009). As Foucault (1980; 1979) defined, social institutions find their power as regimes of truth by creating the language that legitimizes their actions. It becomes important to consider the practical repercussions of the way we as researchers define our conception of the world, in effect contributing to the normalization of certain ideas about tourism. Relational conceptions and metaphors such as the ones I imagined through my research, and those of Grimwood (2014) I presented earlier, represent new ways of thinking about tourism that focus on local lived experiences and encounters, rather than tourism itself as the main object of interest. It is by naming the multiple and complex effects of globalization at the performative and contextual level that we avoid continuously promoting the same discourses uncritically (GibsonGraham, 2004). In a more radical sense, as new voices can be heard through innovative conceptualizations, so can alternative politics be imagined and advocated in their name (Amin, 2002).
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Giving primacy to social and material agency in research and practice also has moral implications. Local stakeholders form their space through their interactions with various structures, discourses, materials, and other humans (Massey, 2005; Thrift, 2000). In Paper I, I reveal how rural tourism served many purposes for the craft-artists of Bornholm, which were not only related to economic development, and which complicated each other’s realization. It becomes relevant to acknowledge how these processes occur to make meaningful the actions and practices of local actors in tourism development. An awareness of how humans and non-humans are brought into being in space through their interrelation enables us to enact our responsibilities towards them (Hinchliffe & Whatmore, 2006; Popke, 2009; Whatmore, 2002). In Paper II, I showed that materials can dictate how people make sense of their encounters with tourists through my description of ceramics and glassmaking during Bornholm’s tourist season. Tourism strategies are not only guided by managerial guidelines and discourses, but also by the agentic properties of materials. A practical commitment to make local experiences and aspirations matter in tourism planning and development arguably requires being attentive to such social and material properties. In terms of the moral implications of managing tourist spaces as living spaces, I suggest giving attention, as Mostafanezhad and Hannam (2014) propose, to encounters. As local stakeholders receive guests in their homes, workshops and communities, it is not enough to devise plans to offer an intimate learning experience to the tourist for the practice to be called alternative tourism. As I explain through Paper IV, those involved in the management of receiving guests for close encounters need to strategically prepare for these interactions for tourism to become beneficial for more than economic reasons. I suggest in Paper III that more reflection around the question of what the community wants tourism for is necessary amongst local stakeholders. Communities should also consider how they will handle their interactions with tourists on an interpersonal level, given the reality of their local context. Critical reflection and cultural negotiations can be developed throughout close interactions during guided tours, seminars, private conversations and in promotional material (see, for instance, Amoamo, 2011). There should be some form of moral commitment from the managers, coordinators and other related stakeholders to develop alternative tourism as something that goes beyond the economic benefit of servicing guests looking for an alternative experience. These managerial incentives would need to come with the appropriate development strategies, where success would be envisioned in terms of sincere encounters between host and guest.
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My research has involved me briefly in the management of tourists at Sólheimar eco-village as I wrote the report for the coordinators of their interns and volunteers. It was important for me to communicate my results and the relevant theories behind them as there is a moral aspect to making tourism research beneficial to those it uses as its subjects of inquiry (Cole, 2006; Höckert, 2015). Though my involvement as a participatory researcher went only as far as suggestions in a report and discussions with concerned stakeholders, it is still a form of acknowledgment that the researcher can give back to the community or group she studies closely. While it is impossible to say to what extent my report and presence influenced the decision-making of these coordinators, I was informed about a year later that an employee had been hired to manage the volunteers and interns, freeing the managers of the educational center of the task of coordinating these guests. I consider this accomplishment as a step towards taking seriously the management of encounters, in the hope that volunteer tourism can be beneficial for both host and guest in the long-run. Much can be said about morals and participatory action research, but this is well out of the scope of this research project, which was by far more interested in linguistic proses and conceptual imaginaries. Nonetheless, my involvement at Sólheimar led me to reflect on the difficulty of making concrete changes as a researcher. As mentioned earlier in the research design chapter, it was difficult to get feedback from the coordinators. Their busy schedule led them to prioritize other things than a doctoral student with abstract ideas, who was probably of better use giving a hand to the businesses. The position of the engaged researcher is to be navigated carefully! The moral turn in tourism scholarship needs to continue to encompass discussions and new conceptualizations related to the role of the researcher directly involved in making her research matter in a complex context. This reflection over the actual impact of my presence at Sólheimar also accentuates the significance of context and human factors such as stress, personal motivation and stamina in participatory research and tourism management. These factors are neither usually considered in alternative nor sustainable tourism theory (see Paper IV, but also Ruhanen, 2008; Smith, 1997). Further ethnographic research would shed light on this reality, hopefully bridging theory with practice more effectively by proposing solutions sensitive to local realities and personal abilities. This consideration outlines the importance of studying close encounters and local contexts in creative and meticulous ways through considerable local engagement in order to do more than simply suggest the application of managerial models.
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6 Conclusion and Future Research The aim of this thesis is to imagine new ways for tourism researchers to conceptually embed people closely involved with tourists within their living spaces. I approach tourism as a phenomenon that creates new and complex relations imbued with spatial, but also personal, social, material, communal and professional implications. These relations are the product of the fragmented and negotiated nature of tourism as a global phenomenon on the one side, but also of the embodied performances required for hosting guests on an intimate level. I establish that close encounters and spatial dynamics are central themes to a moral geography of tourism that considers the plurality and complexity of human experience. A scientific interest in local experiences of tourism is in itself a commitment to imagine more moral ways of doing tourism. Through relational geography, it becomes possible to apprehend these multiple relations that make up local spaces and identities, making them matter in discussions on tourism dynamics and management. Relational geography is a useful frame of departure, leading me to imagine new ways of thinking about tourist spaces in my study of an eco-community and a rural space, where tourism materializes in two quite different alternative ways. I identify some of the processes behind the construction of places and identities which outline the plurality of coping strategies, embodiments and negotiations that make up local experiences of close encounters in tourism. The tourist spaces I explored are highly interrelated to the everyday practices and goals of its local stakeholders. This interrelation is seen in the case of the craft-artists of Bornholm where their ambitions to live a rural lifestyle and pursue an artistic career are intermixed with their commercialization of their creative spaces and practices during their island’s tourist season (Paper I). The materials and techniques these craft-artists use to create their art moreover mediates their relation to the tourist season by enabling and restricting certain mundane practices, which weave themselves in the tourist landscape (Paper II). The case of Sólheimar eco-village sheds light on management issues in a space with actors negotiating an idealist position within the capitalist system while hosting volunteering guests (Papers III and IV). The complex position of the eco-village’s local actors affects their interactions with their guests as they try to benefit from their presence. All these findings lead me to propose imagining tourist spaces as living spaces. This thesis enriches the moral turn in tourism scholarship by suggesting new metaphors that can be used to make local experiences and aspirations matter in tourism research. Dwelling in the tourist landscape and
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sincere encounters from Papers II and III are presented as discursive anchors to hopefully ignite conversation among scholars over the mundane, yet complex, reality of living with tourism. Researching living spaces, rather than tourist spaces, has significant moral, methodological and practical implications. I argue for a commitment from tourism researchers and practitioners alike to make local experiences matter in the conceptualization of tourism development and its success. Methodologically, this requires close involvement with research participants, an openness to work with compelling and unconventional data, and to reflect on the subjectivity and creativity of our research findings. Practically, it means finding the managerial plans and policies that give primacy to local agency and experiences, and which enable local groups to share their perspective of their complex context with their guests. This thesis contributes to the application of non-representational theory to tourist studies. Ingold’s (2011) dwelling perspective has not quite yet been seen by tourism scholars interested in performance and materials as a significant tool to embed local inhabitants in the tourist landscape. Further research in tourism studies could investigate the non-representational ways in which local people make sense of the toured landscape they inhabit in order to contribute to the formation of new discursive anchors in the moral discussion of tourism development. This thesis also contributes insight about the way tourism researchers can imagine alternative tourism management as a theoretical concept. I propose thinking of alternative tourism as a forum for discussion where the host and guest can exchange reflections as they attempt to build sincere and critical perspectives of each other. Alternative forms of tourism that bring community members in close contact with guests cannot be deemed alternative solely because they are small in scale and offer some sort of learning experience. The proponents of transformative learning in tourism scholarship have made the practice more pedagogical. There nevertheless needs to be a way to involve the community more meaningfully in the critical and reflexive experience of the guest to make local experiences matter in the development of alternative tourism. While my scientific contribution with this case lies foremost in my critique of a lack of contextual consideration in managerial plans and my subsequent imagination of a discursive anchor and its potential application, further research could investigate practical outcomes and identify more social and human factors challenging the management of sincere encounters.
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The cases presented in this thesis were meant to shed light on original and peculiar aspects of tourism development in the northern European context. Investigating craft-artists as stakeholders in rural tourism brings a new dimension to a form of tourism usually associated with food and drink production. This case highlights the challenges and agency of a new entrepreneurial group making sense of tourism in a rural space. The Nordic eco-village as a case to study volunteers came in contrast to the usual focus on the community of the global South. Using an eco-village, moreover in a developed context, outlines critical challenges related to managerial issues during volunteer tourism. With these unlikely cases, and the call to imagine tourist spaces as living spaces, I suggest that further research in tourism studies should be directed at expanding the range of stakeholders, issues, forms of tourism, and places studied, making them meaningful items in the exploration of tourism dynamics and development. This thesis touches upon morals in different ways, but not upon matters of social justice and human rights, which are of significant importance in discussion of tourism geography. As tourism expands in multiple ways, it puts at risk many cultures and environments in vulnerable parts of the world. Global changes shift power relations in challenging ways which deserve the attention of the tourism researcher interested in local experiences, spatial dynamics and moral imaginaries. As seen lately, refugees run aground the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea, violent weather patterns and rising sealevels put stress on coastal destinations, Cecil the Lion made global news as a tourist hunted him down, and the list goes on. How do these events destabilize social and spatial identities? What do they imply for those who live in close contact to their occurrence? The role of gender, race, ethnicity and sexual orientation in tourism encounters are worth significant scientific attention as these features become lived experiences that impregnate the cultural landscapes in various ways. To reiterate the claims I made in the introduction, the tasks of managing, imagining and doing tourism are ultimately moral ones. As for the researcher, the task will be about looking for all kinds of clues that can inform scholarship and practice of the diversity of social and human experiences that shape the highly fragmented and performative realm of tourism into a living space.
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8 Appendices 8.1 Interview Questions 1. The artist – How did you come to practice your art on Bornholm?
When did you start with ceramics/glass-blowing?
What got you interested in art?
What type of training, education and background do you have in your art?
How did you build your studio? Where does your raw material come from?
What is your source of inspiration? Is Bornholm a part of it?
How often do you develop new pieces of art? A new collection?
2. The artist on Bornholm – How it is to be a crafts person on Bornholm?
What are the advantages of practicing art on Bornholm?
What are the challenges?
Is your art your only job?
How does your process of creation work?
How are you involved in ACAB? How has it helped you develop your art?
What are the challenges faced by ACAB according to you?
Do you have the continuity of ACAB at heart?
Are you part of any other associations or networks? How do these help you develop as an artist and/or business? (The Design School, Grønbechsgård, Glass Context)
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3. Dealing with the tourist season – How is it to live with the tourist season?
How do you benefit from the tourism season? In terms of profit, product development, marketing your art, networking, etc.
Does ACAB help to take advantage of the tourist season?
Do you get any type of support to innovate as an enterprise for tourism by other organizations?
How do you innovate to reach out to the people who come as tourists in the summer?
Do you have projects to innovate further as an entrepreneurial artist?
How do you feel about the seasonality of the tourist season?
What do you do when the tourist season is over?
What do you wish for the future?
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8.2 Participant-observation Guide Long-term guests (Volunteers, interns and students)
Reason for volunteering or interning at Sólheimar eco-village
Background (education and work related)
Like about Sólheimar (General: the village, its atmosphere, its management, etc.)
Like about their task at Sólheimar (General: the experience, the structure, the support, etc.)
Dislike about Sólheimar (General: the village, its atmosphere, its management, etc.)
Dislike about their task at Sólheimar (General: the experience, the structure, the support, etc.)
Overall impression of experience (the positive and the negative)
Lessons learned during stay at Sólheimar
Community members (Managers, coordinators, employees, residents)
Experience of interacting with volunteers, students and interns (the positive and the negative)
Experience of working with volunteers, students and interns (the positive and the negative)
Experience of hosting volunteers, students and interns (the positive and the negative)
Preferred kind of volunteers, students and interns (Personality traits, background, etc.)
Examples of volunteer, student and intern projects at the village
Challenges for the future of Sólheimar (General and in volunteering)
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Paper I
JOURNAL OF TOURISM AND CULTURAL CHANGE, 2017 VOL. 15, NO. 4, 339–358 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14766825.2016.1154064
Craft-art in the Danish countryside: reconciling a lifestyle, livelihood and artistic career through rural tourism Solène Prince European Tourism Research Institute (ETOUR), Department of Tourism Studies and Geography, Mid-Sweden University, Östersund, Sweden ABSTRACT
ARTICLE HISTORY
To contribute new insight related to the entrepreneurial strategies adopted by local actors involved in rural tourism, this article explores the array of dynamics and complexities faced by the members of the Arts and Crafts Association Bornholm, Denmark. Besides juggling a livelihood with a desired lifestyle, artists pursue the ambition of professional success, which adds a new and interesting dimension to the conceptualization of individual and collective strategies related to lifestyle entrepreneurship, rural identities, the commercialization of rural symbols and products, and new modes of production in the countryside. In their search for customers and spectators, these craft-artists have created a professional brand and work individually on various entrepreneurial strategies, allowing them to benefit from the short but intensive tourist season on their rural island. These strategies blur the line not only between their lifestyle aspirations, career ambitions and livelihood necessities, but also between the commercial, professional and rural nature of the space they present to tourists. This qualitative study was primarily conducted through open-ended interviews with members of the association. It is discussed lastly that these artists consequently create for themselves a hybrid space, strategized and redefined in relation to the complexities of residing in a countryside integrated within a global system.
Received 19 September 2015 Accepted 5 February 2016 KEYWORDS
Rural tourism; Bornholm; Denmark; rural geography; craft-art; entrepreneurship
Introduction Over the years, the countryside has become a hybrid space where local individuals and groups negotiate in different ways their particular position in a global system (Heley & Jones, 2012; McCarthy, 2007; Murdoch, 2003, 2006; Woods, 2007, 2009). A variety of actors have responded to global socio-economic changes by innovating and restructuring rural spaces to participate in the service economy as tourist entrepreneurs (Hjalager, 1996). As these actors get involved in tourism, they are left to navigate a web of relations and expectations often not compatible with their initial ideal of a rural lifestyle. As Brandth and Haugen (2011), Burton and Wilson (2006) and Sims (2010) stress, these actors are often pushed to modify their values, identities and practices over time to accommodate their position in the dynamic chains of production, regulations and events that extend well beyond their rural space. They must, for instance, negotiate an ambiguous CONTACT Solène Prince © 2016 Taylor & Francis
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relationship between social spheres commonly understood as separated realms: the idyllic lifestyle and the viable business model (Andersson Cederholm, 2014; Brandth & Haugen, 2012, 2014; Andersson Cederholm & Hultman, 2010). In light of such tensions, Saxena (2012) calls for more creative theoretical approaches to examine the implications for rural actors of the global/local tensions played out between discourses of rurality, local agency, and processes of production and consumption in rural tourism. Understanding the dynamics of the complex systems these actors navigate is critical to tourism research as it helps to conceptualize on what ground rural tourism is negotiated and legitimized. Mostly, in tourism research, the local actors studied to understand rural agency are tourist entrepreneurs. These individuals are often interested in combining a lifestyle with a livelihood in order to enjoy things like daily outdoor activities (Andersson Cederholm, 2014; Andersson Cederholm, & Hultman, 2010; Ateljevic & Doorne, 2000; Marchant & Mottiar, 2011). Alternatively, or concurrently, they may turn to tourism to support an enterprise they wish to preserve such as a farm. It is not unusual, for instance, for farmers to run a bed and breakfast establishment or make quality visitor-oriented products such as gourmet cheeses or honey (Everett, 2012; Hjalager, 1996; Sims, 2010). Little research in tourism investigates more deeply the complex ambitions and ambiguous positions of actors who are not entrepreneurs per se, but are nonetheless significant cultural attributes to the countryside. Besides juggling a livelihood with a desired lifestyle, artists pursue additionally the ambition of professional success and acquiring fame in their trade, leading them to enact business-like practices despite the fact that they do not consider themselves as entrepreneurs per se (Deener, 2009; Jenkins & Romanos, 2014; Sheehan, 2014). Studying artists established in the countryside can contribute new insight into the nature of rural strategies enacted in relation to discursive and material complexities as these actors strive simultaneously for a livelihood, artistic career and lifestyle in the countryside. This adds a new and interesting dimension to the conceptualization of individual and collective strategies related to lifestyle entrepreneurship, rural identities, the commercialization of rural symbols and products, and new modes of production in a countryside integrated within a global system. This study, therefore, explores the various discourses and practices the craft-artists of the Arts and Craft Association Bornholm (ACAB), Denmark engage with as they pursue a livelihood in close relation to rural tourism. The study was conducted through qualitative fieldwork on the island of Bornholm, including open-ended interviews with ACAB members. To varying degrees, the craft-artists follow global market logic in the pursuit of their professional ambitions, which ironically seems antithetical to their desire to pursue an idyllic rural lifestyle. Through the ACAB, the craft-artists collectively diffuse a brand based in hand-made, local and authentic craftsmanship that appeals to them as professional artists. This type of commercialization is done not only to support their livelihood, but also to preserve their artistic integrity and to pursue professional ambitions. By commercializing their art, they engage in encounters with tourists based in values of quality closely linked to the rural authenticity sought by tourists. For certain craft-artists, their artistic identity even has to be reconciled with their individual decision to have designs reproduced through global chains of production to increase output numbers and profit. This opens a discussion on strategic entrepreneurial practices that simultaneously contest and confirm discourses of rurality, where these artists consequently
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create for themselves a hybrid space, strategized and redefined in relation to the complexities of residing in the countryside as a professional craft-artist. This article starts by reviewing some of the literature highlighting the global/local and urban/rural tensions identified in rural geography and rural tourism scholarship. It also discusses the agency with which local actors respond to these tensions, and its spatial implications. The case and its findings are then introduced to explore the interrelations, local strategies and tensions that materialize in the spaces of the craft-artists on Bornholm. The last section is used to further argue that scholars and practitioners alike should consider the complex systems rural people live in to understand the dynamics of rural tourism.
Tensions and agency in the countryside Discourses of rurality associate the countryside with visions of bucolic idyll, tranquility, wilderness, agrarianism, scenic landscapes and pre-modern ways of life, simultaneously making it a playground and ideal living space (Baylina & Berg, 2010; Short, 2006), a backward space in need of development (Phillips, 2007), the theater of resource extraction (Desbiens, 2013) and an exclusive space (Bell & Valentine, 1995; Neal & Agyeman, 2006). Rurality is as such a social construct, or, as Mormont (1990) explains, an imagined entity, which takes shape through particular discourses of rurality produced, reproduced and contested by the media, policy-makers, academics, lobby groups and the general public. One of the most powerful and enduring notions of the countryside relates to the rural idyll, where the rural is connected to ideas of peace, spirituality and tranquility, in opposition to the fast pace of the city (Jepson & Sharpley, 2015; Short, 2006). The countryside is as such embellished through various discourses to represent an escape from modernity and the negativities of the city, mostly for those who look upon it as outsiders in outlets such as films, books, and the news (Avraham, 2003; Baylina & Berg, 2010; Bunce, 2003; Shields, 1991). However, the actual reality of the way people live in the countryside can differ greatly from these discourses (Woods, 2011). Conflicts over the meaning of rurality led geographers to account for the material complexity of rural places as these various discourses impact and problematize the experience of those living in the countryside (Cloke, 2006; Halfacree, 2006; Marsden, 1998; Murdoch, 2003, 2006; Woods, 2007, 2009, 2011). Halfacree (2006) concedes that rural spaces are simultaneously imagined, material and practiced, which should encourage the dismissal of polarized locality-based and social representation-based attempts at defining rurality. The locality, its representations in outlets such as the media and political discourses, and the everyday lives of its inhabitants should be studied relationally to understand the emergence of rural spaces (Halfacree, 2006). Moreover, rural places are engulfed in the same processes that change and remake urban centers, which emphasize ‘the significance of networks, connections, flows and mobilities in constituting space and place and the social, economic, cultural and political processes associated with them’ (Woods, 2011, p. 40). Rural places are multiple and extroverted through their integration in the global system, and thus, their analysis requires an approach that sees them in relation to extra-local processes and structures, and the various discourses over the meaning of rurality (Marsden, 1998; Murdoch, 2003, 2006). With such complex interrelations shaping the countryside, Woods (2007) contends that rural places are remade unevenly depending on the distinct power relations linking them
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to other localities. For instance, Queenstown, New Zealand evolved into a highly commercialized space for mass adventure tourism (Woods, 2009), while Bornholm, Denmark retained a bucolic charm for family holidays (Larsen, 2006). How local actors engage with these manifestations cannot be reduced to their domination by forces out of their control (Bell, Lloyd, & Vatovec, 2010), rather ‘The impact of globalization on rural localities is revealed not as domination or subordination but as negotiation, manipulation and hybridization, conducted through but not contained by local micro-politics’ (Woods, 2007, p. 487). Local actors cannot resist all the pressures they face from extra-local phenomena, but they can adapt their networks, value systems and internal structures to take advantage of these (Chaperon & Bramwell, 2012; Jackiewicz, 2006; Milne & Ateljevic, 2001). For instance, Chaperon and Bramwell (2012) describe how planning decisions were made in Malta to develop a golf complex on the peripheral island of Gozo. The Gozitan population, mostly opposed this project coming from the core, and tackled the matter by coming together as residents, local environmentalists and nature users to demonstrate their opposition. Their efforts attracted considerable media attention, raising awareness of the cause. The protestors’ agency formed on a backdrop of structural oppression, but encouraged the formation of a global association to network with extra-local agents, ultimately preserving rural Gozo as the locals wished. The actions of rural actors are not necessarily performed to actively revolt against global processes, but more as a form of passive resistance. For instance, in their study on Lijiang Ancient Town, China, Su and Teo (2008) explain how elderly Naxi people reclaimed touristic spaces through everyday activities and symbolic representations of their own cultural identity. By performing their traditional dances on the square unannounced, these dancers ascertain what they deem as appropriate spatial practices in the light of economic restructuring as they seek to preserve their culture amidst increased visitors. Rural individuals and groups negotiate in different ways their position within a political, social and economic system that goes beyond and between rural spaces (Heley & Jones, 2012; McCarthy, 2007; Woods, 2007, 2009, 2011). It is the local responses to standardized global structures and discourses, and to various legal and governmental regulations that give rural places their unique hybrid character (Woods, 2007). To understand the nature of the countryside, it is thus crucial to understand how local actors individually and collectively respond to the discourses and structures affecting them.
Rural tourism With the decline of primary and secondary economic activities traditionally defining the countryside as a productive space, local and national governments rely increasingly on the development of tourism activities to fill what is perceived as an economic void (Cawley & Gilmor, 2008; Lane, 2009; Saarinen, 2007). Concurrently, local actors respond to these changes and incentives by innovating and restructuring their spaces to participate in the service economy as tourist entrepreneurs (Hjalager, 1996). The countryside is generally viewed in terms of rural tourism as a place where the signs and symbols produced and consumed relate to particular traditional rural practices, products and lifestyles embedded within places (Ray, 1998; Sims, 2009). Rural tourism is often conceptualized, as in this study, as a form of tourism functionally rural, displaying small-scale enterprises, traditional social structures and ways of living, agrarian economies and non-urbanized settings (Lane, 2009).
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Through the promotion of tourism entrepreneurship and development of new rural products, rural places become entangled in new ways with global/urban processes and discourses. The tensions of interest in this study are presented in relation to the agency rural actors have to navigate structures and processes that simultaneously contest and confirm rural discourses, mostly the one that has to do with the rural idyll. More precisely, this study observes that, through rural tourism, local actors have a chance to produce and distribute goods and services in ways that reflect values such as their local identity, belonging and autonomy (MacDonald & Jolliffe, 2003). With standardization and the spread of idyllic rural discourses, researchers such as Everett (2012), Murray and Kline (2015) and Sims (2009) consider the artisanal and traditional localized modes of production of rural goods as key elements attracting tourists to the countryside. The tourists and rural actors thus work together to construct an image of the countryside that confirms the rural idyll. Ateljevic (2000) calls this ‘circuits of tourism’, where consumers and producers communicate and negotiate within particular social and institutional contexts the nature of the product at stake, eventually producing and reproducing discourses and practices that uphold this construction. As such, tourism is a socially constructed activity that gives place meaning, both real and simulated (Ateljevic, 2000). Products such as foods, and crafts, made for the distribution of services such as hospitality and retail and for restaurants are positioned in wider chains of production in the effort to offer local goods and services appealing to tourists (Sims, 2010). These chains of production link them to other actors and processes, often forcing them to redefine their values and practices as rural stakeholders over time for practical reasons (Brandth & Haugen, 2011; Burton & Wilson, 2006; Sims, 2010). For instance, Sims (2010), in a study on local foods, identifies tensions between the ideal and practicalities of producing, supplying and consuming local goods. The different actors involved in her study modified their definition of ‘local foods’ to surpass practical issues as their relations with the other actors evolved. Local suppliers who expanded their businesses to the extent that they could no longer get the ingredients they needed for their shops, cafés or restaurants from local producers would redefine their status as local suppliers in terms that could accommodate these practical changes. Sims (2010, p. 113) explains: ‘Different definitions of locality arise from the need to negotiate the tensions between the values that people hold about the food sector and the practicalities involved in producing, shopping and buying food products’. Local strategies are adopted through a reaffirmation of values in relation to other actors and processes in whole chains of production, found at both the local and extra-local levels, in the development of rural consumer goods. Also of significant importance, the web of relations and expectations these rural actors get tangled in are often not compatible with their initial lifestyle ambitions. Andersson Cederholm (2014), Andersson Cederholm and Hultman (2010) and Brandth and Haugen (2012, 2014) all found in their studies on lifestyle entrepreneurs discourses amongst their respondents that both contradicted and confirmed rural lifestyle aspirations. For these entrepreneurs, factors such as being close to nature, doing what one loves every day and avoiding a stressful lifestyle are often significant to their decisions (Andersson Cederholm, 2014; Andersson Cederholm & Hultman, 2010; Ateljevic & Doorne, 2000; Marchant & Mottiar, 2011). However, while Andersson Cederholm (2014) writes that values of autonomy and freewill were apparent in the descriptions of her respondents about their identity as lifestyle workers, there were some practical issues in their tourist
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enterprises that blurred the lines between work and leisure spheres. This was especially the case as these entrepreneurs negotiate commercial and professional friendships with their employees, and private and social relations with their clients. The traditional business model still infuses the lifestyle enterprise, consequently blurring the lines between the idyllic rural lifestyle and product, and the effective business and its standardized product traditionally associated with urban spheres and processes of globalization. These studies of rural entrepreneurship highlight the complexities of the structures and processes affecting the countryside, and shed light on the individual and collective strategies and identities these actors adopt to harness rural and global processes to their advantage. There is nonetheless space in tourism research to study the strategies of different actors with complex ambitions and ambiguous positions as entrepreneurs who are significant cultural attributes to the countryside. The following case thus explores tensions related to lifestyle entrepreneurship, rural identities, the commercialization of rural symbols and products, and new rural modes of production by looking into the case of craft-artists established on Bornholm.
The craft-artists of Bornholm Bornholm, with a population of 40,096, is a 588 km2 Danish island in the Baltic Sea (Danmarks Statistik, 2014) (see Figure 1(a)). The annual number of tourists visiting the island is around 750,000, mostly Danes and Germans, who arrive within a short summer season beginning in June and ending in September (Larsen & Rømer, 2013). Tourism is mostly hotel- and camping-based, with a good portion of these tourists returning every summer to the same spot. The rural idyll is very significant in the construction of Bornholm as a tourist destination. With its picturesque fishing villages, beaches and other natural areas, and its family-friendly cycle paths, the island represents for many of its visitors simple living in the days of the nuclear family (Larsen, 2006), and so, many tourists come to Bornholm for family holidays. Retirees also represent a significant tourist segment on Bornholm. The case of Bornholm reflects a wider discourse of tourism in rural areas. The island relies heavily on tourism during its summer months to bring in currency to its local businesses. At approximately 150 km from the core of Denmark, Bornholm faces the realities of the rural periphery: a decreasing and aging population, reliance on extra-local support, decline of traditional industries and depressed economy (Bornholms Regionskommune, 2013; Ioannides & Petersen, 2003). Bornholm underwent economic restructuring when its fishing industry started collapsing in the 1970s, coming to a halt in the 1990s. Various European and national programs were implemented in the 1990s to counter the collapsed economy of the island, with many supporting the tourism industry (Ioannides & Petersen, 2003). The restructuring encouraged the development of various microbusinesses involved generally with specialized foods, hospitality and handcrafts, which now characterize the local visitor-related economy (Manniche & Larsen, 2013). Many craft-artists have permanent workshops where they make pieces to exhibit and sell on the island. Besides the common ceramic and glass design, textile design, knitwear, woodwork and jewelry also make up the craft-art cluster on Bornholm. The majority of the craft-artists of Bornholm tap into the tourist season by advertising their studios and galleries on tourism websites and by opening up their workshops to visitors during the summer. In the early 2000s, the development of the arts and craft cluster garnered
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Figure 1. (a) Bornholm’s location, (b) Bornholm’s main towns.
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attention from local politicians who were seeking to boost tourism on Bornholm by branding its municipalities. Part of this strategy included an interest in branding the Hasle municipality (see Figure 1(b)) as a center for craft-art, sparking the grassroots formation in 2002 of the Arts and Crafts Association Bornholm (ACAB). The founders of the ACAB believed that the craft-artists would benefit from presenting themselves as a professional interest group, rather than individually or as amateurs, when it came to benefiting from these development policies. The founders wanted an association that would provide a competitive advantage to its members on the international craft scene and during the tourist season. Membership would be based on a selection process to keep high-quality standards within the group and exclusivity to craft-artists established permanently on Bornholm. Eventually, the ACAB was able to secure funds from the European Union to strengthen its administrative competences and promote its brand, to the benefit of its members and the local economy. The ACAB began with 28 members and grew to its current 64 members. It is a cornerstone for professional artists who establish themselves on Bornholm to apply for membership in the ACAB, attesting to the successful development of the association into a local symbol for quality and professionalism.
Methodological framework This study is the result of fieldwork on Bornholm during autumn 2013 and autumn 2014. The first visit lasted three weeks and the second five. Interviews were the main form of data collection during this fieldwork where 19 of the 64 members of the ACAB were visited at their workshops, boutiques or homes. The interview method was chosen since this study aims at understanding a phenomenon experienced by particular individuals. The interview participants were asked to comment on two questions, which could be explored more in depth with open-ended questions: what does it mean to be a crafts person on Bornholm, and how is it to live with the tourist season? To follow the evolution of discourses of rurality and their materialization within a complex countryside, the subsequent questions centered on everyday practices, meant at extracting narratives on the meaning of the actions and thoughts of the respondents (Freedman, 2004; Kvale, 1996). These questions generated interviews that lasted on average a little over an hour in length. The interviews were recorded and notes were taken after each meeting to capture the context of each respondent for the data analysis process. The autumn period was chosen for fieldwork because it is then the tourist season winds down, leaving time for the craft-artists to participate in interviews. The tourist season was not completely over though, making it possible to gather first-hand observations related to tourism and craft-art. These observations were conducted at various local galleries, museums and events. The ACAB members interviewed were selected to generate a sample that could represent the spectrum of experiences within the association, with 5 glass designers, 1 woodworker, 1 textile designer, 1 knitwear designer, 1 potter and 10 ceramists interviewed (see Table 1). The ceramists represent the largest proportion of craft-artists in the association and so it was natural that more were interviewed. Within this sample were the two cofounders of the association, one also being a former longstanding chairwoman, and the current chairman. There were only five of the craft-artists interviewed, with two of them working as partners, who could be considered as running full-fledged businesses
Glass Rønne Ceramic Rø
Ceramic Svaneke
Glass
Ceramic Nexø
Ceramic Rø
Glass
Ceramic Rønne Wood Rønne
Ceramic Rønne Glass Gudhjem
Glass
Knitwear Svaneke
Pottery
Textile
Ceramic Nexø
Ceramic Svaneke
(3) Clair (4) Danny
(5) Emily
(6) Gary
(7) Helen
(8) Jenny
(9) Julie
(10) Karen (11) Karl
(12) Leila (13) Maggie
(14) Patrick
(15) Rebecca
(16) Roy
(17) Sara
(18) Shelby
(19) Victoria
Nyker
Allinge
Gudhjem
Svaneke
Rø
Ceramic Nyker
(2) Caroline
Location of workshop on Bornholm
Ceramic Rø
Craft
(1) Alex
Name (pseudonyms)
Denmark
Denmark
Denmark (Bornholm) Denmark
Germany
USA
Denmark Denmark
Japan Denmark
Denmark
Denmark
Denmark
Denmark
Denmark Denmark (Bornholm) Denmark
Denmark (Bornholm) Sweden
Procedence
Type of enterprise
Mode of production
All pieces made by artist by hand Pieces for retail designed by artists and also made by employees Pieces for retail designed by artists and made also by employees Pieces for retail designed by artists and outsourced for reproduction All pieces made by artist by hand
Pieces for retail designed by artists and reproduced by employees and outsourced All pieces made by artist by hand All pieces made by artist by hand
All pieces made by artist by hand
All pieces made by artist by hand
All pieces made by artist by hand
All pieces made by artist by hand
Career on-hold All pieces made by artist by hand
All pieces made by artist by hand
All pieces made by artist by hand
Pieces for retail designed by artists and reproduced by employees and outsourced Shared workshop at external facilities All pieces made by artist by hand and shared boutique elsewhere Workshop and boutique at external All pieces made by artist by hand facilities
Workshop and two boutiques at business facilities
Workshop at home with boutique Workshop at external facilities and shared boutique elsewhere Workshop at home with boutique Workshop and boutique at business facilities Workshop and boutique at business facilities Workshop and boutique at business facilities Workshop and boutique at home
Workshop and three boutiques at business facilities
Workshop at home with boutique
Workshop at home with boutique
Workshop at home and shared boutique elsewhere Workshop at home with boutique
Workshop at home and shared boutique elsewhere Career on-hold Workshop at home with boutique
Workshop at home with boutique
Table 1. Biographical characteristics of interview participants. Professional status
Makes living as professional craft-artist
Works a second job
Makes living from textile business
Works a second job
Makes living from knitwear business
Makes living from glass design business
Makes living as professional craft-artist Makes living from glass design business
Works a second job Makes living as professional craft-artist
Does not work with glass currently Makes living from craft and support from spouse Makes living as professional craft-artist and supported by retirement plan Makes living as professional craft-artist and supported by retirement plan Makes living from craft and support from spouse Makes living as professional craft-artist and supported by retirement plan Makes living from glass design business
Works a second job
Works a second job
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providing them with full-time employment, and having their designs outsourced and/or reproduced by employees. Most of the ACAB members found other strategies to pursue craft-art such as taking on a second job or subsisting from the earnings of a spouse, all in the spirit of making all their crafts by hand. The artists not running businesses were selected to capture the whole spectrum of that experience: from those who work other jobs, to those who are established so that their craft-art is viable. Three of the craftartists interviewed were originally from Bornholm, with all the other ones having moved to the island later in their lives either for professional reasons, to follow a spouse or because of the appeal of the place. Fifteen were of Danish origins, one Japanese, one Swedish, one American and one German. All the participants, like the great majority of craft-artists on Bornholm, are permanently established on the island. The interview participants were selected from different locations throughout the island. This was done to capture a comprehensive picture of the different experiences amongst the ACAB members as the localities around Bornholm differ in their touristic appeal.
Findings Craft-art and rural livelihoods The aspiration of the craft-artists of Bornholm to drive a successful enterprise, build a career and live up to rural values alters the character of their spaces as they negotiate simultaneously, and in different ways, strategies to preserve a rural lifestyle and others aimed at improving their entrepreneurial assets. The story of how the two co-founders established themselves on Bornholm as craft-artists attests to the kind of negotiations rural stakeholders undertake as they need to develop innovative ideas and entrepreneurial skills to make a living following their creative and professional interests. Both women now run successful businesses where they sell their crafts locally during the tourist season. Maggie,1 with her husband Patrick, runs a glass design business on Bornholm with eight employees. Their facilities include a space for public demonstrations, a gallery and a boutique. Initially, they sold their pieces in shops outside of Bornholm and even planned to export them abroad to make a living on the island, but as the economic recession in the 1980s hindered that plan and they found the commission on wholesale too low, they eventually redefined their strategy. They realized quickly enough that they would be better off to develop a strategy to profit from visitors in the summer. As their business grew, they bought new facilities strategically located along the main road between two popular tourist towns, and with a big parking space. Sara, the other co-founder, is a textile designer with a similar story. Sara came to Bornholm when her husband was transferred for work. She decided to open a business after staying at home with her kids for 11 years. She also wanted to export her designs outside Bornholm, in her case, to shops in Copenhagen, but realized that she was better off selling to tourists to make her business profitable. Now, Sara has a boutique in Svaneke and one in Nyker where she also has her workshop where two employees work on reproducing her designs. She explained that the tourists find it interesting to see how she prints the fabric and that is why she has the printing machine in the boutique, effectively bringing part of the production process into the same space where consumption happens. Once the fabric is printed at her workshops, Sarah sends her fabric and
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patterns to a factory in Poland to be sewn into garments. By outsourcing, she remedies to the lack of qualified labor on the island and the high costs of production in Denmark, and successfully fills her boutiques with new designs, making her business viable. The strategic responses of Sara, and Patrick and Maggie, in light of their professional and livelihood aspirations, and the external constraints they faced, are akin to the dynamics of integrated rural tourism found in earlier research where local stakeholders mobilize cultural assets to accumulate capital conducive to regional development (Cawley & Gilmor, 2008; Saxena, Clark, & Oliver, 2007). For these craft-artists, becoming business people was seen as a valid strategy. By turning their art into a business, they get, comparably to lifestyle entrepreneurs, to make a livelihood out of doing what they love every day. The challenge for these individuals rests on making their business viable while they can enjoy developing their artistic creativity, and in these cases, they turned to rural tourism to elevate this dream. The same level of entrepreneurial skills and innovations is not shared by all craft-artists in the ACAB. Certain craft-artists show no major commercial ambition as they strive to become professional craft-artists. Some craftartists work a second job or have a spouse/partner finance their efforts and livelihood, often with the hope that their artwork done in small workshops will eventually provide a full source of income. These individuals are nonetheless significant cultural attributes to Bornholm’s countryside and its craft-art scene. These rural actors’ relation to tourism must thus be conceptualized in a different way. The craft-artists who do not run full-fledged businesses sell nonetheless in boutiques and galleries around Bornholm, open their studios to visitors, and advertise their location in tourist brochures. All craft-artists interviewed wished to subsist from their artwork to spend their days doing what they love, but this is impossible. Simply, one needs to earn money to survive. It is not viable for any craft-artist, even under the umbrella of the ACAB, to solely make unique exhibition pieces. The chairman of the ACAB explained: ‘All workshops here are aimed at tourists. Even the best of the artists who sell mostly at exhibitions around here and in Europe, they need the summer tourists to make it work’. This reality is not always handled by building a viable business aimed at high output production and offering consumer experiences, as Maggie and Sara did. However, the professional success of all craft-artists rests on their ability to run a workshop and attract a public interested in their work. The tourist season on Bornholm is an avenue to start fulfilling this aspiration. Deener (2009) found similar results in his research on street artists at Venice Beach, where these individuals negotiate market-oriented practices in their pursuit of an artistic lifestyle. Deener (2009) concedes that his subject did not associate tourist art with an authentic artist identity per se, but rather as a means to sustain a particular lifestyle with the intention to eventually build an artistic identity (see also: Jenkins & Romanos, 2014; Sheehan, 2014). The discourse of the idyllic rural lifestyle was often connected to the choice of keeping a small workshop, where all was made by hand and the craft-artist could meet consumers in person. The story of Alex reflects the challenges behind the position of these craft-artists. Alex lives in the little village of Rø where he has a small ceramics workshop and gallery in his yard. Alex makes all his pieces by hand and has no intentions of having them reproduced abroad, but he understands that he needs publicity and customers to fuel his professional career: ‘That’s a thing actually that doesn’t interest me so much; this marketing thing. But you have some way or another to show the world outside this little lawn here
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that you actually exist’. The tourist season fulfills both his financial and creative ambitions as he defined the benefits of having visitors not just for economic reasons, but also through their interest in his style: You have to make things that appeal to people. I feel that even though they [the tourists] are not buying, they come in to see special things they have never seen before. That encourages me a lot. It gives me comfort that I am on the right track. When you can see the results in the account it is also good. It gives you relief. [ … ] We also rebuilt the roof, made some rooms, so we have loans in the bank to pay.
The simultaneous search for spectators and customers is significant to the professional career of the craft-artist; yet, Alex also clarifies that there is more to his personal ambitions than his career: ‘For me it has always been about the whole lifestyle and not only making pots. I live in a nice place, close to nature, close to family; that has been important too … and not too stressful!’ Alex is a music teacher during the school year, which enables him to generate a steady income and have the summer to run his workshop at what he calls ‘family-friendly opening hours’. This gives his family the chance to enjoy their summer together, while Alex can still work on his passion. Similarly to what scholars already found on lifestyle entrepreneurs (Andersson Cederholm, 2014; Andersson Cederholm & Hultman, 2010; Ateljevic & Doorne, 2000; Marchant & Mottiar, 2011), all interviewed craft-artists with small workshops mentioned that they all enjoy a lifestyle revolving around creative work and a pleasant living atmosphere. All they need is to make enough money to pay the bills. However, alike what Deener (2009) found on street artists, as these craft-artists with small workshops elevate their creativity to the professional level to live their passion daily, they all require strategies and a level of ambition similar to that needed to be a successful business person as it is crucial for them to reach and appeal to an audience. As Anderson Cederholm (2014) demonstrates, the traditional business model still infuses even the smallest lifestyle enterprise, and thus, though the craft-artists with small workshops are less ready to admit it than those who manage full-fledged businesses, they need to find ways to reconcile issues such as marketing, opening-hours and product development while they live a lifestyle of tranquility, artistic development and creativity. The spaces these two types of craft-artists create are different, but both are ultimately entangled in the inevitable reality that success, economic or personal, is based in productivity. As seen through this section and the coming ones, the search for an audience of consumers creates various tensions related to negotiating a lifestyle, career and livelihood in the countryside which problematizes the conceptualization of rural tourism strategies. It is not only the reconciliation between a lifestyle and a livelihood that pushes the craft-artists toward a complex relation with tourism, like in the case of the lifestyle entrepreneur, but also the search to enjoy a livelihood in the countryside while developing an artistic career.
Commercializing spaces of artistic integrity The tensions created between the search for a rural lifestyle and the development of a tourist attraction lead to the commercialization of spaces that were initially built to strive for professional and personal artistic development. Similarly, as Everett (2012),
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Murray and Kline (2015) and Sims (2009) established, it was found that rural tourism enables the creation of a local brand based in hand-made, local and professional crafts that appeals to the producer and consumer alike. Interestingly, some craftartists explained their decision to sell locally as partly a question of artistic integrity, rather than solely an economic strategy. For instance, Victoria, a ceramist in her fifties, described negatively her experience of sending pieces to be sold in Copenhagen earlier in her career: When the customers walk out the door in the big shops in Copenhagen, they forget about me. It would have been different if I had a workshop in Copenhagen, then they would maybe go from Ilums Bolighus to see me, but here I don’t see them [the customers in Copenhagen]. So I said screw them and earning so much money on me those shops. Now, I have everything home and just sell here. I don’t want to sell myself for nothing anymore.
Victoria now sells her crafts on Bornholm in a boutique below her workshop, and at one little shop she says she likes in Denmark. This way, she can meet most of the tourists interested in her art as a local product of Bornholm, and share her inspiration. Maggie voiced a similar concern when she conceded that selling wholesale was stressful and not very profitable. She added that she and her husband enjoy interacting with the people interested in their art and its creation process who come to their facilities: ‘[selling locally] is a good way to bring people into our world and that is why we do it [invite tourists]; so that they understand [our world]’. The idea to attract visitors to their creative spaces is here associated with their passion and identity as artists and rural dwellers, and not solely defined through economic reasoning. Tourism might in itself be a result of uneven global interrelations, but, in the way it materializes on Bornholm, its dynamics are preferred by some of the craft-artists over other global phenomena, such as exporting and/or outsourcing, that generate what they perceive as relations of dependency and distrust. Opening up to tourists a space built for one’s own professional development and artistic integrity is seen as a legitimate entrepreneurial option in this case. In the same fashion, Woods (2009) upholds that global processes can be strategically harnessed by local actors to resist other global processes. The craft-artists perceive that their spaces and artwork retain the artistic character they like through their implication in rural tourism, though the latter is in itself a global phenomenon, which can lead to commodification and standardization. This highlights the agency the craft-artists have to manipulate and interpret global processes to their advantage as they strive economically and professionally in the countryside. The commercialization of the craft-artist’ spaces resembles the process of reproduction Ateljevic (2000) discussed in her treatise on circuits of tourism, where tourism producers and consumers construct and normalize together the meaning of their context and interactions. The commercialization of the crafts and spaces of the craft-artists is done through an interrelational process where both the craft-artists and the tourists negotiate the meaning of locality, professionalism, rurality and authenticity through their encounters. The question of trust is also important for the consumers of craft-art on Bornholm. Rebecca, a knitwear designer, mentioned that she has many recurring customers in the summer who ask about her new collection when they visit, but who also want to know how she is doing. She believes that this interest has to do with the personal interactions tourists seek when on holiday in rural places:
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It’s like when you have a favorite place somewhere, then you like that somebody will recognize you and say: ‘Oh, how nice that you are back!’ That you have these relations to people [matters], because you can go to very beautiful places, but if you don’t meet people, it will not get important for you. That’s a part of the story of the shop: they like my stuff, but they also want me to be here.
This account emphasizes that social interactions give products a special meaning. The creative spaces of the craft-artists become meeting spaces, fueling a discourse of rural spaces as idyllic bearers of authentic products and experiences (Baylina & Berg, 2010; Short, 2006). There was consensus throughout the interviews that tourists were particularly interested in buying crafts that were local and handmade when they came to Bornholm. Emily, a ceramist, thinks that the interest of the tourists in their crafts has to do with the creation process: They can go to a lot of other places to buy cheap and sometimes really nice things. But I think here it is a story. We are making it from the start, we decide how it should look, how we are making it, fire it [in the kiln] and then sell it.
The spaces of the craft-artists are, to different degrees, spaces of resistance to chains of mass production and their standardized products for the tourists, adding to the perceived authenticity of the rural product (Everett, 2012; Murray & Kline, 2015; Sims, 2009). The search of the craft-artists for artistic integrity and the search of the tourist for idyllic rural experiences reinforce a romantic discourse of rurality where the localized, handmade, personalized and interactive materialize in the space of the craft-artists. The craft-art scene on Bornholm is thus constructed in large through these social relations that blend discourse and practice (Ateljevic, 2000; Massey, 2005). In this case, the meaning of rurality is negotiated and reproduced not only by the craft-artists through the ACAB and its professional criteria, but also through the interactions of the craft-artists with tourists. As Sheehan (2014) explains with her case of street artists in New-Orleans, such artist’ identities are formed through prevalent discourses and practices not solely associated with ideals of art, but also those related to tourism. All the while, these negotiations over authenticity and rurality occur in the light of the relation of the countryside to global and urban processes which contest the rural nature of these spaces and practices (Woods, 2007), highlighting the role of tourism in giving place particular meaning (Ateljevic, 2000). The craft-artists find bargaining power in the discourse of quality and locality the ACAB diffuses. The entrance criteria of the ACAB ensure that the association preserves the high standards of quality that define the crafts of its members as special compared to amateur crafts. To Victoria, this recognition matters during the tourist season: It’s what you want. It’s not a hobby, it’s serious. It’s quality. It’s professional. It’s a stamp for this is the good art and there is a difference. But if the ACAB wasn’t there they [the tourists] wouldn’t know about that.
The identity of the ACAB members is not solely built in relation to tourists, though they need them as consumers and spectators to propel their career. The ACAB is a successful mechanism for preserving quality as part of the arts and craft brand on Bornholm in the light of amateur competition. The ACAB, with its entrance criteria, prevents the crafts of the cluster to be associated with what one ceramist called ‘souvenir in a bad way’. Sheehan (2014) explains that, traditionally, tourist art has been perceived by
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Western society to be of lesser value than ‘real’ art as it is a commodified product, losing its special status. In this case, the professional ambitions of the craft-artists and their ability to form a network as a local interest group give them the agency to define the limitations to the commercialized nature of their crafts circulating within the tourist system. The strategic reliance on rural tourism to pursue simultaneously artistic and economic ambitions does not translate in the total dependence and subordination of craft-artists to its standardizing dynamics as a global phenomenon. As Ateljevic and Doorne (2003) and Su and Teo (2008) explain, tourism is not necessarily always actively resisted as it threatens to commodify local attributes; rather, it can be modulated by local actors to preserve cultural originality in the face of global changes. In this case, following Woods (2007) on rural interrelations, through the creation of the ACAB network, the craft-artists increase their agency to negotiate relations of trust and integrity with tourists in the face of the inevitable commercialization of their workshops by upholding a professional and local brand.
Negotiating modes of production and professional identity From the commercialization of private spaces, there ensue new discourses and materialities aimed at reconciling new modes of production with a professional and ideally rural identity (Brandth & Haugen, 2011; Burton & Wilson, 2006; Sims, 2010). Most glass, textile and knitwear designers interviewed have companies that send designs abroad to be reproduced to then be sold locally, and sometimes also extra-locally. This strategy was seen as a necessity by these owners and they did not see this as problematic to the authenticity of their creations or status as artists. Julie is a glass designer and the owner of a company that sells glass designs and creative experiences at four different venues she owns on the island. Her business went really well in the first 10 or 15 years. As her sales began to drop, Julie started to send pieces to a Polish factory to be reproduced. She then felt she could compete with the cheap glass coming from China that was increasingly entering the glass market. Her glass blowing enterprise was then re-invented as a design company. Though the glass is produced elsewhere for economic reasons, the crafts are still signed by Julie as she designs and decorates the pieces. Now, her glass comes from China as Polish labor became too expensive with the entrance of Poland in the European Union. The glass pieces she sells on Bornholm are thus the result of an extra-local chain of production and strategic entrepreneurial decisions that are typical of the global economy and dissimilar to the principles of locality and authenticity upheld by the craft-artists with small workshops in their interactions with tourists. Julie and the other craft-artists outsourcing designs made it nonetheless clear that they were artists. Their choice to turn their creativity into a business with an international chain of production rests mostly in their personal definition of success. Julie maintained that she can reconcile her passion for running her business with her identity as a successful glass designer: Did you see the candle-holders there? I made them twenty-years ago and we sold so many. I am so proud of that product. We sold thousands and thousands. That could keep four women busy producing them. That gave me a lot of freedom to create other things. I can be very proud of a unique piece, but I was really proud of that little product because it was the best. It was the candle-holder for tea candles that sold the most in Denmark for years! Why shouldn’t you be proud of a product like that?
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Here, the identity of the artist is linked to entrepreneurial success and redefines questions of authorship and authenticity in the world of art (Sheehan, 2014). This definition of success is not shared by all ACAB members. None of the ceramists interviewed outsources production and few conceded that they would if offered the opportunity. Victoria explained how important it is for her to make every piece herself: ‘It is inside you as a craftsman; it is a part of your professionalism and the standards you have for yourself. I don’t make things just for making money. I do it because it gives me something’. Victoria rather found her professional success by investing time exhibiting and selling pieces she made herself, which took her years to make viable. Ceramists will make all their pieces by hand; even the ones they serially reproduce to generate a stock of products, such as teapots, cups and bowls for houseware, they perceive as authentic art. Both paths ultimately characterize the arts and craft scene on Bornholm, and outline the different discourses and practices that form a single cultural scene. Though both craft-artists who produce by hand and those who outsource can be members of the ACAB as long as they present unique pieces when they apply for membership, they undertake its values differently as they individually make sense of their career and livelihood ambitions on Bornholm. The meaning of success and authenticity is malleable, as Sims (2010) argues, and is more likely to result from personal strategic redefinitions, than to be the outcome of pre-defined standards. The objective authenticity (Wang, 1999) of every craft on Bornholm can be contested, since their materials are mostly imported, few artists are native from the island and all artists reproduce their designs to some extent to reach a larger audience of customers. The brand of the ACAB serves to reconcile these tensions by asserting a stamp of originality to the crafts of its artists based on criteria they defined collectively. Thereafter, it is the definitions suiting the particular livelihood, lifestyle and professional ambitions of the craft-artist that will be adopted, and which will materialize in their practices and interactions with tourists as rurality. The challenge for the tourism researcher is thus not to find what the right balance should be between the artistic and the commercial, the authentic and the inauthentic, local and global, rural and urban, but rather to understand how local actors form the countryside by constructing and diffusing a variety of definitions of it that suit their realities and ambitions.
Conclusion This article has explored the context and the strategies enacted by craft-artists pursuing a career and livelihood in the Danish countryside. Studying craft-artists brings new insight related to the entrepreneurial strategies adopted by local actors involved in rural tourism as it demonstrates that, besides the search for an idyllic lifestyle, professional ambitions and a desire to preserve one’s valued identity can also affect rural actors’ decisions related to their participation in rural tourism. This study moreover underlines that understanding the span of the development of tourism in the countryside requires a consideration of the strategies used by local stakeholders operating both within and beyond the boundaries of the tourist system. As Saxena (2012) and Sims (2009, 2010) highlight, rural tourism occurs in a realm where discourses of rurality and processes of production and consumption are negotiated between different actors in relation to complex contexts. As demonstrated, it is in their search for a public that these different
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craft-artists have collectively formed a professional brand and work individually on various entrepreneurial strategies that allow them to benefit economically and professionally from the short but intensive tourist season on their rural island. There are nonetheless many aspects at stake when the craft-artists of the ACAB decide if they want to preserve their personal essence in their craft or present a more commercialized side, which is better at reaching larger audiences but compromises the artists’ identity within the collective and the authenticity of the product. All these choices, it is argued, contribute to the generation of various discourses over the meaning of rurality which in turn (re)create a hybrid countryside, filled with products that cannot, as Halfacree (2006) concedes, simply be delimitated as authentic, idyllic or commercialized. Tourism is important to the subsistence of the craft-artists, but they have the agency to enact their own definition of artistic integrity and success to make compatible their lifestyle aspirations, professional ambitions and livelihood necessities in relation to their particular context. Local actors, though seeking to benefit from tourism, modulate their space to inscribe their own meaning to it (Ateljevic & Doorne, 2003; Su & Teo, 2008). Particularly, the ACAB is a significant tool for the craft-artists to negotiate positive interrelations with tourists. The craft-artists of Bornholm foster positive interactions with their consumers and spectators by upholding traits in their spaces and creations both parties deem important, such as professionalism, locality and craftsmanship, which then creates a space where tourists discover the world of craft-art and potentially return to see familiar faces and consume pieces they feel connected to. This finding reinforces earlier claims that local actors should not be seen as powerless in the face of extra-local processes due to their ability to negotiate their position in the global system (Chaperon & Bramwell, 2012; Jackiewicz, 2006; Milne & Ateljevic, 2001; Woods, 2007, 2009). Global economic and cultural processes deeply penetrate rural areas, challenging local identities, everyday lives and structures in complex ways (Cloke, 2006; Heley & Jones, 2012; McCarthy, 2007; Woods, 2007). Further research can explore new geographical areas and interest groups to add to the findings of this research or test its applicability. What can be further said about the role of grassroots networks, like the ACAB, founded to define producer and consumer interactions, in the construction of the countryside? The hybrid nature of the countryside implies that a multitude of tensions materialize in a multitude of contexts, leaving much space for research into the dynamics of rural tourism. Tensions relating to gender roles, cultural or ethnic identities, government regulations, or discourses of sustainability, which were out of the scope of this study, are also themes that can be further researched to give a fuller relational picture of rural tourism.
Note 1. All names are pseudonyms.
Acknowledgements I would like to thank the people at the CRT on Bornholm, mostly Tage Petersen, for all the help and support during my research. I also wish to acknowledge my two doctoral supervisors at Mid-Sweden University, Dimitri Ioannides and Sandra Wall-Reinius, for their comments on this article.
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Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.
Funding This work was supported by a travel grant from Nordeas Norrlandsstiftelses.
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Paper II
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research-article2017
TOU0010.1177/1468797617710598Tourist StudiesPrince
ts Article
Dwelling in the tourist landscape: Embodiment and everyday life among the craft-artists of Bornholm
Tourist Studies 1–20 © The Author(s) 2017 Reprints and permissions: sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav https://doi.org/10.1177/1468797617710598 DOI: 10.1177/1468797617710598 journals.sagepub.com/home/tou
Solène Prince
Mid-Sweden University, Sweden
Abstract Non-representational theories have gained popularity in the last decades, encouraging social scientists to study the production of everyday life. Inspired by Ingold’s dwelling perspective, I present my qualitative research on the arts and craft community on Bornholm, Denmark, by exploring some of the bodily movements and mundane practices that shape a taskscape into a tourist landscape. This analysis defines the material and corporeal relations of Bornholm’s craft-artists with their island’s tourist season and aims to contribute to the application of non-representational landscape theory in tourism scholarship. The everyday practices and embodied movements of these craft-artists fashion the emergence of a realm of dwelling, rather than an exotic site. The tourist landscape is the product of the skills and techniques these craft-artists have developed over time to work with their different materials, and of the creative spaces which they have built to pursue their art. The materials, techniques, and creative spaces used by these craft-artists mediate their interactions with tourists, but also, these encounters mediate the craft-artists’ interactions with their materials, techniques, and spaces. I ultimately argue that the taskscape, as a realm of mundane embodied practices, cannot be detached from the landscape the tourists encounter. I propose scholars can use the dwelling perspective in their analysis of tourism to embed local people in their cultural landscape.
Keywords craft-art, cultural landscape, dwelling perspective, materiality, narratives, non-representational theories, practice, taskscape
Corresponding author: Solène Prince, European Tourism Research Institute (ETOUR), Department of Tourism Studies and Geography, Mid-Sweden University, Kunskapens väg 1, 831 25 Östersund, Sweden. Email:
[email protected]
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Introduction Non-representational theories have gained popularity over the past decades encouraging social scientists to look into the realm of bodily movements and mundane practices (Lorimer, 2005; McCormack, 2008; Thrift, 2000, 2001, 2008; Wylie, 2005, 2006, 2013). These theories are in contrast to the scientific tendency that dissociates the material from the cultural realm by relying on discourse, text, and representations to explain the world. Tourism scholars have used non-representational theories to analyze the different performances and embodied practices of those involved in the production of tourism. Haldrup and Larsen (2006), Obrador-Pons (2003) and Franklin (2003) encourage the use of nonrepresentational theories to give more materiality to the realm of tourism. Tourism occurs through practical actions where bodies corporally engage with the landscape using props such as cameras, backpacks, walking shoes, guide books, sports equipment, and souvenirs (Crouch, 2000, 2003; Haldrup and Larsen, 2006). Work carried under the flagship of the “performance turn” reflects an understanding in tourism studies that tourism is about doing something accomplished through bodily involvement (see, for instance, Edensor, 2000, 2001; Everett, 2009; Haldrup and Larsen, 2006, 2010; Larsen, 2008, 2012; Tucker, 2007; Weaver, 2005). This turn came as a reaction mostly to the work of Urry (1990) on the tourist gaze and other representational approaches in tourism studies privileging sight and discourse to analyze the dynamics of tourism (Larsen, 2008, 2012). Tourism is instead a social performance related to doing, touching, and being, which taken together generate tourist places (Coleman and Crang, 2002). Through the engagement of the tourist and tourist workers in performing (or resisting) their respective social roles in relation to one another, with scripts and props, tourist places emerge as metaphorical theatrical stages where tourists are the public, employees are actors, and guides are directors (Edensor, 2000, 2001; Larsen, 2008, 2012; Larsen and Urry, 2011). A focus on mundane embodied practices such as walking, eating, looking, and playing takes the focus away from what Larsen (2008) calls the spectacular of the “travelling eyes” (p. 26). There is growing research seeking to de-exotize tourist travel as a mundane performance where unreflexive habits, everyday technologies, and common sense make up the tourist experience (Crouch, 2000; Edensor, 2001; Franklin, 2003; Franklin and Crang, 2001; Larsen, 2008; Obrador-Pons, 2003). However, tourist scholars do little to examine tourism as a part of the everyday life of those who dwell within landscapes contrived by tourism. When the local is considered in non-representational studies, as researchers such as Giovanardi, Lucarelli and Decosta (2014), and Zara (2015) do, it tends to be through a confined performative interrelation with tourists, such as at a particular event like a festival. The local’s involvement then ceases to matter when the encounter is over. As such, tourist scholars mostly use the concepts of embodiment and performance to define the experiences of those who travel, not so much to explore the emergence of a landscape out of the practices of those who live within toured spaces. A non-representational approach that focuses on the experience of those who dwell within a tourist landscape and who, through their everyday practices and embodied movements, incur and fashion its emergence over time is seemingly lacking in tourism scholarship.
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An analysis of the tourist system that embeds local people in their cultural landscape would privilege their understanding of the world. It would avoid reducing their engagement in tourism to fleeting encounters with tourists, giving the researcher a deeper account of how tourist landscapes come into being through local activities. In order to contribute to such an approach, I explore the embodied movements shaping the tourist landscape I studied on Bornholm, Denmark, as a taskscape (Ingold, 2011). The taskscape, as described by Ingold (2011), implies a landscape transforms itself through movements of incorporation, meaning the processes that give rise to human activities weave themselves in the environment. My analysis sheds light on the material and corporeal relations of Bornholm’s craft-artists with their island’s tourist season. This study is the result of interviews with 16 ceramists and glass-artists of Bornholm Arts and Crafts Association (ACAB), where I met these craft-artists in their realm of involvement with their craft. Bornholm is a popular tourist destination in the summer for mostly Danes, but also other international tourists, who come to enjoy its natural surroundings and the micro-enterprises characterizing its cultural landscape (Ioannides and Petersen, 2003; Larsen and Rømer, 2013; Manniche and Larsen, 2013). Over the years, craft-art has become a significant aspect of the island’s cultural landscape. Professional craft-artists working with mostly materials such as glass and ceramics have opened up studios, galleries, and boutiques around Bornholm to take advantage of the tourist season. Encounters with tourists are thus common for these craft-artists and have even encouraged some to present staged performances. I argue that the encounters between the tourists and the craft-artists are more than single performances in time confined to a stage, nor are they exotic scenery; they are defined by the way these craft-artists dwell in their landscape. The materials and techniques used by these individuals mediate their interactions with tourists, meaning clay, and glass are essential at defining the type of interactions the different craft-artists have with tourists. In turn, the craft-artists’ encounters with tourists mediate their interactions with their materials, techniques, and spaces, reflecting an incorporation of the tourist season in everyday practices. I ultimately contend that the taskscape, defined by Ingold (2011) as a realm of mundane embodied practices, cannot be detached from the landscape the tourists encounter. Bornholm’s tourist landscape is the product of the skills and techniques its craft-artists have developed over time to work with materials such as ceramic and glass, and of the spaces which they have built, and opened up to tourists, to pursue their art. To demonstrate this, I first define non-representational theories, setting the grounds to introduce the dwelling perspective and the corporality, materiality, and relationality of the taskscape. Following my methodological framework are my findings. Finally, I discuss the main findings and propose further research in tourism scholarship.
Theoretical framework The representational turn has been criticized and re-oriented by different strings of nonrepresentational theories in the past decades, no less over the conception of the cultural landscape (see, for instance, Butcher, 2012; Lorimer, 2005; McCormack, 2008; Thrift, 2000, 2001, 2008; Tilley, 2004, 2008; Waterton, 2013; Wylie, 2006, 2013). Nonrepresentational theories is an umbrella term to define the different theories that advocate
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a focus on the production of everyday life in order to link scientific thoughts more closely to human experience. These theories stem from a discontent with the study of discourses and texts as it generates representations of the world that dissociate the subject from his or her realm of engagement (Lorimer, 2005; Thrift, 2001; 2008; Wylie, 2007). Scholars of non-representational theories, however, are not completely opposed to any form of representation (Dewsbury et al., 2002; Lormier, 2005; Thrift, 2008). The researcher instead apprehends representation as performative in itself, as part of a realm of embodied practices and performances that situate the subject as “in” and “of” the world (Dewsbury et al., 2002; Thrift, 2008). Lorimer (2005) even coined the term “more than representational” theory to avoid this misconception. As Lorimer (2005) describes, “the focus falls on how life takes shape and gains expression in shared experiences, everyday routines, fleeting encounters, embodied movements, precognitive triggers, practical skills, affective intensities, enduring urges, unexceptional interactions and sensuous dispositions” (p. 84). Instead of uncovering meaning and assigning value to the action of those studied, the researcher focuses on the material compositions and conducts of what he or she sees (Dewsbury et al., 2002; Thrift, 2008). Embodiment and performance are key concepts of non-representational theories. The concept of embodiment finds its origins in Merleau-Ponty’s (1962 [1942]) phenomenology of perception. Phenomenology is a philosophy that focuses above all on lived and affective experiences, presenting humans as subjects immersed in the world (Wylie, 2013). To exist means being conscious of something. It is impossible to be solely conscious, one is always conscious of an object or another body. Individuals then use bodily movements to respond to the situations objects and bodies around them afford them. Crossley (1995) uses the example of a football player who sees not only bodies and props on a field but also the strategies and opportunities these bodies and props offer her. The body is not solely acted upon, but engages with other subjects and objects (Crossley, 1995). It is through embodied practices that humans go about their lives, where they are not mere spectators, but performers. The concept of performance denotes these bodily techniques, which are ultimately displays of embodiment in everyday life (Wylie, 2007). The mundane became a subject of interest for social research, as it is through everyday life that individuals interact with their world and give it meaning. Performance and embodiment have thus been studied through subjects such as dancing, gardening, caravanning, commuting, and walking (see, for instance, Crouch, 2003; Laurier and Lorimer, 2012; Lorimer, 2011; McCormack, 2008; Michael, 2000; Wylie, 2002, 2005). For example, Crouch (2003) relates gardening to an intimate engagement with landscape and nature where bodies kneel and bend, touch and manipulate soil and vegetation, giving meaning to the landscape and to ones’ daily routine. As such, the landscape surrounding these gardeners is not solely to be looked upon as flower and vegetables aligned in a confined space, but as the ensemble of corporeal movements that form the practice of gardening. Various mundane technologies mediate the performances that connect the body to an environment (Michael, 2000). Crouch (2000, 2003), Michael (2000), and Whatmore (2002) explain that materials foremost have their own agency which affords us bodily capabilities by enabling certain performances. Props, bodies, animals, natural features, and machines function relationally to give culture its practical, symbolic, and expressive form (Graves-Brown, 2000; Michael, 2000; Whatmore, 2002). Landscape is thus not
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only scenery; it is a material surface where bodies are directly involved with its elements. Objects such as gardening soil, walking shoes, cameras, tools, rafts and bungie cords, and technologies such as transport and communications enable human relationships to go beyond detached gazing and involves the subject directly in the landscape (Bell and Lyall, 2002; Haldrup and Larsen, 2006). These capabilities are ultimately embodied practices that contain transformative elements that can fashion the landscape in enduring ways: the soil is used to make gardens, the shoes to trample paths and the tools to build houses (Crouch, 2000). Cloke and Jones (2001) speak of the fruit trees of an orchard which have differently “shaped the art of pruning” (p. 655) due to their own creative ways of flourishing, but which are inversely shaped by this pruning, outlining the relational aspect between humans, non-humans, and landscapes.
The dwelling perspective The notion of a landscape interwoven in embodied practices resonates with the work of Tim Ingold. Ingold first presented the dwelling perspective in “The Temporality of the Landscape” in 1993 and discussed it later in a number of articles and books (e.g. Ingold, 1995, 2011). Various scholars interested in the connections between landscape, nature, place, and culture have commented and taken up the dwelling perspective in their work, criticizing some of its aspects and embracing it as landscape theory simultaneously (Cloke and Jones, 2001). Thrift (1996, 1997) who coined the term non-representational theory was inspired by the work of Ingold in anthropology and so, many of the key proposition of the dwelling perspective are fundamental to non-representativeness. Ingold’s dwelling perspective stems largely from Heidegger’s (1971) phenomenology where humans inhabit their world through their ongoing practices, and finds inspiration in Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology of perception. Ingold (2011) sees landscape as such and, thereby, the dwelling perspective implies: A place owes its character to the experience it affords to those who spend time there—to the sights, sounds and indeed smells that constitute its specific ambience. And these, in turn, depend on the kinds of activities in which its inhabitants engage. It is from this relational context of people’s engagement with the world, in the business of dwelling, that each place draws its unique significance. (p. 192)
Landscape as a space for dwelling privileges people’s understanding of the world in which they are involved. The cultural landscape is not a mere background to be filled through a process of enculturation; it is through its inhabitation that it finds its form (Michael, 2000). Dwelling implies people extract resources through time in different creative manners, build and refashion structures, form institutions, and hold bonds of different nature and strength, in relation to their material place and its other inhabitants, human and non-human alike (Ingold, 2011). Ingold (2011) proposed looking at landscape as a taskscape, implying a landscape arises from the activities and practical engagement of those who dwell within it. The notion of a taskscape entails a landscape is formed through movements of incorporation. As the processes that give rise to the individuals’ activity are woven in their environment,
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“the landscape is constituted as an enduring record of—and testimony to—the lives and works of past generations who have dwelt within it, and in so doing, have left there something of themselves” (Ingold, 2011: 189). The taskscape thus relates to the practices and materials that shape a landscape into a place for dwelling. This is a process of incorporation, which Ingold (2011) called embodiment, and which differs from processes of inscription whereby a cultural template is used to give meaning to landscapes. Ingold (2011) uses the example of the hunter who knows how to track animals through her repeated immersion in the noises, textures, and smells of the forest. The hunter ultimately knows her way through the landscape because she inhabits it, not because she learned about it from text or imagery. For scholars like Macnaghten and Urry (1998) and Muir (1999), this perspective helps avoid the traditionally dichotomous approach to nature and culture. Wylie (2003, 2013) and Cloke and Jones (2001) warn against a notion of dwelling embedded in practices infused with rootedness and romanticism. Phenomenological approaches face the criticism of seeking originary essences and experiences, and of being unable to accept confused and hybrid identities proper to (post-)modern times (Deleuze, 1988). Ingold’s notion of dwelling should “enable the register of the transient and the fleeting as well as the enduring,” Wylie (2003: 145) claims. Dwelling cannot be a means to delineate what forms a valid living space through criteria of belonging or authenticity, but rather be understood as “a medium through which landscape performances are enabled and enacted” (Wylie, 2003: 155). Dwelling defines all kinds of milieus of involvement where material cultures and ways of being fashion an array of spatialities and temporalities. Ingold’s (2011) temporality of the landscape in part remedies to notions of essences by giving the latter a dynamic component. Temporality implies that the cultural landscape evolves over time through the rhythms of everyday life. Cloke and Jones (2001) warn nonetheless that these daily rhythms risk themselves of finding their root in essences and pre-modern cycles. For the notion of dwelling to remain relevant, it must consider the relational character of space. Places become, as Massey (2005) famously argued, increasingly heterogeneous through their extra-local connections. Accordingly, in their study of an orchard, Cloke and Jones (2001) detail the technologies, new species of trees, and marketing strategies that interwove themselves in the history of the orchard, making it a modern and hybrid realm of dwelling. Tourism is a good example of a phenomenon that destabilizes local practices as those who dwell within toured landscapes simultaneously incur and harness new relations (Prince, 2016). Relationality implies that places metamorphose as local actors engage with extra-local phenomena, actors, and materials of all sorts, ultimately losing any form of predefined essence and rootedness (Massey, 2005; Murdoch, 2006). This reality makes dwelling in the tourist landscape a dynamic matter built around relations between not only locals and their material landscape, but also between them, tourists, and the dynamics of tourism. Next, I explore more closely some of the multiple relations and movements that form Bornholm’s toured craft-art scene.
Methodological framework I visited the Danish island of Bornholm in autumn 2013 for 3 weeks and returned in autumn 2014 for 5 weeks to undertake fieldwork to study the members of the local
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craft-art community. I chose the autumn period for fieldwork because it is then the tourist season winds down, leaving time for the craft-artists to participate in interviews. The tourist season was not completely over though, which made it possible to gather firsthand observations at different venues related to local arts and crafts such as galleries, museums, and events to add to my qualitative findings. Arts and crafts are a significant aspect of Bornholm’s touristic brand, and though the local craft-artists might not all, or directly, identify themselves as tourist entrepreneurs per say, they are engulfed in the dynamics of the tourist season through their professional ambitions and livelihood choices (Prince, 2016). The open studios, boutiques, and galleries exposing local glass and ceramic crafts form only a part of the island’s tourist landscape, but it is that part I have chosen to concentrate on to give a more in-depth approach of living with tourism. These craft-artists form nonetheless a significant part of Bornholm’s tourist landscape, as there are hundreds of them on the island with small private or shared workshops. The tradition of handcrafts on Bornholm has flourished so that new artists are now working with materials such as textile, woods, jewelry, and blacksmithing, sparking the grassroots formation in 2002 of the Arts and Crafts Association of Bornholm (ACAB). Through my fieldwork, I interviewed 19 of the 64 craft-artists that formed the ACAB at that time. This article focuses on the 1 potter, 5 glass designers, and 10 ceramists I interviewed, as it is the materials and techniques of their crafts that inspired me to write about dwelling. The ceramists represent the largest proportion of craft-artists in the association, and so it was natural that I interviewed more. I interviewed these craft-artists in their homes and private workshops, where they could show me their creations and explain the inspiration, techniques, and materials behind their practices. It was important to visit these craft-artists in their context of involvement as in-place methodologies situating conversations and observations in the emotional and active realm of the participant better reveals lived experiences (Anderson, 2004; Anderson and Jones, 2009; Bondi, 2005; Nash, 2000). The interviews were open-ended with two main questions guiding the study: what does it mean to be a craft-artist on Bornholm? How is it to live with the tourist season? My interview questions centered on extracting information on the everyday practices of my respondents to form narratives on the meaning of their actions (Freeman, 2004; Kvale, 1996). These questions generated interviews that were mostly a little over an hour in length. I recorded and transcribed all the interviews. I also took notes after each one to capture each respondent’s context for the data analysis process. I gave my interview participants pseudonyms. Within the sample used for this article, three of the glass-artists, with two of them working as partners, ran full-fledged businesses providing them with full-time employment. These glass-artists have their designs outsourced and/or reproduced by employees. The rest of the craft-artists interviewed chose other strategies to pursue craft-art, such as taking on a second job or subsisting from the earnings of a spouse. I selected the artists not running businesses in a way to capture the whole spectrum of that experience, from those who work other jobs, to those for whom their craft-art is viable. Three of these craft-artists are originally from Bornholm. The others moved to the island either for professional reasons, to follow a spouse, or because of the appeal of the place. All participants, like the great majority of craft-artists on Bornholm, permanently live on the island. I interviewed participants from different locations on Bornholm to capture a
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comprehensive picture of the different experiences among the ACAB members as the localities around Bornholm differ in their touristic appeal.
Craft-art on Bornholm Bornholm is a Danish island located in the Baltic Sea, accessible from the mainland through a ferry ride from Sweden or a flight from Copenhagen to its capital Rønne (Figure 1). The island boasts picturesque fishing villages such as Gudhjem, Nexø, Svaneke, and Hasle (Figure 2). While cliffs and rocky beaches characterize most of Bornholm’s coast, there are sandy beaches in the south of the island, which are
Figure 1. Map of Bornholm showing the island’s location in northern Europe.
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Figure 2. Map of Bornholm showing the island’s main villages, roads and land cover.
Picture 1. A view of Gudhjem, a popular tourist destination on Bornholm, where many craftartists sell their art in boutiques and galleries during the summer (source: photograph by Solène Prince).
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Picture 2. Svaneke is also a popular tourist destination on Bornholm as this picture shows. Many carft-artists sell their art in boutiques and galleries in Svaneke during the tourist season (source: photograph by Solène Prince).
popular among tourists. Bornholm’s attractions and towns are moreover accessible through an island-wide system of family-friendly cycle paths. Bornholm therefore represents for many of its visitors a place for memorable family holidays in an idyllic countryside (Larsen, 2006). The island, with its population of 39,829 permanent residents (Statistics Denmark, 2016) receives annually around 750,000 tourists, mostly Danes and Germans, who visit within a short summer season beginning in June and ending in September (Larsen and Rømer, 2013). Generally, tourism is hotel and camping-based, with many of these tourists returning regularly to a familiar area. Besides families, retirees also represent a significant portion of the tourists visiting Bornholm. The island relies heavily on its intensive tourist season to bring in currency to its local businesses. When its fishing industry began collapsing in the 1970s, coming to a stop in the 1990s, Bornholm underwent major economic restructuring. Several European and national programs were implemented in the 1990s to counter the island’s collapsed economy, many of which supporting the tourism industry (Ioannides and Petersen, 2003). The restructuring stimulated the development of various micro-businesses involved mostly with specialized foods, hospitality, and handcrafts, which now characterize Bornholm’s economy and cultural landscape (Manniche and Larsen, 2013). The presence of domestic and international tourists during the summer is thus a major part of the experience of dwelling on Bornholm. Bornholm’s craft-artists generally live permanently on the island, and as such can tap into the tourist season by advertising their workshops and galleries on tourism websites. Moreover, craft-artists often open up their workshops as open
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studios to tourists during the summer. These craft-artists have their home and workshops located all around the island. Many of them have nonetheless preferred to establish and/ or display themselves around Gudhjem and Svaneke (Pictures 1 and 2) as these coastal towns, with their many boutiques and eateries, have developed into touristic hot spots over the years on Bornholm.
Findings The landscape of arts and craft on Bornholm is not readable as a framed view, where from a vantage point it comes together as an observable whole. As Cloke and Jones (2001) explain through their study of an orchard, it is not a fixed and detached gaze that can explain such landscapes, as they are the result of a mélange of experiences, practices, and performances where the observer needs to be immersed in its noises, sights, and smells to understand its production. I will thus try my best to make some sense of the complex ways the landscape presents itself on Bornholm. My aim is to present the tourist landscape as a space formed through the embodied practices of those who dwell therein as they make sense of the materials, people, and spaces around them, reflecting the mundane reality of interacting with tourists. I made three analytical categories to develop this conceptualization. In Materials, I present clay and glass as having agentic properties which weave themselves in the everydayness of interacting with tourists. In Techniques, I discuss how local skills become performances attracting tourists, reflecting the fusion of tourism dynamics in the taskscape. Finally, in Creative Spaces, I argue that craft-artists ultimately incorporate their social and material relations in the physical landscape.
Materials Materials are central to craft-art as they afford the artist with a medium through which to develop their creativity. Already in their raw sate, glass, and clay have a way of defining how the craft-artists interact with tourists, demonstrating how the innate characteristics of objects creatively shape human experiences (Cloke and Jones, 2001; Crouch, 2000, 2003; Michael, 2000; Whatmore, 2002). There are different stages the clay goes through before it becomes a piece of art. First, the ceramist has to mold wet clay with his or her fingers. Although ceramists enjoy the muddy feeling on their fingers, this wet and sticky clay comes in the way of interacting with clients. There thus often needs to be some sort of separation between the process of creating and the business of selling in the schedule of the ceramist. Victoria, for instance, completely separates the creative realm of production with the clean realm of customer service by selling her ceramic creations outside of her workshop in Svaneke. She explains that because clay is wet and sticky, she cannot interact with tourists in the way they would expect: The same people say: “Why don’t you show how you do it? Why don’t you work down here where people can see?” I can’t. I have clay on my fingers all the time and it takes such a long time to make pieces […]. I can see people don’t understand it takes a long time. They don’t see it. They don’t get it. So I say go to the museum Hjorths Keramik Fabrik because there you will see it takes hours. It is wet and then you have to do different things and wait and see how dry it is. So [the craft] is like a little child; you have to be around it all the time. Feel it; is it now or is
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it not? It takes a long time. If I sat down there and threw clay, for example, I couldn’t work to sell anything. I can’t go out and dry my hands all the time.
That clay sticks on fingers makes it hard for Victoria to switch to customer service when she is creating. When she is with her material, she is deeply involved in giving it its form through the process it requires to become art. She cannot leave her creation to wash her hands and interact with visitors. Victoria describes the care she gives her clay as it develops into art as the care a parent gives a child. The process of making ceramics requires patience. Once molded by the ceramist, a piece needs to dry. Then the ceramist fires the pieces in a kiln to glaze it. The texture the ceramist seeks defines the temperature and time the piece stays in the kiln. The whole process can take days. There is great intimacy in the way the ceramist engages with the clay. Victoria’s decision to separate her workshop from her customers exceeds prefigured notions of intellectual character over tourism management. It is through her involvement with clay that Victoria enacts her practices related to the tourist season. As Ingold (2011) proposed, a landscape takes shape through the incorporation of local activities in an environment. The tourist landscape cannot be seen in separation from this incorporation. Not all ceramists categorically decide to separate sales from creation due to the properties of clay. Some ceramists seek more interplay with tourists for professional and entrepreneurial reasons. The properties of clay nonetheless always have an impact on the artist’s relations with tourists. Alex is a ceramist with a small workshop next to his house in Rø. His workshop is open to visitors during the tourist season. Alex believes the tourists like to see him create pieces and that it is a good way to get them interested in buying his creations. His wife, who joined the interview, mentioned that the clay could come in the way of finalizing a sale: I have actually seen it. When you do it [work while tourists visit], you don’t sell so much, but when you don’t, people are focused on the things: “Wow, we should buy this.” If they see that you are sitting there throwing [clay on the wheel], you have clay all over, then they say: “Well, we do it another time.” Then you don’t sell.
Again, the sticky and wet of the clay mediate the interaction between the craft-artist and tourist. Michael (2000) points out that objects are not always conducive to the practice or experience we wish them to provide. Technologies and materials can create annoyances through their innate characteristics. Alex finds himself adjusting his movements in response to the ongoing perceptual monitoring of tourists. He sometimes asks his wife to work on the sales so he can continue working during the day or reserves certain times to create. Such movements are a part of the mutually attentive way in which people engage with each other in the taskscape (Ingold, 2011). The presence of tourists is the product of extra-local relations, but tourists inevitably become integral elements behind the everydayness of interacting with materials for craft-artists, making dwelling something that is ultimately dynamic, as Cloke and Jones (2001) suggested. Interplay between host, guest, and materials is also visible with glass-art. Glass differs from clay because the craft-artist does not handle it with his or her fingers, as it is too hot when it is in a state of development. The properties of glass make glass blowing more
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compatible with the open-studio trend. Glass-artists use intense heat and air, moving quickly to form new shapes instantly. These properties limit the interactions of the glassartist with tourists in other ways nonetheless. Julie’s endeavors illustrate the matter. She is the owner of a company that sells glass designs at four different venues on Bornholm. Moreover, in Svaneke, her customers can imprint their own designs on glassware through sandblasting. Julie’s sandblasting concept is a good way to offer hands-on experiences to tourists, but she does not involve any customer in glass blowing. Hot malleable glass is great to look at, but it is dangerous, Julie explained: It’s ok there with the sandblasting concept. There they can actually make a very nice product by themselves, and they love it. It’s fun to do it and they are very proud. But to come here [in the glass-blowing workshop] and do something they would never be able to do if I wasn’t besides them to help them and move their hands … you know? Then it takes time and it will stress me because I will be very careful so they don’t burn their hands. It can easily happen you know.
That the realm of the craft-artist is unsafe, as is the case with glass, or dirty, as is the case with clay, requires the tourists to keep a distance from the former’s materials. Julie believes in offering tourist experiences to boost her profit as she developed the sandblasting concept, but the inner characteristics of glass that make it hot when blown set a limit to her involvement in offering tourist experiences. These tensions in the production of tourist experiences ultimately all interweave themselves with the agency of objects. Material objects involve the body within a social environment (Bell and Lyall, 2002; Haldrup and Larsen, 2006), but it cannot be overlooked that besides enabling involvement, they can complicate or even prevent human interactions. Non-representational and relational theories ultimately highlight that it is not just cultural norms over what a tourist experience implies that dictates how people dwell in toured landscapes (Franklin, 2003; Obrador-Pons, 2003).
Techniques As Ingold (2011) holds, the taskscape comes into being through movement. The arts and craft scene on Bornholm cannot simply be understood as a final product where one sees only pieces of art in the landscape. The craft-art scene can be described, as Crouch (2003) concedes, as a pattern of corporeal movements that reveal different kinds of creative practices done in relation to other beings and material entities. Materials afford the development of skills and creativity to the craft-artists, generating different embodied practices. The visual character of these practices is incorporated in the tourist landscape as the craft-artists use them to entice tourists to discover the production process behind their creations. However, some production processes create performances that are more conducive to the spectacular than others are. Ceramics, with its slower process, is not conducive to the spectacular. Most of the process consists of waiting, and making things with one’s hand is not extraordinary. Roy, a potter with a small workshop in his garage in Allinge, highlighted through an anecdote that working with clay does not have the spectacular effect conducive to a performative encounter between artist and tourist:
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I had another pottery [workshop] down in the town and it was an open workshop. The tourists could see me work, but it wasn’t really much of an attraction. A tourist came in one-day: “Can I look at you working?” I said: “Yes, I am glazing now.” He says again: “Can I see you work?” So, on the wheel, I throw some clay, and then just after I cut it and put it up and showed it [he said]: “Thank you!” Then he went out. It was just something to do on a rainy day on a holiday […]. It is only on the wheel, the throwing, they really consider as work. The rest is just … it is not interesting.
The part of the process that interests the tourist is when the ceramists spin the wheel to make pieces. This is only a very small part of the entire process of finalizing a piece. The expectation of being entertained through technical performances mediate in part the encounters with tourists of ceramists with open-workshops. For that, these ceramists must emphasize the part of the process that is interesting to the viewer while keeping the rest of the production process outside of the sight of the tourist. Everett (2012) explains that sites of production and consumption increasingly become hybrid spaces as tourism reaches rural regions. Local producers are adapting, like these ceramists, their timing and actions to suit the tourist. The tourist landscape these ceramists produce is ultimately, as Larsen (2008) contends, not an exotic sight, but a landscape formed by the mundane practices of those who dwell therein, though arranged to accommodate the presence of tourists. Glass in itself is not overly exciting, it is the process of melting and blowing it that turns it into an act of contemplation that attracts tourist in the artists’ creative space. The properties of glass make it more apt to display as a form of entertainment to tourists. A glass-artist can melt and blow glass within a few hours. The creation process involves the twisting and spinning of melted glass by an artist standing by a furnace. This makes glass-art quick and easy to present as a theatrical performance. Glass blowers and designers often open their workshops in the summer so the tourists can see them or an employee handle glass and make creations. Patrick and Maggie, both glass-artists working at the same business outside of Gudhjem, have created a show out of their art of blowing glass. This goes beyond the scheduled representations they give during the day to tourists where they show how they make glass pieces. This show is on particular evenings of the week, where people book tickets to see Maggie and Patrick make glass-art with the support of sound, lights, and choreography. This is a striking embodied practice where one can observe mundane skills elevated to produce a theatrical performance. These glass-artists completely channel in their practices the role of the host as a performer on a theatrical stage, as defined by the performance turn in tourism scholarship (Edensor, 2000, 2001). This embodiment highlights how individuals constantly interact with their social and material space and give it meaning in their everyday life (Wylie, 2007). As tourism has become a reality of everyday life on Bornholm, its craft-artists incorporate its dynamics in their daily movements.
Creative spaces Potters and ceramists around Bornholm all own, share or rent workshops where they create their pieces. They then sell their creations either there or at other venues on or outside the island. These physical features of Bornholm’s landscape reflect the process of incorporation discussed by Ingold (2011) where individuals leave something of themselves in the
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landscape that becomes part of its enduring features. This process is again related to the embodied movements that constitute the everyday life of creating craft-art and interacting with tourists. Keeping a small workshop, sharing with others or creating a proper business have much to do with personal choices related to individual definitions of artistic success. Nonetheless, these creative spaces can also be seen as the outcome of the craft-artists’ embodiment of their materials and techniques in relation to the tourist season. In the case of Patrick and Maggie, the spectacular properties of glass and its blowing technique materialize in their workshop as they designed the latter specifically to present spectacles. Similarly, I understood Julie as fully embracing the discourse of the theatrical stage. The tourists’ expectation to consume experiences coincides with her way of designing glass, making it easy for her to stage performances in her facilities: In these days, people want experiences. People want to see this is created by hand and they get so fascinated that they have to buy. It was an open studio ever since we started here. I have never worked without people watching me and I don’t mind. Actually, I think it is fine to have people’s reaction. I am used to it.
Julie reveals herself as an extroverted person who is open to the gaze of others, and this coincides with the easiness with which glass entertains when blown. It is as if Julie embodies the properties of glass in her personality. With her craft’s malleability, it is easy for her to embody the codes of conduct of spectacular work during the tourist season and so she builds spaces conducive to these interactive performances. Ceramists also embody their craft’s materiality, though the personal traits they project on their creative spaces are more akin to introversion. Leila is a ceramist with a little workshop where she also exposes and sells some of her creations. Her workshop is located in a hard-to-find area on the outskirts of Rønne. Leila expressed her difficulty in reconciling her professional ambitions with the tourist season. She is a sensitive person who does not like confrontations and stress. However, customer interactions and increased production are key to her success as a craft-artist. Leila defined further her sensitivity, saying the tourists probably expected the spectacular of her, but that it was very difficult for her to perform it with a craft like ceramics and her reserved personality. She explained, “Ceramics is very slow. People would get bored. I wouldn’t like people to watch, because I am introverted; when I work I like to be in my own space.” Leila likes the location of her workshop because she does not get people who just drop by out of curiosity. Generally, ceramists keep their creative spaces more private and smaller in scale than the glass-artists do, and as Leila does, often link this to a matter of personality where they need tranquility to concentrate on creating. Their embodiment of their slower less flamboyant craft is thus conducive to a different kind of interactive space than the one fostered by the glass-artists. It terms of the formation of space, it must also be added that the craft-art scene on Bornholm is highly heterogeneous as the materials used by the craft-artists are mostly imported, few of them are originally from the island and all of them reproduce their designs to some extent to profit from the tourist season. The realm of dwelling of these craft-artists is ultimately defined by a multitude of interactions both local and extra-local, highlighting the relational nature of spaces (Massey, 2005; Murdoch, 2006; Prince,
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2016). For instance, Maggie and Patrick acquired their creative space and the skills they display over a long period; there were years of education and internships in Denmark to master the art, and years of investment projects to build their facilities. Maggie and Patrick studied their craft in Nexø on Bornholm and were mostly determined to stay on the island afterwards due to its idyllic character. Initially, they wanted to export their creations abroad, but as they explained, with the economic recession of the 1980s, this business-model was not successful at enabling them to live from their artwork. Instead, they turned to tourists and built a space to entertain and sell to them to support their livelihood. The concept eventually became viable. The taskscape of these craft-artists is the product of social relations over time with other places and actors through which they developed the skills, spaces, and talents that now make up the tourist landscape. Cloke and Jones (2001), who criticized the dwelling perspective for romanticizing rootedness into idyllic authenticity, are not against the notion of a form of rootedness. They believe instead that the rootedness that forms a landscape occurs through all form of material boundedness to place itself, but also through cultural constructions and movements of flow to and from places. The pieces and performances the craft-artists of Bornholm show to tourists are the product of years of professional networking and harnessing global process to their advantage, eventually becoming successful artists on an island that inspires idyllic rurality due to a host of other social relations. The facilities and skills the craft-artists display are not final products forming a static idyllic tourist landscape; the landscape in which they dwell is temporal (Ingold, 2011) and relational (Massey, 2005; Murdoch, 2006).
Conclusion I presented the notion of dwelling in the tourist landscape to conceptualize tourist spaces as realms inhabited by, and as such emerging from the actions of, individuals who make sense of the world around them through time. I demonstrated through this case study that the craft-artists of Bornholm incorporate various objects and skills in their daily practices, and that these processes cannot be disembedded from the landscape tourists engage with as they visit the island. The encounters between the tourists and the craft-artists are much more than a one-off performance in a confined space, dubbed as a stage or exotic scenery, and occurring through a delimited period; they are defined by the way these local individuals dwell in their landscape. The ceramists and glass-artists on Bornholm entertain different relations with tourists due to the properties associated with their craft, which emphasizes, as Franklin (2003), Obrador-Pons (2003) and Haldrup and Larsen (2006) claim, that tourist landscapes are corporeally enacted through material relations. The mundane practices of dealing with sticky fingers, avoiding touching hot glass, spinning clay on a wheel, twirling melted glass, and so on, define the way through which these craft-artists simultaneously experience and manipulate their encounters with tourists. Tourism then becomes a part of these craft-artists’ taskscape as they incorporate their encounters with tourists in their techniques and physical spaces. The objects, technologies, spaces, and skills that make up the tourist landscape are tied up to the cultural and social life of individuals who have built living spaces over many years. The formations these craft-artists have received locally or elsewhere, the
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internships abroad they went on, the hardships they went through, the investments they made, the crafts they have chosen to work with, the way they have designed their workshops, and the people they involve in their sales all simultaneously form a dynamic taskscape and tourist landscape on Bornholm. It becomes crucial to consider the elements that make up the everyday lives of those who dwell since reducing local involvement to behavioral models, scientific theories, and intellectual critique risks severing science from the world of the living by disembedding its subjects from their realities (Ingold, 2011; Latham, 2003; Thrift, 2000, 2001, 2008). Not the least in tourism scholarship, it must be recognized that landscapes are created through social practices. The dwelling perspective can engage tourism researchers critically in their conceptualization of tourist spaces by defying notions of the tourist system that disembed local people from their cultural landscapes. Even when contrived by the pressure of the tourist gaze or when filled by spectacular encounters, a landscape is ultimately lived by those who inhabit it and recreate it through their embodied practices. Non-representational theories reanimate the cultural landscape as a dynamic material world of substantive engagement, where people interactively inhabit and consequently actively model their surroundings over time (Waterton, 2013). As Wylie (2013) notes, “[…] a focus upon individual lives and landscapes can enable the forging of connections with wider cultural, historical and political questions regarding the constitution of landscapes” (p. 61). Moreover, the body as unit of analysis gives primacy to the experiential dimension of social life where socio-political discourses and economic relations of productions become lived experiences through, for instance, restrictions, violence or aesthetic expectations (Simonsen, 2012). Tourism researchers can engage with those they study by asking, “How do these individuals incorporate the unique material features of their landscape into their lives, and ultimately fashion it through their experiences and practices?” With the dwelling perspective, the emphasize is put on the observation and sensation of activities and practices, which can reveal how individuals shape their environment by resisting creatively, coping with, taking advantage of, and following the dynamics of tourism through everyday practices. Acknowledgements I would like to thank the people at the CRT, mostly the late Tage Petersen, for all the help and support during my fieldwork on Bornholm. I also wish to acknowledge my two doctoral supervisors at Mid-Sweden University, Dimitri Ioannides and Sandra Wall-Reinius, for their comments on this article. The maps were kindly made by Wu Shuo-Sheng at Missouri State University.
Declaration of conflicting interests The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/ or publication of this article: This work was supported by a grant from Nordeas Norrlandsstiftelses resestipendium 2014.
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Author biography Solène Prince is a PhD candidate at Mid-Sweden University in the Department of Tourism Studies and Geography. She completed her MSc. at Uppsala University (sustainable development), Sweden, and her BA at Mount Allison University (international relations), Canada. She currently studies the complexities and tensions found in alternative tourism within rural and idealist spaces. Her doctoral research has taken her to Iceland and Denmark, and touches upon subjects related to volunteer tourism, rural tourism and non-representational landscape theory.
Paper III
JOURNAL OF SUSTAINABLE TOURISM, 2017 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09669582.2017.1297450
Working towards sincere encounters in volunteer tourism: an ethnographic examination of key management issues at a Nordic eco-village Sol ene Prince Department of Tourism Studies and Geography, Mid-Sweden University, European Tourism Research € Institute (ETOUR), Ostersund, Sweden
ABSTRACT
lheimar eco-village, Iceland to This article explores host–guest dynamics at So contribute to the conceptualization of transformative learning in volunteer tourism. At the eco-village, the host and volunteers come together to share similar goals and meaningful experiences. This interaction gets complicated, however: the eco-village exists within the global capitalist system and must operate using market norms. The idealist and educational expectations of the volunteers often clash with the practical short-term goals of the community: there are also cultural and experiential differences between the parties. This clash is used to discuss the importance of sincerity in volunteer tourism at the eco-village. Data were collected through fieldwork, primarily including participant observations and interviews, to help interpret the patterns of behaviors and perceptions of both parties in relation to the aim. Ultimately, the experience that binds host and guests cannot solely be about learning to do things alternatively and sustainably; it requires sincerity, using Taylor’s 2001 sincerity concept, to tackle the difficulties in working alternatively and sustainably to attain this experience. It is argued that transformative learning during the volunteer experience in alternative spaces should be conceptualized to include the promotion of sincere encounters, and adjusted to concern both the host and its guests.
ARTICLE HISTORY
Received 30 November 2015 Accepted 14 February 2017 KEYWORDS
Volunteer tourism; ecovillage; Iceland; transformative learning; focused ethnography
Introduction Many tourism scholars believe volunteer tourism can generate profound and genuine cultural exchanges between hosts and guests, making the practice an alternative to conventional tourism based on market interactions (McGehee, 2002; Zahra & McGehee, 2013). Lately, theory aimed at conceptualizing the benefits of volunteer tourism has come to define its transformative potential for volunteers (Coghlan & Gooch, 2011; McGehee, 2012; Mostafanezhad, 2014). Research in volunteer tourism has, moreover, expanded beyond disadvantaged communities. It has come to include volunteering on organic farms, where authors such as Kosnik (2014), McIntosh and Bonnemann (2006), Miller and Mair (2014, 2015), Mostafanezhad (2016), Terry (2014), and Yamamoto and Engelsted (2014) have broadened conceptions of volunteer tourism by assessing and praising the interconnectedness between the host and the guest in these alternative spaces. On organic farms, host and volunteer come together because they are both dedicated to a wider socio-environmental movement, such as more sustainable food production methods, ready to unite to work hard and learn from each other (Mostafanezhad, 2016; Terry, 2014).
CONTACT Solene Prince
[email protected]
© 2017 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group
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These conclusions from research on organic farm volunteering build stronger theories to conceive of volunteer tourism as an alternative activity with potential to generate transformative learning for guests involved in its practice. Some more critical scholars have nonetheless identified problems in volunteering in alternative spaces related to volunteer expectations and host realities (see, for instance, Deville, Wearing, & McDonald, 2016; Mostafanezhad, 2016; Mostafanezhad, Suryanata, Azizi, & Milne, 2015). It remains that the volunteer’s learning experience in alternative spaces, such as family farms, but also in eco-villages, is not usually researched in relation to the global structures and discourses that complicate sustainable and alternative living for the host. Learning is generally conceptualized in terms of bonds of intimacy, and mostly related to the life-changing experience of the volunteer. As Conran (2011) points out, a focus on intimacy leads to uncritical notions of the local dynamics, and consequently turns the volunteering experience foremost into a consumer good (see also Guttentag, 2009; Mostafanezhad, 2014; Palacios, 2010). I turn to the concept of sincerity, presented by Taylor (2001), to address this shortcoming, by identifying ways that the host can fashion the version of the experience it deems appropriate to share as it interacts with volunteers. Sincerity implies that negotiations between host and guest are used to define the meaning of the culture encountered, instead of looking for objective cultural essences (Taylor, 2001). Sincerity would entail that volunteers are made aware of the fluid, confused and ongoing nature of the culture of their hosts (see also Amoamo, 2011; Hollinshead, 1998; Wearing & Wearing, 2006). I argue that this can facilitate the critical reflection needed from the volunteer for their transformative learning experience to directly benefit their host. Accordingly, this study assesses the social dynamics of volunteer tourism at a host community founded by individuals striving for an idealist lifestyle. By exploring a Nordic eco-village, a type of space that has received little attention in tourism scholarship, this article contributes new insight about the pedagogical dimensions of volunteer tourism. The idealist nature of the eco-village makes it an interesting case to understand the potential and contradictions of volunteer tourism because it is a site in itself dedicated to the deconstruction of dominant discourses and the celebration of human interactions (see Global Eco-village Network; http://gen.ecovillage.org/). The members of eco-villages come purposely together to form a village, hamlet or neighborhood, where they live a lifestyle based on values they feel mainstream structures and discourses have eroded (Bang, 2007; Dawson, 2006; Jackson, 2004; Kirby, 2003; Van Schyndel Kasper, 2008). This study takes an ethnographic approach as it aims to interpret the patterns of behaviors and perceptions of a particular social group, in this case, the eco-village and its volunteers. The data were collected primarily through participant observations and interviews, as well as through document lheimar eco-village, considering the experiences with volanalysis, over two periods of fieldwork at So unteer tourism of community members and volunteers alike. The findings ultimately demonstrate that the experience that binds the host and its guests cannot solely be about learning to do things alternatively and sustainably; sometimes, it is sincerity over the difficulty of doing things alternatively and sustainably that characterizes this experience. This argument is used to compel tourism researchers to re-conceptualize transformative learning during the volunteer experience in alternative spaces to include the promotion of sincere encounters, and moreover to consider it as something concerning also the host.
Transformative learning in volunteer tourism Tourism scholars generally recognize volunteer tourism as an alternative form of tourism, which has seen significant growth globally in the last decades (Wearing & McGehee, 2013). Volunteer tourism is widely considered as a holiday or time spent where the tourist is actively involved in serving the needs of a host community, such as through projects of cultural restoration, environmental conservation and/or economic and social development (Wearing, 2001). Many tourism scholars engaged with questions of social justice conceptualize volunteer tourism as an alternative form of tourism because it has the potential to offer smaller scale and closer contact with the host, generating a chance for
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informal, yet valuable, more profound cultural exchange than traditional tourism (MacIntosh & Zahra, 2007; McGehee, 2002; McGehee & Norman, 2001; McGehee & Santos, 2005; Zahra & McGehee, 2013). All these factors coalesce to link volunteer tourism to the concept of sustainable tourism. Volunteer tourism can be seen as a direct descendant from the alternative tourism ideas of the 1980s, advocating a “soft and humane tourism” that centers on localized goals going beyond economic profit (Krippendorf, 1987, p. 106). There is concern in tourism scholarship over the unequal nature of the interactions that guests engage in at their volunteer tourism destination. More than with any other form of tourism, the guests penetrate local spaces on the premise that they will help communities overcome disadvantages that they do not have the agency or resources to overcome themselves. Simpson (2004) found that volunteer tourism in disadvantaged communities of the global south could maintain and even widen the gap between “us” and “them” when volunteer tourists make no commonality between what is developed and underdeveloped in their romanticized accounts of community and culture (see also Guttentag, 2009; Mostafanezhad, 2014; Palacios, 2010; Raymond & Hall, 2008). For instance, Mostafanezhad (2014) found volunteers in Thailand who were disappointed that host community members would accumulate cellular phones and other modern technologies, that would, they felt, detach these local inhabitants from their authentic culture. Conran (2011) outlines that a focus on intimacy overshadows the structural inequalities at the core of the volunteer tourism experience. Intimacy implies finding authenticity by experiencing what MacCannell (1976) called the back-stage, where the culture is deemed to be more authentic than what is usually staged for tourist consumption. Volunteers who describe their experience often perceive a sense of closeness and shared experiences with the host community, where they identify with the other through their active and prolonged involvement with the latter. Conran (2011) argues that intimacy is not usually critiqued from a cultural standpoint, and thus perpetrates uncritical notions of development among volunteers searching for cultural authenticity and interpersonal bonds. Development becomes, consequently, something of an experience to consume for the volunteer tourist, promoting a notion of development which disregards the complex discourses and structures that underpin global inequalities (Guttentag, 2009; Mostafanezhad, 2014; Palacios, 2010). Tourism scholars have addressed the issue of uneven cultural encounters between host and volunteer by re-conceptualizing the benefits of volunteer tourism using pedagogical terms. Scholars no longer link volunteer tourism directly to international development, but rather perceive it as a chance to offer learning experiences aimed at deconstructing prevailing ideologies between cultural groups in affluent and less-affluent countries (Mostafanezhad, 2014). Authors such as McGehee (2002), McGehee and Norman (2001) and Mostafanezhad (2014) propose a shift from the promotion of lifechanging experiences for universal charity, to the support of social movement participation, where the engagement of the volunteers should engender their awareness of their implication in a greater cause than their personal enrichment. A notion that volunteers should be transformed into more critical and sensitive citizens of the world through their experience has thus become a major benchmark in the scholarly evaluation of volunteer tourism (Coghlan & Gooch, 2011; Conran, 2011; Hammersley, 2014; McGehee, 2012, 2002; Simpson, 2004). Self-development is thus commonly identified as an important aspect of volunteer tourism in scholarship (see also Bailey & Russel, 2010; McGehee & Santos, 2005; MacIntosh & Zahra, 2007; Raymond & Hall, 2008; Simpson, 2004). Under this light, transformative learning theory, stemming from adult education (Mezirow, 1991; O’Sullivan, 2002; Taylor, 2006), has even been applied to volunteer tourism to conceptualize the developmental benefits of the volunteer experience for the one engaging in the activity. Transformative learning, in large, denotes “experiencing a deep, structural shift in the basic premises of thought, feelings, and actions. It is a shift of consciousness that dramatically and irreversibly alters our way of being in the world” (O’Sullivan, 2002, p. 11). Rightly, transformative learning implies a disillusionment and the search for new frames of reference for the participant in volunteer tourism (Coghlan & Gooch, 2011).
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The process of disillusionment and reflection anticipated in transformative learning is conceived in ten steps (Mezirow, 1991; Taylor, 2006), which have been described by tourism scholars as the responsibility of the sending organization and people in leadership positions to enable during the volunteer experience (Coghlan & Gooch, 2011; Hammersley, 2014). Good volunteering programs are thus those that offer opportunity for reflection to their participants (Leigh, 2006). A structured educational approach is accordingly advocated in volunteer tourism for anything of personal or social value to derive from the activity (Simpson, 2004). Hammersley (2014) believes the sending organization should manage the experience of the volunteers before, during and after their stay, which would include facilitating conversations around the privileged nature of being a guest and the dynamics that constrain the host-community. Raymond and Hall (2008) propose the participants keep journals or write assignments to reflect over their experience. The volunteer experience is thus meant to foster ongoing critical reflection well before and beyond the participant’s holiday to become a meaningful chance at deconstructing pervasive ideologies.
The transformative experience in alternative spaces Research in volunteer tourism has expanded beyond disadvantaged communities in the global south. Recently, organic farm volunteering has received much attention from volunteer tourism researchers (see Kosnik, 2014; McIntosh & Bonnemann, 2006; McIntosh & Campbell, 2001; Miller & Mair, 2014, 2015; Mostafanezhad, 2016; Terry, 2014; Yamamoto &Engelsted, 2014). Under the banner of the Willing Workers on Organic Farms (WWOOF) movement, organic farmers and entrepreneurs around the world are hosting volunteers interested in working in exchange for accommodation and meals (see http://wwoofinternational.org/). Volunteers on organic farms are perceived to “mitigate local labor market failures” by filling in positions which farmers cannot afford through regular wages (Terry, 2014, p.95). This trend thus represents a greater social movement that serves to create a body of laborers working for a socio-environmental cause. To Maycock (2008) and Mostafanezhad et al. (2015), the popularity of these volunteer experiences stems from a growing awareness of our dependence on capitalist modes of production, which disconnect us from our food sources and from an authentic lifestyle. Miller and Mair (2014, 2015) believe the volunteering holiday on an organic farm illuminates the transformative potential of volunteer tourism where tourists are open to learn new ways of living and doing things during their travels. Reciprocally, this involvement is considered to promote the social and environmental agenda of organic farmers who strive for better production and consumption patterns and who advocate improved lifestyle choices (Mostafanezhad et al., 2015; Mostafanezhad, 2016). Organic farms hosting volunteers become forums for actors to engage with each other over common interests in knowledge and skills development, and idealism and activism (Miller & Mair, 2014, 2015). Kosnik (2014) highlights the reciprocity of the encounter between host and guest in the WWOOF context, claiming the experience offers a genuine form of hospitality that resembles the mutual support of a family, where all actors feel social obligations towards one another, such as sharing a meal or helping each other with domestic chores. Researchers thus generally see this type of holiday as more than a traditional work-exchange, and have broadened volunteer tourism theory by assessing the cultural interconnectedness built in these spaces between host and guest. These conclusions build stronger theories to conceive of volunteer tourism as an alternative activity with the potential to teach new practices in organic farming and foster a lifestyle that defies the woes of global capitalism. They do not, however, conceptualize the pedagogical dimension of the organic farming holiday beyond intimacy. Alternative lifestyles are in other words not presented as ambitions affected by global structures and discourses. These experiences provide intimate contact with a host family, but they are nonetheless occurring on a challenging background that complicates the host’s goals and practices. As explained next, the experiences of organic farmers are not solely defined by a culture of sharing, learning and promoting sustainability, though the WWOOF movement has its participants believe and expect that.
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Deville et al. (2016) caution that the WWOOF movement is showing signs of commodification more typical of conventional forms of tourism. The goals of these households are already multiple and contradictory as they strive for social change on a background of capitalist dynamics where they have to produce and sell goods and services to survive (Mostafanezhad, 2016). As they get involved in volunteer tourism, the contradictions they have to deal with are augmented, and it becomes increasingly difficult for them to perfectly live up to ideals of alternative living. Mostafanezhad (2016), in a case study on WWOOF farms in Hawaii, describes that despite their harsh critique against the agro-industrial complex, some farm hosts are forced to shop at large economy warehouses to afford feeding their volunteers because the food grown on their farms is too costly to give away. Weaver (2013) highlights that success triggers practices aimed at growth at destinations, despite an initial focus on alternative principles, as managers seek to increase revenues. Small groups and businesses can dismiss their initial ambition of staying small and alternative. Ultimately, when subjected to encounters with volunteers and guests, places like organic farms become more heterogeneous and standardized than their members initially intended (Deville et al., 2016). Coghlan and Noakes (2012, p. 28) hold that non-profit organizations are mostly left to tradeoff between “money and mission”, and that these compromises will leave them with different degrees of commercialization and standardizations, rather than absolutes. The economic goals of hosts are not always compatible with the personal goals of the volunteers. Mostafanezhad et al. (2015) contend that bulk buying, as well as long and unstructured working hours, expectations to do extra chores and a lack of family values at the host farm, could displease volunteers seeking experiences of personal development, who did not want to be solely considered as cheap labor by their host. The possibility to participate in various activities, the provision of comforts, and the chance for escape have been identified as conveniences commonly expected by participants in search of a personal experience in alternative spaces (McIntosh & Bonnemann, 2006; McIntosh & Campbell, 2001; Yamamoto & Engelsted, 2014). These expectations are to be catered for by a host who ultimately does seek economic benefits from cheap labor, leading possibly to tensions between the two parties due to their diverging expectations (Deville et al., 2016; Mostafanezhad, 2016).
Rethinking learning in volunteer tourism Consequently, I argue that transformative learning in spaces such as organic farms and eco-villages cannot solely rest on notions of building better citizens through intimacy and the exchange of skills and ideas. Transformative learning may in fact be more adequate in its present theoretical form to discuss the potential and development of educational programs (see Bell, Gibson, Tarrant, Perry, & Stoner, 2016; Tarrant, 2010; Tarrant & Lyons, 2012). When it comes to volunteering in alternative communities, learning cannot be packaged as a commodity, as an educational program would be. The focus of tourism scholars on theorizing how volunteers can become better citizens is here problematic, in the sense that it pictures the host-community as a mere prop to be used as part of a learning experience. This dynamic does not fit well to host families and communities that come in direct contact with volunteers as they seek practical and ideological support on a background of challenging dynamics. Arguably, without a critical discussion between the hosts and guests about what it implies to practically handle the tensions intrinsic to alternative goals, the practice remains partly flawed for both parties. The notion of sincere encounters in cultural tourism, presented by anthropologist John Taylor (2001), is here considered useful to re-imagine the learning process during the host–guest encounter. Taylor (2001) explains that sincerity represents a shift towards negotiation between host and guest over the meaning of their cultural encounter, instead of them looking for, or posing, as objective cultural essences. For Taylor (2001, p. 23): “The notion of sincerity is significantly different from that of authenticity in that it occurs in the zone of contact among participating groups or individuals, rather than appearing as an internal quality of a thing, self, or Other”. It is ultimately a more critical approach
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to conceive of host–guest encounters, as the focus lies on the agency of the toured host, rather than on the volunteer’s self-actualization. With this approach, both host and guest can participate in constructing new narratives for tourist spaces (Amoamo, 2011; Hollinshead, 1998; Wearing & Wearing, 2006). Wearing and Wearing (2006) contend that this type of social interaction can be used to reinterpret and re-present destinations in unique ways, giving culture a fluid, confused and ongoing nature. Amoamo (2011), for example, discusses Maori operators who select, recollect and present their own stories of their colonial past, along with their modern-day context as post-colonial agents, by taking tourists on alternative tours. These tours teach that Maori culture is dynamic and in tune with the modern fabric of living in a global capitalist economy. Similarly, I propose that hosts can actively construct and share with guests their own version of sustainable practices and alternative living through their intimacy with their guests as the latter seeks to learn and contribute. This re-conceptualization is meant to present transformative learning as something potentially beneficial for both host and lheimar eco-village in Iceland. guest. This is explored further through the case study of So
lheimar eco-village So With their strong ideals in the face of social struggles, eco-villages can teach tourism scholars interesting lessons about the practicalities of pursuing an alternative ideology while involving volunteers in the venture. Members of eco-communities come together to form a village, hamlet or neighborhood, where they live a lifestyle based on their shared idealized values (Bang, 2007). The body of shared values of these communities often relates to principles of social inclusion, spirituality, environmental sustainability, self-governance, practicality and/or religious ambitions (Dawson, 2006; Jackson, 2004; Kirby, 2003; Van Schyndel Kasper, 2008). The perception that the capitalist system erodes social bonds and ecological systems, disempowering producers and consumers alike, has provided some individuals with “impulse to move beyond protest and to create models of more sane, just and sustainable ways of living” (Dawson, 2006, p. 38). lheimar eco-village, located close to the small town of SelfThe eco-village used in this study is So oss, about 60 km east of the Icelandic capital, Reykjavik (see http://www.solheimar.is/en/). It was ttir who wanted to help orphaned children with mental founded in 1930 by Sesselja Sigmundsdo handicaps by creating a space for them to develop (Bang, 2002). Sesselja’s project started as a summer-time operation, but eventually took root. The space grew into a permanent village of about 100 inhabitants, with a number of facilities to accommodate the aging children, becoming a place where adults with mental conditions (e.g. autism, Down syndrome) of varying levels found space for integration, well-being, valorization and development. Residents with a mental handicap now compose about 45% of the village’s population. These individuals work at the different businesses and worklheimar over the years or at other positions around the villages. Their shops that have flourished at So tasks correspond to their abilities and are meant to stimulate feelings of self-worth and inclusion. Individuals without mental-handicaps fulfill administrative and coordinative duties, and have to adapt to the form of organization the disabled residents necessitate to live and work in the village (Bang, 2002). Sesselja, early on, developed organic gardening and other techniques for self-subsistence at her village (Bang, 2002). The promotion of organic materials, the restoration of the earth and locally based food production and processing are at the heart of the companies and workshops the village lheimar now features buildings with low environmental impact and has developed over the years. So is self-sufficient in energy through geothermal sources. The six artisanal workshops of the village produce crafts made of a variety of organic and natural materials. The businesses of the village are: an organic greenhouse, a tree nursery and a center for sustainability and environmental education built lheimar the first Icelandic eco-village in in 2002. The Global Eco-village-Network (GEN) declared So April 1997. Education is often a goal of eco-villages, especially for those that are part of the GEN lheimar now hosts a number of educational opportunities through difmovement (Jackson, 2004). So ferent partnerships at its education center.
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lheimar is at a stage where its division of labor, social traditions and economic structure are well So established. Its economic subsistence depends on subsidies from the Icelandic state, profit generated at its local businesses and financial support from affiliated businesses and private donors. The adminlheimar community invites interns on its own account and volunteers from differistration of the So ent external programs to participate in various local social, environmental and economic activities for periods ranging from a few weeks to a year. Volunteers and interns live in the village in special accommodation and participate in all aspects of its daily life, which includes attending communal lunches, morning meetings and social events, and showing initiative to contribute to the community beyond assigned tasks. They work and play alongside the handicapped residents during the day and at events, and are encouraged to socialize with them as part of their experience.
Methodological framework lheimar. I used focused ethnography to study the social patterns formed by the host and guests at So This form of ethnography entails that the researcher’s study is guided by specific research questions, rather than aimed at widely observing a cultural group (Knoblauch, 2005; Wall, 2015). As any ethnography, this method implies some form of immersion in the daily lives of people from a culture-sharing group where the researcher seeks to identify discernable behavioral, belief, value and linguistic patterns (Wolcott, 2008). However, this specific method is mostly used to research emerging cultural contexts where social patterns are found in common affinities, perspectives, goals and interests, rather than in a culture-sharing group foreign to the researcher in a cultural sense (Knoblauch, 2005; Wall, 2015). Specifically, I gathered data relating to the social patterns host and guests form as they lheimar in order to study the dynamics of learning during the volunteer tourist experiinteract at So ence at the eco-village. lheimar to research volunteer tourism because it has a well-established tradition of I chose So working with volunteers and because its goals of social integration and environmental education make it a special case to study transformative learning. My previous involvement at the village as an intern facilitated my access to the community through key informants and ensured I had grounded knowledge of the context and people I was about to study. During my internship, I integrated with lheimar community for three months in the fall of 2010. I worked on educative projects, helped the So at the organic greenhouse, and participated in a variety of local activities. I joined the community again in February 2015 for six weeks, as a researcher to pursue participant observations and interviews to complement and re-orientate the conclusions I had drawn from my first visit in order to use lheimar as a proper case study. So To warrant the validity of my study, it was crucial that I sustained and maximized my contact with volunteers and community members throughout my fieldwork. Ethno-methodologies such as participant observation are often considered to depend on the ability of the research to uphold positive social relations with the study participants (Frohlick & Harrison, 2008). As Hammersley (2014) writes, membership and the researcher status are more like complements, rather than contradictions during the data collection process of the researcher involved as an observer in the field. Hammersley’s (2014) own research has been “based on a sense of mutual understanding and shared confidence between the researcher and research participant” (p. 861). The membership status I acquired during my fieldwork positioned me as a volunteer, probably since I was a foreign young adult and ready to lheimar. This status helped me approach community members help, like volunteers usually are at So and volunteers alike, but it also complicated my data collection in some instances as I will explain. Also, it is possible that my affinity with the volunteers has skewed my result towards their perspectives, though I tried as much as possible to balance the situation with interviews and interactions with community members. Many ethnographic researchers embrace the practice of listening in their ongoing engagement, highlighting the importance of conversation during the immersion process (Forsey, 2010; Hockey, 2002). I gathered much of my data through on-site overt informal conversational interviews during
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daily activities where I engaged volunteers and community members in their context of experience (i.e., their work place, social spaces such as the lunch hall and community events) when appropriate. It was important to allow topics to emerge naturally throughout my research. Kitchin and Tate (2000) write that on-site informal conversational interviews help lead to a greater recognition of the subject’s points of view. The close contact with the social group also eased the validation process as continual member-checking could be done casually throughout fieldwork with different actors as I made sense of my interpretation (Creswell, 2013). I participated in the same activities as the volunteers, including volunteering, for the sake of observation and conversation, and shared their accommodation for convenience. For that, it made it easy to approach people with overt questions and observe the 15 guests that made up the volunteers of the community throughout my fieldwork. I believe this close contact worked to position me as a volunteer in the eyes of the community members, and, significantly, in those of the coordinators of the educational center. I was sometimes asked by them to help out with activities that did not relate to my observations such as tour guiding and cleaning. I felt compelled to do these things in order to show my respect to my host. I did nonetheless eventually get access to eight reports written by previous volunteers where they reflected on their experience. I also reviewed my own final report from my lheimar. It was also relatively easy to informally approach the disabled resitime as an intern at So dents during fieldwork as the volunteers share many of the same spaces as them. I relied on formal interviews with five key individuals in the community with close involvement with volunteers. These interviews were done in English, which was not problematic as these participants were proficient in the language. I interviewed the two coordinators of the educational center as they coordinate the volunteers who come to the village by overseeing the selection process, welcoming them, and attending to their integration. It was paramount to interview the managers of the organic greenhouse and tree nursery as these individuals get the largest share of volunteers who come to the village working for their businesses. I also interviewed the manager of the wood workshop to secure more depth concerning the viewpoint of community members involved with creative workshops (though creative workshops accept very few volunteers). I did not record the interviews, as they often occurred in noisy common areas (like the coffee house or lunch hall) and work places (like the greenhouse and the educational center). Meeting the interview participants in their realm of involvement was done to prevent the development of uneven relations between researcher and respondents which is often associated with the interview setting, and it allowed me to observe these people in their context of involvement (Anderson, 2004; Anderson & Jones, 2009). This situation, however, prevented the use and analysis of substantial quotes. lheimar community were approached through ongoing casual onThe other members of the So site conversations and contextual observations. I had wished to interview these people in a more formal way, but quickly realized that these participants questioned the need for a formal setting to discuss everyday topics with someone they considered a volunteer, preferring to chat on the spot. As Caton (2013) argued, methodological choices often stem from the researcher’s sensitivity towards the research participants. I nonetheless always informed them of my role as a researcher during conversations. These individuals were: the music teacher, the social coordinator, the manager of the bakery, the disabled residents and their support staff, the manager of the store and boutique, different employees at the businesses and the other managers of creative workshops. lheimar, I centered my conversations and observation with volunteers on why they came to So their background, what they appreciated and disliked about their experience, their overall impressions and the lessons they were learning at the community. With the staff of the village, discussions and observations centered on how it was to host and work with volunteers, what kind of people they preferred, and also the challenges of hosting and working with volunteers. With the disabled residents, the observations rested on their interactions with volunteers; were these positives? Were they gaining something from each other? I noted all the information from my formal interviews, conversational on-site interviews and daily observations as field notes in a diary throughout my fieldwork. For the analysis, I generated a description of the themes that characterize the social interactions of the
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lheimar. The different data were triangulated to generate corroborating host and the volunteers at So evidence to validate the relevance of these themes (Creswell, 2013). To further ensure the validity of my conclusions, I contacted two volunteers and the coordinators of the educational center for member-checking. While the volunteers responded with feedback, only one of the coordinators wrote me back, though mostly as a thank you for sharing my work than to give feedback on my conclusions.
Findings lheimar eco-village is prepared to offer learning experiences in sustainable practices and foster So social relationships with its volunteers and interns. Similarly to what Kosnik (2014) and Miller and Mair (2014, 2015) found on organic farms, the exchange of knowledge and building of bonds lheimar was found to be significant to between the volunteers and the community members at So the dynamics of volunteer tourism. As Terry (2014) advanced on WWOOF as a social movement lheimar as an eco-village needs volaimed at overcoming a shortage of labor in a low-profit sector, So unteers to help produce its labor-intensive organic and eco-friendly goods. The different managers lheimar. are aware that, without the volunteers, their organic enterprises would not fare so well at So This gratitude develops in interpersonal relations where the work rests not only on the dedication to the greater cause, but also has its foundation in intimacy between host and guest where learning and sharing ideas is beneficial to both parties. The interactions of the volunteers with the disabled community members are also conducive to self-development akin to transformative learning. The statement of this volunteer on her final report for her sending organization demonstrates the positive social outcome of these relations: I learned how to work and live with disabled people at S olheimar. Living there taught me to see the disabled people as equal members of our society and took away my fears of contact with them. It also taught me to be more patient and let them make their own experiences.
The disabled community members also expressed a lot of affection for the volunteers. They often sought hugs from them, especially at the morning meeting, and approached them for small talk and laughter during the day, which the volunteers appreciated. Under this light, the volunteer experience at the eco-village follows principles of alternative tourism as it offers intimate contact between host and guest, and aims at greater social change through cultural, interpersonal and skills exchange (MacIntosh & Zahra, 2007; McGehee, 2002; Zahra & McGehee, 2013). The overall dynamics of the volunteers and interns’ learning experience is, however, a more complex issue than a simple matter of intimacy with the host-community. As I discuss next, the complexity stems mainly from the difficulties the community itself faces as it attempts to reconcile its alternative goals in a context of capitalist norms, and from the lack of structure in the volunteer and intern programs to address the practical and critical meaning of these difficulties. This information is used to highlight how sincerity has the potential to benefit the volunteers and the alternative community in their transformative journeys.
Staging sustainability As Mostafanezhad (2016) explains, alternative spaces also have concerns over their economic sustainlheimar is no different. Inviting volunability as they strive to function within the capitalist system. So teers to contribute cheap labor, seeking to form new partnerships to get more working and paying guests, through which projects are made up to attract them and spaces are aesthetized to please them, and imposing mainstream notions of project development to volunteers, are examples of the complexity of following alternative goals and offering learning opportunities through market logics lheimar. The educational center, for instance, involves its volunteers in projects simultaneously at So related to sustainability and environmental education, such as preparing exhibitions, marketing the facilities to school groups, researching information on sustainable practices and writing up reports. It
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became difficult to establish if all these projects are beneficial to the community and sustainable principles in general or simply done to suit the increasing number of volunteers, interns and student lheimar in search of hands-on experiences. groups visiting So This anecdote about a student group underlines this ambiguity. One afternoon, Valdemar,1 a man on the municipal board, visited the coordinators of the educational center.2 He was there to discuss with them their plan to involve American university students from an established semester program lheimar in the sustainable planning of the municipality. Eventually, Valdemar admitted he had at So little hope for the initiative. The students would most likely just look up information on the Internet and the municipal board would browse through their reports for anything of interest. To Valdemar, the initiative was more to give the students a learning experience so that their program would be worthwhile. While pleasing paying guests is beneficial to the economic subsistence of the educalheimar’s know-how tional center, it might not fulfill the goals of the municipality who seeks to use So effectively. The educational center seeks to attract groups to use its facilities and educational expertise. Its coordinators are developing online promotional material and are actively looking for partnerships and other types of deals. Volunteers are also involved in helping with this promotion. The developments are mostly for economic purposes, which raises the issue Deville et al. (2016) and Mostafanezhad (2016) highlight about reconciling idealist goals of alternative practice with catering for the needs of the guests. The education the center promotes, the accommodation and food it provides and the setting it offers to these groups all need to appeal to customers, not free-floating idealists with little money. While an intern, the coordinators of the center asked me to propose ideas to improve the sustainability of the two guesthouses. I suggested a wall with pictures and quotes to lheimar community. The coordinators dismissed the idea illustrate the social vibrancy of the So because the guesthouses had to keep a certain aesthetic to appeal to mainstream customers. The projects given to volunteers at the educational center reflect the aims of the coordinators as managers of a profit-seeking business, rather than of a space for the development of creative ideas. The attitude of the coordinators reflects the compromises idealist managers have to make between mission and money (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012). Sustainability is then staged, to use MacCannell’s (1976) term, in ways to attract guests, students and volunteers. The projects given to students, interns and volunteers, and the decor in which it takes place are more about invoking appealing images of sustainability than communicating the difficulties of driving forward complex projects. lheimar at times displease and confuse volThese types of incremental short-term activities at So unteers seeking to contribute to the community’s longer term vision. It was found that the volunteers often dismissed the economic pillar in their notion of sustainability. Some volunteers described the lheimar. They deplored that a village as too “commercial” due to the market-driven dynamics of So lot of emphasis goes on producing goods and services at the different businesses and workshops, disregarding that the community members wish to promote the economic subsistence of the village. lheimar see them as The focus on productivity implied for some volunteers that those running So workers, rather than apprentices or sources of creativity. Mostafanezhad et al. (2015) found similar results in Hawaii where volunteers were leaving host farms where they felt they were only used for labor. The authors then conclude that eventually: “the farmer’s goal of affordable and reliable labor begins to contradict with the volunteer’s goal of meaningful experience” (Mostafanezhad et al., 2015, p. 132). When sustainability and alternative living are staged to offer an experience to the volunteer, it is inevitable that the tensions related to the complexity of fulfilling contradictory goals will complicate the host–guest relationship.
Reflecting on self and participation lheimar’s coordination of its volunteers mostly lacked the educational structure related to and for So the transformative learning which Hammersley (2014), Coghlan and Gooch (2011), Simpson (2004), and Raymond and Hall (2008) proposed, where sending organizations arrange briefing, and diaries
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record moments of reflection and critical discussions before, during and after the volunteer holiday. lheimar got an information session from the coordinators of the All the volunteers who come to So educational center or other volunteers to learn about the local history and organization. There were also sometimes meetings with the coordinators during the stay of the volunteers. When I was an intern, our group of six sat down during its last week of volunteering and we discussed the lessons that we learned from our experience in the community. This type of concluding session became more of a farewell get-together, as I came back to do research. With the growing number of volunteers, their sojourns not all synchronized and the work load of the coordinators increased, the volunteers became more difficult for the coordinators to supervise, I was informed. Their conversations with them were observed to be more about how to improve their management (mostly solving interpersonal conflicts among volunteers and persuading them to clean their accommodation) than to reflect critically on their experience. There are volunteers writing final reports, but these are done to fulfill the requirements of a sending organization or university program. The volunteers who come through the European Volunteer Service (EVS) (a European program that finances the year-long participation of volunteers in accredited projects within the continent), for instance, meet with the organization in Iceland before and during their experience and write a report at the end of their stay specifying their learning outcomes, such as communicating in a foreign language and developing civic and social competences. These EVS reports show little purpose for debating the meaning of alternatives and sustainability at the eco-village, focusing mostly on the personal and social development of the volunteer. One volunteer wrote in her report: I had the opportunity to share my daily life with people with disabilities. It gave me the opportunity to get to know different [kinds of] pathologies and different [kinds of] people. I lived with 14 other workers and volunteers from Iceland and around Europe. It has been a great opportunity to get to know other cultures and become more tolerant and compassionate.
Simpson (2005) writes that gap years abroad serve to prepare a better pool of civil servants. The underlying goals of the EVS align with the professionalization of idealist work, as they are about panlheimar European cooperation and the development of competent social individuals. The goals of So are not directly included in the reflection process the EVS encourages its participants to do. This situation resembles the typical negative issue with volunteer tourism where the experience, in this case the learning experience, of the volunteer becomes more important than local goals (Guttentag, 2009; Palacios, 2010). The encouragement of such a reflection process, mostly linked to global citizenship, challenges the idea that a third party can effectively enable a process of critical thinking for the hostcommunity’s sake that goes beyond the volunteer’s personal development. Sin (2010) explains that volunteers tend to frame their experience according to their own needs, and thus end up reinforcing uneven dynamics where the guest assumes an authoritative position over the host. Gunnar expressed discontent with some volunteers and their overwhelming focus on projects they designed themselves for their own interest or their requests to change workplaces for fun, instead of focusing on local needs. During my internship, for instance, two interns did not want to help carpenters build the new roof of the volunteer accommodation because they preferred to work on projects they had designed themselves. This further highlights how volunteer tourism often lheimar administration to negotiate its goals against, rather than aligning with, the pushes the So experience of self-actualization of volunteers and guests. Vigdis, the other coordinator of the educational center, claimed that some volunteers disregard how sustainability works in practice. She believes it is important for the community that the volunteers do “the small things”, like picking vegetables and packaging goods. She maintains that the community moves forward by becoming self-sufficient economically and by diffusing its eco-friendly lheimar to get credit products. Similarly, in my own report, written following my internship at So points from my home institution, one of my reflections was that sustainability required as much physical work as creativity and intelligence. Reconciling idealist goals in the physical world and within the
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capitalist system is part of the reality of the eco-village, and volunteers should learn this, to not only critically think of their personal experience, but also about their role within a community negotiating its position in a wider system.
Searching for sustainability lheimar are conscious of the importance of social reform and sustainable practiThe volunteers at So ces. Many of them are vegetarians, educated in environmental and social studies and/or involved in activism at home (see also Conran, 2011; McGehee & Santos, 2005; Wearing, 2001). As they integrate lheimar community though, the volunteers are faced with the application of ideas incompatin the So ible with their ideals and standards of sustainability. The volunteers were often found to criticize the lheimar in its physical and managerial design, but also in the behavior of its memsustainability of So bers. This criticism related generally to the food wasted at the lunch hall and store, the use of cars within the village by the community members, the inefficient treatment of wastewater and, more generally, to the Icelanders’ overconsumption of resources. Besides these concrete transgressions, the fuzziness of the concepts of sustainability and eco-liv lheimar, ing also fostered futile criticism. For instance, Arni, who works as the social coordinator of So was very enthusiastic about a troll garden project. The troll garden is the name of an area in the vil designed the garden so the handicapped community members could lage built for socializing. Arni grow herbs and flowers, and there is a small stage for anyone wishing to perform for an audience. However, I read a comment from a volunteer on the sustainability of the village stating there were lheimar, instead of letting nature grow freely. From the perspectoo many aestheticized spaces at So tive of this volunteer, a project like the troll garden is not a contribution to alternative principles, thinks. unlike what Arni To some residents, the discontent of the volunteers over the sustainability of their village is connected to the volunteers overlooking the complexity of sustainability by focusing too strongly on its environmental aspect. Gunnar explained the volunteers critical of their environmental practices failed to understand that, as an old community built initially for charity, the ecological aspects of sustainlheimar are still in a stage of progress. So lheimar is working hard to make this transition, ability at So he explained. I found that many community members have a different notion of environmental sustainability than the volunteers, because of their Icelandic context. As their country runs fully on renewable energy and has plenty of water, Icelanders generally see energy and water as infinite resources. This is contrary to the behavior and principles that many volunteers developed as conscious consumers in their homelands, and would not be a good practice to bring back to countries with limited resources. Again, discontent from both parties can be linked to a lack of communication directed at framing the volunteers’ role and experience at the community. There was nonetheless communication between host and guests during daily interactions that went beyond simple intimacy and unproductive criticism. One form of learning for the volunteers occurred through their conversations among themselves and through their interactions with members of the community with whom they had built the close bonds described earlier. For Taylor (2006) and Hammersley (2014), transformative learning occurs through the development of bonds of support, trust, friendship and intimacy, where the learner develops critical skills through the assistance lheimar community with of a sensitive facilitator and the support of others. The members of the So whom the volunteers interact daily were observed to be significant parts of this experience. For instance, evening discussions at the volunteer accommodation often related to the criticism the volunteers heard from workshop leaders and other community members about the management of the village, which led them to question aspects of eco-village governance. I also saw that many members lheimar community are comfortable discussing with volunteers their discomfort over the of the So commercialization of the art of the handicapped residents. On one particular occasion, Solveig, a workshop manager, debated extensively with a few volunteers the ethics of reproducing and selling the designs of the handicapped residents for profit. These kinds of exchange are akin to the sincerity,
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with its notion of re-interpretation and fluidity, advocated by Taylor (2001), Amoamo (2011), and Wearing and Wearing (2006), which gives more cultural agency to local actors. These types of discussions lead volunteers to see the back-stage of eco-living under a more critical lens, reacting to these types of interactions with statements I noted down such as: “It made me think about the ethics of delivering care in isolated communities” and “Sustainability? What is sustainability? I don’t know anymore!” These reactions are more in line with the ambiguity the coordinators of the educational center and the different managers have to deal with daily. They also highlight how sincerity between the two parties, where the host is involved in the construction of the meaning of the experience at stake (Taylor, 2001), can be related to the unsettling aspect of the learning experience for the volunteers. The moment of interaction, where the community members are free and at ease to provide with their own narratives of sustainability and alternative living, becomes a valuable educational site. Intimacy can thus pave the way for the development of sincere encounters, giving the volunteers and community members alike a forum to redefine more fairly notions of sustainability, cultural norms and alternative lifestyles.
Discussion and conclusion lheimar is one eco-village hosting volunteers among many others around the world, which are at So different stages in their development and involvement with volunteers. This case nonetheless sheds light on the dynamics of volunteer tourism when a community comes together to live and work with idealist goals in mind. The experience of this eco-village with volunteers shows similarities to the experience of organic farms with volunteers described by Kosnik (2014), Miller and Mair (2014, 2015), Terry (2014), and many others, who have praised the interconnectedness fostered in these spaces. At lheimar, social integration and eco-living are key factors bringing together host and volunteers. So The findings, however, reveal that the eco-village follows mainstream norms of growth and developlheimar, both volunteers and community members pursue the realization of certain projment. At So ects and practices, which contests their attention to and criticism towards mainstream norms. The ensuing tensions between the idealist volunteers in search of personal development and the practice-oriented community members were used to open a discussion on the dynamics of transformative learning in tourism. This discussion highlighted the complexities for communities of handling the practicalities of their short-term goals in a market economy, while involving volunteers in a vision for long-term social and environmental action. Through the ethnographic approach, it was possible to examine the everyday implementation of lheimar. These findings support the point made the multiple endeavors and strategies enacted at So by Mostafanezhad (2016) and Mostafanezhad et al. (2015) that alternative spaces strive within mainstream capitalism and adhere to its norms in some ways, even if they aim to resist them. When key actors do not present sustainability and alternative living as contested matters at the eco-village, as Coghlan and Gooch (2011), Hammersley (2014) and Mostafanezhad (2014) suggest doing with international development in the global south, there is less chance for a holistic transformative learning experience to occur. What is important is that the host and the guest understand how the other party conceptualizes matters such as alternatives and sustainability, and debate constructively how shortterm goals can/should be reconciled with a long-term vision in the face of the status quo. The diffilheimar culty of negotiating economic sustainability with environmental and social sustainability at So is a prime example of why this type of volunteer tourist experience needs to be promoted beyond matters of intimacy and self-development, and adopt sincerity, as described by Taylor (2001), as a lheimar aims to mass-produce its goods and aesthetize its services, should be sinstrategy. That So cerely discussed by coordinators, community members and guests to assess the reality of running an eco-village in the twenty-first century. When the volunteers do not grasp the meaning of the structures and discourses behind what is expected of them, unpleasant frictions and lack of meaningful participation can ensue, and at the expense of the community.
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The bonds developed between host and volunteer matter in the promotion of sincere discussions over local issues such as behavioral impacts, eco-village governance and the purpose of physical labor. The transformative experience that binds the host and its guests together cannot solely be presented, by researchers and intermediaries alike, to be about learning to do things alternatively and sustainably through an educational approach focused, on the one hand, on the self-development of volunteers and, on the other hand, their hard labor. More honesty is needed on the behalf of sending organizations, people in leadership positions, and movements such as WWOOF over the difficulties faced by alternative hosts in the present context. It is argued that when sincere encounters are not central to the conceptualization of transformative learning in volunteer tourism, the host-community becomes a mere pawn to enrich volunteers, not a meaningful agent nor a benefactor in the practice. Without this consideration, volunteer tourism ultimately mostly remains an experience to consume for the volunteers (Guttentag, 2009; Palacios, 2010; Sin, 2010). That communities establish strong goals for themselves by adopting a vision of a better world and become empowered to communicate, but also revise, their goals and visions through their direct interactions with volunteers in ways they deem appropriate is suggested as a benchmark to make volunteer tourism more fair and emancipatory for all parties involved. It is not only the sending organization that can develop critical volunteers, which scholars have generally noted in their definition of transformative learning; the community members have a responsibility and interest in this experience too. Further research in volunteer tourism could give more attention to the transformative experience of the alternative community and suggest more specifically the practical changes needed for it to flourish.
Notes 1. All names are pseudonyms. 2. S olheimar is located within the Grımsnes- og Grafningshreppur municipality. In Iceland, an elected council governs and administers the provision of a number of services such as waste management and schooling in municipalities. S olheimar nonetheless mostly administers itself independently of the latter, due to its special status.
Acknowledgments I would like to acknowledge my two supervisors at Mid-Sweden University, Dimitri Ioannides and Sandra Wall-Reinius, for their comments on this article.
Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.
Notes on contributor Solene Prince is a PhD student at Mid-Sweden University researching the complexities and tensions found in alternative tourism within rural and idealist spaces. Her research has taken her to Iceland and Denmark and touches upon subjects related to volunteer tourism, rural tourism and non-representational landscape theory.
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Paper IV
Tourism Management 60 (2017) 348e356
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Tourism Management journal homepage: www.elsevier.com/locate/tourman
Contextualizing the complexities of managing alternative tourism at the community-level: A case study of a nordic eco-village ne Prince*, Dimitri Ioannides Sole € €g 1, 831 25, Ostersund, Department of Tourism Studies and Geography, Mid-Sweden University, European Tourism Research Institute (ETOUR), Kunskapensva Sweden
h i g h l i g h t s The contradictory goals of sustainable tourism make it difficult to practically apply alternative tourism strategies. lheimar eco-village is used as an ethnographic case study to assess managerial difficulties in alternative tourism. So A lack of human resources dedicated to the alternative experience of guests impedes sustainable tourism development. Knowledge over conflict resolution, critical reflection and cultural communication is crucial to alternative tourism. Alternative tourism is conceptualized as a forum for discussion between host and guest.
a r t i c l e i n f o
a b s t r a c t
Article history: Received 10 June 2016 Received in revised form 19 December 2016 Accepted 20 December 2016
To shed light on the complexities of fostering sustainability through alternative tourism, we explore the managerial contradictions and difficulties that arise as alternative tourism is developed in the name of lheimar eco-village in Iceland. Following a focused ethnographic approach, we sustainability at So establish that those behind the management of volunteers, students and other guests regularly struggle to coordinate these respective groups in a manner that balances economic objectives with those relating to the environment and social equity. This is because limited human resources and strategic knowledge exist to fulfill all the host community's goals through alternative tourism. The findings reveal the need to conceptualize alternative tourism as a forum for discussion between host and guest over the complexities of generating sustainable development. This highlights the need for knowledge transmission over matters such as conflict resolution, critical reflection and cultural communication associated with the tourist experience at the community. © 2016 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
Keywords: Sustainability Alternative tourism Iceland Volunteer tourism Focused ethnography
1. Introduction The term alternative tourism is usually used to describe tourism that is characterized by small-scale and locally owned and controlled operations, offering experiences related to, for instance, educational tours, volunteer travel, farm-stays, and ecotourism (Oriade & Evans, 2011; Weaver, 2006). Many observers consider that alternative tourism has the potential to bring about sustainable development to communities due to its participatory, localized and sensitive character (Scheyvens, 2002a, 2012). The reality is, however, that conflicting interests and contradictory goals plague the
* Corresponding author. E-mail addresses:
[email protected] (S. Prince),
[email protected] (D. Ioannides). http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.tourman.2016.12.015 0261-5177/© 2016 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
development of alternative forms of tourism (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012; Deville, Wearing, & McDonald, 2016; Mostafanezhad, 2016; Weaver, 2013, 2007). Moreover, the complex conception of sustainability in tourism scholarship, not to mention its normative future-driven orientation, renders the application of sustainable norms difficult for local stakeholders (Ruhanen, 2008; Sharpley, 2009; Xiao, 2006). Lane (2009) believes this relates to the weak understanding of what fundamentally drives markets in tourism. Inevitably, the compromises firms and other stakeholders must make in their pursuit of sustainability materialize in their managerial practices where they need to decide how they want to, for instance, develop human resources, invest in capital, adopt new technologies and offer a competitive product (Smith, 1997). Ultimately, community stakeholders involved in alternative tourism must ensure they have a strategy for hosting and interacting with tourists as they seek to benefit from their presence (Salazar, 2012).
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In this article, we explore the managerial contradictions and difficulties arising in local contexts where alternative tourism development is promoted for sustainability's sake. For our case study, we focus on an alternative space, in this case the Icelandic lheimar, which like other such destinations hosts eco-village So guests, including volunteers who provide free labour and with whom the locals share best-practices (Dawson, 2006). Despite the eco-village's mission to promote social integration (in this case of persons with mental handicaps) and eco-living practices, it is obvious that, on a daily basis, various practical organizational issues crop up that challenge the settlement's overall mission in terms of moving toward sustainable development. Thus, the main question we have chosen to ask is: what managerial challenges does this community face in its attempts to reconcile its mission of social equity generation and environmental education with that of its overall economic goals through alternative tourism? We begin with a literature review on alternative tourism highlighting research that has identified complexities and contradiction in its sustainability and management. The methodology details the lheimar. focused ethnographic approach that was used to study So The ensuing section gives background information on the case study before presenting the findings. These findings are divided into two categories: 1) reconciling comfort with contribution and; 2) managing productivity and creativity. The increased number of guests and volunteers put pressure on local human resources, revealing a need to foster a form of alternative tourism management that enables tourists to contribute to more than just the community's economic goals. We propose that for alternative tourism to become a tool for community development, there needs to be investment in knowledge transmission over practical matters such as conflict resolution during the tourist experience, and critical reflection and cultural communication between host and guest over local matters. Alternative tourism is thus conceptualized as a forum for discussion between host and guest over the complexities of generating sustainable development. Finally, we suggest further research in the field of alternative tourism and encourage the use of ethnomethodologies in tourism management research. 2. Alternative tourism: tourism for sustainable development? Alternative tourism has gained increasing popularity in discourses of sustainable development because of its purported sensitive approach to host communities’ needs (Higgins-Desbiolles, 2008; Scheyvens, 2002a; Singh, 2002; Weaver, 2006). Alternative tourism experiences usually include educational tours, volunteer travel, farm-stays, ecotourism, and other tourism types characterized by small-scale and locally owned and controlled operations (Oriade & Evans, 2011; Weaver, 2006). Some observers even argue that, rather than reflecting modern consumer culture, these approaches encourage close exchanges between host and guest centered on profound cultural encounters (Higgins-Desbiolles, 2008; MacIntosh & Zahra, 2007; Zahra & McGehee, 2013). Scholars praise these tourism forms, not only for their limited adverse environmental and socio-cultural impacts, but also because they aim to provide greater participatory opportunities for small entrepreneurs, residents and various local stakeholders, while spreading the wealth to local stakeholders (Scheyvens, 2012, 2002a; Singh, 2002). This participation is considered crucial to ensure the specific needs of communities members are met through tourism (Saarinen, 2006; Sebele, 2010; Tosun & Timothy, 2003). Alternative tourism can thus be considered a form of sustainable tourism, where its smaller-scale and more sensitive operations can be used effectively to generate local bottom-up development (Moscardo, 2008). However, a primary challenge associated with
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alternative tourism as a path to sustainable tourism is that sustainability is a multi-dimensional concept, meaning its operationalization can mean different things to different players. Other than the age-old question about “what should be sustained and developed” the problem exists that, for many stakeholders, sustainability becomes hard to grasp due to its future-oriented nature (Dryzek, 1997; Redclift, 1987; Rist, 2002). Particularly those players with fairly short time perspectives (e.g., business owners and developers) are likelier to emphasize immediate economic priorities to ensure their sustainability through tourism, rather than to oversee to environmental and social equity goals (Lane, 2009; Liu, 2003; Prideaux, 2015; Sharpley, 2009). The persons with a longer-term comprehensive vision of sustainability are usually those whose motives are not driven by economic ambitions (e.g., environmental groups or social activists). Weaver (2009, 2007) speaks of “veneer environmentalism” whereby most stakeholders are unwilling to shift their practices, which focus overwhelmingly on short-term gain generation. To these players, the sustainability discourse's utility has much to do with a public relations' perspective. Endeavors associated with alternative forms of tourism have been criticized for supporting their own reproduction through economic gain. There are numerous forms of tourism, initially meant to be sensitive and small-scale such as eco-tourism and backpacking, which have intensified through the past decades becoming increasingly standardized and not so diversified from the mass tourism they were meant to replace (Cohen, 1972; Scheyvens, 2002b; Wheeller, 1997). Accordingly, Guttentag (2009), Mostafanezhad (2014) and Palacios (2010) have argued, for instance, that many volunteer organizations are more likely to seek their own reproduction as capitalist enterprises through alternative tourism. There is always the real risk, in cases where alternative tourism is promoted, that economic growth may divert local actors' interests away from their original objectives (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012; Weaver, 2013). It is inevitable that any enterprise, even those purported to be aimed at alternative tourism, through their sheer necessity to survive, might appear to be profit-oriented, while in reality they are working strategically to stay afloat. Coghlan and Noakes (2012), writing on NGOs involved in volunteer tourism, explain that alternative stakeholder groups are usually forced to compromise between: “‘money’ and ‘mission’, and that the ensuing tradeoffs are characterized by degrees, not absolutes” (p.128). Inevitably, local actors have to provide a variety of activities, experiences and comforts to their paying customers. The goals of households, businesses and organizations that strive to subsist from alternative tourism often become contradictory since, on the one hand, they seek to pursue their idealistic mission while, on the other hand, they have to recognize the daily realities that are shaped by the global capitalist system (Deville et al., 2016; Mostafanezhad, 2016). For instance, Mostafanezhad (2016) describes that despite their harsh critique against the agro-industrial complex, some farm hosts shopped at large economy warehouses to afford feeding their volunteers as the food they grow is expensive. This trade-off goes against the principles of organic farmers, but is deemed crucial to support the promotion of affordable organic food in the long-run. The issue becomes more problematic when guests come to believe that their hosts are compromising the very principles they purportedly stand for and might not be as altruistic as advertised (Mostafanezhad, 2016). This dilemma that alternative tourism stakeholders face is crucial to consider in order to promote sustainable tourism at the community-level. While Wheeller (2012, 2005) outlines the necessity for tourism scholars to consider the challenges of sustainability within a wider context of power by considering economic and political systems, he also acknowledges the importance of
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studying the emergence of human characteristics that complicate the advancement of sustainable development. Wheeller (2012, 2005) names greed, corruption and hypocrisy, but one could add to this list the local confusion and concern that comes from attempting to offer an alternative experience. Fundamental to this issue of confusion are the managerial decisions that must be made in the light of the contradictory goals of sustainable development. Lane (2009) claims that few tourism scholars understand the fundamental nature of the markets driving tourism in their research on sustainable tourism. Concurrently, Smith (1997) lists challenges tourism businesses encounter, which are often disregarded in sustainable tourism research such as: difficulty accessing investment capital due to seasonality; lack of development in human resources; slow responses to technological change and; offering more competitive products on a global market. Limited research has highlighted and attempted to resolve the dayto-day complexities of pursuing and managing sustainability, which has complicated the implementation of tourism that follows the tenets of sustainable development. Ruhanen (2008) demonstrated, through a study of five destinations in Queensland, Australia that the tourist industry often does not find academic research on sustainability relevant to its needs, though its actors adopt its language in their planning documents. This mismatch is mostly associated with the lack of a clear definition of sustainability in academia and scholars’ overly theoretical and complicated approach to sustainability (Ruhanen, 2008; Sharpley, 2009; Xiao, 2006). It can thus be argued that bridging alternative tourism with sustainable tourism development requires a consideration of the managerial compromises actors make within their particular contexts while driven by particular goals. Matarrita-Cascante (2010) and Matarrita-Cascante, Brennan, and Luloff (2010) acknowledge the need to understand the internal social processes of communities in order to move beyond economic growth and towards environmental and social equity goals. Acknowledging the importance of social processes implies meticulously looking at how the community handles tourism and its impacts. As Salazar (2012, p.18) highlights: “Local communities must develop strategies for receiving and interacting with tourists as well as displaying themselves and their visible culture”. The following case sheds light on this challenge from an eco-village's perspective. 3. Case study Iceland has become a popular tourist destination in the past decade, hosting since 2006 more visitors per year than it has inrsdo ttir, 2010). Besides the popular standardized habitants (Sæþo activities, various communities, organizations and households around the country host guests interested in a deeper cultural ex lheimar ecochange. This type of opportunity can be found at So ttir founded So lheimar ecovillage. In 1930, Sesselja Sigmundsdo village as a means of helping mentally handicapped orphaned children by creating a designated space for them to develop (Bang, 2002). From the outset, Sesselja fostered organic gardening and other techniques for the self-subsistence of her community, which initially was a summer-time operation. Eventually, the project became firmly established and the space grew into a year-round village of about 100 inhabitants. It offered various facilities for accommodating the children as they grew up, and became a space for the integration, valorization and development of adults with varying mental conditions (e.g. autism, Down's syndrome). Today, residents with some form of mental handicap compose about 45% of the village's population. These individuals work at the different businesses and artisanal workshops developed at lheimar or occupy other positions around the village such as in So
maintenance. Their tasks are adapted to their respected capabilities and are meant to foster feelings of self-worth and inclusion. Meanwhile, able-minded individuals who participate in the livelihood of the village in tasks like administration, coordination and leadership have to adapt to the form of organization the disabled residents require to live and work in the village (Bang, 2002). Many programs and venues around the village promote the social wellbeing of the handicapped residents. These include a pool, theatre groups, music groups, a gymnasium, and communal lunches and morning meetings for all members of the community. lheimar The Global Eco-village Network (GEN) proclaimed So the first Icelandic eco-village in April 1997. Eco-villages is the term used to describe settlements where community members have come together to form a living space based on idealized sharedlheimar, these shared-values values (Bang, 2007). Just as in So mostly relate to principles like social inclusion and ecological preservation. They may also target spirituality, self-governance, convenience and other matters, which many groups believe have been eroded by the capitalist system (Dawson, 2006; Jackson, lheimar boasts 2004; Kirby, 2003; Van Schyndel Kasper, 2008). So buildings with low environmental impact and is self-sufficient in its energy needs due to abundant geothermal resources. The promotion of organic materials, the restoration of the earth and locallybased food production and processing are among the principles lheimar's companies and artisanal guiding the development of So lheimar, proworkshops. There are six artisanal workshops at So ducing: ceramics, art, candles, soaps and creams, and weaved and wood crafts. As for the businesses of the village, there is an organic greenhouse, a tree-nursery, two certified eco-friendly guesthouses and an educational center, which was built in 2002. lheimar depends on the profit The economic subsistence of So generated at its local businesses, but also on subsidies from the Icelandic state and financial support from affiliated businesses and private donors. The channel for these funds and donations is the lheimar Relief Fund, which subsidizes or lends money for conSo struction work, purchasing tools and materials for the maintenance of the village, providing educational opportunities to the community, and funding leisure activities for the disabled residents. Ecovillages (especially those which are part of the GEN) often promote social exchange by inviting guests and volunteers with whom to share best-practices. This is done to promote environmental education, but also to generate local income (Bang, 2007; Dawson, lheimar com2006; Jackson, 2004). The administration of the So munity, through the educational center, invites interns on its own account and accepts volunteers from different external programs to participate in its social, environmental and economic activities for periods ranging from a few weeks to a full year. These activities can include projects coordinated by the educational center or undertaken anywhere within the community. They also imply providing labour to the different businesses and workshops. These volunteers live in the village in designated accommodation and participate in all aspects of daily life, which includes attendance at communal lunches, morning meetings and social events. They are also invited to contribute to the well-being of the community in any way they would like beyond their working hours. lheimar hosts various partnership-run education opportuSo nities at its educational center. Local school groups regularly benefit from the center's expertise while workshops, conferences and exhibits are open to the public. Also, international groups use these facilities through partnerships or as an experience catered to them by the coordinators of the educational center. The education opportunities can be classroom-based, but also hands-on where the village can be used as a case study for sustainability projects or for gaining an experience in community service. For instance, twice a year, approximately 10 American
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lheimar through an established American students come to So study program, taking their courses at the center, integrating with the community, volunteering at the local workshops and businesses, and going on excursions planned by the center's co lheimar are used to host ordinators. The two guesthouses at So students and other visiting groups, but also any tourists interested lheimar are offered by the center in overnighting. Guided tours of So to visitors, who are also encouraged to buy local-made crafts and fresh produce, participate in various events and even help out in the community. 4. Methodological framework For this study, the main author conducted focused ethnographic research during a 6-week period in early 2015. Focused ethnography implies the researcher enters the field with specific research questions, rather than with the aim of broadly observing a cultural group (Knoblauch, 2005; Wall, 2015). This method is moreover used to study emerging cultural contexts where patterns of behaviors are found in individuals with common perspectives, goals, sub-cultures and social affinities, rather than in a cultural group that differs completely from the researcher in a cultural sense (Knoblauch, 2005; Wall, 2015). Specifically, the main author gathered data relating to the patterns of behavior hosts and guests form lheimar in order to study the dynamics of as they interact at So alternative tourism management at the eco-village. The main author was already familiar with the village through a previous involvement as an intern. This earlier involvement facilitated her access to the community by knowing key informants and ensured she had grounded knowledge of the context and people she was about to study. During this earlier internship, which occurred for three months during the fall of 2010 she had become an integral lheimar community working on educational projects part of the So and helping out at the organic greenhouse. She also participated in a variety of local activities. When she joined the community once more in 2015 as a researcher, she pursued participant observations and interviews to complement and re-orient the conclusions drawn from the first visit. Ethnography implies immersion in the daily lives of people belonging to a culture-sharing group (Wolcott, 2008). It was crucial for the researcher to sustain and maximize contact with volunteers, visitors, students and community members alike throughout her fieldwork to ensure the validity of the data collected. Creswell (2013) notes the qualitative validation process implies prolonged engagement and persistent observation in the field in order to build an informed picture of the situation. The success of ethnomethodologies such as participant observation rest in the researcher's ability to foster positive social relations with the study subjects (Frohlick & Harrison, 2008). As Hammersley (2014) explains, membership and the researcher status are akin to complements, rather than contradictions during the data collection process when the researcher is immersed in his or her study context. Hammersley’s (2014) own research was, she described: “based on a sense of mutual understanding and shared confidence between the researcher and research participant” (p.861). Many ethnographic researchers include the practice of listening in their active engagement, meaning that conversation is as important as observation throughout the immersion process (Forsey, 2010; Hockey, 2002). The main author gathered most data through onsite informal conversational interviews during daily activities where she approached volunteers, visitors, students and community members alike in their context of experience (i.e., their workplace, social spaces such as the lunch hall, and community events) when it seemed appropriate. Belsky (2004) writes that onsite informal conversational interviews lead toward a greater
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appreciation of the subject's perspective. The close contact moreover facilitated the validation process as regular member-checking could be done informally throughout fieldwork. Member checking implies soliciting the participants for their view on the credibility of the researcher's interpretations and findings (Creswell, 2013). lheimar 4.1. Focused ethnography at So The main author participated in the same activities as the volunteers, including volunteering, for the sake of observations. Observations of the volunteers at their work places were done by spending 3 working days in total helping at the bakery and 4 working days in total helping at the greenhouse. Observations of volunteers at the educational center were done sporadically during working hours since the main researcher had office space there. Observations of the volunteers in communal spaces were done on a daily basis at the morning meetings, lunch hall and during social activities on the evenings and week-ends. The main author also shared accommodation with the volunteers. This made it easy to approach with questions and observe the 15 guests who volunteered in the community throughout the fieldwork. Volunteers were notified of the main author's role as a researcher. The main author also gained access to 8 reports where previous volunteers had reflected on their experience. She also revisited her own final internship report prepared after her initial visit in 2010. At the time of fieldwork in 2015, there were also 10 students from the American study program whom the main author encountered informally through the same activities as the volunteers. She also observed them by following them on one fieldtrip to Reykjavik and attending 3 of their regular lectures. She formally interviewed the two coordinators of the American study program to get their impressions on the management of their study program lheimar. She studied the other visitors who came sporadically at So lheimar during her fieldwork through covert observathrough So tions and informal conversations in communal areas. The main author relied on formal interviews with five key individuals in the community who had close involvement or contact with volunteers, students and guests. These interviews were done to avoid researcher bias that could stem from spending more time with the volunteers. This was especially needed since the main researcher had more affinity with volunteers, being their age and an outsider like them. These interviews were done in English as the main author does not speak Icelandic. Most Icelanders are highly proficient in the language, and so it did not pose any major issue. She interviewed the two coordinators of the educational center who deal with the volunteers by managing the selection process, welcoming them, and seeing to their integration. It is also part of the coordinators' duty to manage the center, the local guesthouses and offer guided tours of the village, which involves them further in the management of visitors. The main author got office space at the center, which placed her in close contact to these coordinators’ daily managerial tasks and enabled her to also conduct many onsite informal conversational interviews with them during fieldwork. It was important to interview the managers of the organic greenhouse and tree nursery as these individuals get the biggest share of volunteers, students and guests who come to the village for volunteering. She also interviewed the manager of the wood workshop to get more depth in the perspective of community members involved with creative workshops (though most creative workshops do not work with volunteers and those that do accept very few). lheimar community included in The other members of the So this study were approached through repeated casual on-site conversations and contextual observations. Participants were notified of the main author's role as a researcher during conversations.
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These individuals were: the disabled residents, the music teacher, the social coordinator, the manager of the bakery, support staff for the disabled residents, the manager of the local store, different employees at the businesses and the other managers of the creative workshops. Observations of the community members at their work places were done while helping as a volunteer, as described earlier. All the creative workshops were observed through 3 informal visits lasting on average 20 min. The greenhouse and the tree nursery were also observed 3 times, each through informal visitation of about 20 min. Observations of the community members were also done regularly in communal spaces. Conversations and observation with volunteers revolved around lheimar, their background, what they their purpose of coming to So liked and disliked about their experience, and their overall impressions and the lessons they were learning as they integrated with the community. With the members of the community, discussions and observations related to how it was to host and work with volunteers, what kind of people they preferred, examples of successful projects and also the challenges of hosting and working with volunteers. Throughout the fieldwork the main author noted all the information from her formal interviews, conversational onsite interviews and daily observations as field notes in a diary. This process was done to ensure the collection of detailed data in order to enhance the reliability of the study (Creswell, 2013). All participants in this research were given pseudonyms. The interviews were not recorded as they often took place in busy common areas (e.g., coffee house or lunch hall) and workplaces (e.g., the greenhouse and the educational center) where there was a lot of noise and disturbances from the surroundings. This prevented the usage and analysis of extensive quotes, but it placed the interview participants in their realm of involvement preventing the development of an overwhelming uneven relation between researcher and respondent, and it allowed for the observation of contextual interactions (Anderson, 2004; Anderson & Jones, 2009). The data was analyzed to form a description of the themes that characterize the lheimar in terms of alternative tourism. managerial dynamics at So The different data were triangulated to generate corroborating evidence to validate the relevance of these themes (Creswell, 2013). To further confirm the validity of the conclusions, two volunteers and one of the coordinators of the educational center were used for member-checking. 5. Findings Those behind the management of volunteers, students and lheimar often find it hard to grasp the full benefits of guests at So hosting these individuals. The economic value these visitors help generate is clear, but because of a shortage of human resources and strategic knowledge of how to handle volunteer experiences within the community, it is at times challenging for the latter to adequately address its environmental and social-equity goals through alternative tourism. The founding goals of selfdevelopment and therapeutic lifestyles cherished by Sesselja have been mostly replaced by objectives of economic subsistence at the workshops and businesses around the village, highlighting the pervasiveness of the market system at all managerial levels outlined by scholars such as Lane (2009) and Sharpley (2009). The classroom and hands-on experiences the educational center promotes, the accommodation and food it provides and the setting it offers to the groups that use its facilities need to appeal to clients in order for it to generate revenue from customer service. While these activities might be packaged as alternative experiences by the ecovillage, these are ultimately aimed at increasing profit (Weaver, 2013). The presence of volunteering guests is easily justified to accommodate economic goals.
As Mostafanezhad (2016) explains, idealist spaces also have concerns over their economic sustainability as they are forced to function within the capitalist system. Through its commercial enlheimar diffuses a brand to its visitors based in the deavors, So organic and socially responsibility in a way that generates revenue. This is not an alternate plan for fostering the subsistence of a community outside of the current economic system. The impera lheimar is rather defined, in tive to run viable businesses at So Weaver’s (2007) terms, in parallel to responsibly navigating norms and structures of the capitalist system, in this case by producing ethically correct products and staging alternative experiences. As we highlight, this challenge has repercussions on the interactions of the community members with the volunteering guests at lheimar, and therefore affects the management of the later in two So ways: firstly by blurring the line between their comfort and their contribution, and secondly by requiring the management of their productivity and creativity. These challenges are presented as practicalities that must be addressed to ensure alternative tourism, in this case volunteer tourism, can be used to generate a sustainable form of tourism at the community-level. 5.1. Reconciling comfort with contribution As Vigdis and Gunnar, the coordinators of the educational center explained, there are many volunteers who apply to come to lheimar now that the internship program and many other partSo nerships are well established. Many are even refused through the selection process. The coordinators and the managers of the different workplaces are interested in people with appropriate backgrounds for the required tasks, but also in those who wish to learn from the community while sharing their skills and knowledge. Guests are invited to interact with the disabled residents in order to contribute to the latter's well-being. Volunteers and guests have been observed to bring significant value to the daily lives of many of these residents. For instance, the disabled community members often sought hugs from them, especially at the morning meeting, and approached them for small-talk and laughter during the day. Nonetheless, as the village seeks to accommodate more guests, students and volunteers for both economic and idealist reasons, the management of these individuals within the village becomes more difficult. The alternative experience implies exchanges between host and guest centered on meaningful cultural encounters and mutual learning (MacIntosh & Zahra, 2007; Zahra & McGehee, 2013), but these experiences at times require a certain level of managerial structuration to become positive for both the community and the volunteers. Involving volunteering groups and individuals in the pursuit of the community's sustainable development can be tricky as these volunteers might have particular reasons for embarking on a volunteer experience that does not necessarily coincide with the managerial plan devised by their coordinators to enable them to contribute. As efforts are made to reconcile the needs and desires of volunteers with a plan for action, the situation then resembles the recurring issue identified by critical scholars of volunteer tourism where the volunteer's experience becomes more important than the community's goals (Guttentag, 2009; Mostafanezhad, 2014; Palacios, 2010). Such a difficulty arises, for instance, when volunteering-guests wish to experience different workplaces during their stay. The main author observed volunteers arguing with staff and coordinators about temporarily changing workplace, disregarding that their original workplace might need them that day or that the desired place might not need, nor wish, to have extra or unexperienced workforce. Some volunteers insisted that they deserved this experience because they did not only come to lheimar to provide cheap labor. The baker was particularly So
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overwhelmed one day when too many volunteers wanted to spend the day at the bakery, though she only needed the help of one or two individuals. This concern was mostly disregarded by these volunteers. At the greenhouse, tree-nursery, bakery and the creative workshops, the focus of the volunteers' work is mostly on producing goods by picking, packaging, reproducing and labeling. Ultimately, the volunteers are generally hired and managed to cut lheimar to become economically suslabor costs in order for So tainable. The management of the village is thus not always compatible with the desires of those who wish to learn from it. Gunnar, expressed discontent with volunteers too focused on projects they designed themselves for their own interest or their requests to change workplaces for fun, instead of focusing on the community's goals. During the main author's internship, for instance, two interns did not want to help carpenters build the new roof of the volunteer accommodation because they preferred to work on their own projects. Reconciling alternative goals in the physical world and within the capitalist system is part of the reality of the eco-village, and the volunteers should learn this through some form of forum to critically think of their experience and their lheimar's coordination of its volunrole within the community. So teers mostly lacked the structure for transformative learning, which authors such as Coghlan and Gooch (2011), Mostafanezhad (2014) and Hammersley (2014) propose in volunteer tourism. Transformative learning implies that sending organizations arrange briefing sessions and critical discussions before, during and after the volunteer holiday to ensure the volunteers learn from their experience, and even become better citizens upon return. This is done so that volunteering can be more than an experience of selfgrowth and exotic adventures. Without an educational component of some sort, the activity becomes as Deville et al. (2016) and Weaver (2013) predict: highly comparable to any other standardized form of tourism with an economic concern over the comfort and experience of its guests. This outlines how the learning component of alternative tourism does not come automatically, and might require more than instructions to foster the changes desired by community-members. lheimar receive an introAll the volunteers who come to So ductory session from the coordinators of the educational center or from other volunteers to learn about the history and organization of the community. There are sometimes meetings with the coordinators during the stay of the volunteers, but these appear to mostly center on the quality of the volunteer experience. With the increased number of volunteers and other guests at the village, their stays not all being synchronized and the workload of the coordinators increasing, their conversations with them become more about how to improve their management (i.e., resolving interpersonal conflicts amongst volunteers, convincing them to clean their accommodation regularly, making sure they were happy, etc.) than about their contribution and learning experience. When the main author was an intern, her group of six sat down during the last week of volunteering and discussed thoroughly together the lessons learnt in the community. When she returned to undertake her research this meeting had become more of a farewell session, attesting to the less alternative and more mainstream nature of the host and guest interactions due to the increased pressure on the local carrying-capacity. lheimar's administrative body can work towards susWhile So tainable goals at the community-level, it can only do so within the limit of its wider context. For instance, while the guesthouses and local products of the village are certified ecological through various eco-labelling mechanisms, there is no public transport serving lheimar from the nearest town 10 km away. This means that So guests come by car or through tours, or that the village must arrange their transportation. Overall, this is not very effective and
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requires, as Hall (2010) outlines about sustainable tourism, the support of macro-policy. The difficulties caused by the village's wider context complicate the host's relation with its volunteers. Volunteers have complained over, for example: the inefficient treatment of wastewater and the food wasted at the dining hall. For lheimar does not fit their preconceived ideal of an some guests, So eco-village. The community, by contrast, feels misunderstood as it tries to solve these issues within its context of dependence on subsidies, location in a remote part of Iceland, and shift from charitable community to eco-village. The lack of sustainable planning beyond the local level does not only exacerbate local logistics (i.e., the transportation of guests, sorting the extra waste, etc.). It also leads to a need to develop strategies for effective communication between host and guests over issues of comfort and participation that affect the local social and environmental context. 5.2. Managing productive and creative volunteers lheimar's mission might be distorted by economic incentives, So but the community was founded on social and environmental goals after all, making it important for its members to foster and diffuse these values through sharing best-practices and providing educational experiences to those interested. Contributing to the community through projects is part of the hands-on education the coordinators of the educational center offer to groups who wish to lheimar as an educational venue. The students on the use So American study program, for instance, get university credits for this type of community service. The coordinators of the American study program enumerated, during their interview, various projects that lheimar. Some their previous students carried out successfully at So students designed and implemented a worm compost at the greenhouse and others made a Google document to help the coordinators sort computer files. In the early years of the program, there was frustration amongst the students as they were given projects that were too big for their time frame. Now, this situation is managed better as these students get smaller more practical projects they can complete within their stay. Guests are welcomed to contribute with their own projects they feel could benefit the community. Examples of volunteer and intern projects include: the design of an aquaponics system at the greenhouse, the identification of providers of compostable plastic for packaging at the greenhouse, and the arrangement of gardening trays for the disabled residents to grow flowers. Volunteers, stulheimar as dents and other guests are thus assets to the goals of So they seek to develop their own competence. Through the goals of social exchange and education, volunteering guests channel their agency into projects or solve simple issues for the good of the community, generating exchanges between host and guest centered on mutual exchange, rather than a consumer culture (MacIntosh & Zahra, 2007; Zahra & McGehee, 2013). lheimar administration and educational center do not The So have unlimited funds to hire professionals to work on every aspect of the village's sustainability. It is thus a suitable compromise to give projects to young adults with degrees in related backgrounds as part of a volunteering experience. Marketing, engineering, planning, graphic design and architecture are examples of fields in which the coordinators of the educational center do not have enough competence themselves or time to manage effectively, relying largely on their interns and students to take on such projects. Lena, for instance, worked on a project, which consisted of gathering information about a patented waste water management system called the “living machine” in order to write a proposal that would convince subsidiaries to grant the village the money to build itself this system. Gunnar seemed especially nervous about the quality of the report as he lectured Lena on how to structure it
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repeatedly, even suggesting the main author have a look at it to ensure its language quality since Lena was not a native English speaker. That a volunteer, though educated in sustainability, is given such a complex project, where a lot is on the line, highlights the difficult position in which the village finds itself. Mostafanezhad (2014) explains that volunteering often hides dysfunctions at the national and global level where, instead of restructuring their economies, governing bodies let nongovernmental organization depend on charitable work and public donations to handle their social and environmental issues. Using the help of volunteers is often a solution to such shortcomings, but then these guests need to be coordinated and monitored to ensure desired outcomes. The coordinators of the center find themselves managing volunteers and their projects, rather than overseeing the improvement of local sustainability by dealing with professionals. To work at the different businesses and workshops, students and other volunteering guests will get training to learn how to do the tasks at stake. However, there are tasks around the village that require more competence than some volunteers, interns, visitors or students might have upon their arrival. Guttentag (2009) argues that the selection of volunteers lacking appropriate competence is a common criticism made against volunteer tourism organization. The increase of volunteer workforce might be good economically, but these individuals must be managed once they sojourn at lheimar in order to become beneficial to the community. It is not So always easy for the managerial staff to oversee this type of administration as they seek themselves to be productive community members. Vigdis explained that there were so many things to do at the educational center, yet it is hard for her to delegate tasks to volunteers when she knows she can do it better and faster than them with her experience and knowledge as a local and Icelander. Solveig, a workshop leader, argued that it was tedious to be “told what to do” by volunteers at her workshop. Volunteers who do not grasp the context at stake can sometimes propose ideas that she knows will not function. This type of resentment has led some workshop leaders to substantially limit or even refuse having volunteers at their workshops. Local managers were interpreted as trying to accommodate the economic growth they sought without any investment in the resources necessary to develop the volunteering guests' ability to participate as creative assets. There is no requirement in anyone's job description to have, or any ongoing attempts to find money to afford, competence in how to manage an alternative tourist experience. Smith (1997) explains that managerial challenges are often disregarded in sustainable tourism theory, though human resources play an important role in informing and guiding the behavior of guests. These shortcomings in human resources at lheimar were at the source of the complications observed beSo tween host and volunteers. Volunteers regularly mentioned the lack of clarity in their task, the unprofessional management of conflict and the lack of communication with their supervisors about what is expected of them as members of the community. There was also discontent amongst the volunteers that rules and the consequences of not following them were not applied consistently amongst the volunteers. The two coordinators of the educational center conceded that they did not know if these complaints were from people who were naturally overly exigent and self-centered, or that some guests came with the wrong goals in mind. Anyhow, when the guests are not managed efficiently because few human resources are dedicated to the oversight of their interactions, creativity and productivity, less focus can be directed at the direct promotion of sustainability.
6. Conclusion lheimar sheds light on the dynamics of managing The case of So alternative tourism at the community-level, where local actors hope to contribute to some aspects of their goals of social and environmental sustainability through tourism within a context that forces them to compromise between ethics and profit (Coghlan & Noakes, 2012; Weaver, 2013). This challenge was shown to have repercussions on the interactions of the community members with their volunteering guests. This occurs because the comfort and learning experience of the guests must be reconciled with their effective participation and contribution to the community. This reconciliation moreover requires the development of strategies for the management of the productivity and creativity of guests that go beyond the assigned tasks of the community members in leadership positions. Ultimately, those behind the management of vollheimar at times find it hard to unteers, students and guests at So appreciate the benefits of hosting these individuals beyond the economic value they help generate because very few human resources and limited strategic knowledge exist within the community to enable it to fulfill its environmental and social-equity goals through tourism. The high cost of training and educating tourists on short stays, moreover as their numbers increase, is one substantial impediment to the promotion of effective alternative tourism in communities lheimar. This reality is important to consider as the such as So growth of alternative forms of tourism into mainstream tourism is a common path in the capitalist system (Cohen, 1972; Scheyvens, 2002b; Wheeller, 1997). Remaining an alternative tourism stakeholder requires practical efforts that must be discussed by researchers beyond notions of keeping operations small, interactive and contextually sensitive. Conceptualizing alternative tourism as an effective tool for community development requires an honest discussion over the challenges of being ethical in the present-day context. This implies, as Lane (2009) and Sharpley (2009) suggest, that tourism scholars should research more deeply the dynamics of the market tourism firms and communities have to deal with. Discussions over sustainability in alternative tourism should address the contexts of complexity, confusion, conflict and reconciliation within which managerial decisions need to be applied effectively. This case highlights that for alternative tourism to become a tool for community development, there needs to be investment in knowledge transmission over practical matters such as conflict resolution during the tourist experience, and critical reflection and cultural communication between host and guest over local matters that go beyond simple instructions. This article's theoretical contribution therefore lies in its conceptualization of alternative tourism as a forum for discussion between host and guest over the complexities of generating sustainable development. In the case of lheimar, it must be considered that the cheap labor is needed to So produce profitable environmentally-friendly goods and produce. Student groups and other paying guests are profitable to the community as they purchase its services and buy its goods during their stay, making marketing and product development essential aspect of the community's sustainability. The presence of volunteers, guests and students in the community improves its social context as they interact with the disabled residents and staff in meaningful ways. However, enabling guests eager to participate in projects that go beyond the economic realm and to maximize their positive interactions as they increase in numbers necessitates a particular string of interactive strategies on behalf of the local managerial body. More qualitative research could bring forward the concerns and difficulties of the communities seeking sustainable development
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through alternative tourism. Reconciling the goals of sustainability does not simply imply advocating local participation and the consideration of the environment. As scholars such as Ruhanen (2008) and Sharpley (2009) explain, overly theoretical and abstract notions of sustainability only lead to confusion and dismissal amongst stakeholders. More contextualization of host and guest interactions would help researchers grasp how human nature plays out in practice within wider contexts of economic and political power, as Wheeller (2012, 2005) outlines. Immersing the researcher in the study context is ultimately proposed as the best way to bring forward these complex dynamics alternative tourism stakeholders face as these are part of the mundane activities that make up their reality. The potential of ethnographic methodologies, which include on-site conversational interviews and participantobservation (Belsky, 2004; Wolcott, 2008), to contribute to the development of sustainable and alternative tourism theory should be explored further as these approaches enable the identification of the social patterns that make up the everydayness of managing sustainability. Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank Jaarko Saarinen and Sandra Wall-Reinius for their insightful comments on this article. References Anderson, J. (2004). Talking whilst walking: A geographical archaeology of knowledge. Area, 36(3), 254e261. Anderson, J., & Jones, K. (2009). The difference that place makes to methodology: Uncovering the ‘lived space’ of young people's spatial practices. Children's Geographies, 7(3), 291e303. Bang, J. M. (2002). The Camphill Network: Reversed integration of the differently abled. In J. Hildur, & L. Svensson (Eds.), Eco-village living: Restoring the earth and her people (p. 82). Devon, UK: Greenbooks. Bang, J. M. (2007). Growing eco-communities: Practical ways to create sustainability. Edinburgh: Floris Books. Belsky, J. (2004). Contributions of qualitative research to understanding the politics of community ecotourism. In J. Phillimore, & L. Goodson (Eds.), Qualitative research in tourism: Ontologies, epistemologies and methodologies (pp. 273e291). London: Routledge. Coghlan, A., & Gooch, M. (2011). Applying a transformative learning framework to volunteer tourism. Journal of Sustainable Tourism, 19(6), 713e728. Coghlan, A., & Noakes, S. (2012). Towards an understanding of the drivers of commercialization in the volunteer tourism sector. Tourism Recreation Research, 37(2), 123e131. Cohen, E. (1972). Toward a sociology of international tourism. Social Research, 39(1), 164e182. Creswell, J. W. (2013). Qualitative inquiry and research design: Choosing among five approaches (3rd ed.). London: Sage Publications. Dawson, J. (2006). Ecovillages: New frontiers for sustainability. White River Junction, VT: Chelsea Green Publishing Company. Deville, A., Wearing, S., & McDonald, M. (2016). Tourism and willing workers on organic farms: A collision of two spaces in sustainable agriculture. Journal of Cleaner Production, 111, 421e429. Dryzek, J. S. (1997). The politics of the Earth: Environment discourses. New-York: Oxford University Press. Forsey, M. G. (2010). Ethnography as participant listening. Ethnography, 11(4), 558e572. Frohlick, S., & Harrison, J. (2008). Engaging ethnography in tourist research: An introduction. Tourist Studies, 8(1), 5e18. Guttentag, D. A. (2009). The possible negative impacts of volunteer tourism. International journal of tourism research, 11, 537e551. Hall, C. M. (2010). Changing paradigms and global change: From sustainable to steady-state tourism. Tourism Recreation Research, 35(2), 131e143. Hammersley, L. A. (2014). Volunteer tourism: Building effective relationships of understanding. Journal of Sustainable Tourism, 22(6), 855e873. Higgins-Desbiolles, F. (2008). Justice tourism and alternative globalisation. Journal of Sustainable Tourism, 16(3), 345e364. Hockey, J. (2002). Interviews as ethnography? Disembodied social interaction in Britain. In N. Rapport (Ed.), British Subjects: An anthropology of Britain (pp. 209e222). Oxford: Berg. Jackson, R. (2004). The ecovillage movement. Permaculture Magazine, 40, 25e30. Kirby, A. (2003). Redefining social and environmental relations at the ecovillage at Ithaca: A case study. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 23, 323e332. Knoblauch, H. (2005). Focused ethnography. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung/
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ne Prince Sole ne is a PhD student at Mid-Sweden UniSole versity in the Department of Tourism Studies and Human Geography. She is researching the complexities and tensions found in alternative tourism within rural and idealist spaces. Her doctoral research has taken her to Iceland and Denmark, and touches upon subjects related to volunteer tourism, rural tourism and non-representational landscape theory. She holds a master's degree of science in sustainable development from Uppsala University.
Dimitri Ioannides Dimitri Ioannides is Professor of Human Geography in the Department of Tourism Studies and Human Geography at Mid-Sweden University. He is also Senior Fellow at Missouri State University where he taught for many years and held the rank of professor. He holds a PhD in Urban Planning and Policy Development from Rutgers University. In the past he has also worked on a part-time basis for the Center for Regional and Tourism Research on Bornholm, Denmark. His research interests include, among others, tourism and sustainable development, the equity dimension of sustainability, and particular the rights of low-level workers in the tourism sector. He has published a number of articles and book chapters relating to the economic geography of tourism. Together with Dallen Timothy he is author of Tourism in the USA: A Spatial and Social Synthesis (Routledge). Currently he serves as Series editor for New Directions in Tourism Analysis (Routledge).
