On My Shelf: The Search for the Codex Cardona (Review)

Part journal and part novel, The Search for the Codex Cardona is a tale of dogged persistence, forgeries, and the depths of the antiquities trade. 

Encounters With Hostility

As an anthropologist, my interest is people. Some may even say that my business is people. And truly, I want to talk to others (most of the time), and have them explain their world to me. I want to see things as they see them. Unfortunately, it's not quite as simple as walking up to someone and saying, "Hello, my name is Krystal. I'm an anthropologist. I see you're eating an orange. I don't like oranges. Why do you?"

At least not all of the time. Interactions are dynamic. Any number of factors can color the situation—the social context, the person's mood, your clothing, etc. can all alter the interaction and the person's willingness to relate to you. Any number of things can put someone off. My earliest forays into fieldwork were frustrating until I accepted that while you can do everything in your power to make an encounter or interview go smoothly, it can still go wrong. There are just too many factors beyond your control. If your informant has a stomach ache, she may be shorter with you than she might otherwise be, causing you to think that she is unhappy or uncomfortable with you and the situation. Think about how this could color your relationship: She may in fact be embarrassed at how she is treating you, but unable to correct it, and you, the anthropologist, thinking you have offended her in some way, may leave her out of the ethnographic record for fear of imposing on her.

Things can and will go wrong. I thought at this point in my life I had truly accepted this lesson, and then I started writing this blog and had an encounter that showed me that this is a lesson we can learn over and over again.

My earliest forays into fieldwork had me working with a adult immigrants of West Indian descent I quickly learned to say I was a student collecting information or a researcher. I was never anything as fancy as an "anthropologist"—primarily because none of my would-be informants knew what that meant. They were convinced that I was in league with immigration officials and would have them deported. Interviews would be canceled when I called to confirm the appointment after informants had time to think about the meeting. I could feel the tension on their end just as they could likely feel my discomfort. Some would be hostile if I bumped into them on the street, keeping their responses to my greetings curt or avoiding me entirely. What could I possibly want to talk to any of them for? I was an American-educated girl who spoke with no trace of her native accent. I couldn't be there to help them, or even harmless for that matter. I survived the process though, and I did it by simply getting over it. I learned to see myself through the eyes of my "other" and how to break the ice gradually, how to restrain my energy and how to wait. Essentially, working with this group helped me build up a pretty extensive toolbox of disarming techniques that I have relied on time and time again to get different people to talk to me—until that it, I crossed paths with her.

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I use photos in my posts to help place my reader in the context of my words. You can't be there, unfortunately, readers, so I try and help you see what I have seen. Maybe you'll have a different analysis—which would be exciting! In any case, I'm careful in my photo-taking though I don't ask permission unless it's a sensitive issue. And I try and leave identifying characteristics, such as addresses, names, etc. out of the photo. If I'm caught in the act of photographing a subject, I always introduce myself and talk a little about the work I'm doing. (E.g., "You have a great bag! I'm looking at the different types of bags people are using to transport items for a piece I'm writing for my blog.") And for the most part, people open up. Some want to know more. Some just want to know what I'm doing. And some could care less once they know I'm harmless, and we part ways without causing too much stress to each other.

A few weeks ago, I went to take some pictures of a street near my home at dusk for this blog. I walked about 20 feet from my driveway to a T-intersection and began to take some shots. I was standing in the street, probably 3 feet from the curb trying to get the last glimmers of sunlight through some impressive trees. Presently, a woman emerged from one of the houses midway up the block, and got into her car. She sat there, and I continued to take photos. She was not in my shot, and even if she was there was no way you could see her in her car from where I was positioned.

Suddenly, the car's lights came on and the engine roared to life. The car sped to my location, causing my to beat a hasty retreat back to the sidewalk. The car and driver stopped suddenly at the spot where I had been standing. She looked at me. I waved. Though we don't know each other personally, this woman is my neighbor. She lives up the block from me—surely she has seen me before just as I have seen her. She didn't wave back. Instead she growled, "What are you doing?" Still friendly and upbeat, I said "Well, I'm a writer. I'm just trying to get some shots of the street for my blog." For whatever reason, I think she chose not to hear me. "Why don't you go take your pictures somewhere else?" "I'm taking a picture of this tree. It isn't anywhere near you or your home." "I wonder what the police would think if I called them and told them about your little photo shoot," she continued. At this point, I was a little shocked. This was my block, and as far as I was concerned I had a right to take photos there. I was not however going to point out my house to someone who was clearly being hostile. I was livid. I had done nothing wrong, but I held on to my composure and tried to channel everything I had learned from my initial attempts at fieldwork. Thinking that she thought she was the subject of the photographs, I tried an apology. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you," I said, trying to dispel her hostility. "I'm taking pictures of the street. You aren't in any of them." I tried my explanation again.

"Apology not accepted!" she snapped and gunned her engine. I stepped off the curb back onto the street, now convinced that this was woman was not going to bully me. "It's not a crime," I said, "to take photos of my street." "Yeah, well we'll see what the police have to say!" "So call them! I've done nothing wrong. I'll wait right here." At that point she put the car in reverse and backed up to her house with a fair amount of speed. I refused to leave the scene. I continued to take photos even though the shot had long disappeared. When I finally returned to the house, I was furious. S suggested that I should have pointed out our house as it might have calmed her down. I felt that she had already decided not to hear me, so that it wouldn't have made a difference—and I don't think I wanted her knowing where I lived anyway.

I don't know this woman personally. Perhaps I should have apologized and put the camera away. I think I expected more from her—as both a neighbor and as a resident of the community, which reveals something of my own bias, I know. In this instance, my tools failed me—reminding me that my toolbox is not concrete. But it also confirmed my ability to see myself in the eyes of my "other" because believe it or not, I can understand her: A perceived stranger standing on the street in pajamas near dusk is weird! I get it. We're all worried about anything out of the ordinary. The problem is that this anxiety clouds people ability to hear. If she had been anything but bent on being angry and telling me to get off of her street, she would have seen me what I was: a young woman who has walked by her home on many a summer night, in her pajamas, trying to take pictures of a row of trees. In her mind, she was probably doing her block a favor, but it still left me angry.

I've played this scenario over in my mind a few times, trying to understand what caused her reaction: What was it in my manner that put her off? Was it the fact that I was in my pajamas? Was it the color of my skin? Was it my glasses? Does she have contempt for writers? Has she never heard of a blog? Why didn't she recognize me?

But I also have questions for myself: Why did I expect her not to care that I was taking photos? Why did I instinctively identify myself as a writer to her? Why did I expect her to recognize me? And why didn't I hold on to that lesson: things can and will go wrong when interacting with others?

I wanted to share this story to show that ethnographic work isn't predefined.The social context colors all of our interactions and it's not something that can be easily read. She could have been having a bad day, perhaps her home had been recently broken into, or it could have been something darker that any of these explanations. I haven't seen her since in person though I have seen her driving by in her car from time to time. I was tempted to follow-up with her, but thought it best to let it go. I am interested in hearing your take on this encounter—as well as any of your own difficult encounters with your "others." What particular techniques do you have in your toolbox? Share below.

Buskers Help Spread Cheer

Following my recent post on street performers, also known as buskers as I recently discovered, I've been noticing them everywhere. Their proliferation is probably due in part to the charity of the holiday season—I wonder what their tips have looked like this year.

In any case, this group at Penn Station was really groovin'. The brass players had a number of passersby tapping their feet and bobbing their heads. And one of the band members kept breaking into an impromptu dance. The diversity of the group was also noteworthy—the musical language crosses all divides it seems. I just had to stop for a second and capture them for you all. Hope you're picking up good vibes from this group via the network effect.

Happy Holidays!

[Image Above: Buskers at Penn Station. Center horn player in the midst of his dance.]

[Image Above: The horns get fired up.]

Sleepers, Squeezers, Lurkers, and More: Interacting With Subway Riders in Their Natural Habitat

In a city that values personal space, we sure spend a lot of time in close contact with one another, particularly on mass transit. I personally will only board a packed subway car if I am running late and have to get somewhere immediately, otherwise, I'm perfectly content to scope out the platform, note where the doors open, and wait for the next train (this behavior makes me a camper, as we will discuss shortly)—if I have learned anything traveling via mass transit, it's that there is always another train.

Perhaps believing that my commuting strategy had lulled me into false beliefs about the success of my commuting strategies, the subway gods decided to remind me of the value of personal space recently. The 2/3 subway lines were down, which meant that I—as well as hundreds of other people who normally take those lines—was forced to find alternate routes. Having resigned myself to missing my regular LIRR train, I opted to follow my rule of letting the crowd go before me. And as usual, it worked. (Or seemed to.) A train came, and everyone piled in—they would have ridden between the cars if the practice hadn't been outlawed. Just to be safe, I let another train roll through the station. It was moderately full, but boardable, but I was already off schedule at this point, so I figured I might as well wait for a more comfortable experience. Not too long after, surely enough, a quick peek down the tunnel revealed the dim glow of the headlights of an oncoming train.[Image Left: Looking for the train down the tunnel. The dim glow of headlights mean it won't be too much longer.]

The train arrived and it was virtually empty, so I boarded and stood by the door because I only needed to go three stops or so. Well, what I hadn't banked on was how crowded the trains must have been when they got to the stops after the station where I boarded. So if the trains had been merely crowded by my judgment at my station, they were virtually unboardable by the time they got to subsequent stations, which meant that people had no choice but to wait—until the train I was on arrived, and they flooded the car. I'm a petite person, so I quickly found myself pressed against the glass. Sideways. Under someone's armpit. Yeah. I had a pang of claustrophobia and had to remind myself that I would be getting off soon. I closed my eyes and breathed (though not too deeply) and tried to subtly adjust myself into a slightly more comfortable position. For those of you who don't live in an area where mass transit can get this chaotic, to help you fully appreciate this experience, I've included the following Seinfeld clip where Elaine Benes gets stuck on a train on her way to a wedding:

Despite leaving a facial imprint on the glass door, I could understand why the train was crowded—service interruptions and delays aren't fun for anyone. I doubt anyone on the trains that afternoon had an enjoyable ride. But what about when personal space is invaded when there is no reason for it?

Last week, while having dinner with my good friend James, we got to swapping commuter stories. We were talking about large backpacks, and prime spots on the train (he prefers to stand by the door instead of taking a seat—consequently, I have categorized him as a door dweller), when the conversation turned to people who seem oblivious to others around them—the ones bump you with their backpacks, blast their iPods, occupy multiple seats, etc. On his way to meet me for dinner, James fell victim to a close-stander. Surely you've heard of close-talkers (which, interestingly, is another Seinfeld phenomenon)? Well, close-standers are oblivious to personal space boundaries. They will stand inches away, their hair in your face, knocking your book or personal device out of your hand, and they do this without any need for it, and without seeming to know they are doing it. Close-standers do this when there is more than ample space on the train to accommodate everyone. Perhaps they are used to traveling only during rush hour when close-standing is mandatory; perhaps the trains and buses they ride are always crowded; perhaps this is their way of getting human contact—no one really knows, but close-standers sometimes create uncomfortable situations for those around them. [Image Right: A door dweller stakes his claim. He could also be a packer, but his manuevering to remain in the door caused me to classify him as specified.]

Before we go on, it might bear discussing the different categories that subway riders can be grouped into. All sorts of characters ride the subway and, like any good cast, they know their parts well:

• Campers. Commuters who know where to stand so that the doors open in front of them, enabling them to board the train firs,t are campers. They get very annoyed when non-campers, or lurkers, try to push past them and board before them. There is definitely something obsessive about campers, but they are relatively harmless. If they do get bypassed somehow, they may be annoyed, but they follow the crowd—or re-position themselves and wait for another train. [Image Right: Campers board a train during morning rush hour.]
  

• Close-standers. People who stand "thisclose" to you despite the fact that it is not crowded and everyone can be afforded some personal space. It is believed that close-standers are oblivious to their needless violation of personal space. If space permits, you can try moving away from a close-stander, but you do want to be aware that close-standing could mask sexual harassment, which has also been on the rise on mass transit (more on this later).
  

• Door dwellers. These are travelers who prefer to stand—in the doorway. They don't rush for seats, but strategically place themselves in the doorway, which is considered prime real estate on mass transit systems, to minimize having to shuffle around the subway car to accommodate the ebb and flow of passengers. Door dwellers usually also know which side of the car to stand on to minimize having to move out of the way to permit people to exit and board the train. They will grow extremely irritated if a new boarder tries to usurp their position and they have also been known not to step aside to let people on or off the train for this reason. Do not attempt to secure the door position if a door dweller is already in place, but assert your right to move past him or her.

• Lurkers. These are people who try to bypass the efforts of campers and door dwellers. They want the positions these people have managed to secure, but lack the resources and abilities to claim them on their own, so they wait for opportune moments when they can sidle by. They will wait for the last minute before boarding the train in an effort to oust the door dwellers. They also try to come in from the side to bypass campers. Lurkers are very good at what they do. However, they do tend to be older travelers, so perhaps it's a travel strategy: if older travelers don't plot in this way, they may get shuffled out of the way. If you think a lurker is making a move that will result in your comfort and hard work being compromised, stand your ground. They don't like to make eye contact, so looking at one squarely in the eyes is often enough to deter their behavior.
  

• Packers. People carry large bulky items with them. In all fairness, though, packers need to be distinguished from folks for whom the subway is their main method of transportation and who really have no other option for transporting bulky items. The term packer is therefore reserved for those people with super large backpacks they refuse to take off when they board the train. If you encounter a packer, you would be best advised to practice defensive maneuvers. I have been hit by a large backpack, and it's quite a weapon. Recently, I witnessed a packer on the train whose backpack was easily 50 pounds or so. In turning around, she easily cleared a swath of passengers from her vicinity. They were not happy, and she met their protests with protests of her own.
  

• Pole huggers. The folks don't want to share pole space with you—they don't care if you fall down or into other riders when the train stops suddenly because you had nothing to hold onto. These folks can be identified by their possessive nature toward the pole: They will crook an arm or elbow—sometimes even both arms—around the pole, or lean against it, and effectively block anyone else from using it for support and stability.  Pole huggers will relent as more people crowd around them and reach for the pole. Securing a place at a pole is simply a matter of showing the pole hugger you do not recognize their ownership of the pole. [Image Right: A pole hugger leans on a pole in the center of the car.]
  

• Sleepers. Early morning trains are where you can find the sleeper species, although they have appeared at other times as well, and seem to be straying from their natural habitat as the economy worsens. It's one thing to close your eyes until you get to your destination, another thing to fall so deeply asleep that you head, and soon your entire body, is leaning on a stranger. The best thing to do if you encounter a sleeper is to prop him or her back up. If the sleeper continues to fall on you, you are then entitled to poke or prod the person and inform them that they are sleeping on you. This is New York, however, so be prepared for the person to just stare at you. 

• Sprawlers. Oh yes, the sprawler category. Sprawlers tend to be men, but women can sprawl too. It's not enough that they have a seat, they feel the need to sprawl out so that no one can sit on either side of them. They do seem to prefer end seats, which minimizes their impact. The best way to combat a sprawler is to say "Excuse me" and then take the seat. The sprawler may grumble, but will relinquish inches allowing you to sit. Be advised, however, that the sprawler will continue to sprawl, so it will still be an uncomfortable experience. [Image Right: A spawler prevents anyone from occupying the seat next to him.]
  

• Squeezers. Squeezers will try to fit into a seat when they cannot fit. They do so anyway, and rather than perch on the edge until more room becomes available, they insist on sliding all the way back to sit "properly" in a seat causing people on either side extreme discomfort. There is no known effective way to deal with squeezers—though I suppose you yourself can stand.
  

We could go on listing categories extensively, but I think we have the basics. Now that you have an understanding of the cast of characters, let's return to James' story. The train was relatively empty, and so he was able to claim the preferred domain of door dwellers. When the train pulled into a subsequent station, the doors on the opposite side of where he was standing opened and a woman boarded. She crossed the aisle to stand in front of James with her back to him. And slowly the space between them seemed to diminish. According to James, "she was all up in my business!" As the train rocked back and forth, she bumped him a few times. James didn't confront her, but he was perplexed—with all the space available, it seemed ridiculous that she would crowd him as she did.

So I proposed a few suggestions to James to explain the woman's behavior:

1. She was a door dweller too.The problem with this argument is that there were other doors available, so she could have claimed one as her own.
2. She was attempting to flirt by pressing her rear into him. James nixed this idea because, while was uncomfortably close, she didn't seem to intentionally bump him. Also, James believes that it would have just been a weird way to pick someone up. She never once made eye contact with him—it was as though she didn't know he was there.
   
3. She was a close-stander. We seemed to come to an agreement on this point. James felt her behavior was unwarranted, but she also seemed clueless—classic signs of a close-stander.

Riding the subway is a unique social experience. As mass transit, it is used by people of all cultures and backgrounds, and undoubtedly people have different notions of what are socially acceptable interactions. However, quite a few of the categories above can create uncomfortable situations as you find yourself in close bodily contact with strangers as a result of their actions. An alarming trend that has grown out of this is the rise of sexual harassment on the subways. In close quarters, people are groped, and according to the comments in response to the campaign, been ejaculated on and rubbed up against. One emptier trains, or when riding late at night, riders have reported men exposing themselves. It's clearly a jungle out there. The Holla Back blog provides a forum where people can share their subway harassment stories—be warned if you visit the site that some of the stories are quite explicit. The MTA launched an anti-harassment campaign, but it remains to be seen how effective it has been.

[Image Above: Anti-harassment ad on the subway.]

This particular type of unpleasant subway interaction aside, many of the offenses attributed to these categories seem to stem from a brand of social indifference. People don't care because their interactions with one another are largely minimized by the cushion they carry in the forms of iPods, PDAs, smart phones, and even books and magazines. But many of these categories simply represent commuting strategies. I am certain that campers and door dwellers have been around for some time. Packers may have emerged as a result of current economic times. But it is also true that the norms of social behavior are changing. Of course there are those who simply feel that others should accommodate them. I have observed this with packers and sprawlers and squeezers in particular. The nature of social interactions is changing as a result of new technology and media. It is yet unclear as to how the social order will evolve.

Have a category to add to the list above? Want to share a subway story? Join the discussion below!

The Passing Of Claude Levi-Strauss—The Mytheme Will Live On

This being a blog concerned with anthropology, I would perhaps be remiss not to note the passing of the inimitable French anthropologist, Claude Levi-Strauss. When I posted his obituary on my Facebook page, a friend commented, wondering how many people who saw the headline thought, "Wow, the guy who makes the jeans died." But perhaps that number is less than my skeptical friend and I initially believed. Anyone who has taken an introductory anthropology course has been exposed to Levi-Strauss—as have students in linguistics, sociology, and philosophy. The man had a broad reach.

I won't wax poetic about him, not when there are countless others writing odes (here and here) and tuning lyres, but there is no doubt that he has been immensely influential to my development as an anthropologist. The mytheme—a unit of meaning in a myth, an essence, that remains unchanged and when combined with other such units of meaning reveal the overall message/lesson of the myth itself—has walked every step with me while I explored identities and essences. The concept provides core elements that figure prominently in the ways I have come to think about and understand "society." And perhaps this is only fitting since he is a part of my academic genealogy. As an undergrad, my advisor had us create academic genealogies for prominent anthropologists, listing their teachers, colleagues, and students as well as the institutions where they worked. The purpose of this exercise was to emphasize the trickle of ideas—how we as students become connected to these minds because our professors are connected to them, having been their students or students of students. Levi-Strauss escaped the German invasion of France during WWII and settled in New York to teach at my alma mater, the New School for Social Research, placing him directly in my genealogy.

He was undoubtedly a man of his time, and his writing today may seem archaic and offensive, but I still place him in my genealogy proudly. He recognized that we are shaped by our cultural histories, but retain a sameness that makes us all human. He believed that sameness was rooted in language:

“Language is a form of human reason, which has its internal logic of which man knows nothing.”

As our language is shaped by the growth of digital media, as the ways we think are shaped by digital media, I hope that Levi-Strauss' mythemes will continue to guide me in understanding the effects of these changes, and provide a way to continue to bind us together as humans.

Claude Lévi-Strauss, anthropologist, born November 28, 1908; died October 30, 2009.

Understanding Otherness: 10 Lessons We Can Learn From Tourists

When anthropologists go into the field, they do so to study the "other"—i.e., the people and their culture that is different and distant from the anthropologist's own native history. Globalization has reduced some of the alien nature assigned to the other. Ethnically diverse neighborhoods, like Jackson Heights, reveal a mixing of cultures and traditions that was not possible in the early beginnings of anthropology. Yet the other still encompasses a sense of the foreign.

Entering their fieldwork sites, anthropologists are as much others to the host culture as their ethnographic subjects are others to them. In those early months, while becoming acclimated to the host culture and finding their places in the host society, anthropologists are very much like tourists—although I have to stress that no anthropologist would think of herself in that way. The worst thing one could anthropologically be is a tourist. After all, tourists are largely ignorant of the host society's norms and are transient whereas anthropologists look for acceptance to the host society by adopting the host culture as their own and establishing lifelong ties to the community where they work.

Nonetheless, anthropologists on their earliest field forays tend to stick out sorely. And in truth, it's to be expected to a certain degree—culture shock can be minimized, but not avoided entirely. However brief the period of adjustment, it does place a certain degree of stress on the host culture which is also experiencing a period of adjustment. To explain this point, let's consider tourists in New York City—the ever-present others who walk among us regularly. In New York City, tourists are tolerated. Yes, they bring revenue to the economy, but they also clutter the sidewalks and transportation systems. New Yorkers flow around them, accommodating them with barely concealed expressions of annoyance. The cultural and social stress they generate is real, but ethnographic researchers can learn a great deal from this group. Persons interested in responsible tourism may also find this information worthwhile. (Responsible tourists don't simply consume the host cultures they visit; they are mindful of their potential for social disruption and take steps to minimize interrupting social flow.)

Minimizing this type of transitional stress is integral to successful ethnography. Tourists can teach us much about signals of otherness. Here are 10 identifying markers drawn from observing tourists that can be interpreted as social otherness:

1. They are not dressed for work on a work day. 

As the saying goes, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Nothing makes you stand out more than your mode of dress—which is certainly held as a primary form of self-expression in the United States. Nonetheless, anthropologists looking to establish themselves in their field sites would be well advised that if their hosts wear hats made out of palm leaves, they should do so as well. In fact, the State Department's website actually cautions travelers to certain countries—women in particular—to adopt conservative fashion styles and to research customs and traditions. Of course, tourists are on vacation, and there are many people who don't have a prescribed form of "business" dress, but there is an overall sense of colors and style that infiltrate a region or even a locality. The bottom line is that you should know where you are going—do some research beforehand.

Image: In a "suit" culture, the non-suit tends to stand out.

 

Image: Can you identify the tourists in this photo based on dress?

2. They travel in groups.

There is certainly some truth to safety in numbers, and it's wonderful to share new experiences with people you love and care about, but groups attract attention. It's easier to fold an individual into the social rhythm, than it is for a group to blend in.

Image: Tour group in front of Federal Hall.

3. They prominently carry, display, and use cameras.

Photos provide timeless records—but be mindful of what and whom you are photographing. Don't lose awareness of where you are just to get a photograph.

 

Image: Photo opportunities are everywhere—but don't lose awareness of your surroundings in seeking that perfect shot.

4. They take "unusual" photos.

Of course it's new to you—but "natives" pass it every single day, and they probably take it for granted. And if they do notice it, they really aren't creating artful poses for the camera—unless perhaps they're looking for a new Facebook photo. Again, photos provide a valuable record, so take them! But again, consider the image you are projecting with your camera strapped prominently around your neck. Ethnographers may want to opt for something a bit more discrete.  And don't lose sight of social context. There are plenty of native shutterbugs. If you're trying to blend in, figure out when they come out and time your photographic adventures accordingly. And if you need an unusual shot for your Facebook profile—and it breaks with the ebb and flow of the host culture—do it quickly and without attracting too much attention.

Image: "Artful" picture taking on a street corner.

5. They carry fanny packs/large backpacks.

Okay, so I spent some time talking about the increased presence of large bags on the subways, but this goes back to the first signal—if fanny packs aren't the norm, don't carry them! And unless you're working and living with a nomadic people, there's no need to carry all your belongings with you. Plus large backpacks can make you a target for less savory characters—bottom line: you want to be able to move with the flow of pedestrian traffic easily and comfortably.

Image: Carrying large backpacks all day is surely tiring.

 

Image: Are fanny packs the universal symbol of tourism?

6. They lounge.

In most work environments, people move purposefully. Of course, ethnographers will eventually want to meet people in a relaxed environment when they are more apt to talk, but unless you're in a recreational area, such as a park, or a social meeting place, lounging about signifies that you have no where else to be—and ultimately, that you don't fit into the social milieu.

Image: George Washington's statue is a popular resting spot for tourists.

7. They often look confused.

So you're in a new place on your own, and it's the first time you've ventured out. The sights and sounds are unfamiliar and the language is different. Yes, even the smells are different. This is not home! Don't panic and don't stand around looking lost and confused. Anthropologists—and really anyone looking to settle into an unknown—have to work at fitting in. So do some research before you leave your hotel room or apartment: read maps, check guidebooks, etc. Create a plan for each day that takes you farther away from your comfort zone. Make friends with a "native" if possible until you're comfortable wandering about on your own. If you want to belong, you have to plan to do so.

 

Image: "Where do we go from here?"

8. They openly read guidebooks.

See No. 7.

Image: Leave your trusty guidebook in your apartment.

9. They disrupt the social flow of traffic.

I think this one is the most important. I talked briefly about the stress the other creates for the host. One of the ways this occurs is through the disruption of the social rhythms of the host society. Every society has a flow, a pattern. It's not necessarily something you can learn from books. To fully understand the social flow of a place, you have to witness it, and your body needs to adjust to it. Research is still important—it will give you a sense of what to expect. A good way to acclimate to the social ebb and flow is through observation. In the early days of fieldwork, finding a good "people-watching" spot is key (and you can bring your maps and guidebooks with you for some reading on the side).

Image: Stopping on a street corner to answer a phone call holds up the pedestrian traffic and interrupts the social flow and rhythm.

 

Image: Note what the "natives" do and follow along—take phone calls out of the line of traffic.

10. They ride tour buses while wearing yellow ponchos.

In this age of globalization, every country has a tourism trade. If you don't want to get lumped in with these others, learn what the tourist traps are and avoid them. If the natives aren't doing it, you probably want to avoid it as well—unless, of course, you're studying tourism.

Image: Downtown tour bus.

The general theme that emerges regarding signals of otherness is that there are patterns to every culture and society. Ethnographers don't come into a social setting unarmed. They sometimes spend years preparing before reaching their field sites. Nonetheless, transitions can be difficult. Understanding markers of otherness can be the first step in easing the disruptions a lack of social knowledge can cause.

Do you think there are additional markers of otherness that tourists can reveal?