O U T  H E R E  I N  T H E  R E A L  W O R L D

You Didn’t Have to Be So Nice

by Eva Murray

I was once—maybe twice—accused of dumping on tourists in my columns. One guy who made that observation about me a few years ago might read this paper, and I hope he does, because I mean to reform my ways.

The word “tourist” is sometimes tossed around as an insult up and down this coast, as we know what we mean, and it isn’t pretty. Herewith, notice to all those “tourists,” unfortunately so-called, who defy the cliché and are the good guys: as summer winds down, I would like to gently greet, salute and thank you. You don’t get your due respect because the idiots are hogging all the mind space. The boors and louts and freeloaders and entitled jackasses and spoiled brats and type-A bullies and bad drivers and insufferable know-it-alls and other pains in the communal backside demand all the attention. That’s just not right.

Plenty of people come to Maine from elsewhere, or come to the coast from inland, and do nobody any harm. We forget all about those gentle souls, and you know what? They’re just as aggravated as we are by the clown who is embarrassing everybody by yelling at the 16-year-old waiter for no reason.

Regardless of whatever particular rant I may have inflicted upon the undeserving readership back in the day, and for which I was brought up short, I plead not guilty in a general sense, because on Matinicus we just don’t get that much tourism. We are often spared the worst sort of Ugly American out here just because the spleeniest and whiniest aren’t quite up to the task of getting here. Traveling to this island is just too complicated. The English Channel-type crossing (sans railroad), the Newfoundlandish weather, and the resemblance to Alcatraz when it comes time to leave are realities that weed out many a less-determined visitor.

For those who harbor a soft spot for the Grand Canyon (which itself offers neither harbors nor soft spots) there is the somewhat obvious North Rim analogy. Everybody goes to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon—whether on their way to Vegas, or doing the Route 66 thing, or showing the kids the sights—but very few see the North Rim, certainly equal in beauty. Most South Rim tourists just take a quick peek, utter one of the short list of usual comments, buy some stuff, and get back inside their vehicle. A few do hike, but even most of those enjoy the hotels, the restaurants, and the access to the rest of the world. Not so many folks visit the North Rim of the Canyon, because it is on the way to nothing else. It is hours off the major routes, the road is closed due to deep snow in the winter, and the National Park offers fewer amenities than on the other side. Those who travel to the North Rim go specifically to be on the North Rim; it isn’t an afterthought or a side-trip or a “What the hell, we’ve got a few spare hours…” destination.

Matinicus is like the North Rim among Maine’s islands. You have to want to come specifically here.

So we don’t see a lot of typical obnoxious tourism compared with most of rest of the coast and islands. That doesn’t mean we get none at all, but we have scant right to complain. That having been said, I reserve the right to make fun of a few egregious bad actors and painful stereotypes among the summer visitors, because it is usually our only recourse.

Oh, but I am not talking about those people today.

Those folks who burden others with their thoughtless behavior are—on the coast of Maine as anywhere else—the minority. Most people are reasonably courteous most of the time, which is all anybody can expect (I am not courteous all of the time, and have been reminded of that several times this summer, and am duly chastised.) At any rate, I figure the same people who are pretentious or impolite toward us while they’re on vacation are, in much the same fashion, irritating their co-workers, relatives and neighbors back home the rest of the year. Nobody is only rude when they’re on vacation. People who cut a line, leave their trash for the next customer, or hog two parking or mooring spots would do the same back home.

Aw, here we go again, giving too many column inches to the unreasonable, the pompous, and the high-maintenance. Enough about them.

Here’s to the happy-to-be-here. Here’s to those who manage civility even when road-weary, hot, or slightly seasick—or when they have already experienced the joys of sharing their vacation with some of those imposing folks already mentioned. Here’s to those who bus their own tables in the café, who wait quietly in line without exhibiting the executive forcefulness of Donald Trump, and who stop for pedestrians in crosswalks. Here’s to those who pay for their parking rather than pulling some underhanded maneuver to prove that they are smarter than the rest of us. Here’s to those who say please and thank-you, like they were taught as children, or should have been. Here’s to those who are respectful of the staff—any staff. Here’s to those who use their turn signals. Thank-you.

Here’s to nice people who travel by pleasure boat. Your marina neighbors love you, or they should, because goodness knows there are plenty of marina denizens who are neither friendly nor patient. I must admit that here on Matinicus, where the hard-to-satisfy and the genuinely stuck-up are few and far between (and we call them by name), the rare case of the snooty tourist is, sadly, almost invariably one visiting by sailboat or motor yacht. It just annoys the stuffing out of them that we have no dockside services, no harbormaster, and that the bakery is a long walk uphill from the wharf. Anyway, they think they are “roughing it,” mooring out here for a night among the outlaws, and it will gain them some pirate-island street cred back at the yacht club when they say they go to Matinicus. Bah. To those summer sailors who are easy-going, happy, and humble, I offer a most sincere gratitude. May the folks in the next slip back at your home base boatyard be likewise to you.