George Bush ruined my summer vacation.
He did.
I was all set to go to Baghdad this year, eagerly scanning catalogues in hopes some entrepreneur was already promoting a “Bombs and Bullion” tour of gold toilet seats (Saddam shit here) and bombsites. Or, failing that, I was hopeful that the post-war price wars would plummet the cost of a round trip to Tikrit to an affordable three hundred dollar fare.
Well why not? It’s a foregone conclusion that the Iraqi people won’t profit off of oil. The post-war reconstruction of Iraqi will certainly involve a snarl of clauses calculated to suck up black gold for American corporations in a series of contracts that will make Enron look like a little oopsie. And Abdul the erstwhile Republican Guard is going to have to make a living some way, isn’t he? Exactly.
“Now here we have the three thousand onyx and ivory chess sets that Saddam warehoused against a pawn shortage and the former tyrant’s collection of t-shirts starting with his ‘I love Detroit’ shirt dating back to the early eighties and ending with his ‘I survived Dan Rather’ shirt in an unusual shade of lime green. If you’ll just step this way next . . .”
Well, why not?
Tourists love stuff. And, I’m an unabashed tourist.
The last time I had the traveler versus tourist debate it was with a rather rigid Teutonic Iron Maiden with whom I shared a camel in the Negev. She heartily thumped her copy of The Rough Guide to Hot, Boring Places and complained about tourists cluttering up The Real Places Where Only Travelers Should Go. From this debate I extracted the information that a traveler does not shower often, has contempt for any artifact of any wealthy person, and expresses his or her superior morality by being uncomfortable as often as possible.
Oh yeah, I’m a tourist. I’ll take a free upgrade to first class and a mint on my pillow anytime it’s offered.
And, I love stuff formerly owned by wealthy people.
I can happily while away a day in Windsor Castle, spend an entire afternoon in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, and consider Rome merely the city that surrounds the huge warehouse of papal stuff otherwise known as the Vatican.
It’s not just me. Try getting into Graceland without a lengthy wait in line. Go to Biltmore House on a weekend and catch the cluster of ticket holders. People don’t crowd around the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian because it cures cancer; they want to see it because it is worth a whole heap of money and has a curse attached to it.
Those of us who really like stuff have an teensy tiny bit of resentment that it is not Our Stuff, so we really enjoy Great Stuff that the Wealthy Owners Could Not Enjoy Because They Died In Some Horrible Fashion. That’s what makes Versailles such a kick and the Borgia family frolics haven't hurt the Vatican much either.
Which brings us to Baghdad, a city that until recently had a lot of marketing potential. After we demonized the Hussein regime and painted even Iraqi postmen as collaborators, tourists from all over the globe could guiltlessly enjoy traipsing through Presidential Palaces at $16. 95 (discount tickets three palaces for only $27) a pop. Under the current mandatory patriotism John and Marge from the Midwest would be putty in the hands of a clever travel agent who could seduce them into skipping Branson this year, parking the RV and plunking down thousands for the Iraqi reconstruction tour.
“It’s your patriotic duty to support our troops by seeing what they accomplished. Just think how proud you’ll be when you show pictures of the toppled statue to everyone in your bowling league. Imagine how thrilled your grandchildren will be when they unwrap genuine empty canisters that may or may not have held nerve gas or dish detergent on Christmas morning.” The travelers would come too.
After all a recent war zone ought to have lots of uncomfortable bug-infested mattresses thrown into bunkers where hardcore travelers could sleep communally for forty dollars a night and avoid hot water for weeks at a time. Thousands of unemployed Iraqis would be delighted to lure them into cafes where for the cost of a cup of coffee they could talk to Real People. An energetic post-war Iraqi could doubtless support an entire extended family on commissions from impoverished café owners.
But, alas, this plan to introduce tourism, prosperity, and insure my summer vacation is not to be. Looters have emptied the Iraqi National Museum, destroying display cases, snatching treasures dating to the dawn of civilization in Mesopotamia. US troops have grabbed ashtrays from the Presidential Palaces. While anarchy reigned in place of Saddam our military forces protected the oilfields shrugging and saying, “it’s not my job” regarding the destruction of antiquities and the emptying of Palaces. So much for my trip to Baghdad.
But, at least I’ll be able to get to Graceland with a tankful of cheap gas. God Bless America.