Where's the quaint little village?

RocamadourI am intrigued by McCannell’s concept of “front” and “back” spaces in terms of authenticity. I recently took a trip to the south of France over spring break, or to be more specific to the no-man’s land of fertile farmlands and river valleys between Orléan and Toulouse. Deep in the countryside, in tiny, quaint villages, a small number of people live and work off of the tireless flow of fleeting tourists. People rarely stay more than a few hours, at most a night, before floating on to the next town or region. I found a steep contrast between the vast “front” region of mystical, medieval villages untouched by time except for the vast array of tourist goods, and the miniscule “back” region tucked into living rooms safely hidden from the many prying eyes. I almost felt like I had stepped into a Disney version of a French town, a scene from Beauty and the Beast offered to roaming visitors, everything was meticulously conceived to herd tourists towards the right places, while performing a spectacle of authenticity and charm. Having traveled a decent amount, including several trips to various Disney parks, I was skeptical of the illusion, and curious about the lives of the few people who live in these idyllic places. Thanks to French skills and the fact that we didn’t have a car, and so were often walking from train stations to towns on tiny trails past private houses, empty woods, and trailer parks, I managed to catch a glimpse of what the “back” areas might be like. I had a long conversation with a waiter, born and raised within 10 miles of the restaurant, as the buses had left and we were the only customers. I watched a single woman return from a walk with her dog and enjoy a cup of tea and a book on her porch. I glimpsed into every nook and cranny, every back alley and open kitchen door, looking for a taste of genuine life. And I found it, or bits of it. My favorite town had a population of 120 in the summer, and only 24 in the winter. There aren’t any bakeries or grocery stores in town, so they have to drive at least 20 – 40 minutes to get basic necessities. But they are very proud of the natural beauty that surrounds them, proud that it is worth coming to visit from every corner of the globe, even if they take it for granted on a daily basis. But most of all, I noticed the toll that the language barrier between the performers and the audience takes on the residents of these towns. Any time I spoke French they were so enthused to not have to try to speak English. I found that there was a steep contrast between the simple, measured life that people were trying to live and the bustling, hectic, English-speaking masses that invade the towns on a daily basis. The irony is, that each one of those tourists is looking for the “authentic” experience that their mere presence makes impossible. They want to experience the calm, beautiful life of the deep countryside, but their presence makes these small towns feel more like a commercial shopping mall.