Spiritual Tourism: Travel and Religious Practice in Western Society 9781441150448, 9781472549372, 9781441123084

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Spiritual Tourism

Continuum Advances in Religious Studies Series Editors:James Cox, Peggy Morgan

Continuum Advances in Religious Studies: The Appropriation of Native American Spirituality, Suzanne Owen Conceptions of the Afterlife in Early Civilizations , Gregory Shushan Contemporary Western Ethnography and the Definition of Religion, M. D. Stringer Cultural Blending in Korean Death Rites, Chang-Won Park The Globalization of Hesychasm and the Jesus Prayer, Christopher D. L. Johnson The Innateness of Myth , Ritske Rensma Levinas, Messianism and Parody, Terence Holden A New Paradigm of Spirituality and Religion , MaryCatherine Burgess Reform, Identity and Narratives of Belonging, Arkotong Longkumer Religion and the Discourse on Modernity, Paul François-Tremlett Religion as a Conversation Starter, Ina Merdjanova and Patrice Brodeur Spirit Possession and Trance, Edited by Bettina Schmidt and Lucy Huskinson Theology and Religious Studies in Higher Education , D. L. Bird and Simon G. Smith

Spiritual Tourism Travel and Religious Practice in Western Society

Alex Norman

Continuum International Publishing Group The Tower Building 80 Maiden Lane 11 York Road Suite 704 London SE1 7NX New York NY 10038 www.continuumbooks.com © Alex Norman, 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. EISBN: 978-1-4411-2308-4 Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.

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Contents

Preface Chapter 1:

vii Approaching Spiritual Tourism

Part I: Finding Spiritual Tourism in the Field Chapter 2: Rishikesh: The Spiritual Marketplace Chapter 3: The Camino de Santiago: The Spiritual Workplace Part II: Travel and Religion Chapter 4: A History of the Idea of Travel Chapter 5: Theories of Leisured Travel Chapter 6: Contemporary Forms of Religious Life Part III: Understanding Spiritual Tourism in Context Chapter 7: India in the Mind of the Spiritual Tourist Chapter 8: The Camino de Santiago in the Mind of the Spiritual Tourist Chapter 9: Conclusions: Reading Spiritual Tourism Appendices Bibliography Index

1 27 47 69 91 112 139 160 183 209 213 231

Preface

The research for this book officially began in February 2006, but its origins as a topic of study in my mind are far older. Most of my earliest memories are of travel or movement of one kind or another. From a young age I remember being fascinated by the vastness of the world and all the people in it. By the time I travelled as an adult, now by myself, I came to realize that there was something confronting, existentially, about the process of touring other lands and cultures to one’s own, particularly in areas that were or seemed far away from home. I began to wonder why people spoke of ‘finding themselves’ when they travelled; why travel was seen as something that was good for young men and women to ‘get out of their system’; and as I experienced more and more interactions with other travellers, why people seemed as much to be looking at themselves when they travelled as much as they were looking at the world around them. Sometimes more so. As an Antipodean I think I probably also inherited the all-or-nothing approach to travel many of us have that is driven by the tyrannies of distance and economics. When I travelled, I travelled for long periods, thus my chances for reflection on these phenomena were many. My diaries from those times drip with questions, musings and theories about what it means to travel. Of all the places that drew my attention as a traveller, those of a religious nature attracted me the most and often. Whether it was watching busloads of pensioners wander around Salisbury Cathedral or chatting with backpackers on meditation courses in Bangkok, I had a sense that religious practice, travel, and self examination were a combination well suited to each other both socially and historically. What struck me was the consistency with which the context of religious practice was used by tourists not only as part of the travel experience, but also as a means for self-examination or progression by people who otherwise had apparently nothing to do with the tradition in question. They were secular, out of institutional jurisdiction, and yet some might have been mistaken otherwise. Why this was happening and what elements of the tourists’ lives contributed to it intrigued me. As a born listener I was lucky enough to begin to gather some answers, but I knew that what I wanted was to study these phenomena. Eventually this knowledge led me to the University of Sydney, which I chose for its Department of Studies in Religion. There I found others who shared my interests in religions, and an atmosphere that supported combining that with an investigation of tourism.

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Fieldwork for this project was conducted in 2007 following clearance from the University of Sydney Human Research Ethics Committee. The research was assisted financially by the Royston George Booker Scholarship, the Australian Postgraduate Award (APA), and the University of Sydney Postgraduate Research Support Scheme (PRSS). Informants were interviewed, given questionnaires, and conversed with informally. Some were also contacted later via email or in person for follow-up interviews. This book sees the light of day thanks to the support, encouragement and assistance of many friends, family, colleagues, informants and strangers who helped me on that journey. Such a large and lengthy project inevitably involves the participation of many, from key players involved from beginning to end, to random encounters in cafés with people whose names are forgotten in minutes. Ideas emerge from strange places, help is given in unexpected ways, and sustenance is received from unlikely sources. This strikes me as the nature of the pursuit of knowledge. I certainly hope that is the case, as it makes for an exciting and fascinating experience. To begin, this PhD could never have come to be were it not for the people who contributed themselves and their experiences to its content. There are many of you, hundreds in fact, and I hope you feel this book places you and your stories accurately. That you would share intimately with me, a complete stranger, the soaring highs and devastating lows of your lives as well as the entirety of what lies between staggers me every time I think of it. Your passion for being and becoming better people, both individually and socially will always be an inspiration to me. For your generosity and openness I can only offer my heartfelt thanks. To the various members of the Department of Studies in Religion at the University of Sydney who have come and gone over the years I would like to express my gratitude. It is a department that has not only encouraged me to pursue my subject, but has challenged me to produce my best work and, importantly, to ensure that I strive to make a contribution to the academy. Their patience with me, first as an undergraduate, then as a postgraduate and member of staff has allowed me to find my voice. Similarly, the many students I have had the privilege to be a teacher for have challenged my assumptions and caused me to really think about how we approach the study of religious phenomena. You are also to thank for this work. I would also like to give a shout out to the Confraternity of St James for their advice, support and study space, and to Sideways Café where so many of the ideas found herein were born over cups of coffee and plates of poached eggs, and made comfortable by warm service. My supervision for the project was of inestimable value. For this, Dr Christopher Hartney and Associate Professor Carole Cusack deserve special mentions, and perhaps the gazetting of a new medal in the Australian Honours System for the amount of drafts they had to read. To Chris I would like to express very deep thanks for encouraging me to see the value of my

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own research and what I have to say about it, and for providing many avenues of thought I would not have considered. His irreverence, wisdom and love of knowledge are infectious and have helped carry me through the creation of this work, and in particular have driven me to be more creative than I might have been. To Carole I owe much. Not only has she been an excellent mentor, but many of the ideas in this book were first floated in conversation in the office we share. In particular, her advice on modern conceptions of spirituality has allowed me to approach this topic in a far more nuanced and subtle way than I would otherwise have been able. But there is something more. Just as Simon Pegg’s character, Tim Bisley, in the TV series Spaced points out that the entire plot of the three original Star Wars movies can be attributed to the actions of the gunner on the star destroyer at the beginning of the first film (for not firing on the escape pod containing C-3PO and R2D2), so to can this book be traced to a single email sent by Carole in mid-2005. That email simply suggested I come in for a chat about some research assistance work, and the possibility of starting a PhD. I was sceptical, yet Carole insisted that not only was this a subject worth exploring, but that it was something I was capable of. What has transpired since is thanks to her and that fateful email for which I am so very grateful. The greatest outcome of this project has been my own discovery of my passions in life – the study of travel and religions, and the sharing of that knowledge through the written word and spoken. That is a mighty gift and one I fear I may never be able to pay back. I can only hope to pay it forward. There are also many, many friends who deserve credit here, and without whom I simply would not have made it to this point. So many have showed interest and enthusiasm that has kept me sane. Thanks must go to Lachlan Dewar for being a friend when I needed one and for saving my arse (literally) when I was so ill in Rishikesh. To Simon Theobald and Venetia Robertson, two loyal and indefatigable friends who I had the pleasure of teaching, and who will no doubt go on to great things. To Jessica Lanan for inspiring me with curiosity, art and story telling, and for sharing a love of social intricacy and lemon gingees. To Elisha McIntyre for hugs and for a love of things weird. To Joh Petsche for many breakfasts at which I was able to express many problems. To Kristian Miller-Karlsen for reminding me that strength and honour can be good things, but that they must be earned. To Rob Talbot, who shares a love of light and who reminds me what a thoroughly good person is really like. To Annabel Carr, partly for one depressed day telling me to “cheer the fuck up,” but mostly for being a loyal, loving and dear friend with whom I feel I can share anything. To Milli Howson and Dave Brown for interest and support that goes well beyond the duty of normal friends, and who have never failed to produce a tremendously bad horror film at precisely the moment it is needed. And finally to Chelsea and Ian and Seb Pirodon for being so supportive and caring, for simply being there, and for cooking so well and providing such good wine and company.

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The readers of my various drafts, some of whom have been mentioned above, also deserve thanks. They include Erica Wald of the London School of Economics, David Pecotic (also for his many interesting web-links with which to procrastinate), Nicky Forster, Vicky Thorn and Andrew Wearring at my very own department. Nor can I forget the group of religiophiles at the University of Sydney that make up Mysterium Magnum – our subject-focused student body that is always a source of amusement and insight. I would also like to thank Royston George Booker, a retired army officer, for establishing the scholarship that assisted with my fieldwork costs, which I was awarded in 2007. My family also deserves a special mention for their unfailing support. To Sam, Emma and the kids for looking after us in London, likewise to Maggie and Neil. To Paul for many counselling sessions and for unfailing support. To Ros and Des for support and fine food, wine, and company, and for providing what must be one of the world’s great writing locations. To Grammie for inspiring me to be my best, particularly with words. To my three brothers; Pip for being a steadfast counsellor, Christo for encouraging me with vision, and Andy for being blood, which is a most powerful source of strength. Finally, to my mother, Anthea, for being a rock of wisdom and emotional nourishment in times light and dark, and to my father, Michael, for instilling in me the values of truth, of seeing the beauty of the mind, and love, and to both of them for supporting and encouraging me always. The greatest thanks must go to my wife, partner in life, love, and mischief, Abi. Her love and support for me through four years of hard work that often took me half a planet away is amazing. Without her I know I would not have been able to finish this project. She is a friend, a confidant, and someone who helps me to pick myself up each time I fall. Her talent as a thinker and as a human being continually amazes me. To you who dances inside my chest, eternal thanks. Alex Norman November 2010

Chapter 1

Approaching Spiritual Tourism

Travel has long had an intersection with religious practice. Pilgrimage is the most obvious example of this, where religious doctrine, practice and travel all coincide. There are, however, many more instances of this juncture between religion and travel, ranging from voyeuristic tourism to pious sightseeing, each of which could make for fascinating reflections on the place and state of religion in modern society. This book is concerned with what I am calling ‘spiritual tourism’; tourism characterized by an intentional search for spiritual benefit that coincides with religious practices. This type of tourism has seen a great deal of popular attention since the 1960s, most recently with the publication of Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love (2006), in which the protagonist makes a journey to India to seek spiritual healing after getting divorced. In fact, so infused within the popular cultural discourse of the West has spiritual tourism become, that rarely was I asked to explain what I meant when talking about my research. Going on holiday to ‘connect with myself’, ‘to find myself’ or simply ‘to think about my life’ are not uncommon refrains in the modern West, yet such journeys often take place with some form of reference to religious practice or to philosophy. Indeed, much is on offer to such spiritual tourists, such as the opportunity to meditate, practice yoga, sit contemplatively atop mountains, visit sacred sights or to stay in sweat lodges, wellness retreats or even monasteries. Spiritual tourism has proliferated in recent times, finding homes in many previously ‘secular’ places, as well as religious ones. As the varieties of the religious experience have increased, so too have the touristic, and the points at which they cross offer diverse insights to the nature of both phenomena in the Western world. What makes spiritual tourists unique among this dappled congregation is their lack of traditional religiosity. These tourists typically travel to destinations at which they participate in religious practices or traditions without necessary affiliation, and who, in many cases, have little or no everyday connection with the practices or traditions in which they are taking part. For example, in countries like Thailand and India, tourists can be found spending time on yoga or meditation retreats without necessarily calling themselves Buddhists or Hindus. Likewise, in Europe every year many tourists take part

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in the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, or visit the monastic republic of Mount Athos in Greece without having any Christian beliefs. That tourists are participating in these types of activities raises a number of questions about the phenomena. To begin we must discover what, exactly, such spiritual tourists do. Whether they simply ‘visit’ religious practices, much like one might attempt some rock- climbing or other novel activities, or whether they travel specifically to participate in them can begin to inform us of the role the practice is seen to have in their everyday lives. Further, at whatever levels tourists engage with religious practices while travelling, the factors that have contributed to them arriving there elucidate how they are conceived to work and be worthwhile. Following from this we can address third order questions that speak more broadly about trends in society. What this form of tourism says about the role of travel in modern Western society is of interest here, as it throws light on the place of spiritual practice in modern Western society. While various intersections of religion and tourism have seen significant scholarly attention few have examined what is being referred to here as spiritual tourism using qualitative empirical data gathered specifically for the research. Sharpley and Sundaram’s (2005) article on ashram tourism in Auroville, India, is similar to this book both in terms of its approach and its concentration on qualitative reports from tourists. However, while it makes an invaluable contribution to the understanding of spiritual tourism in India, it does not locate the empirical data within religious studies frameworks, nor does is it extrapolate from the data any commentary on the nature of spiritual tourism. Similarly, Sarah Strauss’ (1997) work orients yoga within Western alternative cultures from a religious studies and historiographical perspective, yet while it was informed by extended field research in Rishikesh, it makes little comment on the phenomena of spiritual tourism so prevalent in the town. Further, while both these works make some headway in the search for answers about what Western tourists do when travelling for spiritual reasons, they do not answer why this is the case, nor do they delve into the tourist’s reports of motivation for making such journeys. In Western Europe the field is similarly sparse, despite some sites that see high numbers of spiritual tourists. Of these, a number stand out for their ‘attractiveness’, or ‘pull’ factors (Dann 1977) in the final decision making of a range of spiritual tourists. For example, the ancient ruin of Delphi, in Greece, features largely in literature for spiritual tourists, as do sites such as Stonehenge and Avebury (Digance 2003), and Glastonbury (Digance and Cusack 2002), in the United Kingdom. The most notable site in Western Europe, however, and perhaps the most patronized by spiritual tourists, is the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, which sees over 100,000 pilgrims walk its various routes each year. Nancy Frey’s (1998) seminal work on the modern revived Camino, Pilgrim Stories, is a landmark ethnography, and arguably one of the finest examples of participant- centred field research in tourism studies. In general terms it

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maps the participant experience of the Camino with care and in much detail. Despite its excellent ethnography, however, it lacks theoretical and methodological precision, and makes little attempt to reflect and comment on the implications the data have for the study of modern spirituality and religious practice. Other researchers, such as Slavin (2003) and Herrero (2008) have also examined the pilgrim experience of Camino pilgrims. While these studies are more thorough than Frey’s methodologically speaking, particularly Herrero’s, neither fully succeeds in marking the key motivational and experiential points of the pilgrim experience in the modern religious landscape. Other forms of spiritual tourism are often closely philosophically linked to the New Age, though often this is played down in the promotional literature surrounding it. New Age spiritual tourism is acknowledged as a growing market, especially in terms of pilgrimage and ‘personal growth’ motivated practices (Attix 2002). Likewise, so- called wellness tourism has also seen an increase in popularity over the past 20 years, though scholars have tended to be more interested in the economic and statistical analyses of the phenomenon, rather than visitors’ experiences (Smith and Kelly 2006). Lastly, other less obviously ‘spiritual’ forms of tourism are now starting to see scholarly interest with regard to their function and effect on the participants. Examples such as 4WD (four-wheel drive) tourism (Narayanan and Macbeth 2009) and fly-fishing adventures (Snyder 2007) can be understood as having spiritual significance for participants, providing them with a sense of meaning or access to the ‘sacred’, however that may be defined. While, as Collins- Kreiner (2010, 446–8) notes, these types of studies have begun to move towards examinations of the experiential aspects of the traveller, and away from discussions on general sociocultural elements, they are still few in number and in need of theoretical and methodological critique from a religious studies perspective in order to locate them properly.

Book Outline What makes the subject intriguing is the relative lack of scholarly attention spiritual tourism has, to date, garnered. While a small number of researchers have made contributions to our understanding of some forms of spiritual tourism, few have attempted to do so from a contemporary religious studies perspective. Additionally, despite the relationship between tourism, religious practice and spirituality having a long history within popular tourism literature, it has largely been limited to conceptual studies lacking in empirical field-based research. This is particularly the case with regard to the spiritual dimensions of tourism. This book provides some content to these gaps in the research, and approaches the subject of tourism through the little used lens of religious studies theory. It employs qualitative results from field-based research in concert

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with these methodologies in order to answer a core research question; why do Western tourists engage in practices understood as and intended for spiritual benefit? This book looks at two instances of ‘spiritual tourism’ through the lens of religious studies theories as a means of exploring the phenomena deeply, and places them within methodological paradigms concerned with individual meaning and identity practice in contemporary spiritual life. Part I contains, to borrow from Clifford Geertz, thick descriptions of spiritual tourism in the two case study locations: Rishikesh, India, and on the Camino de Santiago, in Spain. It approaches the subject by beginning with a close description and examination of the two case studies. Based on field research in the form of participant observation, semi- structured interviews and questionnaire responses a discussion is begun to understand the social and psychological processes that draw tourists to the locations. From these thick descriptions this work moves outwards, discussing the social and cultural contexts that inform tourists’ choices and in which contemporary spiritual practice now takes place. Part II thus looks at the placement of tourism in popular culture, and at theories concerned with understanding tourism and contemporary spirituality. It is a move from ethnography to sociology, so to speak, that investigates the cultural movements that have been woven around the two fields (travel and religion). The last two chapters of Part II argue that travel is now seen as available to function as a mode of self- examination, and that the paradigm of modern Western spirituality is a context in which just such a project might take place. From here the book moves back towards the particular by locating the frames of meaning within which the practice of spiritual tourism takes place. It will begin by reflecting on what the case study examples communicate about religious practice and travel more broadly. This discussion is informed by the notion that as the context of spiritual tourism changes, so too will its meaning. It also understands that the individual is a part of the context we must examine. In the final analysis the argument returns to the two case studies to demonstrate how they reflect different sets of meaning for tourists. The book will conclude by arguing that the practice of spiritual tourism reflects not only the cultural frameworks with which tourists understand religious practice in a secular manner, but that the core issues informing the way identity and meaning are constructed for the everyday are done through a process of self- examination that takes place away from it. Spiritual tourism is thus understood as a tool in the larger project of the self; one that is made all the more poignant and meaningful for the individual by the actioning of it within a context that involves significant economic and temporal outlay, and within a context regarded as culturally suitable for it. The first chapter examines spiritual tourism in India; a country famed for its range of spiritual practices and traditions that tourists can engage with at a variety of levels, concentrating on the town of Rishikesh. Rishikesh itself

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can be said to be a ‘spiritual marketplace’, so diverse and readily available for both locals and tourists alike is the choice of practices and teachings there. The town was made internationally famous by The Beatles’ visit to the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in 1968, and since then thousands of Westerners have travelled there to do likewise. Western tourists from diverse backgrounds tend to visit the town for its famed ashrams and yoga courses, as well as for the satsangs, or lectures, from spiritual masters on existential and philosophical topics. Fieldwork was conducted in Rishikesh, and the explanation of tourist culture and behaviour, as well as results from semi- structured interviews and questionnaires form the basis of a thick description of spiritual tourism that is returned to later in the book to contribute to the argument concerning the role of spiritual tourism in the West. Spiritual tourists in Rishikesh overwhelmingly report that their decision to travel to the town and engage in the religious practices offered there was motivated by a larger project of selfimprovement and healing. How we are to understand this result is the focus of the later chapters of this book. Secondly, this book looks at the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, in north-western Spain, a Catholic route now almost as frequently trodden by non- Catholics as Catholics. While ostensibly anchored in the traditions of one religious institution, this book will show that the diversity of Western tourists who participate in the pilgrimage is just as great as that found in Rishikesh. The pilgrimage’s thousand year history contributes to its standing as a practice with transformative potential. However, over the past 20 years it has rapidly gained in popularity and patronage. Tourists participate in the pilgrimage as pilgrims – walkers (or less often cyclists) who make their way to the city of Santiago de Compostela. Typical distances walked by informants ranged from 500km to 800km, though many pilgrims walk much greater distances. Fieldwork was conducted as a participant- observer along the Camino, with semi- structured interviews and questionnaires being gathered to contribute to the thick description of spiritual tourism there. While walking, pilgrims encounter a range of physical and emotional obstacles, and often engage in deep thought and conversation with their fellow pilgrims about the content of their daily lives at home. Most Camino spiritual tourists cite the motivation to make the pilgrimage as a desire for reflection, self- examination and self-improvement. This result forms the second empirical contribution to the argument that spiritual tourism is conceived by a small number of tourists as a significant opportunity for selfevaluation, self-improvement and spiritual healing.

Locations These locations were chosen for their prominence in tourist literature and their popularity online as places at which ‘spiritual’ projects could be undertaken.

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In a richly religious country as India one is spoiled for fieldwork locations. Indeed, it is here that the supposedly niche market of spiritual tourism is shown in fact to be well established, thriving and hugely popular. Of course, the result is that the researcher has a host of suitable locations from to choose field bases. There are quite literally thousands of locations where one can join a yoga course, attend a meditation retreat, or study Hindu or Buddhist philosophy. The handful of particularly popular sites often included on tourist’s itineraries includes Varanasi, Rishikesh, McLeod Ganj, Goa, Bodh Gaya and surrounds, all of which have well- established spiritual tourism infrastructure and commodities. Numerous other smaller locations also offer activities for the spiritually inclined. Choosing which locations to base one’s research in thus becomes as much a random choice as a result of analysis. For this project the researcher based his choices on a reading of guidebook material to see which sites were most lauded, and watching the chatter on internet forums where tourists would share information on their favoured spiritual locations. In addition, a certain intangible factor was added in the form of popular culture. That is, the question of which sites (and persons) tended to feature in media which might influence tourists’ choices. This included watching television travel shows (both televised and web-based), examining and monitoring travel periodicals, and collecting advertising material, including a notable advertisement by the Incredible India (2008) campaign. It was found that in all three cases the most favoured sites were Varanasi, McLeod Ganj and Rishikesh. Varanasi was rejected as a fieldwork location for three reasons; cost, broader (non- spiritual) popularity and lack of concentration of spiritual activities (based on advice from other researchers) which would make the finding of informants more difficult. Rishikesh and Dharamsala offered access to high concentrations of the types of tourists the project was concerned with. Both locations are almost exclusively travelled to by Westerners for some sort of engagement with religions or spiritual activities. However, it was decided that a concentrated study of a single site would be more useful than a briefer study of multiple locations. Dharamsala was ruled out, despite field research having taken place there, to make the argument simpler even though it yielded an almost identical set of data. For these reasons, mainly expedient, Rishikesh was selected as the primary field research location for the Indian component of this book. The Camino de Santiago was chosen primarily because of its prominence as a Western religious practice that is open to participation by anyone, regardless of religious beliefs or lack thereof. The pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela, particularly the Camino Francés route in northern Spain, have seen a marked revival of interest over the last century. Over the past 20 years the number of people walking the route annually has risen from 2,905 to 114,026, and it continues to grow each year (Pilgrims Office of Santiago de

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Compostela). Part of the reason for this increase is undoubtedly the recent profusion of literature on the pilgrimage in popular culture, mostly in the form of travelogues and memoirs from authors who have walked the pilgrimage. These books tend to be filled with images of deep psychological exploration and mystical encounters, and an investigation of a number of internet web forums for walkers past, present and future quickly provided evidence that the routes now widely hold this reputation. Of the many routes available, the Camino Francés was chosen as the fieldwork location for its popularity, with the overwhelming majority of Camino pilgrims choosing this route, for a variety of reasons including ease, infrastructure, and simply being known about, over the others. This, it was reasoned, would yield a high ratio of spiritual tourist informants who would yield a wide range of reasons and motivations for making the journey. It was also a location in which it was felt the researcher could easily blend in to gain confidence with informants without necessarily taking part in any of the activities (and instead would work). The combination of these two locations was chosen to test whether any contrast or significant differences existed between the way spiritual tourism was approached and enacted within ‘Eastern’ and ‘Western’ practices, locations and traditions. Other locations in both hemispheres were also considered as possibilities and rejected (though future study of them is planned). Thailand offers tourists many opportunities to practise Buddhist meditation and is host to a number of luxury wellness retreats, but its opportunities for spiritual tourists are largely limited to those drawn from Theravada Buddhism. It was rejected for this fi rst study in favour of India both because of the latter’s greater range of spiritual ‘activities’ on offer (Hindu, Buddhist, Ayurvedic, New Age, Kabbalaistic, healing, wellness, etc.) and because of the access to towns in which spiritual tourists would be concentrated, rather than being limited to specific sites such as is largely the case in Thailand. Other countries in the area, such as Vietnam, Laos, Sri Lanka, Nepal, Malaysia, Indonesia and Japan offer even less opportunities for fi nding such concentrated centres of spiritual tourist activity. Each, however, is worthy of future study on this topic, and it is hoped that this can be undertaken in the near future. With regard to Western religious traditions that spiritual tourists might engage with, the case is just as complex. While the United States and Canada are both undoubtedly Western, the continent they lie on was ruled out as a field-research location very early on in the research process. The rationale behind this stems from this project’s desire (discussed below) to investigate whether any significant contrast exists between Eastern and Western practices in the eyes of spiritual tourists. North America, while hosting many spiritual tourist centres (such as Sedona, Arizona amongst others), is home to a mix of Eastern and Western practices. Western Europe, in contrast, is the originator of most Western religious traditions. In addition to the numerous

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routes that form the Camino de Santiago, Europe also hosts religious sites such as Mount Athos and Meteora, in Greece, the Vatican and Assisi, in Italy, Lourdes, in France, Glastonbury in the United Kingdom, as well as many others with a long history of attracting tourists from around the world. The Camino was chosen as the primary field research location for the Western component for many of the same reasons as Rishikesh was – it offers a high number of spiritual tourists in a concentrated area. Other locations listed above, likewise attract spiritual tourists, but from a qualitative point of view they are diluted by the large number of ‘normal’ tourists who also travel to them. With the exceptions of Mount Athos, Glastonbury and Lourdes each of the other major sites in Europe that might attract spiritual tourists also attracts many other types, thus making the gathering of data on spiritual tourists a much lengthier and more laborious task. Mount Athos was rejected immediately as it only allows male visitors, and this project seeks data from both sexes. Glastonbury was investigated with a short research trip while attending a conference, but it was decided that the town would better suit long- stay field research, rather than the few weeks it was anticipated were available for this project. The Camino was chosen because it was anticipated to attract a high ratio of spiritual tourists, and would provide an environment in which fi nding them to interview would be simpler, as the researcher would, as in India, blend in.

Central Research Questions Before continuing, the central research questions of this book are worth stating here again; the core question of the project is, Why do Western spiritual tourists go to Rishikesh and the Camino de Santiago? This, however, needs expanding before it can begin to be answered, and to start it is worth contextualizing once more. In short, Western tourists go to India and to Spain. While there, some undertake spiritual activities – in India, meditation, yoga and satsang in Rishikesh (among other locations) and in Spain the Camino de Santiago amongst others – despite often not being a member or believer of the religious tradition that hosts them. What causes them to make the decision to undertake such trips is the focus here. Further questions arise from this initial set of facts. With a cursory investigation of the literature available in popular culture it can be seen that many go to these locations as part of projects of self- discovery or self-investigation, as shall be discussed later. When this is the case, what causes spiritual tourists to choose these locations as the ‘right’ places to carry out that project? The presence of a project implies a desired outcome, even if largely open ended. There is a suggestion of movement or progression therein. Thus a secondary question concerns what sort of impact or effect spiritual tourists see their trips as having in the course of their everyday lives. A further second

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order question relates to the wider cultural processes of Western society that have contributed to informing tourists’ choice. What social conditions are present that make such journeys worthwhile for potential spiritual tourists? The third order, or tertiary questions, relate to what these phenomena tell us about the role and position of both tourism and spirituality in the modern Western context. What is ‘spirituality’ understood to be in the West in the context of spiritual tourism? This question is asked with the information that some members of Western society, particularly those we find engaged in New Age activities, tend to refer to their practices and themselves as ‘spiritual as opposed to religious’ (e.g. Bouma 2006, 12). From this question, and concentrating for a moment on the notion of spiritual tourist journeys being part of individual spiritual projects; what is the function and role of spirituality in the West? Is it understood as an individual project? Does it take place at the cost of community, or does it contribute? How do the tourists themselves understand this; do they understand it as a positive thing for community or a negative one? The answer to this last question may seem a predictable ‘positively!’, but if that is the case then it must be predicated on assumptions about what ‘spirituality’ constitutes for spiritual tourists. Or, if it is indeed predictable, presumably it then proves a hypothesis that was predicted. Both are positive outcomes for this book. At face value it could appear that what is observed at yoga retreats or along the Camino are simply tourists who find their way to religious and spiritual practices while on holiday by chance or out of curiosity. In fact the opposite is true; spiritual tourists, for the most part, make their destination choices after deliberation and research. It must be emphasized that tourists are specifically choosing these destinations as part of a response to their motivations for travel and their expectations about what the journey will yield. The possibility of going to spiritual destinations is learned, both as a concept of a thing to do when on holiday (that it presents certain types of opportunities for experience), and about specific locations and traditions or practices they can take part in there (that they present particular experiences, or are often associated with certain types of experience). As will be discussed in Chapter 9, tourists travel to destinations closely associated with religious traditions and practices driven by a desire for certain types of holiday encounters. Participating in the traditions or practices at the destinations, regardless of having any connection to the tradition beforehand, offers just the experience they desire. Further, as shall be examined, most spiritual tourists feel that the problems of their lives are likely to find some solution, relief or answer in the traditions or practices offered at the destination. This cognitive understanding also informs the decision to travel and the type of destination chosen. While there they take part in the traditions and practices either as part of the tradition or as consumers of the practices offered. It is often the case that some

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of the tourists have practised the types of spiritual activities offered them at home, but some have not. In particular, the participation in practices or traditions is seen to offer a certain type or flavour of experience, or indeed a state of being, that is not available at home. This might range from simply being able to concentrate more fully or feeling that the time is efficacious because it has been set apart from everyday life, to learning material not available at home or undertaking a practice only offered at that location. It also relates to the ‘liminality’ of the travel experience. While engaged in these practices many tourists feel that the experience will be beneficial, that the solutions to the problems of their home lives they sought have, or will be found. Many also profess that they will take home the practices or lessons learned while on holiday. In the case of Rishikesh we find that, by various methods during their course of their everyday lives, tourists gain knowledge of the destinations in India and what is offered there experientially. Those interested in yoga, meditation, Eastern religious philosophy and some forms of New Age spiritual belief and practice travel there in their holiday time. Often these tourists express a desire to learn new practices or refine ones already known. They also articulate the desire to spend time learning/practising as driven by a desire for healing or self-improvement. While there tourists take part in the traditions and practices offered at the locations they visit. This might include staying at an ashram, attending a yoga or meditation course, serving on a meditation retreat, listening to lectures by spiritual masters, or a range of other spiritual practices. The rich religious diversity spread through the country means that, while there, many seek out a number of locations at which such experiences may be available (e.g. in ashrams or temples). Many tourists also take the opportunity to explore spiritual practices or teachings they are not familiar with. The time in India participating in these practices is, for the most part, spoken of as time spent working on the self, improving the individual tourist for the good of the global community. On the Camino de Santiago we see similar issues at play. Tourists gain knowledge of the Camino and what the experience is like, and set out to begin the pilgrimage and thereby become pilgrims (self-referencing) desiring time to think, time to quieten the mind through walking, or as a time that breaks two periods in their life (e.g. between jobs, divorced or when retiring). Many pilgrims also report that they desire a change in themselves, usually emotionally. This desire and the social space of the Camino require that the pilgrims continue walking to maintain legitimacy and not lose face. After some days or weeks continuing a sense of achievement and physical purity is felt by walkers, and reports of the types of experiences they had read about begin to emerge. A sense of having lived a deep experience and a feeling that certain behavioural or social structures have been broken is then reported.

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Approach and Methodology Each case studied here requires a different approach, yet both contain common thematic elements that link them as social phenomena. Taking a cue from MacCannell (1976), this book is informed by the idea that what is required in the study of spiritual tourism is an holistic approach. In particular, the subject is approached with the following three rules in mind: That observation be detailed and from ‘on the ground’. That descriptions are clear and insightful for both academic and subject minds. • That observation always precedes social theory. • •

This is a project that requires an examination of the sacred in contemporary Western life, and, in particular, how it is created and functions in the context of travel. This book takes as its inspiration Demerath’s statement that charting the sacred involves an exploration of inner space that is every bit as challenging as the astronomer’s exploration of a continually expanding outer space. And yet we are not exactly starting at ground zero. No scholars are better equipped for the task than social scientists of religion. (Demerath 2000, 4) As such this book begins in what feels like a relatively unorthodox manner, with fieldwork observations first, and with a foundational understanding that the varieties of sacred experience are many and continue to unfold before us. To begin, it is worth including here the hypotheses that were used to set this research project in motion. The first, informed by previous textual research, was an assertion that, generally speaking, spiritual tourism seemed to involve a mix of pilgrimage, rites of passage, spiritual sightseeing, spiritual voyeurism, secular spirituality, religiosity, identity practices, ‘seekerism’ and the search for meaning. The second hypothesis was that spiritual tourists would be using the transient nature of travel to explore ideas of spirituality in ways they did not at home. The third was that there would be a high level of willingness among spiritual tourists to engage in experimentation with whatever spiritual practices were on offer, correlated with a lack of faith or belief specific in any particular tradition. It was proposed that this would be an example of the ‘spiritual supermarket’ in the case of Rishikesh where tourists would pick and choose between practices as they saw fit according to their circumstances. It was also proposed that there would be a ‘spiritual voyeur’ group (probably a minority) who would be engaged in ‘tasting’ as many different spiritual practices as possible in a non- committal, voyeuristic way. In the case of the Camino it was proposed that a strongly New Age oriented demographic would be

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found, largely informed by popular accounts of the walk from Paulo Coelho (The Pilgrimage) and Shirley MacLaine (The Camino). Many of these hypotheses were, as it turned out, proved incorrect, pleasingly, and the final chapter of this work provides the summary of the findings of the project. The subjects of this study are Western tourists, as what it comments on are Western paradigms of travel and spirituality. Of these, only those who have, or claim to have participated in religious/spiritual activities (such as courses, retreats, pilgrimages) while travelling are the subjects. In the same way that tourists are not bound to one place or time, neither is the scope of the project. It is a ‘multi- sited’ ethnography in the sense that it draws from different locations to posit common thematic outcomes (Marcus 1995). Taking a lead from the tourists themselves, much of the motivational framing of such journeys is to be found in travel writing, guide books and online communities. Thus the other sources included in this study include travel books, blogs (both by and for travellers), internet and other traveller communities, as well as government promotion of the locations concerned. These are all brought together to form a ‘collage’ of the spiritual tourist experience. In both field-research locations qualitative data was gathered from informants through semi- structured interviews that were recorded, questionnaires and through non-recorded interviews in certain cases, as well as through informal conversation and observation. For this research project, potential informants were identified by the following criteria: They must have been present at the field-research location while the researcher was. • They must have specifically stated that they were or had engaged in religious or spiritual activities, or were at the location as part of a project of spiritual betterment. •

As soon as these the conditions of these criteria were known the researcher identified himself and the objectives of the project, and a formal request was made for either an interview to be recorded or a questionnaire to be filled out. Informants were thus self- selecting in so far as they had decided to travel to either Rishikesh or the Camino and to engage in the practices offered there. The researcher sought qualitative data from any tourist who met the above criteria who would consent to it being included in the research. Where any imbalance in age or sex distribution occurred that seemed contrary to the observed distribution, an attempt was made to address this. However, as can be seen in Appendix B, the collection of informants is not split 50/50 between the sexes, nor does the age range reflect a perfect bell curve. This reflects the reality observed in the field as best as the researcher was able to achieve. The research questions identified revolved around the issues of why the tourist was at the location, what types of ‘spiritual’ activities they were doing,

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what had caused them to go there, and what they hoped to get out of the experience. These questions were intended to highlight the reasons spiritual tourists undertake their journeys and what effect they intend them to have. The study was not an investigation of the incidence of spiritual tourism in the broader touristic context. The data thus collected was analysed for similarities in content. Key words and common phrases were identified and gathered into a simple spreadsheet listing their incidence. Common themes in stated objectives, motivation for travel to the location, feelings about life at home and hopes for everyday life once returned form the core of evidence of to support the theoretical outcomes of this project. These were gathered under thematic headings that form the subheadings of Chapters 2 and 3 in order to separate what appeared to be common reasons. In some cases there is significant overlap between these subheadings, and where this is the case it is discussed. This book deliberately seeks to highlight the ‘of the moment’ aspect of the search for spiritual meaning or betterment in the context of tourism (hence ‘spiritual tourism’). A longitudinal research project on the same topic that delves into the long term impacts of spiritual tourism, while warranted, is well beyond the scope of such a book. Few studies have been conducted involving empirical research of the spiritual tourist experience. Most of them have largely been limited to conceptual studies without any empirical or longitudinal data to draw upon for their conclusions. Any thorough longitudinal analysis must be driven by meta- analysis of data from focused field research, such as this book provides. Further, the ‘of the moment’ nature of this book contributes significantly to our understanding of how the spirituality/meaning project is enacted, what factors contribute to bring people to the point at which that project takes place, and, importantly, how they conceive of these actions in the context of their everyday lives when removed from them. It is a very close examination of what is potentially a much larger project in the course of a person’s life. A study that straddles two fields, such as the present one, requires a multifaceted theoretical foundation. Spiritual tourism is a point at which tourism and religion/spirituality meet. Therefore, it seems appropriate for the theoretical analysis to take its lead from the phenomena itself and employ the theories of both Tourism Studies and Religious Studies as the very minimum requirement. While neither area deals directly with the problem at hand, using the two together allows a useful picture to be drawn than that made from a more singular approach. Further, in the same way that spiritual tourism reflects other issues and problems in less obvious ways, it is also appropriate to have the analysis remain open to theories drawn from other seemingly unrelated areas. In outlining the nature of the problem above numerous issues and questions were raised that broadly fall into the two camps of ‘religion’ and ‘tourism’, yet many also fall into the scope of such areas as identity theory, consumerism, cultural theory and the history of ideas. In addition, tourism business

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research, marketing philosophy and statistical analysis can also play a role in the course of answering this problem. The principal means of addressing the complexities of this phenomenon will be through the prisms of tourism and religion. In order to form a picture of how tourism has come to occupy the roles and functions it does, a brief discussion will be given on the ways travel has been conceived and written of in popular culture. Travel writing, in particular, will be looked at as both primary source and artefact in the study of tourism. The history of travel and tourism will also be discussed, looking in particular at how travel has changed over time. Finally, a detailed discussion and critical analysis of the competing theories concerning tourism and travel will be given. Such authors as MacCannell and Cohen have already been mentioned, yet critical to understanding the present study is an understanding of tourism that places it as malleable to the tourist’s desired outcomes, and filled with potential for the examination of existential questions. What is also of critical importance for this project is understanding the function and outlook that is encompassed by the paradigm of Western secular spirituality. Despite arguments about secularization and the attenuation of religion in contemporary Western society, examining ‘the spiritual’ reveals it to be flexible and able to just as easily appropriate religious practices as secular. Specifically, contemporary spirituality is understood as a product of secularization and postmodernity. Paul Heelas’ notion of self- spirituality (1996: 18–20) is employed here to understand the focus of the practice of spiritual tourism. Similarly, N. J. Demerath’s (2000) four-point typology of sacred experience, removed from the substantive coupling with religious tradition lends weight to the notion that spiritual practice may be undertaken secularly, even within a religious context. Here, the sacred is understood to be attainable in any human form; secular, religious or otherwise. Familiarity with these conceptual frameworks is essential for gaining a critical understanding of the present activity at the intersection of religion and tourism. Field study is necessary in this circumstance. Indeed, any thesis which seeks to give answers to matters of philosophy, world view, motivation or belief in the lives of others must enquire of the primary subject – the Human. Only then can any meaningful conclusions be drawn as to the common themes and possible connections to be found. It is, in essence, an anthropological, or more specifically, an ethnographic approach to what is a human problem. Therefore, answering the problem set out above requires an investigation amongst such spiritual tourists, listening to their words, reading their writings and considering their thoughts as expressed. There is a richness of description and data in ethnography that is difficult to come by any other way apart from field gathered qualitative data. Graburn (2002, 19–21) leaves nothing to the imagination when he notes that such fieldwork is arguably among the most difficult, problematic and the easiest to get

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wrong, possibly even yielding false or misleading results. The problem lies in the transitoriness of the phenomena studied. Following a group on a pilgrimage can allow a story to be written. Likewise, a study of tourist business at a particular site can show how the host/guest relationship works. Yet, a study of tourists doing ‘touristy things’ that attempts to find what motivations and benefits (perceived or otherwise) come from the adventure proves difficult, for it relies almost entirely on a combination of subjective, first-person accounts, and the researcher’s interpretation of them. Further, to attempt to extrapolate from the findings an addition to social theory on a separate topic (in this case ‘the religious/spiritual’) is indeed a challenge, methodologically speaking. In other words, such a venture will rest on the effectiveness of the methodology behind the fieldwork. The way the classical anthropologists such as Malinowski overcame this was to spend long periods in the field; even several years. Field-based research such as this is fundamental to understanding how and why people do the things they do. Yet it is no easy endeavour, nor is it a methodologically simple one. Apart from the financial and logistical problems facing the field-researcher, many questions of scope and slant must be addressed before a single informant has been approached. More so, as subjects, tourists pose many problems to the researcher. Unlike typical ethnographic projects in fi xed locations, tourists are not bound to one place or time. Likewise, their motivations and conceptions of what the travel time means tend to evolve with time, often continuing to change long after they have returned home. As such, this study demands a methodology that can encompass variability in space and time, sometimes fleeting contact with informants, sometimes longer-term contact with informants, and take into account any differences in religious context thrown into the mix. It is thus a somewhat unorthodox approach. The central project was to apply a phenomenological approach to the study of spiritual tourism, and to investigate what spiritual tourists said about their reasons for undertaking such a trip, and what sort of impact or effect they conceived it having in the course of their daily lives. From there, theoretical speculation can be made concerning what these statements might actually mean, both in individual and broader societal contexts. As such, the research involved the collection of testimonies from spiritual tourists would form a collage of reasons for being there and conceptions about what it would mean in the course of their everyday lives, once home. The selection of informants was random, and consisted of anyone I could talk to who was a Western tourist (with the very loose definition of Western including ‘Westernized’ countries such as Japan or Israel). Some non-Western tourists were interviewed, particularly in India, but these were not included in the sample group. Many more tourists were asked for interviews or to fill in questionnaires than consented and appear in this book. For some this was a matter of a feeling of ‘intrusion’, for others it was an objection to a perceived broad and hegemonic academic project to maintain control over the terms upon which the Western spiritual

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milieu takes place (essentially a conspiracy theory). Others simply did not feel like being questioned, or were convinced they had nothing useful to offer to the project, despite my assurances that I wanted to interview all tourists regardless of activity or motivation. As this book is primarily concerned with the experience of spirituality in travel it largely focuses on interview and questionnaire material collected while ‘on the road’ and does not follow the tourists as they return to their homes. This is, of course, a limiting factor on at least three fronts. First, it requires access to spiritual tourists in the spiritual tourism context, so to speak. Any study that seeks, as does this one, to examine the vicissitudes of mood and opinion of people undertaking a certain experience must rely on evidence collected then and there. Time and distance (both spatial and emotional) being the great filters of memory that they are, an attempt to find what individuals think and feel within a certain timeframe must have as its primary source of evidence information taken while it was occurring. Secondly, it gives little indication of how the experience continues to inform aspects of the tourists’ lives after their return home. Thirdly, the information gathered will be subject to whatever level of hyped over- enthusiasm for the experience the tourists may be having. However, this in turn, provides insight into the ways spiritual tourists make their choices and see their spiritual journey within the context in which it occurs. This study is at a very specific, and some may argue extreme, end of the tourist spectrum. It maps the spiritual dimensions of tourists’ ontic and emotional journeys with the goal of highlighting what spiritual tourism means to tourists when they are touring, and also reflects on the nature of spirituality in the West using, as Dann (2002) implores us to do, the analogy of the tourist as a metaphor of the social world. Thus their spiritual actions as travellers become for the observer a metaphor of their spiritual desires, deficits and actions at home. In addition to these conceptual limitations a period of fieldwork has numerous physical and circumstantial limitations that must be conceded. Perhaps the most obvious is that of time, and one of its limiters, money. All studies are time limited to some extent. However, studies involving the following of tourists in a distant country face constraints that often make fieldwork trips short. A significant contributor is the simple factor of finance, even in a country as ‘cheap’ as India. In this instance the fieldwork trip was limited by the depth to which my credit card could be plumbed. Yet there are other constraints that must also be discussed as their emotional effects on the researcher can be significant. Most notable of these are the researcher’s relationships, particularly this researcher’s marital one. Time away from a life partner is difficult at the best of times, but in this case I was embarking on my first ‘professional’ journey to a country renowned for its confronting and challenging nature to travellers, to which I had never before been. Thus I had to overcome fear of the unknown, nerves, fear of failure and physical separation from a partner to whom one

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usually turns for advice and support at such challenging times before a single informant has been approached. When finally potential informants are found the researcher must overcome one’s own sense of shyness before engaging in a dance of politeness, and at times flattery, in order to get permission to gain information from people who are total strangers. Given the nature of touring and in particular the nature of spiritual tourism the times at which research can take place are limited to those when the informants have ‘nothing better to do’. I was acutely aware that the people I was approaching were investing their time and money to travel to a distant land to study or participate in certain activities that would often take up much of their day. This typically resulted in interviews and questionnaires taking place in cafes and restaurants at those times when informants were otherwise unoccupied; the yoga hall, meditation session, teaching class being an entirely inappropriate place and time to start asking questions. This presents an issue of politeness; people may simply not want to be bothered with questions while they eat or relax between sessions. Indeed, this was found to be limiting, as, understandably, on occasion people simply wanted to be left alone or left to speak with their friends. However, for the most part this researcher often found that there existed a sense of ‘togetherness’ or communitas (as championed by the great Victor Turner) among Western tourists in India, and that most people were not only willing to contribute to such research, but often expressed thanks at being able to talk through some of the personal issues they had been grappling with privately. Nevertheless, issues of shyness and politeness were limiting factors, and the researcher admits that there were many occasions when he was unable to either approach or find any willing participants.

Definitions To make sense of spiritual tourists some boundaries in terms of scope and inclusion must be drawn out, and some working definitions prescribed. To begin, some brief definitions themselves give some indications as to the breadth of the study, through which a further explanation of the rationale behind inclusion and exclusion of sources is found. A ‘spiritual tourist’, for the purposes of this study, is conceived as a tourist who undertakes a spiritual practice or seeks spiritual progression in the course of their travels, usually with the intention of gaining ‘spiritual benefit’. This loose definition clearly relies upon some further sub- definitions, particularly that of spiritual practice and progression of which, for working purposes, a brief discussion is given here and it is returned to in far greater detail in Chapter 6. ‘Spirituality’ and ‘religion’ are problematic terms within the study of religion. Individuals often speak of being very ‘religious’ people, or very ‘spiritual’

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people. Similarly, we can often observe that people speak of believing in a ‘religion’ or having a ‘spirituality’. Confusingly, those who consider themselves ‘religious’ often speak of the ‘spiritual’ aspects of their beliefs and practices, and of their spirituality. Within other circles, usually those classing themselves as ‘not religious’, and particularly those influenced by the postmodern critique of Western society, the terms have come to be regarded in contradistinction to one another. These anecdotal features are, however, of some use, academically, for they infer a distinction between the two terms. Modern spirituality is not necessarily separate from religion, but it is changed from its past iteration. Whereas in the past spirituality was likely at least as much governed by and directed towards the strictures of the individual community, the same does not widely hold true today. It is now much more explicitly self- governed and often self- oriented. Voas and Bruce may be right in contesting the claims of Heelas, Woodhead et al. about the popularity of the New Age, but the same cannot be said for the predominant character of modern spirituality. Even in cases where the spirituality is framed by a religious community, its operation is now largely individual. ‘Spiritual’, in the term spiritual tourism, thus modifies the term tourism to refer to those acts that relate to the tourist’s spirituality. Spiritual tourism implies an individual project, even if it takes place within the larger frameworks of a religious tradition. In using this term, the intent is to deliberately, and from the beginning, place the focus of attention directly upon the experiences and the intentions of the tourists themselves. While most studies of tourism phenomena have concentrated on their impact on host societies, this study understands the increasing importance, now recognized within the field of tourism studies, of placing an emphasis on the individual experience in travel. Studies in phenomena of tourism have, in general terms, moved from examinations of ‘external’ or sociocultural elements to investigations of the ‘inner experience’ of the individual traveller (Collins- Kreiner 2010, 446–8). This has been coincident with a changing understanding of pilgrimage from a general phenomenon examined in terms of cultures and societies, to an individual and thus pluralistic one. Tourism is defined by the United Nations World Tourism Organization (UNWTO) as; ‘The activities of persons travelling to and staying in places outside their usual environment for not more than one consecutive year for leisure, business and other purposes,’ going beyond conventional definitions that link it to holidaying. Tourism can also refer to the service industry that gathers around and to cater to these activities, though this is not a necessary condition for tourism on an individual scale (according to the above definition) to take place. From this definition a few preliminary points require highlighting. First, tourism must necessarily involve the combination of three factors: (1) discretionary income to spend on non- essential items or activities (see Pancevski 2010),1 (2) time in which to travel and do the said activities, and

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(3) the desire or obligation to make the journey and to return home. The last point on this list includes obligation in order to ensure ‘compulsory’ forms of travel, such as some pilgrimage traditions or filial duties are also included. In more conventional, or popular, usage, tourism is understood to be connected with leisure and recreation. This, of course, brings to mind the issue of whether tourism is voluntary. While acknowledging tourism as voluntary, we must also question the extent to which some instances of religious tourism and pilgrimage might be obligatory within the cultures from which the tourists emerge. In cases where religious obligation, for example, requires a person to make a journey, describing it as voluntary seems inaccurate, or at least not sufficiently accurate. Many instances of obligatory pilgrimage, such as we can observe with Muslims visiting Mecca, are also instances in which the traveller is going of their own volition. In those instances where this is not the case, perhaps a term such as ‘involuntary tourism’ is the most appropriate appellation. For the most part, tourism is a voluntary journey away from an individual’s usual environment. Its conditions of discretionary income (or instances where an ‘other’ pays the costs) and time with which to make the journey tend to link tourism with notions of leisure and recreation. With this in mind, the notion of tourists as ‘leisured travellers’ is used for the purposes of this book, in combination with the UNWTO definition offered above. Spiritual tourists are defined by the type of activities they undertake, and by their intent. These require of the tourist a degree of leisure. Though it is entirely possible that a spiritual tourist’s journey could be for business, for the time in which they are engaging in an activity such as meditation or walking a pilgrimage they are presumed to be ‘at leisure’, 2 or not engaged in business. Following from numerous studies that link destination/activity choice with tourist categories (Cohen 1972; Noy 2004; Uriely et al. 2002), it is argued that the decisive characteristics that distinguish spiritual tourists from the wider tourist ‘pool’ are the intent with which they approach the act of travel, the destinations they choose to visit and their typical activities while travelling. Of these the first is overwhelmingly important, as the category ‘spiritual’ requires a certain mindset geared towards processes of self-realization, psychological health and wellbeing. Without it the touristic act becomes something different. Similarly, some other distinctions must be drawn between spiritual tourists and what we might call ‘religious tourists’. For example, just as Indians who might visit the Theosophical Society headquarters in Madras are best not thought of as ‘New Age’ (at least in general), so too are those Hindus visiting towns like Rishikesh best not thought of as spiritual tourists. As Heelas (1996, 122–3) notes, the Western notion of the New Age is developing in India, but it takes a decidedly local form, and the term itself remains firmly grounded in the cultural forms and processes of the West. It thus follows that for Hindu tourists a visit to Rishikesh is indeed a religious tour – a journey out of the ordinary to engage in spiritual practices and learning in concentrated forms, but in a

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specifically religiously institutional sense. The difference here comes back to the placement of intent on the part of the traveller; spiritual progression in a secular context versus a religious one. Similarly for the Camino, devoutly Catholic pilgrims also ought not be classified as spiritual tourists because their journey is taking place within a religious framework to which they belong and participate in. The term ‘spiritual tourist’ invokes a notion of freedom from any constraining aspects of religious traditions in order to practise or learn, even if it is familiar and offered at home. In other words, spiritual tourism is characterized by the secular way tourists approach spiritual practices. Loosely defined as thus, a spiritual tourist is one who includes an activity, such as yoga, meditation, following a pilgrimage, prayer or time for self-reflection in their travel itinerary for the purposes of ‘spiritual betterment’, such as creating personal meaning, in a secular way. The term ‘spiritual’ is here deployed to indicate the unstructured, individualized way in which they approach these activities, which they see as concerned with meaning, identity, morality and transcendence. The fascination for spiritual tourists lies in the ‘feeling out’ of the boundaries of the self in ways that are expressed as beyond, or additional to, those possible at home. The portrayal of travel often reflects this notion, with self- discovery a regular and dominant theme, and one that is a companion to religiosity or spirituality. Indeed, the argument that tourism is a ‘secularized’ form of religious pilgrimage or, in fact, one and the same has some sway in this sense (Graburn 1989), as it may be that tourists are increasingly using the time/space of travel to investigate meaning and identity in ways they find they are unable to in their normal lives. Yet the central issue of ‘selfdiscovery’ remains key, and, in the investigation of spiritual tourists, serves as a central point with which to orient the investigation. The case of the Camino is worth pausing on here. Spiritual tourism may seem like a problematic designation for what has been, and continues to be referred to as a religious pilgrimage. Those who undertake the practice continuing to refer to themselves as pilgrims also calls into question the spiritual tourist appellation. The number of pilgrims who are not Catholic, do not believe the legends concerning St James, have no interest in the theological outcomes of making the pilgrimage, and do not in any way participate in the peripheral religious rituals along the path must cause us to question the scholarly use of the term ‘pilgrim’ in reference to them. What they are doing is certainly pilgrimage-like, insofar as they are mechanically identical, but we must have some way of distinguishing them from pilgrims proper (Catholic and participating in the institutionally approved ways). ‘Secular pilgrims’ carries an unwanted connotation of being without spiritual motivation, as we see in reference to secular pilgrimages to ANZAC Cove (Scates 2006) and Graceland (Rigby 2001). A further logical alternative, ‘spiritual pilgrims’, is a possibility, but does not acknowledge that the same type of journey can take place outside of the pilgrimage context. Insofar as ‘spiritual’ infers a direction towards

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the self in modes that are outside institutional influence, we can see that a separate term is needed. Thus applying the term ‘spiritual tourist’ works to not only separate these pilgrims from explicitly religious ones, but also to indicate to us that theirs is a journey oriented towards such issues as self- exploration and personal meaning in a secular sense. It also retains an indicator towards the notion of travel in its leisured form, which this almost universally is, and brings with it other connotations of tourism such as relaxation and recreation, both of which are also applicable here, as we shall see.

Flying into the Face of the Self This is a study of the present, rather than of the past, and is ‘of the moment’ rather than longitudinal. While history and cultural critique rightly have their place in the academy, the focus of this project is upon tourists who travel past and through religious streams now. As such this book is a snapshot of a certain facet of contemporary travel culture in the West. Yet it is also a departure point for broader theoretical speculation. The problem presented here is a compelling one; what motivates people to visit, participate and even subscribe (if temporarily) to a religious tradition they do not necessarily have a connection with, while they are travelling? There are a number of questions bound up in this central problem, and from these many tangential subjects must be taken into account in order to properly approach what is a complex and transient phenomena. Broadly speaking, this subject lies across the seemingly unrelated kingdoms of Religious Studies and Tourism Studies. As is increasingly seen to be the case in the Humanities, elements of other fields must be brought in to give structure and allow deeper critical comment to be made. Moreover, given the immanent focus of the book, examination of the problem must include primary sources, in this case the tourists themselves. It is imperative to understand how travel functions for the tourist, which to begin with shall be simply defined as a leisured traveller. Taking a cue from Wadsworth (1975), who noted that changes in cultural attitudes would be reflected in social changes in leisure pursuits, and that examining leisure would thus increase knowledge of the society, this book looks at spiritual tourism as a leisure practice. Travel has become a significant part of contemporary Western leisure experience, and numerous authors have looked at why people use their leisure time to travel, and what benefits they hope to gain from the experiences (e.g. Cohen 1979; Dann 1981). The pressing question for this study is not whether travel is necessarily a practice for self- exploration or not, but to what extent it can be, and what the circumstances are in which such themes might be raised. Overwhelming evidence suggests that broadly observed, leisured travel is not the universally Romantic pioneering journey of self- exploration that travel writers and culture critics argue (e.g. Boorstin

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1963; Turner and Ash 1975). In the case of spiritual tourism, however, what is found is that in fact it is. Below the surface there is much to be found in these ‘spiritual tourists’. The desire to view ‘the other’ is a deeply ingrained part of tourism. Indeed, tourism could be said to be principally about seeing and experiencing things ‘other’; culture, food and drink, language and, let us not forget, religion. Yet there is something quite compelling about that desire that demands examination. In his classic text, The Tourist , Dean MacCannell (1976) argued that the desire to see the ‘real lives’ of others in tourism was a critical point of departure for any examination of contemporary Western life. The ‘fascination’, he posited, was born of the ‘modern disruption of real life’ which itself was indicative of the redefinition of the categories ‘truth’ and ‘reality’ in modern life. While MacCannell fails to take account of the long history of such fascination, his thesis remains influential. Given so many questions concerning travel and tourism relate to issues of self- exploration, identity and ontology, it is no surprise that questions relating to more explicit religious themes have been asked along side them. The most prominent of these is the ever-present question of the tourist as pilgrim, on a journey in search of some deeper meaning or sense of self. If it is the case that the context of travel lends itself to such spiritual and pseudo- spiritual pursuits then correlations ought to be looked for in numbers of tourists visiting religious sites in such a manner. Religions, as social formations, typically include processes for such inner examinations. They would thus appear to lend themselves to such touristic journeys, and the extent to which religious/ spiritual themes are a concern for travellers in choosing destinations will thus demonstrate the way the religious provides an ‘Other’ for them, both experientially and existentially. In terms of the practices offered to tourists visiting religious sites, there is a question concerning whether it matters to them that what is offered is ‘traditional’ or even indigenous or not. This question has a dual significance. First, returning to MacCannell, he poses another argument concerning the presentation of culture to tourists on demand. His concept of ‘staged authenticity’, describing the theatrical revealing of back, or hidden, aspects of culture, may have some significance in these situations. There are questions for the present book relating to this notion concerning the presentation of religious traditions to tourists. Secondly, in terms of tourists’ experience of the religious tradition, and their motivations and desired outcomes, the particular appeal of the practice offered is also of interest as most are available at home. Various issues may be at play here. Tourists may be looking for traditional methods of spiritual advancement, choosing what is fashionable, or looking for ‘proven’ methods to satisfy their needs. Furthermore, exactly what these needs are that draw them to places like Rishikesh and the Camino sheds light on both travel and spirituality as subjects.

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Of the problems spiritual tourists themselves seek to address we must also ask some questions, particularly of the gains that can be had from participating in such exercises. Admittedly, to the casual observer the subject of this book may seem like a trivial one. That people travel to observe and sometimes drink of the local traditions and cultural practices might seem like such an assumed aspect of the tourist experience, so mundanely common that deeper analysis simply is not required. It is what the examination of such tourists’ motivations, perceived benefits and feelings concerning the journey can contribute to the understanding of religion, tourism and spirituality, and by extension, society in general that is of interest. This, of course, leads to further questions concerning what sorts of issues about religious/spiritual experience appeal to these tourists. Tourists’ accounts of the circumstances in their daily lives that have led them to choose to travel for these reasons are also critical. These stories will not only tell us about the role of contemporary spirituality, but about the role of tourism in the Western world. All of the practices found, for example, in Rishikesh, are available in most Western cities. Why tourists spend so much money to travel half-way around the world to participate in practices available to them at home is thus important to understanding the phenomena. Finally, that the nominally secular realm of travel is being used for, or becomes a point for tourists to embark upon spiritual exploration calls for analysis of what it says about religion/spirituality in contemporary, everyday life. If, as the likes of Steve Bruce (2002) tell us, ‘God is dead’ and the Western world is in a secularizing, even de- spiritualizing mode, what is to be made of tourists visiting religious sites and having spiritual experiences? This book provides an answer to that question.

Notes 1 According to a recent ruling by Antonio Tajani, the European Union commissioner for enterprise and industry, the EU considers tourism a human right. Whether this holds remains to be seen. 2 However, many of the spiritual tourists interviewed for this project would contest that term, in addition to the label ‘tourist’.

Part I

Finding Spiritual Tourism in the Field Long before anyone had even thought of round-the- world airfares, the first travellers – pilgrims – were leaving the confines of their villages to walk their way to god. From red- eyed kids on Kho Pha Ngan to dread-headed saddhus on the Great Trunk Road, there’s still no shortage of travellers looking for the path to enlightenment. Whether the question is ‘how do I score a good spot in heaven?’ or ‘why don’t my parents understand me?’, the answers are out there on the road. Lonely Planet website, 2006

Spiritual tourism, as it is examined in this book, provides a unique view of spirituality and cultures of travel in the West. The activities of spiritual tourists reflect the social and cultural forces they operate within and seek to depart from, for whatever reasons. Their behaviours and in particular the contents of their activities tell us about what they want from their journeys. Certain themes stand out in both examples. The first is the concentration on the self, and the articulation of this focus within the bounds of community. The project of the self, within spiritual tourism, is specifically articulated as critical to personal happiness and well-being. The second is the focus on religious practice, which is, of course, the focus of these journeys, though here in a secular way. The third is the way in which tourism here operates as part of a critique of the culture of everyday Western life. The following two chapters look at spiritual tourism in two locations – Rishikesh, in India, and the Camino de Santiago, in north-western Spain. These two locations were chosen to provide a contrast between Eastern and Western practices and traditions, and because they were popular. The style of this research is best classified as participant- observer research. In both cases the majority of interviews were conducted in public spaces, such as cafés or restaurants, due to the lack of private space, and the nature of being a traveller on the road. Throughout both chapters informants will be referred to using their initials, and where provided their age, sex, nationality and occupation will also be indicated. A list of informants is supplied in the Appendix A.

Chapter 2

Rishikesh: The Spiritual Marketplace

For the spiritual tourist India offers a rich variety of traditions and experiences. Indeed, it is often quite apparent that spiritual activities are among the strongest draw- cards for a number of destinations within the country. The peaceful town of Rishikesh is a standout example. Lying nestled in the fi rst valleys of the Himalayas on the banks of the Ganges River, Rishikesh is an oasis of peace and clean air to tourists fresh from the bustling grime of Delhi or the chaotic madness of Varanasi. Upon arriving at the upper end of town, where most tourists go, it is immediately clear that yoga, meditation and spiritual/philosophical lectures (satsangs) are the central attractions. The bulk of the English language advertising plastered on light poles and walls offers either accommodation and food, or some kind of spiritual course or experience. These can range from Ayurvedic medicine courses and treatments, yoga classes and retreats, meditations sessions, advertisements for lectures by specific teachers such as Sri Sri Ravi Shankar or Shanti Mayi, to the more nebulous practices of chakra healing, crystal treatments and aura readings. As a tourist destination, Rishikesh has a cultural face that is a caricature of Hinduism – sadhus wander the streets covered in ash and/or dressed in spectacular costumes, offering their services to passing tourists; hundreds of tiny shops peddle clothing, trinkets and spiritual paraphernalia (prasad , prayer beads, small statues of Shiva) in cramped alleyways and busy streets between temples, ashrams and shrines; the sweet scent of incense wafts through the air almost, but not quite, masking the cacophony of odours from the rubbish, sewers and cows wandering nonchalantly from temple to temple. Over all of this tabla - driven devotional music plays, the piercing nasal voices of the female singers audible from some distance. The cumulative effect is not unlike the areas one finds away from the stages at large music festivals, with a permanent carnival feel. Away from the shops the town is leafy and quiet; the perfect setting for meditation and concentrated spiritual learning. Travellers congregate in small groups here and there, talking about the various teachers or techniques they have tried, making recommendations or giving warnings. Others come and go, ‘shopping’ for an ashram or yoga course.

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In Rishikesh I arrived in Rishikesh by taxi from Haridwar, some 30km to the south, in mid- February 2007. It was early afternoon, and after settling in to my hotel and making some notes on the signage around town I headed out to get my bearings. While the cold winter had finished the hot season was yet to begin, and the air had a gentle crispness to it that was pleasantly refreshing. Many obviously felt the weather likewise suitable for an outing. Small monkeys lazed in groups by the road while Western tourists and Indian pilgrims passed, occasionally tossing them a piece of fruit or some prasad . Hawkers joked with each other, making the odd sales pitch to passersby. The mood was light and relaxed, but for a young academic fresh from Sydney, it was still an Indian- style social and sensory onslaught that could only be dealt with in brief plunges. Ducking back into the doorway of my hotel for some respite, I noticed a young tourist emerging from her hotel nearby, dressed in loose, flowing green pants, a white shirt and a deep blue shawl speckled with a few sequins. She clutched a small map and a piece of paper upon which she had compiled a list of nearby ashrams. As she passed the door I stood in we exchanged a smile and a nod, as travellers sometimes do. She set off down the hill, away from the Lakshman Julha footbridge towards Ram Julha, focused curiosity written on her face. A few hundred metres later she came upon her first goal, Sant Seva Ashram, and disappeared inside. After a few minutes she came out and continued down the road, setting a quick pace. Five minutes later she stopped and consulted her map, frowning with frustration. She asked two passing tourists to point out where her next objective was and then moved on, eventually disappearing down a side road. I sat by the road as she walked away, making notes on what had just transpired; other tourists passed chatting, some nodding at me, as they did to other Western tourists, as if we shared some secret bond. But later, as I walked away, I noticed that many treated me with a studied indifference, quickly finding interest in the contents of a shop or rummaging in their bag if I made to approach. Still, I kept my eye out for willing-looking Western tourists, steeling myself that I might pounce upon them for an interview. Most, it seemed were cosseted in cafés and restaurants, talking. It seemed as though many spent the whole day there. Later that evening I ran into the girl in the blue shawl again and struck up a conversation with her. I asked what she was looking for earlier that day. In a heavy Spanish accent she answered that she was ‘looking at which ashram I could stay in for some nights’. ‘Why? Do you want to do a yoga course?,’ I asked. She nodded and said, ‘I’m not so sure which one, so I look around today to see which is which.’ As she wandered off I noticed again her clothes – mostly of a flowing variety – and looking around the restaurant saw that others were similarly attired. The clothing aesthetic was quite standard among spiritual tourists in Rishikesh – loose, flowing pants and shirt, a jumper

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and/or shawl for warmth and juttis or sandals. I, bedecked with heavy walking boots, jeans, a t- shirt and a hoodie, stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. Indeed, some days later one informant revealed that, after first seeing me shortly after I arrived, he thought I might have come to Rishikesh by mistake. I decided not to clothe myself likewise, but I did decide to act on the established anthropological principle, ‘when in Rome’, and to spend the following days in a café or restaurant in order to catch tourists where they seemed to spend most of their time.

Watching Spiritual Tourism Surface Despite the idle appearance, daily life for spiritual tourists in Rishikesh is typically quite busy. Days are filled with spiritual practices interspersed with relaxation time sitting in cafés and restaurants chatting with others. Some choose to spend their time there adhering to the stricter schedules of ashrams, with the content of their days more rigidly set out. Most spiritual tourists alternate between satsang and yoga or meditation classes. Satsang sessions are typically held in small halls or conference rooms in hotels, attracting anywhere from a dozen to a hundred listeners. They run for one to two hours, though sometimes stretch longer. For the most part they are like lectures followed by short question and answer sessions. Yoga sessions may be on a drop-in basis or part of a longer course. In general they are around one and a half hours long, but might include a meditation session towards the end that sometimes stretches them out to two hours. A spiritual tourist in Rishikesh might fill their day with an early morning yoga class followed by breakfast in a café. Some personal time (for emails or reading) might follow before a late morning satsang then lunch. The afternoon might then consist of another yoga class or satsang followed by dinner and more social or personal time. My own informants averaged between four and six hours of spiritual practice most days. A few, usually those on courses, averaged up to ten hours per day, though they were exceptions. This work-like organization of time is more than an attempt to pack the most into a short holiday. It is a deliberate break from and critique of the perceived obsession in everyday Western culture with not focusing on issues of the self, favouring instead work-life or material wealth. Interestingly, amid this very consciously performed rebellion, satsang, yoga classes, meditation sessions and the other such practices are all taken seriously and are viewed as ‘work’, albeit spiritual work or self-work. Even time not directly engaged in spiritual practice is viewed as part of the practice of ‘being’ in Rishikesh, as the town often takes on a mythical character seen to aid seekers of truth and enlightenment. The seriousness of the endeavour results in a certain distrust, or, as I found, indifference to those not identified as being so engaged. As there is not much else to do in Rishikesh apart from spiritually oriented practice, there are

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few so- called ‘tourists’ (referring to the pejorative ‘sightseer’). Those that do arrive thus standout – they tend to dress differently, they do not attend classes and, most importantly, they are unknown quantities to those around them. Being serious about spiritual practice is a quality displayed by either action or discussion. Despite some short and interesting interviews, my status had not changed. I remained unknown to those around me: my subjects. My questions had been answered, but the responses were always simple and facile, with the interviewee keen to make a getaway. On my third morning in Rishikesh I made my way to my usual morning haunt – a café overlooking the Lakshman Juhla bridge – and sat down to eat some banana porridge and wait for a likely looking informant. Frustrated at my lack of progress, when two males sat down dressed in standard spiritual tourist attire, I decided to put the voice recorder away and simply have a conversation. I told them what I was doing, why, what had led me to study it, and what I hoped it might tell us about the world we live in – the naïve dreams of a Humanities student. Immediately they volunteered themselves as interview subjects and asked if I would like to come with them later to a satsang. With this introduction of myself I unknowingly broke down the barrier that had been preventing me gaining intimate access to spiritual tourists’ thoughts and feelings. Immediately a whole social network was opened up to me. Strangers became friends, even if only through associative power, and this effect snowballed. Soon I found cafés full of friendly, familiar people, more than willing to talk about exactly why they were there and what they were doing, just as they did with their other friends there. The next morning I sat in the same café and noticed exactly what I had noticed each previous morning. Twenty to thirty spiritual tourists engaged in earnest conversation about the events of the previous day, the day ahead, their own spiritual and emotional challenges, and the various teachers currently giving satsang in town. On this morning, however, I was able to see what the social realm of spiritual tourism in Rishikesh revealed about its practice. Clifford Geertz (1972) noted that much of Bali surfaces in the cockfight, in that it provides a meta- social commentary on the human collective. In the same way, much of the culture of spiritual tourism in Rishikesh emerges in the ‘play’ that occurs in the cafés and restaurants that dot the banks of the Ganges. Sometimes light-hearted or teasing, sometimes heavy-hearted, the batting back and forth of life stories and encounters with teachers and techniques demonstrate the way religious practices are used as mirrors for the examination of the self by spiritual tourists. In the gentle, often therapeutic discussions that flow over tables, the richness of meaning in the tourist’s journey is played out as they relate to the person opposite them their woes, their joys and their desires for the time spent practising and learning in Rishikesh. Over steaming cups of chai and vegetarian ‘sizzlers’, the emotional landscape the

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spiritual tourist negotiates is mapped and re- shaped in discussion with other participants in their transient, yet liminally bonded community. What they do is yoga and satsang, chosen as practices to better the self, but what it means is revealed in the social practice of conversing and connecting with other similarly oriented Western tourists. The lack of participation by, and interaction with, Indian practitioners speaks volumes. Spiritual tourism in Rishikesh is a distinctly and exclusively Western practice done in part to better the self, and in part as a mode of cultural criticism of the life practices of the West.

On Yoga, Satsang and Café Conversations This deeply rooted critique of the West is evident at every turn. Even a quick sip of tea in a single café is enough to inform one of the types of reasons people have for going to Rishikesh. Subjects taboo at the stereotypical Western dining table – religion, and to a lesser degree politics – are the focus, and approached with care and openness. Satsang is a carefully negotiated practice, both individually and socially. It is openly acknowledged that the teacher– student match is one that must be experimented with. As a result most spiritual tourists in Rishikesh attend satsang with a number of teachers before settling on one or two that are seen to answer their specific problems. Certain ailments or themes for personal projects are often linked to certain teachers, but the match is openly spoken of as very personal and unpredictable. The criticism of teachers is only ever made in such terms, lest the spiritual tourist be seen to be suggesting something other than relative- style truth. As with all other forms of spiritual practice in Rishikesh, personal experience is the only valid form of authority, and then only applicable to the individual concerned. Yoga is explicitly spoken of in terms that separate it from the purely physical practice of home. Even among sympathetically minded travellers, a spiritual tourist’s relating of a yoga session in Rishikesh is almost always spoken of in ways that understand a connection between mind and body, and that serve to open the individual to deeper emotional experience. Choosing an ashram at which to practise is thus much the same as choosing the right tool for a job; it must suit the mission profile. Likewise, meditation is understood as a tool of personal agency used to explore the more confronting and problematic components of the self. It is seen as the explorative aspect of spiritual practice; one takes what one has learnt and applies it in meditation. Again, what matters is not so much the philosophical content of what is taught, but that the techniques function for the individual in their personal project, be it psychological, behavioural or perceptual. The mode in which tourists approach this practice is secular, postmodern and Western. Thus in practice it is not a critique of Western society as a whole, but a critique of certain aspects of it, such as consumerism, a philosophy of happiness perceived to be faulty, the distrust

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of holistic well-being practices, Christianity and secularism of the form that removes meaning from daily life practices such as work and play. Participating wholeheartedly in the spiritual practices and teachings offered around the town identify one as separate from the calculated indifference of the everyday world of the West. But more importantly, for spiritual tourists it forms part of individual projects of self-improvement and healing, the primary motives for their travel.

The Explicit Project of the Self The Spanish woman I met on my first afternoon was fairly typical of those coming to Rishikesh. In the globalized, multicultural Western world from which these tourists emerge, all of the types of spiritual activities that are available in Rishikesh are certainly accessible at home. So we must ask what causes spiritual tourists go to a place like Rishikesh when there is nothing particularly new there. Further, what this says about religion and spirituality in contemporary life is also crucial to understanding this phenomena. By looking at how tourists come to be in Rishikesh we can fi nd answers to these questions and to the role tourism can play in contemporary Western life. Coming from a religious studies point of view to understand how the spiritual tourism phenomena works for tourists, what are required are qualitative, self- reflexive categories in terms of spiritual motives. These will reveal the roles spiritual tourism, and thereby spirituality, plays in contemporary life. My research has led me to argue that there are five basic modes of motivation that take spiritual tourists to Rishikesh. Each tourist may have any one or all of them as important, with most (over 90 per cent) indicating at least two of these reasons. These are: going to the source; intensified or concentrated learning; the variety of practices and teachings; and making a pilgrimage or thanksgiving journey. All spiritual tourists, who were interviewed, given questionnaires or simply conversed with, indicated that at some level personal healing or self- improvement was the primary motive for their journey to Rishikesh. The stories spiritual tourists tell over tabletops in Rishikesh shed light on these issues right away. For DB, a 48-year- old Information Technology engineer from the United Kingdom, coming to India was also a chance to explore a land he had ‘always had an interest’ in, and that brought him ‘. . . to India for that reason’. Yet his interest was fertilized by spiritual inclinations and desires, and he qualified his questionnaire response above with an insight to the personal dimension of his journey: ‘I just want more peace and harmony and insight into my true nature.’ DB was in Rishikesh for only a week or so, before he pushed on to the Himalayas proper on his Enfield motorbike. But while his search for this, along with his more regular touristic inclinations, might

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take him all over India (he had already spent one month attending satsangs with Dolano in Pune and attended a ten- day Goenka meditation retreat),1 for others the pursuit was best done in Rishikesh itself. PD, a middle- aged Norwegian woman, expressed the thoughts of many when she noted that Rishikesh is a ‘powerful centre for finding your own truth’. She summed up her desire to come to Rishikesh as a ‘passion for being free, for being what I believe is the natural state for everyone’. In Rishikesh she felt she was able to gain direct access to the types of teachings that encouraged that passion and taught the techniques she associated with it. She noted that it was ‘much easier’ for her to do this in Rishikesh as opposed to home, and as a result this was her fourth visit to the town. For many others Rishikesh was an opportunity to simply dedicate some time to spiritual development. TS from Germany noted that for many Westerners a place like Rishikesh offered something that had been lost at home: ‘We forgot our spirituality, that’s why so many come here.’ Like many others she had been raised as a Christian but became disillusioned by what she perceived as more concern with conversion than with spiritually helping people. She also felt that there was something special about the space and location of Rishikesh itself that appealed to Westerners who had lost their sense of spirituality. It was a place, she maintained, where people who were not afraid of their spirituality would share it with whoever wanted to listen. ‘We have everything, but we don’t have spirituality, we aren’t happy. We fill our lives with work and gadgets and pleasures, but we aren’t truly happy.’ In India, and particularly in Rishikesh there are opportunities to find happiness, or at least a path to it, ‘like finding the right path up the mountain’. In Rishikesh, spiritual tourists find themselves at the foot of this path. The reading of Western culture is clear here. The critique centres on the Western fascination with material wealth at the expense of spiritual well- being. Amid the swirling mass of poverty in India this must seem all the more apparent.

In Search of Origins Many informants indicated that going to India was a chance to go to the source or origins of spiritual practices or teachings. PD’s ‘passion for being free’ found its greatest realization at the source of the teachings she valued. ‘It’s much easier for me’, she said, ‘to do it here’. Likewise, BA from Germany, said that, while he had discovered and propagated his practice at home in Bremen, he felt he had to go to Rishikesh to experience the teachings firsthand. Being close to his teacher allowed him to practise more effectively and gain inspiration for his life at home. Like PD, BA also saw Rishikesh itself as having a ‘special power or force’ that allowed for more effective spiritual practice. It was thus his fi fth visit to the town in three years.

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But many come to India without specific locations in mind. For these tourists it is not so much that a particular place in India is the source of a tradition, but that it is the source of many traditions, and thus the ‘proper’ place to learn them. JL, 22, from the USA, had just completed a 150-hour yoga course, and said, ‘At home these things are seen as “new- agey” or treated with suspicion and scepticism, but I trusted the teacher a lot more simply because he was Indian, and I was in India, the source of yoga.’ While KS from Sweden, said, ‘I went here because . . . for a long time I wanted to do a trip by myself to somewhere where you can do yoga and meditate, and I heard of this place and I thought, ok, I’ll go there.’ She had been told that Rishikesh had a concentration of ‘authentic’ teachers. In trying to understand these tourists we are better served by thinking of them as seeking a spiritual ‘space’ rather than a specific ‘place’; an atmosphere of spiritual ferment rather than a particular holy site. More than a journey to the centre, as Victor Turner (1973) or Erik Cohen (1979) might have classified it, this motivation expresses subtle means by which Western culture is read and critiqued in the practice of spiritual tourism. Going to the source is not ‘good to think’ simply because it is where the particular teacher happens to spend most of their time. It is good to think because it identifies authority on matters of spiritual progress, and personal happiness and well-being, outside the realms of tourists’ own culture; a culture they see as flawed and failing in its present form. For many their journey places it outside the realms of any culture. What they seek is a practice that functions to make them feel in control of their being, or their existence, in a way that Western paradigms are seen not to. Going to the source is also an acknowledgement of the generating culture, often seen to have been repressed or put down by Western culture. Just as importantly, this motivating factor expresses the role the individual plays in their own well- being. It is a tracking down of authenticity that links authority with personal experience within particular cultural and geographical space.

Intensified or Concentrated Learning/Practice Spiritual tourists also state that time spent in Rishikesh is an opportunity for a period of intensified or concentrated learning, much like a residential course. Of her time in Rishikesh, KS said, ‘I hope to find some yoga place where I can go regularly, because at home there are so many other things to do.’ In India, doing yoga or meditation for the whole day gave her a chance to really discover and explore it. Likewise, PT, from Denmark, said ‘Being here is much more relaxed and anatomically re- focuses my sense of responsibility; away from short- term daily tasks.’ It is worth noting that the majority of spiritual tourists in India undertake some period of intensive learning or practice.

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LD, for example, would end up spending three months of his seven in India attending meditation courses. Indeed, for almost all of the informants who explicitly indicated this type of motivation, their period of ‘study’ was long, generally of no less than a month. For BA, this was a fi fth visit to Rishikesh from his home in Germany in the last three years, and one of his longest at one and a half months, all of which was to be spent staying at Sachadam Ashram and studying with his guru, Maharaji.2 BA explained that his regular visits were done to ‘refine’ his spiritual practice and gain further inspiration for life at home. He went specifically to study with Maharaji, whose teaching he first encountered through a disciple in Bremen, an experience so overwhelming that he felt he had to go to Rishikesh to see and hear them in person. SR, 22 from Wales, was one of many who came to India for diverse reasons, within which spirituality was at the core. A Vipassana meditator, SR’s trip to India was to include a visit to Bodh Gaya and other places associated with the life of the Buddha. I was just giving it the chance to inspire my practice of Dharma, but I didn’t know whether it would or not. A lot of my Dharma friends had reported being inspired by going, so I thought, well I’ll go and see how it affects my mind. Immersed in his motivations was a bubbling curiosity and willingness to try new things, but others saw a black humour in the whole affair of personal spirituality. PT held a similar view about the ‘air’ in Rishikesh. He was spending one month in Rishikesh ‘soaking up the wisdom’. He noted that he was not looking for anything in particular, as most spiritual messages were essentially the same to him, but he did enjoy listening to the different ways they were put. With a dry, sardonic touch in referring to his quest to find ways to free himself from the cycle of birth and death, PT replied to the question ‘What did you hope to experience or “get out of it”?’ with ‘These “activities” are the [reason I] came for this visit. “Get out of it?” I hope to get out of it!’ This period of intensive practice contrasts with life at home, where work monopolizes the majority of the individual’s time and the social import. By taking time for a concentrated period of spiritual practice tourists are asserting for themselves their happiness and well-being as being of primary importance and meaning. In their day-long satsang and yoga sessions spiritual tourists are asserting that the secular Western habit of ignoring spiritual life and well-being practices is wrong. Further, it asserts that spirituality is a personal practice with skills to be acquired by the practitioner. It thereby transcends, for tourists, the notion that spirituality, and by extension religion, is a matter only of faith. Simple belief is not sufficient for spiritual tourists in Rishikesh. Only experience is valid, thus by engaging with an intensive period of spiritual experience they are elevating their own spiritual practice to a more cognitively defensible position.

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Thanksgiving For a small number of informants (less than 10 per cent), a journey to India was expressed as either a pilgrimage or a ‘thanksgiving’ for teachings and practices gained. GS, a 37-year- old from the United Kingdom came with more focused intentions. An experienced Vipassana meditator, for him the journey was an opportunity to ‘experience India and develop in meditation’. Before coming to Rishikesh he had already undertaken one- day, three- day, and 20- day Goenka meditation courses in Gujarat and Bihar. He spoke of his trip being a ‘thanksgiving’ out of respect for the path he had been shown. In a sense his journey was a pilgrimage, focused as it was within the Buddhist Vipassana tradition, and made for reverential reasons. What kept him returning to the Goenka tradition in India was the ‘. . . purity of the teachings and the fact that the course is given freely and the teachers are not paid, plus the completeness and practical application which helps in Life’. But unlike others, GS’s trip to India included much more than a chance to ‘work on himself’. He included visits to numerous religious sites in his questionnaire response, and spoke of the simple desire to travel through the rest of India. He was, in this sense, as much a tourist as he might be considered a pilgrim in the variety of his touristic adventures exclusive of spiritual experience. Likewise, LD, an experienced Vipassana meditator, said, ‘I began this meditation practice at home in Australia and have come to India to pay respect to the places (and people) that have developed and propagated the Buddha’s teaching.’ SR had also travelled to Bodh Gaya to give thanks for the teachings he had learned at home. When such tourists come to touch, as it were, the space at which their primary practice was born, or incubated, we can see the way they locate their spiritual centres in places outside their everyday experience. From the journey, they seek to gain a more complete understanding of the practice in addition to showing respect for those who developed it. Spiritual tourists in Rishikesh are going to visit to sources of spiritual wisdom they recognize as special.3 This has a number of parallels in more historically established religious traditions, such as the pilgrimage to Lourdes. These are, in a very real sense, pilgrims journeying to ‘a centre out there’; a locus of spiritual authority or a holy place; a source of wisdom not attainable at home. This variety of touristic practice calls into question the appellation ‘spiritual tourist’. Such journeys of thanks could be called pilgrimages. This is a grey area, but we can certainly say that all spiritual tourists are engaging in a practice that is at least pilgrimagelike. Importantly, most do not self-identify as pilgrims, and while they also do not self-identify as tourists either we are more easily able to place them as tourists than we are as pilgrims, despite the religious connection. This will be discussed in detail in Chapter 5, but for the moment it suffices to note that tourism is simply defined as leisured travel. Pilgrimage, is similarly ‘leisured

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travel’, but takes place within a socially and historically established tradition, or is identified as one by the participants themselves.

The Variety of Spiritual Activities, or Spiritual Choice That India is rich in religious traditions and techniques is certainly a drawcard for many spiritual tourists. Locations such as Rishikesh often function as a form of ‘spiritual supermarket’ where tourists are able to ‘try before they buy’. As we saw with KS earlier, she had heard that Rishikesh was ‘a good place’ to go to find a yoga and meditation practice. Similarly, PD said that ‘I don’t have to come back here, I like to come back here . . . The teachings [are] all over, so you can get [them] anywhere if that’s what you want.’ In Rishikesh, she said, ‘Many teachers guide you in to your own teacher, your own guru.’ What PD especially liked was that she could combine the teachings of two teachers each day to ‘see through the text, through the religion to find the source behind the words’. This is a common conception of personal spirituality among spiritual tourists in India. It is an understanding that individual spirituality requires an individuated and interpretive practice. Many informants stated that their spirituality was essentially a collection of ideas and practices gathered as seemed appropriate. For still others, the variety of spiritual practices on offer in India became an important feature during their journey. SR stated that he did not really know why he chose to go to Rishikesh, ‘More of a break than a purpose’, he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to find anything . . . but I really have found a lot of brilliant things here.’ He had discovered a new religious movement (NRM) that complemented his Vipassana practice and was about to undertake a 12- day course with them. He saw first-hand the effects on others that he desired to achieve. Speaking to them in the cafés and restaurants around town he constantly heard about a particular teacher. But the benefits were from their own experience, which SR thought of as the key. The fact that a part of me felt confronted by it showed me that I had some attachments . . . to the Vipassana story, the way that ‘my tradition’ teaches this. Before coming into contact with Candice I didn’t really realize I had much attachment. So that was really valuable to see. Having such a variety of teachers to choose from meant that SR was able to discover aspects of his own practice that were unexpected. He notes that, to me it’s like . . . at the moment, and in a month I may be completely disinterested again, or even more interested . . . but at the moment she’s a Vipassana teacher. She . . . sees truth exactly how it is and relaxes with it, and talks to others about doing that, and why it’s a good idea, and how they can

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practice [it] . . . But the way that she transmits the message is in a way that seems more direct to me. SR was another who had done a pilgrimage around the Buddhist circuit. Coming to Rishikesh he felt he had done ‘the pilgrimaging that I needed to do’. However, like KS he had come to Rishikesh without any specific practice in mind (apart from his own Vipassana meditation which is not taught in Rishikesh); ‘I don’t really know why I came to Rishikesh . . . I wanted to go somewhere with clean air’ (he noted that the air around Bodh Gaya was very dirty and caused him some health problems). Some of his time in Rishikesh was approached as ‘more of a break than a purpose’. He had found that some of the teachings in his meditation practice were contradictory and was taking some time to attempt to reconcile the dissonance he found in them. The thing with meditation is that . . . it’s all just a practical joke (laughs). For instance it’s called a practice! You are doing something and that is exactly what the teaching says is what you are not supposed to be doing. He felt this confused a lot of people who might otherwise gain great benefit from the practice. But LD, like others, had been surprised by some other practices and teachings he stumbled across in India. In particular, he found that these other teachings shed new light on his regular practice: . . . it was interesting for me to go to all these talks and things because I didn’t really expect to do that, but I just kind of got drawn in to it. And that’s been really beneficial. It’s been really good to just be open to that and to do something unexpected. It’s been really nice. Definitely equally as beneficial as doing a Vipassana course. In LD’s words there is a relaxed openness to other spiritual practices or teachings common amongst spiritual tourists, even among those who have chosen a specific path (i.e. with a particular guru or with Vipassana, and so on). The exploration of the self or of the problems that plague them and cause unhappiness or dissatisfaction leads many spiritual tourists to gather spiritual sources together like a collage. Traditions are chosen in as far as they are seen to fit with whatever it is the tourist is seeking or trying to solve. For most this is an open- ended search that is largely unrestricted in terms of religious traditions or continuity.4 Even some of those who are quite happily established with a certain teacher or tradition often visit the teachings of others or try out different practices. By valuing choice in spiritual practice, tourists in Rishikesh are reinforcing the movement away from notions of truth as exclusive. Again, the second- order

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reasons of searching for practices that work to cultivate personal well- being and happiness reveal third- order cultural reasoning. In valuing choice, spiritual tourists are also asserting the authority of experience over dogma in addition to the understanding that spiritual practice is, by necessity, individual in nature. This recognizes the validity of the experiences of others, no matter how different they may be, though it is underpinned by an understanding that claims to exclusivity are misguided at best and devious at worst. This deepseated belief in the individuated nature of truth informs the way in which spiritual practice is searched for and constructed. Spiritual tourism in Rishikesh demonstrates Western spiritual practice as a complex set of behaviours and beliefs put together as a bricolage; the town itself offering a range of practices, teachings and techniques for just such a project. In this sense, spiritual tourists in Rishikesh could equally be called spiritual bricoleurs.

Self-Improvement and Healing Nearly all informants indicated that their spiritual goals included either the healing of emotional or psychological ‘wounds’, or a larger project of selfimprovement. KS, thinking about her spiritual motivations for going to India, said what she really wanted for herself was ‘to be able to let go a little’. Similarly, PD explained her trips to Rishikesh by saying, ‘sometimes I feel that I need some inspiration.’ During her first time to Rishikesh she had been searching through different New Age practices, ‘always searching for something I couldn’t describe’, she said. After four satsangs she knew she was ‘home’, ‘I knew I didn’t have to seek anywhere else . . . I could start digging there, digging in myself.’ ‘Many times in the West there is so much going on, so I start separating “me” from what’s really the truth.’ KS, a 22-year- old Swede, arrived in Rishikesh straight from Delhi airport after flying from Sweden. She spent her first morning in India sitting in Devraj Coffee Corner, overlooking the Ganges above the Lakshman Julha bridge, munching on the bakery’s attempt at a croissant looking haggard and slightly fearful – mostly haggard. It was her first time in India, and her motivation to come was simple – ‘I went here because I . . . wanted to do a trip by myself . . . where you can do yoga and meditate’. But between her words was a deeper yearning for more than the mere consumption of casual classes. Her sole intention for coming to India was to ‘work with herself’, with her spirituality, yet she had come with no particular teacher or tradition in mind. She simply wanted to have a look around at what was on offer, speak to other travellers and find out what best suited her spiritual tastes. In contrast to LD, KS’s trip was to be a short one at just six weeks, half of which was to be in Rishikesh, and half in McLeod Ganj doing a Tibetan meditation course. She had attended meditation courses at home and was a regular at a yoga

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hall, yet did not really know why it was necessary for her to come to India to do the same things. When asked about what she was looking for, spiritually, she was unsure, and paused. ‘. . . I don’t know, but I can tell you what I’m hoping for . . . I hope to find some yoga place where I can go regularly.’ At home, she said, there were many other things to do that distract from concentrating on bettering the self, such as work, family, friends and so on. In India, doing yoga or meditation for the whole day gave her a chance to really delve deeply into it. Thinking some more on this she said what she really wanted for herself was not to find a teacher, but ‘to find a teacher in myself . . . I don’t understand it though’. LD, a 28-year- old Australian, arrived in Rishikesh after spending some time following the Buddhist circuit in Bihar. His trip to India would last seven months and include at least ‘2–3 months . . . doing and serving on Vipassana meditation courses’. Like most other spiritual tourists, LD had an established spiritual path that he was nourishing in India, and like GS his trip was also one of thanksgiving. His questionnaire responses highlight what the trip was to be for him: I began this meditation practice at home in Australia and have come to India to pay respect to the places (and people) that have developed and propagated the Buddha’s teaching. Small, cumulative, positive changes have developed in me since beginning this practice over the past 5 or 6 years. Basically the benefit is that I have a practical, step-by- step technique that brings me back to mental balance and equanimity amidst all the ups and downs of life. This is a practice that I do in daily life for the past 2 years. Its benefits have gradually permeated most parts of my life. So it has helped me amidst the business of regular working western lifestyle. For LD, the spiritual practice he was refining in India was part of an ongoing project. However, for LD there were other forces in his decision to travel to India. In a later interview he revealed that a friend had suggested accompanying him to India after a recent break-up of a long term relationship. ‘That was the main thing I came for, just to have a break and to meditate, not to travel endlessly.’ (‘Time away from life?’) ‘Yeah. A holiday before I started the next sort of phase [of life]’.5 For LD, this trip was time for self-reflection and soul searching, and the contexts he chose for this, where he knew such endeavours would be allowed to run their course, were the meditation halls and ashrams of India. MB, from the USA, was in Rishikesh for similar reasons. He was getting over a relationship, which also resulted in the loss of his personal practice (his yoga teacher had disappeared with his girlfriend). His journey was made to heal himself and regain a spiritual habit. It was not his first time to Rishikesh though. Like LD, MB felt that coming to India was an opportunity to sort out

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personal issues that had been plaguing him for sometime. Previous trips to Rishikesh during which he discovered a personal spiritual practice had given him a love of being there. However, his former teacher had slept with his girlfriend and this turned him off his spiritual practice ‘completely’; ‘Flicked the off switch, depressed, disillusioned. Whenever I tried to do yoga at home or wherever I was . . . it brought up memories and feelings. It reminded me of that time and I wasn’t interested in that – I didn’t want to go there.’ With this setback he also began to question his work life – forever travelling the globe teaching English, largely without close friends nearby – and quit his job to work in a bar in San Francisco. A trip back to Rishikesh was to be a spiritual rejuvenation and in many senses a rebirth. But when questioned as to whether it was difficult to come back to Rishikesh after such an experience he shook his head, ‘It was easy coming back because I hit a dead end [in both career and life].’ Working in a bar just made him depressed. ‘I came back to Rishikesh’, he said, ‘to find something I had lost. Namely my spiritual practice and my heart, and I found both.’ It might seem superfluous, but questioning why tourists come to Rishikesh to heal or self-improve yields some deep insights concerning the role spiritual tourism plays. In particular it sheds light on the critique of Western society and the role of the practice of spiritual tourism. By approaching Rishikesh intending to self-improve spiritual tourists are articulating that, at least in part, their view of Western life is that it is inherently unhealthy. Many of these tourists return to Rishikesh, or to other similar destinations around the world, regularly. They see them as oases, places at which they might find re- creation in their recreation time. The seeking for healing in Rishikesh is also expressed in terms of the failure of Christianity to look after the spiritual well-being of the individual. Most spiritual tourists see Christianity as an institutional, almost ‘corporate’, religion that, like other large corporations is seen to care little for ‘real people’. In contrast, traditions and practices such as those offered in Rishikesh are seen to be concerned with practices and philosophies of life that seek to address the problems of individuality without having to give in to belief and dogma.

Analysis With these five modes of spiritual tourism established we are able to draw some conclusions. First, spiritual tourism is diverse in motivation and action. Tourists come for a variety of reasons and often participate in numerous spiritual practices. All of the informants indicated at least two of the five modes, and as the few mentioned here show, most indicated three to four. The reasons spiritual tourists make their choices in regard to why they go and what they do ‘on holiday’, tells us very precisely what they perceive as wrong with themselves

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and Western life, in addition to the role spirituality plays in addressing those aspects. Spiritual tourists like KS, SR and PD show us that spirituality is being conceived as an individual project that involves the collection of practices and ideas as they fit personal circumstance. They are mutable and, as we saw with MB, can be lost as easily as found. In a sense it is a very postmodern project; truth is variable with function. Thus we can also say that, as evidenced by a number of the spiritual tourists, there is a certain level of ‘shopping’ for appropriate practices and teachings. Indeed, many tourists attend a number of yoga classes, meditation sessions and satsangs upon first arriving before settling on the ones that they will stay with. By various methods during the course of their normal lives tourists gain knowledge of the destinations in India and what is offered there, experientially. Those interested in yoga, meditation, Eastern religious philosophy and some forms of New Age spiritual belief and practice travel there in their holiday time. Often these tourists express a desire to learn new practices or refine ones already known. They also articulate the desire to spend time learning/practising as driven by a desire for healing or self-improvement. While there, tourists take part in the traditions and practices offered at the locations they visit. This might include staying at an ashram, attending a yoga or meditation course, serving on a meditation retreat, listening to lectures by spiritual masters, or a range of other spiritual practices. The rich religious diversity spread through the country means that while there, many seek out a number of locations at which such experiences may be available (e.g. in ashrams or temples). Many tourists also take the opportunity to explore some spiritual practices or teachings they are not familiar with. The time in India participating in these practices is, for the most part, spoken of as time spent working on the self, improving the individual tourist for the good of the global community. What is required to understand this phenomenon is a dynamic appreciation of spiritual tourist modality that reflects a number of seemingly disparate theoretical paradigms. Erik Cohen’s phenomenological typology of tourists helps to appreciate the great differences to be found in tourist behaviour and motivation at a particular location. This is particularly so in the experiential and experimental modes of travel he describes, in which tourists attempt to look for meaning in the lives of others and those who adhere to spiritual centres outside their culture’s own (Cohen 1979, 183). Similarly, Victor Turner’s (1973) argument that pilgrimage involves a movement towards a ‘centre out there’ is clearly also worth considering. We can certainly say that spiritual tourism in Rishikesh is pilgrimage-like, in this sense. Away from theories of travel, Colin Campbell’s (1972, 119) seeker thesis – in which individuals look for novel religious practice – has some relevance here too, as tourists sample revelation and therapy. Finally, we can also see Paul Heelas’ (1996, 18–19) notion of self- spirituality at play, as tourists construct spiritual lives that place emphasis

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upon the self and upon personal happiness. These theories will be discussed in greater detail in Chapters 5 and 6, but for the moment they are worth keeping in mind insofar as they assist to locate spiritual tourism in Rishikesh. From this brief examination we are able to draw a picture of spiritual tourists’ motivations and hopes, and comment on how spirituality functions within their lives, both at a group- and individual level. From these motivations it is possible to sketch the role spiritual tourism plays in modern life. For each of the tourists above, the desire to go to India and engage with some form of spiritual practice or teaching emerged from the desire to learn or nourish techniques for the spirit. There is often a tone of need or even neglect that strikes the observer as indicative of the ways spirituality is conceived. Delving deeper reveals that in many ways spiritual tourism is what Tim Moore (2004), in his acerbic and witty Spanish Steps, referred to as ‘a mobile therapist’s couch’. The spiritual journey undertaken by tourists in these contexts is one of renewal and re- creation, as much as it may be recreation. Whether for reasons of the heart, the mind, curiosity or even simply by chance, the spiritual tourists above have one thing in common; their journey was made for themselves. The emphasis is on finding a workable solution to whatever problems or questions they are confronting in their lives. Indeed, for many these spiritual practices are seen as fitting into the broader context of what might be called ‘the science of living’ or ‘health and well- being’. For this grouping, notions of spiritual health are seen as just as important, and in fact on a similar plane as, physical health. The ways spiritual tourists see the practices they choose as being efficacious will thus reveal a great deal not only about the ‘use’ of spirituality at an individual level, but also its place within the broader social context. There is an important point of distinction to be made here in terms of what is understood to be being looked for. For the most part, spiritual tourists do not come to Rishikesh looking for things they might like. Rather, they come because they are trying to solve the things they do not like in their lives. Rishikesh can be thought of as a place where one can come to find the ‘medicine’ with which to heal the wounds of everyday life. Most do not expect to be healed while there, and instead treat their time as a period of ‘learning’ or ‘skills acquisition’ of the lessons/techniques that can be taken home and applied in everyday life. Some responses were more abstract, referring to the respondent’s personal belief system or structure, and are thus more difficult to place. DB’s questionnaire form, for example, included this extract in response to the ‘benefits’ question; Experiences come and go. The search for me has only been geared to the realisation of that which doesn’t change. That which ‘is’, but is not an experience. Meditation throws light on everything back home. In maybe abstract

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terms: meditation is the experience of ‘no- experience’. This no- experience is alive though. At first baffling, this answer actually gives a deep insight into DB’s spiritual goals when it is examined along with his reasons for going: ‘I just want more peace and harmony and insight into my true nature.’ With this, we get the sense that DB finds life unstable and inconsistent, and that his spiritual practice, for which India offers a concentrated period of variegated practice, gives stability and consistency; ‘that which doesn’t change’. The semi- structured interviews that provided the previous material were not that dissimilar to the discussions that take place in cafés and restaurants around Rishikesh everyday. In fact, most of the interviews took place in these very locations, so comfortable were most informants with talking in those spaces. In fact, the interviews were able to take place only because they were held in those spaces. To be indifferent to the emotional journeys of others or to one’s own as a spiritual tourist in Rishikesh is to be associated with the robotic, emotionless milieu of the everyday Western world. Café conversations here are performances as much as they are catharses. In the discussion of a problematic muscle during yoga or a weighty emotional issue to be confronted with a teacher, the spiritual credentials of the speaker are presented to listeners. On their part, listeners sit engaged and remain conspicuously non-judgemental about the speaker. Instead they consciously attend to the story being related, offering comforting words, reassurance or suggestions about courses or teachers to go to. The point is that the conversation space is understood as neutral ground in which to lay out the problems being encountered in the tourist’s personal project. In effect they are spontaneous counselling sessions, but they also serve to identify both the speaker and the listener as serious spiritual practitioners; beyond tourists, their conspicuous conversations are made to place them within the physical and cultural space of Rishikesh, and to reinforce the validity of their own project. That the West had discarded spirituality was accepted, if reviled, but there is understood to be a problem in the East also. The dire poverty faced by so many in countries like India causes many spiritual tourists to form arguments that link economic comfort to spiritual responsibility. This occurs in conjunction with what a number of spiritual tourists spoke about as a ‘critical shift’ in Western consciousness. This philosophy understands the West as presently undergoing a spiritual re- enlightenment, taking wisdom practices from around the world at their functional and meaningful value. These are understood as teachings about the human condition and how to negotiate it, not matters of belief such as creation, the existence of deities or other extra- empirical matters. Some karmic ideas come into play, but it is usually only in reference to the self; a law of returns and retribution rather than the accumulation of cosmic matter. As a result, these tourists understood that

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they bear heavy responsibility to develop and spread these teachings, as in many locations the cultures and societies that had developed them were less economically able to continue to do so. This clearly links spiritual practice with leisure time, and Westerners, as the people with the greatest financial freedom and security in the world, were charged with investigating, practising and spreading great spiritual teachings. For many it was seen as a duty; the cost of Western global hegemony.

Conclusions By the end of my stay I, like most other Westerners, could hardly walk down the road without running into half- a- dozen people I knew. The relaxed social atmosphere I had noticed upon arrival was now the one I inhabited. I also noticed that newcomers, lacking the rapport of familiarity, were excluded from this. In fact, on the street they were ignored for the most part, unless they approached directly. The indifference of ‘local’ tourists to newcomers was indeed studied, as I had thought; what type of person were they? Who had they come to learn from? Were they just ‘tourists’? An answer to any of these questions, and more, was enough of an ‘in’ to elevate their status. Until then there was no point in talking to them. They might be gone tomorrow. Once known quantities, however, most would reveal themselves as individuals there to learn and improve. Travelling to undertake such a project was the mark of the act’s special status. That is, yoga at home might be mundane, or even routine, but yoga in Rishikesh was purposeful and filled with meaning. By choosing to travel for spiritual reasons, spiritual tourists to Rishikesh mark their journey as something out of the ordinary, and the lessons therein somehow became more special, more valuable. ‘[M]aking the decision to go away’, she said, ‘spending money and giving yourself this time. I think that’s going to start working in you, just that you do this to yourself’. But for KS, this was a process as much bound in the experience of travel as the spiritual context she was placing herself in. She had noticed a change in those of her friends who had travelled. When asked her how she thought this worked she was thoughtful. ‘I think you’re more open . . . We meet other people . . . and that makes you meet many things in yourself as well.’ Perhaps, she suggested, this was reflective of a spiritual openness that allowed us to be touched more deeply and learn more subtly while we are ‘on holiday’. The removal of familiar social milieu and relationships when travelling focuses the attention upon the self. Existential questions come to the fore in such situations, and have indeed been the focus of many travel accounts. On being away from home SR noted that, ‘being in a different atmosphere . . . gives you a different angle to see the typical patterns of thought that you are used to at home. It kind of breaks that without

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you doing anything. So I suppose that helps you see some of those patterns of thought that you were less aware of when you were at home.’ What spiritual tourists in Rishikesh are also enacting has very much to do with the historically construed idea of travel. It is an escape from the unhealthy, overly consumerist and corporatized West to the spiritually enlightened East. But the decision to travel is also an unconscious expression of the power of travel itself; the act of removing oneself from familiar surroundings and facing the irregular. Without exception, a form of all of the practices available in Rishikesh can be found in most major Western cities. Some of the same teachers even travel to such places to teach Western audiences closer to their homes, and many of the religious movements found in the town also have centres dotted throughout Europe and North America. In deciding to travel to work on themselves, spiritual tourists inscribe for all to see that they are on a journey; literally and figuratively, of the self. It is an expression of the seriousness of the project being undertaken. A weekly evening course in meditative techniques might look like a hobby; two months spent in Rishikesh studying expresses commitment, dedication and a desire for real change to others and, more importantly, to themselves.

Notes 1 Dolano, born in Germany, promotes herself as a ‘radical zen master’ and gives public satsangs twice a month in Pune, India. Goenka is a lay Vipassana meditation teacher who promotes non- sectarian examination of one’s own experience as the key to enlightenment. See www.dolano.com and www.dhamma.org. 2 Maharaji, also known as Prem Rewat, is the son and successor of Hans Raj Maharaj and leader of the Divine Light Mission. See www.maharaji.net/index. html. 3 Interestingly, none of the female informants indicated that this was a motivating factor. However, I suspect this is an exceptional sample group rather than indicative of the presence of a sharp gender bias. While in Rishikesh I knew of female tourists who had done the Buddhist circuit, but never succeeded in interviewing any of them. Research has not indicated firmly whether any such bias can be consistently found. 4 It must be noted that in India there was a palpable distrust and ill-feeling towards Christianity. Many spiritual tourists reported being raised Christian but finding contradiction or hypocrisy in it as they grew older, usually becoming turning off the Church for good. 5 Text in brackets are the author’s words from the interview.

Chapter 3

The Camino de Santiago: The Spiritual Workplace

The Camino de Santiago de Compostela is the collective name for a grouping of Catholic pilgrimage routes converging on the city of Santiago de Compostela in north-western Spain. The practice of pilgrimage to the town itself can be dated back to at least the ninth century, and reached the peak of its popularity between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries. Yet after occupying a position as one of the most patronized loci of human movement during the Middle Ages, the Camino had dropped into relative obscurity by the twentieth century. In 1993 the route itself was inscribed as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in recognition of the cultural role it has played in European history, especially as it has contributed greatly to the development of international trade on the continent (UNESCO). Over the past 40 years it has moved from being perceived as a religious pilgrimage of penance and devotion in a state of rapid decline, to a widely popular secular ‘trek’ attracting over 100,000 pilgrims a year (Pilgrims Office of Santiago de Compostela). During the same period it has become the inspiration for, or the setting for, numerous accounts of personal discovery and/or transformation recounted in travel books, and more recently in blogs and web forums. The reasons why so many people now make the journey are the focus of this chapter. Far from being a simple ‘trek’ through the north of Spain, the Camino has come to hold a popular mythological status as a journey of ‘authenticity’ and transformation. While medieval pilgrims may have made the journey to expiate a crime, do penitence for heresy, look for a miraculous cure, fulfil a vow or simply to gain spiritually from being near the relic of an apostle, modern pilgrims are quite different. Indeed, the character of the modern- day fame of the pilgrimage is indicative of a number of processes at the heart of both tourism and spirituality in contemporary Western life. Of particular interest is the physical aspect of the pilgrimage itself (typically walking). The ‘traditional’ length of time spent walking has become four to five weeks; coincidentally close to the annual holiday in the West. Yet the whole period is one of travail, with intense physical exertion, often painful, and without the luxuries that abound at most holiday destinations. Why the Camino maintains this position

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as a journey of change and why people seek to undertake it reveal clues as to how the practice of spiritual tourism works in contemporary Western society. It also gives us excellent examples of the variety of ways religious practice is incorporated into the processes of everyday life. I began walking the Camino from Le Puy en Velay, in France, on 11 September 2007. From there I had somewhere between 1,500 and 1,700km to walk in order to arrive in Santiago (estimates and official signage both vary). I arrived in Santiago de Compostela on November 19, having walked on all but ten days in the intervening time. Unlike the cafés of Rishikesh, filled to bursting with potential subjects, the Camino was sparsely populated by pilgrims. As a result the deeper dimensions of its social and personal meanings took some time to surface. Early on the morning of my fi fth day of walking, with a sore knee developing and frustrated by a lack of in- depth interviews, I ran into MP and C, two French women who spoke little English and with whom I had dined two days previously. As we walked together they asked after me and said they had looked for me the previous night, concerned that I might be lonely. They had also sent AB, a 60-year- old Frenchman I had dined with previously, to look for me. Touched, and not a little curious, I asked why they had done this. MP replied that participating in the Chemin (French for Camino)1 involved much more than simply walking and thinking. In fact its most characteristic aspect, she asserted, was the level of convivialité2 practised by those walking in the same cohort (cf. Turner 1969, 128). This involved degrees of deconstructed social formalities – such as the use of the informal ‘tu’ and the levelling of age gaps – and increased levels of concern for the well-being of others, both physical and emotional, something typically quite unusual amongst strangers in France. After meeting me – a fellow pilgrim – they felt they had a responsibility to make sure I was well and to socialize with me. It was clear to me that the pilgrimage was much more than ‘a walk in the woods’. Something deeper to do with personal well-being and the social setting of the everyday was clearly occurring, but what it was still remained unclear. That evening was MP and C’s last on the Camino. When we arrived in Nasbinals, our stop for the night, they set about to find AB again. As it happened he walked into the gite3 we had chosen a short time later. They immediately insisted he look after me from then on, and we arranged to have dinner later with some other pilgrims staying in a different gite . That night AB and I dined with four other pilgrims. With this introduction, again occurring over tables at meals, I was immediately immersed into the social world of the Camino. The network of communication between pilgrims, in gites and refugios, at restaurants, via mobile phone and, remarkably, via notes left under rocks in the middle of paths, was opened up, and allowed me to join a subcohort consisting of approximately seven to ten pilgrims. The days from then on for the next two weeks were spent among various members of that group, even though much of the walking day might be spent in silence 50 metres or so

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away from a companion. It was the first of many such groups to which I would become attached. With pilgrims finishing in various towns, taking rest days, or simply walking at different paces, the makeup of sub- cohorts was usually fluid. Given the length of my own walk in comparison to others I joined five such sub- cohorts over two months. The communication while on the path allowed them to meet together in the evenings to socialize and undertake what was for them the important part of the pilgrimage experience – to converse about the anchor points of meaning in their normal lives.

Watching Spiritual Tourism Surface The practice of walking the Camino presents pilgrims with a way of life that is very simple. Essentially, it consists of walking, eating, socializing and sleeping. The qualities of these four components make up the content of much of the informal and light conversation among pilgrims. Very little thought is put into which town will be stopped in, a topic that regular touristic paradigms would identify. The historic monuments, galleries, shopping precincts and luxury hotels of a place generally fail to even register on most pilgrims’ daily itineraries. Indeed, the majority of pilgrims have no itinerary. Only distance is a significant consideration, as not stopping in one town may mean a long walk to the next. Of much greater concern to most pilgrims along the Camino is the location their fellow sub- cohort members will be stopping in. The previous night most pilgrims will have sounded out their fellows as to the consensus about the next day’s walking. Here, sometimes, a famous eatery or bar comes into play, as food is always a passionate topic for pilgrims who expend huge amounts of energy walking all day. For example, on 29 October the sub- cohort I had recently joined stopped in Hornillos del Camino, a small village of a few houses, a church and little else. After dinner (at the only bar in town) a couple of pilgrims wondered about the next day’s walk and where to stop. Castrojeriz was mentioned as a possibility even though it was only a short distance away – 19km. However, the alternative was much further, at about 32km, and after one pilgrim mentioned they had heard about a bar in Castrojeriz the discussion was settled. The next morning was bitterly cold with a wind whose icy fingers managed to find their way into every tiny seam in my clothes. Arriving in Hontanas for an early lunch I noted that the cold drove almost all of the sub- cohort into the bar with me, rather than picnicking outside. The mood was jovial and light, the discussion informal and concerned mainly with the weather and the road just walked. Chatting with CM, an Italian pilgrim, I noticed, as I had done many times previously, the skill with which the group operated and maintained itself. As people arrived or left assistance was given. The pilgrims of the sub- cohort knew that a certain person would put their jacket on first, and that this made putting their pack

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on difficult, so others stood by to assist with the pack ready at hip-height. Once the pack was secure another handed the person their walking stick, and away they went. All this was done without any vocal coordination, typically midconversation about the quality of the tortilla just eaten. What it displayed to me, however, was that the group was very tightly knit socially; it suggested that they looked out for and after each other in multilayered ways. That evening, as the cohort arrived in Castrojeriz, I watched again the complex of ritual behaviours and interactions that had become the norm on the Camino and evidenced its multilayered meaning. In ones and twos the various pilgrims who made up the cohort walked into town; their arrivals stretched out over a few hours. After showering and attending to their feet some would sit outside smoking and chatting, hailing friends from the cohort into the refugio as they neared. Others sat inside greeting the newcomers, asking how their day was, and voicing possible plans for the evening. Three or four decided they had had enough of Spanish bar food and wanted some pasta, so headed off to a shop to buy some to cook in the refugio’s tiny kitchen. Others mentioned they had noticed a sign stating that only one of the bars in town was open on that particular night, so letting the owner know a group of ten was coming was deemed a prudent move. At the bar later that evening conversation flowed over the dinner table, with each person’s story – ‘their Camino’, their own journey – being professed to others. Most had heard them previously, yet there was no sense of returning to old stories or boredom. One talked of her husband and how on the Camino she had realized she felt no other choice but to leave him. This saddened her, and others offered her comfort and encouraged her to continue thinking deeply about it. Another spoke of a new business he had started, and how he regretted doing so, wondering if he could sell it and move to the country. Yet another talked about his hopes to discover more about himself on the road, and how he felt the processes of everyday life quashed that possibility at home. This was the practice of the Camino that pilgrims had read of and knew about. It is a practice that is used to reflect the contents of one’s life for critical and considered examination. The day’s walk is meditative, used by most as thinking time. The often beautiful landscape, the long distances and the physical pain serve only to make keener the content of the intimate conversations that are had, night after night. What is done is a walking pilgrimage through Western Europe in order to better think about and examine the self. What it means is deeper and is revealed in the way the Camino is practised and in the content of the conversations at bars along the way. Pilgrims critique and seek thereby to improve their own lives in walking the pilgrimage, but in doing so they critique and highlight the points of meaning that are promoted as integral to everyday Western life, in particular; consumerism, money and the focus on career success. The pilgrimage is a personal exploration of the social, and a social exploration of the personal. Spiritual tourism along the Camino

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surfaces in the conversations between pilgrims in the bars, cafés and refugios that sit astride it, in remarkably similar ways to what is found in Rishikesh. Pilgrims gather together in small groups and relate the events of their day’s walk, their insights and thoughts about their lives, and hopes for the following days. They do this together, and co-relate in ways that acknowledge that while every person has their own Camino, no person does it alone.

On Walking, Eating and Sleeping The critique of the everyday is given voice from very early on in each pilgrim’s walk, though not at the outset. It is a way of being the pilgrim must ease into living. As one French hospitalera noted to me early in my fieldwork, ‘many do not yet know why they are walking; many discover this only after some time on the way.’ Most pilgrims take at least three days to feel comfortable with the Camino experience, including the confronting physicality of it. In the first days knees suffer under the weight of a pack and the many kilometres walked, and the blisters pilgrims often develop can be crippling and shocking to behold. Dealing with the visceral reality of the body takes some getting used to and at first seems to take up almost all of pilgrims’ free time. Thoughts of poetic musings on humanity, mystical experiences and revelations about the meaning of one’s life get tossed with the day’s soggy blister pads. But after four or five days the body adjusts. Around the same time the everyday social boundaries carried by pilgrims are shed and new types of bonds are developed, reflecting the intimacy of shared experience. The pains of the body continue, but they begin to become seen as part of the project the pilgrim is engaged in. The walking becomes a metaphor for the inner journey the pilgrim is on; one is walking through one’s problems in life, just as one is walking though landscape. Participating in the walking thus designates one to all those around as participating in a greater journey of the heart and mind. The walking is often physically hard, leaving one out of breath; a difficult context in which to discuss the sources of anguish in one’s life. Pilgrims often deliberately spend the day walking alone, desiring the solitude for thinking, talking to themselves and sometimes crying or howling. A small number of pilgrims reported having the kinds of emotional breakdowns and bursts of anger while walking that they felt would simply not be possible in the presence of others. As a result, just as in Rishikesh, the cafés and bars along the Camino become the stages upon which the deep play of the Camino occurs. Eating becomes not only a ritual of refuelling but one of catharsis also. Their bodies, tired from the day’s walking but feeling refreshed after a shower, grooming and massaging, are relaxed. The topics of the day’s thoughts are aired, as are the grander issues pilgrims seek to deal with on the Camino; ‘their Camino’, their personal journey. The intimacy that allows these types of conversations,

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typically with people only known for a few days, could only occur with the communitas generated by the liminal state pilgrims occupy. This is aided signifi cantly by the shedding of normal modes of accommodation. On the Camino pilgrims inevitably choose pilgrim houses that almost always involve sleeping in rooms full of bunk beds. Choosing not to sleep in pilgrims’ accommodation, or not to eat with others, identifies one as separate from the pilgrim experience, and either as a ‘tourist’4 or a ‘loner’. Thus the dormitories, and the close intimacy they bring, further break down boundaries between pilgrims; they share the road, their meals, they sleep in the same room, packed in tightly, and even their daily ablutions are shared, sometimes in all their glory. This shared life reinforces and upholds the intimacy needed for the conversations pilgrims engage in.

The Explicit Project of the Self The wide variety of practices with which spiritual tourists fill their day in Rishikesh are stripped in the case of the Camino, which sees only two options: stop or go. The social realm of the Camino is governed by ideals of perseverance and completion. The process of walking is articulated as one of somatic simplicity – one foot in front of the other – and to terminate the pilgrimage for reasons other than injury or lack of time besmirches the walker. Even cutting the journey short for time reasons is seen as less than ideal. Once on the path, the social norms of the grander pilgrimage community demand the pilgrim continue walking. When people choose to continue with the pilgrimage in the face of any form of adversity (time, injury, finances) we know immediately that they want it to be meaningful. Most of the other institutions to which humans attach significant meaning are things committed to – careers, relationships, hobbies and pastimes, religions, social groups – thus meaning and significance tends to be associated with commitment and perseverance. These are the very topics that fill the conversations along the Camino. It is secular in approach; that is, it is conducted without reference to the desires of the Church or, for the most part, with any religious intent, despite being an explicitly religious practice, at least in origin and liturgical organization. The practice of the Camino thus becomes a critique of Christianity, as pilgrims appropriate it for secular means and, in particular, focus on the individual. There are three broad modes with which spiritual tourists approach the pilgrimage to Santiago; career path, notions of personal or internal happiness and how to cultivate it, and projects of re- creating the self. Often the three are linked and inseparable in practice, and each of these involves the critical examination of the self, for which the practice of the Camino has been chosen. All spiritual tourists who were interviewed, given questionnaires or communicated with informally indicated at least one of these reasons. Many indicated two or more.

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Above all, the Camino offers a large reservoir of thinking time. No matter what reasons pilgrims gave for wanting to walk it, one of its aspects most often expressed as appealing was a perception of having a significant amount of time for introspection and self- examination. It was this form of the practice that most pilgrims valued above all other aspects of making the pilgrimage (as opposed to going to the many churches or doing any other explicitly religious practices). Indeed, one pilgrim from Canada said that she felt there were as many spiritualities on the Camino as there were pilgrims. She had spent a month (October) as a hospitalera in León (at the Benedictinas refugio) before setting out to Santiago. She noted that at first she had been keen to get to Santiago quickly, ‘but now I’m not so sure. Now I want to take my time’. She also spoke about how important the solitude of the day was while walking, and that most people simply do not get the chance for any solitude in their everyday life. A Dutch woman, interviewed in France, commented that what she liked about the pilgrimage was walking on her own. For her, being joined by her sister for the Burgos–Leon section in Spain almost proved disastrous to their relationship. Her sister wanted to talk, ‘and brought all the Netherlands with her – all the news – and I felt I couldn’t bear the whole Netherlands upon me. So I had to walk alone, meeting for meals and evenings only’. For many the solitude that is possible on the Camino was very important and it was equally important not to take it from people by talking to them too much.

Career Break Given the length of time required to walk the Camino and the physical effort needed to complete it, the average age of pilgrims is higher than that found among so- called backpackers in Europe. Most sub- cohorts observed for this project averaged 31 years of age, with the youngest person encountered being 20 years old. As a result, most pilgrims tend to be either early- or mid- career, and many are in the process of questioning either their career choice or the way of life their career forces upon them. For example, CP, a 34-year- old Parisian, had spent much of her career working for a financial group. After securing a new job in a consulting firm she decided to partition the time between jobs by walking the Camino between Le Puy and Moissac. She had read an article about the Camino in a trekking magazine four years previously and became interested because of ‘the special way it seemed to be’. She knew she wanted to have some ‘special holidays’ between jobs and that she needed to do something physical, ideally to walk. For CP, this was to be something quite different to her normal life, not just spatially, but experientially and ontologically also. She wanted to walk for ‘a different reason than I have in my life because I work a lot . . . I wanted to have time to think, to see the things, to walk’. She had had a good experience trekking in Morocco and also wanted ‘to see the nature, because I live

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in Paris’, noting that she loved to ‘see the landscape’ and to meet new people. Previously she had only ever been able to take short holidays of a week or so that prevented her from walking the Camino, but now between jobs she had a longer stretch that was perfect. But the pilgrimage was more than a holiday, ‘It’s deeper. Holidays are light . . . It’s “holidays” because there [is] no work,’ but the Camino de Santiago was something unlike normal holidays for her. For HL, from rural Michigan, USA, the break in her career was more about questioning her life. She told me that she had ‘pretty much just up and left’ home, selling her house and giving up her job, and was therefore ‘homeless and jobless’ and did not have any certain prospects after finishing the Camino, apart from a vague desire to move to a different city. Having previously been a social worker, HL reasoned that it was relatively easy for her to find work. She told me that she had joined the Peace Corps in 2001, but after spending four months in Jamaica, and following the terror attacks of 9/11, she had decided to quit and return home. She spoke of the sense of disappointment and failure that she carried from that experience as a driving force behind her wanting to complete the Camino, and to do that she needed to separate ties with all that was ‘home’ life. Indeed, far from being extraordinary, such tales of consumerist asceticism are common on the Camino. HL, among many others, noted that one of the most important aspects of the journey for her was being able to complete it. She felt her life had been filled with big moments she had failed to see to their end, so she approached the Camino with a fierce determination to complete it no matter the obstacles. At least six pilgrims were encountered who had similarly sold most of their possessions and left their home to walk the Camino before starting life anew. One Belgian woman even sold all her furniture, and camped on her (empty) lounge room floor before setting off to walk from her front door all the way to Santiago, leaving the keys in the mailbox for the landlord. For other pilgrims the career break formed a final burst of ‘freedom’. AT, 32, from Japan, had lived in the United Kingdom for four years while studying art. However, after his brother ‘showed more talent’ in photography his family decided that family money for education was better spent there, so he was discontinued from college and began working at an embassy in London. Since returning to Japan he had worked as an IT network engineer (quite successfully), while his family maintained interests in a famous French restaurant and his artist grandfather’s wood carvings. However, his grandfather had died earlier that year and AT had been charged by the family with the task of managing his estate and cataloguing his artistic works. When I quizzed him about why he wanted to walk the Camino in particular he said he had read Coelho’s The Pilgrimage while living in London, but family commitments forced him to return home. Now, after his grandfather died, he felt was the right time. He was between jobs and the responsibility of cataloguing his grandfather’s artworks felt like a point of change in his life: ‘I feel like my grandfather gave me this time, time to do the Camino.’

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CM, a 24-year- old Italian, said after hearing his brother talk of walking the Camino it had been ‘calling’ him. A chef, CM was torn between opening a small restaurant with his brother and starting up a dive-instructing business (his other great love). He found the pull of his two passions in life unbearable and needed some time away from his family and friends to come to a decision, so his brother, who had recently completed the Camino del Norte, 5 paid for his plane ticket and helped him organize the journey. Like CM, PC, a 26-yearold Australian, was grappling with career choice. A trained psychologist, she had been working in a busy practice when she realized that, as she put it, ‘that life was too full of negativity’ for her. She said she liked helping people and promoting healthy life, but the daily parade of abuse and mental health cases had started to make her feel bad inside herself. She resigned and started travelling, hearing about the Camino while in Germany. She said some days when she walked alone she felt like she should have been trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. But she felt that rather than actively seek such a long-term goal she should simply walk the Camino, arriving at whatever came, including major life decisions. Having previously done a Vipassana meditation course that she felt had been healthy for her (despite calling it ‘silent camp’ for the way it forced participants not to speak) she said she used the pilgrimage as an opportunity for walking meditation (cf. Slavin 2003).6 By using the Camino as a form of break in their career pilgrims are asserting their own control over the direction of their lives, as opposed to that asserted by the demands of their jobs. The commitment required by many forms of working life often requires individuals to give up dreams they have for other aspects of their lives. By taking four or more weeks to complete the Camino, putting their careers on hold, pilgrims are reinforcing to themselves their own agency in terms of life direction. They are also establishing themselves as the locators of their identity in advance of their job. The location of much of the content of personal identity in the West is in career choice. In walking the Camino pilgrims are rebelling against the assertion that ‘they are their career choice’.7 Further, on the Camino they have an identity that is established and valued regardless of career – nobody cares what job a pilgrim works at home. As a period of time between jobs it functions to attenuate the importance of career in terms of personal identity, while paradoxically helping to make significant career choices in many cases, thus serving to make the individual more certain of who they are and what they want their future career to be.

Meditation Like many spiritual practices, the Camino is one of introspection, albeit one combined with strenuous physical activity. As physically difficult as each day may be for pilgrims, the experience is generally one of quiet, not only

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externally, but internally. Life at home, for most who walk the Camino, seems to be a series of distracting and consuming tasks that are perceived to have little to do with happiness. The Camino functions as an outlet for this dissatisfaction. The notion of the Camino as a form of walking meditation has been discussed by Slavin (2003). The idea of a length of time spent simply thinking or, even more commonly, spent away from the distractions of everyday life is common along the pathways winding their way to the tomb of St James. The typical pilgrim’s day is a strangely free and uncomplicated one when compared with normal life, yet still very busy (depending on the distance walked). The main concerns are food, physical health, the pathway and bed. The ‘free’ time tends to be quite limited. Indeed, very little in the way of journal writing was observed (I did much more than most pilgrims I observed). For many pilgrims the chance for a period of solitude is an important motivating factor. TE, from Canada, noted how important the solitude of the day – while walking – was to her. ‘Most people simply don’t get the chance for any solitude in everyday life’, she said. ‘We are bombarded with things wanting our attention all day.’ This explained, for her, why some pilgrims who were encountered on the road during the day had few words to say or simply preferred to walk alone. For them the solitude possible on the Camino was very important. Such was the case for German JM, a marketing manager for a large tyre company. Working a 50-hour week in what he described as a ‘high stress’ role, JM said he had wanted to do the Camino for some time, but simply had not been able to coordinate the time off. Now, however, he said some free time just ‘came up’ and he managed to organize three weeks off with his boss. Over the course of a few days he booked flights and buses and arrived in Burgos to start walking. He wanted some time alone that was quiet and uncomplicated, and he wanted some time to think about whether he was ready to have children with his partner. For the first week he walked completely alone, and the change for him from his work life was overwhelming. Having packed for every possibility – tent, stove, rations and so on – ‘like a typical German’, he joked – he struggled with his backpack, shedding gear at each town he spent the night in. It was, he noted, a metaphor for how much lighter he felt for having such time alone to just think. Similarly, for PD, a vigneron from France, three months spent walking the Camino was an extension of meditative practice learned at Thich Nhat Hanh’s Plum Village.8 He said he wanted to do walk the Camino to have some time alone for thinking and was only able to walk after the harvest (mid- October). It was, he noted, a journey intended to ground him spiritually. Likewise, CP, mentioned above, also spoke her love of ‘meditating on landscape’. In particular she said that her time in the countryside had resulted in her (a Lyonais Parisiene) feeling sick and constricted by the metropolis of Cahors (population around 21,000). This made her feel sad at having to go back to the even bigger Paris. As the days went by CP began to think more about God. ‘I am

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very sensitive on beautiful landscape. And when I saw some of this beautiful landscape I thought “God exists”.’ Around the same time she was walking past many churches in which she would have ‘a little pray . . . for my family, or my friends, or people walking with me’. In the three weeks of walking she admitted that she spent more time thinking about her life than she had in the past 12 years. ‘I was very, very happy . . . on this way.’ The surprising admissions from two separate pilgrims caused me to wonder about the extent to which the image of the Camino as a walking meditation is broadcast. Both TTa9 (Germany) and PO (Austria) noted that they had read very little about the Camino before beginning. Both indicated they simply ‘knew’ that the pilgrimage existed and felt that walking was a good meditative or thinking practice. Thus it seems that such conceptions of the Camino must exist in the broader cultural background, at least within Western Europe, or that once it is learned that the Camino exists and has good infrastructure, the decision to spend time walking it is rendered much more palatable and enticing. Indeed, each interviewee stated specifically that walking was the way they wanted to spend their time in meditation. The theme is common; the Camino is understood as time to be quiet, to let the mind be still, in contrast to its ever moving state during the course of normal life. It is also time to think, time to mull over life’s challenges and one’s personality and circumstances. Each of the pilgrims interviewed stated they wish for more time with which to meditate on their lives; that is, a longer Camino. It also appears as though most pilgrims think only about the day immediately ahead, their surroundings and their personal needs day by day. In this sense it is life ‘in the moment’, again contrasting to a life of plans, dates and responsibilities to others at home. By taking time to meditate and to engage in long periods of introspection, pilgrims are critiquing the work–life balance that presides in the West. It is not an outright rejection of it, but in taking time for such intensive meditation they are asserting that a balanced life involves time for one’s self.

Mobile Therapist’s Couch/Self-Transformation The Camino is, above all, an existential and experiential form of tourism removed from the normal modes of the everyday. Like the meditators and yoga practitioners found in Rishikesh, pilgrims on the Camino see their journey as recreational time being used for ‘re- creation’, or at least for some level of introspection or ‘worry-free’ time. Thus it is also a time that many pilgrims feel will lead to a discovery (or re- discovery) of self and identity. KF, 23, from Mexico, was interviewed after her first day walking the Camino. A student doing a semester on exchange from university, she had visited Santiago as a normal tourist and became enamoured of the pilgrim atmosphere. Having also read and been a fan of Coelho’s The Pilgrimage , she noted it felt right for

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her to start and was compelled to walk a small stretch straight away. She noted that ‘everyone has their own Camino’ and walks it for a reason, even if they did not know it. When I asked her what her Camino was about she said she did not know yet: ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for. Maybe I’m looking for me.’ Whether through meditation or conversation, or simply by walking, the object for most pilgrims on the Camino is to consider the problems of their lives and develop some answers. Indeed, many pilgrims noted a ‘personal project’ they intended to work on while walking. KF’s phrase above that ‘everyone has their own Camino’ was a common one throughout the pilgrimage. It is an understanding that, at a deep cultural level, what draws people to the Camino is a personal issue that cannot be resolved at home. For some it was simply time alone to rediscover a sense of self. For others it was more complex, involving marriage breakdowns, repressed memories, personality flaws or the desire to just escape. Indeed, one German pilgrim noted that for most, the Camino seemed to be a search: ‘Seeking! . . . about seeking I think you might call it in English’; referring here to seeking in the sense that Colin Campbell put it forward (1972). Religious reasons are conspicuous by their absence. Food, history, nature and exercise were all motivating factors, but institutional religion not so. Themes of spirituality, however, do make their way in, often covertly so. RJ, from Quebec, spoke about how more than any other time in his life he spoke with others about the issues of his heart, while he was walking the Camino. What fascinated him was that, by nature of the mode of travel, this was always undertaken with complete strangers. He also noted that, like many other older solo men he talked to, he regularly spoke with his wife, who was afraid this journey would be the end of their marriage. A recently retired postman, he did not know why he wanted to walk the Camino apart from spending some time alone. What RJ found was, for him, an unusual or atypical mode of communicating with other men about love, relationships and marriage. By virtue of its liminal state, being on the road removes the normal boundaries to intimacy that people create in the everyday world. The Camino becomes an exercise in psychotherapy, not in the first instance because a greater sense of trust exists, but because distrust is set aside among those participating in the same experience. On the Camino, everyone becomes the counsellor and the counselled. In fact, of the sweeping spectrum of personal issues that are being worked on by pilgrims, those relating to love and relationships are far and away the most common. TTa mused one evening over what he thought he had gained from the experience of walking the Camino, in particular noting that he had achieved some distance from a relationship that had ended a couple of months before he left. It was a relationship that produced his daughter, and he commented that he found it very difficult to gain distance from someone you are connected to forever by blood, whether you like it or not. Likewise, CP said she wanted to be more open. Her work made her very busy, and she found that it ate up her life and closed her to others. In particular she found that forming

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relationships with stable men was becoming problematic as she shut them out because of her own work-related stress. This was something she wanted to think about and to change: ‘I think if I choose to do this walk it is because I know there are questions to be asked . . . So the question is that probably I don’t have the way of life that I would like to have, but I’m not quite ready to stop everything. So I don’t know what to do.’ One pilgrim, while walking between Carrión de los Condes and Calzadilla, noted to me that, ‘the life is so much stress, so difficult at home, but here it is so peaceful. Everything is peaceful’. The peace of the Camino’s walking life allows one the time to concentrate on concerns of deep personal significance. The key to understanding the Camino experience for pilgrims is that this ability to concentrate on such issues brings a great sense of relief and calm. Pilgrims reported that what they most wanted from their Camino experience was time to themselves, and to discover themselves; but this is not to say it is a sombre affair. A Dutch woman who had walked the Camino Frances the previous year during the high season noted that while the quieter French section was much more ‘natural’, there was a ‘completely different atmosphere’ to the Spanish one: ‘So many young people make it like a celebration.’ In the many bars, restaurants and cafés that straddle the routes to Santiago, pilgrims sit and talk through the deep issues confronting their lives. Indeed, for some this company is precisely the point. One pilgrim, DM, 34, from Spain, had walked in the same cohort for 15 days, becoming quite close to many. But injury and illness forced most to rest a day, causing him to pass ahead of them. When I bumped into him in a narrow laneway he was overjoyed, noting that he had become quite sad, thinking he would have to eat alone for the first time in two weeks. He said he had only intended to walk for five days, but after walking and bonding with his group and experiencing the Camino itself, he decided to walk the entire pilgrimage (a further 500km). Another pilgrim noted how her diary entries had changed since she had been walking. At first they were simply ‘topographical’; they described literally what she saw, or passed, or did. However, she said that after a week she began to note her thoughts and feelings, and her entries grew from small notes to small essays. Reading through her first entries she laughed at how simplistic and irrelevant they were, describing only things, without any reference to meaning or feeling, or her own experience of them. Upon re-reading her notes she realized the meaninglessness of writing without her own heart and mind. Still more view the Camino as a form of cleansing exercise for the soul. This recalls to a certain degree the Christian motivations of redemption and remission from sin (discussed in detail in Chapter 8), but here it is done in entirely secular ways. When I first met TTb from New Jersey, USA, he said that his son had been very curious about what sort of things he looked at all day: ‘what is the scenery like?’ TTb said that after fumbling with explanations of harvested fields of various earthy hues, grey roads and few flowers he was at a loss. Finally

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he said ‘On the Camino most of the tourism has been on the edges of my heart and of my soul.’ Similarly, FA had been walking solo from Arles and he said that the previous night was the ‘beginning of my social aspect of the Camino’. He had walked the whole way to León (45 days when encountered) only camping, cooking for himself and walking alone. When asked why, he responded that the Camino was a source of healing, and that each had to find the best way to heal themselves. ‘We wash our heads and our hearts with our feet.’ For him this was best done alone. Such ‘inner work’ is not considered easy by pilgrims. Most pilgrims did not respond positively to the suggestion that their time spent walking might be considered a holiday. JO, 33, from the United Kingdom, noted that everyone who walks the Camino has something they need to resolve in themselves. She articulated this process in terms of spiritual work: ‘It’s not a holiday. You get up and you work all day.’ She said she felt people ‘walked through their problems’. The walking was the physical manifestation of the emotional work. She also expressed a commonly held belief that the physical problems and sicknesses people had on the Camino were manifestations of the problems they were working through. Problems with knees, for example, were often understood as problems with relationships, particularly with love. The demanding work of confronting the emotional demons that pilgrims felt they could not address during their everyday life often resulted in a wish for it to never finish; it was satisfying work to many. PC noted this emotional satisfaction, and stated that walking the Camino made her feel physically strong and capable of things she had never thought possible. However, when nearing the end she did not want it to finish. It is curious to note that as pilgrims near Santiago their average walking speed decreases, going from an average of around 25–30km per day to typically just over 20km. This is undoubtedly in part due to a desire to draw out the experience, and perhaps demonstrating some concern at what will happen when it ends. The end must come, however, and for many it is a surprise. In fact one of the most interesting aspects of watching pilgrims go through the process of arrival at Santiago is seeing how their attitudes change. Most informants intended to arrive in Santiago, have a rest day, and then move on, either walking to Finisterre and/or Muxia, or to simply go home. Many remarked that walking into Santiago itself was an experience much the same as all the other towns and cities along the way; it was just another disappointing metropolis after the verdant beauty of the country roads. However, after only a few hours (typically after seeing the church, getting a compostela10 and finding a room) the sense of achievement and relaxation began to set in. The next day, after a night of celebration many simply decide to stay for an undetermined length of time. The time in Santiago was quickly seen as reunion and celebration time; the end of a physically and emotionally gruelling journey, but one with light at the end. Walking friends sometimes not seen for weeks are hugged and questioned about their journeys as well as the journeys and fates of others.

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The celebrations are as much about the realizations and choices made on the Camino as they are about completion of the physical journey. The popularity of the Camino as a practice for self-reflection and transformation is an explicit reflection upon the lack of time to think for and about one self that is seen to occur in Western daily life. It asserts the individual as the chief agent of personal meaning and happiness in life. The pilgrimage is a profoundly individual experience, done in a highly social context. Only the pilgrim can place their feet one after the other, day after day. It thus also serves to reinforce the power of the will for the pilgrim. The pain, the discomfort, and often an initial disappointment with the journey make giving up an enticing prospect for many. The social norms and the desire for change serve to keep the pilgrim on their way. By taking time for a concentrated period of spiritual practice, tourists are asserting for themselves their happiness and well-being as being of primary importance and meaning. In their month-long walk pilgrims are asserting that the secular Western habit of ignoring spiritual life and well-being practices in favour of work and consumption is problematic. The things that are important, in particular the points at which personal meaning and identity are located in pilgrims’ lives are the central focus of most conversations had along the way: love, work and lifestyle. Though these conversations take place in a much less conspicuous way than in Rishikesh, there is a greater sense of intimacy that can only have been generated by the communitas of the pilgrim cohort.

Analysis As a tourist ‘destination’ the Camino presents a diverse face that defies short descriptions. The route typically makes its way through less populated areas of France and Spain, exposing many to a side of Europe not before seen. Often the tiny villages and picturesque valleys one passes through seem like they have been taken straight from a fairy tale, or the Middle Ages. Many pilgrims commented on how grateful they were to have been able to see that this ‘old’ Europe still existed. The cities of Burgos and León in Spain were the only intrusions into the bucolic ramble, and caused much grumbling from pilgrims; many commented that somehow cities seemed out of character for the Camino. Such Romantic notions and the (mostly) beautiful landscapes, combined with the physical hardships of making the journey itself, form a unique way to foster a sense of wonder and reflection on the living of one’s life. Pilgrims make their way from town to town, sometimes with others, sometimes alone, always friendly to those walking the same way. It should be of no surprise that in such an atmosphere many wondered whether their lives would be better spent in a pretty little country town, surrounded by the peace and beauty of nature, freed from the stresses of city life.

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In the act of walking pilgrims play out their rejection of prima facie acceptance of modern Western values. It is not an outright rejection of them, but the lacing of boots in spite of the pain and discomfort signals that what is occurring is not simply a movement of the individual from point A to point B, but a ritual reconsideration of values taken for granted in the everyday. On the one hand, it is a critique of tourism as a consumerist and voyeuristic leisure activity. In walking the Camino tourists participate in a culture to which they belong genuinely. The vast history of the Camino tradition has given pilgrims a special status within the towns they pass through. Many such towns exist only to cater for the passing walkers, and have done so for hundreds of years. In participating in this tradition, modern pilgrims are conspicuously appropriating Christian practice in secular, self- spirituality- oriented ways. This is an assertion, not only that the power of Christianity, towards which many pilgrims express ambivalence or distrust, has waned, but conversely that the ‘old’ traditions of the West have spiritual value that is applicable in the modern world. The deliberate simplicity of daily Camino life, almost ascetic in character, is much more than a continuation of an old culture of movement. It is a reading and ritual rebellion from the dominant modes of life in the everyday West, in particular consumer culture. According to Campbell’s (2005, 89–90) consumer cycle hypothesis, in which consumption involves ‘imaginative pleasureseeking’, pilgrims should abandon the pilgrimage experience and look elsewhere for the satisfaction of their desire for transformational experience. To be sure, pilgrims approach the journey knowing that it will be physically hard, and possibly emotionally challenging, but this is the critical point in understanding the modern pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela; it is a phenomenon that sits outside the normal paradigms of consumer experience, so much a part of Western culture from which the majority of pilgrims emerge. Pilgrim MT spoke of her joy in not having any choice, a fundamental marker of consumerism: ‘I’m just going to walk today and that’s it! And eat and sleep!’ With this lack of choice came a lack of worry, a relationship consciously realized by many towards the end of their journey. Although based in perception only – a construct of relative choicelessness – the previous weeks of simple, needs-based living was articulated as awakening pilgrims to the possibilities of life less governed by consumer cultures. The pilgrim life experienced along the Camino is one of simplicity. Eating, walking and sleeping are the central concerns. This marks a fundamental difference for most pilgrims, used to living lives firmly embedded in consumer culture. The lack of desire for ‘stuff’ that is felt, and the satisfaction of instrumental needs yields a sense of personal autonomy. Towards the end of the journey many pilgrims even talk about taking this new found sense of release from consumer culture home with them, hoping to lives filled more with meaning than things. As a practice firmly embedded in an explicitly religious tradition, the Camino is also a consciously enacted reconsideration of those aspects of

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secularization that find the removal of ‘meaning practices’ from people’s daily lives. This is not, however, a desire to bring religious practice back into the common Western fold. Rather, it is an assertion that meaning is created by things beyond economic value. Any other form of holiday could have been taken by these spiritual tourists. Their choosing of something that is publicly acknowledged to work as a context for reflection upon meaning and self is thus a statement not only to others, but to themselves. It also functions to cultivate consideration of the attenuation of such practices in the everyday worlds from which pilgrims emerge. Many reported feeling saddened that their lives were not fi lled with meaningful practices, such as meditating and walking, when at home. As a practice, the Camino is seen to embody secularization in its most perfectly realized form; religious practice freed from institutional control and filled with the possibility of personal meaning (e.g. Berger 1967, 107). There is a strong sense among pilgrims that each brings with them problems, questions or life issues, and that a part of their desire for undertaking the pilgrimage is to work through these. The commonly heard saying, at all points along the Way, ‘everyone has their own Camino’ refers to this notion. However, it also refers to the understanding that each has one’s own ways of dealing with or working through these issues, and that each pilgrim has one’s own way of walking the Camino itself. For many pilgrims, the Camino functions as a time of thought and contemplation over the direction their life was to take. For some, this was a source of great tension; the Camino walked alone being seen as the only way that the question could be attacked to their satisfaction. Often the choice to be faced had to do with career change. For pilgrims such as CM, PC and AT the process of walking the Camino offered time to go through the pros and cons of a career change, as well as to search their deepest feelings about the choice. Others faced more visceral changes. JM, for example, was using the time to consider whether he was ready to have a baby with his partner. One point to note in this research project is the difference in character between the French section of the Camino and the Spanish. One of the marked differences between the sections was the average age of pilgrims. Despite being part of a single route, the path from Le Puy to Santiago contained two very different pilgrimages. From Le Puy to St Jean Pied de Port the Camino was largely walked by French pilgrims in their early retirement years (early sixties). Many of these pilgrims were undertaking the first stage in what was envisaged to become a multi-year walking holiday with their partner, ultimately finishing in Santiago; the first year marking the end of their working life, and the first thing they had done as couples since retirement. With the crossing of the Pyrenees the average age of pilgrims dropped by some 30 years. In Spain the route to Santiago was filled with pilgrims typically ranging in age from 21 to 35. With this came a corresponding change in atmosphere. While in France

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the atmosphere was one of celebration of culture and conviviality, in Spain it was one celebrating adventure and youth. Also, for the younger pilgrims, the Camino typically functions either as a liminal separator between careers or as a practice with which to consider the complexities of one’s life. Comfort drawn from participating in an historically legitimized tradition makes the change the pilgrims often go through easier to digest. JW, an artist from Cornwall who had lost count of the number of times she had walked the Camino, commented that change, any change, was inevitable: ‘I think the Camino changes you. Whether you want change or not, when you do this you go home a different person, and people find that quite difficult to understand.’ Many experienced this in unexpected ways. PO spoke of her lack of religiosity at home, but that she had come to love going into churches along the way. She said she would never have done such a thing at home, but on the Camino she was provided a quiet, peaceful place in which to meditate, but it somehow seemed right: ‘I am a pilgrim, but when I began I was a randoneur.’11 For the most part pilgrims found such changes exciting. CP said she had ‘learnt a lot’, in particular that ‘I should express more my feelings’ and ‘that I should be more opened with the others’. In particular she had come to the realization that her present life was ‘not the way of life that I would like to have, but when you are in [it] it’s quite difficult just to stop and find another way of life’. The physical dimension of the Camino is also important. For many, everyday life at home is relatively sedentary. Thus as well as being quite socially different, when the pilgrimage is made, the pilgrim is also quite physically removed from their everyday state. This is true both in the sense of usual routines of life being displaced and in the sheer physical effort required each day on the Camino, and it makes for a marked change. If the point of the pilgrimage was the destination, then surely pilgrims would find easier ways of getting there. This means the pilgrimage is about the journey itself, about the process of getting to Santiago, not about getting to it per se . It is a thoroughly physical practice with which mental and emotional problems are addressed. FA’s words come to mind again here: ‘We wash our heads and our hearts with our feet.’ The introspection and lack of worry emerges out of the concern for the body and its immediate needs. Further, most pilgrims felt they would never see the chance to do something so physically great in their lives again. It was in this context that they saw the Camino: a chance to do something physically challenging that is regarded as a great feat of endurance. The will to keep going, often amid great pain, also comes from recognition of the power of the physical practice. One French pilgrim interviewed had large blisters on the soles of each foot (each around the diameter of a small apple), but pushed herself to walk on, often leading our little group (four of us), occasionally in tears from the pain. The magnificent countryside, the sense of participation in an historic event and the amity of the Way were the rewards she said she gained from the

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pain, not to mention, of course, the sense of achievement from completing such a physically demanding exercise and the great psychological relief she gained from her introspective time. Indeed, a frequent comment made along the Camino was that walking was ‘good for the soul’. The practice of ambulating, the rhythmic gait, and the level of fitness acquired give to pilgrims a renewed sense of life. The strongly asserted physical body is a metaphor for renewed or re- discovered identity. So strong is this commitment to walking that those who choose to take buses through certain sections are frowned upon, and those who are forced to, mourn the act like a loss. One pilgrim forced to take a taxi when his walking mate fell ill spoke sadly of the event: ‘Now I have lost my white shirt’. What he meant by this was that he had walked so far without taking any transport other than foot, but now he was ‘dirty’, ‘shamed’. He felt he had somehow let himself down, and those in his cohort, despite admitting he had no other choice because of his partner’s health. Whatever the central purpose of a pilgrim’s Camino experience is, the walking aspect of the journey is seen as the method by which it is exercised. Again, JO expresses this eloquently, noting that ‘It’s not a holiday. You get up and you work all day.’ She said she felt people walked through the problems they brought to the pilgrimage. This was a sentiment shared by MT: ‘This has taught me that I can do hard things, painful things, when I choose too. I’m capable of it, I know that now.’ Indeed, a common theme of conversation in the bars and restaurants in Santiago is the recognition in many pilgrims that they were the agents of the change they felt they had undergone.

Conclusions From trekkers to New Agers, penitent Catholics to walking meditators, the appeal of the ‘practice’ of the Camino is far reaching. It is very much a crosscultural, inter-religious practice that has as much scope for secular practice as the walker requires. Indeed, one can be as religious or secular as one wishes and still remain ‘a pilgrim’. What is important is the practice, the walking, the pain and shared experiences with other pilgrims. It is that one is doing what others do and have done for centuries that is regarded as important; the practice is recognized as valid socially within the context of European spirituality. As a cultural entity the Camino claims authenticity from its physical nature. Like other ‘foot’ pilgrimages, there is an expectation that the pilgrim will encounter some hardship. However, one of the defining characters of the contemporary pilgrimage to Santiago is that the hardship may be internal. While journeys towards the sacred are what many scholars understand the practice of the Camino to be about, this is exactly where they have gone wrong. Understanding the practice as one of movement towards a centre misses the point. Rather, it is a movement towards change within the quotidian. The goal

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is not the sacred, the goal is normality; a more alive, more conscious, more compassionate, less troubled, less easily stressed normality. In practice the Camino is a mirror for self- examination. It is as an historical, pan-European event that is understood as having a culture of intimacy and solicitousness. The emphatic belief that ‘everyone has their own Camino’ reaffirms the value of the individual in and of themselves. While ideals of perseverance and completion govern the experience, what sets it apart from normal holidays and the every day, and gives it an aura of importance, is not that it furnishes the individual with time for reflection with which to change their lives, but that it functions simultaneously as a commentary on popular Western lifestyle choices. The independence with which pilgrims walk the Camino is a deliberate statement about the journey they are making. The Camino is a reflection upon and reading of the points of significant personal meaning in Western life: career, love and personal happiness or satisfaction. It is done so in the mirror of a religious practice that is Western in origin, but one so grounded in the somatic that it may just as well be considered foreign, so sedentary is modern life considered to be. It is also understood as a ‘travel experience’, with all the liminal qualities and potential for enlightenment this term connotes.

Notes 1 For ease the pilgrimage will henceforth be referred to as ‘the Camino’. 2 I immediately associated this term, often used as a noun on the Camino, with communitas as it was used in just the way Turner described the ‘spontaneous’ variant of it. 3 Pilgrim lodging, often a small hut or building with bunk beds and minimal facilities. 4 ‘Tourigrino’, a play on the Spanish word for pilgrim – peregrino – was one term I heard used to describe such pilgrims. 5 A northern variant of the Camino that runs along the Spanish coastline and is less frequented by pilgrims. 6 It is interesting that this is something Sean Slavin (2003) proposed as a means to explaining the Camino’s secular longevity (discussed in detail in Chapter 8). 7 There is some irony in the fact that for me it did the opposite and asserted that I was what I wanted to be – an observer and scholar of things religious. 8 Plum Village is a Buddhist meditation centre in southern France. Thich Nhat Hanh is a Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk famous for his efforts in peace activism, and also for his prolific writings. 9 Two informants with the initials ‘TT’ were interviewed. They are referred henceforth as TTa (from Germany) and TTb (from the USA). 10 Essentially an official certificate of completion, in Latin, from the Church. 11 A walker.

Part II

Travel and Religion

For the first, to wit the Profit of Travelling; it’s certain, that if this world be a great Book, as S. Augustine calls it, none study this great Book so much as the Traveller. They that never stir from home, read only one page of this Book; and like the dull fellow in Pliny, who could never learn to count farther than five, they dwell always upon one lesson. Richard Lassels, Voyage of Italy, 1686

Two separate human institutions of self- exploration and self- examination are being explored in this book; tourism and spirituality. The practice of religion has a long association with travel. From small- scale rites of passage that involve some sort of physical journey to pilgrimages involving the movement of millions of people, the idea that long- distance- or long-term travel away from home can transform permeates many cultures. However, advances in travel technologies and changes to class and cultural systems have resulted in the experience of travel being available to many more people than ever before. Many locations previously visited chiefly by travellers participating within the religious traditions they supported now see tourists from all around the world. Not all of these tourists travel for religious reasons, even if they are informed by cultural notions that favour travel as an opportunity for change. Nonetheless, religious tourism has been one of the least studied areas in research on tourism. How these tourists conceive of their journeys, and how they place them in their lives reveal the extent to which travel can be seen as a metaphor, and sometimes a surrogate, for religious practice. When people travel today it may be for a variety of reasons. One may travel for business, to see relatives, to relax, to ‘get away’ from work, to go and see a particular city or region, or simply to travel for travel’s sake. It is also worth noting that people may travel for war, for political gain or for religious reasons, whether they are foundational to their beliefs or not. In most cases people travel for a combination of these motives. That travel can function so diversely

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should begin to suggest to us what a rich and varied field it can be. The shelves of the world’s libraries are packed with accounts of discovery, conquest and self-transformation, not to mention imperialism, devastation and mistreatment that take place within the context of travel to foreign lands. However, for the purposes of this chapter we will concentrate on the intersection of tourism and religion today, and in order to move forward this requires some clarification. The previous two chapters have established that spiritual tourism in Rishikesh and along the Camino de Santiago involves the use of religious practice as a means for self- examination and self-improvement. In both cases this is being done in secular ways insofar as spiritual tourists are operating outside the influence of institutional religious groups, even if participating within them. Modern Western forms of secular spirituality are thus being played out in these travel contexts. Such practices are available at home for the majority of Western spiritual tourists, so the reason this critique of self and society takes place in the context of travel must be explored. How tourists come to understand the possibilities of travel as a cultural form tell us much about the way it is employed. The first place to begin is with tourists themselves. For many, information about the journey and about the potential it holds is gleaned from books. Travel writing and accounts of journeys often are as much about the traveller as the travels. Moving back a step further, the history of tourism reveals that it has long been a practice of discovery, education, and change. Traditions of leisured travel that involve projects of self-improvement have been a feature of Western culture for at least 2,000 years. The various points in Western history at which such traditions have flourished have contributed to the present understanding of the potential of travel. Looking more broadly at the subject of tourism itself, scholars have sought to explain the various roles that it plays in Western society. Further, the similarity of apparently secular paradigms of travel with religious traditions such as pilgrimage must cause us to examine how both might be used to explain spiritual tourism. In the light of the history of travel, and the theories that seek to explain modern forms of it, the examination of spiritual tourism requires explanations of Western spirituality in order to fully understand it. Secularization and the jettisoning of identity from inherited forms have caused contemporary forms of spirituality to be understood as personal projects. Further, cultures of consumption and leisure have become associated with many of the practices we find in spiritual tourism, not to mention tourism itself.

Chapter 4

A History of the Idea of Travel

Tourism has become so normalized in the West that it can be read as a metaphor of the social world (Dann 2002). This is not to suggest that the practice of tourism provides a reified image of social activity the likes of which are unobtainable elsewhere; far from it. Rather, what is argued is that tourism can be read as a metaphor in much the same way that, for example, fashion can; it creates for itself a surrounding industry, incorporates businesses and individuals, can be approached either as an insider or an outsider, and, most importantly, can be and can provide a considerable source of personal meaning and identity for some who participate in it, even if only fleetingly. It is not that fashion is a microcosm of the everyday world; it is that it creates a metaphor with which we might begin to speculate on the social processes happening therein. The same is true for tourism; what we see and read in it are useful insofar as they point us to the social processes at play for the individual human actors concerned. Defining tourism has proven quite difficult. The World Tourism Organization (1995, 1) defines it as the ‘activities of persons travelling to and staying in places outside their usual environment for not more than one consecutive year for leisure, business and other purposes’. This seems problematic in terms of combining the quite significantly different social activities of business and leisure. Valene Smith (2001, 17) argues that the necessary essential elements of tourism are leisure time, discretionary income and positive social sanctions, the first problematizing the business aspect of the WTO’s outline. The WTO also notes that tourism cannot be defined by the type of activity a person undertakes. Rather it must be defined by the circumstance in which the activity takes place, as it can, ‘in theory at least, involve the final consumption of any product’. For the present study, it is argued that this can include religious and spiritual ideas and practices. Thus, the definition ‘relies on defining the type of consumer whose activity constitutes tourism, rather than the type of product consumed’ (WTO 1995, 1). Here simplicity serves best, and thus tourism is defined as voluntary, leisured travel (Graburn 1989, 17–19). A tourist is someone who travels temporarily away from one’s home, typically for longer than 24 hours and for purposes other than work. It is thus distinguished from

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business travel (and war) by the extent to which it occurs as a leisure activity or during non-work time. In general, tourism is associated with holidays or vacation time, when people have large blocks of free days during which a journey can be undertaken. Often the word ‘tourism’ (and ‘tourist’) is used in a pejorative sense to refer to a ‘lesser’ type of traveller. These types of definitions see tourism simply as ‘mindless sightseeing and shopping’, an association that may have come about through the type of travel championed by early travel agents like Thomas Cook (Swinglehurst 1982, 8–12). Some theorists, such as Dean MacCannell (1999, 1), have argued that tourism is indeed simply a mode of sightseeing, though he associates it also with a search for ‘experience’. Others have taken a dimmer view, describing tourists as ‘the barbarians of our Age of Leisure’ (Turner and Ash 1975, 11). Both these interpretations miss the crucial point of tourism and the reason for its astounding prevalence throughout the modern world. Namely, that travel beguiles the traveller and ultimately leaves them changed. Looked at from a different angle we can surmise that travel and tourism are social and psychological tools that people may use in a variety of ways. However, in order to understand how people come to use tourism like this we must understand how tourism comes to be conceived of as such, in the first place.

On Writing and Reading Travel One of the first interactions many spiritual tourists have with their destinations is through the pages of a travel book. The beguiling character of travel has made it a fertile context for storytelling. Thanks to this and humanity’s penchant for talking about itself, the genre of travel writing is large and stretches far back into history. How travel and tourism has been spoken about by travellers tells us much about their experiences on the road, and helps us understand the image of travel that is created. Much of the desire to travel comes from reading or hearing about the travels of others and deciding that the perceived benefits suit. In that tourism is an essentially social activity, and that one way humans conduct their sociality is through literature, it is important to look at travel writing, both historically and contemporarily, to draw out ‘currents’ that might lead contemporary travellers towards the decisions they make and the destinations they visit. The problem is best approached initially by answering three questions: What is travel literature? What does it say about travel? Why is it popular? The first section of this chapter will examine how travel has been conceived in literature and as a genre. This process of defining travel writing will facilitate greater insight into the genre’s likely role as a travel ‘advocate’. The second section will address the ‘message’ of the travel book and speculate on why the genre continues to be so popular. This will lead to

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further discussion on the influence of the travel book on travellers. Indeed, some theorists have argued that any travel theory must include an examination of travel writing in order to have any relevance at all; such is its influence on travellers (Siegel 2002).

What is travel literature? A part of understanding travel is to understand travel writing. While it may seem superfluous, an attempt to define what travel writing is can shed light on both conceptions of travel/tourism and the role of travel writing in forming those conceptions and of forming expectations of what such travel will achieve. The influence of travel writing on trends and fashions in tourism should not be overlooked. However, travel writing is notoriously difficult to define (Holland and Huggan 2000, 8; Rubiés 2000, 6). It is at best a hybrid category that typically straddles genres and disciplines. Picturesque, philosophical, political, ecological, spiritual; many paradigms of explication of the journey may be made. Paul Fussell even described the genre as ‘mediation between fact and fiction’ (Fussell 1980, 203). The beginning of the solution to this problem is elegantly simple; travel, of course, is the essential condition for the production of the travelogue or travel literature. Yet even this starting point has its own problems. To confuse things, however, it is a ‘genre of genres’ since a variety of literary kinds may have travel as the essential ingredient of their production (Rubiés 2000, 6). This problem of literary variety is a good starting place; it requires the examination to turn to how travel has been used and how travel literature is conceived to enable a working definition. Rubiés notes that from its origins the travel genre has functioned as a rhetorical device in cultural discourse. The heroes and gods of epic poems and mythological narratives use travel to demonstrate themes such as initiation, learning and exile. Examples include Gilgamesh, Moses and Odysseus to name but a few of the classical greats. In so using travel, these epic works defined the standards of humanity and give the unknown a metaphorical face. Indeed, many themes are explored in classical literature through the metaphor of travel and the figure of the traveller (Rubiés 2000, 7). Hulme and Youngs (2002, 2) note that both biblical and Classical traditions are full of literal and symbolic travel literature such as that found in the stories of Cain, Exodus, the Argonauts, Iliad and the Odyssey, which now gives its name to any epic journey. Odysseus also gives writers the model of travel as romantic and dangerous for the traveller, without direction, and with a joyous homecoming (that has its own danger because of change). Rubiés (2000, 7) goes as far as to say that travel creates a ‘rhetorical frame’ that has been used in religious and epic narratives that subsequently informed the basic structure of the ancient novel.

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Quite apart from useful plot devices, travel writing can present the reader with information about the outside world. Sherman notes that documentation of travel has always been important. Seamen and traders have long been instructed to record their travels for the benefit of those who follow (Sherman 2002, 17), and during the sixteenth century documenting one’s surroundings began to be an essential element of travel (Hulme and Youngs 2002, 3). This was often largely a political or commercial inclination; maps and information were valuable to future ventures. Robert Hooke, for example, wrote in the preface to Robert Knox’s Historical Relation of the Island of Ceylon (1681) that travel literature had a scientific relevance, highlighting the relevance of the traveller for the coming colonial project. There quickly developed an associated literature industry, as stories were recognized as a way of attracting investment and, eventually, of encouraging settlers. Hulme and Youngs (2002, 3) argue that the publications of the travel tales of Marco Polo and John Mandeville mark the beginnings of a broader impulse in Europe for observation and curiosity towards other ways of life. By the seventeenth century, travel writing had come to occupy a ‘strategic place’ in European culture and politics (Rubiés 2000, 5). Representations of others are often motivated by exchange or confrontation. Self-representation is likewise formed in opposition to external elements. Such descriptions can readily be put to a variety of political uses in the formation of identities, classifications and oppositions. Despite the efforts of writers such as Richard Hurd – whose essay On the Uses of Foreign Travel (c.1764) criticized the need to take such journeys – in the Early Modern period naturalistic and empirical paradigms were gaining legitimacy, and travel was increasingly legitimized as an experiential educational tool for the gentleman. This shift from rhetorical to empirical in travel writing mirrors the shift in European epistemology over the same period. An example of the social acceptance and esteem travel was beginning to enjoy is evidenced by the writings of Francis Bacon. Bacon saw in travel writings evidence of the ‘new’ truths discovered by observation and experience, rather than ancient authority. Bacon’s essay Of Travel (c.1615) asserts that young men should at the very least travel with someone who had experienced the country visited previously, and who knew the local language. He argued that the context of travel offered an ideal chance to record (in diaries) the experience of observing the wider world, encouraged the carrying of ‘guidebooks’ to ‘be a good key to his inquiry’, and for the knowledge and contacts gained on the journey to inform his speculations ‘at home’. In New Atlantis Bacon (1626) stated that the value of travel was ‘to have light (I say) of the growth of all parts of the world’. Many great thinkers of the era appear to have regarded travel as vital for knowledge and understanding. John Locke apparently owned a ‘vast collection’ of travel writings he regularly consulted as references (Hulme and Youngs 2002, 4). Alexander von Humboldt’s journeys mark the beginnings of a turn in this type of data collection. His example was emulated by the likes of

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Charles Darwin and A. R. Wallace. Yet, while philosophers such as Rousseau argued for the likes of Montesquieu, Buffon and Diderot to enrich knowledge of humanity through travel, few actually travelled themselves. Typically most thinkers relied solely on accounts from travellers, and those seeking knowledge of the ‘outside’ world would issue instructions to travellers on how to document their observations (Hulme and Youngs 2002, 4). As a result, early modern travel writing was incredibly varied due to range of ‘collectors’ and writers (scientists, pilgrims, explorers, merchants, ambassadors, pirates, colonialists) who ventured out into the wider world, further adding to the difficulty of classifying travel writing into a single genre (Sherman 2002, 30). With the emergence of the Grand Tour (discussed in more detail below) – an ideological exercise from its inception – some new themes entered the travel writing genre and started to inform notions of what travel was supposed to achieve. First, travel surfaced from its empirical ferment as a worthy context for ‘rounding out’ the educations of young men. Exposure to the treasured artefacts and ennobling societies of the Continent became seen as the perfect way to gain both knowledge and etiquette. Thomas Nugent, in The Grand Tour (c.1749, x), wrote that such travels were undertaken to ‘in a word form the complete gentleman’. Second, the notion that a limited period of freedom from parents and social obligation was of value to ‘exorcise’ youthful irresponsibility became popular. A period of ‘sowing wild oats’ was seen as a useful way to focus young men on their coming social and commercial duties. This is naturally mirrored in travel writings, most famously in the writings of Boswell (Buzzard 2002, 38–41), and a tendency towards extravagance and adventure began to become apparent from this point. Of all the writers from this period, Boswell is perhaps the most fascinating. In his works can be seen the shift from the obsession with high culture and ‘disgust’ at nature on the Grand Tour in his early writings, to a distinctly Romantic desire to seek out the ‘unspoiled’ and wild places in his later life. Hulme and Youngs (2002, 6) note that while many early writers were chiefly interested in civility and commerce, by the late eighteenth century the influence of Rousseau and Romanticism resulted in many travellers looking for ‘the primitive’, some of which could still be found in Britain. With the Romantic influence, places such as Scotland, the Lake District and South Wales became favourite destinations in the eighteenth century, which Samuel Johnson (with Boswell in Scotland) spoke of as having ‘savage virtues and barbarous grandeur’ (Johnson 1971, 58). By the beginnings of the twentieth century scientists and explorers too had become the popular travel writers, and from early in the same century literary writers began to publish writings about their travel. Recently some academic interest has been given to examination of the construction of landscape and culture in travel writing, and a good deal of work has been conducted looking at the ways this genre can function as a form of imperialism (Duncan and Gregory 1999, 1–3). The 1970s saw a shift in

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travel writing with Chatwin’s In Patagonia (1977) exemplifying a move towards postcolonial writing. Holland and Huggan argue that travel writers are retailing what appears to be a predominantly white, male, middle- class, heterosexual world view. Their readers are consumers of writings that are ‘othered’ from this world view (Holland and Huggan 2000, viii). Interestingly, they argue that the travel book has been somewhat immune to postmodernity, though this seems unlikely, especially with the easy association of travel with postmodern discourses. The self-proclaimed flexibility of travellers and the notion that travel is inherently unstable undermines linear history and presents a range of alternative ontologies that seem ready devices for a postmodern analysis. However, Holland and Huggan (2000, 157–8) argue that at some point the text must posit ‘authenticity’ in order to appeal to readers. This strikingly un-postmodern position seems to reflect a more modernist ideal of stability. One aspect of travel writing that has been little explored to date is the emerging phenomenon of weblogs. Some may dismiss so called ‘blogs’ as either short-lived excursions of popular culture into the mode of ‘publication’, or as insignificant in a literary sense. To do so on either count, however, is to ignore shifting trends in both conceptions of information dissemination and externalizing trends in personal identity. Little has been written attempting to place blogs in relation to the travel writing genre. Yet there are numerous text, sound and video blogs available on the internet that are readily consumed by both home readers and travelling tourists. Blogs may possibly fall in between the categories of ‘travel writing’ and ‘guidebook’. On the one hand they can be narrative expressions, detailing the blogger’s tales of journeying. On the other hand blogs can be more informationally oriented, created as portals of specific knowledge about place and journeying. Blogs present a unique paradigm in the travel writing genre; they are publications, as often vivid and exciting as they are boring, and they are live. Significantly, they are free and they are published freely and without pressure on the writer to create something guaranteed to sell. How this change in the writing ‘environment’ affects the material produced remains to be seen. It is clear that ‘truth’, or rather authenticity, is an important factor for the travel writer. From its inception, travel writing has had a close connection to ethnography. Wheeler (1986, 52) noted that ‘travel writers produce something like ethnography but not ethnography’ in her article on travel books. Her central thesis makes a contrast between the outcomes that travel writers and ethnographers seek. Travel writers travel to write in order to make money or as a way of life. Typically, she argues, they dismiss the literary contribution they make. Ethnographers, however, place all value on the fieldnote and the published article, yet dismiss any commercial success and even become uneasy with any popularization of their work (Wheeler 1986, 54). Although, arguably anthropologists are generally not engaged in charity work, so this theory leaves some grey areas in this economic reasoning. Wheeler (1986, 55) makes

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the key point that the travel writer writes about ‘being there’. Their work is a self- aware portrayal of people, place, events and their own progress. In contrast, anthropologists are concerned with ‘who is there’ and what they do, and have little concern for their own part. One could almost call the distinction one of ethnography versus ‘ontography’. Even so, the increasing acceptance of approaches such as action or applied forms in postcolonial anthropology – placing the scholar squarely within their study – in some ways closes the gap between scholar and travel writer (see Bennet 1996). Like others, Hulme and Youngs note that, possibly because of surface similarities, anthropology has kept its distance from travel writing, emphasizing its scientific method. Some anthropologists have attempted or toyed with turning this notion around, notably Geertz in The Interpretation of Cultures (1973), Brody in Maps and Dreams (1982) and Clifford in Routes (1997). There are some striking similarities in the two ‘genres’, and on certain occasions both types of writer will employ similar language and styles to describe their subject or set a scene; Malinowski’s (1922, 49–55) almost third-person, fantasy-like account of arrival in the Trobriands, and Yao Souchou’s (2000) thick description of Malay Chinese prostitutes are good examples. Yet for the most part, ethnography typically drops narrative and descriptive writing in favour of a scientific style. Topics such as kinship, economy, politics and religion are detailed carefully. It is this disassembly and abstraction that makes ethnography unsuitable for narrative. Indeed, Levi- Strauss (1974, 17) wrote ‘adventure has no place in the anthropologist’s profession’, though Evans- Pritchard (1973, 18) wrote that he took up anthropology because being ‘ just an intellectual’ was not enough and he ‘wanted adventure too’. Wheeler (1986, 59) makes the strange statement that ‘both the traveller and the anthropologist are strangers who deliver the exotic to an audience unlikely to follow them to the places they have visited’. This may be the case, very specifically, for anthropologists (who will go to their own fieldwork locations), yet even the words of Evans- Pritchard suggest that he dreamed of ‘following’ in the footsteps of the great anthropologists. Arguably one of the reasons the travel book is consumed so voraciously is because it is exciting and inspires travel. Travel forums on the internet, as an example, regularly have discussions regarding the ‘best’ books to read on a place before one sets off. This both goes against Wheeler’s assertion and suggests that, at least for the traveller consumer, travel writing can function as an informative ethnography. The critical points in defining travel writing seem to lie in three broad categories, and it is the confluence of the three in context that is crucial. First, travel literature is inspirational story, allegory and metaphor. The rhetorical power of travel has been used as a device for the exploration of a range of subjects dating back to very early history. Second, travel writing is information, intelligence and knowledge. The epistemological paradigms that emerged in the late Middle Ages encouraged a popular culture of reporting ‘what is seen’

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when abroad. Yet, travel books are not guides, even though they often function as such, at least in adjunct form. Rather, they are performances of knowledge, both on the part of the writer and the reader. Finally, travel writing is interpretation, cultural practice and identity expression. Rubiés (2000, 7) notes that one striking fact common in early travel writing was the importance of cultural and religious identities. Thus travel writing might be said to be an auto- ontographic ethnography tale – an account of being amongst others – set in a ‘foreign’ or ‘othered’ context. What contemporary travel writing really seems to ‘broadcast’ are issues of ‘exploration’. In the writings of many travel writers the journey is framed as one of the spirit or the self, as well as the body. The physical journey forms the context in which a more profound internal personal journey is undertaken. More broadly, the travel book also functions in the mode of cultural explication, albeit far less explicitly. Rubiés (2000, 9) argues that the traveller in literature can transcend the limits of an identity to defend it, reject it or redefine it with a new, deeper understanding. Such understanding has fuelled a persistent debate on the educational value of travel. The types of wisdom accessible to the traveller may be portrayed as either harmonious and integrated or opposing with prevalent world views. Social attitudes to travel have tended to be ambivalent. Travel can educate and broaden the mind, and give knowledge of distant places. Yet these can be dangerous acquisitions, and often travellers return changed people (if they return at all). In Christian traditions life is often symbolized as a journey such as in Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, or with pilgrimage as a central theme, for example in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. Indeed, pilgrimage was the dominant form of non-utilitarian travel in medieval times. However, by the sixteenth century it had begun to wane, yet the language of pilgrimage persisted. Indeed, Sherman (2002, 24) argues that seventeenth- century travellers would often draw on the language and framework of Christian pilgrimage to describe their travails. Duncan and Gregory note that the closing years of the twentieth century saw a ‘double explosion of interest in travel writing’ (Duncan and Gregory 1999, 1). First, the genre has become (again) a best seller. The reimagining of the world through rich and personal description, echoing to a certain extent the great travel accounts of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, has again found popular audience. Second, an academic interest has developed concerning the sociology of tourism and travel writing therein. Duncan and Gregory argue that travel writing became part of the ‘EuroAmerican’ project of modernity in three key ways. First, they argue that travel writing meshed itself with secularization. While they do not demonstrate how this took place, they do note that ‘sacralised frames of reference yielded to a much more complex taxonomy of cultural difference and natural history’ (Duncan and Gregory 1999, 5). Second, they correctly point out that travel itself moved beyond commercial, political and spiritual utility. The

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‘pleasurable instruction’ of the Grand Tour gradually morphed into simply ‘pleasure’ by the eighteenth century, although Duncan and Gregory say little of the reactions to this that sought to reinstate travel as education or a rite of passage. Importantly the practices and performances of these new ‘pleasure’ tourists were, in diverse ways, scripted by travel writers and guidebooks (Porter 1991, 125). Third, travel became accessible to elements of society other than aristocrats and merchants (and soldiers). Initially it remained the domain of the bourgeois. Yet tourism, in its present commercial form, emerged out of the conjunction of industrialization and Romanticism, and developed with the seemingly contradictory ambitions of these two movements (Duncan and Gregory 1999, 5–6). If, as shall be discussed below, Thomas Cook’s first tour in 1841 marked the extension of pleasure travel to the petty bourgeois and working class, it also marks a point of great significance for Western society in general. For as the aristocratic classes and cultural élites dipped their pens in anger at the onslaught of ‘common tourists’ despoiling their previously ‘untouched’ destinations, leaders of commercial enterprise (probably the same people by and large) readied their tills and looked to futures spent basking on ‘unspoiled’ beaches. These new tourists, like their forerunners, sought ‘Romantic’ and ‘educational’ experiences, but in an ‘industrialized’ way that was ordered and regimented, and with provisions at the ready; packaged, in other words. Here then the project of modernity, coinciding with the rise of capitalist philosophy, finds its most willing participants. Tourists were functionally structured consumers around whom product networks could be arranged at short notice. Thus Cook’s tour on that Sunday in 1841 arguably marks a hugely significant point in Western consumer capitalism. It is travel writing’s ability to open up the opportunity for considered selfreflection that is most important to the present study. Whether as exciting story, vicarious escape or as learned other, the travel book can act as a personal and cultural mirror allowing for the reader a period of rumination on their lives and their place in the wider world. For future tourists it maps out ontic aspects of the journey. This ‘ontography’ gives examples, as Abdullah (2004) succinctly points out, that ‘travellers carry with them, the emotional and psycho- social materials of their own character, their own culture, their own fears, dreams, and ambitions’. In this sense, the travel book is acting as an ontological guide of what to expect when being a traveller. As such, travel writing also functions to express cultural identity and practice, for it informs the reader of ‘the done things’. Finally, a significant reason for the success of travel writing (and travel) arguably lies in its ‘democratization’. As Clark (1999, 1–4) notes, travel writing has a recalcitrant character that, in part, comes from the fact that anybody can ‘give it a go’. At least, anyone sufficiently literate and financially capable, that is. The blog, bound with similar literary and sociological histories as travel writing, emerges with

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the same character and understandably lends itself to the new individualist exhibitionism (‘extrovidualism’?) format of the Information Age. The ontic musings, identity crises and pseudo- ethnography that blogs typically display are of similar kind that the travel writing genre explores, as well as a powerbased faux- celebrity movement to some extent. An examination of the academic literature on travel writing indicates that there is generally a broad understanding that the genre functions in a number of ways. At one level it acts as a barometer of travel trends and fashions. At another, it reflects the writer’s home society’s outward- looking view of the world, complete with ‘colonial’ or ‘imperial’ mind- sets, ‘othering’ text and prejudices, not to mention the apparently contradictory wonder and delight in difference, novelty and natural beauty. However, more significantly, in travel writing there seems to be a reflection of the role or function of travel. Travel writing, in that it looks for wonder, excitement, enlightenment and distinction ‘outside’ of one’s own physical and social context, reflects some of the motivating or driving forces behind travel itself. It is somewhat ironic that it wishes for the ‘untouched’, yet also seeks comforting familiarity, and imperial in the sense that a certain moral pressure is brought to bear on the destinations remaining ‘untouched’, or ‘pre-modern’. There is an implication that these primitive parts of the world should stay that way for the traveller’s pleasure. Yet, paradoxically, there are equally strong desires to modernize the whole world to make travel and tourism universally easy and accessible. Above all, travel writing promotes and maintains the idea that travel is an individual project of discovery and/or transformation of deep personal significance. To neglect it is to ‘sell out’, to reject it is to be less than a traveller and therefore less than fully human.

A Brief History of Tourism Images of travel as a context for education, self- examination and self- discovery are not new. Although far from complete, the following examination of certain points in the history of tourism serves to help the theme of this book along. Looking at the history of travel in the West demonstrates the way it has come to be regarded as a mode of experiential and existential exploration. The history of tourism is a complex and fascinating subject bound up with the history of travel, and is arguably as long as humanity’s. Indeed, humans have always travelled, whether for food, war, trade, on pilgrimage or for leisure. The story of tourism is thus also a long one, yet when viewed over such a large expanse of time certain continuities and changes can be observed. Comprehensive accounts are rare, and as Towner (1988) notes, the history of tourism has suffered from a lack of critical and multidisciplinary examinations. For the most part, social scientists and historians have kept an

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uneasy and, for the contemporary reader, annoying distance from each other. Arguably, a contributing factor to this has been confusion over the definition of the word ‘tourism’ itself. An examination of tourism must begin with at least a broad definition, returning later to examine the definition in the light of the acknowledged history. Jackson (1989, 1) notes that because the term ‘tourism’ refers to such a complex subject it attracts varying definitions depending on the perspective it is being viewed from. He claims that ‘tour’ originates from a Greek word describing a tool to make a circle, for which he gives neither any evidence nor indication that he is borrowing from Boorstin (1963). For both Withey (1998, x) and Richardson (1999, 4) the word ‘tourist’ (and thus ‘tourism’) originates with the Grand Tour to indicate travel for pleasure or education. However, Brendon (1991, 10–11) states that the word ‘tourism’ was coined in 1811 to convey the idea of a circular journey as it had gentler connotations than the word ‘travel’, which stems from ‘travail’; to work, a point also noted by Boorstin (1963, 85). The Oxford English Dictionary (1993, 3350) indicates that the word is related to ‘turn’ implying rotation and circularity, and that it entered common usage in the English language in the early nineteenth century to mean the act of touring for pleasure. By looking at a select history of leisured travel we can form an idea of what tourism has become in the modern world.

The Earliest Accounts of Travel To think of tourism and its surrounding industry as new is mistaken. Admittedly, in more recent times ‘tourism’ has taken on a negative connotation in popular culture indicating a ‘following of the herd’, mass movement, and travelling to a standard script. This is new; or at least the far- reaching extent of it is. Yet the notion of a previous ‘perfect’ travelling age when the tourists were ‘travellers’; intellectual explorers who considered and absorbed art rather than gazed at it (or just took snapshots), and who were cultural ‘diplomats’ and representatives rather than cultural voyeurs or disgraces, is not new. Edward Gibbon, for example, remarked that Switzerland was overcrowded with tourists in 1784; Wordsworth expressed his annoyance with the ‘admiring hordes’ visiting him in the 1830s; while Henry Jones, possibly disliking everyone generally, was especially displeased with ‘one’s detestable fellow pilgrim’ (Withey 1998, ix). However, tourism is far older than this, and older than is popularly realized. Richardson (1999, 5) suggests that Herodotus, the ‘father of history’, may also be considered the father of tourism. From 464 to 447bce he visited many of the Greek islands, Persia, the Black Sea and Egypt, writing accounts of his travels detailing the land and customs of the places he visited, including what we can interpret as a thriving tourist industry. Likewise, in the writings of Strabo and Plutarch we see evidence of

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such obvious tourist indicators as tour guides and even evidence of the staged authenticity that MacCannell (1973) would talk of some 2,000 years later, in the form of a boat show put on just for tourists. Clearly pushing the boundaries of what we can call ‘The West’, Eric Leed (1991, 6) posits that the Epic of Gilgamesh is the first work of Western travel literature. However, the travails of poor Gilgamesh do not a tourist make, and at present there is a resounding lack of archaeological evidence to suggest that any such industry existed in ancient Mesopotamia. Future translations may prove otherwise, but in the meantime, as evidenced by the writings of Strabo and Plutarch, there is very good proof of a thriving tourist industry in Ancient Rome. Loykie Lamine (2005, 85–6), examining Augustan Roman tourism, argues that travel and tourism were important cultural features of Augustan society that have been largely neglected by academics. Lamine argues that, as Augustan society became increasingly oriented towards leisure, tourism became a more prominent social and cultural feature. This position is supported by John Urry (1990, 4), who noted that Imperial Rome developed an extensive tourist industry of both pleasurable and cultural activities, mainly for the elite. Although, it must be noted, as Balsdon (1969, 193) stresses, that evidence from this period is so sparse that what is available for archaeologists and historians to pick through is almost exclusively limited to Rome itself and its richer citizens at that. What level of tourism existed among the lower economic classes, if any, is unclear. So developed was this industry that Lamine notes the existence of an Augustan ‘Grand Tour’ that typically included sites (and sights) such as Delphi, Athens, Corinth, Olympia, Sparta, Rhodes and ‘Troy’ or ‘Homer’s country’. Tourists to this latter site were assisted by professional guides who showed them various ‘locations’ featured in the Iliad . After soaking up the literary and visual delights of Asia Minor these peregrinators (Feifer 1986, 10) then moved on to Egypt where many of the sites they visited – the pyramids, the Sphinx and Alexandria – still feature on contemporary tourist agendas, often still bearing the early visitors’ graffiti. At all of these locations souvenirs were available and artists were ready at hand to sketch a portrait of the happy tourist in front of some important monument (Lamine 2005, 72–4). The preference for monuments rather than natural features is exemplified in the list of the Seven Wonders of the World which entered Hellenistic thought in the third century BCE, all but two of which featured as part of the Augustan Grand Tour some centuries later (the Colossus of Rhodes having collapsed around 224BCE and Babylon simply being too far away). Indeed, Dudley (1975, 225) noted that Augustan tourism was often linked with mythology, or at least to the mythological past. Rome itself was a tourist destination for non- Romans with such attractions as the Colosseum, baths and the legendary sites associated with the founders of the city, Romulus and Remus. Tourists were also interested in ‘new Rome’ and its impressive

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monuments (Lamine 2005, 80). Indeed, Feifer (1986, 8) argues that Imperial Rome was the fi rst culture to produce mass tourism, though by today’s standards Roman tourist numbers would surely be but a trickle. However, it was not to last, and with the end of the Pax Romanus came the decline of the Roman Empire, and the waning of Roman tourism; roads fell into disrepair, bandits roamed the countryside and the wealthy classes diminished (McIntosh and Goeldner 1990, 24).

The Grand Tour Despite good evidence to suggest otherwise, most scholars agree that ‘tourism’ as it is conceived today originates with what has come to be called the Grand Tour, a largely British invention (Withey 1998, 6–7). Taking place from roughly the late sixteenth- to the early nineteenth century with its heyday in the eighteenth century, the Grand Tour can be thought of as a ‘finishing school’; an essential part of a ‘gentleman’s’ education that gave invaluable experience of the world. For the traveller it was not only a rite of passage, but also a way to escape parents, studies and the inevitable duties of life. The term itself was first used in this context by Richard Lassels in Voyage to Italy (see Hibbert 1969, 10), and most Grand Tourism was a search for high culture, with many Grand Tourists seeking out prominent figures, particularly philosophers, to engage in conversation and debate. James Boswell, for example, managed to wangle his way into meeting with both Rousseau and Voltaire on a number of occasions (Withey 1998, 17–20). However, such travel was also an occasion to become accustomed to the etiquette and politics of court life, and many young men (and women) were sent by their families specifically to attend court and acquire social skills. From 1763, apart from a brief period when France and Britain were at war again, channel crossings increased dramatically. Nonetheless, wars hampered Grand Tourists’ travels, particularly the Seven Years War (1756–63) which cut British access to the Continent through France. By 1785 Gibbon was told by an acquaintance that 40,000 Britons were tourists in Europe that year. In August 1786 the Daily Universal Register (later to become The Times) reported that 3,760 ‘Londoners’ had arrived in Paris over a six-week period. Even in the relatively unpopular stops of Vienna and Dresden, British consuls were remarking on the ‘invasion’ of tourists (Withey 1998, 6). It is difficult to say exactly how many British men and women were travelling for pleasure or education in the eighteenth century. However, it is clear that there had been a marked increase in numbers from the previous century (Black 1985, 1). Indeed, there were so many British tourists in Florence by the eighteenth century that often they would end up socializing with each other due to the difficulty in obtaining an entrée to local society (Withey 1998, 25).

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Rome was the most important destination for most Grand Tourists. Education beyond the rudimentary meant the classics, and educated men were expected to know Latin and Greek. Rome was therefore considered the source of Western civilization as the repository of this knowledge. However, Black (1985, 9–15) notes that locations such as Hannover, Dresden, Prague and Vienna were popular with aristocratic tourists and those seeking patronage. Further, the influence of Italy’s lure for the senses should not be forgotten. The land, climate and cultures of the Mediterranean featured large for Northern Europeans (and still do) looking for respite from both cold winters and social conventions (Withey 1998, 8). However, most Grand Tourists headed for Paris as their first stop. It was a completely foreign world for them, being more densely populated than London, with narrower streets, and many of the buildings lacking sewage plumbing, resulting in the contents of the city’s chamber pots being found on the streets below. Horace Walpole called Paris ‘the ugliest beastliest town in the universe’ and was not popularly considered out of order. Nevertheless, most Grand Tourists spent several weeks there. Although there seems to have been a general disdain for France by the British, it was conceded that Paris was the fashion capital of Europe. Not wanting to appear conspicuous, Grand Tourists would often dress in the French style once they arrived in Paris. After that, days were spent visiting churches, royal palaces, homes of noblemen and other public buildings. Particular attention was paid to art collections, mostly in the homes of the nobles, and much criticism was made of the French for their ‘filth’, ‘loose morals’ and superficial attitude to life (Withey 1998, 16). The first popular guidebook for European travel was published in 1749. Grand Tour, by Thomas Nugent, gave equal weight to France, Italy, Germany and the Netherlands, though most eighteenth- century Grand Tourists concentrated on France and Italy, typically visiting Paris, Geneva, Rome, Florence, Venice and Naples. Earlier Grand Tourists (sixteenth- and seventeenth centuries) tended to avoid Italy as the religious storm of the Reformation had made it an uneasy, even dangerous place for British travellers. Nevertheless, for eighteenth- century travellers, Italy was considered the centre of artistic sophistication, and the heart of Western European culture, particularly Roman history, which directly informed both the language and political models upon which the British system was based. The young James Boswell’s mentor, Samuel Johnson, remarked that ‘a man who has not been in Italy is always conscious of an inferiority, from his not having seen what it is expected a man should see’ (Hibbert 1969, 10). While many Grand Tourists saw evidence in their travels of their own culture’s superiority (especially the British), for some, like Boswell or Goethe, Italy in particular presented images of a greater past. This was especially true for Goethe, who went on to become one of the early voices of Romanticism (Withey 1998, 30). The same was true of Grand Tourists’ attitudes towards

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the natural world. The countryside from Paris to Italy held little attraction for most Grand Tourists, and the Alps were viewed as especially annoying and unpleasant, a crossing being an ordeal for most Grand Tourists (even though by and large they were carried over in litters). Unlike most of his contemporaries, however, Thomas Gray (c.1895, 61), travelling with his friend Horace Walpole between 1739 and 1741, wrote that while works of art had seemed less than impressive to him, ‘those of Nature have astonished me beyond expression’. This was an uncommon view. Most eighteenth- century Europeans found mountains frightening, probably because of the difficulty and danger of travel in mountainous regions. Yet there were aesthetic reasons also. Order and symmetry were esteemed highly, and the human taming of nature was the most highly prized aesthetic value. Little wonder then that Grand Tourists desiring the monuments of Roman civilization, Renaissance art, European court life and the salons of intellectuals found little of value in ‘piles of rocks’.

The Industrial Age, Thomas Cook and Popular Travel Technology, particularly steam power, has had more impact on the history of travel and tourism than any other factor. Steam power began to have an impact on travel and tourism in the first half of the nineteenth century, allowing people to move en masse via fast, cheap and relatively comfortable means on railways or steamships. At sea in particular this meant that previously tricky crossings that relied upon favourable winds and tides could be made at leisure. It is in this period that the beginnings of mass tourism are observable, though it is critical to note that this refers not only to the numbers of people travelling, but to the notion that more people had enough surplus income and time to travel for leisure. Such a shift required general increased prosperity, changes to industrial relations laws (eventually including paid holidays), and the availability of suitable and acceptable transport technology. MacKenzie (2005, 19) posits that by the nineteenth century the British Empire was increasingly one of travel and leisure. It was also an empire of Christianity, and the explosion of ‘other’ places recently discovered offered evidence that the notion of historical progression was indeed true; British was best. Not surprisingly, in the midst of the industrial mechanization of Western Europe and with a nascent Romanticism, some new social trends emerged. In 1752 Dr Richard Russell published ‘A Dissertation on the Uses of Sea-Water’, detailing the curative qualities of seawater, which helped to initiate the development of the seaside resort and health tourism, and marking the beginning of tourism by the middle classes (Jackson 1989, 7). By 1800 Switzerland’s natural assets were being extolled by Romantic writers, and appreciation of nature began to become a popular pursuit. A key point here is that the pursuit of this pastime required travel outside of the growing cities in order to be done properly.

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Prior to steam power, travel was slow, expensive and often quite dangerous. The eighteenth and nineteenth centuries saw marked improvements in travel technology and infrastructure. Roads, stage- coach routes and regular sailing ship services were all stepped up. Prior to the advent of steam power, horse and wind power were the main means of long distance transport; mode in which people were essentially travelling at the same speeds that the likes of Herodotus and Marco Polo made. The first steam locomotive in England commenced service at a mine in 1804, and in 1819 the Savannah , an American vessel, completed the first crossing of the Atlantic by a ship partially powered by steam, and the first cross- channel steam service between England and France began in 1820. Development on land was just as quick. Despite some voiced objections, George Stephenson built the Rocket locomotive in 1829, the first suitable locomotive for passenger services (capable of 25 miles per hour) and just a year later the London–Manchester railway opened. In 1839, when railways reached Rugby, Thomas Arnold rejoiced that ‘feudality is gone forever’ (Richardson 1999, 7). The journey from London to Edinburgh, a trip of two weeks in 1800, now took only a day. Railways also had a remarkable effect on the numbers of people travelling. Richardson claims that in 1837 a total of around 50,000 people travelled to Brighton by coach. Yet by 1862 this number, Richardson states, had increased to 132,000 in a single day (Easter Monday), though my research has produced no further evidence of this extraordinarily high number.1 By 1872 a railway journey from London to Rome (via steamboat on the English Channel) went through Paris, Munich, Innsbruck and the Brenner Pass, taking just over three days; a journey that had previously taken weeks by coach. In the United States a transcontinental railway had been constructed by 1869, and formed part of over 85,000kms of railway lines around that country. Despite the rapid technological advances of the early nineteenth century, it was not until Thomas Cook (1808–92) saw in railways the potential for tourism as it is understood today that they were fully realized. A printer by trade with a passion for the Temperance Movement, Cook believed that alcohol was the root cause of most of the evils afflicting Victorian society. Cook’s vision was to promote temperance through more ‘wholesome’ recreation than could be found in the alehouse. After happening upon the idea to conduct a day excursion to this end, Cook began what can arguably be described as the modern tourism industry. Cook essentially constructed an industry out of no more than this idea. Despite some initial resistance to the notion of travel for the masses, the efforts of Cook eventually contributed to making popular tourism socially acceptable. The first excursion organized by Cook, from which he drew no personal income, was made on behalf of the Leicester Temperance Society (Swinglehurst 1982, 7). It left Leicester on 5 July 1841 for a day-trip to Loughborough. Advertising that had been posted around Leicester, by Cook himself, drew over 2,000 people, although only around 600 managed to cram

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themselves onto the train Cook had booked. The trip was a resounding success on all counts and Cook immediately realized that his idea could be extended infinitely. A day on excursion, Cook argued, was to be no more costly than a visit to a public house (Brendon 1991, 31). Cook’s fi rst commercial tour was to Liverpool, with a side- trip to Snowdon and Caernarvon, in Wales, in 1845. Cook approached and negotiated with the four railway companies involved, explored the route, and even wrote a guide book for the journey. Like his previous ventures with the Temperance Societies, this was a success with both first and second class tickets selling out, and even being resold on the black market (Swinglehurst 1982, 15). Three hundred and fi fty joined Cook (although they made their own arrangements for food and accommodation). Standing atop of Mt Snowdon, buoyed by his success, Cook realized that Scotland was an equally appealing location in the popular mind. Scotland had been romanticized by Sir Walter Scott, the ‘universal’ poet of the time. Cook noted that Scott ‘gave sentiment to Scotland as a tourist country’ (Thomas Cook, quoted in Brendon 1991, 38), and later unabashedly used the fact that Queen Victoria had begun using Balmoral as a summer home in his promotions. Over the next 16 years Cook took thousands of tourists to Scotland, and by 1872 Cook was conducting round- the- world tours. Swinglehurst (1982, 12) makes the interesting, though passing, comment that part of Cook’s success is attributable to the love of business flair and idealism prevalent in Victorian and Edwardian society. Arguably it was Cook’s recognition of the potential of steam power in the mass movement of people, his ability to obtain the best service at the lowest price, and his knack of taking the worry and stress out of travel that were his selling points. To say that Cook was the first travel agent is, without question, incorrect. Various examples exist of commercial operators who organized travel itineraries for their customers. A Mr Emery of Charing Cross organized tours of Switzerland in 1818, Agastino Contarini, a Venetian, organized pilgrim tours of the Holy Land in the late fi fteenth century, and there is even good evidence to suggest tourist agents existed in Ancient Rome. Therefore, Cook did not ‘invent’ tourism or the conducted tour, nor, indeed, was Cook the first to conduct a train excursion. But although other railway excursions had been organized before Cook’s, none drew anywhere near the level of attention or numbers that his did. As Brendon (1991, 12) put it, Cook was the first performer on a crowded stage. More than a political and social force, railways were, as Cook realized, an opportunity for novelty and excitement on a scale and level of accessibility not seen or even envisaged before. They became a fashion of the time, a frenzy even. Thus Cook’s real achievement was to associate himself with both the technology and the spirit of the day. Out of this he created a global empire of travel that became so popular that ‘Cook’s tours’ became a byword for any loosely organized sightseeing trip.

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The Golden Age – 1880–1939 The fully realized harnessing of steam power that took place in the midnineteenth century ushered in what is commonly referred to as the ‘golden age of travel’. Until the mid-nineteenth century pleasure travel was limited by lack of roads and accommodation, and by a general lack of security. In addition, hundreds of currencies and frontiers made extended journeying a complex and frustrating affair. In 1850 the merger of Wells Fargo and two other freight companies formed American Express. From its foundation it devised innovative financial solutions and services for travellers, including being one of the first money order businesses, and developing the traveller’s cheque (American Express 2006). As business and governments realized the potential not only for tourism but for trade in railways, networks began to extend. Gregory (1991, 42) notes that while governments had only considered railways in terms of national security (insisting upon having different gauges to neighbouring states so troops could not be shipped in), bankers strove to unite Europe by rail, seeing in them the potential to create literal global marketplaces. In addition, increased speed and comfort on ocean- going journeys had made intercontinental travel more feasible and more luxurious. In 1838 a group of shipping magnates had begun the tradition of the Blue Ribband for the fastest crossing of the Atlantic by a passenger ship, the record holder having the right to fly the said ribbon from its mast. The 30 years leading up to the First World War was a period of particularly intense development of passenger- ship technology and competition between lines (Richardson 1999, 9). This new freedom to explore the world in comfort sparked an explosion in travel for pleasure and began a period of unprecedented growth and development that would last until the Second World War. With so many people travelling the demand for accommodation around the world increased dramatically and the Roman tradition of inns along major roads in which travellers essentially looked after themselves began to give way to service-based organizations. Large hotel developments in major cities began in the early nineteenth century, and approached the problem of increasing demand with a new philosophy. Rather than simply continuing to be places of lodging, these new hotels sought to be important social centres, offering meeting places, bars and restaurants. The development of the modern hotel style took place largely in America where longer journeys combined with a relative lack of amenities meant that developers had to accommodate more of the traveller’s needs. In Britain and Europe, while functional hotels had been developed for railway travellers near stations, not much else had been available. By the 1880s the Grand Hotel Nationale in Lucerne, Switzerland was considered the finest in Europe, marking the beginning of the tradition that regards Swiss style management as the hotel industry’s zenith. In 1889, Cesar Ritz, former Grand Hotel Nationale manager, became the manager of the Savoy Hotel in

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London. Ritz, whose contribution to the history of tourism should not be overlooked, transformed the hotel from a place to sleep to a social, entertainment and culinary centre (Gregory 1991, 78). His managerial changes were arguably largely responsible for the development of the public restaurant and hotel as points of high culture and fashion. Technological development continued into the new century with the development of the internal combustion engine. The industrial bourgoisie created by steam power not only wanted to see what had previously been the reserve of aristocracy, the incredible productive powers they had harnessed meant they needed to travel to broaden their markets and establish new ones. The automobile industry boomed, particularly after the First World War, with a massive increase in demand for motorized transport systems for passengers (Jackson 1999, 9). Prior to the war, an American Grand Tour of sorts had operated from the late nineteenth century. The American east coast’s heirs and heiresses were sent to the United Kingdom and Europe over the summer to finish their schooling; the boys to learn business acumen and the girls to go to finishing schools run by impoverished ladies from the aristocracy in Dresden and Florence (Gregory 1991, 16). The war mostly stopped this. After the First World War industries for war tourists begin to emerge, in particular to cater for the grieving families of the British Colonies who travelled to their loved ones’ graves in an attempt to gain some closure (Scates 2006). However, the major tourism development of the interwar years was the emergence of the aeroplane as a form of mass transport. In 1927 Charles Lindbergh’s historic first flight over the Atlantic sounded the slow death of the transatlantic oceanliner. A year later Germany began passenger services to the Americas on Graf Zeppelin, carrying over 18,000 in ten years. In 1933 the Boeing 247, the first commercial airliner, entered service, and in 1936 American Airlines introduced the DC-3; an aircraft that was to solidify the place of aviation as a viable form of mass transportation. The 1930s also saw Europeans in particular begin to understand paid vacations as a right bound up with the European notion of living standards, a sentiment that would accelerate after the Second World War (Furlough 1998, 249).

Post-war Travel The technological advances of war saw development of long-range air transport between 1939 and 1945 that far surpassed those of the previous decades. Although airlines had been operating for sometime, often with complex and extended routes, the technology to go further and faster in safer ways was slow to develop. The Second World War changed this as the desire to move tonnes of high explosive and hundreds of human bodies quickly took precedence over luxury. Routes previously flown only by pioneers were turned into

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busy airways overnight, with constant streams of new high-powered long-range aircraft. Emerging radio ranging and radar technologies were exploited to ensure that over sea and bad weather flights could be made with an acceptable level of success. Further, the Second World War spelt the end for the crumbling aristocracies and indifferent plutocracies of Europe. The increased stability and prosperity that came after the Second World War, especially in the United States, was accompanied by increases in leisure time. This, coupled with the increasing desire to see the places new technologies were making it easy to get to, resulted in further increases in tourist numbers. Rapid expansion of tourist wholesalers in the style of Thomas Cook Ltd and the mass marketing of the package tour came alongside the development of the hotel chain. These provided first-time travellers with safe, predictable facilities from which to explore the new worlds being ‘opened up’ to them. Nonetheless, between 1950 and 2006 world tourism grew from 25 million to 806 million arrivals. At the same time, diversity in tourist destinations also rapidly expanded. According to the World Tourism Organization (WTO), the top 15 global destinations in 1950 accounted for 88 per cent of international arrivals, yet by 2005 this had dropped to 57 per cent ‘reflecting the emergence of new destinations, many of them in developing countries’. Also reflected in these statistics are the influences of improving travel technologies, in particular the introduction of jet aircraft, and a vastly changed means of disseminating information about travel destinations, first through television and later through the internet. Special interest tourism also became much more prevalent than ever before. Again, the influence and accessibility of infrastructure and the distribution of information on destinations is at play here, and should not be underestimated. The ease and relative cheapness of accessing, for example, exotic movie locations has meant that small industries catering to ‘film tourism’ have sprung up around the world (Beeton 2004).

Summary Fragmentation of the mass-tourism market has seen significant changes occur in the past 50 years. Tourism is now broken up to be more customer- specific. Destinations or tours may be chosen on the basis of activity (or inactivity) undertaken, location or interest. City breaks, weekends in the country or even a week spent on a beach half-way around the world are common place. Increases in travel infrastructure have been heavily influential in these developments, in particular budget air-travel, which has seen destinations that only 30 years ago would have required a journey of a few days now be reachable in only a couple of hours. Forms of tourism have also sprung up as ‘rites of passage’, mirroring the Grand Tours of old. In particular, having a Gap Year spent travelling has become a tradition common in the West for youth. So- called ‘backpacking’

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travellers now flock in their thousands to locations around Europe, Africa, Asia, Australia and South America looking for everything from adrenaline and adventure, to drugs, sex and, in some cases, spirituality. Lastly, the final frontier, Space, has itself become a tourist destination following the April 2001 journey of Dennis Tito to the International Space Station (see Laing and Crouch 2004). What then can be said of tourism in the light of such a vast history? Fred Inglis (2000, 1), writing on the history of vacationing, argued that the history of the holiday and the history of consumerism coincide. He posits that at some point in the mid- eighteenth century the consumer started taking holidays and travelling. If Inglis is correct, this point marks what many would argue as the beginning of modern mass tourism, but it also indicates a significant point in social conceptions of the appropriate use of leisure time. Tourism, if born from the Grand Tour, emerged from a social trend that saw travel as a form of education through experience and, importantly, a way to make coherent, as Goethe (1982, 115–16) put it, the chaotic fragments of one’s own cultural and intellectual history. Other social processes are obviously at play. Maxine Feifer wrote that, ‘set up by the travel writer and framed by the camera, other people’s ordinary lives are transformed into exotic entertainment’. Although in the information-rich world of today it may seem that this is true (and it may certainly be the case now), it is to dismiss historical curiosity to think that without the camera or the travel writer that ‘tourism’, and such ‘exotic entertainment’ did not exist. Indeed, numerous trends are noticeable in the history of leisured travel. The first, and most easily recognizable, is education. From Roman patricians through to British young men on the Grand Tour, to the more abstract conceptions of backpacking rites of passage, the notion that time away from home can be one of learning is readily apparent. The second, is that of health, and, quite clearly and intimately related, the more loosely termed ‘relaxation’ tourism. Again, Roman health resorts abounded, as have European spa towns and resorts, and, more recently, the touristic offshoots of the ‘alternative healthcare’ revolution combining yoga, aromatherapy, meditation, acupuncture and the like. The third, and possibly the target of most vitriol from culture critics, is that of novelty. Simple curiosity has been, and continues to be, a significant motivating factor for tourists. ‘The other’, ‘the exotic’ and ‘the mysterious’ all function as powerful draw cards for tourists, and have done quite obviously since ancient times. Yet there are some other noticeable entrants that while possibly overlapping some of the previously mentioned trends, nevertheless deserve an addition highlight here. Sport has been a travel motivator at least since the ancient Greeks started their games in Olympia, and probably further back than that. Adventure and adrenaline also figure as motivators of note in tourism history, although the extent to which these can be seen as separate from larger trends is unclear. Finally, the tourism observable in the initial tours

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of Thomas Cook to Scotland and the places described by Romantic writers and painters, being associated with points of popular culture is still readily visible, perhaps even more so, in travel associated with such locations associated with books, movies and war history. What is clear is that in the minds of travel writers and travellers alike, the act of travel is conceived as a process that removes the traveller from their familiar surroundings, and, importantly, from the context they wish to critique; in this case themselves and their society’s promoted way of life. Travel occupies a cultural position that places it within the educational realm. Indeed, self-improvement is the Western raison d’etre of the practice of leisured travel, whether it be for recreation, re- creation or self- examination. Further, the idea of movement itself can be a metaphor of progression, something that should not be lost when examining a thoroughly existential phenomenon; the traveller never returns unchanged from the spaces one moves through. The genre of contemporary travel writing evidences the maintenance of the mythology of foreign travel, and the journey of the individual in that context. Western tourists participate within a culture of travel that has evolved over the past 2,000 years. Important in understanding the social dimension of travel, and in this case spiritual tourism, is that tourists are not only culturally aware of the transformative property of travel, but participate in it consciously.

Notes 1 A strangely high and unfocused number, but it still makes a point about the growth of personal mobility in the intervening years.

Chapter 5

Theories of Leisured Travel

The previous chapter examined popular conceptions of travel and the history of tourism. Both show that leisured travel is a practice used as much for learning and self- examination as it is for recreation. But before going any further an examination of scholarly theories of travel is required. The intention of this chapter is to place the practice of tourism methodologically for the present study. It will pick apart various tourism theories and separate those aspects that usefully describe what has been observed in the field. By selectively applying theories of tourism as a framework of understanding, the practice of spiritual tourism will be made clearer. This chapter is not intended as a comprehensive, all encompassing theory of travel, but rather a context-influenced gathering of social theories that serve to illustrate the ways in which the touristic dimensions of spiritual tourism function. Many early tourism theorists spoke of the lack of research in the field. In the 30 or so years since it has begun to be addressed many aspects of tourism and its peripheral characteristics have been studied closely and prolifically. There remains, however, a relative shortage of work that looks specifically at the tourist experience itself, most academic work having focused on either the business aspects of tourism or the impact of tourists on local cultures and economies. Thankfully, in recent years, critical reassessment of these positions by new generations of scholars have helped to bring a more academic eye to tourists’ travel experiences. Just as scholars like Turner had found the study of things such as ritual could yield great insights into other social phenomena, so tourism was found to be of great use for insight into lives of tourists. In particular it is the ‘silent but powerful cultural constructs that vary geographically, temporally, and socially’ (Smith 2001, 17) that contribute to the positioning of tourism as a tool of meaning and identity that we can best learn from.

Tourism as a Practice of Leisure and Re- Creation Not all tourists are alike, and it would certainly be stretching the truth to say that all tourists are on journeys of discovery or transformation. Nonetheless, it

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seems that tourists tend to seek out contrast with the everyday, both in terms of surroundings and routines. The very notion of ‘going away’ entails a physical contrast to one’s normal life. Our passports identify us as being from one country or another; a visit to museums indicates we are learning about the culture we are visiting. Tourism is symbolically equivalent with many other human institutions involved with creating or embellishing meaning, such as sports events, holy days and calendrical festivals. That is, tourism manufactures, or has given rise to, sets of symbols that perform and are used in ways equivalent with religious practice. In this sense tourism also ought to be understood as a form of ritual. The ‘special’ elements of leisure and travel are understood as existing in opposition to the ‘mundane’ work and home (Graburn 2001, 42). Here we encounter the metaphor of tourism as a journey. Quite apart from the literal journey the tourist takes, often their experience involves a deeper inner journey, whether through forms of regression (playing, lack of responsibility and so on), rites of passage (travelling at the point one enters adulthood, retirement, following a death or divorce, life change), or through experimentation or practices of learning. While study of tourism as an anthropological or sociological subject began as late as 1963 (Nuñez 1963), it was not until Dean MacCannell (1973) wrote of the links between social structure, belief and action in tourism, that any serious theories began to take shape. In his later defining work, The Tourist , MacCannell (1999) sought a theory of modern social structure, and saw tourists as ethnographers of modernity. Similarly, the symbolic and functional aspects of tourism were equivalent to other institutions concerned with a search for meaning, particularly pilgrimage due to the shared context of travel. As a result we may assume that tourism is able to be religiously significant, as pilgrimage is simply a form of it, though equally without the necessary involvement of religious traditions. Tourism could even be said to be a quasi-religious practice that enables the tourist to gain experiences not offered at home, and we are forced to ask whether it is an equivalent to religious practice. However, this neglects the experiences of tourists who simply want to laze on a beach for a week; not an activity usually associated with religious practice. Holiday brochures sell locations at which ‘nothing’ is the most appealing aspect, and where one can relax and let the worries of life wash away in the briny sea. Yet even this begins to sound quasi-religious. The transformation from ‘stressed’ to ‘relaxed’ sounds very much like a ritual transformation from unclean to clean, from profane to sacred. It is this multidimensional capability of tourism as recreation and re - creation that the tourists fill with their own systems of meaning that is of interest in the present study of spiritual tourism. Tourism stands apart from other forms of travel in that it implies leisure. Other terms, such as travel or journeying for example, are ambiguous and may include business, war, or more localized and repeated events such as commuting. In the majority of cases tourism does involve travel at some level. It is

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a given, so to speak, and thus we return to our original assertion; that tourism implies leisure, for to travel for reasons other than business or war means one is a leisured traveller. Consequently, tourism is essentially the act of leisured travel and the activities that accompany it, or that the act bookends. It might include visiting a new area, or an area with which one is familiar but does not live in. It does not include business travel (also called economic travel), although the business traveller may engage in tourist activities. This is not to say that economic and war travel are without experiential and existential wonderment. Rather, it is merely to point the reader in the direction of understanding the diverse phenomena of tourism in the West; it resides primarily in leisure and recreation. It is worth noting here that if tourism is leisured travel this then must also mean pilgrimage is a form of tourism as it too tends to occur outside work life. Pilgrimage was initially understood as travel that took place within the institutional bounds of a religious tradition. However, recently scholars have abandoned this empirically problematic position in favour of one that understands pilgrimage and tourism to be closely related, even indistinguishable (Gupta 1999; Fleischer 2000). Indeed, one of the most oft cited sentences on this topic is Victor and Edith Turner’s (1978, 20) statement that ‘a tourist is half a pilgrim, if a pilgrim is half a tourist’. To further confuse things, recent studies have shown people also make pilgrimages for non-religious reasons (e.g. Rigby 2001; Scates 2006). Thus the boundaries between pilgrimage and forms of tourism cannot always be distinguished. Preston (1992, 40) argued that the key to understanding pilgrimage is the ‘circulation of people, ideas, symbols, experiences, and cash’ that should be our primary focus in its documentation. However, tourists often have similar patterns of circulation as pilgrims, and for comparable reasons. Given this, journeys towards some form of ideal that are labelled ‘pilgrimage’, often without specifically religious motivations on the part of the traveller, look decreasingly like necessarily religious activity. As a result we must question whether some forms of modern tourism and pilgrimage are not simply the same behaviour under different labels. A possible avenue forward may be concentrating on reflexive use of the words by travellers; understanding pilgrims as those who identify themselves as such and attempting to work from there what the use of the term means. Tourism can also be a consumerist and pleasurable activity, both of which are driving forces in the Western cultural milieu. It is also a sign of wealth and is associated with an abundance of ‘free time’. By participating in touristic activities people are embodying those ideals. In addition, sociocultural currents emerging from the Reformation, such as secularization and an emphasis on individual personal authority, have brought about changes to the ways people in the West construct and construe their personal lives in terms of meaning and identity. These trends have resulted in a reduction in the influence of institutional religious traditions upon people’s daily lives and an increased

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emphasis on the individualized construction of religio- spiritual practices. This, combined with the notion of tourism as a mode of re- creation and as a search for meaning and experience, means we can assume that it will be used by some people as part of their own personal religious practice. How and why this is done is the purpose of this chapter. Further, looking at how people are incorporating such travel into their everyday lives presents an opportunity to look at how religious ideas and practices are conceived in Western society. Insofar as tourism is a mode of consumption and a means of self- exploration it is logical to assume that it reflects the everyday in some way. In the case of tourism and religion, where tourists view and participate in religious practices, it implies that religious practice can be a commodity.

The Pilgrimage/Tourism Debate Pilgrimage is a logical starting place for an examination of an intersection of religion and travel practices. Attempting to define pilgrimage in opposition to tourism is a knotty and problematic issue. The boundaries between pilgrimage and tourism are increasingly obfuscated by the deployment of complex terms such as spiritual tourism, secular pilgrimage and religious tourism. Pilgrimage is understood in popular culture to be journeys that are redolent with meaning (Digance 2006), often physically or emotionally difficult, rich in tradition, and often ascetic. However, there are pilgrimages occurring that are not bound by religious tradition, not necessarily physically difficult, and often hedonistic. Typically these are defined as pilgrimages by the travellers themselves. Further, it is demonstrably the case that there are instances of tourism, as it is understood in contrast (supposedly hedonistic, outside of tradition, pleasurable and material), that are nonetheless deeply significant for those travellers practising it who do not self-identify as pilgrims. This is the key; the practice of tourism in these cases is meaningful. If such people do not call themselves tourists, then researchers should approach the labelling of them with a set of criteria that explains exactly why the term is applicable. All leisured travellers are tourists, so- called pilgrims and so- called tourists alike. The reflexive definition is, of course, different. Some tourists will call themselves pilgrims, and this is important for us as it signals their intentions. They may mean to venerate a tradition, person or object, or to look for sacred healing, or connect with a site known to them as special. However, some tourists engaged in nearly identical practice will not call themselves pilgrims, for example many of those interviewed in India for this project. Thus the apparent problem of the pilgrim–tourist dichotomy remains. Early academic treatments of pilgrimage tended to focus on what Coleman and Eade (2004) called place- centred understandings of sacred travel, and tended towards attempts to differentiate it from tourism (Smith 1992).

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Numerous studies placed pilgrimage within the framework of religious travel and tourism as something that lay outside it (Nash 2005). Pilgrimage sites were understood as spatially liminal locations separated from the normal world by virtue of their sacrality. This approach was exemplified by studies such as Nolan and Nolan’s (1989) examination of Christian pilgrimage shrines in Europe, which understands pilgrimage through the destination shrine(s). Scholars understood the object of the journey to be the entry into what Turner (1973) called the ‘centre out there’; a sacred space only accessible through travel. As a result, many studies of pilgrimage have sought to locate these traditions in the dialectic of sacred and profane aspects of space. Pilgrimage was thus viewed as a journey towards the sacred. However, such theories play down the experiential aspects of pilgrimage, in particular the physical or metaphorical journey itself, and often miss the liminoid process, elsewhere discussed by Turner (1969), in which pilgrims move out from the normal and the everyday, only to subsequently return. Attempts to dedifferentiate pilgrimage and tourism began almost as soon as the discrete field of tourism studies began. Dean MacCannell (1973) characterized the tourist as a pilgrim searching for an authenticity that is lacking in their everyday lives. Nelson Graburn (1977) later linked tourism with ritual, and thus Victor Turner’s notions of liminality and sacrality. Since the 1990s studies have tended to blur the relationship between the two categories, seeking neither to differentiate nor to dedifferentiate. Instead, numerous scholars have focused on the similarities between pilgrimage and tourism (e.g. Cohen 1992; Digance 2003; Olsen and Timothy 2006). More recently, studies of pilgrimage phenomena have begun to focus on the experiential dimensions of the journey for the actors. For example, Fleischer (2000) examined tourists to Israel and Palestine, demonstrating the problems of differentiation between the two categories, and Collins-Kreiner and Gatrell (2006), looking at tourist experiences at the Haifa Bahai’i Gardens noted the ‘dual-purpose’ nature of the site contributed to an existential ambiguity. The complex social and spatial processes within which tourism and pilgrimage operate are deeply embedded with cultural and historical ideas of travel, as discussed in the previous chapter, and teasing one out from the other serves no larger purpose than a definition itself. Prompted by this, Badone and Roseman (2004, 2) stated that ‘rigid dichotomies between pilgrimage and tourism or pilgrims and tourists no longer seem tenable in the shifting world of postmodern travel’. Contributing to this growing scholarship in the experiential dimension of pilgrimage and tourism studies, Nancy Frey (1998) argued that the pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago operates in diverse, personalized ways for pilgrims. Frey’s argument centres on the notion of the pilgrimage as a context for personal storytelling that functions in a confessional or psychotherapeutic mode. While lacking a solid methodological framework, it is her emphasis on story that serves as the inspirational departure point for the present argument.

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The analysis of the pilgrimage to Santiago for this book is informed by three foundational ideas. First, as Coleman and Eade (2004, 2–3) have noted, pilgrimage involves not only physical movement but metaphorical ‘transition’ as well. In order to gain an insight to this, an ‘ethnographic snapshot’ must be taken that can account for the movement of pilgrims not only in space but in state. Pilgrimage may well entail a transition from profane to sacred space, but it also involves a ritual transformation of the pilgrim, again calling to mind movement. Second, pilgrimages are contested and open to interpretation (Eade and Sallnow 1991). The sacred dimension of pilgrimage may take on different forms, even in a single location, and may be a focal point for a number of simultaneous interpretations. A less rigidly deterministic paradigm than a ‘ journey to the sacred’ must be employed in order to understand pilgrimage and account for the triad of pilgrimage participants – ‘place’, ‘social space’ and ‘self’ – in order to be methodologically effective. Third, pilgrimage is understood as a travel practice imbued with meaning and purpose that works either towards or within a goal or ideal. Pilgrimage is not a monolithic undertaking, but rather involves participation by many differing individuals, often with significantly different conceptions of the journey’s purpose. Scholars have argued that studies of pilgrimage ought to include discussions of how the travel process is comprehended and experienced by pilgrims. Pilgrimage approached in this manner is seen as ‘ journeys redolent with meaning’, as Digance (2006) put it, and looks to what the pilgrim intends as the decisive point for applying the category. Morinis’s (1992, 4) definition of pilgrimage as journeys ‘undertaken by a person in quest of a place or a state that he or she believes to embody a valued ideal’ is useful here. They may include journeys to religious shrines as much as a visit to a favourite team’s football ground, or the site of a culturally significant battlefield (e.g. Xifra 2008; Scates 2006). Thus for the purposes of this book pilgrimage is defined as journeys identified as personally meaningful that move towards a goal or idealized state of being or place. It necessarily occurs, for the most part, during leisure time. With this definition, tourism also includes pilgrimage, for it too is a form of leisured travel. While many authors have argued for tourism and pilgrimage to be considered separate monoliths, their mechanical, somatic and economic similarities demand we consider them in at least similar, if not the same light. Theorists such as Cohen, MacCannell and Graburn have demonstrated that the experiential and existential dimensions of a number of tourism forms can be similar to pilgrimage. Thus we must accept that pilgrimage is a form of tourism, and that the deployment of the word by the actors is a historically determined and/or self- conscious assertion of meaningful, valuable or structurally appropriate travel. Thus the link between tourism and pilgrimage is found to have an historical precedence. Pilgrimage traditions such as the Camino have long felt a tension between those who undertake it for religious reasons and

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those who are thought of as sightseers, suggesting that the very same practices have been undertaken by individuals with differing intent for some time. Intent is thus the most important factor in the designation of the pilgrim, even if it is applied retrospectively. Despite this, some scholars maintain that tourism and pilgrimage are founded in different social conceptions of space, and in particular converse notions of the kinds of spaces worth journeying to. In other words, the destination may be the same, as are the activities undertaken while there, but it is approached for different reasons. This branch of theory generally sees pilgrimage as, both socially and physically, a movement of the individual from the periphery towards the cultural centre (whereas in tourism it is away from their cultural centre into the periphery). Erik Cohen (1979) sought to account for differences in tourist experiences by examining the roles and significance of tourism within the context of the individual’s life, arguing that these are principally derived from their world view, especially whether they adhere to a ‘centre’ or not. He distinguished five main modes of touristic experience sorted by the extent to which the journey was a ‘quest for the centre’ for the tourist with the pleasure- seeking tourist at the ‘recreational’ end and those of the modern pilgrim at the ‘existential’ end. In each case intent is shown to be crucial to the application of the type. Valene Smith (1992, 2) noted the attempt to separate the two ‘types’ of leisured travel – pilgrimage and tourism – suggesting that ‘social approval is the most important [factor] in differentiating the activities of tourists from pilgrims’. This, however, suggests that the difference lies not in action, belief or intent, but in sanction. If this is the case, then we must accept that pilgrims and pilgrimages are those things that travellers label as such. Likewise, if one assumes that pilgrimage is only ever religious, then separating pilgrims from tourists (going the other way) requires analysing individual belief. Smith (1992, 15) argues that secularization has made the distinction between tourist and pilgrim opaque. Secularization, however, is not principally responsible for this, and the notion that leisured travel is fuzzier and less able to be categorized in the contemporary world thanks to it is simply a fiction borne of academic nostalgia. It is not possible for us to say that at a particular point in the past all leisured travel was easily compartmentalized into either tourism or pilgrimage. Vast tracts of literature evidence the use of travel for a variety of reasons throughout history. The medieval Camino provides one such example of those who were derided for making the pilgrimage out of ‘curiosity’, yet despite being ‘pre- secularization’, the distinction was made. How then are we to explain these ‘curious’ tourists? The problem is that we simply do not have the ability or the data to be able to properly document the complexity and plurality of premodern travel. Secularization, as it has coincided with scientific epistemologies and more comprehensive histories of ideas, has simply shed light on the nature of travel in the world currently around us. What we do have are the words that were used to describe intent. Thus if one is on a religious

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pilgrimage, such as the Camino, yet does not intend to journey towards a sacred or an upheld ideal state or place, and does not refer to oneself as a pilgrim we must accept that the person is not a pilgrim, in their own mind. One of the impacts of the rise of leisured travel practices (over the past 200 years) may be that explicitly religious pilgrimages are having some of their religious significance attenuated. That is, while pilgrim numbers at a particular site may be the same, what we find is that less and less of them are making the pilgrimage for explicitly religious reasons. Instead what we find are a variety of reasons that are more concerned with recreation, pleasure and individual spiritual practice. This is indeed what is found on the Camino de Santiago. Despite being a long- established Catholic pilgrimage with well- stated institutional links and soteriological outcomes, thousands of non- Christian pilgrims walk and cycle the various routes, sometimes for up to a month or more, every year. Their reasons for walking may be varied, but among them are dominant themes of self-reflection and life change. This was a theme dwelt on by MacCannell, who, while not discussing pilgrimage at length, argued that the term ‘tourist’ should be read both as ‘sightseer in search of experience’, and as a metasociological example of modern people. In particular, it was the search for authentic experience that identified tourism as an equivalent of pilgrimage; both were oriented towards sources of authentic experiences and identity. However, while pilgrims journey to places of religious importance, tourists also journey to places of social, cultural and historical importance (MacCannell 1973, 593). However, many scholars, such as Vukonić (1996), Turner (1973), Turner and Turner (1978) and Singh (2006), have instead echoed Cohen’s thesis, and argued that while tourists and pilgrims may go to the same places and do the same things they are distinguished by their motivations. As discussed in particular in Chapter 3, evidence from some tourists belies this, often indicating almost identical functional motivations despite clearly not being ‘on a pilgrimage’. In many cases the only distinguishing factor is adherence to the tradition in question, though even that is a problematic point for a field researcher; for example, a religiously identifying traveller may be on pilgrimage for reasons other than those institutionally prescribed. The Turners’ (1978, 20) mantra that ‘a pilgrim is half a tourist if a tourist is half a pilgrim’ is often quoted to justify the ambiguous state of each in relation to the other. If only the Turners had been surer. The insertion of the conjunction ‘if’ leaves the potential for its opposite open; ‘if a pilgrim is not a tourist then a tourist is not a pilgrim.’ What are we to make of this paradox? The answer is simple and far more helpful to the study of the many phenomena of travel. Pilgrims are tourists who self-identify as, or are institutionally identified as, pilgrims. There may be other tourists who act in all senses identically and for the same motivations, yet who do not identify as ‘pilgrims’. To suggest a term such as pseudo-pilgrim – as in ‘Tom is a pseudo-pilgrim’ – is to split hairs

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over what clearly can be mechanically identical behaviour. For the purposes of identification and clarification we may call their actions ‘pilgrimage-like’, but this does not change the fact that they are and remain leisured travellers, and as such are tourists. Other leisured travellers – wine tourists, sports tourists, sex tourists – fall into the fabulously varied taxonomy of tourism likewise. To illustrate this point, an example from the fringes of this study will help. We see a similar debate amongst tourists that are often called ‘backpackers’. In general, the term tourist is viewed as pejorative by these groups, preferring instead the appellation ‘traveller’ as it describes for themselves and to those around them not only what they are doing, but how they are doing it. They seek to identify themselves as ‘more than sightseers’ even though we often find them in the very same places conducting identical activities. In the same vein, the word ‘pilgrimage’ must therefore be considered as a label applied by social actors to refer to a journey that has purpose, meaning and significance, or may transform them in some way. Pilgrimage is a performance but it begins with the referral to the self as ‘pilgrim’. It is a broadcast of intent, a claim to authenticity, to purpose, and an attempt to separate the performer from notions of frivolity, hedonism, selfishness and leisure that come with the ever maligned ‘tourist’. This is not to say that tourism is opposite, far from it. Rather, pilgrimage is an umbrella term for a kind of travel behaviour that may also be labelled tourism (or any number of other labels such as backpacking, travelling, finding one’s self, losing one’s self, etc.). Tourism is simply a descriptive term for any person travelling for leisure. What is done with that leisured travel and how the traveller articulates that is another matter, and this is where we find the term pilgrimage becoming useful as it tells something of the individual’s intent.

Religion as an Unnecessary Component of Pilgrimage Pilgrimage having been established as a type of tourism, I want to also remove the notion that religion is necessarily a part of it. The intention here is not to utterly deconstruct pilgrimage as a concept, but to reinforce the idea that religious practice and tourism may find meeting grounds in a variety of ways and in a variety of locations. The history of tourism shows that in the West the practice of travelling has become synonymous with change, discovery and learning, as well as with pleasure and relaxation. It can also be a medium for economic, intellectual, linguistic, scientific and religious exchange between host and guest. These ideas also permeate through explicitly religious forms of travel that can be found in pilgrimage traditions, as they too are simply other modes of travel. During the Middle Ages in Europe a number of instances of mass human movement for religious reasons demonstrate not only the political effectiveness of pilgrimage, but the spiritual also. While locations such as

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Glastonbury and Rome had drawn travellers for some time, the Crusades, and especially the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, introduced the notion that common people could take time out from their everyday lives to travel great distances with the support of the Christian Church. Travel to religious sites became a common practice and from the end of the fifteenth century onwards it appears that it was done as much for the diversion it offered people as for the religious benefits (Sumption 1975). Today many of the pilgrimages that began in the Middle Ages throughout Europe continue to be significant. In 2000 Jackowski estimated that around the world over 240 million people made pilgrimages every year (Jackowski 2000). For example, the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela alone attracted over 100,000 pilgrims in 2007 (Pilgrims Office of Santiago de Compostela). Meanwhile, other more recently developed locations such as Fatima and Lourdes, to which Christian pilgrims go seeking healing from various ailments, see up to 5 million pilgrims and tourists arrive every year (Lourdes Tourism Office). This trend continues throughout the world. In the Middle East the Hajj – the Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca – attracted over 2.5 million pilgrims in 2008 (Royal Embassy of Saudi Arabia). Similarly, the Maha Kumbh Mela, which occurs every 12 years in India, attracts over 60 million pilgrims, and in Japan the island of Shikoku continues to attract pilgrims to its 88 main temples. It is clear that these pilgrimage sites, along with many more, remain significant drawcards for millions of travellers around the world. However, early anthropologists avoided the study of pilgrimage, and it is only in the past 40 years that any dedicated examinations of pilgrimage emerged. Victor Turner was one of the first anthropologists to seriously engage with the topic and pilgrimage theory continues to be influenced by his work. For Turner (1973, 192; 1974, 166), pilgrimage was a ritual process defined by its spatial liminality in regard to the pilgrim’s normal life. That is, the contrast to the pilgrim’s everyday experience made it a powerful mode of transformation. Pilgrims are removed from their normal social rules and constraints, ‘betwixt and between the positions assigned and arrayed by law, custom, convention, and ceremonial’ (Turner 1969, 95). In pilgrimage, this liminal state often forces a ‘rearrangement’ of thoughts and conceptions about the world precisely because of the contrast it presents (Turner 1974, 168–82). Turner also saw pilgrimage as a rite of passage that replaces rites of puberty in modern societies, especially where it is obligatory rather than voluntary. In China, mountains have long been places of pilgrimage. Daoist seekers of immortality often choose the high, remote places of China to be nearer the immortals and to meditate alone (Schafer 1977). Sacred sites were historically identified as places that were considered ling (numinous, efficacious), and in an originally animistic society the intrinsic numinosity of the natural world was emphasized on mountain tops; clouds gathered, snow fell, winds blew. Some peaks gained reputations as the homes of certain exalted and powerful

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deities (shen) (Naquin and Yü 1992). The objective of going on a pilgrimage to such a place was to get close to and gain from their power (Birnbaum 1986, 119). However, no matter the actual reason or complex of reasons, when asked the usual explanation given for going on pilgrimage is ‘to obtain blessings and avert calamities’ (Naquin and Yü 1992, 12). One pilgrim to the mountain of Tai Shan in 1558CE wrote of his amazement at what, ‘looked like a large collection of fireflies flickering light from hundreds of boxes. When I asked about it, I was told that what I saw was the train of men and women on their way to pay homage to Yuan- chün’ (quoted in Naquin and Yü 1992, 69). For the pilgrim, the journey is understood to be effectual in their daily life, rather than in the metaphysical realm. Pilgrims pray to Yuan- chün for health and prosperity, or for more children. Even the ‘merit-making’ of Buddhist pilgrims, which is nominally to help achieve a better rebirth, also has an element of immanent pragmatism to it. Mountains in particular were chosen as destinations for pilgrimage specifically because they, and the deities associated with them, are believed to be particularly effective at bringing about change in this world. In the Indian subcontinent we see similar motivations at play. In the Sikh tradition pilgrimage has no institutional purpose, but is rather a form of physically embodied prayer. Sikh scriptures make clear that in any form, devotion or asceticism is worthless without meditating on God and working on one’s inner self. Nonetheless, many Sikhs still make pilgrimages. Despite normative mandates that essentially speak against pilgrimage, the sheer amount of Sikh pilgrims at shrines such as the Golden Temple in Amritsar suggest that more operative issues are at play. Sikhs go on pilgrimage to visit their Gurus’ temples, give thanks for God’s blessings and to pray for continued happiness and health (Jutla 2006). In Hindu traditions, pilgrimage sites are recognized as particularly sacred spaces due to their connection with particular gurus, the spiritual efficacy of their water or their location in history (Singh 2006). Pilgrimage sites in Hinduism are thus places of power, and journeying to them is understood to give the pilgrim a certain access to that power. Indeed, tourism and religion have a long and unique history in India, and Sharpley and Sundaram (2005) insist that religious motivations are still to be found behind up to 95 per cent of domestic travel there. A visit to bathe in the Ganges, in particular at Varanasi, is seen as a way to purify the soul. However, as much as these pilgrims look for spiritual renewal when on pilgrimage they also undertake sightseeing and other leisure activities. In Europe we see many of the same ideas of disconnection with one’s own world and connection to another. Since the early Middle Ages pilgrims have walked the routes to Santiago de Compostela to gain remission from sins and to visit the tomb of St James the Apostle, one of the followers of Jesus. However, in addition to this access, Christian pilgrimage in the Middle Ages often had an element of asceticism, allowing them to imitate, for a time, the life of suffering idealized in Christian culture. It was also a chance to see the world

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outside the confines of one’s local area. Further, for many of these pilgrims the journey from home to Santiago and back may have taken many months. Like any pilgrimage it was a route filled with contesting meanings and discourses in which religious piety and prayer were contrasted with issues of sightseeing and rowdy behaviour (Eade and Sallnow 1991). More recently at Lourdes in southern France, where a Christian pilgrimage tradition has grown since visions of the Mother of Christ by Bernadette Soubirous in 1858, pilgrims journey to a spring to seek healing for various maladies and to pray. Pilgrims also fill water bottles from the grotto spring to take home with them as a memory of the place and as a link between themselves, the perceived extraordinary holiness of the shrine, and the Virgin. Interestingly, John Eade (1992) has demonstrated significant problems with Turner’s notion of communitas, the sense of equality generated by the shared experience of pilgrimage, in his study of Lourdes pilgrims. In particular, he notes the social and political differences of wider society that are maintained during the journey. A significant role such institutionalized pilgrimages can play is that of identity reinforcer, both during and after the journey. Turner argued that while on pilgrimage participants form a bond, known as communitas, deconstructing pre- existing ideas of social status and obligation, and uniting them as a unit of equals throughout their journey. However, more recent studies have questioned whether such communitas is even an essential dimension of pilgrimage at all. Turner’s model idealized communitas as a necessary aspect of pilgrimage, rather than identifying it as a potential social dimension (Coleman and Eade 2004). Similarly, Turner’s communitas model itself can be misleading as subsequent research has not found such consistent fellowship amongst pilgrims (Aziz 1987). After their journey, returned pilgrims join the ranks of those in their group who have also participated in the pilgrimage. Within some traditions this is of critical importance. For example, the Islamic pilgrimage to Mecca is designated as one of the Five Pillars of the Faith. Returned pilgrims are called ‘Hajjis’ and are entitled to add the appellation to their name. Further, studies have demonstrated that participation in the Hajj leads to an increased sense of unity with fellow Muslims and to a greater level of acceptance of other ways of life (Clingingsmith et al. 2008). Similarly, Rymarz (2007) found that participation by young Catholics in the World Youth Day pilgrimage lead to an increased sense of belonging to their Church community and a greater personal commitment to their faith. Religion need not be the sole or central reason for going on a pilgrimage. Both Turner (1974) and Clifford Geertz (1973) understood ritual as a means by which social ties could be reinforced. In addition they also understood its potential as a mode of transforming the experiential base of the everyday. A person’s normal daily life may be filled with chores, work, family commitments, social engagements and so on, each of which demands attention. In contrast, when travelling they are typically removed from the majority of these

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distractions. The passage of time changes as a result, and the amount of time for thought, personal reflection and exploration is vastly increased. However, in conflict with Turner’s theory that understands these liminal entities as being ‘stripped’ of all forms of identity and social status, this chapter argues that this does not happen in the context of travel. Rather, when modern people travel they carry with them all of their normal conceptions of identity and status, but may ‘play’ with them or indeed alter them fundamentally when travelling. Further, while pilgrimage is often associated with religious traditions, by no means are all pilgrimages explicitly religious. For example, Reader (1993) argued that the term ‘pilgrimage’ is applicable to many activities that are not limited in motivation or function to the religious. Pilgrimage sites themselves need not necessarily be religious for a pilgrimage tradition to arise. Indeed, the secular world often creates its own sacred places, such as national shrines, war graves and sporting venues. Examples of so- called ‘secular’ pilgrimages provide a useful insight as to how problematic the notion of pilgrimage as necessarily religious is. At Graceland, in Memphis in the southern United States, the constant stream of visitors to the former home of Elvis Presley exemplifies ‘non-religious’ pilgrimage. The site currently attracts over 700,000 visitors per year. Madeleine Rigby (2001) links the development of Graceland as a pilgrimage site to the model presented by Victor and Edith Turner. For many Elvis fans the journey to Graceland is a journey towards a sacred centre, even though many deny the status of Elvis as a religious figure (King 1993). In particular, it is the way the pilgrimage fulfils a need in pilgrims for a type of religious practice that institutional religions fail to see (Rigby 2001, 165). Similarly, for many Australians and New Zealanders a journey to Gallipoli, in Turkey, is considered a pilgrimage deeply connected to national identity and cultural ideals. The battles fought at Gallipoli in the First World War are considered formative moments of Australian and New Zealand national identity. As such Bruce Scates (2006) provides numerous accounts of pilgrims’ journeys to Gallipoli, arguing that the trips function as pilgrimages in terms of the extent to which participants seek it out and the level of meaning, both personal and cultural, that is attached to it. The land at Gallipoli has become the ‘holy land’ for the two secular nations, stained with the blood of soldiers considered ‘founding fathers’ in the national mythologies (Lockwood 2007). Pilgrims go to Gallipoli to be at the place where these events occurred, and to find some connection with them. Further, the growing body of research on such niche subjects as film tourism suggests that there may be more to the movie-inspired journeys than a simple desire to ‘see the set’. Film-induced tourism is loosely defined as travel following the viewing of a film to the locations or settings depicted therein (Beeton 2004). Examples are numerous and, at least until recently, have probably been more prolifically covered in news and popular media than they have in academic publications (Riley et al. 1998). In reference to broader tourism theories,

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John Urry (1990) argued that tourists seek places for which an anticipation of something ‘other’ or non- customary has been built. Viewing films can bring these pictures to the viewer in high definition, allowing them to ‘get a taste’ before deciding where to go (Beeton 2004, 5). The critical point is that a film can increase the viewer’s familiarity with a place. However, a further step is needed to complete the allure of the destination image. Tourism attractions require markers of meaning to situate them in tourists’ minds. Films in particular can be major conduits in the transmission and construction of cultural or social meaning, often of places that viewers have no prior experience of. Such film-induced tourists could be said to be on pilgrimage – they seek out specific locations in order to connect with certain streams of meaning or identity, and to taste, as it were, a thing sacred to them before returning home. Each of these examples of travel redolent with meaning challenges the notion that religion is the central aspect of pilgrimage. Nonetheless, the evidence indicates that the journeys these people make can be seen to be equally significant in terms of life practice when compared with explicitly religiously motivated pilgrims. The critical point is that these people are seeking out locations at which they perceive sources of cultural or personal identity in much the same way explicitly religious pilgrims do. Indeed, for Turner pilgrimage was simply a ritual process. Some contemporary scholars understand all forms of leisured travel (whether tourism or pilgrimage) to be a part of the greater individual project of the search for the sacred or for authenticity (see Cohen 1979; MacCannell 1999). Within this framework the ritual dimension of travel is ever present. By its very nature the act of travel is understood to at least create a physical liminality, to remove the traveller from their everyday surroundings and give them an opportunity to transform their conception of everyday life while away from its constraints and influences. It is with this understanding that we approach forms of leisured travel, such as pilgrimage or spiritual tourism, but also more ‘secular’ holidays, and see them as much concerned with re- creation as they are with recreation. While the function of the pilgrimage site is to be a ‘religious void, a ritual space capable of accommodating diverse meanings and practices’ into which each pilgrim or group of pilgrims works their own meanings (Eade and Sallnow 1991, 15), the notion that pilgrimage is necessarily religious must be contested. It cannot be assumed that for any given instance of ‘pilgrimage’ all pilgrims will be there for devout reasons. Some may be there for aesthetic reasons, fi lial reasons or gastronomic reasons to name but a few (Badone and Roseman 2004). This has given rise to new fields that look at instances of pilgrimage without institutional religious involvement (e.g. Sellars and Walter 1993; Scates 2006; Cusack and Digance 2008). Similarly, participation in a religious pilgrimage in no way necessitates adherence to the tradition concerned. Nancy Frey’s (1998) seminal work on the pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela demonstrated the extent to which that tradition is becoming absorbed into popular touristic

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culture. Further, as Coleman and Eade (2004) argue, Turner, and many that have followed, used ‘place- centred’ methodologies to approach pilgrimage. What are also required, however, are ‘process- centred’ approaches that look to systems of meaning creation and location with pilgrims themselves. As such, Turner’s theories become most useful when taken as variable and situational, and not inherent features of all instances of pilgrimage. As Digance (2006) noted, pilgrimages in the contemporary world have moved away from being explicitly associated with religion and become spoken of more as journeys rich in meaning.

Sifting through the Notion of Leisured Travel What is required for the present study is a framework that begins by accounting for leisured travel in general, but that then moves towards a model that fits appropriately with what has been observed. But to begin, a caveat: attempting to solve the meaning of tourism, as a whole, is a largely pointless exercise. All the appellation tourism tells us is that the traveller is leisured, and it should be limited to that alone. What must be done in order to extract meaningful commentary is to observe specific instances, and comment theoretically upon them as context specific. This removes the tendency to universalize claims, as well as opening up the findings to precise criticism and repeatability. The remaining text in this chapter will focus upon constructing a theoretical framework of tourism that is applicable to the examples of spiritual tourism given in earlier chapters. This is a deliberately selective and critical exercise, as what is desired is a theory that explains the touristic aspects of observed spiritual tourism. The impression of a tourist simply as one who travels for pleasure is superficial and unsophisticated. It ignores on the one hand the diversity of tourist phenomena, and on the other the location of the key identifier of tourism as opposed to other forms of travel – leisure. While early theorists attempted to describe what tourism might mean for society in broader terms (e.g. Borrstin 1963; Turner and Ash 1975), the next generation of scholars shied away from this, instead preferring differentiation and the relationship between host and guest (Smith 1978). More recently scholars have begun to look at so- called niche forms of tourism (such as wine tourism, film tourism, sports tourism) and to study environmental impacts with greater care. Tourism studies is now becoming a well rounded and comprehensive account of the touristic setting, but there has been a slight fall- off in the anthropological study of tourism. As a result there is a lack of thick descriptions of specific instances of contemporary tourism, and a consequent lack of argument about what they might signify socially and psychologically. It is appropriate, then, to begin with a theory that did, in fact, seek to explain tourism as a whole, and then work back. Dean MacCannell, in his classic work

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The Tourist , argued that tourists implied two things: first, they were identifiable as sightseers in search of experience. Second, for the observer they served as metasociological examples of modern people. MacCannell (1999, 2) argued that ‘tourist attractions are an unplanned typology of structure’ that allow a view of modern consciousness. This is very useful here, though the term needs to be rewritten as ‘tourist destinations provide spontaneous typologies of structure.’ That is, in the practice of travelling to, staying at and moving on from a destination tourists provide observers with clues as to the structural makeup that informs their decisions. What MacCannell hit upon was the observation that tourism reflects, for the observer, the links between social structure, belief and action on the part of the tourist and their home society. What he did not emphasize enough was that it also reflects the very same links for tourist themselves – it serves as a mirror of self- examination – and that one of the core functions of tourism is the assertion of these qualities by the tourist to themselves, as well as to those around them. Missing from MacCannell is any attempt to account for variation, in particular motivational aspects, in the tourist experience. He tends to read tourists as a single text. Erik Cohen (1979, 180), criticized this aspect of MacCannell’s theory and proposed a solution to the misunderstanding. Cohen sought to account for the differences in touristic experiences within a general theoretical framework. It was ‘the place and significance of tourism in a modern person’s life’ that was of interest, and was closely related to the person’s world view. What is useful here is using Cohen’s notion of diverse meaning in tourism in a revised way. He proposed a five-point phenomenological typology with which to interpret the tourist’s motivations and desires for travel: recreational, diversionary, experiential, experimental and existential modes of tourism (Cohen 1979, 183–90). First, the recreational mode involves entertainment and is, Cohen argues, restorative in motivation and re- creational in outcome. It must therefore involve some degree of belief in the power of the trip to create such an outcome. Second, the diversionary mode involves a temporary escape from meaningless life at home (though Cohen oddly asserts that it is not a meaningful experience). Third, with the experiential mode of tourism Cohen proposed the same alienation from home life as experienced by the diversionary tourist. The key difference lies in the awareness of the tourist that this is the case, and the result is that they seek meaning in the lives of others. It is, Cohen insists, a search for experiences. Fourth, the experimental mode involves tourists who also seek meaning beyond simple experiences, instead ‘shopping’ for alternatives in the social centres of others. Cohen makes the interesting point that the experimental mode is really a search for the self, for these tourists seek a form of life that resonates within them. Finally, the existential mode involves electing to switch centres to one that lies outside one’s own society. Cohen likens this to religious conversion, though it is essentially switching world views. This

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mode is about the tourist finding their centre with the knowledge that it is not at ‘home’, but elsewhere. Everyday life for these tourists is, in a sense, a life in exile, and thus ‘true’ life is that experienced on holiday. Various elements of different modes in Cohen’s typology stand out among the spiritual tourists observed. The problem with Cohen’s thesis is that it places the emphasis on centres in relation to the tourist. With spiritual tourism this does not work, as in the majority of cases spiritual tourists understand the self to be the sacred centre. Here Cohen’s thesis best works when applied with Paul Heelas’ notion of self- spirituality (1996) to be discussed in the next chapter. Other points in space may assist with the full realization of the sacred self, but they do not seek other centres nor seek diversion from their own. Typically they intend to improve what they have; while one tourist wants time to think about a failing marriage another wants to confront their fear of love. Cohen looks to structure, yet for spiritual tourists what matters is function in the travel experience. Thus, instead of employing this typology we will use it as a departure point for thinking about specific tourism contexts as capable of having multiple meanings. This opens up the potential for us to examine tourism not only as having cultural and sub- cultural specificity, but also as constructed in terms of purpose and meaning for and by the traveller themselves. Most usefully, Cohen’s theory gives us the ability to allow for difference. The phenomenology ties in with Eade and Sallnow’s (1991) notion of contestation at pilgrimage sites. Cohen’s assertion, when applied to a specific tourist destination, must force us to recognize that tourist motivations are likewise contested. In the same area we may find tourists who look identical in behavioural and economic terms, but who have arrived with vastly different motivations. In Rishikesh we find spiritual tourists who are looking for a new guru, attending the sessions of their favourite guru or simply sitting in on something they have never experienced before – a satsang from an Indian guru – among other activities. Each may think their’s is the most authentic or most appropriate form of travel. A source of this contestation and radical variability in spiritual tourist motivation and experience at a destination is the informality with which it is approached. David Gladstone (2005, 93–108), in his book on Third World tourism, described the ways low- budget tourists, so- called backpackers, tended to shun organization and planning for being the signs of ‘a tourist’. In the case of the Camino, tourists approach a single destination route with a single practice in mind. It is thus quite a focused form of tourism despite remaining informal in its day-to- day routines. In contrast, in Rishikesh most spiritual tourists are quite organized in terms of what they want from their travels, even if they do not necessarily have specific destinations or activities in mind. At both destinations they nearly exemplify the informal tourists Gladstone portrays, though they lack the ‘drifter’ markers that he identifies as characteristic. While these theories tell us about tourists at their destinations they lack effective explanations of the mechanisms by which tourists arrive there. In

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asking ‘what makes tourists travel?’ Graham M.S. Dann (1981) promoted the idea of ‘push’ and ‘pull’ factors to explain this. Pull factors are those factors of the destination that draw tourists. With spiritual tourism this could be the presence of certain yoga schools, or the presence of the infrastructure of the Camino de Santiago. Synchronously, push factors are those elements of a person’s life that cause them to desire to travel. Dann listed the examples of escape and nostalgia, but there are clearly a host of potential reasons why tourists might desire to travel. In the case of spiritual tourists as we have seen this includes projects of self- development and self- examination. This project of self- development resonates with what has been observed in the examples of spiritual tourism, though it requires some further fleshing out. Nelson Graburn (1989, 17–18) understood tourism as part of the greater re- creation project to renew the individual for their everyday life. Employing a Durkheimian dichotomy of sacred and profane, he asserted that tourism functions as the ‘sacred’ counterpoint to the everyday ‘profane’. Graburn also argued that the values of individualism, self-reliance and the work ethic dominant in Western societies make tourism ‘the best kind of life for it is sacred in the sense of being exciting, renewing, and inherently self-fulfilling’ (Graburn 1989, 23). It is a time during which the individual has control over themselves and their future. Applying this rigid division of sacred and profane, however, proves problematic. Although Western spiritual tourists often express a level of dissatisfaction with the everyday from which they emerge, the purpose of the trip is often to improve the everyday to which tourists will return. Nonetheless, Graburn’s notion of a sacred project of the self rings true, and the context of travel is the perfect place for it to occur. Being in a strange place calls existential questions to the fore for the tourist. The experience of travel removes the normal social strictures and obligations that govern their everyday lives. Not only are indicators of modes of behaviour different, but individual identity is thrown into relief, demanding examination and questioning. This calls to mind Victor Turner’s application of ritual theory onto pilgrimage analysis, in particular those elements discussed above that relate to the liminal experience of the traveller. Warming to Graburn’s theme here, we can see that forms of travel are often understood as being meaningful to the subject in part because of their contrast to the everyday, their liminality. The logical progression is to apply this methodology to tourism to see if it functions similarly. While Graburn would certainly argue yes, with the application of a sacred/profane dichotomy, it is more useful to understand the spiritual tourism experience as simply different to the everyday, not necessarily sacred. Finally, Coleman and Eade (2004) argued that Turner’s (1974) placement of pilgrimage outside the everyday resulted in anthropologists not taking an interest in it. This is interesting to develop here, but needs some explanation. It is not the fault of Turner that anthropologists turned away from things ‘outside’ the everyday; indeed Turner’s thesis begs readers to examine the extraordinary

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and the liminal as windows into the everyday. However, to a certain extent we must also acknowledge that Turner was wrong, or at least that he came to be wrong as traditions of travel developed and garnered increased scholarly interest. It is arguably the case that for many people in the rich, secular West the concept of travel is not one that contrasts sharply with the everyday. Rather, as travel has become more and more associated with leisure it has become normalized, and ‘democratized’, to use a mot du jour. If any contrast does exist it is to ‘work’, as it tends to be understood to fundamentally oppose leisure, especially in terms of identity. Admittedly, there may be an argument that work constitutes the everyday. However, as discussed in the following chapter, the primary locus of individual meaning and identity in the modern secular West is not to be found in work-life but in one’s leisure life.

Summary What these theories provide us is a framework in which to examine spiritual tourism. We can read tourists in terms of what they say about their generating society, as MacCannell says, but that also we can read them in terms of how they want to be read, and how they read themselves. This also relates to Dann’s notion of the tourist as a metaphor of the social world. Neither offer an explanation of the processes by which tourists come to tourism, but we can identify push and pull factors thanks to Dann. There is a slight implication here that we will find uniformity. If the destination is the point at which push and pull factors meet, we can presume consistency. This is not quite as simple as it sounds. Certainly there may be statistically dominant factors present in a certain place at a certain time, but even these are approached in different ways. Here we can understand that there may be a variety of motivations present, thanks to Cohen, though what Cohen does not describe sufficiently is how tourists come to locate their centres in the first part, and in the second an effective method by which we might account for the way tourist phenomenology might change mid-journey. Some of this is met by the informality described by Gladstone, but it is important to remember that spiritual tourists retain an experientially directional focus. This means that Turner’s notion of pilgrimage, or here spiritual tourism, as ritual movement towards a sacred centre is useful in some cases, but that if we take it as a conceptual frame we get more use. Inserting the possibility that the ‘centre’ may be an existential state or a desired outcome makes it much more applicable. What is critical, and what Cohen did not emphasize enough, was that these motivations may be contested and contesting, in terms of legitimacy and authority, and, thanks to Eade and Sallnow, our acceptance that pilgrimage is simply tourism. We must understand that for many tourists the journey may be, as Graburn (1989, 17–19) asserted, sacred in character due to the

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importance it has in the lives of tourists. Tourism can be defined as voluntary travel that is ‘re - creation’; leisure practice geared towards renewing the individual for their ‘normal’ working life. If one of the functions of tourism is to ‘ease’ through change or provide a context for thought and introspection then not only are there clearly some religious notes to be found there, but the ‘slotting in’ of religious practices in these modes, and for the purposes of selfexamination, would appear easy, even natural. Thinking of travel as liminal, in the sense of different from the everyday, does not necessarily mean discrete. This chapter is not arguing a hard Turnerian model of travel as a discrete social phenomenon. Rather, it argues that modes of tourism have been woven into the processes of everyday life, and now gain and are given meaning by their contrast to those aspects of it that dominate, such as work, home life and routine. As well as being able to operate as ritual, rite of passage and identity reinforcer, tourism can also operate as a mode of re- creation, or a format for self- discovery. While theories of travel together with the fieldwork largely indicate that tourism can be a meaningful and purposeful activity in a person’s life, they do not imply success. Far from being an argument for travellers as the enlightened philosopher kings of the modern age, this chapter states that what we find in particular cases are groupings of individuals who are asking questions or seeking answers in ways that are analogous to religious practice. Indeed, debates over whether travel really is as transformative as it is sold to be in holiday brochures continue to rage (e.g. Graburn 2001; Sharpley and Sundaram 2005). However, the focus of this chapter is the practice of travelling, not subjective analysis of the qualities of travellers’ lives upon return. Where we find explicitly religious pilgrimages we see some of their religious significance being attenuated, at least in so far as they now attract significant numbers of pilgrims who are not affiliated with the native tradition. Similarly, some supposedly non-religious touristic practices are becoming imbued with religious ideas and meaning, such as in the cases of film tourism and shopping tours. Further, Victor Turner’s application of ritual theory onto pilgrimage analysis has meant that those forms of travel are often understood as being meaningful to the subject, in part because of their contrast to the everyday. When people travel they are expressing, in various ways, aspects of their idealized visions of themselves and their world. Whether it is by relaxing on a beach, trekking over a mountain, shopping in a famous city or volunteering in an impoverished village, they make their mark on the world around them. Despite its relative ease and cheapness today, any journey requires investments of money and time, and a removal of the traveller from their familiar surroundings and especially from their family and friends. Tourists’ choices of destination or route, their travel ‘style’, and the type of things they choose to do tell us much of what they idealize in their lives or what they desire; or they do so with close contextual interrogation by the researcher. In particular, it is

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the ability of travel to function as a learning practice and/or space that can make it such a powerful contributor to religious traditions and to personal systems of meaning and identity. This is not to say that all forms of tourism are equivalent to religious practices. Rather, in some cases we can see the use of travel and holiday time as a means of exploring issues that are often at the heart of the personal dimension of religious practice. Most often these journeys appear to be directed inwards, with journeys typically spoken of as very ‘self- oriented’. This may lead some to argue that tourism is therefore an example of ‘self-religion’ or evidence of the ways individualism comes at the expense of society. However, a fundamental part of the ritual process is the return. For the tourists in Rishikesh or along the Camino de Santiago, how they fitted with and were meaningful to their family and society were questions asked as often and with as much weight as deeply individual ones. The majority of such tourists actively recognize that, at their core, human beings are social creatures that find meaning, purpose and comfort in the social sphere. For these tourists travelling is a mode of reconnecting with that notion, and is, as such, a distinctly social activity that operates in the practice of their daily life, whether in fantasy, memory or reality.

Chapter 6

Contemporary Forms of Religious Life

In order to understand the functions of spiritual tourism we must turn to the suite of cultural beliefs and practices, and trends in their individual iterations, which come under the umbrella term ‘spirituality’. Contemporary religion and spirituality are phenomena that present delightfully frustrating problems for the social theorist. Their complex and nuanced forms defy universal definitions and challenge methodological paradigms. Indeed, the social manifestations of what are called ‘religion’ and ‘spirituality’ are often slippery, elusive and sometimes transient or faddish. If the treatment of the subject of spiritual tourism is to prove meaningful and useful, it must set out what is meant by the appellation ‘spiritual’. Similarly, if the argument that spiritual tourism provides insight to the nature of the practices of travel and spirituality is correct, then it must approach both subjects in ways that create a framework of understanding with which to then ‘look back’, as it were, to the greater social setting. What this chapter sets out is an understanding of the ways in which the set of social phenomena that are commonly referred to as ‘spirituality’ are conceived. In particular, it is an argument for understanding contemporary Western spiritual practice as being concerned with identity and meaning, pragmatic self-help and well-being, and post- geographic community building.

Defining the ‘Spiritual’ in Spiritual Tourism An often heard phrase in the modern West goes along the lines of ‘I’m not religious, but I’m spiritual’. When asked to explain what this means many people are at a loss and hunt for suitable terms, typically drawing upon words like ‘meaning’, ‘purpose’, ‘happiness’, ‘belief’, and ‘well-being’. We also often hear about the validity of multiple paths, and that one picks ‘what suits you’, giving a sense of it being personalized or individuated. Spirituality can also understood to be part of a person’s more formal religious practice. This is a useful point at which to separate religion and spirituality, as what religion infers is institutional formations, whereas spirituality infers individual, and often individuated, practice. As we shall see, the processes of secularization and

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postmodernity have resulted in the attenuation of the power and influence of traditional institutional religious groups in Western society. The result has been a general recognition of the rights and validity of smaller, less powerful traditions within Western societies, and a vigorous insistence on the authority of the individual, and by extension the validity of individuated systems of spiritual practice. Spirituality in popular use thus carries connotations of being personalized, malleable and less structured in the way it approaches systems of practice. In Chapter 1 a working definition of the term ‘spiritual’ within the context of ‘spiritual tourism’ was proposed. As restated above, it rests upon the notion that in popular usage the terms ‘spiritual’ and ‘religious’ are understood as being potentially in contradistinction with each other, though not necessarily so. In order to fully explore the meaning and implications of the term ‘spiritual’ it must first be shown in what ways it is distinguished from, and overlaps ‘religion’. It is critical to note here that academic investigation involves, at least to a certain degree, the abstraction and the creation of arbitrary categories for the purposes of discussion that can be proved as ‘true’ or at least accurate. At stake is the scholar’s reputation, their status as a virtuoso observer of social phenomena, and therein the reputation of the field as a ‘science’. Thus, searching for scientific means by which to document the world, academics attempt to create categories that work universally (like scientific ones do) and move down the treacherous path leading away from the descriptive towards the normative. This is problematic. Ideally, categories such as ‘spiritual’ and ‘religious’ in academic debate are speculative formations that serve as guides in the study of certain social phenomena, and where possible are derived from the reflexive use by subjects. At best they are interim terms with which to frame an argument rather than universally applicable hermetic categories that are empirically observable. This prompted Jonathan Z. Smith to state, perhaps somewhat didactically, that, while there is a staggering amount of data, phenomena, of human experiences and expressions that might be characterized in one culture or another, by one criterion or another, as religion – there is no data for religion . Religion is solely the creation of the scholar’s study. It is created for the scholar’s analytic purposes by his imaginative acts of comparison and generalization. Religion has no existence apart from the academy. (Smith 1982, xi) The potential result is existence of as many definitions of such categories as there are definers (Smith 1998, 221). What Smith does not seem to acknowledge, however, is that ‘religion’ now does have existence outside the academy thanks to its own musings on the subject that themselves have entered the popular discourse. This is to be the starting place for building a working concept of what is meant by ‘spiritual’ in spiritual tourism. It is thus with caution that a working definition of religion is approached.

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Religion has seen a number of markedly different defi nitions over time, which, generally speaking, have fallen into two categories; substantive, which define religions through their content, and functional, which defi ne religions through their operational outcomes. Examples of this include St Thomas Aquinas (1920, q.81) who announced that ‘religion denotes properly a relation to God’, placing religion as something firmly theological, and nineteenth- century founder of anthropology E. B. Tylor (1970), who argued that religion was a belief in a hierarchy of spiritual beings. Functional defi nitions have tended to describe religion in more abstract terms; philosopher Paul Tillich (1957, 1–5), for example, described religion as the relationship individuals have with that which concerns them ultimately. Meanwhile, Sigmund Freud’s (1975) view of religion as obsessive neurosis flags the importance of recognizing the intent of the defi ner; Freud was seeking to ‘cure’ his patients. Other functional definitions often also suggest the biases of the writer; Marx famously spoke of religion as the opiate of the people, leaving open the possibility that where societies become addicted to dysfunctional (whatever that may mean) habits they must be religious. However, functional definitions of religion from sociology have been equally problematic, emphasizing, as Danièle Hervieu- Léger (2000, 32) argued, a dispersion of religious symbols and practices into many areas not previously considered ‘religious’. Émile Durkheim’s (2001) argument that religion was part of a pan- cultural human search for emotional security through communal life can be considered in this light, for it opens up many aspects of human life that involve the search for ‘emotional security’, such as psychology, sporting teams or political movements. These definitions, while seeming to speak to the milieu within which religion operates, do not adequately incorporate the whole of it, leaving the researcher with questions about, for example, ultimate concerns that are not related to God, or the very definition of a neurosis. Martin Stringer (2008, 12) proposes that religions be understood as those institutions concerned with the ‘non- empirical’. Looking at symbolism, he argues that such statements as ‘all leopards are Christians’ or ‘the bread at the Eucharist is the body of Christ’ are simply not provable; ‘There is . . . by all known methods of proof, no way of knowing whether leopards are Christians or whether the bread in the Eucharist is the body of Christ’ (Stringer 2008, 43–4), although, to this should be appended the notion that it is ‘on Christian terms’, as Western scientific discourse would find no such problem. What matters is not the empirical truth of the statements themselves but the relation between the statement and the individual; what the statement means symbolically and pragmatically within social context. However, even this definition leaves the question of function open. Bizarrely, many scholars’ attempts to define religion seem to speak in baffled tones that there could be variation in this respect. Referring to salvational goals, Heim (1995) suggests that scholars ought to look for different, more

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context- appropriate goals, in the religions encountered around the world, as if the notion of difference was somehow a surprise. Religion is a fundamentally functional human activity that tends to be made up of certain substantive elements. It serves a purpose and seeks certain outcomes for both individuals and their cultures and societies. This book uses Jonathan Z. Smith’s (1993, 291) notion that religion and religiosity are the attempts humans make to map the social, physical and metaphysical universe as a conceptual framework. Maps are guides, giving their readers an indication of the shape of what they find before them, though the picture they present is far from the reality. This apparently insatiable project of religiosity – to map the physical and social universe – is thus an attempt to pick out a suitable path according to the terrain at hand. While Smith may be correct that ‘map is not territory’, maps themselves are only descriptive, and do not explain how, or necessarily why, one must move in a certain direction. However, religions, that is, the social infrastructures that form surrounding the ideas behind particular ‘maps’ and their accompanying cartographic processes, do. Furthermore, they often go into explicit detail about the minutiae of traversing life, right down to the most mundane of details; such as food taboos and clothing choice. It is worth noting for the purposes of this book, that these qualities are the classic fodder of the travel book and the guidebook. As discussed in Chapter 4, their concern is with directing the attention of the reader towards those things deemed important and away from those not so, and more importantly those that are potentially troublesome. Working from a definition of religion by Hervieu- Léger, James Cox has posited a working definition that seeks to circumvent the problem of over- specificity in substantive definitions, and unwieldy width found in some functional ones. He proposes that ‘religion’ should be approached as thus: Religion refers to identifiable communities that base their acts of believing and resulting communal experiences of postulated non- falsifiable alternate realities on a tradition that they legitimate by appealing to its authoritative transmission from generation to generation. (Cox 2010, 21) This, Cox argues, gives the scholar an empirically testable definition that anchors itself within the sociocultural contexts being studied without attempting to reach for an ‘essence’ of religion, and that, importantly, is both substantive and functional. What this means for the study of subjects such as new religious movements (NRMs), for example, is unclear, although as most NRMs postulate some forms of prior authoritative transmission the question may be moot. What the above definition provides, however, is invaluable for the present study; a definition of religion that works in a variety of circumstances, though most importantly one that seems appropriate to be applied in modern Western social contexts.

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This, however, is the point at which the problem of the religious/spiritual dichotomy returns to haunt scholars. Modern Western social contexts are characterized by the comparative diversity of their religious milieux. In particular, the problem of the term ‘spiritual’ and its use both to describe components of religious belief, practice and experience (working from the definition above), and to refer to phenomena that tend to break away from an explicit connection with identifiable religious communities. If religion does include non- empirical statements, in contemporary Western society there are many who claim to be ‘spiritual’, yet who would claim nothing more non- empirical about their beliefs and practices than the sense of well-being or purpose they derive from them. For example, atheism, as popularly championed by the likes of Richard Dawkins (2006) and Christopher Hitchens (2007), in particular is spoken of as perfectly capable of being compatible with what might be described as a spiritually meaningful life (although perhaps not in that language). What this has required is a move away from understanding spirituality as necessarily connected with extra- empirical ideas or results. Indeed, those things found to be spiritually satisfying are now commonly understood as referring to those aspects of a person’s life they recognize as contributing to meaning, happiness and well- being, whether part of a religious tradition or not. There may well be cosmological ideas, such as God, karma or the Dao, yet equally, there may be what we might call cosmological metaphors; ideas known to be untrue or unlikely, yet that, nonetheless, serve to orient morals and ethics, and inform understandings of personal happiness. Insofar as it relates to the individual in terms of their happiness and wellbeing, sometimes expressed as inner peace, we can assume that spirituality will involve practices that seek to understand, manage and coordinate the beliefs, thoughts and emotions that affect those things. As such, it is a fertile ground for psychological and pseudo-psychological theory and practice. Further, as spirituality in this sense implies a movement towards the individual, it might also be seen to imply a movement away from the institution. Spirituality, in this sense, would, therefore, also infer deprecation or rejection of traditions, rituals and rules that surround religious practice but are perceived to be superfluous to it. This, however, would be a mistake. What is encountered as ‘spirituality’ in the modern Western world is a new paradigm of epistemology. Returning to the common refrain, ‘I’m not religious, but I’m spiritual’, we can see that it says two things. First, that the speaker is asserting, even if unconsciously, that one claims to have a personal outlook and/or practices that generate meaning, thus implying that one’s life is not meaningless. This is important, as shall be discussed further below, especially as it relates to matters of choice and personal agency. Second, the statement infers that there are at least two, but probably three qualities to the subject being addressed (loosely summed up as ‘way of life’ and/or ‘world view’) that is recognized by both parties in the conversation. Namely, that one may be ‘religious’, and/or

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one may be ‘spiritual’ (inferred to be contingent quality of ‘religious’), or that one may be ‘neither’, which is also often problematically referred to as ‘atheist’. In common parlance, the notion that one is ‘spiritual’ is often proposed in opposition to being ‘religious’, though these types of self- declarations tend to be loose, without necessary reference to academic hegemony, and generally reside in the thoroughly vernacular. Academic use of the word has attempted to emulate the emphasis on the individual. King (2008, 120) posits that spirituality draws upon traditional religious forms mixed with secular and social concerns, or is concerned with ‘discovery and development of the personal self’. In this sense, ‘spirituality’ can also be used to refer to specific traditions, such as New Age spirituality or Christian spirituality. Scholars have also referred to it as ‘a universal feature of human experience addressing a feeling of a transcendent force or presence’ (Farias and Hense 2008, 163), or even more ambiguously, ‘working with the self’ (Smiljanic 2008, 141). Heelas et al. (2005, 5) argue that the distinction between religion and spirituality is best understood as one of ‘life-as’ and ‘subjective-life’ systems. This is the notion that religions promote a ‘life-as’ – which they attach to subordinating subjective life to higher authority – while ‘spirituality’ entails the sacralization of the subjective life of the individual. However, the attachment of a higher authority needs to be approached with caution, especially if taken to imply ‘god’. One needs only think of Australian Aboriginal religions as an example of religions that are without gods (Swain 1993). The notion of spirituality being understood as sacralizing the self is also problematic. More useful is the argument that spirituality refers to the self as the agent of truth, meaning and identity. Gary Bouma (2006, 12) describes ‘spirituality’ as referring to an experiential journey of encounter and relationship with otherness, with powers, forces and beings beyond the scope of everyday life. To be spiritual is to be open to this ‘more than’ in life, to expect to encounter it and to expect to relate to it. However, this ‘more than life’ aspect is not necessary to the appellation ‘spiritual’ and seems at odds with the very visceral way in which spirituality tends to be spoken of. Bouma does, however, echo the findings of Heelas et al. about the rise in popularity of the term ‘spirituality’, and notes that since the 1990s it has gained popularity in the West, while the term ‘religious’ has become less so, probably because of its association with formally organized religions. Indeed, he argues that ‘religion’ takes a negative connotation in many people’s eyes (Bouma 2006, 10). Others, such as Smiljanic (2008, 138), attempt to fuse spiritual world views with academic practice in anticipation of ‘a new era of spiritual awareness’, but the common theme in both the scholarly and everyday worlds is the focus on the individual, whether it be in terms of practice or belief, and usually in reference to some form of self- development.

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Modern spirituality is not necessarily separate from religion, but it is changed from its past iterations. Whereas in the past spirituality was likely at least as much governed by, and directed towards the strictures of the individual religious community, the same does not as widely hold true today. Spirituality is now much more explicitly self- governed and often self- oriented. Voas and Bruce (2007) may be right in contesting the claims of Heelas et al. (2005) about the popularity of the New Age in particular, but the same cannot be said for the predominant character of modern spirituality as it infuses throughout religious traditions in the modern world. Even in cases where the spirituality is framed by a religious community, its operation is increasingly governed by the individual; one need only think of the example of Pentecostal religions to witness the emphatic emphasis on the individual (Connell 2006). This, however, should not halt the investigation and comparison of religion with spirituality. Religion remains an important part of the modern conception, and use of the term ‘spirituality’ by actors. Thus, for example, there may be Christian spirituality, Muslim spirituality, New Age spirituality or an individuated spirituality that contains elements of all three, or as Lyon (2000) saliently points out, any religious forms that may flow into the individual’s sacred landscape. In general terms, ‘spirituality’ in the modern Western cultural milieu is understood as those sets of individual beliefs and practices that contribute towards meaning and well-being. Spiritualities are often connected explicitly with a religion, but, just like the elements of the cultural environment that has given birth to them, they are able to be secularized – that is, placed outside of the jurisdiction of religion – but are not necessarily so.

Secularization and Postmodernity The increasing popularity of self-referring as spiritual rather than religious should serve as an indicator of the extent to which secularization has occurred. Secularization was defined by Berger (1967, 107) as ‘the process whereby sectors of society are removed from the domination of religious institutions and symbols’. Rather than heading towards an inevitable ‘death of religion’ (Bruce 2002, 9–12) it has instead manifested in declining church attendance numbers and revealed ‘new’ or ‘different’ layers of religiosity rather than causing them. That is, rather than seeing secularization as a process of movement away from ‘institutional’ forms of religion towards more individualistic ones, it has simply revealed the individualized aspects of personal spirituality that may otherwise have been obscured within a larger religious tradition (Stringer 2008, 110). Further, as Demerath (2007, 64) has indicated, secularization should not be read as inferring the universal attenuation of all forms of religious influence among all people. Instead, it is something that occurs within certain elements of society.

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This presents a problem to the maintenance of the secularization thesis. If religious influence has been in decline then we ought to see corresponding demographic changes. This is not the case. Even the ‘secular West’ is mostly populated by people who profess to belong or believe in the traditions of various religions. The most recent census of Australia, for example, revealed that only 18.7 per cent of the population claimed ‘no religion’, with all other religious forms, apart from Christianity (as a whole) seeing increases (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2008, 458). Thus if secularization has taken place, it has done so in a minority of the population. Yet even this read is, unfortunately, a misunderstanding, as secularization occurs over a much wider range of social processes than simply professed belief. There are other indicators of the broader processes that make up secularization, the most telling trait of which is, as Bruce (2002, 240) asserts, indifference to religious institutions in the practices of daily life. This indifference contributes to the impression of ‘removal’ of religious domination, though this too is not sufficiently accurate. Rather, what secularization constitutes is the moving of influence and authority to other formations of more concern. Paradigms of secularization have shepherded significant changes to personal identity over the past 300 years. The result has been a winding back of the dominance of religious institutions and symbols accompanied by a re-interpretation of truth as relative or subjective within popular culture. An additional effect, as Demerath (2000, 4) notes, has been the separation of traditional understandings of ‘sacred’ and ‘profane’, leaving them freefloating and available for individual definition. Following from this, it can be assumed that similar dichotomous ideas such as notions of ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’ will also have changed and be able to be used as a ‘plug-in’ concept where appropriate. Similarly, Heelas (1998, 4–5) has argued that religion has become deregulated and put into the hands of the subject. There is an emphasis on freedom of choice and a move away from the traditional religious settings. Thus the boundaries of what is considered religious are blurred, or even removed. In this environment, frameworks of meaning are combined in whatever way is desirable. Clifford’s (1988, 14–15) statement that ‘twentieth century identities no longer presuppose continuous cultures or traditions’ also resonates here. What transpires is a continuous re- collection of symbols, languages and histories, both familiar and foreign. There is a certain malleability of the self, but only insofar as the individual can derive meaning and locate themselves within their own frame of reference. While there may be claims that secularization involves an attenuation of all forms of faith, spirituality and belief, these are, as both Lyon and Bruce argue, mistaken positions. Lyon (2000, x) states that ‘much secularisation theory is rooted in a more general theory about the modern world’, and Bruce (1998, 29–30) specifically points to the Reformation insistence that individuals remain responsible for the maintenance of their own spiritual state.

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Therefore, secularization is better thought of as a decline in the influence of mainstream religious institutions and institutional practice over the day-today activities of the individual. Wilson (1985, 11–12) argues that it is essentially the transfer of power, property, influence and functions from institutions with claims about unique access to ‘truth’ (what he calls a ‘supernaturalist frame of reference’), to institutions that are influenced by empirical, rational and pragmatic criteria. This does not imply the disappearance of religiosity or spirituality, let alone institutionalized religion. Within the context of tourism, this shift is of significant importance. The empirically driven, modern, secular world looks to material evidence for value. Cohen’s five-point typology discussed in Chapter 5 would suggest that tourists travelling in spiritual or religious contexts are evidence of the two aspects of secularization; both the removal of (familiar) institutional influence and the increased role of the individual in their own spiritual life. Arguably, it is also the case that as individuals feel less moral and social pressure from, and identify less with traditional religious systems, they will look for other systems with which to make sense of life. If secularization only occurs among a portion of the members of any society, we can see the potential for it to become dominant or influential as a narrative above those of religious institutions, just as those institutions previously dominated other social systems. Secularization in this sense is occupation or inhabitation. This has arguably been the case for the most part in the West, as the arguments against secularization have convincingly proved that there are many areas of Western society that see little to no diminution of religious influence. This phenomenon is probably what Bruce (2002, 241) was referring to when he asserted that secularization occurs where public consciousness has become deeply imbued with notions of diversity and egalitarianism. Where those values are the held by cultural and social leaders and popularly supported, we will see secularization in certain elements of society. De-institutionalization and a greater focus on private, interiorized spirituality impacts all types of religious or spiritual manifestations (Lyon 2000), and the result must be a secular approach to conducting society (where those values are held). The Protestant Reformation promoted inner spirituality, but the external manifestation of that is often a desire to create (from seed as it were) a better society; better through being made up of better people who are made so through their inner spirituality. The inevitability that sociologists in the latter half of the last century saw in secularization was instead a misreading of urgency. Wilson (1982, 149) argued that one of the most significant impacts of recent secularization has been the extent to which ‘the proportion of time, energy and resources which men devote to supra- empirical concerns’ has been attenuated. What must be made clear is that while this might not be founded in a diminution of the importance of belief and practice, it is certainly founded in the shifting of interest to those avenues of human experience and exploration that are seen to be more

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vital. Kevin Christiano, looking at the social process of modernity, although not specifically religious institutions, stated that with modernity, institutions that had become brittle and petrified over long expanses of slow-moving history, when the repetition of traditional patters normally sufficed to meet any challenge, practically groaned and buckled under the pressure of adaptation to accelerated change and the novelty that it introduced. (Christiano 2007, 39) Hand-in-hand with notions of ‘individualized’ religious practice is the devastating wave of epistemological repositioning commonly referred to as postmodernity, and the rise of consumer capitalism. Within this cultural milieu popular understanding of religiosity has undergone significant change in the West, resulting in New Age and Eastern religious forms, to name just two, becoming seen as acceptable alternatives to traditional Christianity (Heelas 1996; Campbell 2007). Further, this acceptance has been accompanied by an increased tendency to sacralize the self. These cultural forces combine to project a position of relativism in truth and morality (Brooks 2000). With these processes at play in the larger context of Western society, a fundamental shift in the nature of knowledge has occurred. Not only have the claims of religious groups to unique truth been broken down to a position of relativity, but the very notion that knowledge is certain has been questioned. In the wake of the Enlightenment knowledge has become de-traditionalized and open to questioning. Indeed, at the heart of the Enlightenment project was the notion that uncertainty was the only certainty. This scientific trope of questioning became the essential mode of being for Western moderns; what is left for the individual are hypotheses and the notion of truth becomes either a matter for science or belief, in either case mediated by experience. At the same time knowledge has become democratized, and put into the public domain en masse in the form of public libraries in the first instance, and the internet in the second. Further, the distinctions in kinds of knowledge are also being demolished. In this environment the assertions of one religious group are seen as equally valid (or invalid) as those of another. Proposals made by individuals with little traditional religious provenance are easily consumable within this framework, for they too come to be valid in the epistemological weightlessness of postmodernity. The arguments of the putative postmodern world seem to be best utilized as indicators of the continuing movements and changes of the modern world. Modernity is, as Heelas (1998, 1–2) argued, an attempt to establish, find and explain the workings of the world that inevitably creates, not only ‘distressing certainties’, but also deep cultural contradictions and fractures. The waves of postmodernity washing into Western society coincided with the beginnings of what has come to be called the Information Age. Postmodernity forms the

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deconstructing force that drives the very systems of knowledge that give the Information Age its authority in contemporary Western society. It offers no real tools with which to reconstruct truth in the light of this revolution. It is only recently, as the dust of the postmodern disruption has settled, that new currents have been recognized as valid forms of construction. There is a notion that any narrative can become a myth in the twentieth century, but also that myth has an application to individual life not just communal. With the uncoupling of authority from religious institutions it becomes the responsibility of the individual to locate ideas and practices that satisfy the needs of their particular situation. These processes have resulted in the deconstruction of universal truth narratives and a greater loading of responsibility and authority on the individual in a wide range of life matters. The dedifferentiation that must occur in a postmodern religious atmosphere must create ontologies that emphasize the immanent (Heelas 1998, 3). Secularization will mean a greater number of individuals seek experience-based, non-narrative, pseudo- empirical means by which to assert their personalities and seek sources of identity, meaning and well-being. This might occur in a movie theatre, at a football match or in kitchen cooking for friends. In fact, it might occur in any human activity, such is the potential for variation in this atmosphere. For the sake of clarity in the present study it is worth noting that this might also occur in a lecture hall on the banks of the Ganges or a footpath winding its way across northern Spain. With these as departure points we can move on to looking further at how the self is conceived in modern spiritual practice.

The Self in Spirituality Generating personal meaning, the attempt and the practice of living well, and sourcing or creating of identity are the basis of a great deal of dialogue that runs under the banner of ‘spirituality’. So popular are such modes of thought that Heelas et al. (2005, 12) state that, in Britain, spirituality may be eclipsing religion; a finding that may well be applicable to other Western countries. Interpersonal discussions on the topic prove rich grounds from which to draw understanding of what is at stake. The idea that the betterment of the self is the chief mode by which humans operate is a theory found in psychology as well as in the social sciences. Carl Gustav Jung (1989) asserted that ‘individuation’ was the primary religious process for modern individuals, and Abraham Maslow (1943) posited ‘self- actualisation’ as one of the higher points in his hierarchy of needs. In some senses, modern Western society can be defined by this self- oriented dimension. New Age writers, such as self-proclaimed ‘leading force in the worldwide labyrinth movement’ Lauren Artress (1995, 36), state that psychological healing is ‘one of the most pressing issues of our time’.

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This focus is also found in the field of religions and spirituality as, time after time, one encounters traditions and practices that are concerned with the human condition as it is experienced by the individual. This prompted Paul Heelas (1996, 2) to refer to such orientations within New Age traditions as ‘Self- Spirituality’, though he later revised this to be ‘spiritualities of life’ due to the former’s connotation of self- obsession (Heelas 2008). Importantly, what we can surmise from this focus on the self is a reflexive picture of what is being referred to when individuals use the term ‘spiritual’. The tools people use in pursuit of such self- actualization, individuation or psychological heath often come under the banner of spirituality. ‘Spirituality of self’ can be characterized as the suite of practices that are employed by the individual to maintain a sense of well-being and meaning in their everyday life. With secularization the individual has become the chief agent responsible for themselves, their happiness and their well-being. This environment sees the offset non- empirical gains, such as those proposed by religious traditions in the form of a place in heaven, for example, become diminished in importance for many people. The change of focus to thisworldly problems that characterizes those adopting a mode of spiritualities of self results in the growing importance of institutions related to health and education, political activism, environmental concerns and technological innovation. The focus upon the self in modern spiritual practices reflects Thomas Luckman’s (1967, 85) notion that modern religiosity emphasizes selfrealization and self- expression. What we find is that spirituality encompasses these projects of self-realization, and that it takes on some of the qualities of these new areas of interest, reflecting Durkheim’s (2002, 7–8) proposal, in ‘The Future of Religion’, that new religions in the modern world would consist of ‘new gods’ more suited to their age than those of previous eras. While not specifically god-based in many cases, modern spirituality certainly mirrors the modern Western focus on the self and the problems it encounters in the experienced world. Lyon’s (2000, 101–6) notion of ‘sacred landscapes’ is useful to fill out the cultural processes by which spiritualities of self have risen in prominence. The term refers to ‘flows of religious beliefs and practices’, and Lyon notes the influence of individualism and secularization as cultivating ‘new’ modes of religiosity, be they manifestations of activity or thought. An extension of this argument is that there is potential for an infinite amount of individual religious arguments and practices; limited only by the number of thinking beings. This may indeed be subtly the case; however, the continued presence of communities, religious or otherwise, suggests that it is not. Rather, employing the arguments of Anderson (2006) and Hervieu- Léger (2000) for imagined communities, what we see are shared ‘sacred landscapes’ that are mediated by shared symbols. Therefore, employing Jonathan Z. Smith’s (1993) idea of religion as ‘map making’, rather than being processes that construct

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landscape, religious and spiritual phenomena are processes of understanding and negotiating the terrain at hand. Lyon’s metaphor of landscape is nonetheless useful. Religious ideas and practices can, in the wake of secularization and the increased emphasis on the individual, flow into and out of the spiritualities of self of individuals. The removal of institutional jurisdiction over the spiritual practices of the individual makes Lyon’s ‘sacred landscape’ possible. It is a landscape in which ideas from around the globe may land and take on local flavour, being localized here to the tastes of the individual. However, Lyon’s analogy misses a crucial emphasis on what religious positions are about. For the most part, religious beliefs and practices are concerned with direction. If having a spirituality ultimately means understanding one’s personal truth and finding comfort in oneself with the world, then the process of understanding and finding becomes a search where the end cannot be clearly defined. Spirituality also refers to a practice, something that works in everyday life and has ‘tangible’ effects and that works for what life presents. It must, therefore, be malleable enough to be able to respond to the changes of a life. If spirituality is the individuated and self- oriented dimension of religion, it must not be a replacement of religion, though we can assume that it is functioning in similar ways. Spirituality comprises a hunger for ideas and experiences that are more than the material. But this does not necessarily mean that it extends beyond a sense of purpose or well-being. Thus spirituality is subjective. Meanwhile, ‘religion’ is spoken of as being the ‘more socially organised and structured ways of being spiritual’ (Bouma 2006, 18–20). Thus religions almost always offer established (orthodox) ways of approaching the spiritual. Importantly, both are concerned with the production of hope and with the production of meaning in human life. However, the insertion of the clause of self-realization creates a new paradigm. Spirituality in this sense comes closer to what Maslow (1976, 19) referred to as peak experiences. In particular, ‘the private, lonely, personal illumination, revelation, or ecstasy’ experienced by the individual in spiritual practice that he saw as being connected with feelings of happiness and well- being. Important to this understanding of modern spirituality is the experiential dimension of the spirituality paradigm; not only is the self the focus, but the only valid means by which a person might pursue spiritual enrichment become connected with the experience, itself an idea thoroughly connected with the individual. This prompted Heelas (2008, 33), in his most recent revision of the problem of spirituality, to write that ‘[t]o be a spiritual being, by nature, whilst not experiencing this spirituality, is of little value. Hence the importance attached to activities or practices’. What is valued most highly is the lived, rather than the inherited. Activities and practices geared towards self-realization require a preconception of ‘self’ as malleable to whatever cultural paradigm one wants to belong to. Despite questions of authenticity, the practice of constructing self, whether according to history, meaning, image or appeal, is held as a primary

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locus of individual agency in the West. David Brooks (2000, 34) has argued that the ‘prime directive’ of the emerging elite from the 1960s was that ‘Thou shalt construct thine own identity.’ If the Enlightenment project proved nothing else, it was that the notion that one is fallen, and thus intrinsically sinful, is not a particularly popular one for people increasingly being told to ‘think for themselves’. A side effect of this process is the extra gravity lent to arguments away from institutional forms of religion; in the West, Christianity. Nor did Kant’s (1963, 3) assertion, ‘Have courage to use your own reason!’ fall on deaf ears, and the calculations of self- spirituality began to spit out the results; ‘original sin does not compute.’ Stringer (2008, 43–4) notes that for ordinary people beliefs are not required to be articulated, they are simply there, and their truth is ‘never questioned’, though this latter point seems counterintuitive. In modernity beliefs are often questioned by ordinary people, and the truth of the self is questioned. Likewise, in contexts where beliefs are in fact questioned and found to be in conflict with an aspect of the individual’s life they can, in some circumstances, be substituted out. What we see is a conflict of functionality, in which self is the critical component. Happiness, wellbeing, self-realization, and the orienting of the self are heavily questioned in some modern spiritual environments. Indeed, these points of focus are being promoted by many new traditions that see themselves as addressing the problems of modern life (e.g. Norman 2010). Some have called this refocusing upon the self the ‘New Age of religion’, though this is a mistake. Scholars have variously asserted that the New Age is ‘ambiguous’ (Bainbridge 2007, 248), ‘a poorly defined label’ (Hanegraaff 1996, 9), or with ‘no central organization and no commonly accepted creed’ (Saliba 2003, 27). In general, it is used to describe beliefs and practices that understand the coming of better ways of life (Heelas 1996, 15). However, the findings of Heelas et al. (2005), if they are assumed to be more or less consistent with the phenomena throughout the Western world, firmly place the New Age as a minority religious position. Rather than characterizing all self- oriented formations of spirituality under the catchall ‘New Age’, what is more useful is to understand New Age paradigms as part of the general orientation towards the self in the West. As Hanegraaff (1996, 10) asserts, just because New Age believers indicate a wide variety of spiritual sources, like Buddhism for example, does not mean that these beliefs are included in the New Age. Rather, in these cases such affinities should be noted and the sources that establish the connection between the two ideas studied. What can be said, however, is that the New Age exemplifies contemporary spirituality with its looseness and fluidity of approach to piecing together the aspects of practice and belief. The New Age does not, however, comprise the totality of modern spirituality. It is concentrated on finding beliefs, practices and other implements with which to embark upon its own mission. New Age spirituality is thus a directional form of modern spirituality, just as Christian spirituality is another variation.

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Daniele Hervieu- Léger referred to New Age spirituality in the following way: a religious belief entirely centred upon individuals and their personal accomplishments, and characterised by the primacy accorded to personal experience which guides everyone according to their own way. It is not a matter of discovering and committing oneself to a truth outside the self; it is a matter of experimentation – everyone finding their own truth for themselves. In spiritual matters, no authority defines and imposes an external norm upon the individual. The objective pursued is the perfection of the self, perfection which is not concerned with the moral accomplishments of the individual, but with access to a higher state of being. (Hervieu-Léger 2001, 164) This almost sums up contemporary spirituality, though the secular spiritual world view looks slightly different. Cusack and Digance (2008, 228) argue that the significance of the self in modernity manifests in all forms of both spirituality and more organized religious institutions. Spirituality, as such, does not necessarily contain religious belief, though it retains the individual focus. The higher state of being might range from simply being happy, to attaining a different state of consciousness or, where belief does occur, the movement to a different plane of existence, for example. Insofar as modern spirituality focuses on the self, it also focuses on the creation and maintenance of identity. Charles Taylor, in Sources of the Self, wrote that [t]o know who you are is to be oriented in moral space, a space in which questions arise about what is good or bad, what is worth doing and what is not, what has meaning for you and what is trivial and secondary. (Taylor 1989, 28) What results is not a one- off re- orienting of the sense of self, but a process of continual questioning and repositioning. This prompted David Lyon (2000, 76) to note that ‘self- construction is carried out in an ongoing, piecemeal fashion’, likening it to consumer culture. Lyon argues that this process forms a response to the postmodern fragmentation of identity, and uses the term ‘bricolage’ to describe the modern religious process. A ‘structural uncertainty’ that Lyon sees as generated by the ‘floating’ nature of symbols and authority, is resolved through the process of their re- collection such that the individual can make a religious life. The bricolage, or as he puts it, the ‘pick’n’mix’ (Lyon 2000, 74) of religious ideas and practices, involves a complex process of choosing of what does and does not suit the needs of the bricoleur. It has, Lyon argues, become a significant sociological phenomenon, itself voicing a trend towards an increasing ‘sacralisation of the self’ (Lyon 2000, 72–6).

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The rapid technological advances in communications and social media have resulted in, as Kenneth Gergen (1991) asserted, the self becoming ‘saturated’. The onslaught of real and imagined interactions individuals have with others leads, Gergen argues, to an increasing sense of disconnection rather than connection from those communicated with. Interactions become shorter and less meaningful with each technological advance, and are often only carried out via electronic mediums and involving little spatial contact or time for reflection. Within this context the sense of self is rendered less sure and is reliant on other modes for surety. Taylor’s assertion about the source of the self is all well and good, but in the onslaught of competing information about potential alternatives, beliefs are thrown into question. The only viable solution is for the self to be an ongoing project. What the construction of the self allows is a process of self- examination that addresses this perceived problem. Where it coincides with traditional religious forms and content, spiritual practice empowers individuals to engage in a process of, to borrow from Hanegraaff, an examination of the self in the mirror of religious practice. Spirituality is thus the modern catchall for practices of self realization and self-improvement. Non- empirical aspects of New Age spirituality, such as tarot reading and aura healing, have certainly gained prominence in the past 50 years. What is less clear is the extent to which actual meaningful participation has changed. Heelas et al. (2005), in Spiritualities of Life , suggests that the takeup of these types of practices has largely been superficial. But what Heelas et al. do make clear is that even if this is the case, these practices remain significant contributors to the identities of the people concerned. The patina of modern spirituality calls to mind David Lowenthal’s (1997, 228) statement that the ‘[r]emains of ancient Egypt and China, relics of Greece and Rome, echoes of Europe’s Renaissance and Enlightenment, and the rich diversities of a thousand tribal traditions embellish and animate the whole world’. The contemporary use of cultural resources in the creation of identity and the actualization of the self is done with the conception that they are part of human heritage and thus open to anyone to use (Rountree 2006). Many people who participate in the pastiche and borrowing of religious ideas acknowledge that they might appear as ‘cultural poachers’ or ‘cultural plunderers’ (Luhrmann 1989, 244). We must question, however, whether their own explanation for this is that, in a postmodern world in which truth is contingently defined, they simply recognize wisdom in the traditions of others for their own spiritual projects. Lyon (2000, 101–4) speaks of cultural processes in terms of ‘flow’. That is, that rather than being static or frozen forms that have only predictable modes of influence on each other, cultures flow into and out of each other. A similar model of understanding can be placed over the process of constructing the self and identity. Specifically, we can understand the contemporary Western idea of self as a process, rather than an object, which involves picking from what is at hand the shades of cloth with which to weave itself. This may in fact be a

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process little changed over the years, but two key shifts in Western being have occurred over the past 400 years that have necessitated a change in the process of self. First, the Industrial Revolution caused the relocation of populations towards cities and industrial centres. It brought people closer together, causing an accelerated sharing of ideas. It also brought about innovations in travel technology, meaning that new ways of life became more accessible to a broader section of the populace. Concurrent with this has been the rise in constructing identity through leisure, rather than work, and the mode of consumption. Indeed, consumption is increasingly understood as leisure, and thus leisure is increasingly becoming commoditized (Sassatelli 2007, 2–3). Leisure pursuits, or their pursuit, make up a large part of modern conceptions of being. The second shift has been the more recently felt Information Revolution. Along with advances in production and travel technology have come enhanced technologies of information, in particular those that are concerned with storage and transmission. The most recent innovation of this is the internet, but it also includes advances in printing technologies, radio and television. As a result, individuals now have access to information on virtually any aspect of human life, from all over the world. The field of identity content that the modern individual can choose from is now vast and more complex than it ever has been. The same period in the West has also seen an increasing interest in things ‘other’ as potential sources of truth and meaning. Secularization and individualism has contributed to a distrust in the dominant cultural paradigms and access to ‘others’ now means that there is a notion of viable alternatives, in particular those championed by the cultural elite, and inherited tradition has given way to individual articulations of identity. Paul Coates (2003, 15) has noted that, Romanticism, confronting a world it views as disenchanted into mere clockwork by the mechanisms of the Enlightenment . . . dialectically reacts against yet also reiterates the Enlightenment critique of religion, relocating it outside all churches and assigning god-like attributes to the poet-priest. This ‘poet-priest’ has become the individual, and the idealized mode of being, for many, has thus become bricolage, taking from any source viewed as meaningful or authentic. This process of pastiche, bricolage and appropriation is reminiscent of the processes of consumer culture. Indeed, Harold Coward (2000, 44) noted that Western society was one governed by the notion of choice; that ‘we see ourselves first and foremost as consumers’, and that personal identity is ‘a construct of the choices we make or fail to make’. Western modes of consumption involve ‘imaginative pleasure- seeking’ (Campbell 2005, 89–90). That is, that the novel is favoured over the familiar, that the pleasure comes from the experience of desiring to acquire the new thing, and that the ultimate result of acquisition is disillusionment and the subsequent attachment of desire to a new object

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and hence the re- acquisition of a sense of pleasure. If spiritual tourism is a commodity and is to be considered a leisure activity, it is logical to assume that the same cycle of disillusionment Campbell asserts will be at play within its enactment, especially as it harmonizes here with Eliade and Sheed’s (1958, 30) ‘dialectic of sacred space’. Consumption is increasingly understood as leisure, and thus leisure is increasingly becoming commoditized. Paraphrasing Max Weber, Sassatelli (2007, 2) notes that ‘consumer society is a type of society in which “the satisfaction of daily needs” is realised “through the capitalist mode”.’ Not only does it entail the satisfaction of daily needs, but also the sense of being a consumer, and the conceiving of transactions as acts of consumption. Campbell (2005) also noted that the increase in interest of some educated, middle- class youth in religious paradigms that embraced the exotic, the mysterious or the magical was indicative of a sense of alienation and dissatisfaction with both rationality and puritan sensibilities. This process emerges out of the legacy of Romanticism, a particular manifestation of which are the patterns of modern consumption, and concludes that ‘the individual consumer is . . . permanently exposed to the experience of wanting’ (Campbell 2005, 95). This ceaseless desire generates a sense of a disappointing reality, and desire and dream are understood as perfected possibilities. Fantasy becomes more real than the real, as it were. In as much as contemporary spirituality seeks self-transformation, individuals engaged in these processes continue to construct the self with reference to the sacred, and in particular with religious practices that embody those ideals (Lyon 2000, 72–95). But if Campbell’s consumer theory is indeed correct, one cannot help but wonder whether if all that is left at the door out of the spiritual supermarket is credit card debt and a sense of spiritual dissatisfaction. Regardless, spiritual practice is firmly embedded within consumer culture, the most telling sign of which is the placement of spiritual pursuits in private leisure time (Aldred 2002), like travel. The features of modernity that erode traditional religious forms (particularly individualism and personal autonomy) make self- directed spirituality more appealing to those interested in it and for whom traditional religion is not seen as sufficiently functional within the context of their lives. It is not a claim, however, that all modern people are headed this way, as the statistical dominance of traditional religion clearly shows its continued relevance. Spirituality for moderns is, we can be sure, that which concerns themselves, their own experiences and beliefs, and personal construals, among other things.

Religion and Spirituality in the Information Age The striking rise to prominence of information technologies around the world, particularly in the West, must be taken into consideration when attempting to

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locate contemporary spirituality. Not only are they technologies that directly impact the speed with which information, or knowledge, is accessed, but they also affect the ways it is perceived and gathered. Further, technologies of knowledge have significant impacts on the ways of life and the ways of being of those who use them. This extends from the mundane concerns of finding an appropriate compliment to one’s recently purchased pork and fennel sausages, or looking up the filmography of an actor in a movie, all the way to maintaining relationships with one’s friends and family, or trying to discover what others feel about the nature of the universe. The simple fact of life in this new information age is that almost any form of knowledge or opinion is obtainable virtually instantaneously. Religious ideas, cosmologies, accounts of previously esoteric practices and New Age wishes find themselves together with scientific theories, news articles and incoherent rants in the results pages of the world’s search engines. This information floods through the wide aperture lens of the great panoptikon of ‘teh interwebs’.i Such democratization of knowledge has sealed changes in being initially set in motion by the Protestant Reformation. Not only has it affected our interaction with information, but the systems we use also serve as metaphors for the systems by which meaning and identity are constructed. It could be argued that the appellation ‘the internet’ for the World Wide Web has become redundant, and that instead it should be called the ‘ontonet’. Its infusion into almost every facet of modern being is so complete, so large scale in the West that life without it is fundamentally other and alien to many now, especially those born into it. We make sense of the world around us with it as a tool, whether we like it or not. But more importantly, we exist within the webs it creates and that we ourselves create within it. We live our modern lives largely within this vast virtual space of information; communicating, managing, observing, performing, purchasing. Indeed, very little of what we do and what we say in daily life in the West does not, at least in some way, involve using it. This again causes a return to the notion that experience apparently constitutes what is one of few forms of esotericism and of individuality left to people. You can ‘tweet’ about experience, but you can not tweet the experience itself. Likewise, as a reader one may read of a friend’s experiences on their Facebook status updates, even going so far as to ‘live it’ vicariously, but the nature of the experience with all its visceral, special eccentricities remains hidden. It is no coincidence that in an Information Age where the vehicles through which individuals participate in culture and society – computers and devices – are constantly being updated or replaced, people are themselves in a mode of constant ‘upgrade’ and ‘replacement’. The metaphor of the computer Operating System (OS) – regularly updated by download, new versions available every few years, and accepting of myriad plug-ins – is a very useful one for understanding contemporary conceptions of self. Whether it is chicken or egg is perhaps beside

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the point, but the construction of the self, of personal and cultural identity, of ethics and morality, and of spirituality, can be seen as a somatic equivalent of the ways individuals manage their electronic information systems. The ways we can search the systems of others to find programs, macros, skins or apps that are more suitable for our own needs is remarkably similar to the ways in which we take up philosophies and beliefs, techniques and simulacrum to make our ‘self’, both as experienced and as presented. Critical to this metaphor, within the context of the present study, we see cluttering of computers with superfluous or competing programs and applications (and sometimes viruses) resulting in a slowing or even failure of the OS and requiring a re-formatting of the system. The same is true for everyday life, as the burgeoning amount of self-help books, gurus and competing cultural practices, along with shifting morals and issues such as terrorism and climate change serve to demonstrate. Here is perhaps where spiritual tourism fits in for many; it is a chance to step out of the system and re-format or (less catastrophically) ‘defrag’ the self. Understanding contemporary spirituality must involve being flexible enough to accept systems that respond to today’s mobile, connected, secularized and postmodern social sphere. While it may be argued that social networking tools, such as Facebook, Twitter or MySpace are fads destined to the rubbish-pile of trends, the notion of maintaining a life in the modern West now entails a level of connectedness previously unseen. Whether it is via email, mobile phone, blog or simply face-to-face, individuality and thereby identity are understood as constructions of likes, dislikes, beliefs, practices, work and leisure in relation to others that are placed into the social sphere. One is reminded here of Sartre’s notion of the self being located in the eye of others; only now the reflected image is not so important as the act of making it. Thus, in one sense, the idea of the individual has died, or at least been reincarnated, as the notion that one can exist and evolve as a person separate to others is seen as ‘odd’, and sometimes close to anathema – a friend without a Facebook is deemed odd, yet one without email archaic. However, in another sense the idea of the individual is now stronger than ever as individuality comes to be understood as much for what one broadcasts as it is for what one believes and does. This is not to say that belief, choice and practice are unimportant; far from it. Those aspects of self are the content created for the very broadcast that asserts identity. Understanding spirituality must therefore involve understanding the importance placed upon this broadcast. What this entails is a shift in understanding ‘community’ as something less bounded by geography and physical space, and more concerned with lived experience and common beliefs. Although paradigms of spirituality are about self- examination and self-improvement, and although these projects are framed in global community ways, it is fundamentally about self. What does stand out, however, is the place the idea of community has, particularly for spiritual tourists who, after all, are in the process of travelling the globe. It

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is seen as important, in fact essential, to the process of self-fulfilment and happiness. Spiritual tourists promote the notion of community as both critical to and a product of self- exploration and happiness. This process functions as foil to any sense of guilt generated by undertaking a practice so easily attributed as selfish. For most these are not just words, with genuine and long-term participation in communities at home and with less geographically rooted associations such as spiritual groups, movements and groups of like-minded travellers (such as the Confraternity of St James or the santiago-today.com forum). Indeed, so strong is the desire for community that many spiritual tourists also participate in service activities for the associations they feel a part of, such as at Vipassana retreats, or refugios. This participation builds upon technological changes that have made possible a sense of belonging and participation with post- geographic, post-national, and post- cultural associations. Post- cultural here referring to the logical mid-point in the formation process of quotidian multicultural (Wise 2006) groups; they are post- cultural in the sense that they purport to have no dominant or authority culture, and that the cultural practices and manifestations of each participant are seen as valid and available for anyone so long as they do not harm or breach laws, and as they are perceived by the user to function.

Spirituality and the Process of Piecing Together a Practice It was the search outside of familiar or orthodox fields of meaning that prompted Lofland and Stark (1965) to term such individuals ‘seekers’. Campbell (1972, 119–20), taking this idea, argued that seekers are characterized in part by the sampling of revelation and therapy. Common among individuals moving through such alternatives is their explicit lack of unity in terms of what is found to be successful, or even truthful. In relation to tourism, in so far as tourists mostly travel out from their ‘home’ cultural context, we can see that the seeker thesis gives an important twist to tourism studies, especially in cases where the tourist is using the journey as a search for alternatives. The forms of ‘seekership’ can be seen to look like a consumerist orientation towards belief and spiritual practice. This may appear to be a distinctly postmodern and relativist approach. Bruce (1998, 29) disagrees, and notes that a sectarian seeker (one seeking sectarian type systems) does not operate from a relativist platform. Rather, they remain sectarian in their approach, presuming that each religious position they come to has a unique grasp of the truth. Yet, consumerist the seeking remains, at least in appearance. Nevertheless this has been seen by some commentators as support for the indication that the processes of secularization have in fact led to an increase in religious or spiritual activity.

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H. P. Blavatsky, founder of the Theosophical Society, argued that we would not need individual religions in the future because we would simply be able to glue all of them together in ways that work in terms of functionality and mysticism (Bevir 1994). However, what is required for people to move into a practice or belief system, even if only temporarily, is both a cultural orientation that values self- governed identity and well-being, and individual desire to seek out a system that supports their project of self- examination or self-realization. This means that while practices and belief systems may be appropriate, individuals are less likely to take them up if not already oriented towards taking them in as a possibility in the first place, in addition to having some level of active thought about what is needed or is wrong with their lives to begin with. Campbell’s seeker thesis is worth returning to here as it was proposed in a way that suggested function as the primary means by which success was measured for the individual. In its original form it has been made redundant by his later publications. Rereading the article one can clearly see that actually it was the nascent idea of his thesis of the spirit of consumer culture; a hybrid of consumerism and spiritual practice. Here it requires some refashioning to work with spiritual tourism, in particular with its notion that seeking is the behaviour of what are essentially social deviants, in the sense that they rebel from the dominant authoritative forms (Campbell 1972). The secularization thesis and the cumulative affects of postmodernity have voided that axiom of the argument. Even though Christianity remains the dominant religious tradition in the West, we can no longer claim that those who move away from it are social deviants. Non-belief, spiritual ideals, New Age beliefs, atheism and other religious and quasi-religious forms are now viewed as entirely normal. Thus a seeker thesis can no longer be about deviancy. It must, therefore, focus on function and the matching of philosophy and world view. Seekers can now be from any part of society, but the important addition is Campbell’s (2005, 95) cyclical consumer thesis. That ‘the individual consumer is . . . permanently exposed to the experience of wanting’ is a core component of the search for suitable spiritual practices to one’s personal project. At the same time, exclusivity has been replaced as the cultural ideal by a postmodern desire for everything, or at least the ability to desire and consume anything (Peterson and Kern 1996). Not only does this entail the satisfaction of daily needs, it also brings the sense of ‘being’ a consumer, and the conceiving of transactions as acts of consumption. Modern spirituality is not a full participant in the consumer culture that Campbell portrays. It tends more towards paradigms of happiness and meaning in experiential, rather than acquisitive, terms. Despite any supposed voraciousness, spiritual ideas and practices are partly gathered in critique of both self and society. That spirituality is about solving problems and becoming self- actualized or self-realized means that the present state the person embodies must be inferior. Their process of searching, testing, practising and talking about their findings thus reveals not only what they

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are doing, but what they think is wrong or in need of improvement in their lives. Hanegraaff (1996, 517) wrote of the way New Age formations functioned as culture criticism, particularly of dominant dualistic Western tendencies and paradigms of scientific knowledge. This position sees dualistic paradigms as not only responsible for the current world order (war, poverty, environmental crisis) but also the fundamental disconnection between individuals and the creation of their own well- being and sense of purpose in life.

Conclusions These theories provide us with a framework with which to examine spiritual tourism. We can read people engaged in spiritual practice by employing Heelas’ notion of dedifferentiation, although in a way that is core to the modern manifestations of spirituality. This process, in the face of multiple paradigms of meaning and practices of well- being and happiness, forces the individual to confront their own world view. The influences of secularization and postmodernity impose upon the individual a task of dedifferentiating what is presented in a selective way. The result, in terms of the practices offered to individuals, must be, as Heelas (1998, 3) put it, ‘ontology smacking of the Immanent’. The process, whereby the individual comes to recognize the validity and truth present in most, if not all practices and beliefs, results in an acceptance of the self, whether constructed or not. It recognizes individuation as valid, and thereby must recognize the self as valid too. But it is not without its differentiative aspects too. Philosophies of dedifferentiation must reject those ideas that claim universal truth, or at least reject those aspects of them. The project of self- examination and realization that characterizes modern spirituality of the self is approached using Campbell’s theory of seekers and applying it to his later theory of consumerism with the caveat that what are sought are functional practices and beliefs intended to be used long term. Here we can also find assistance from David Lyon’s notion of innovative spirituality, and of shopping for a self. Spirituality is also fundamentally about identity. This should not be mistaken to mean identity as in the Durkheimian sense of belonging, but in the sense of the more fundamental ‘who am I’ question, nor in the sense of a marker of social identity, as in belonging to a religion, for example as Swatos (1981) discussed, but as a sense of self. As Charles Taylor (1989) argued, this is a process as much concerned with questions over ‘the good’ as it is with questions of the sort of person one is and comes to be. As such this process of self- exploration is also a mirror for the examination and criticism of culture. Hanegraaff’s description of the New Age as culture criticism applies here, though it does so broadly. Religious practice, often the content of spiritual practice, is thus a mirror for such examination of the self.

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Finally, as a result, spiritual paradigms move with the idea that finding the sacred in any location or setting is entirely possible. Even though Demerath wrote of this in a secular sense, it should be taken to apply for any practice of ‘finding’, or constructing, the sacred, hence again, the need for the alteration to Campbell’s original seeker theory. This book uses that idea within the framework of self- spirituality. In other words, any practice, religious, secular or other, may be used if it is found to be helpful in terms of happiness, identity, meaning or well-being. The sacred may be constructed anywhere, using anything, in a bricolage. It is important to recognize that just as secularization and postmodernity have allowed access to any religious content for spiritual practice in secular ways, so too have they opened up the validity of using secular practices. Modern paradigms of spirituality understand the individual as the chief agent of their own happiness and destiny.

Notes 1 ‘teh interwebs’ is a common misspelling seen in so-called internet speak. Typically it is used ironically.

Part III

Understanding Spiritual Tourism in Context

The use of travelling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are. Samuel Johnson, ‘Letter to Hester Thrale’ (21 September 1773)

The previous part dealt with the cultural placement and history of tourism, and the construction of theoretical frameworks within which we can examine the phenomena of tourism and spirituality in the modern West. In all three chapters the argument moved towards the idea that travel, tourism and spiritual practice have the potential for being significant points in the individual production of meaning and identity through self- examination and self-reflection. It can easily be seen that travel and spirituality are exceptionally well matched for such a project in Western society. Both are geared towards pursuing and answering existential questions for the individual. Spiritual tourists do not, however, stumble across their destinations by chance. They arrive typically well informed and cognizant of the reputation of the location and what it has to offer them. Returning to the two earlier examples of spiritual tourism we can see that this is very much how they have been spoken of and promoted. This part brings together those theories and themes, slotting them together to create a theory of spiritual tourism. It begins by examining how India and the Camino have come to be regarded as suitable destinations for spiritual tourists, and how contemporary tourists speak of them. Looking at a selection of the travel books on India and the Camino we can see that both make excellent grounds in which to create a story of self- discovery. These themes continue when non- commercial forms of publishing, such as blogs, are examined. Likewise, the history of travel to the two locations reveals they have long been regarded in just such a way. This examination also sheds further light on the social processes that come into play at each destination. The auto- ethnography

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of travel writing (and blogging) makes for a useful comparison with the gathered fieldwork of the earlier chapters. This part then finishes by moving to combine the two themes of travel and spirituality to posit a theory of spiritual tourism. The two streams make for easy partners, though a theory of spiritual tourism that not only applies to both contexts examined here, but also to the remainder of the unstudied occurrences of it, presents a challenge. The term ‘spiritual tourism’ may be a new one, but the phenomenon is not, or at least not entirely. The intersection of religion and tourism is a busy one, with pilgrims, religious tourists, spiritual tourists and ‘regular’ tourists passing by in droves. The solution proposed allows for this variation in touristic content, and is followed by an examination of scholarly work on spiritual tourism to Rishikesh (and India generally) and the Camino. New is the secular way in which spiritual tourists approach the project of the self. In this sense spiritual tourism is cast as offering an insight into this most contemporary of religious forms.

Chapter 7

India in the Mind of the Spiritual Tourist

Returning to India, and to Rishikesh, what should be clear from the previous discussions is that spiritual tourists choose it as a destination for very specific reasons. Western tourists travel to India in great numbers to practise yoga, attend meditation courses and retreats or to listen to various gurus and spiritual masters teach on matters of the body, the mind, the spirit and the nature of being. As shall be demonstrated, it has become a catchphrase to ask, upon hearing that a friend is travelling to India to inquire as to whether they are ‘going to find themselves there’. There are a large number of locations in India, similar to Rishikesh, to which Western tourists travel for spiritual reasons, the most popular being Goa, Varanasi and Dharamsala. Despite this, the phenomenon and practice of travelling to India for spiritual reasons has largely gone unstudied. The number of spiritual tourists who go to India is unclear, and there remain many questions regarding why these travellers make their way to India for reasons spiritual. From the examination of tourists in Rishikesh in the first chapter we know why they go and what they do while in that location. Here we look at the image of Rishikesh and India to explore why, for example, the tourist KS, interviewed in Chapter 1, could say she had heard about the town, and simply decided to go based on that minimal information alone. The themes of the previous part’s chapters on tourism and spirituality highlighted the role of both in the project of self-transformation and selfexamination prevalent in the West. Turning to the image of Rishikesh and India it is interesting that these are just the types of projects we find being construed. Travel writers seem to have paid the practice of spiritual tourism in India some attention, though, as shall be seen, as much for their value as plot devices as for what they might reveal about the nature of spirituality in the contemporary Western world. What is unclear is how the tourist space in India has been constructed; in particular the spiritual tourist space. Further, as has been discussed, the diversification of spiritual practice in the West over the past 100 years has seen practices from around the world find permanent homes in most major Western cities. This raises the further question of why tourists go to India when most, if not all, the practices that are offered there are already available at home. The rapid growth of religions like Buddhism in Western

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countries from the 1970s onwards serves as an indicator of the increased level of interest in things Indian. This chapter seeks to answer the previous questions so as to reflect on what they might mean in terms of spiritual practice in the West.

A Short History of Spiritual Tourism to India There are, it seems, no Western spiritual tourists who are wholly ignorant of India’s spiritual heritage and of the history of similar Western travellers venturing there in search of ways of enlightenment. Simple branding and advertising theory would suggest that none would be there in the first place were it not for the dissemination of such knowledge; how can one know to go to a place if one does not know one can go there? This suggests at least two things; first, that there is a history of spiritual travel to India, and second that this history has become, or resulted in, a tradition of travel to India for spiritual reasons. Thus, in order to properly examine the present practice of spiritual tourism by Western travellers in India one must first look at the history of such travel to ascertain how it came to be understood as not only ‘good to think’ but also ‘good to do’. Since the 1960s India has come to be regarded as the epitome of the spiritually touristic destination (Sharpley and Sundaram 2005); however, finding scholarly information on the history of spiritual tourism to India is a difficult task. Few histories of the tourism industry in India exist, and none are to be found that examine spiritual tourism; this despite the clear popularity that India has as a spiritual destination over the past 50 years. Rishikesh in particular gained popular spiritual-touristic attention in 1968 when The Beatles went there to study with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. A growing tide of Western youth, fresh out of school or university, and looking to discover the nature of reality, had been trickling into the country for years by that stage. Even the great Mircea Eliade visited Rishikesh while researching his doctorate, apparently in search of ‘authentic yoga practice to complete his education’ (Strauss 2002, 227). While there Eliade chose Swami Sivananda, whom he had heard of in Delhi, as his teacher. In this way India has been attracting Westerners interested in its religions and in practices such as yoga and meditation for over 200 years. But it is most recently that India has appealed to the spiritually inclined in the West. In particular, over the past 50 years India has produced numerous gurus who have attracted thousands, even millions, of visitors who come to receive an audience or darshan (literally ‘a glimpse of god’). Their ashrams often become locations with high concentrations of Western travellers, some of whom make no other travels while in the country. While the West may have long been interested in the East (Heelas 1996, 54–5; Campbell 2007), until the last century the dominant form of information

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about it came through literature. The Indian colonial period saw ‘Hinduism’ begin to be constructed in the West. William Jones noted (‘discovered’) the similarity between classical European and Sanskrit and proposed an IndoEuropean family of languages. Indeed, according to Sugirtharajah (2003, 3), Jones also argued for a common cultural and religious ancestry, and that Europeans were not ‘encountering a strange culture but their own in its primitive form’. Many Orientalists admired the Indian civilization, but noted among themselves that ‘ “the Hindu system” had seen better days’ (Oddie 2006, 101), the glorious past now soiled by a degenerate present. This idea slotted neatly into Romantic notions of European culture, and highlighted the potential to be found in those teachings in Indian culture that came from the supposed golden era. It was also understood by the likes of Jones to be a source for the discovery of primitive European culture. Hindu texts were studied closely by the early British colonial government, who, under Governor Warren Hastings (1772–4, later Governor- General from 1774–85), believed that the local population should be governed by their own laws; here to be found in sacred texts (Oddie 2006, 97–8; Sugirtharajah 2003, 2–4). Thus the translation of the Indian classics went ahead with great interest from the colonial elite and keen thinkers alike. The study of Indian literature by British administrator scholars piqued the interest of scholars in the West, particularly of those interested in philology and classical literature. Indeed, this very practice formed the nascent imaginings for fields such as comparative religion and mythology in Western universities. Many believed that the true nature of India was to be found in the Bhagavadgita , and that other renderings throughout history had either been misunderstandings or falsifications. The same mindset held that Hinduism could thus be classified as a unified system (Oddie 2006, 98). This was not a view shared by Max Müller. In fact Müller believed that the Gita was ‘a rather popular and exoteric exposition of Vedantic doctrines’ (Müller 1919, 252). Müller’s main theme was Empire, and in the study of ancient Indian language he saw the means to conquests, writing that ‘at present and for sometime to come Sanskrit scholarship means discovery and conquest’ (Müller 1919, vi). Indeed, so important were the ancient Indian texts that Müller argued, in a letter to the Duke of Albany in 1875, that the Rig Veda was important for the entire human race, and for the understanding of the evolution of religious ideas (Sugirtharajah 2003, 41). We cannot also underestimate the impact Müller’s (1879–1910) incredible and monumental translation project Sacred Books of the East had on the image of India as a location of spiritual wisdom. Müller’s emerging idea of a ‘Science of Religion’ was set up to demonstrate that all religious positions contain an element of truth. It also was infused with the idea that Christianity contained more of the truth than any of the others, but nonetheless what was to be found around the world was still of use. Müller (1868, 49) proposed that the way to access this truth was to find ‘religions in

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their ancient form’, and in India, already being proposed as the early version of Europe, he saw the potential for great truths to be discovered. The eulogizing of Indian culture by the likes of Jones and Müller, and its clearly ancient history led the likes of Blavatsky and Olcott to see in Indian religion further access points to the wisdom of ancient masters. The Romantic painting of a great Indian Golden Age pitched an idea of deep esoteric wisdom, perfectly suited to Blavatsky’s emerging notion of a perennial religion dimmed by the haze of modernity. When Nietzsche (1982, 575) asked ‘Will it be said of us one day that we too, steering westward, hoped to reach India, but that it was our fate to be wrecked against infinity?’, the stage was set for the opening of India to Western travellers looking for new insights to the mysteries of the universe. One of the most significant influences on Western travel to India has been the Theosophical Society. While H. P. Blavatsky was originally influenced by spiritualism, as she became aware of the teachings being translated from India her interests began to turn. As her philosophy developed she became increasingly interested in Eastern sources of thought, in particular those that supported her emerging concept of the hierarchy of Self- spirituality. Tibet, the home of ‘the Mahatmas’, was of particular interest to her. Blavatsky and Theosophy cofounder Henry Olcott set about to form a nucleus of the Universal Brotherhood of Humanity, without distinction of race, creed, sex, caste or colour; to encourage the study of Comparative Religion, Philosophy and Science; to investigate unexplained laws of nature and the powers latent in the human being. (Australian Theosophical Society 2009) We should also not forget the influence the Theosophical Society’s promotion of Krishnamurti and the Order of the Star of the East (and surrounding orders) had on the image of India. Krishnamurti was heralded by Theosophy as a ‘World Teacher’ and taken around the world to promote the idea. To this day the Theosophical Society headquarters is located in Adyar, India, but it was their popularizing of India as a repository of wisdom and learned masters that led others to undertake journeys there searching for spiritual practices and philosophies. Blavatsky was also a promoter of the idea that there was a universal wisdom, underlying all the religious traditions of the world. Perhaps manifesting the trope of the age, the Theosophical Society’s focus on learning has great impact upon the notion of travelling to India. Bevir notes that Romantics such as Edward Carpenter, Walt Whitman, and E. M. Forster had portrayed India as a country in which the people pursued simple lives oriented towards selfrealization, although they tended to neglect the more awkward dogmatic ideas found in Indian religious traditions. Blavatsky, however, was more interested in the doctrinal aspects of Eastern religions and, in particular, interpreted

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Indian religious ideas as the solutions to the problems faced by the West (Bevir 1994, 747–9). Journeying to India was, from the very beginning, pitched as a journey of discovery. In a certain sense the whole project of Theosophy is centred on learning, and where better to seek out repositories of knowledge concerned with the self than at their source; India. Heelas (1996, 121) observed that ‘Indian spirituality has been an exceedingly important influence on what has developed in the west,’ in reference to the New Age. Further, he argues that ‘India must surely be counted as by far and away the most important home’ of the New Age (Heelas 1996, 122). As a result, we ought to expect to find among those interested in New Age and secular forms of spiritual practice an interest in the land of India, and thus a corresponding interest in going there to experience it for themselves. Blavatsky, and her followers, contributed not only to changing Western notions about the East, but also about personal spiritual practice in general. Indian religious traditions also contained, Blavatsky argued, the seeds of Western traditions, citing examples of biblical legends found in Sanskrit works that pre- dated them (Bevir 1994, 757). Two examples from this period were women influenced by Theosophical teachings. Alexandra David-Neel was involved with Theosophy in London in 1888 (at the same time Blavatsky was teaching) and later studied Indology and Tibetan Buddhism. Her famous 1924 entry into Tibet to study Tibetan language and Buddhism (David-Neel 1993) was almost unheard of for Western men let alone women, and would later contribute to the fame of her book Magic and Mystery in Tibet , an ‘Age of Aquarius’ classic according to Heelas (Heelas 1996, 43). She also became an influence on the likes of Jack Kerouac and Allan Watts. Around the same time Mirra Alfassa, known as The Mother, moved to Pondicherry in India to set up Auroville with Sri Aurobindo. The Mother conceived of the place as one that no nation could claim as its sole property, a place where all human beings of good will, sincere in their aspiration, could live freely as citizens of the world, obeying one single authority, that of the Supreme Truth; a place of peace, concord, harmony. (Alain 1992, 1) Today Auroville is home to over 1,000 people from India and the rest of the world, and continues to attract a steady stream of overseas visitors; though, as evidenced by Sharpley and Sundaram (2005), it is far from the original vision of a populace of thousands of global citizens living in spiritual peace. As the baby-boomer generation began to come of age, a growing sense of dissatisfaction with the inherited religious systems of the West took hold. Further, as concern with health and well- being has shifted from the communal to the individual, practices like yoga and meditation have taken on increasing importance in the West. This has led to India, the collectively identified ‘home’ of these practices, to be imagined as a location at which not

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only alternative religious paradigms are available, but also that pure forms of well-being practice are able to be studied. Mehta noted that during the late nineteenth- and early twentieth centuries Western travellers to India, like Huxley and Yeats, had paved the way for the flood that was to come in the latetwentieth century. Later came the likes of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and in their wake the masses following their heroes. That first wave of disciples was really top drawer. They were the nobles of the meritocracy and they were looking good. The women were models, the men were stars, and the massage was the message. When they came out of their spiritual retreats draped in homespun, they glowed with vegetarian good health. (Mehta 1990, 68) As Heelas notes, the period from around the beginning of the twentieth century until the 1960s was quiet in terms of the development of spiritual ideas in the West. Two world wars no doubt served to distract the attention of many younger thinkers who might otherwise have been interested in less destructive pursuits. The increasing interest in philosophies of the self were easily satisfied by practices such as yoga, for, as Strauss (1997, 9) argued, it provided ‘one very good method for achieving the goal of self- development in a global world’. Accordingly yoga centres such as Goa quickly became renowned as hippy hang- outs; the inexpensive accommodation and the easy- going lifestyle no doubt contributing substantially to the image (Wilson 1997, 52). During this time a number of Indian gurus also gained significant popularity in the West, particularly in the United States. In 1962 A. C. Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada moved to New York to start the Krishna Consciousness movement. The Hare Krishna movement, as it came to be known, gained popularity in Western countries, particularly the United States and the United Kingdom, and further propagated the idea of India as a land of gurus and wisdom. At the same time Bhagwan Sri Rajneesh and Sai Baba also gained followings in Western nations, as word of their movements spread around the world. Sai Baba, famous for having never actually visited the West, nonetheless began to attract significant numbers of Western visitors to his ashram at Puttaparthi, Andhra Pradesh (Brown 2000). Transcendental Meditation, founded by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, also gained significant popularity, aided by the Beatles’ visit to his ashram in Rishikesh. Additionally, following the Dalai Lama’s exile to Dharamsala in India in 1959, the town began to attract Westerners interested in Tibetan Buddhism, no doubt influenced by the early Theosophists and writers such as David-Neel who had brought the practice of Tibetan Buddhism into focus. The Beatles’ stay with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi in Rishikesh in 1968 exemplified the explosion of interest in India that had occurred over the previous decade. The Western dream of secular democracy free from the clutches of

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a religious overlord was felt to be failing and some were beginning to think it was time to ‘wake up’. The likes of Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and Alan Watts stepped into this cultural milieu with ideas suited to Western subcultures eager for philosophies of mind and the notion of ‘seeing the truth’. Indeed, the three have become sainted, we might say, for their role in this ‘neo- enlightenment’, and Ginsberg’s biography on allenginsberg.org reads much like a hagiography. Ginsberg arrived in India on 15 February 1962, beginning what would be a 15-month odyssey in search of spiritual guidance (Allen Ginsberg Project). In 1973, after a chance meeting with Tibetan lama Trungpa Rinpoche, Ginsberg spent time meditating, writing of the experience in the epic ‘Mindbreaths’. Earlier Alan Watts had done much to spread the teachings of Zen in the West. Watts in particular epitomized the emerging Western habit of constructing a world view drawn from many sources. His books Beyond Theology and The Book on the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are he combined elements of science, Christianity, Hinduism and Daoism (among others) to put forward a theory of a cosmic self. Similarly, the perpetually popular Kerouac dabbled in Buddhism, being particularly influenced by the Diamond Sutra (Suiter 2002, 191). Other celebrities also contributed to the normalizing of Indian philosophies and practices. Pete Townsend was reportedly influenced by Meher Baba in writing ‘Tommy’, and Led Zepplin famously went to Kashmir in the 1970s. MacCannell’s (1999, 1) notion that, ‘Tourism is not just an aggregate of merely commercial activities; it is also an ideological framing of history, nature and tradition; a framing that has the power to reshape culture and nature to its own needs’ is worth recalling here. Those writers, musicians and celebrities who visited India during the 1960s and 1970s contributed, more than any other group of people, to the normalizing of travel to India in order to learn, experiment or search for spiritual practices and philosophies. Contemporary spiritual tourism remains important in India. The cultural positioning of Indian philosophies has resulted in certain ideas becoming absorbed into the vernacular lexicon of the everyday West. For example, Mehta notes that, thanks to the numerous spiritual tourists to India and a general fascination with things Eastern, the word karma has now come to mean anything from coincidence to chance to ‘déjà vu’ as well as its traditional meaning of retributive assertion (Mehta 1990, 105). Meanwhile, locations such as Rishikesh, Dharamsala, Goa and Auroville continue to be important destinations for Western spiritual tourists in India. Indeed, Heelas (1996, 43) notes that Auroville, near Pondicherry, is one of the most well known New Age centres in the world. The Indian government has also heavily promoted the campaign that spruiks Rishikesh as the Yoga Capital of the World (Strauss 1997, 78–9), hardly shying away from the colonial concerns Mehta (1990) raised. Finally, Dharamsala remains the home of the Dalai Lama in exile and the sheer pull of his celebrity alone contributes to the town maintaining itself

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through tourism, let alone the numerous spiritual pursuits that are available there. Thus it can be seen that for a variety of reasons, to be further explored below, Western tourists continue to visit India to pursue spiritual practices and teachings. The reasons why they go, and the life situations that drive them are the focus of this chapter.

Contemporary Renderings of Spiritual Travel to India How the image of India as a spiritual destination is communicated and consumed forms an important anchor in understanding spiritual tourism there. Tourists arrive at destinations with an image and an understanding, even if only loose, of what is possible there. Religion is a common theme, and the idea of doing some ‘casual’ meditation or spending a week on a yoga course is often rendered as part of the Western tourist’s normal experience in India. The overall picture of this practice forms a large part of how acceptable travel to undertake these activities is for individuals. As travellers absorb the image of the destination before they travel, so to do they become broadcasters of it when they leave (and indeed while they are there thanks to blogs and chat forums). Therefore the following section looks at how spiritual tourism to India is portrayed in travel books, blogs and web communities, and by the Indian government. Books that tell of the author’s spiritual experiences while travelling in India are common. The genre of the travel book is one that flourishes on stories of transformation. The context of travel itself is often enough of a catalyst for this process, but in India the writer-traveller has further fuel for the verbal fire in the form of religious practice; something that is always guaranteed to elicit comment and that proves a fabulous tool for plot development. Further, the notion that such practices as meditation or yoga are forms of self- examination provides a ready context for storytelling; stories which in travel books are generally about the author’s journey through a strange land and their arrival home as a changed person. Sarah Macdonald’s book Holy Cow describes itself as ‘a wild journey of discovery through India in search of the meaning of life and death’ (2002, back cover). It is a tale in which the author faces serious questions about her mortality and what she feels is her own inner spiritual void. Her motivations are clear; ‘leaving my wonderful job was the hardest thing I’ve ever done but perhaps I didn’t do it just for love. A part of me wanted to reclaim myself, to redefine my identity’ (Macdonald 2002, 12–13). She speaks of long-term travel as a ‘middle class rite of passage’ and posits that there is a tradition of experiencing the ‘ joy of travel’ before settling into a career (Macdonald 2002, 1). Her initial venture into ‘unknown’ beliefs and practices begins with a ten- day retreat at a Vipassana centre, remarking that, ‘I decide to start my quest for

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inner peace with a brain enema’ (Macdonald 2002, 69), this, she says, is to ‘remove the blockages of the past and find a new way of living’, and is done despite her impression that Buddhism was an ‘extreme religion that requires people to spend too much time inside their own skull’ (Macdonald 2002, 70). Her diary of the time at the retreat is an amusing look at the internal clamour brought into focus by silent meditation. The episode is acknowledged by Macdonald as a search for an alternative way to cope with her new life. She writes that she feels she has purged something and is ready to be ‘reborn’ (Macdonald 2002, 83). Macdonald acknowledges that to maintain the techniques she has been taught in her everyday life would probably be difficult (Macdonald 2002, 82). Macdonald’s book is an excellent first-person account of ‘seeker type’ behaviour and the personal motivations that go with it. This is highlighted when she talks about Buddhism, noting that it is, ‘a good faith for those of us oriented to individualism as it offers a spiritual psychology of self- development. And its central tenet is the one thing us rich western kids can’t buy – happiness’ (Macdonald 2002, 156). Yet it appeals to her as it ‘complements my society’s approach to individual growth and development, my desire to take control and take responsibility for my own happiness and it advocates a way of living that encourages compassion and care’ (Macdonald 2002, 164). Despite this she continues to explore the other faiths and practices she encounters in India, either going on retreats or attending healing sessions, or simply observing the practices of others. Towards the end of the book she reflects on her own spiritual position concluding that, I realise I don’t have to be a Christian who follows the church, or a Buddhist nun in robes, or a convert to Judaism or Islam or Sikhism. I can be a believer in something bigger than what I can touch. I can make a leap of faith to a higher power in a way that’s appropriate to my culture but not be imprisoned by it. (Macdonald 2002, 258) In closing she remarks, ‘I’ve gained much in my karma chameleon journey. I’m reborn as a better person, less reliant on others for my happiness and full of desire to replace anger with love’ (Macdonald 2002, 296). By her own admission Macdonald was looking for different ways of being and of dealing with the world. For William Sutcliffe’s character ‘Dave’, however, the journey to India was more about sex than anything else. Although acknowledged by the author as a work of fiction, the book Are You Experienced? (1998) is often mentioned as a ‘must read’ for travellers to India. The back cover sums the story up: ‘Liz travels to India because she wants to find herself. Dave travels to India because he wants to get Liz into bed.’ Throughout the book the main character, Dave, reacts with derision or suspicion to any form of religious subject. When his travelling partner Liz decides she wants to

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spend some time in an ashram he wants nothing to do with it; ‘Too sodding right I’m not coming to an ashram. I don’t want to get brainwashed by some bunch of Hare Krishna loony mental headcases’ (Sutcliffe 1998, 119). But it is clear where the real ‘meaning of life’ is for Dave. Liz asks him, ‘Please, Dave. For me – just for me – will you please try and leave behind all this Western cynicism? Please. This is our chance to expand our minds. We have to take it’ (Sutcliffe 1998, 88). Of course, being interested in nothing else, Dave says yes. Reading about Sutcliffe’s fictional tale one could easily be fooled into thinking it was a snub to the notion of an Indian spiritual sojourn. However, it is far from it. While it is certainly critical of the type of trust-funded enlightenment tours that may be found on the subcontinent; it in fact celebrates the Indian travel experience. When Dave cries on the Goan beach, both happy to discover that he is ‘finding himself’ and depressed that he feels there is little to live for, it is India that he credits for getting him there. Perhaps one of the reasons it is so popular with travellers in India is because of the sarcastic way it looks at Western tourists there.1 Always a topic of contention, the notion that one is a ‘traveller’ – worldly, engaged, ethical – as opposed to a ‘tourist’ – hedonistic, colonial, mean – is at the forefront of many travellers’ opinions of themselves. The self- conscious assertion that one is not merely a sightseer but is engaged in the culture one is passing through drives many to behave in ways they possibly would not at home. Sutcliffe’s bilious portrayal of righteous travel personas undoubtedly helped to earn his book its cult status. Sutcliffe uses a chance encounter with a jaded journalist to voice his opinions about the state of Western tourism in India: ‘going to India isn’t an act of rebellion these days, it’s actually a form of conformity for ambitious middle- class kids who want to be able to put something on their CV that shows they have a bit of initiative’ (Sutcliffe 1998, 140). Such cynicism is shared by Gita Mehta in her book Karma Cola . Although not strictly a travel book, Karma Cola has come to be regarded by many Indiaphiles as compulsory reading on the topic of the country’s religious identity. In particular Mehta writes critically, often sarcastically, of Western tourists’ vagabond adoption of things Hindu while at leisure in her country. Mehta (1990, 21) includes the stories, presumably real (though it is hard to ascertain this) such as that of a French diplomat telling her of ‘about two hundred and thirty thousand French citizens’ for whom there was a record in the subcontinent. The diplomat estimated that around 80 per cent were ‘in pursuit of either mind expansion or obscure salvations’, and that the same would be true of most other nationals there in large numbers. Mehta’s witty word-play is as much a criticism of the Indian take-up of things Western (read American) as it is of those Westerners who arrive screaming ‘You guys! You’ve got it!,’ but actually looking for nothingness (Mehta 1990, 6). For her, India has become a sell out; ‘[o]h the tedium of being from the East when everything for sale was of the East’ (Mehta 1990, 7).

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There is a distinctly icy tone to Mehta’s retelling of the ways Western guru devotees sometimes abandon their own cultures: ‘You can’t even pronounce Abhimanyu or Yuddhistra. What’s wrong with the names you were born with?’ ‘Well . . . it’s weird hearing a name like Joanie again. We’ve left the past behind us, see. And names, people like her and you . . . it’s from that terrible world where everyone is mind-fucking everyone else. We left home to get away from that shit.’ (Mehta 1990, 33) Mehta refers to the practice of looking to specialized spirituality in the East as a form of haute couture religion; it fits better, but costs more (Mehta 1990, 111). It is not a thing she thinks can simply be picked up, like so many products in a supermarket aisle. To go from the monomania of the West to the multimania of the East is a painful business. Like a sex change. Too many visitors discover that changing their names does not inevitably lead to a change in their vital organs. (Mehta 1990, 36) The picture Mehta paints of Western spiritual tourists to India is one of either disillusionment or guilt. It is a cliché, but for Mehta it seems to hold that India is where you go when you are out of options for inner happiness, or when you are sickened by having so many. This seems a little too easy, a touch too simple for the complex reality of spiritual exploration. The characters Mehta puts on paper seem as though in the telling they have become caricatures upon the altar of plot device. They, and thereby all Western tourists, serve the purpose of articulating just how spiritually void the West is, and how morally corrupt the East has become in turning its spiritual wisdoms into commodities. ‘Exploration appears to be a hazardous undertaking. Columbus discovered America looking for India. The Beatles discovered India escaping from America’ (Mehta 1990, 67), but despite Mehta’s ‘host’ grumblings at the selling- out of her own culture to ‘guests’, the picture of spiritual tourism remains clear. It is done to deal with personal problems at home, be they existential or experiential. Of all the travel books examined for this book Mick Brown’s The Spiritual Tourist (1998) presents the most solid case for the practice of spiritual tourism being a normalized part of Western life, at least at face value. Brown introduces his book by stating that he wanted ‘an adventure of the spirit’ (1998, 5). Unlike Mehta and Sutcliffe’s character Dave, Brown is driven by curiosity; for story as much as for personal enlightenment. A journalist by trade, Brown’s investigative style makes his book a more complete picture of how a person might come to be interested in visiting India in search of spiritual practices.

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After a series of curious incidents involving vibhuti (holy ash) and a number of revelations about Blavastky- esque spiritual masters, the author becomes interested in the person and the teachings of Sai Baba, and sets off to India. Not one to shy away from a good story either, Brown happens across an American woman just returned from Sai Baba’s ashram, who says, I have to tell you, I hated it. It was like a spiritual Disneyworld. I felt it was pretty close to a cult, and I’m sensitive to that kind of thing. I could just feel my back tensing. I had to get out. (Brown 1998, 43) From the outset, Brown pitches the notion of a spiritual journey as one that is governed by personal morality and feeling, again painting spiritual tourism as a fundamentally personal, individual practice. Brown notes that he finds stories of the ‘coincidences’ that led Westerners to visit Sai Baba’s ashram slightly unsettling. ‘They reminded me of the film Close Encounters of the Third Kind ’ (Brown 1998, 66). But he is philosophical about the reasons behind people’s motivations for visiting, finding in their personal stories a sense of humility and candour towards the vicissitudes of life. In fact, the book as a whole seems to be a story about a curious but cynical journalist who discovers a source of inner peace through Buddhism. His trials and travails along the way are what point him to the right practice for himself, from the many options in India. Like the other authors he sees the experience of the country itself as the beginnings of this change; ‘The prolonged lesson in patience and forbearance which is India begins the moment the visitor sets foot in the country’ (Brown 1998, 41). Brown also takes note of those around him ‘Australian back-packers; recidivist American hippies; austere-looking devotees in Sai Ram T- shirts, reading books or scribbling postcards, middleaged European women in saris, sneaking out from the ashram for a furtive cigarette’ (Brown 1998, 65), but he is insightful about what drives people to make such a journey: To have travelled halfway around the world, as these people had done, in order to suffer the austerities of ashram life, sleeping in crowded dormitories, rising at four each morning, sitting in back- and bottom-racking agony on the hard marble floors – all of this, surely, was an act compounded partly of penance, partly of devotion, partly of hope. (Brown 1998, 76) These types of activities are undertaken and endured because of the importance of the outcome: a better self. Spiritual tourism to India is written of by these authors as a practice fundamentally individual in drive and character, but one enacted on a candid social stage. It is concerned with the self, with personal inner peace, and with happiness. Each is popular enough to be readily available in most bookstores with a

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travel section, with some even being regarded as ‘classics’ of the Indian variety of the genre. The idea that one can discover sources or practices of meaning and identity while in India is common to all of them, even if it is dealt with cynically by some of the authors. What the specific effect of reading these books has on potential spiritual tourists to India is unclear and beyond the scope of this investigation. What is certain is that there are common themes of spirituality, spiritual practice, discovery of self and of personal and global meaning in the telling of stories about travel there.

Web Communities and Blogs In contrast to any popular conceptions of India as a third-world nation lacking in information technology infrastructure, the traveller in India often has more opportunities to check their email, chat, blog or simply waste time browsing than they do in many other supposedly more developed countries. Internet cafes litter the cities and towns of modern India, often providing respite from the chaos of the streets outside as much as they provide access to words from loved ones. The sometimes shocking sense of ‘otherness’ Western tourists’ experience travelling in India, and the need to share this with friends and family at home also sees the little web businesses thrive on the cathartic release of an hour at a keyboard. The phenomena of the blog and of the web forum provide a unique insight to the lives of spiritual tourists in India. Travellers often seem to write as much for the relief of simply being able to get the words out as they do for family and friends back home. As a result there is no shortage of blog posts and forum threads about spiritual tourists’ times in India, and these form a vital part of the ethnography of the nature of the spiritual tourist experience. Religion in general, one’s own spirituality or religion and the idea of inner peace are common topics on blogs by travellers to India. One traveller said of her time in Rishikesh that she had: had awesome food and met awesome people and saw the beauty of this place. Like other cities by the Ganges river, there was an awesome spiritual vibe. This is where the Beatles came in the 60s and stayed at an ashram that is still preserved. The city’s special vibration forced many people that I spoke to to look in the mirror and face emotions like loneliness, fear, anger, etc. At least that was my experience and that of others I spoke to. My course sorta helped work through those things and be FREE!!! (‘ juliesasiatravels’ 2009) Previously she had noted that at a gathering a friend ‘had gotten together with a group of our mutual friends in New York the night before when someone

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asked, “What is Julie doing in Asia? Finding herself?” ’ (‘ juliesasiatravels’ 2009). Not only is India viewed by spiritual tourists as a place to which one ventures for enlightenment, it seems to be largely accepted as having that status in popular Western understanding, even if sometimes laughingly. There is certainly a palpable sense throughout the blogs and web communities focusing on travel to India that one of the main attractions of the country are its spiritual offerings. It seems that any trip to a town like Rishikesh, in northern India, includes time spent studying meditation or yoga as a matter of course. Blogger Dee Rimbaud writes: ‘Man, Rishikesh is just proving to be wonderful. I’ve had some amazing times here, and I’m also feeling wonderfully purposeful. I’ve found a good yoga class, at last, Sivananda style of Hatha Yoga’ (Rimbaud 2009). Others are more pessimistic, seeing in the range of spiritual offerings available in India a sick commercialism: There is much activity and many western spiritual tourists are visible in the town and in the ashrams. The river and Himalayan foothills panorama is inspiring and distractingly photogenic. I can appreciate the strong attraction this setting has for Germans and other Europeans but what central Rishikesh really seems to offer is basic consumer spirituality on the cheap – except in the one or two expensive ashrams with their comfortable consumer flatlets. Up in the wilds of those overhanging Himalayan foothills, perhaps the smaller ashrams are different, more authentic. (Steel 2009) Online communities are also a source of rich ethnography on spiritual tourism to India. On the IndiaMike.com travel forum where past, present and future travellers to India gather to share stories and tips, and ask questions, a whole section of the discussion area is set aside for topics related to Indian religions. The section ‘Yoga, Spirituality, and Religion in India – Searching for the perfect Guru? General well being from Ayurvedic Medicine to Reiki to Yoga’ sees regular discussion topics such as: ‘sadhus and their soul’, ‘Best (Enlightening?) Spiritual Experience in India’, and ‘Yoga Course for Beginners?’ As of May 2009 a total of 217 threads had been started over the previous 12 months with forum members adding replies or starting new threads every day. That such a large section of a travel- oriented website is dedicated to sharing information and thoughts about things religious while travelling in India articulates the way travel to the country is perceived; it is simply a part of the Indian travel experience available. What is most interesting for the present study is the level of openness to the subject of spirituality and the depths to which posts and replies go in relating why and how one can be a spiritual tourist. One thread, started by a postgraduate researcher from Seattle, asked members about ‘what draws travellers to India in search of something’. Member ‘slumpainter’ responded, first saying:

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I go to get away from the wife. She hates heat. (We can only travel during the hot monsoon months). She’s not hip on the pollution, the noise, the heavy population or the grinding poverty. All the stuff she can’t stand are what I go to India for. Maybe as a form of penance. Sure there are cool, quiet areas to go in India, but I prefer the BIG cities in the north. The spiritualism there seems crushed under the weight of the hoardes [sic] of people and the frenetic activity: debilitatingly chaotic and confusing, mostly centered on materialism. A real overload to one’s senses, kinda takes you out of yourself having so much going on about you. Isn’t losing oneself what religion or at least spirituality is about? to become one with the universe, especially a universe that is dense, impersonal and alien? The realization of one’s insignificance is an intense, existential experience that one practically bows down to. (‘slumpainter’ 2007) Here the very experience of travel in India is painted as a spiritual experience, and something one cannot simply ‘get away’ from. However other members responded with more direct plans in mind, such as ‘davidp80’ who noted that; I guess I fit the cliche – I’m going to India in July for 9 months with the intention of deepening my spiritual practise. I DO have a plan though, which tentatively includes several 4 week yoga intensives, a month of seva service, maybe a couple short duration ashram stays and if I can build up the courage . . . a 10 day Vipassana course. (A bit over ambitious, I realize!) I’d also like to spend some time in Auroville, learning a bit about Sri Aurobindo’s spiritual philosophy, and in the process, pick up a thing or two about sustainable agriculture and renewable energy. This will most likely be supplemented by some time wwoofing (Willing Workers on Organic Farms), and doing some light volunteer work in Ladakh. I guess I can say that I’m traveling to India with a purpose. (‘davidp80’ 2007) Of course, there are many for whom the plan emerges out of economic pragmatism. User ‘Shiver me Timbers’ writes: Nothing too deep about why I travel anywhere – I generally try to go to destinations where my money will go further than in Europe, and I really enjoy places where you can find ways of life, ceremonies, etc., that have changed little in centuries. That’s about it – it beats working! (‘Shiver me Timbers’ 2007) Nonetheless, the elusive spiritual pull of India remains at the fore for most spiritual tourists. Whether it is a sense of a deeper spiritual wisdom or a notion

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that the witnessing of India itself is a deeply challenging experience, India is spoken of by Western spiritual tourists as a place to go to seek one’s self. In this vein, ‘Darmabum’ writes: Personally I studied Asian philosophy in college. I had the benefit to have had a professor (a Western man, nearing the end of his teaching career) – who’d been a meditation master in Thailand for over ten years – who allowed me to sit-in on courses that were waaaaaaaay over my head. There was something in this man’s gaunt face, that black-turtlenecked-buzzed- salt- and-pepperhair-burning- eyes- glowing- soul that said, ‘I’ve been there . . . you won’t know unless you go’ that made me, when it was time for my Grand Tour, abandon the bicycle trip through Europe and go to India and Nepal for six months. Though over the past 25 years I’ve been to numerous countries in various parts of the world, it is to India I return. I am, and always have been, ritualistic by nature. Hinduism suits me in that way. But I cannot with Hinduism, or any other religion, embrace it whole-heartedly . . . I’ve asked myself the question you’re asking us for many years . . . why India? . . . for me it is a place, an environment, that allows me to come as close to mySelf more than any place on earth. (‘Darmabum’ 2007) It is clear that such travellers view India as a place in which the search for meaning and identity is not only possible but also acceptable. The relative cheapness of travel and accommodation in the country for Westerners means that long stays are possible, making meditation courses of up to a month or more a relatively common item on a tourist’s itinerary. Similarly, the variety and profusion of religious practices and teachers in India means that a diverse range of techniques and practices can be tried. The chaos, the filth, the poverty, the noise are all spoken of in these blogs and web communities as the counterpoints to the innate, almost chthonic spirituality that India holds in their eyes. While some are pessimistic about the notion of ‘reaching enlightenment’ while travelling in India, for many, particularly those we find travelling as spiritual tourists, it is a source for just such wisdom.

Government Promotion The image of India as a destination rich with spiritual depth, and open for the traveller to come and learn religious practices and engage in exploration of the self is strong. It is also one the Indian Ministry of Tourism often seeks to capitalize on. The Indian government has long struggled with its promotion and marketing of tourism. Chaudhary (2000, 293) noted that despite the best efforts of the Indian government, the image of the country as a tourist destination was still one of ‘mysticism, political instability, grinding poverty,

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illiteracy, terrorism, unemployment, communal discord, lack of social services, and corruption’. Further, Chaudhary (2000, 296) found that Western tourists’ expectations of India as a destination with poor roads and government infrastructure, and insanitary health were confirmed by their experiences. Thus it is not a surprise to find that the ‘Incredible India’ tourism campaign tends to leave images of flowing highways, white tourists swimming in rivers and modern healthcare out of its promotional material. Instead, what can be seen are a combination of images in which Indian people have a very limited presence unless they involve religion, children or textiles. Of Chaudhary’s list above, ‘mysticism’ seems the only one the government could possibly hope to capitalize on in the long term, with the remainder only serving to degrade the pictured destination. One of the first things that strike the reader upon visiting the Indian Ministry of Tourism’s Incredible India website is the prevalence of images that reference Indian religious traditions. Images of Buddhist and Hindu temples, silhouettes of yoga practitioners, and Ayurvedic healing practices flash across the screen accompanied by text such as ‘Land of the Buddha’ and ‘Land of Adventure’ (Incredible India, ‘Frontpage’). In a menu to the left of screen a list of ‘Holiday Ideas’ includes ‘Adventure Sports’, ‘Cool Retreats’, ‘Luxury Trains’, and, of course, ‘Pilgrimages & Spirituality’. Meanwhile, links to information about Ayurveda, ‘Hi Tech Healing’, and yoga are slotted in the apparently secular ‘Wellness’ option of the menu (Incredible India, ‘Wellness’). Similarly, television advertisements produced for the campaign in 2006 also play on the themes of religion, mysticism, and in particular yoga. More recently released ads focus on changing the negative attitudes Chaudhary identified (‘India’ 2009). Nonetheless, religion continues to be a strong source of identity for India in international tourists’ eyes. No matter how much writers like Mehta may dislike it, it seems as though in the promotion of India as a tourist destination, things religious constitute a significant proportion of what the government has to call upon. To add further salt to the writers’ wounds, it seems as though the Incredible India campaign has been successful, at least in terms of foreign tourist arrivals and receipts. The Ministry of Tourism’s (2007) report shows that just over five million foreign tourists visited the country, continuing the upwards trend in arrival numbers that began in 2003. It is clear that the Indian government uses the prevailing image of India as a place thick with religion and available spiritual wisdom to promote tourism. Advertisements that play on cable television channels and on websites continue to portray the country as a place of spiritual richness and diversity, as well as one suitable to explore these dimensions of one’s self. Even though it is now over 20 years old, the findings of Kale and Weir (1986, 5) that tourists’ decisions to visit India relied on country- specific repelling and attracting factors continue to ring true. They, like Chaudhary, found that ‘mysticism’ was a frequent attraction factor. Whether simply as an invitation to gaze upon

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the beauty of the numerous World Heritage sites its religions have created, to participate in the chaotic and colourful religious festivals, or to engage in the practice the land has given birth to, the motivation is the same: India seeks Western tourists interested in its religious practice and diversity.

Themes in Accounts There is, as Mehta bemoans, a tendency in the West to think of the East as ‘being either obscure or oracular’ (Mehta 1990, 8). This certainly seems to be the case in the way India is spoken of by travellers in these sources. Often it retains both characteristics simultaneously and without contradiction to the traveller; India the esoteric, India the wise, India the mirror of Western secular greed. Bandyopadhyay et al. (2008, 795) noted the prevalence of religious imagery and keywords in marketing material directed at Western tourists, but argued that the representation was secular. As discussed above, the dominant image of India as a travel destination is as a place of religious diversity, combined with an openness for those who wish to study any or all of the variants. Broadly speaking, the dominant theme in these pictures of India is of self- discovery. Thus the ‘oracular’ character of India is one in which the lens is turned upon the traveller. The interest in secularized forms of Eastern religious practice and philosophy that have gained popularity in the West are clearly of influence here. Likewise the popularity of such figures as the Dalai Lama, the Beatles, and other celebrities who seek wisdom and peace in India solidify its image as a place of spiritual wisdom. Meanwhile travel books are replete with stories of self- discovery while meditating in India, blog authors tell excitedly of their discovery of themselves in the ashrams dotting towns like Rishikesh, and the Indian government promotes the country as a place to explore ‘other’ spiritualities. Given all of these factors, the continuing image of India as just such a place should be no surprise. Indeed, we should expect to find Western tourists engaged in exactly the types of spiritual tours they read of in travel books. It is what is expected of tourists in India. After all, why go at all to such an apparently squalid place if not ‘to find your self’?

Why Spiritual Tourism in Rishikesh? The twentieth century saw a marked rise in the number of Westerners looking to India for spiritual fulfilment (Bevir 1994, 747). The image of India that has developed as a result has meant it appeals to those interested in Eastern forms of spiritual practice and expression. Rishikesh, in particular, has become an international centre for yoga teaching and learning. It is also renowned as a place to which many different spiritual gurus and teachers go to give lectures.

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Further, the fame the town acquired during the 1960s and continued to build in the 1970s and 1980s (contributed to, no doubt, by the global spread of the teachings of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi) has meant the town has a diverse appeal to spiritual tourists. It is, to borrow from Digance and Cusack (2002), a spiritual tourist town for all seasons. The vast variety of New Age, Hindu, Buddhist and secular spiritual practices offered in the town solidify this status. Why spiritual tourists choose to go there seems obvious in this light – it offers a literal spiritual supermarket – but there are some issues that are worth exploring in a little more detail to conclude. Why spiritual tourism continues to flourish in Rishikesh revolves around three main issues: image, place and the idea of travel. First, India has come to be regarded as a centre for spiritual teaching and learning, and Rishikesh is a hot spot thereof. As this chapter has demonstrated, India is spoken of by travel writers and bloggers alike as a spiritual destination. Of course, it also has other images, but for a tourist looking for places at which they might be able to engage in practices of spiritual learning and progression, India is highly attractive. This is the case across a range of secular, New Age, and Eastern religio- spiritual ideas, as India hosts most of the world’s major religious traditions in some form or another. Rishikesh itself has developed a global reputation as a centre for yoga, and an image as a good location in which to pursue spiritual growth. Nestled in the Himalayan hills, with the (relatively) clean Ganges river flowing past, and the bells in the temples ringing as they sway in the katabatic winds, Rishikesh makes a very pleasant holiday destination for the spiritual tourist. It is not noisy, not particularly dirty and is well known as an ‘easy going’ town by spiritual tourists. This last point relates to the second reason spiritual tourists continue to make their way to Rishikesh. The place itself offers certain types of experiences that are either unique or difficult to come by elsewhere, particularly at home. Recall PD’s statement from Chapter 2 that after arriving she knew she was ‘home’, and she could ‘start digging in [her]self’; the variety of spiritual experiences that Rishikesh offers means that broader spiritual projects can be undertaken there easily. Whether a spiritual tourist is interested in yoga, meditation, Ayurvedic healing or teachings from a particular guru, Rishikesh caters for them. Further, and more importantly, the town is able to fully cater spiritually to those people for whom spiritual progression and practice is about piecing together ideas and techniques from various sources in ways that work for them. These, in fact, are the majority, and make for the classic mode of bricolage and pastiche that characterizes modern secular spirituality. What the sheer range of spirituality in Rishikesh, and the willingness to take freely from any source by spiritual tourists tells us is that modern spirituality links immediate personal concerns with wider structural realities. Personal spirituality as it is practised in Rishikesh by spiritual tourists is a response to their everyday lives in the secular Western world. Rishikesh is viewed as a source for

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this project, and thus offers to spiritual tourists a chance to access first hand the teachings and practices that address their problems. Finally, we can not fully understand spiritual tourism in Rishikesh without acknowledging the role travel itself plays. Western society has built a concept of travel as educational and transformative. The removal of the self from the everyday casts existential questions into light. In Rishikesh we find a social environment geared towards the answering of just such questions; thus the match is nearly perfect. Travel, however, is not something that simply occurs for spiritual tourists. As a set of actions that occur in leisure time, travel must be purchased. To fully understand how the act of travel works with the traveller we need to look at what this means. Recall here KS’s insistence in Chapter 2, that there was something about travel and the sacrifices required to make it that were at play: ‘[M]aking the decision to go away . . . spending money and giving yourself this time. I think that’s going to start working in you, just that you do this to yourself.’ Clearly this is a process affected by money and consumer culture, but we should be clear that spiritual tourists in Rishikesh do not see themselves as frivolous consumers. Instead, the act of consumption is understood as sacrifice; money and time are used in the project of the self. Travel, in this context, is being understood as an investment for future wellbeing and happiness because it is being combined in ways that are understood to be meaningful and productive. There is much more socially positive work being done in Rishikesh than I, for one, would previously have given it credit for. Within this social milieu there is a high level of certainty about morality, politics and cosmology, but also most interestingly about the status of the self: conceived as impermanent and prone to error or distraction, but fundamentally good, pure and capable of great love and compassion. Pessimists there are few, conspiracy theorists some, but among the spiritual tourists of India, optimism for humanity, through improvement of the self, sings loudest. This is accompanied by a notion that while there is much work to be done with the human race, it begins with the individual. Only by changing and improving one’s self can there be any long-term hope for the lot of us. So while critics may say that the spiritual tourists of India are self- absorbed, individualist consumers whose only actual focus is themselves, the real issue is much deeper and broader. It certainly can be labelled individualism, but more correctly what is to be seen in India among spiritual tourists is a form of individualism that is grounded in the power of personal agency, and an understanding that such practices contribute to building the human community. Rishikesh is a unique mix of these factors. It offers potential spiritual tourists a very effective location at which to pursue the project of the self, and in particular, because it is removed from the everyday, the project of self- examination therein. Spiritual tourism there exemplifies Western secular spirituality in the extent to which relativity is understood as part of spiritual paradigms. This also

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reflects on the syncretic, solution- and self- oriented nature of modern spiritual practice. It relates to healing, as spirituality has come to be understood as a practice lacking in Western society, and thus a cause of personal pain and unhappiness. An overly critical examination of spiritual tourism in Rishikesh may look upon it and see only frivolous hedonism, meaningless voyeurism or youthful experimentation. However, these arguments miss the point, not to mention the reality, of the journeys undertaken, and give little insight to the nature of travel as a mass phenomenon in Western society. What is clear is that spiritual tourists come to places like Rishikesh to try and become better people, or better human beings, at least as they see it. They want to fi x what they feel is wrong or misguided in their lives. In Rishikesh they believe they might find practices or teachings to begin that process, and there they can find paths, teachers and techniques who offer them just that. While most of these teachings are available in the majority of secular, cosmopolitan Western cities, the act of travel and spiritual practices serve as mirrors for self- examination. It is not the case that what we find in Rishikesh are hopeless cases or social misfits. Rather, what we find are examples in concentrated form of the secular, syncretic process of contemporary Western spirituality.

Notes 1 It also contains what is, in this author’s opinion, the most accurate portrayal of an attack of the infamous ‘Delhi Belly’ ever written.

Chapter 8

The Camino de Santiago in the Mind of the Spiritual Tourist

The Camino de Santiago makes an interesting contrast to Rishikesh in terms of spiritual tourism, and returning to it here demonstrates how it works as a practice for tourists. In the first instance, it has a much longer history of the same practice occurring in much the same places throughout Europe, and done in large part by people from the same parts of the world. Second, it is not a specific destination per se but a route, or more accurately a grouping of routes that head towards the same point. As a result, those who walk the pilgrimage are spread out physically. Where a spiritual tourist in Rishikesh might see many dozens of familiar faces around town for the duration of their stay, pilgrims on the Camino might meet only two or three dozen, and become familiar with a handful. Pilgrims also move each day, never staying in one place for more than a night, whereas spiritual tourists in Rishikesh might stay in the same place for months. Third, there is nothing offered to those who go there apart from the pilgrimage experience. Whereas in Rishikesh spiritual tourists have a wide range of practices and teachings to choose from, on the Camino they have only one: to walk. It thus offers a seemingly much less diverse, more focused practice, although we shall see that it attracts a range of spiritual tourists with motivations just as diverse as those found in Rishikesh. This chapter looks at the history of the Camino and the way it has been portrayed in selected popular works in order to gain a picture of how spiritual tourists come to choose to walk it. Thankfully, much of the long history of the Camino has been documented by historians. One of the reasons for this is the impact the Camino has had, not only on Catholic and Spanish histories, but on the wider practice of pilgrimage as it is conceived in the West, and on the very notion of Europe itself. This manifests most notably in contemporary travel books set on the Camino. It could well be argued that a small sub-genre of travel writing has developed thanks to the Camino, so prolific are the volumes recounting authors’ times on it. What the Camino lacks in terms of diversity in situ when compared to Rishikesh, it makes up for in published accounts. So common are authors on the paths to Santiago that I was asked a number of times if I was there to write a book. This, of course, is interesting in itself, for what it says to us is that an explicitly

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religious practice is now being frequented in secular ways for spiritual gain. How and why this happens is the focus of the following discussion.

A Brief History of the Camino From the point of view of individual functionality (what we might today call ‘spiritual well-being’) it is not entirely clear why the pilgrimage to Santiago became so popular. As a religio-political movement, however, it is much more obvious, and good historical records exist to indicate exactly why it garnered such strong institutional support. Rich in legend and abundant patronage, the network of marked paths that now thread their way across Europe towards Santiago de Compostela has seen heavy human traffic since the eleventh century. Theorists debate the pre- Christian origins of the pilgrimage, with some suggesting it functioned as a Celtic pilgrimage for some time before the legend of St James was attached to it. Arguments for the existence of a preChristian pilgrimage often link the Camino with the Milky Way. The route even has some alternate names, as if to support the theory: Via Lactea and Camino de las Estrellas being the most prominently deployed. The name of the town itself lends further credence to this theory; Compostela is thought to be a contraction of campus stellae , the field of the stars, or a rendering of compostum , meaning a cemetery. The argument holds that the band of stars that make up the Milky Way act as cosmic signage or a celestial parallel for the route to Santiago from north-western Europe. While some writers and pilgrims find this evidence enough of a pre- Christian link, the evidence is thin and neglects the well- documented social and political development of the pilgrimage. The link most probably comes from the passage in the fourth book of the Codex Calixtinus in which the emperor Charlemagne dreams of seeing the Milky Way and St James, and explains that, ‘it is the road to the saint’s tomb presently impassable for being overrun by the infidels’ (Frey 1998, 35). Despite speculations on the pre- Christian origins of the Camino by a number of authors, particularly travel writers and those interested in Celtic and New Age themes, none cite any historical sources, though art critic Eleanor Munro (1987) cites dubious ethno- astronomy theory to support the claim. There is, of course, a strong Celtic occupation of Galicia (see Lenerz- de Wilde 1995), and a further possibility to the Celtic origins theory was indicated in a 1957 article on the Feast of Santiago by Ruth Partington suggesting that the pilgrimage may have had its origins in a feast of the dead. Partington (1957, 364) compares Santiago with other local legends about pilgrimages to ‘mouths of hell’ common around the Mediterranean. In particular the journey of the soul to the abode of the dead to be found at the extremity of the earth, beyond the Ocean, was sometimes represented in a boat, thus

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bringing us back to the recurrent motif of the cult of the dead, associated with Santiago da Compostella [sic]. This seems a probable explanation for the locating of a tradition of gathering in what is now Santiago, as aside from the Christian legends developed much later, there is little else to suggest why it developed as a location of pilgrimage.

Christian Foundations and the Political Development of the Camino The tradition of the Jacobian Christian pilgrimage is said to have begun with the very beginning of the faith itself. The Gospels do not mention the fate of James’ body, and the traditions surrounding the legend of St James have been embroidered with sometimes contradictory and fantastic additions, only serving to further complicate the matter of tracing an accurate history of the origins of the Camino. A brief summary of the legends runs thus: James was asked by Jesus to go to the west, ‘to the end of the earth’, to proselytize. Shortly after the death of Jesus, James ventures to the Iberian peninsular on a project of evangelization. Around 44ce, after marginal success he returns to Jerusalem where he is beheaded by Herod Agrippa and then begins his second, and more important, journey to Spain. Disciples steal the head and body and deposit them in a boat without crew, oars or sails. The boat, in some accounts described as made of stone and sometimes also covered with scallop shells, then makes its way to the end of the known world, north-western Spain, miraculously passing through the Straits of Gibraltar and around the Iberian peninsula to land near modern Santiago. Some legends here note that a horseman riding on the beach (sometimes understood to be a groom) is carried into the sea by his bolting horse, but does not drown and emerges safely from the water covered in scallop shells. After seeking permission from Lupa, the local pagan queen, his disciples bury James at the present location of Santiago. The tomb is forgotten for nearly 800 years until around 812–13CE when Pelayo (Romanized as Pelagius), a local hermit, reports seeing a glowing light or star in a field nearby (some legends also speak of him hearing music). He follows the light to its source and discovers the tomb; therefore Compostela, or campus stellae , the starry field. Pelayo contacts Bishop Teodomiro, who orders an investigation with the support of Alfonso II, King of Asturia. This reveals the body to be that of St James. News of the find travels fast and pilgrims began to arrive at the Field of the Star, causing a chapel to be built.

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From here onwards history becomes more tangible and consistent. Pope Leo III confirmed Theodomir’s claim that the tomb was that of St James (though it is contested, compare Roseman 2004, 76; with Stokstad 1978), and by 951ce Godescalc, Bishop of Le Puy, had made a pilgrimage to Santiago; a measure of how quickly the legend had spread throughout Europe. However, the development of the pilgrimage tradition seems to have had little to do with the miraculous or salvational, and more to do with the political expediency of colonizing Spain with the Christian world view.

Mass Popularity and Decline The ritual of everyday Europeans journeying to Santiago rose to its greatest level of popularity in the early Middle Ages with various monarchies and ecclesiastical powers recognizing the role the pilgrimage could play in the ‘re- Christianizing’ of the area south of the Pyrenees. The positioning of the pilgrimage as a mode of gaining remission of sins provided a moral justification for ordinary pilgrims to make the journey, and also provided justification for the rallying of Christian forces against the Islamic ruling power in Spain. Bolstering this was the news that by 1087CE the roads to Jerusalem were closed to safe passage for pilgrims by Muslim occupation. Frey (1998, 9–11) notes that the discovery of the tomb of St James ‘filled a political-religious need linked to the Reconquest of the peninsula from the Islamic Moors and reflected the importance of sacred relics in the Christian worldview [of the time]’. The Santiago journey came to rank alongside the two other great Christian pilgrimages of the era to Rome and Jerusalem. In just 300 years it had risen from obscurity to be the most prominent European Christian pilgrimage; by the thirteenth century up to 500,000 pilgrims made the journey every year (Graham and Murray 1997, 391). To reach this level of patronage two central and very deliberate influences were employed; the political landscape and a targeted dissemination of information on the route itself. These combined with the organic development of the experiential aspect of the Camino raised it to the mighty status it came to hold, and continues to influence the way contemporary pilgrims view and understand their Camino experience. The prominence of Santiago as a pilgrimage destination was not entirely circumstantial. Despite any possible democratic processes within the emergence of the practice of pilgrimage to Santiago from mass sentiment, the broader social and political contexts within which it existed cannot be swept aside. In particular, what the development of the pilgrimage to Santiago facilitated was the building of a Christian case against Moorish Spain. The emergence of the legend of Santiago Matamoros (the Moor slayer), after his appearance to King Ramiro I in 844CE, launched the figure of St James onto the political stage. The geographically isolated, cold and wet corner of north-western Spain made

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for a useful outpost and rallying point for the campaign against Islamic power in Iberia. Frey notes that the pilgrimage to Santiago gained momentum when the kingdoms of Aragon, Navarre and Leon realized the political gains to be had by aligning with French religious powers. The Benedictines of Cluny were favoured as the religious body to push south, while at the same time Santiago’s own bishop, Diego Gelmírez (c.1069–c.1149), worked to raise the city’s status in Rome’s estimation (Frey 1998, 11). Despite a raid in 977ce that saw the town razed and the bells of the church taken to Córdoba to be inverted for use as lamps, the belief in the presence of the apostle at Santiago bolstered the Christian drive to expel non- Christians from Spain, which finally succeeded in 1492ce. The development of the Camino can be credited to a few key individuals with specific political and strategic military goals, and a large amount of megalomania and self- aggrandizement within the Catholic Church has been well documented (Abou-El-Haj 1997; Moralejo 1993). The profits from the pilgrimage trade were fiercely contested by stakeholders. The development also involved an impressive amount of resource coordination; for example, Barbara Abou- El-Haj (1997, 166) noted the efforts made by local officials to make the journey to Santiago safer for pilgrims, including maintaining a small navy for the benefit of those travelling by sea. She also notes the rapid increase in the number of miracles attributed to St James after the ascension of the ambitious Bishop Gelmírez to power in Santiago; going from a total of eight to almost yearly occurrences. In addition, Abou- El-Haj (1997, 166) argues that under the tenure of Gelmírez ‘[t]he Codex [Calixtinus], falsely attributed to Pope Calixtus II, neatly inserted, posthumously, the papal enthusiasm for St James that had been absent in Gregory VII’s letter of 1074.’ It seems that Gregory VII had not at all been keen on the idea of St James as the evangelizer of Spain or that his body was interred at Santiago (Moralejo 1993, 175). The enthusiasm of local clerics like Gelmírez and the potential political and financial rewards to be had from the establishment of the pilgrimage meant that it went ahead nonetheless. Indeed, Gelmírez even spent time travelling in Italy and France in the early twelfth century promoting the pilgrimage (Stokstad 1978, 16–17). Compared to Rome and Jerusalem, Santiago would have remained an unassuming sidenote were not for the talents of such propagandists. It was the publication of the Codex Calixtinus (also referred to as the Liber Sancti Jacobi ) that marked the point at which the pilgrimage to Santiago changed from being one of little importance to a tradition of mass human movement. In 1122CE Pope Calixtus II conferred Jubilee, or Holy Year, status on Santiago de Compostela allowing pilgrims to receive plenary indulgences, and soon after his death the Liber Sancti Jacobi mysteriously emerged with the letter of introduction attributed to him, containing stories of miracles attributed to St James (22 in total). The final chapter of the book forms what must be considered one of the first guidebooks in Christian history – the Pilgrim’s

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Guide – containing information on hospices, landscapes, routes, people and reliquaries along the way. While most attribute its writing to Aimery Picaud, a French cleric from Parthenay-le-Víeux, in Poitou, authors agree that the Liber seems to be an attempt to bolster claims to the authenticity of the presence of St James in Santiago and thereby promote the pilgrimage, as well as linking the French Cluny with it (Frey 1998, 13). Despite containing, as Graham and Murray poetically put it ‘Xenophobic warnings against the bestiality and avarice of the inhabitants of northern Spain and the dangers of their environment – including water’ (Graham and Murray 1997, 390), the work contributed greatly to the popularization of the pilgrimage to Compostela along the four main tributary routes through France. While the political reasons behind the establishment of the pilgrimage to Santiago are clear, it is not immediately apparent why it became an important pilgrimage destination for pilgrims themselves. Spontaneous piety, while romantic in its inference of a thoroughly democratic current underpinning religious practice, simply is not defensible in this case. Rather, there were some key cultural trends present during the Middle Ages that suggest to us how the experiential dimension of the Camino may have developed. The legend of the possession of the body of St James must have contributed greatly, as the concept of relics was powerful for Christians in Europe during the period (Geary 1986). Attaining a direct connection with the divine was considered beyond the capacity of ordinary people. By journeying to the relic of one of the great saints, everyday people were therefore able to gain a much more immediate, physical access than otherwise possible in their normal lives. Following this, simple logic understood that prayers uttered in such a place carried more weight, even if spoken by a proxy. In addition, relics were often associated with miracles. Rudolph (2004, 8) notes the concept of understanding relics as pignores, or ‘pledges’, left behind as assurances that the saint would return to reclaim them at the time of the Resurrection. Further, death while on the Camino ensured a safe passage to heaven for a pilgrim. Nancy Frey (1998, 14) argued that ‘devotion to Saint James (including prayer and hope for future health and betterment) was probably the most prevalent motive’ for early pilgrims. However, even such a seemingly obvious assumption is in fact a leap, and rests on the hypothesis that people in the past were motivated to a much greater extent by ‘religion’ than they are today. Discerning pilgrim motivations from this time is difficult as the majority were either illiterate or else had no reason to document their journeys. Records indicate that the sick, poor and old made up the majority of pilgrims, and Graham and Murray (1997, 392) note that in addition to medieval pilgrimage largely being concerned with ‘penitence, expiation of sins and thanksgiving’, it was also an ‘adventure transcending the constraints of everyday life’, much as it is today. This adventure moved out from the feudal obsession with locality as part of a social process towards one that is experientially democratic; one that derived

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its strength from the people. In addition it offered a legendary contrast to the fi xed nature of everyday life. Rudolph (2004, 3) argues that Santiago may have appealed for a few other reasons. First, he argues that the ‘allure’ of Spain contributed, though this seems a highly dubious claim for the majority of pilgrims. Second itself, and more probable, he argues that the distance was ‘far enough’ to be exotic, but not so far as to be discouraging. The fame of the Spanish crusades and the vigorous ‘marketing’ campaigns by the many churches and monasteries along the routes were also factors. However, we also know from the recorded condemnation of those that did the pilgrimage for ‘curiosity’ that it too was a common reason for venturing so far from home. After the Reformation the pilgrimage began to decline rapidly. During the height of the medieval pilgrimage to Santiago there were ‘professional’ pilgrims who, for a price, would walk to Compostela on behalf of another unable or unwilling to do it (Raju 2003, 15). With the Reformation these kinds of practices declined or were frowned upon. Much earlier, great thinkers like Augustine had argued against the efficacy of such activity, or indeed pilgrimage to relics at all, as localizing the holy, was impossible, but it seems this was conveniently forgotten in the creation of the Camino mythology. The efficacy of relics can be thought of as a kind of spiritual radiation, the holy powers affecting those in the near vicinity. Despite theological critiques, the everyday popularity of phenomena like the Camino continued and developed an experiential mythology of its own. Raju (2003, 16–17) notes in passing that many retuned pilgrims joined confraternities, similar to the ‘Friends’ groups that exist today,1 and indicative of the type of communitas that Turner would highlight hundreds of years later as the quintessential pilgrim experience. What had begun as an unashamed political move to oust the Moors from the Iberian peninsula, clothed in the theology of the cult of the saints, had very quickly turned into a ritual of meaning and identity. As a point of interest, it is worth noting that the miracles attributed to Santiago in the Liber Sancti Jacobi do not occur at the shrine itself. All of them take place either before or during a journey to Compostela. This is perhaps the earliest beginnings of the notion that it is the journey to the shrine that is of chief importance, rather than the shrine itself. The miracles of St James happen on the Way. With the end of Islamic rule in Iberia in 1492 (begun in 711) the political drive to maintain the Camino as a bastion of Christian Europe waned and pilgrim numbers followed suit. Graham and Murray (1997, 392) note that by the fourteenth- and fi fteenth centuries many of the pilgrims going to Santiago made their way there by sea from Britain and Ireland. The Protestant Reformation in the early 1500s saw further decline in pilgrim numbers from Protestant lands to Santiago. The Spanish Inquisition and wars in southern France and the Pyrenees also contributed to the steadily declining patronage. To rub salt on the wound, the presence of Sir Francis Drake off the Spanish coastline in 1589 caused the relics of St James to be ‘lost’ (or hidden). They

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were later found during excavations under the cathedral in 1879, but the ostensible reasons for journeying to the city had been removed for pilgrims. Further, in the 1600s St Teresa of Avila gained popularity, degrading the status of Santiago and threatening his status as patron saint of Spain.

Contemporary Revival As with the original ‘discovery’ of the relics of St James, the modern rediscovery of the Camino de Santiago came at a time when it was expedient for both the Catholic Church and the nation states that played host to its routes. The modern re- emergence of the pilgrimage to Santiago is commonly understood to coincide with the relocation and acceptance of the relics of St James as authentic by Pope Leo XIII in 1884 (Roseman 2004, 77). Despite this the number of pilgrims making their way to Santiago on foot continued to dwindle. Yet, Walter Starkie (1957, 323–4), who made a number of pilgrimages to the city between 1924 and 1954, commented on evident increases in the number of ‘mechanised’ pilgrims; those making their way to the shrine by vehicular transport. He was particularly critical of their ‘robotlike’ behaviour and the extent to which the tourist companies that shepherded them catered to their every whim. Yet this very touristic process was what would eventually see the act of making the pilgrimage by foot return to prominence. Nonetheless, the decline in pilgrim numbers continued until after the Second World War (Tilson 2005), which many authors see as the key point in the modern reanimation of the Camino. The end of the war saw a period of European reflection following so many years of destruction, racism, genocide and bitterness. The emphasis of rebuilding Europe after the Second World War saw attention begin to come back to the Camino. Frey noted that, ‘[t]he Camino, with its history in the roots of Christian Europe, provided the ideal way to transcend political difference and integrate a continent through the sound of pattering feet rather than the beat of war’ (Frey 1998, 239). Following the Second World War Franco promoted the Camino as part of his National Catholicism, and named the old city of Santiago a ‘national monument’ (Roseman 2004, 77). Nolan and Nolan (1989, 137–9) see Franco’s public promotion of the city during the 1965 Holy Year celebrations of the Camino as the starting point for the modern revival of the pilgrimage. The numbers the Nolans cite seem strangely large, and seem to mix pilgrims to the shrine with pilgrims who have followed the pilgrimage route itself, arguably two very different forms of pilgrimage, both functionally and experientially. Even as recently as the 1960s pilgrim numbers were but a trickle compared to the Camino’s high points in the Middle Ages and today, although they were starting to increase. Indeed, Santos (2002, 43) notes an instance necessitating the building of barracks to accommodate

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the growing pilgrim numbers for the 1965 Jubilee year. This reanimation also coincided with increases in tourist numbers to Spain (Tilson 2005); a result of promotional strategies that sought to place the country, oddly, as ‘a country of Europe, but not European’ (Frey 1998, 241). Spain, and thereby the Camino, was a place exotic and other. It was warm, friendly, and, compellingly, it was cheap. Over the past 30 years the stream of pilgrims arriving in Santiago has grown from a trickle to a flood. In 1986 just 2,491 pilgrims completed the journey to Santiago to receive their Compostelas (Confraternity of St James, ‘The PresentDay Pilgrimage’). By 1988 that number had jumped to nearly 4,000 (Tilson 2005, 25), though it was not until 1993 that the various governmental agencies through which the routes travel developed the route. UNESCO’s naming the route a world heritage site, following their designation of the city as a site of ‘Cultural Patrimony for Humanity’ in 1984, also contributed to its growing fame. The Spanish and Galician governments celebrated the 1993 Holy Year by embarking on a large scale building project of pilgrim infrastructure, and the promotion of the Camino. Although numbers had dwindled, it was clear that the Camino was gaining popularity as a cultural tourist practice. Also in 1993, the Xunta de Galicia used the Ano Jacobeo celebrations, marking 1,000 years since the supposed discovery of the tomb of St James, to promote tourism to the city and Galicia in general, particularly as a ‘green’ tourist region (Murray and Graham 1997, 516). Since this reanimation of the Camino in the early 1990s, pilgrim numbers have increased nearly every year. By 2007 the various pilgrimage routes saw some 114,026 pilgrims complete the journey to Santiago and be awarded a Compostela (Pilgrims Office of Santiago de Compostela). Driving this constant rise has been an increase in the ‘visibility’ of the pilgrimage in numerous media and popular culture formats. Following the publication of books such as Paulo Coelho’s The Pilgrimage (1987), the Camino began to be seen as something unique; it was touristic, certainly, but it offered ‘tourism with a purpose’, or what Frey called ‘leisure with meaning’ (1998, 254), as if the two were otherwise somehow liable to be exclusive. Further, as writers related their stories of the physical and emotional hardship confronted on the roads to Santiago, the Camino began to develop a secular character related more closely to personal well-being and happiness than to remission from sin. Much of the popularity of the Camino can be attributed to the plethora of books written by former pilgrims about their journeys. In fact, one writer (Moore 2004) commented that a person who did not encounter a writer or researcher while doing the pilgrimage would be unusual. Tilson (2005, 18) makes the point that both medieval and modern pilgrims alike are ‘not only expressing their “brand loyalty” to a particular saint but “purchasing” a product they felt would be beneficial in this life and the next.’ Insofar as the Camino has been presented as a spiritual exercise, a holiday with meaning or as a ‘mobile therapist’s couch’,

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those who now walk it are doing so with this ‘brand’ character in mind. Some find such a result to be a ‘touristification’ of the route, only serving to attract more and more pilgrims, and detracting from the ‘real’ pilgrims’ experiences of the Way. Yet it cannot be denied that tourism has played a major role in the reinvention of the route. Of course, it also brings a certain dimension of the Camino experience full circle; medieval pilgrims also complained of those only there for ‘curiosity’.

A Practice for Atonement, Healing and Salvation As Santos noted, the Camino developed in response to a political, economic and social situation in Europe. It became a means of articulating the European territory of Christianity (Santos 2002, 42). The contemporary Camino also forms a response to the particular cultural climate of most Western secular life. Whether the bones that rest under the cathedral in Santiago actually are those of a member of Jesus’ inner circle or not is irrelevant to the present study. Over at least 1,000 years, millions of people have made the journey to the town at considerable financial cost and physical hardship. What is clear from this brief history of the roads to Santiago is that the tradition as a thing in itself has been consistently promoted, ever since the ‘discovery’ of the relics of St James in the ninth century. Indeed, the inception of the pilgrimage as a popular form of human movement was occasioned not by word of mouth, but by energetic political and religious figures interested in the strategic and economic outcomes such patronage would ensure. Graham and Murray (1997, 398) note that ‘the contemporary Camino owes much to the road defined in Book V of the Codex Calixtinus’, yet it is not simply for defining the physical dimensions of the pilgrimage to Santiago. Rather, the Codex began a tradition of recounting, of retelling the story of one’s journey along the road to those who would come after. What is important to the present study is that, [t]he pilgrimage continues to be done for many of the same reasons, with modern pilgrims still looking for their own little miracles, though these may be nothing more than antidotes for the stress and strain of modern life. And the curious, each for his or her own reason, still take part. (Rudolph 2004, 16) Broader social reasons also contribute to the Camino’s present character. The migration of social import away from institutional formations towards more individualized ones, and away from the localized towards the global have seen leisure activities, and in particular travel, gain prominence. The Catholic Church may have seen this as an opportunity for addressing declining church numbers. In particular the Camino was immediately popular with

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young people, and thus it served a useful proving ground for new forms of evangelization. Likewise, the nascent European state saw in the criss- crossing network of routes running through Europe that make up the Camino as a symbolic standard for building a new, pan- European sense of identity. The contemporary Camino is also viewed as a legitimate form of green tourism. Pilgrims understand themselves to be travelling in a way that is ‘sustainable’ and that emits very little carbon dioxide. This ‘fact’ is also often employed in discussions that seek to distinguish pilgrims from tourists, with walkers along the Camino in particular seeking to separate themselves from the notion of ‘tourism’. What the actual cost in terms of environmental degradation (from thousands of walkers passing through, semi-regulated building practices or waste systems and so on) that the increasing popularity of the pilgrimage causes remains unclear. But, importantly, most pilgrims ignored it deliberately as the ‘green’ credentials are considered coincident with being an ‘authentic’ pilgrim. The commodification of the routes is something bemoaned and praised at the same time by pilgrims and host communities alike. The change from days when good accommodation was sparse is seen as a good thing. To a certain extent the infrastructure that exists for pilgrims is widely recognized as a positive, making the journey much less trouble, and allowing the individual to concentrate on their own personal journey. On the other hand, the rapid development of the route has meant that a large industry has developed to cater for pilgrims. Many decry the laying of concrete paths over what were once dirt tracks, and the money to be made in towns along the routes has meant that urban development has occurred in areas that were once remote and largely unpeopled. For many pilgrims this strikes as venturing too close to ‘tourism’, implying a link between commodification and tourism. For the modern pilgrim the Camino offers a chance for solitude, for the reflective clarity and perspective portrayed by authors and journalists. Yet the post-walk high in which such writers muse about their times à pied often neglects the tremendously mundane nature of the everyday Camino. Further, quite unlike those pilgrims of the Middle Ages who opted for the safety of large groups and big cities wherever possible, the search for such isolation is, in fact, often appealed to as exemplary of the ‘true’ pilgrimage.

Contemporary Renderings of the Journey to Santiago The pilgrimage routes to Santiago de Compostela in north- western Spain have seen the passing of millions of pilgrims over the past 1,000 years. Within the last century, the routes, particularly the Camino Francés through northern Spain, have seen a marked revival of interest. Coinciding with this increased interest in the Camino has been a surge in governmental

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promotion of the routes, particularly in Spain, and a revival of social groups for returned pilgrims. Part of the reason for the increased popularity of the pilgrimage has been the infusion of literature about the pilgrimage into popular culture, mostly in the form of travel books. What is clear is the impact such publications have on the expectations pilgrims take with them on their journeys. The publishing revolution of the Information Age has meant that almost any pilgrim is now able to publish an account of their journey, in the form of a blog. The way the Camino is portrayed as a pilgrimage activity contributes significantly to the way it is performed. In the accounts of pilgrims’ journeys we fi nd that not only has the Camino been depicted as a means to absolve one’s sins, but it is also understood to comprise a somatic process whereby one ‘works through’ the problems of life, before returning home. Books documenting accounts of pilgrimages made to Santiago published since 1980 seem ubiquitous in the travel sections of most bookstores. Travel books in general tend to be examinations of the author by the author, using the reflective surface provided by another culture or a difficult journey. The context of travel, as discussed in the second chapter, is culturally understood to be one in which the ‘other’ functions as a mirror with which to view the self. Travel books thus often take the form of self- examination; the story is essentially about the author in a strange land discovering an aspect of themself or resolving a pre- existing issue. The extent to which this popular rendering of the Camino, in particular, influences the journeys of normal pilgrims is unclear, and beyond the scope of the present examination. It is certainly the case that accounts of journeys along the Camino are, for most authors, journeys ‘redolent with meaning’ (Digance 2006). The overall theme in the vast majority of such books is one of transformation, and the pilgrimage is portrayed as a journey of discovery and often of healing. The themes of discovery are multifaceted and also mean the journey becomes one of learning; whether about the self, about others, or about ‘life’ in general. Generally it is the self that is the focus. Paulo Coelho’s The Pilgrimage is an exercise in archetypes, if not stereotypes. It is also probably the most widely read book about the Camino, with 58 per cent of respondents for the current research indicating they had read it. It is an account, supposedly autobiographical, of the author’s journey along the Camino that functions as an allegory for the quest for simplicity and truth. From the very beginning the reader is exposed to the notion of the Camino as a tool for self- discovery. The main character, ostensibly Coelho himself, is on a mission to find a sword taken from him ceremonially at the beginning of the book. He states that ‘[e]ven if I were not able to find my sword, the pilgrimage along the Road to Santiago was going to help me find myself’ (Coelho 1998, 14). As the reader follows Coelho we find there are secret passwords uttered to gain ‘extra help’, more secret passwords, and some shifty gypsies along the

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path. And, by page 23, a meeting with the Devil, who happens to be a gypsy. Sometimes what Coelho writes about is so fantastical and so strange that it is hard to take seriously, including an incident involving speaking in tongues to a dog who understands the language. Throughout there are visualization meditations for the reader to practice, and constant references to his ‘messenger’, a character that reminds one of Frank the rabbit in the film Donnie Darko. As for other pilgrims, it is not until page 227 (of 265) that another one is even mentioned. Paulo Coelho’s website describes The Pilgrimage as, ‘his experiences during the pilgrimage and his discovery that the extra- ordinary occurs in the lives of ordinary people’ (Coelho, ‘Biography’) but there can be no doubt it was intended to be ‘interactive’. It includes numerous ‘exercises’ for the reader to practice, many of which involve meditative visualization techniques, and it certainly seems quite deliberately written to inspire. It is, in essence, a story about learning to love life, the universe and everything. It tells readers to go out and think about what is important to them, and to teach them to focus on those things in their lives. Like many of the popular Camino books, The Pilgrimage contains little Christianity. Rather, the author uses a mashup of deistic bonhomie and loose New Age ideas (such as the spiritual energy of mature trees) wrapped together by a plot that focuses on an inner journey that occurs in the context of an outer. This last point is critical, for in The Pilgrimage there is almost no description of the actual route itself.2 This leads to an intriguing conclusion; if so many people on the Camino have read and been inspired by The Pilgrimage , it has done so through the power of its story of discovery and self-reflection, and not because of a description of terrestrial beauty or cultural immersion. It is the emotional context of the Camino that remains important. Other authors write of similar inner journeys as the all important factor in the Camino experience. Shirley MacLaine’s The Camino was another popular book with pilgrims, though while many had heard of it and its content only a few had actually read it (16 per cent of respondents indicated they had read it). MacLaine paints an even more mystical picture than Coelho. In her book the reader is taken on a spiritual journey, much more than a physical one. Indeed, for MacLaine the physical journey was a metaphor for the journey of the soul, and along the way she has visions and revelations, sees the meaning of the cosmos, Atlantis, the origins of humanity, gender, sexuality and love. MacLaine’s website (MacLaine) notes that, [f]or Shirley, the Camino was both an intense spiritual and physical challenge. A woman in her sixth decade completing such a gruelling trip on foot in thirty days at twenty miles per day was nothing short of remarkable. But even more astounding was the route she took spiritually: back thousands of years, through past lives to the very origin of the universe.

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These two books were the most popular in English, but for German pilgrims a book by comedian Hape Kerkeling (2006) (Ich Bin Dann Mal Weg – ‘I am on my Way’) was equally popular. While there are hundreds of books available in numerous languages, none feature as universally as Coelho’s and MacLaine’s for acting as a direct influence on people to make the journey. There are some guide books noted occasionally by pilgrims, most notably John Brierly’s (2007) A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago which includes ‘Mystical Path’ information for each section. Yet the influence of Coelho should not be underestimated. A brief example from my own fieldwork diary illustrates this: After a day of walking through what is described by pilgrims as ‘featureless’ landscape the group gathered in a bar in Castrojeríz for dinner. On a wall in the bar hung a picture of the owner with Paulo Coelho, and after one pilgrim pointed this out there was a sudden rush to the photo to have a closer look. A conversation followed filled with many complimentary or awe- filled remarks about The Pilgrimage . Many among the group then spoke of having been inspired, at least in part, by Coelho’s account. One pilgrim even went to chat to the owner about the photo, while another (who had walked the route numerous times previously) recalled that this particular bar was famous for being frequented by Coelho himself. One pilgrim jokingly suggested the group wait until his next visit. Others looked towards the door hopefully. Castrojeriz, ES, 31 October, 2007 While Coelho and MacLaine seem firmly anchored in the New Age, others write of a more secular pilgrimage experience. Symbolically speaking, Coelho and MacLaine construct the pilgrimage to Santiago as a journey rich with deeply meaningful realizations and mystical spirituality, resulting in a movement towards self-realization and self- transformation. Methodologically, this resonates with the assertions of Geertz (1973) that ritual transforms the experience of the everyday, and of course with Turner’s association of ritual with pilgrimage, specifically its liminal time- space, removed from the mundane or profane (1968). The same applies to authors such as Conrad Rudolph who, in Pilgrimage to the End of the World (2004) portrays the pilgrimage route as one of intense beauty in the natural world. Of his journey he notes that experiences like these can happen anywhere, but they don’t often happen with either the regularity or the strength that they did on the pilgrimage: everyday is an adventure, potentially surreal, and where feelings so unconnected with modern existence become a part of everyday life. (Rudolph 2004, 23)

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He goes on, ‘hardly life- changing in themselves, the vast numbers of these little experiences added up, creating a feeling that wasn’t easy to describe to my friends after I returned: that the unique conveyed exactly the same impression as the everyday.’ The contrast for him was that the everyday then became unique. This, he speculates, was probably the result of the extreme hardships of doing the pilgrimage (Rudolph 2004, 25). The themes of self- discovery and transformation remain constantly at the fore. For many the experience of a month without the majority of distractions common to everyday life results in it being articulated in very ‘religious’ terms, even though the writers themselves do not concentrate on religion. Rudolph (2004, 36–7) notes that making a pilgrimage like the Camino is a layperson’s equivalent to monastic life. The grand scale of the pilgrimage itself lends the experience a sense of depth of meaning that other more ‘touristic’ journeys may lack. The sheer scale dwarfs the individual and causes the journey to become one of the spirit, even if not originally intended to be. So ordinary is the theme of searching and transformation that the habitually acerbic Tim Moore (2004, 5), on asking others about their own Caminos before he set off, found a common theme was emerging . . . it was the search for something beyond the typical tourist routine, an antidote to the vacuous consumerism of contemporary travel. A trip to the moral highground – I hear the view’s excellent from up there. Yet even Moore acknowledges the transformational aspect: I had made sense of a complex world by appreciating the humble solidarities of the past . . . I had leant to accept, even befriend people I’d have previously dismissed with a cheap and ugly laugh: brittle- spirited mystics, policewomen, Austrians . . . I was more of a world citizen, and somehow more of a human. (Moore 2004, 326) The back covers of ‘Camino books’ offer some insight to the culture into which they desire to fit.3 Rudolph (2004, ix) does not really express his reasons for undertaking the walk to Santiago de Compostela, aside from noting that the idea of doing the pilgrimage came from reading the Pilgrims’ Guide . However, the back cover of the book gives an indication to his purpose stating that, ‘Rudolph melds the ancient and the contemporary, the spiritual and the physical, in a book that is at once travel guide, literary work, historical study and memoir’ (Rudolph 2004, back cover). The back cover of Marion Halligan’s Cockles of the Heart , for example, firmly states that, ‘as a modern pilgrim, prize-winning novelist Marion Halligan (1996, back cover) has an easier journey – by car, carrying a suitcase and guidebook. But the purpose is similar: to

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explore and celebrate the joys of food, faith and good company’. While the back cover of Jane Christmas’ (2007, back cover) book What the Psychic Told the Pilgrim notes that, ‘it is the detours of life that lead us to our heart’s desires’. These sorts of accounts are not only limited to the world of literature. Michael McMahon, in an article for the Sydney Morning Herald on his pilgrimage to Santiago, recounted a conversation he had with other pilgrims about the freedom from the everyday obsessions with time that they experienced while on the pilgrimage, and the difficulties they imagine in explaining to their friends how ‘liberating and uplifting’ it was. Like all the others, McMahon (2004) also notes the companionship he found on the road with other pilgrims. Interestingly, none of the writers make much of ‘religion’, or indeed Christianity, despite it being the apparent reason for the pilgrimage itself. What stands out is a tendency towards speaking about the stark beauty of religiousness on the pilgrimage rather than in ‘the church’. The extreme physicality of the journey, typically much more physically difficult than anything most modern pilgrims will have experienced, transforms the experience into a necessarily internal one. The ‘religion’, or spirituality, for many is very much concerned with what is done; the walking, the talking, the resolving of life problems. There is virtually no concern for doctrine in the description of these journeys. Indeed, religion is notable by its absence in most Camino books, but this does not stop writers from expressing a sense of awe or wonder at the processes occurring both around and to them. Describing one experience in a morning fog Rudolph notes the ‘odd atmosphere to the place . . . that had been building and building’. This feeling he describes as one ‘for those long on the trail’, and argues it is not ‘New Age’ or necessarily religious in context. ‘You might not believe it like myself, you might not understand it, but the feeling is there, no matter what you think’ (Rudolph 2004, 26–7). The self- enforced hardship of the pilgrimage creates, Rudolph argues, an ‘enormous silence and solitude’. This, he argues, results in a feeling of timelessness. The change from the everyday fast pace of life to the literal walking pace of the pilgrimage ‘acts like a mental sauna, sweating out the stresses of daily life’ (Rudolph 2004, 36).

Web Communities and Blogs Perhaps the most characteristically modern or contemporary form of portrayal of the Camino experience can be found on the internet in the form of blogs. Indeed, so common has the blog become that not only have we discarded the original term ‘weblog’, but the very notion that one can keep a travel diary ‘live’ is now seen as a useful way to communicate with friends and family. Within the context of travel the blog also seems to occupy a therapeutic role. Through writing their experience into the ethernet the author works

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through problems. The internet, as a non- censoring publishing house, takes on a new role. It becomes a confidant, as well as a conduit for one’s real friends; it acts as psychotherapist, dispassionately noting all one says about the joys and sorrows of one’s travels and in so doing providing a forum in which the writer ‘talks through’ their issues; it also becomes another face, adding yet another dimension to personal identity on top of the physical ones we already own. Of course, blogs also slip into the fringe of the travel book genre, as discussed in Chapter 4, acting as an eye into the ‘other’ complete with the biases and preconceptions of any lens. The Camino provides a subject ripe for blogging. Not only is it a physical odyssey par excellence , it occurs in a context already thought of as one of change, realization or renewal; or all three. Recent development of the infrastructure along the Camino has resulted in almost every town along the way having internet access, meaning one’s blog may be updated daily, charting the ups and downs of life à pied . In addition, the somatic experience of the Camino, of spending long days engaged in strenuous physical exercise makes for rich ‘thinking time’. Add to this the removal from one’s normal daily routine, and especially its responsibilities, and the extra time one has to think results in an excess of ‘stuff’ to blog about. It should thus be no surprise that one can find hundreds of blogs about individual pilgrims’ experiences along the Camino. Each of these affords the would- be ethnographer with a rich resource of firsthand, often in-the-field accounts written expressly about the experience of the pilgrimage. They should be mined for all they are worth. Some quotes from blogs demonstrate the common themes they dwell on: this is a historically ‘catholic’ walk (1200 years historic), but there all walks of life here, and many are in ‘search’ of their ‘self’, or ‘deeper self’, to know themselves better – what better way to do that than to travel, walk, and reflect. I find the spiritual conversation stimulating, as I’m getting perspectives from the young (so far) and i’m sure i will from the old.. . . (Thees 2007, ‘Into the Mystic) Despite the sometimes staggeringly beautiful country, daily life on the Camino can be simple and repetitive. Apart from walking (typically around 25km per day), pilgrims spend the rest of their time eating, washing, caring for their feet and sleeping. There is a little time for socializing, although this generally takes place during meals. But also, far from being fi lled with mystical visions, secret passwords and encounters with the Devil, the days on the route to Santiago are painful, slow and sometimes miserable. As one American pilgrim put it: We ended up in a goddamn industrial zone . . . Dust. Rocks. Beating sun. Dodging dump trucks every two minutes, either lumbering up behind us or looming before us. Sporadic yellow arrows were maddening, as they

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would disappear when we needed them to be there, and the book was no help, and all we had were a few random points and hollers from the dump truck drivers. I am floored and incensed that the Camino takes us through there . . . it’s not safe and I felt the whole time like we were trespassing in a place where we’d end up with a free ride to the local police station . . . or government detention . . . and the whole thing had me feeling like Mulder and Scully sniffing along the borders of Area 51 . . . with dump trucks. (‘Christine’)4 One pilgrim-blogger was also perplexed by the difference: It was curious alright. Fitness hardly the thing. The average age must have been sixty plus, overweight a prerequisite. It certainly wasn’t a classic hike. And any stroll in the Himalayas or the Andes, maybe a dip in the Ganges, was going to leave the mysticism of the Camino way back in the distance, as far as I could tell. (Axelsen 2008) Despite this disappointment with the real, most pilgrims find the overall journey to be one of deep thought accompanied by a sense of change. Most prominent is the recognition that the classic amount of time spent walking (around a month) is well suited to deep introspection. The question of what draws pilgrims also tends to be answered in the blog format. Something about the context of a blog demands of the writer an explanation. It is as if the reader is assumed to be asking the question, ‘What is it about your journey that means I should read this blog’. Indeed, few Camino blogs skip the issue of ‘why’, or ‘what for’. One Australian asked these questions of himself in his blog: So here is the question – why would a middle aged, somewhat overweight bloke go walking along a mediaeval pilgrimage path for seven weeks? I think several answers, which have been common to pilgrims throughout the centuries. There is the thought of a really enjoyable & different holiday; there is the hope of meeting some new people and there is, above all the prospect of some time to reflect on life and my Creator. (Cohen 2007) For an American pilgrim the answers were similar: Why, Tom, are you going to Spain to backpack and sleep in hostels and basically be alone (many people walk this path every year, but most do it in the summer)? Well, I can’t really give you a good answer except for I think I can do it, and I have the time, and I wouldn’t mind finding a few things on the road less traveled!!!!!

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What? [sic] those things are I have no idea. (Thees, ‘Announcing El Grand Final 10/10/07’) His answer is a common one; the period of time that is dedicated to walking the Camino is understood to be a time in which one does something other than walk. Very rarely is the pilgrimage articulated as an expedition concerned with natural beauty. Rather, the ‘culture’ of the Camino manifests in most pilgrims as a desire to set out on a decidedly inner journey. The Camino offers an external context in which the exploration of self, of deep emotional issues, and of the nature of one’s being are legitimate and acceptable.

Government Promotion While the experienced and created Camino generally takes on themes of transformation and re- creation, government and tourism industry promotion of the pilgrimage takes on a slightly different flavour. There is a common theme of community (communitas) but there is also a sometimes subtle theme of spiritual exploration and change. What stands out is the way in which the Camino is positioned as the key uniting force in European history. The pilgrimage to Santiago is portrayed symbolically as characterizing the plurality and unification inherent in European society (Vukonić 2006, 247). By definition the journey involved, and continues to involve, the crossing of borders, the meeting of different peoples, and the sharing of cultural content; music, art, philosophy (Roseman 2004, 79). The governments associated with the pilgrimage understand it as the exemplary model of European diversity, at least insofar as its promotion is concerned. The fact that the construction of culture takes place through human actors meeting and sharing social spaces does not slip past the governmental promoters of the route. Participating in the pilgrimage to Compostela is thus participating in the ongoing process of the creation and renewal of European culture. Further to this, the act of pilgrimage is promoted as one of European solidarity, and though framed in language that is deliberately social, it cannot help but be read as deeply political. In the Camino, a Spain raw from the sense of ostracism brought on by Franco’s rule, and a Europe hungry to unify found a mutually beneficial social process ready to be exploited. Of course, this is not an entirely new course of events for the Camino. The social and political processes through which the Camino was developed during the Middle Ages were, in fact, remarkably similar. Even the promotion of the Camino can be seen as a common European practice with an ancient heritage. The early promotion and construction of the Camino was brought about by the desire to rid Spain of the Moors and establish Europe as Christian. The

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result was the reintegration of Spain with the rest of (Christian) Europe and an opening up of trade routes. Tilson notes a publication by the government of Galicia (Xunta de Galicia) from 1997 that states ‘a flood of pilgrims transformed the main roads of Europe into St James’ roads’ (Xunta de Galicia 1997, quoted in Tilson 2005, 23), while Roseman notes a Concello de Santiago publication remarking on, ‘the necessity of many people to satisfy their spiritual arenas, to express their religious sentiments, and to fulfil processes of intellectual and personal growth, to seek out knowledge and wisdom’ as responsible for bringing so many people to the town (quoted in Roseman 2004, 80). Further, as Roseman (2004) insightfully points out, the language and imagery called to mind in the government literature on the Camino very closely resembles that of the Turnerian communitas theory. For governments in Europe the Camino forms an economically useful and politically expedient platform on which to promote the cause of a unified Europe. Aside from its own contribution to the very idea of ‘Europe’, the promotion of the Camino by the Xunta de Galicia in 1993, and the simultaneous World Heritage Listing by UNESCO that meant the pilgrimage will probably always maintain a prominent position in European politics and history. It acts as more than a destination, more than a simple ground upon which people meet due to the diversity not of its patrons, but of its space. In fact, the Camino de Santiago derives its very character of transformation, community and movement from the fact that it simply cannot be visited, but must instead be experienced; one must do the pilgrimage. It is, by definition, a practice, something that people must engage with, and that can only be done with other people (even when walking alone) while moving through the lands of others. It is this spatial aspect of the pilgrimage – its movement through land and peoples – that contributes to its status as a practice of transformation or change. It is the common goal, the shared practice and the communion with historical pilgrims that moves through country and across borders that makes the pilgrimage one of community. It is thus very interesting that the governmental promotion of the Camino seems to largely rely on only two- thirds of the pilgrimage experience in its marketing. The third – that of transformation – is possibly too elusive or too amorphous for governments to feel comfortable with. Perhaps they view it as something more suited to the organic promotion that clearly occurs thanks to the thriving travel book industry generated by the Camino that ought to be less of a focus for a modern, secular Europe.

Why Spiritual Tourism on the Camino? If the assertions of Bakan (1966, 15), that the two fundamental modes of existence consist of agency and communion, are accurate, then within the

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spectrum of storytelling about the Camino the manifestation of that must be apparent. The notion that striking a balance between personal agency and taking part in something larger than the self is well played out in most accounts of the pilgrimage to Santiago. Authors as different as Coelho and Rudolph drive home the importance of making the Camino a journey of personal discovery within a greater social milieu, though it is always the individual that wins out. Meanwhile, government and commercial agencies seem to have to take a more subtle approach. It is hard for entities to promote the self as it simply is not in their interest to do so; promoting the self must detract from the community or the commercial entity. As a result, what we find is that government agencies and commercial ventures tend more towards the promotion of the Camino as a communal event combined with health benefits and a chance to witness the natural world. In contrast, the accounts of travellers are much less constricted. While extreme communion may be detrimental to the individual, or at least have potential for imbalance, the notion of communion is far less threatening to individual agency than the reverse. In the popularity of these types of accounts among pilgrims, especially as a contributor to actually doing the pilgrimage, what we see is the ability of a life story to act as a motivating force in the lives of others. Miguel Farias and Mansur Lalljee (2006) demonstrated that practitioners who tended to align with New Age ideas also tended to emphasize the self, rather than the community, in their own life stories. Such stories typically include themes of empowerment, achievement and self- mastery. The power of travel books, blogs and pilgrim organizations comes from the power of the story of personal change and agency. Following Bakan’s assertion that the Protestant Reformation fostered an eagerness to pursue modes of life oriented towards personal agency, the genre of the Camino travel book can be read as embodying the exemplary performance of personal agency. This historiographical analysis of the Camino has looked specifically at the routes by which spiritual tourists become culturally aware of the transformative property of Camino. This, while not in itself original, has rarely been married with an analysis of empirical data, such as is conducted here. Most studies of the modern Camino experience gloss over the historical construction if it. Similarly, historical explorations, quite reasonably, contain little analysis of the modern character of the Camino in the light of its evolving historical one. Travellers’ accounts of their Camino experiences tend towards the individual, and in particular towards subjects concerned with personal agency; this is a critical point in understanding how the Camino continues to operate as a travel experience. While Catholic Church bodies, government agencies and tourism groups may assert the Camino as a transnational, pan- European exercise in peace, community and economic

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well- being, the reality of the practised pilgrimage is very different. What is critical for the study of the contemporary Camino is the recognition that, fi rst, it is a practice driven by individual needs/wants; second, that it gains this character partly from its physical, somatically driven nature and partly from its characterization in popular culture; and third, that it operates as something very different from the everyday lives of those who practise it. That is, that the experience of the Camino is typically unusual, otherworldly, strange and liminal. This highlights the common theme that the journey is in some significant way a difficult one, whether emotionally or physically. Rudolph comments that while the physical aspects of, in his case, pilgrimage are certainly crucial to defining it, there is a further, more important aspect. This he describes as an awareness that one is following the steps of countless others, and what many dream of doing: ‘the Great Journey’ (Rudolph 2004, 47). Such journeys are, he argues, an internal experience of many levels. Recall that in Chapter 3 HL spoke of her sense of participating in an ongoing event: ‘You get the sense that so many thousands of people have done this exact same thing that you’re doing, for hundreds of years. It feels special.’ Many pilgrims interviewed stated that one of the reasons the Camino appealed as a touristic activity was that it involved a level of re- enactment. Many also commented that the thought they were walking quite literally in the footsteps of millions of former pilgrims was of great comfort and motivation. For the spiritual tourist the Camino de Santiago essentially offers one type of experience: a walking pilgrimage. However, far from being a one- dimensional religious activity, the contemporary Camino bears witness to a suite of liminal, meditative, Romantic-inspired and life- changing processes and practices. The original spiritual foundations of the Camino remain as a cultural organizer. The Catholic Church maintains the liturgical framework within which the Camino operates. For many pilgrims this alone is reason enough to make the journey; however, the Camino has been secularized in the sense that for many pilgrims it now operates outside the moral and liturgical control of the Church. It continues to be able to function now as much because of the efforts of apparently secular groups (e.g. the Confraternity of St James or Friends of the Camino) who raise money for its maintenance as for the efforts of the Church. These changes have opened up the routes of the Camino to a swathe of people who otherwise would have been unlikely to consider it a worthy journey. The appearance of only loose association with the Church, despite its origins and history, makes the notion of walking the pathways much more palatable to a more diverse range of pilgrims. Accordingly, as shall be discussed in the final chapter, what is found are diverse motivations and forms of experience that nonetheless continue to reinforce the mythology of the Camino as a practice for change.

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Notes 1 Such as the Confraternity of St James. 2 Although it is clear he has done the route since (through photos of bar owners with him displayed in bars along the way), there could remain a doubt as to whether he actually walked the pilgrimage or not in 1986, as he claims. 3 It should be noted that such ‘blurbs’ are not always written by the author, and are sometimes the creations of the marketing departments of publishing houses. Nonetheless, they are still attempts to place the books culturally for readers. 4 The ‘sporadic yellow arrows’ is a reference to the official Camino signage pointing the way, often haphazardly painted on rocks or fences by the path.

Chapter 9

Conclusions: Reading Spiritual Tourism

The previous chapters of this book have described how tourism is used as a tool of spiritual practice. The two examples studied here demonstrate that this occurs in diverse ways. In Rishikesh tourists search for practices and teachings that they slot together in ways that accord with their world view. On the Camino tourists do the pilgrimage in order to confront the problems in their lives. In both cases we find examples of the shape, purpose and content of contemporary Western spirituality. It is also exemplary of certain paradigms of travel, particularly the notion that travel educates and enlightens the traveller. Whether what has been observed in Rishikesh and the Camino de Santiago will be similar to other spiritual tourism destinations and practices is a subject for future research. The diversity and multilayered approach that we see in the examples of spiritual tourism here examined belies the common purpose we can observe in it. In both cases the particular motivations that spiritual tourists arrive with are varied, yet certain themes stand out. Ideas of self-improvement, self-realization, personal identity and purpose in life all register with characteristic regularity. Indeed, it is this thematic content that helps us to identify spiritual tourism to begin with. The purpose of this chapter is to fuse the theoretical discussions of the previous part with the case study material to form a theory of spiritual tourism. The discussion of scholarly material will be used to draw a picture of how scholars have interpreted spiritual tourism previously, and to highlight the problems and remaining questions that are answered here. First, this chapter examines what theorists have said about the intersection of religion, spirituality and tourism. Second, this chapter will build upon the examples of previous studies of spiritual tourism and the detail of the present one to propose a theory of spiritual tourism to move forward with. Finally, this chapter looks at scholarly material on the two case studies examined here in particular. As Rishikesh itself has seen little scholarly attention, other sites in India are used to draw comparisons. Conversely, the Camino has been closely studied from a number of angles, so it requires a finer approach to discover the substance therein.

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Pilgrimage, Religious Tourism, and Spiritual Tourism The intersection of tourism and religion has seen a great deal of scholarly interest. It is critical to keep in mind that tourists encounter religion in nearly every place they visit. Wherever there is religion, there is the potential for tourism (if it is not already established). Bremer (2005, 9260) opens his article on tourism in the 2005 edition of the Encyclopedia of Religion by noting the ubiquitousness of the interaction between religion and tourism, ‘in virtually every corner of the world’. Religious sites express local identity, which is a significant motivating factor for many tourists (Bremner 2006). Vukonić (1996, 53–7), in one of the few volumes to look solely at religion and tourism, notes that religious belief makes up a significant part of tourists’ motivation to see religious sites. Yet specific data on the religious make-up of tourists visiting particular holy sites seems to be lacking from his argument. It would seem intuitive that most tourists visiting religious sites have either an interest in religious buildings as tourist sites or in the other cultures in general, for a variety of reasons. Belief, however, is a less obvious motivator. Other scholars have noted the importance of considering religion in the examination of tourism. For example, Daniel Olsen (2003) looked at the issue of commodification of religious sites while Badone and Roseman (2004), in their edited volume on anthropological approaches to religion and tourism, note that a wide variety of reasons, including religion might motivate a person to travel. Nolan and Nolan (1992), in their study of religious tourism sites in Europe, argued that religious attractions could be grouped into three overlapping categories: shrines, buildings and festivals. Significantly, they found that for the latter two categories, religious belief was not a significant motivating factor for most tourists, sometimes resulting in a conflict in visitor interests (Nolan and Nolan 1992, 73–7). However, they were not able to comment on the specific role of religion in that context for those non-religious tourists. Religious pilgrimage is, of course, the most studied aspect of the intersection of religion and tourism. Much examination of pilgrimage continues to be heavily influenced by Victor Turner (1973), who argued that the pilgrim’s goal was an external ‘centre out there’, a sacred place removed from the everyday world. Erik Cohen (1992) explored the idea of centres further, particularly the location of the sacred centre in relation to the pilgrim’s home, arguing that pilgrimages could be concentric as well as ex-centric. The focus on place, however, continued and was exemplified by studies such as Nolan and Nolan’s (1989) examination of Christian pilgrimage shrines in Europe. Others have argued that this approach is flawed. For example, Eade and Sallnow (1991) argued that pilgrimages are contested in the sense that they are open to interpretation by those participating in them. Such activities involve the participation of many individuals, which inevitably results in a range of interpretations. Still more have argued that pilgrimage ought to be understood in terms of

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how the travel process is comprehended and experienced. Digance (2006), for example, argued that pilgrimages were journeys ‘redolent with meaning’, and argues that scholars should look to what the pilgrim intends to achieve as the critical point in the process. Similarly, Morinis (1992, 4) defined pilgrimages as journeys ‘undertaken by a person in quest of a place or a state that he or she believes to embody a valued ideal’. This might include journeys to religious shrines; however, we must recognize that it might encompass a visit to a favourite team’s football ground or the site of a culturally significant battlefield (e.g. Scates 2006; Xifra 2008). Studies of pilgrimage and discussion of its meaning and definition have further cemented the idea that it is very similar to tourism. As Olsen and Timothy point out, the concept of hyperreal experience that is encompassed in the idea of liminality, as championed by Turner (1969), has informed a number of studies into a wide range of touristic phenomena. Further, as Swatos (2006) has asserted, there are many ‘religious’ pilgrimage events that take place without academic knowledge or designation. These kinds of small scale and local pilgrimages are also no doubt occurring not only outside of institutional religious bounds, but outside of religions themselves. One only needs to think of the Trekkies examined by Porter (2004), or the film fans described by Beeton (2004) to see the potential for much smaller phenomena of similar intent all over the world. The examples described in this book are certainly pilgrimage-like, and in the case of the Camino are in fact called pilgrimage, but pilgrimage itself stretches to include more than this. Examples of worship and miraculous healing types of pilgrimage, such as we find in Sikhism and Catholicism, as well as examples like Gallipoli and Graceland are not like what has been observed in the two locations here examined. There the spiritual progression of the individual is not the central reason for travel. Other scholars have examined what we might call religious tourism. CollinsKreiner et al. (2006) looked at Christian tourist travel to Israel, noting that in many cases it was not self-defined as pilgrimage. This suggests the term ‘religious tourism’ might be well suited here. Gisbert Rinschede (1992, 52), in his classic article, defined religious tourism as ‘that type of tourism whose participants are motivated either in part or exclusively for religious reasons’. These tourists thus differ from those interested specifically in religious phenomena, but who have little or no connection to it, such as spiritual tourists, and also from pilgrims insofar as they do not consider themselves, or are not classified as being, on pilgrimage. Similarly, Kiran Shinde (2007) examined religious tourism to what is ostensibly a pilgrimage site in India, again noting that intent was a key identifying factor. In his study religious tourists were defined by their desire to sightsee religiously, rather than venture towards a holy state or sacred shrine. Others are less clear on what religious tourism might be. Olsen and Timothy (2006, 1), for example, seem to understand religious tourism as any ‘religiously motivated’ journey, though they give no explicit

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definition of this. There is also a problem of a gap in scholarly material about tourists’ motivations for visiting religious sites in terms of their own spirituality, religious or otherwise. Such examples as ‘secular’ participation in religious pilgrimages, or other religious activities by tourists otherwise unconnected with the relevant traditions, as have been examined in the previous chapters, do not sit well under the banner of religious tourism. Often the intent of the tourists and the practices they participate in during their journeys have little to do with ‘religion’. Phenomena of individualized spiritual practice and progression that incorporates tourism have been covered by only a few authors. Spiritual tourism seems a much more appropriate term for this than any of the previous possibilities, but being new, at least terminologically, and relatively undefined by the academy, it has received little attention. Some scholars have indeed used the term, while others have described spiritual practices and tourism together without explicitly combining the two words. Cristina Rocha (2006, 11) used the term to describe faith healing in Brazil. In particular it involved ‘personal healing, but more important than that was their connection with the spiritual world’ indicating its connection with spiritualism specifically, as opposed to spirituality more broadly. Bob Hodge (2006, 27), examining his own experience of a goddess pilgrimage, uses spiritual tourism in reference to tourism that is ‘one strategy in a contemporary search for (re-) enchantment’. Hodge does not include any speculation about how it might be applied beyond his own experience other than describing it as ‘postmodern’. Curtis Coates used the term in describing New Age tourists to Sedona, in the US state of Arizona, focusing on the eco-consciousness outcomes it might generate. These examples demonstrate that the intersection of spiritual practice and tourism has been a contested domain by scholars, with only loose consensus about what it might mean. Still more scholars have looked at tourism phenomena that engage with those practices and philosophies we have identified as falling under the banner ‘spiritual’. Looking at Western tourists in India, Sharpley and Sundaram (2005) examined ashram tourism in Auroville, India, arguing that curiosity and the desire to learn were chief among the motivations for such tourists to visit and participate in spiritual practices. Of all the possible forms of spiritual tourism, examinations of New Age forms of tourism have been the most common over the last ten years (Gladstone 2005). Timothy and Conover’s (2006) discussion of nature religion and New Age tourism identifies self-transformation as a reaction to frenzied materialistic lifestyles in the West. In a similar vein, Kathryn Rountree (2006, 33) examined New Age goddess pilgrimage, arguing that those types of journeys ‘contribute to a radical re-inscription of the female body by exposing women pilgrims to alternative representations of the feminine and by providing contexts in which the feminine can be reimagined and re-experienced’. In contrast, Michael Hill (2008) looked at New

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Age mystical tourists in Peru in the context of cultural appropriation and the perpetuation of racialization. The social contestation of spiritual tourism sites was highlighted by Digance and Cusack (2002) in their examination of the way Glastonbury appeals to a range of tourists; from Christian and Avalonian pilgrims, to festival-goers and shoppers. They argue that the town is ‘a floating locale subject to the multiple definitions imposed by those whom it attracts’ (Digance and Cusack 2002, 278). Importantly, what this signals is that not only are destinations contestable, as tourists approach them for different reasons, but also that the outcomes tourists desire are similarly contestable as they approach them using varied practices on site. This was highlighted by Melanie Smith and Catherine Kelly (2006) in their editorial discussion in the introduction to an issue of Tourism Recreation Research that discussed the role of spirituality in the practice of wellness tourism, which can also include such elements as spa treatments or volunteer work. Finally, demonstrating the breadth with which spiritual projects are approached by modern individuals, Yamini Narayanan and Jim Macbeth (2010) looked at a thoroughly secular form of tourism. Their paper places four-wheel drive desert tourism in Australia as a spiritual practice based on ‘nature religion’ and the idea of the desert as a sacred place for the practitioners. Although they do not class it as such, or even discuss the term, their description explicitly places it as a form of tourism with spiritual intent. The ubiquitousness of descriptions of the act of travel as one conducive to facing existential questions commonly understood to be part of the project of spirituality is cause for reflection. The findings of these scholars, among others, suggest that what we need in order to describe these tourists is a term that encompasses the intent of tourists as well as guiding us towards their actions. Among the shortcomings of these discussions is their amorphous or illdefined understanding of what spirituality might mean and involve on the part of tourists. They also suffer for typically not describing the situations that draw people to undertake such practices within the context of travel. While the topic of religious tourism/spiritual tourism has recently started to gain some attention, few writers have commented on its role in everyday spiritual practice. Tilson (2005) notes that the current incidence of ‘religious-spiritual tourism’ indicates a level of spiritual awakening in Western society; however, the form this awakening takes is not discussed at all. Nor is it even referenced. Attempting to find a solution to this, Ibrahim and Cordes (2002, 18) argue that spiritual refers to ‘a personal belief in, or a search for a reason of one’s existence; a greater or ultimate reality, or a sense of connection with God, nature, or other living beings’. This strikes to the heart of the majority of ‘spiritual’ practices as they are observed in the West, be they New Age self-spiritualities (e.g. Heelas 1996) or pagan reconstructions, or eco-theological musings, but it leaves out the important themes of self-realization and well-being. Their reading of spirituality prompts Timothy and Olsen (2006, 271) to state that

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it is thus entirely possible for non-religious, hedonistic tourists to experience moments of spiritual intensity in an otherwise pleasure-seeking day. It is the contention of this book that the incidence of what I call spiritual tourism indicates a number of things. One of these is that the nature of practised, everyday religiosity has changed, and that the way in which things religious are approached and used ‘in tourism’ serves as a metaphor for that. Turning to a more ‘real world’ source, Judith Hooper (1994, 71), writing in the ‘women’s magazine’ Mirabella , insists that a sacred site is essential to ‘spiritual travel’, which she also calls the ‘power place’. This, however, seems problematic to the study of such phenomena. If it is correct, then it means that sites can become sacred by virtue of practice or learning rather than a particular ‘sacred’ quality that has been attributed to the site itself. It would also mean that the sacred appellation must be temporary or at least relative – if a spiritual tourist goes to a hotel that is hosting a spiritual retreat is the hotel sacred? If it is, does it remain so after the course has finished? This simply does not seem correct, at best the space will become ritually sacred, and as soon as the ‘ritual’ is over the space will be de-sacralized. What we are likely to see is that the space does not become sacred for the actors, and instead the experience will be the sacral point. This is highlighted well by Sharpley and Sundaram (2005), who note the importance of what tourists do, rather than the site itself. Likewise, Hill’s (2008) paper contains a clear and concise placement of this process within New Age ideas. Many scholars, however, have referred to the spiritual in tourism without attempting to properly locate or attempt to explain it (e.g. Timothy and Conover 2006; Hodge 2006; Tilson 2005; Smith and Kelly 2006). One exception is Greg Willson’s (2008) paper that sets out to conceptualize spiritualty in tourism. A well-overdue paper, it makes a vital contribution to this emerging field in tourism studies, but it suffers for lack of a thorough framework with which to place contemporary Western spirituality, secular or otherwise.

Academic Discussion on Spiritual Tourism in India While academic studies of tourism to India are many, the study of spiritual tourism to India by Western tourists has been largely neglected. Gladstone (2005, 162) mentions Rishikesh briefly, noting that many Western tourists go there ‘for yoga instruction and other spiritual pursuits, as well as sightseeing’. Confirming this, in the case of Israeli backpackers it has been found that the ‘Far East’ is perceived as a ‘spiritual’ location, travel to which typically involves ashram stays, meditation, relaxation and drug use (Reichel et al. 2009). This makes for an interesting extension of Said’s ‘Orientalism’ (1978) with Partha Chatterjee’s (1986) notion of the internal/spiritual world of the ‘East’ contra the external political world of the ‘West’. In terms of demographic appeal,

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Strauss (1997, 162), in her doctoral dissertation, identifies typical Western yoga practitioners in Rishikesh as ‘New/New Middle/Knowledge Class’ with an average age range of 35–54 years, though it is worth noting here that Sharpley and Sundaram (2005, 167) found a slightly lower age range in Auroville spread evenly between 20 and 50 years of age. Strauss (1997, 161–9) notes that, in general, Western yoga tourists in Rishikesh are educated middle-class people who largely conceive of themselves as citizens of their home society with genuine concern for the well-being of humanity. They are, she argues, ‘cosmopolitans’ because of their habit of searching the globe, both physically and informationally, for news of latest events and trends that resonate with their world view. Sharpley and Sundaram (2005) have written one of the few explorations of broader spiritual tourism in India. They looked at Western tourists who travelled, for any reason, to Sri Aurobindo Ashram, and argued that while of those interviewed, ‘relatively few had purposefully travelled to India and the Ashram to satisfy a spiritual need’, the experience became one of spiritual fulfilment for most (Sharpley and Sundaram 2005, 170). They note that while the country is full of religious centres, there are a few that stand out to most Western tourists, including Rishikesh, Dharamsala, Puttaparthi (the home of Sai Baba) and the Aurobindo ashram. They also found that the Aurobindo ashram attracted Western tourists simply because of its prominence, but they participated nonetheless in the spiritual activities on offer. Despite not discussing it, this finding is important for the present study as it casts some light on the ways in which Western tourists perceive spiritual practices. Here, they appear to be fitted into the category of something that one does if encountered on holiday, much like abseiling or riding a scooter. For these tourists, religious practice, and perhaps even belief, must, therefore, be to some extent something that one can try, as it were; things that have meaning in so far as they function or appeal. The reasons tourists undertake spiritual holidays also sheds light on how spiritual tourism is understood to operate and how odd it is that the academy has neglected the phenomena. Chaudhary (2000, 294) found that 37.6 per cent of Western tourists to India were there for ‘religious’ reasons but that, by and large, for most tourists sampled, ‘their main purpose was tourism by an interest and/or belief in different religious sects’. Further, the influence of word of mouth was found to be significant, possibly hinting at the extent to which India manifests as a spiritual destination of ‘urban legend’ in which ‘more than half of the tourists received information about India from their friends’. Perhaps the most insightful analysis of spiritual tourists’ motives has been given by Strauss (1997, 164) who noted that, ‘the opportunity to take a “yoga vacation” in India or elsewhere, as many of the visitors to Rishikesh were doing, offers a temporary way to realign one’s daily activities, and ultimately, life priorities.’ Meanwhile, Reichel et al. (2009, 234) found that for Israeli backpackers the main motivations for travel to countries like India (in the ‘Far

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East’) were: ‘spiritual growth, detachment from modern life, detachment from Israeli society, experimenting with drugs and seeing new places’. We can extrapolate from these findings that tourists looking for spiritual experiences will seek out those destinations where they know such experiences are on offer. Thus the image of India that has manifested – of self-exploration and discovery, of spiritual insight, and of diverse, open religiosity and spiritual pathways – is almost certainly responsible for the choice to travel there. For example, Reichel et al. (2009) found stark differences between motivations for visiting the ‘Far East’ (e.g. spirituality and detachment from life at home) and South America (e.g. adventure and simple ‘time off’). Further, it is certainly the case that almost all of the types of spiritual experiences available in India are also available, to varying degrees, in many other locations around the world. For many Western tourists this would also include their home countries, so the choice of India as the location at which to engage in spiritual practices is doubly interesting. Not only do tourists choose to go to India for spiritual experiences, they choose to go there when they could find similar experiences at home, probably at a much reduced cost and in more comfortable surroundings. It is important to note here Dann’s (1977) notion of ‘push’ and ‘pull’ factors. As Huang (2008, 172) posits in a paper on western Asian backpacker motivations, push factors might include ‘the hunger for unusual experiences and the longing to be independent’ and that the pull of the destination is likely to be the specific types of experience it can offer. In the case of India and spiritual tourism, what the destination offers is a range of spiritual activities – different schools of yoga, meditation, teachings from gurus and so on. The question of why tourists go there when arguably most of these activities are available at home is most easily summed up as either ‘going to the source’ and/or ‘going to a spiritually efficacious space’. The search for ‘meaning’ that Smith spoke of as a driving force behind the movement of Western tourists towards India seems still to be at play (Smith 1992, 11). Strauss (1997, 159–60), in her doctoral thesis, noted that the spread of yoga from India to the West resulted in an influx of tourists to towns like Rishikesh, noted for their profusion of yoga masters. Further, she argued that it also demonstrates the way new forms of transnational communities began to form based on shared values and practices. Interestingly, she also found that the majority of Western yoga students at ashrams in Rishikesh were female. Importantly, Strauss argues that the practice of going to Rishikesh to seek out yoga practitioners fits in with Abraham Maslow’s (1943) notion of a hierarchy of needs. This would place the phenomenon of spiritual tourism into what Maslow later called self-actualization. Research to date, however, indicates few other studies of Western spiritual tourists in India. The common acknowledgement among religious studies scholars that there has been an increasing interest in the West of things Eastern has only resulted in lukewarm interest in those physically seeking it out. The

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New Age movement, in particular, has had a rich history in India itself, yet even Paul Heelas’s (1996, 10) assertion that ‘the New Age is now moving from the west back to the east’ seems to have fallen on deaf ears. In fact, religion in general seems to be ignored in studies of tourism in India. Shockingly, the volume Tourism in India and India’s Economic Development , edited by Kartik C. Roy and Clement A. Tidsell (1998), barely mentions religion at all, let alone any form of spiritual tourism. This despite a chapter specifically looking at Buddhist archaeological sites and another examining the state of Goa, renowned for its many highly regarded yoga centres and ashrams. Similarly, the volume Asian Tourism: Growth and Change, neglects the opportunity to examine what is, given the cultural position Western tourism to India holds, an important phenomenon. Shinde’s (2008) examination in that volume of religious tourism in northern India provides valuable insight to the phenomenon of modern Hindu religious tourism, though as it does not concentrate on Western tourists it too is of no use here. Despite the lack of research on spiritual tourism in India specifically, certain assumptions about the practice can be made by extrapolating the findings of studies that look at similar subject matter. In particular, issues of identity and self-fulfilment have been found to be closely associated with destination perception. Locations conceived of as ‘distant’, ‘other’ or ‘spiritual’ coincide with positive identity-forming experiences (Elsrud 2001; Noy 2004; Sørensen 2003). The cultural roots of such travel decision-making can be found in Western conceptions of ‘the Other’, and in particular that tourists’ projections reflect their needs and possibly a level of disillusionment with their home culture. O’Reilly (2006, 1003) argues that this trope tends to include such things as notions of ‘traditional life’ and the idea that within extreme poverty there is a happiness driven by a form of innate spirituality now lost in the modernized West (noting this is particularly the case in India). Sharpley and Sundaram (2005, 170) came to the conclusion that ‘tourism can begin to take on the characteristics of a sacred journey’. Certainly from the books and blogs examined in Chapter 7 it is clear that for many tourists just the experience of travel in India can take on a spiritual character for them all of its own. Missing from each of these examinations is a sophisticated positioning of the practice of travel within paradigms of spirituality.

Academic Discussion on the Camino For a variety of reasons the academy has left the issue of the Camino as a secular spiritual practice alone. This may be because some do indeed see it as tourism, as something diametrically opposed to pilgrimage, and therefore devoid of any ‘religious’ content.1 It may also be that it has been perceived by some to be in the realm of Christian studies, and by others to be the in realm of New

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Age and tourism studies, and that it simply was left neglected in the ‘no-man’s land’ in between. This is not to say that the academy has ignored the Camino entirely. As a source of rich cultural heritage, many scholars have looked at the historical development and practice of the pilgrimage to Compostela. Most academic studies that focus on the Camino look at the route’s rich political or architectural history. Indeed, along all the various ways to Santiago a wealth of architectural, political and social historical material can be found. Barbara Abou-El-Haj (1997) has published excellent examinations of the work Diego Gelmírez put into establishing the Camino as a political exercise during the twelfth century. Others, like Roseman (2004), look at the governmental promotion of the pilgrimage, while Tilson (2005) looks at the business side of promotion of Santiago and Spain within the practice of what he calls ‘religiousspiritual tourism’. Murray and Graham (1997) also examined the pilgrimage from a promotional point of view. Santos (2002) sought to place the Camino by understanding it as a form of ‘route-based’ tourism, though the title of the article suggests some crossed wires – ‘Pilgrimage and Tourism at Santiago de Compostela’ (my emphasis). While the importance of such studies is undeniable, the question of how the practice of the Camino fits within contemporary Western cultural and religio-spiritual practice has seen little discussion. These studies do not take into account the multifarious, nuanced systems of meaning that individuals bring with them to any experience, especially one such as the pilgrimage to Compostela that appeals to a global audience. Such theories do not address, or even seek to ask, the questions that drive towards placing the Camino within contemporary Western society. Interestingly, the pilgrimage to Santiago, along with the cultural processes it reflects, seem so ubiquitous and implicitly understood that many scholars often do not even reference their claims about it. Despite being mentioned a total of seven times by four authors in Timothy and Olsen’s Tourism, Religion and Spiritual Journeys (2006), only two references to works specifically on the Camino were cited in the entire book. A contributing factor here may be the sheer lack of scholarly work on the placement of the Camino in Western sociology. However, the tendency towards assumption remains baffling. The modern resurgence of the Camino cannot be considered a solely institutional religious phenomenon. Numerous scholars have attempted to explain the rise in popularity in terms of tourism marketing (Graham and Murray 1997; Murray and Graham 1997; Tilson 2005), the search for a modern panEuropean identity (Roseman 2004), or a revival of interest in religion (Olsen and Timothy 1999). Nolan and Nolan (1992, 132–9) briefly mention the pilgrimage to Santiago in their book Christian Pilgrimage on Modern Western Europe , highlighting the then new increase in its popularity. However, their understanding of ‘pilgrimage’ was limited to the notion that it must involve a devotional aspect towards the saint, describing it as a ‘cultus’. They, like many other scholars approaching pilgrimage with orthodox Christian methodologies,

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seem to miss the key to the pilgrimage to Santiago – the physical journey itself. However, they do highlight the prominence Santiago maintains through its combined status as a holy site, a religious festival site and a place of touristic interest (Nolan and Nolan 1992, 16–17). There can be no doubt that this diverse attraction base has greatly contributed to the popularity of the modern pilgrimage. Thankfully some scholars have considered the contemporary pilgrimage to Compostela from the pilgrim’s perspective, seeking to understand motivations and lasting consequences. Nancy Frey (1998) wrote what is largely considered the definitive ethnography of contemporary Camino pilgrims. She concentrates on what the Camino means for pilgrims both as a practice and as a memory, and offers an exemplary look at the frontline of the practised pilgrimage to Santiago, giving useful insight to the pilgrims themselves. Questions concerning why and how people come to do the pilgrimage are thoroughly examined. Indeed, the very style of Frey’s work was the inspiration for this research project. However, Frey utterly neglects to place her findings methodologically in any way, and the subsequent discussion is brief and leaves the reader with no clear idea of how she sees the Camino as a practice within contemporary Western spirituality, even though she seems to be driving towards conclusions that require such a position. The only definitively summarizing statement comes in an endnote in which she states that ‘it is currently believed that the physical journey will lead to greater understanding of one’s own inner regions’ (Frey 1998, 268 n42). Neglecting to expand upon this she misses the opportunity to comment on the place of the modern pilgrimage within contemporary forms of spirituality, New Age religious ideas and the present state of the individual in Western society. One of the intentions of this research project is to fi ll that gap. One of the first papers for the present to confront the physical aspect of the pilgrimage was by Slavin (2003), who wrote of the Camino as a practice akin to meditation. He intimated that, quite possibly as it is for any walking tradition, the somatic dimension of the Camino is its raison d’etre as a contemporary phenomenon. Without the sheer length of physical commitment, the Camino, now stripped of its Christian theological meaning for most pilgrims, operates as a meditative practice into which any meaning system may be inserted. However, Slavin’s discussion does not sufficiently locate the notion of meditation in the West to be able to identify how and why it works in this setting. Similarly, Frey (1998, 217–31) talks about pilgrims relating to her stories of the Camino as a means of sorting out life problems. But there is something missing from this argument, particularly a methodological lens with which to examine the rich description she provides, that leaves it floating and difficult to locate. One dimension of that answer must address the economics of spiritual tourism. Edwin Mullins, in the preface to the 2001 edition of The Pilgrimage to Santiago, insightfully notes that, ‘the pilgrimage has become big business in recent years, and in particular big tourist business’. ‘I know of no other

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journey – at least not in Europe – which has caught the imagination of millions in quite the same way’ (Mullins 2001, vii, viii). Large scale pilgrimages, such as that to Compostela, can be primary sources of income for local communities. Olsen and Timothy (2006, 10) note that the Camino anchors the bulk of the economy of Santiago, much like other major pilgrimage centres such as Lourdes and Mecca, yet that analysis is beyond the scope of this project. The question here concerns why the pilgrimage has come to occupy an eligible position within secular spiritual practice. Kaelber (2006) notes that one of the appealing aspects of the Camino for pilgrims is likely to be its relative lack of popularity. This factor, especially given the Camino involves non-motorized travel, may give such travellers a sense of being able to be more reflective. The argument is almost Turnerian; the traveller sees themselves as more able to reflect because they are separated from the ‘everyday’ modes of travel. This suggests the notion of liminality is here extending to include types of practice, as opposed to or in addition to the physical and social separation involved in travel itself. Further, in the sense that the Camino is a departure from the normal mode of travel, it is also a departure from the normal mode of addressing one’s home life; the slow pace of the walked Camino symbolic of the slowing down of the mind; the consideration of the slowly passing landscape symbolic of the lengthened consideration given to life problems. Kaebler calls these pilgrims ‘post-pilgrims’; they recognize the efficacy of the pilgrimage experience, but look for ways to appropriate it to their own experience, seeking it ‘off the beaten track’ of everyday tourism. Indeed, Murray and Graham (1997, 514) note that ‘obsolescence’ of the Camino, in terms of its functionality as a means by which people move from point A to point B, now appeals to the spiritual draw of the route. While they do not flesh out this idea it is in fact one of the key pull factors of the route for spiritual tourists. A running theme through Davies and Davies’ (1982) examination of the practice of the pilgrimage to Compostela is the tension between the sacred and the secular among pilgrims. However, the distinction between pious and lackadaisical pilgrims in the research appears wide. Even Frey’s (1998) comprehensive ethnography of Camino pilgrims found few who could be classified as pious. Rather, what is found is that the secular practice identifies real-life events from which sacred elements are identified. Herrero (2008, 132) noted that ‘the recovery of the Jacobean pilgrimage involves its secularisation’. In particular, it is the way the contemporary pilgrimage to Santiago involves ‘a complex of mobility practices that are based on the free interpretation of cultural, religious or spiritual meanings accumulated by pilgrimage throughout history’ (Herrero 2008, 132). Pilgrims bring with them their own sets of spiritual frameworks and, in particular, notions of self around which the practice and the phenomenon of the Camino is fitted. The contemporary practice of the Camino involves the ‘appropriation and secular reinterpretation’ (Herrero

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2008, 133) of the tradition’s practices and symbols. It maintains the ritual structure and performative elements of the traditional Catholic practice while incorporating aspects synonymous with meaning in a secular society, such as the natural world, heritage, mind/body connection and the practice of walking. Murray and Graham (1997, 515) argue that the complex social phenomena found on the contemporary Camino derive character from its medieval legacy. They argue that four key areas of influence operate: the Way as continuity, the historic cities, the medieval remnants of the Way (towns, churches, buildings, roads, etc.), and finally as a ‘spine from which travellers (particularly vehicular) can momentarily deviate to visit other places’. Herrero (2008, 134), seeking to place the Camino as a social practice, notes that, ‘the pilgrimage to Santiago has become a mobility practice that challenges the conventional categories of tourism or pilgrimage.’ Within this cultural framework diverse and variable suites of motivations such as connection with nature, friendship, physical exercise, cultural and architectural heritage and amorphous spirituality are regarded as valid reasons to walk to Compostela. Even the progress of the Camino itself becomes diversified; much of the tradition of interpreting the stages of the pilgrimage as metaphors for the stages of life has come from the efforts of the Church and the various ‘friends groups’ intent on keeping the Christian cultural history of the route alive. That very act has undoubtedly contributed to what can be called the secularization of the pilgrimage to Santiago. What is required to understand the contemporary secular practice of the Camino is a framework that places the pilgrim within both theories of travel and theories of spirituality.

Understanding Spiritual Tourism It is clear that what is needed to fully understand these phenomena is a framework that places what drives spiritual tourists personally, socially and culturally. Ideas of personal meaning and identity have seen remarkable change over the past 200 years. MacCannell (1999) argued that leisure has been replacing work as the centre of social arrangement. The move away from industrialism towards information has meant that the positioning of labour as a source of identity has diminished. The affirmation of social values is thus moving away from the work world and into the leisure world. At the same time, as discussed in Chapter 6, the notion of personal spirituality is now seen as central for many Westerners. Heelas’ notion of self-spirituality comes into play here, as what we see are individuals utilizing their leisure time to construct personal identities and systems of meaning, both in practical and philosophical form. The self has emerged as the agent, fulcrum and locus for governing sacrality in an individual’s life. Indeed, the modern Western idea of self has become fi xed to an idea of change and betterment, and this now forms a core project of leisure

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practice (Schmidt 2005). When we look at the touristic examples of leisure practice reported on here this is exactly what we see. A further point in this consideration is understanding the ways in which both secular and religious practice can become absorbed into personal spiritual projects. To suggest that self-spirituality locates the sacred exclusively within the self is a misreading. Instead what we can see, as Demerath (2000) argues, is that conceptions of the sacred are governed by the self. This is a further consequence of secularization and postmodern conceptions of truth. The functional consequences of this shift towards creating sacred forms, rather than inheriting or maintaining them are many, but of particular interest here is the way they impact secular spiritual practice. Demerath’s notion of fi nding the sacred in a secular grove is also critical here. What we see is that secular individuals are able to construct the sacred out of anything, so long as it works in the way they desire. Demerath proposed four categories of sacred experience (highlighting that it could either be confirmatory or compensational, and marginal or institutional): the integrative, the quest-based, the collective, and the counter-cultural (Demerath 2000, 4–8). With this in mind, we can see that the subjective function of the sacred here is to better the self, to progress spiritually, and to come to certain realizations about the content and course of one’s life. In both locations examined in this book it occurs in all four ways – we can see the ‘counter-cultural sacred’ in the rejection of Western ideals in Rishikesh, the ‘integrative sacred’ of the ‘healing’ pilgrimage on the Camino, the ‘quest sacred’ in those thinking towards a new way of life while simultaneously and symbolically walking towards it on the Camino, and the ‘collective sacred’ of those ‘going to the source’ in Rishikesh. Tourism theories are also critical to this understanding. The tourist is a leisured traveller, and leisure is now understood as key to the project of the self. As discussed in Chapter 5, there has been a growing interest in travel to explore existential problems and problems of the self, and also to discover or create a sense of the sacred (see also Tomasi 2002). Existential problems are confronted by religious traditions, and tourism, by its liminal separated nature, trains a lens onto everyday life otherwise inaccessible. Thus we find tourists locating routes and sites based on the extent to which they feel they can solve the issues of their everyday lives they feel need addressing. Further, following from the changes noted to the way the sacred is constructed, it can be assumed that dichotomous ideas such as notions of ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’ will also have changed and be able to be used as a ‘plug-in’ concept where appropriate. Indeed, this is an avenue pursued by Cohen et al. (1987), as well as Cohen himself in his earlier classic study of tourist phenomenology (1979). The five tourist types proposed by Cohen are engaged in varying forms of alternative activity in relation to the everyday. From the recreational tourist whiling away the days reclined on a sun-chair in a manner totally different to their everyday work world, to the existential tourist travelling to their ‘real’

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world and away from the false or erroneous everyday one, tourists behave in ways that would often be classified as deviant in the ‘normal’ world. In the wake of secularization and postmodernity people now employ secular modes to identify for themselves points at which to create a sense of the sacred, often in the context of religious practice and tradition. Equally, it can take place outside religious traditions. Turner and Turner (1978, 20) note that ‘even when people bury themselves in anonymous crowds on beaches, they are seeking an almost sacred, often symbolic, mode of communitas generally unavailable to them in the structured life’ of their everyday world. The various ways in which tourists use these alternatives, and the ways they define value within the context of religion is in need of further study that is beyond the scope of this book, but in the context of spiritual tourism we can see certain examples of it. Indeed, this leads Richards and Fernandes (2007, 219) to argue that religious tourism is closely related to other forms of tourism, including spiritual tourism. Historically speaking, the paradigm of leisured travel in the West has been informed by the educational and transformative traditions of the Grand Tour and the early Romantic travellers. Combined with an authoritative concept of the self and the bricolage of spiritual practice we can see that travel is a context for which the examination of the self is well suited. Some other factors are also important here. C. Michael Hall (2006) notes that meaning can be derived not only from the purpose of one’s travel, or what one sets out to achieve, but the travel process itself. In particular it is the ideal of travel that Hall drives towards, noting that it is upheld as educational and transformative in a cultural sense. Similarly, Ozorak (2006, 61) notes that the resurgence in the popularity of old pilgrimage routes such as the Camino has been a result of the increased focus on ‘psychological self-enhancement’, itself a project intensely bound with forms of appropriation in the contemporary West. As Daniel Boorstin (1963, 117) noted, ‘[as tourists] we look into a mirror instead of out a window and we see only ourselves’. The mirror of touristic experience that these authors talk about has the potential for a profound experience for the tourist, thus we see the four-wheel-drive (4WD) tourists commenting on their deep experience in the Australian desert, secular pilgrims on the roads to Santiago and young yoga enthusiasts on long stays in Rishikesh. Clifford Geertz (1973) asserted that world view and lifestyle were closely related. In the West, one of the world views promoted in popular culture since the 1960s has been one directed towards self-discovery, self-realization and acceptance of ‘other’ lifestyles. In the same period, accounts of travel and selfdiscovery have become a small industry of their own. Such books as Sarah MacDonald’s Holy Cow, Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love , and Tim Moore’s Spanish Steps: One Man and His Ass on the Pilgrim Way to Santiago, are just three examples among hundreds that exemplify the way religious practice and travel intersect as a part of this quest for the self in the West. Charles Taylor, in Sources

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of the Self, wrote that ‘[t]o know who you are is to be oriented in moral space, a space in which questions arise about what is good or bad, what is worth doing and what is not, what has meaning for you and what is trivial and secondary’ (Taylor 1989, 28). This search for the self is at the heart of spiritual tourism, and resonates with the accounts of travellers both from the field and in travel writing. Further, with regard to tourists travelling to places like Rishikesh or the Camino to search for answers to their life problems, Campbell’s (2005) thesis of Romantic consumerism opens the theoretical possibility that their desire for answers could be insatiable. The journey would thus be ongoing. While these forces certainly are at play to varying extents, what they are more indicative of is the trend of deconstruction and dedifferentiation that has been underway within Western society during the last century. Travel has become seen as an effective way to address the needs and shortcomings of normal, everyday life. Holidays are, in more ways than one, seen as ‘holy days’ by many travellers. Holiday time, in a sense, becomes a form of experiential deprivation. On holiday the individual is deprived of most of the normal experiences of their daily lives. In the case of spiritual tourism examined here, tourists typically dramatically remove themselves from normal life and from much external distraction. Attending meditation courses or yoga retreats, or walking everyday for a month or more presents, and is described as, very simple in comparison to normal life. It is, in fact, described as devoid of distraction. This has some interesting potential within the study of modern religion also. Referring to the psychopathology model of cult formation, Bainbridge and Stark (1979, 286) note the self-initiated periods of sensory deprivation ‘can produce very extreme psychotic symptoms even in previously normal persons’. While psychopathology may not be at the heart of tourism, what can be observed in such spiritual tourism is analogous, at least in the cases observed. The time spent travelling deprives the traveller of their accustomed surroundings, and in particular the markers with which tourists orient themselves in moral and social space. They are ‘forced’ to recast themselves without these markers. The outcome is often spoken of as ‘re-discovery’ of the self; normality, albeit somewhat changed. These experiences are constructed by the individual, and it is also important to recognize the economic aspect to their existential dimensions. Colin Campbell (2005) noted that the modern Western spirit was one driven by a consumer ethic, though here it moves away from materialism. This is certainly the case in spiritual tourism as what we can observe is the power of the purchased experience over purchased goods. Nicolao et al. (2009) have explored the notion that purchases of experiences lead to greater happiness than purchases of material goods. Their findings contested the assumption that experience purchases were automatically better, but emphasized that for those experiential purchases that turned out positively the amount of happiness experienced was greater than that generated by material purchases. Spiritual

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tourism is a fundamentally experiential purchase on the part of the traveller, and the evidence from this study and those mentioned above suggests that it is generally regarded as positive. Economically, spiritual tourism is geared towards success, typically self-fulfilling, highlighting the power of purchasing an experience in consumer-driven cultural milieu. At the point at which tourism and spiritual practice meet they become something unique. It is not enough to describe it simply as tourism, nor simply as part of spiritual practice, as the rich social and cultural heritages of travel and spirituality each affect the other. The insertion of spiritual practices into the act of tourism capitalizes on what is already something that gives pause to the mode of self-examination. The discussion above has highlighted the similarity that spiritual tourism has with other categories of travel such as religious tourism and pilgrimage. As we have seen it also shares some similarities with education or learning where we find it occurring in contexts in which tourists travel to learn spiritual practices, such as we find in Rishikesh. The important point of distinction in spiritual tourism is that it is still an appropriate appellation when it occurs at thoroughly secular locations, for part of what makes it spiritual tourism is the way it is approached and practised. What tourists are undertaking is a spiritual project insofar as the practices they are engaging in can be spoken of as ‘spiritual’. It is the nature of modern spiritual practice and belief that informs the desire for spiritual tourism to become healing and growth oriented. Such journeys are functional according to need, are solution governed and self oriented, and they tend to situate personal happiness with calmness, simplicity, and within ideals of maturity and compassion. In this sense forms of modern spirituality are best understood as syncretic, in that they borrow freely from any source, but also secular in that they tend to reject institutionalized forms of practice and authority. Further, spiritual destinations fit with certain travel paradigms; they offer education, achievement, time to work on the self and an atmosphere that is inward looking. This is particularly important in understanding holiday time in juxtaposition to work time, as work tends to be outwardly and ‘other’ focused. Spiritual tourism is thus defined by its outcome as well as its intent. Tourists are, generally speaking, culturally aware of the transformative property of travel. Being in a strange place brings existential questions to the fore. The experience of travel removes normal social strictures and obligations that govern ordinary life. Not only are indicators of modes of behaviour different, but individual identity is thrown into relief, demanding examination and questioning (Seaton 2002, 154). Further, the shift in identity and the construction of personal meaning in the West has opened up the use of multiple religious and secular practices for spiritual gain to a much greater level of public acceptance. Religious practices and beliefs are now understood as malleable to individual projects of self. Spiritual tourism is the logical outcome of the combined processes of secularization, postmodernity and the history of

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tourism. Self-help spirituality has permeated Western popular consciousness enough to make the notion of travelling to participate in spiritual practices that are understood to be beneficial an unremarkable one. Destinations are chosen on the experiential properties they are thought to hold in terms of practices offered. Most spiritual tourists seek to use their holiday time to work on aspects of identity or personality. This might be thought of as akin to counselling or psychotherapy. Tourism in this context becomes journeys of the self. These holidays thus become existential sojourns in which the tourist re-makes, re-sets or fine-tunes the self for the everyday world. This is the essence of spiritual tourism – projects of the self consciously enacted within the context of tourism. The following diagram illustrates how spiritual tourism is conceived within the broader spectrum of leisured travel.

Tourism

Religious Tourism

Pilgrimage

Spiritual Tourism

Spiritual tourists are those who travel with the intention of undertaking spiritual practices and/or of attaining a sacred state or spiritual growth. It might involve participation in religious traditions, but equally it can involve completely non-religious activities. They are very similar to religious tourists who visit sites or take part in practices specific to a certain religious tradition (typically their own). Christian tourists visiting churches or Buddhists journeying to stupas are an example of this type of travel. Similarly both these categories can overlap with that of the pilgrim, as in the case of a tourist who travels within a pilgrimage tradition or who identifies as being ‘on a pilgrimage’. Typically they journey towards a particular site, as the notion of pilgrimage infers either collectivity or a journey of particularly deep personal meaning. All three of these categories overlap; a spiritual tourist can thus be a pilgrim, and even a religious tourist at the same time, but what differentiates them in most circumstances is their intent for spiritual growth in a secularized form.

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The caveats that must be attached to pilgrimage and religious tourism when describing tourists with distinctly spiritual goals, as defined here, are neatly put aside with the addition of an adjective that serves as a departure point for description. In using the term ‘spiritual tourism’ we begin to describe certain types of touristic and spiritual intent on the part of the traveller. In the case of Rishikesh we see spiritual tourists travelling in order to learn practices they intend to utilize for the betterment of their daily lives. Spiritual tourism here has echoes of the Grand Tour’s notion of travel for education and completion, but it is done so in a distinctly ‘self-help’ way. Other Indian locations such as Goa and Dharamsala are host to numerous meditation centres, yoga teachers, ashrams and gurus. While thousands of Western tourists come from around the world specifically to study there, there are also many Westerners who decide to try practices such as meditation simply because it is seen as part of the local tradition. My own fieldwork suggests that over 90 per cent of Western tourists attending, practising or learning yoga, meditation or the like in Rishikesh do not consider themselves part of a religious tradition. Rather, most express a combined desire to learn spiritual practices that they hope will help them to ‘become better people’. Rishikesh sprang to popular Western attention in the late 1960s after the Beatles spent time at the ashram of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. It became known as a centre for spiritual learning among Western travellers. Nowadays it is known as the ‘Yoga Capital of the World’ and has a host of other spiritual activities for tourists to practice. Numerous ashrams dot the town, offering anything from casual yoga classes to long-term programmes and retreats, as well as courses on meditation and breathing techniques (pranayama). There are also plenty of satsangs, or teachings, by various gurus to attend, along with other more general New Age activities, such as Reiki courses, crystal healing, astral travel classes and tarot readings. One can also find Ayurvedic treatments, or, for the less spiritually inclined, de-traditionalized sitar or tabla courses (removed of much of their traditional religious components), elephant rides, or indeed rafting trips down the Ganges. However, the dominant motivation for most Western tourists to go to Rishikesh seems to be a desire to work on or learn a spiritual practice. The length of time spent in Rishikesh as well as other parts of India among the sample group interviewed varied between one and seven months. Some tourists elected to spend their entire trip to India in Rishikesh, while others included it as part of a broader journey through the subcontinent and stayed only for a few weeks in the town. Unlike Sharpley and Sundaram (2005) who looked at Western tourists at Auroville in southern India, no permanent tourists were found in the sample group. Many, particularly among those who were spending the majority of their stay in India in Rishikesh, were returning visitors. The spiritual activities done while there varied widely within the group. All respondents attended at least one satsang while staying in Rishikesh, and most incorporated a number of sessions over the duration of their stay,

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and over half indicated they practised yoga as part of their spiritual activities while in India. The same number indicated meditation as being undertaken. However, it should be noted that often the two (yoga and meditation) would occur as part of the same session in a yoga class or retreat. For many spiritual tourists to Rishikesh the journey is seen as a period of learning and/or of healing. While Nuñez (1978, 208) states that ‘tourists are less likely to borrow from their hosts than their hosts are from them’, this rubric seems to be reversed in the ashrams and meditation halls of India where tourists come specifically to learn new ways of being and alternate techniques for life. While most spiritual tourists do not expect to be healed while in Rishikesh, they do expect the lessons and techniques they acquire to be taken home and applied in everyday life. Nonetheless, there is little indication that spiritual tourists are seeking to find ways to discard entirely their ways of life. Rather, what little research there is suggests that the opportunity to participate in a concentrated time of spiritual practice and/or learning is seen as something one simply does in India, as an opportunity to work on one’s current self, including one’s beliefs and daily habits, and/or an opportunity to experiment with other forms of religiosity and spiritual practices that are otherwise too difficult or problematic at home. We should also not miss the symbolism present of a location that hosts many and varied spiritual practices for people who approach it with the intention of piecing together a spiritual practice from diverse sources. In the context of spiritual tourism, Rishikesh offers bricolage for bricoleurs. In the case of the Camino de Santiago we see spiritual tourists participating in a pilgrimage tradition in order to work through particular issues in their daily lives. For many pilgrims, the Camino functions as a period of reflection or contemplation over the direction their life is to take. For some, this was a source of great tension; the Camino walked alone was seen as the only way that questions could be resolved to their satisfaction. Often the choice to be faced had to do with career change. Others faced more visceral changes. One, for example, was using the time to consider whether he was ready to have a baby with his partner. However, there is a strong sense among pilgrims that each brings with them problems, questions, or life issues, and that a part of their desire for undertaking the pilgrimage is to work through them. The commonly heard saying, at all points along the Way, is ‘everyone has their own Camino’, referring to the notion that each pilgrim has their own issues to work through. However, it also refers to the understanding that each has their own ways of dealing with or working through these issues, and that each pilgrim has their own way of walking the Camino itself. Whatever the central purpose of a pilgrim’s Camino experience is, the walking aspect of the journey is seen as the method by which it is exercised. One pilgrim expressed this eloquently when, after a day’s walking towards the end of her journey, she stated that ‘It’s not a holiday. You get up and you work all

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day.’ She said she felt people walked through the problems they brought to the pilgrimage. The process of walking features in many meditative practices. Indeed, Slavin (2003, 16) argues that walking allows an unusually deep connection between body and mind that encourages the exploration of the ‘nexus between the body, self and the world’ and ‘helps to produce experiences that are profoundly spiritual’. In a similar vein, for pilgrims to Santiago the breakdown of normal daily rhythms and their replacement with simple and very (physically) directional ones provided for many a sense of guidance and purpose rarely experienced in their normal lives. However, this is not a religiously oriented sense, but a self-oriented one that understands individual agency as the root of personal happiness. Further, many pilgrims stated that one of the reasons the Camino appealed as a touristic activity was that it involved a level of re-enactment. Numerous pilgrims commented that the thought that they were walking quite literally in the footsteps of millions of former pilgrims was of great comfort and motivation. The thematic ideas exposed by the practised Camino tell us about broader contemporary Western spirituality. The Catholic Church seems to hold the Camino as a conduit for the project of evangelizing the youth of Europe. Celtic spirituality-oriented pilgrims see it as an opportunity to connect with an ancient tradition that pre-dates (and thus ‘trumps’ for them) the Christian appropriation of it. Meanwhile, New Age-oriented pilgrims understand it as experiential and an opportunity to connect globally, and secular or atheistic pilgrims understand it as a catharsis or a project of solving one’s personal problems. The Camino has a unique ability to affect change in the individual, regardless of religious orientation. This study has highlighted that the Camino is a practice malleable to the needs of the individual. The diversity of motivations found suggests that what is important for tourists in is a thematic understanding of it as a practice; that it is commonly understood to be a travel practice in which the context of life change and great personal decisionmaking is normalized. This is also borne out in the popular works, such as The Pilgrimage and Spanish Steps, along with many others. Both as a physical practice and a psychological one the Camino is used as a tool for thinking, for making one’s identity visible, and therein as a movement within the greater part of an individual’s spiritual life. Postmodern society self-consciously seeks to appropriate a range of interests, such as architecture, music, spirituality, culture, food and art. A holistic analysis of promotion of the Camino cannot help but conclude that it is archetypally postmodern as it includes each of these aspects and more. Indeed, the present-day cultural phenomenon of the pilgrimage involves a practice of personal spiritual bricolage; piecing together a pathway and framework of meaning with which to use as a tool for personal change in the everyday world. Herrero’s (2008) argument places the contemporary phenomena of the Camino neatly within the cultural milieu of Western tourism. However, it

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misses a crucial point concerning the implications for Western religiosity. The difference is that the travel itself – the walking – is the practice, rather than the means by which the practice will be acquired. Spiritual tourism along the Camino is thus re-creational in the sense that it is undertaken in order to come to a particular point of understanding, acceptance or certainty – it is a movement from point A to point B, emotionally. Rather than attempting to sweep the social phenomenon of the Camino into a pile understood as journeying towards the sacred, it is more accurate to think of it as a journey within the self (often a theme of personal accounts), and thus as a journey within the sacred, not towards it. The symbolic aspect of this is also clear here. Spiritual tourists on the Camino are undertaking a pilgrimage that moves not towards an end point, but a point at which they turn homeward.

Conclusions There are in our existence spots of time, That with distinct pre-eminence retain A renovating virtue, whence – depressed By false opinion and contentious thought, Or aught of heavier or more deadly weight, In trivial occupations, and the round Of ordinary intercourse – our minds Are nourished and invisibly repaired; A virtue, by which pleasure is enhanced, That penetrates, enables us to mount, When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen (Wordsworth, The Prelude, Book 11, lns 258–78)

The ideals of Romanticism have had a great influence on the development of tourism in the West. Wordsworth’s poems helped Romanticism to gain prominence. Alain de Botton (2003, 154–6) in The Art of Travel , argued that Wordsworth’s notion of such ‘spots of time’ could be drawn upon when pensive, vacant or depressed by the mundane, everyday city life. Travel, by its liminal nature, is a rich breeding ground for such spots of time; moments etched in memory that may be called upon for a sense of happiness, confidence, reassurance or learning. They may be reminders of identity and ability; they may reinforce status and wealth or be sources of relief and relaxation. They may also encourage more travel, acting subtly as their own advertisements. If we have experienced a relaxing holiday on a beautiful beach, from which we retuned home renewed and ready to face our normal lives again, we are much more likely to want it again in the future when we feel again the stresses of

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everyday life. Likewise, where we find spiritual tourism we can see that the legend of the experience perpetuates itself, drawing other tourists with similar spiritual projects. We often hear of people saying of their holiday journeys that were fi lled with meaning, ‘it was a kind of pilgrimage for me’. This statement implies two key things; the qualification that the particular journey was of heightened meaning, and the stipulation that we understand pilgrimage in general as individually rendered meaningful and different from ‘tourism’. It is not so much, as Turner (1969; 1974) argued, that travel (or pilgrimage in his case) creates liminal identities, as it is that travel creates a liminal experience from which everyday identity may be examined. We can see that spiritual tourism is symbolic as ‘it participates in the reality toward which it points’ (Ozorak 2006, 61). Spiritual tourists express their desires for themselves and the world around them in their touristic practices, whether it is in forging a world accepting of diverse religious and spiritual practices as we see in Rishikesh, or placing greater emphasis on the simple life and personal happiness that we see on the Camino. Tourism is also a form of conspicuous consumption. Adler, perhaps channelling Wordsworth, argued that pilgrimage and tourism are expressive as well as instrumental. She states that, like ‘important’ cultural texts, travel experience can provide enduring referents for thought whose interpretation remains open to chance. Once inscribed in memory, photographs, or journals, a single travel performance may always be reinterpreted as saying something new in response to a new emotional need or cognitive query. (Adler 1989, 1369) Spiritual tourism also calls to mind Jonathan Z. Smith’s (1993, 291) notion of religion as ‘map making’. Such a topographical model resonates with the notion of spirituality as the orientation of the self in moral space. It implies both knowledge of present circumstances (one’s location) and the possibilities for the future (the terrain ahead). Tourism, where it is used by the traveller as a mode of personal exploration, becomes just such an exercise in personal map making. The time spent ‘on holiday’ is used as time orienting one’s self in the social and moral universe. It also serves to shore up conceptions of personal identity, and continues to act as such in memory long after the return home. It can be, in these cases, a practice that is deeply religious in significance, despite it being commonly removed from any institutional influence. Tourism here is an exercise in map making, and as such must be considered part of the practice of religion in daily life. The greater extent to which belief or adherence to a religious tradition or position is now a matter of personal preference in the West has had a great influence on the character of spiritual tourism. Inclination to believe is now a more significant factor than a sense of family or community duty. The practice

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of religion has become, to a much greater extent than has been observable previously, a matter of choice, and is often referred to as ‘spirituality’ when it is secularized. One of the key points of focus for spiritual tourists that have been examined here are sacred centres that religions have previously identified. Supposedly non-religious travel practices have also become imbued with ideas and meanings that enable them to be solidly located within the processes of the creation of meaning and the sacred. The combined forces of secularization, individualism and consumerism have resulted in changes to the way Western people conceive of and experience the world. The practice of spiritual tourism indicates a level of individual spirituality that operates outside institutional forms, favouring the individual. It also indicates that travel can be, and is, used as part of individual spiritual projects, and that these projects centre on well-being, happiness and a sense of purpose or meaning in life. Travel is not necessarily a replacement for religion or religious practice, but it can be part of a project of secular spirituality that in another time would probably have been involved within the greater bounds of an institutional religion. Spiritual tourism has thus evolved to be a practice of re-creation as much as it is leisure – when we holiday we re-set ourselves – and this is a significant form of individual secular spiritual routine. While ‘religion’ has not died, it has, for large swathes of society, been replaced by individualized forms that may or may not gather into relatively amorphous, non-geographical social groupings. Spiritual tourism provides a window onto these groupings. Maslow’s (1943) hierarchy of needs is relevant here, at least in terms of understanding why Western tourists feel the need to go on holiday in search of happiness; for the most part the other needs of their life have been met sufficiently. Spiritual tourism to both Rishikesh and the Camino typically also coincides with a certain rejection of consumerism on the part of tourists. Both destinations foster a culture that encourages tourists to look to experiencebased consumption rather than the acquisition of material goods. Further, the Camino practice makes a symbolic move away from consumerist habits, embarking on a period of enforced semi-asceticism before returning to life as a consumer, ideally slightly less rampant than before. Similarly, in Rishikesh we see a wholesale embrace of the notions of a diverse, free market fi lled with products that one may try, buy, reject and get bored of. The sheer number of options on offer in Rishikesh might suggest that it must be consumerist despite the typically voiced rejection of the ideal by the tourists themselves. Again, it is critical to keep in mind the focus on experience over goods. It should also be emphasized that this is a notion of consumption for appropriation – what is consumed is reworked to fit the consumer. Thus in the case of the Camino what we see is that cultural images and ideals of walking, nature and pilgrimage are re-informed in the subsequent telling of the stories, be they online, in books, or between friends. Likewise, in India the notion that it is good to go

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there to find a spiritual path is, at least to some degree, informed by the weight of published material and ongoing conversation about just how great finding a practice or a guru ‘at the source’ is, even if it is not an Indian tradition. What this means is twofold. First, it strongly communicates that our understandings of destinations are indeed ‘branded’ – we know them by a reputation both spontaneous and cunningly crafted. Second, it implies a certain quality in the nature of contemporary Western spirituality. Namely, that the very take-up of spiritual practices and ideas can in itself be a social act. To borrow from Goffman (1959), individuals present themselves as belonging, as part of a subculture, when they participate in its practices, and consume and appropriate certain types of information in prescribed ways. Western tourists leave home to travel to destinations at which they participate in religious practices or traditions. In some cases these tourists have little or no everyday connection with the practices or traditions they are taking part in. Western tourists travel to Rishikesh in order to practice yoga and meditation, and attend lectures from spiritual masters. Overwhelmingly these tourists report that the chief reason for their journeys is related to an ongoing project of self-improvement. Similarly, every year thousands of non-Catholic pilgrims walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, an ostensibly Catholic pilgrimage. Pilgrims on the Camino indicate that the journey is undertaken as a reflective mode of selfexamination and improvement. Examining the history of travel and the existential paradigms of the traveller reveals how modern tourists come to imagine the journey as an appropriate place for change. Likewise, modern self-spirituality – in itself secular and syncretic – understands the individual as the chief agent of one’s own happiness and destiny. The common image from the thick descriptions of spiritual tourism in India and the Camino is that it fits within methodological paradigms concerned with meaning and identity practice in contemporary spiritual life, and that travel is a context for this practice. While context-specific, the thematic content of spiritual tourism is the secular examination of the self in the mirror of religious practice. In travel literature and scholarly examinations of tourism alike there is a widely held belief that there is something about going away from home that forces the individual to look back, as it were, and consider the life that is lived. Being ‘on the road’ can bring to light new tones of emotion or resurface those buried at home. Modern Western spirituality has the ability to unself-consciously from any religious or secular tradition to create frames of meaning with which to construct personal identities, and in turn to construct frames of reference for the wider social and material world. In India what we can see is that it is a location that is popularly viewed as a place at which to search for a personal practice and to discover one’s true meaning and self therein. On the Camino we can see that the practice is understood as the destination; one of self-realization and self-transformation. It is a place at which the individual finds their answers in themselves. In both cases spiritual tourism functions

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as a mirror into which tourists look. In the examples of spiritual tourism discussed in this book that mirror is, for the most part, fashioned by religious practice. Spiritual tourism succeeds for Western individuals because it offers them a chance to experience places and practices that strike to the heart of their world view that are not ex libris or in silico. What is done is real and experiential, and its outcomes empirical, even if they are within the esoteric frames of psychology and mystical realization. What they experience is the chance of a fresh look at themselves.

Notes 1 Verbal feedback at conferences certainly suggests that this type of position within the academy is not uncommon.

Appendices Appendix A: List of Informants

Rishikesh Name

Age

Country

Sex

Name

Age

Country

Sex

AF AK B BA C CZ DB FB GS J J JA JF JL KS LD LK

24

France USA UK Germany USA Netherlands UK Germany UK USA UK Netherlands Germany USA Sweden Australia Australia

Male Female Male Male Male Female Male Female Male Male Male Male Male Female Female Male Male

LS M M MB MM N NI NW OS PB PD PT R RP S SR TD

25

Spain

Female Female Female Male Male Male Female Male Male Male Female Male Female Male Male Male Female

36 48 23 37 21 21 32 22 22 28 22

42 52 49 27 22 28

58

22

Germany USA Australia Israel Israel USA Israel USA Norway Denmark Austria Australia USA UK Germany

Appendices

210

The Camino Name

Age

Country

Sex

Name

A AA AB AB AC AM AT B B BE C C CA CG CM CO CP D FA FR HL J JB Jca JCb JD JM JO JP JW

30 59 60 40 65 59 31

Germany France France Germany France France Japan Germany UK France France Switzerland France Germany Italy Germany France France Switzerland France USA Australia France France France UK Germany UK France UK

Male Female Male Male Male Male Male Male Male Male Female Female Female Male Male Female Female Male Male Female Female Female Male Male Male Male Male Female Male Female

K KF KL KM L L M M MO MP MS MT MT N PC PD PO PW RB RJ S SB SR TE TTa TTb UA WB WW

68 25

25 40 34 45 24 31 34 65 65 53 33 40 32 59 59

Age 23 65 21 50 34 29 41 28 65 25 26 47 40 50 20 57 59 28 25 36 27 55 60 66 50

Country

Sex

Korea Mexico Denmark Canada Canada Korea Belgium Belgium Austria France Spain France Australia UK Australia France Austria UK Australia Canada Canada Italy Canada Canada Germany USA France France UK

Male Female Male Female Female Female Male Female Female Female Male Male Female Male Female Male Female Male Male Male Male Female Female Female Male Male Male Female Female

Appendix B: Whither Spiritual Tourism?

The future of spiritual tourism is of great interest. What variations, both within secular and religious practices, might emerge in the future are, of course, already being considered. Already many hotels and spas offer a range of religious practices secularly – yoga and meditation are common, and healing practices such as Ayurveda are also gaining popularity. Other examples, such as the new Australian tradition of walking in the footsteps of Second World War soldiers along the Kakoda Track, in Papua New Guinea can be seen as pilgrimage, but how ‘spiritual’ it is remains to be seen. It may well be that such nationalistic sojourns become loci of spiritual practice – the new, dare we say replacement, form of religious pilgrimage for the new millennium. Similarly, as knowledge of indigenous cultures around the world becomes more available we are likely to see new ‘markets’ open up. It is plausible to expect new spiritual practices and philosophies to emerge from this. In the same way it is likely that we will continue to see the revising and revisiting of Western religious forms into secular traditions that make them palatable in modern society. Lastly, we must also begin to consider the possibilities for spiritual tourism in the final frontier – Space. The subject of much imagining and speculation throughout human history, not to mention some significant religious ideas and traditions centred on the stars.1 Aircraft designer Burt Rutan, the man behind Scaled Composites – the first company to make a manned civilian flight in Space – stated that he wanted people to be able to have a spiritual experience while enjoying a holiday in orbit (Guthrie and Guthrie 2004). This is a much closer reality now with the partnership between Rutan’s company and Richard Branson’s Virgin Group, who are in the testing phase of their commercial enterprise dedicated to leisured Space travel. Other companies are also pursuing ways to take paying customers into sub- orbit and orbit. This raises some interesting questions for the study of tourism, of course, but for the study of religion and spirituality it presents a truly fascinating one. In the freefall, zero- G environment of terrestrial orbit what kinds of philosophies and practices will we find being articulated by those few individuals wealthy enough to experience it? We should not forget, in considering this, the profound affect viewing the Earth from afar had on the astronauts of the Apollo Lunar program. The vision of the so called blue marble was spoken of by many

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of these men as changing forever the way they viewed the planet and its community of inhabitants. Scholarly research has already begun on the yet-to-manifest commercial Space tourism market (e.g. Laing and Crouch 2004), but the deep personal questions and broader social implications of it will only become known after people begin travelling there for leisure. Space is, of course, the grandest form of turning back to see one’s life from afar. Here Boorstin’s mirror will not only reveal one’s own life, but quite literally the entirety of the human race, with all its history and potential, and indeed all of life as we know it. Will the opening up of this perspective on humanity spur new religious ideas, and/or new movements? Will space become a new Rishikesh or Camino as people venture out to see the devastating smallness of the Earth in the vastness of the galaxy? This remains to be seen, but if the visions of Rutan, Branson, et al. come to fruition it seems likely that among the many reasons people might wish to go into space, spiritual progression and realization will feature, just as they feature now on the touristic landscape.

Notes 1 Consider New Religious Movement examples such as the Aetherius Society or the ill-fated Heaven’s Gate.

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Index

Abdullah, D. A. E. 77 Abou-El-Haj, Barbara 164, 192 Adler, Judith 205 Alain, G. 143 Aldred, Lisa 129 Alfassa, Mirra see Mother, The Allen Ginsberg Project 145 American Airlines 87 American Express 86 Anderson, Benedict 123 anthropology 75 Arnold, Thomas 84 Artress, Lauren 122 Ash, J. 22, 70, 105 Assisi 8 atheism 116 Attix, S. A. 3 Augustan Roman tourism 80–1 Aurobindo, Sri 143 Auroville 2, 143, 145, 186, 201 Australia 55, 103, 119 Australian Bureau of Statistics 119 Australian Theosophical Society 142 Austria 57 Avebury 2 Axelsen, Tim 177 Aziz, Barbara N. 102 Baba, Meher 145 backpackers 53, 99, 107 Bacon, Francis New Atlantis 72 Of Travel 72 Badone, Ellen 95, 104, 184 Bainbridge, William Sims 125, 198 Bakan, D. 179 Balsdon, J. P. V. D. 80 Bandyopadhyay, Ranjan 156

Beatles, The 5, 140, 144, 149, 151, 156, 201 Beeton, Sue 88, 103, 104, 185 Bennet, John W. 75 Berger, Peter 63, 118 Bevir, Mark 133, 143, 156 Bhagavadgita 141 Birnbaum, Raoul 101 Black, Jeremy 81, 82 Blavatsky, H. P. 133, 142–3 blogs 74, 151–4, 175–8 Blue Ribband 86 Bodh Gaya 6 Boeing 247 87 Boorstin, Daniel J. 21, 79, 105, 197, 212 Boswell, James 73, 81 Bouma, Gary 9, 117, 124 Branson, Richard 211 Brazil 186 Bremer, Thomas S. 184 Brendon, Piers 79, 85 bricolage 6, 157, 197, 202, 203 Brierly, John A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Camino de Santiago 173, 174 British Empire, in nineteenth century 83 Brody, Hugh Maps and Dreams 75 Brooks, David 121, 125 Brown, Mick 144, 150 The Spiritual Tourist 149 Bruce, Steve 23, 118, 119, 120, 132 Buddhism 143, 147, 150 Buffon, Georges-Louis Leclerc 73 Bunyan, John The Pilgrim’s Progress 76 Buzzard, J. 73

232

Index

café conversations, in Rishikesh 44 Camino de Santiago de Compostela 2, 4, 5, 6, 8, 10, 11, 47, 95–6, 97, 98, 100, 101, 104, 137, 138, 161–2, 202–3, 205, 206 academic discussion on spiritual tourism in 191–5 analysis 61–5 atonement, healing, and salvation in 169–70 career break and 53–5 Christian foundations and political development of 162–3 contemporary renderings of journey to 170–8 contemporary revival of 167–9 decline in pilgrimage in 166–7 government promotion of 178–9 mass popularity of 163–6 meditation in 55–7 reasons for spiritual tourism on 179–81 self-transformation in 57–61 spiritual tourism in 49–51 walking, eating and sleeping in 51–2 Camino Francés 6, 7, 59 Campbell, Colin 42, 58, 62, 121, 128, 129, 132, 133, 198 Canada 7 Carpenter, Edward 142 Castrojeriz 49–50 catholic pilgrimage 5, 20, 47, 65, 98, 102, 176, 185, 195, 207 centre out there’ perspective 95 Chatterjee, Partha 188 Chatwin, Bruce In Patagonia 74 Chaucer, Geoffrey Canterbury Tales 76 Chaudhary, Manjula 154–5, 189 China 1001 choice, valuing 38–9 Christianity 41, 46n4, 52, 62, 83, 95, 100, 101, 102, 114, 117, 125, 133, 141 Christiano, Kevin J. 121 Christmas, Jane What the Psychic Told the Pilgrim 175

Clark, S. 77 Clifford, James 119 Routes 75 Clingingsmith, David L. 102 Coates, Curtis 186 Coates, Paul 128 Cochrane, Janet Asian Tourism: Growth and Change 191 Codex Calixtinus (Liber Sancti Jacobi) 161, 164, 166, 169 Coelho, Paulo 180 The Pilgrimage 12, 54, 57, 168, 171–2, 173, 203 Cohen, Erik 14, 19, 21, 34, 42, 95, 96, 97, 104, 106–7, 120, 184, 196 Cohen, Tony 177 Coleman, Simon 94, 96, 102, 105, 108 Collins-Kreiner, Noga 3, 18, 95, 185 communitas 17, 52, 66n2, 102 community, notion of 131–2 Connell, John 118 Conover, Paul J. 186, 188 consumer cycle hypothesis 62 Contarini, Agastino 85 contestation, at pilgrimage sites 107 convivialité 48 Cook, Thomas 77, 84–5 Cordes, Kathleen A. 187 cosmological metaphors 116 Coward, Harold 128 Cox, James L. 115 Crouch, G. I. 89, 212 Cusack, Carole M. 2, 104, 126, 157, 187 cyclical consumer thesis 133 Dalai Lama 144, 145, 156 Dann, Graham M. S. 2, 16, 21, 69, 108, 190 Darmabum 154 Darwin, Charles 73 David-Neel, Alexandra 143, 144 Magic and Mystery in Tibet 143 davidp80 153 Davies, Horton 194 Davies, Marie-Helene 194 Dawkins, Richard 116 DC-3 aircraft 87

Index De Botton, A. The Art of Travel 204 dedifferentiation 95, 122, 134, 198 Delphi 2 Demerath, N. J. 11, 14, 118, 119, 196 Denmark 34 Dharamsala 6, 139, 144, 145, 201 Diamond Sutra 145 Diderot, Denis 73 differentiation and tourism 95 Digance, Justine 2, 94, 95, 96, 104, 105, 126, 157, 171, 185, 187 diversionary mode, of tourism 106 Dudley, Donald Reynolds 80 Duncan, J. 73, 76–7 Durkheim, Émile 114, 123 Eade, John 94, 96, 102, 104, 105, 107, 108, 184 Eliade, Mircea 129 Elsrud, Torun 191 Emery, Mr. 85 Encyclopedia of Religion 184 Epic of Gilgamesh 80 ethnography 74, 75, 96 Evans-Pritchard, Edward E. 75 existential mode, of tourism 106–7 experiential dimensions of pilgrimage 95 of tourism 106 experimental mode, of tourism 106 Farias, Miguel 117, 180 Fatima 100 Feifer, Maxine 80, 81, 89 Fernandes, Carlos 197 film-induced tourism 103–4 Fleischer, Aliza 93, 95 fly-fishing adventures 3 Forster, E. M. 142 4WD (four-wheel drive) tourism 3, 197 France 8, 56, 61, 81, 82, 83, 84, 164 see also Lourdes Freud, Sigmund 114 Frey, Nancy Louise 2, 95, 104, 161, 163, 164, 165, 167, 168, 193, 194 Pilgrim Stories 2

233

Furlough, Ellen 87 Fussell, Paul 71 Gatrell, Jay D. 95 Geary, Patrick 165 Geertz, Clifford 4, 30, 102, 173, 197 The Interpretation of Cultures 75 Gelmírez, Diego 164 Gergen, Kenneth J. 127 Germany 33, 35, 56, 57, 82, 87 Gibbon, Edward 79 Gilbert, Elizabeth Eat, Pray, Love 1, 197 Ginsberg, Allen 145 gite (pilgrim lodging) 48 Gladstone, David L. 107, 186, 188 Glastonbury 2, 8 Goa 6, 139, 144, 145, 201 Goeldner, Charles R. 81 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von 82, 89 Goffman, Erving 207 Government of India, Ministry of Tourism 154–5 Graburn, Nelson H. H. 14, 20, 69, 92, 95, 96, 108, 109–10 Graceland, as a pilgrimage site 103 Graf Zeppelin 87 Graham, Brian 163, 165, 166, 168, 169, 192, 194, 195 Grand Hotel Nationale, Switzerland 86 Grand Tour 73, 77, 79, 80, 81–3, 89, 201 Gray, Thomas 83 Greece 2, 8 Gregory, Alexis 86, 87 Gregory, D. 73, 76–7 Gupta, Vasanti 93 Guthrie, Sandy 211 Haj pilgrimage 102 Hall, C. Michael 197 Halligan, Marion Cockles of the Heart 174 Hanegraaff, Wouter J. 125, 134 Hare Krishna movement 144 Hastings, Warren 141

234

Index

Heelas, Paul 14, 19, 42, 117, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 134, 140, 143, 145, 187, 191 Spiritualities of Life 127 Heim, S. Mark 114 Hense, Elisabeth 117 Herodotus 79, 83 Herrero, Nieves 3, 194, 195, 203 Hervieu-Léger, Daniele 114, 123, 126 Hibbert, Christopher 81, 82 hierarchy of needs 122, 190, 206 Hill, Michael 186, 188 Hinduism 141, 154 Hindu pilgrimage 101 Hitchens, Christopher 116 Hodge, Bob 186, 188 Holland, Patrick 71, 74 Hooper, Judith 188 Huang, Feng Yi 190 Huggan, Graham 71, 74 Hulme, Peter 71, 72, 73 Humboldt, Alexander von 72 Hurd, Richard On the Uses of Foreign Travel 72 Iberia 166 Ibrahim, Himli 187 Imperial Rome, tourism in 80–1 Incredible India campaign 6, 155 India 1, 4–5, 6, 10, 15, 16, 17, 19, 23, 137, 138, 139, 186, 206–7 academic discussion on spiritual tourism in 188–91 contemporary renderings of spiritual travel to 146–54 government promotion of 154–6 history of spiritual tourism in 140–6 themes in accounts of 156–9 see also Rishikesh IndiaMike.com travel forum 152 individualism 20, 78, 94, 108, 111, 118, 121, 123, 128, 129, 147, 158, 169, 186, 206 individuality 41, 130, 131 individuation 122 Indonesia 7

industrial age and travel 83–4 Information Age 121–2, 171 spirituality in 129–32 Inglis, Fred 89 institutionalized pilgrimage 102 involuntary tourism 19 Italy 8, 82, 83, 164 Jackowski, A. 100 Jackson, Ian 79, 83, 87 Japan 7, 54, 100 Johnson, Samuel 73, 82 Jones, Henry 79 Jones, William 141 juliesasiatravels 151–2 Jung, Carl G. 122 Jutla, Rajinder S. 101 Kaelber, Lutz 194 Kakoda Track 211 Kale, Sudhir H. 155 Kant, Immanuel 125 Kelly, Catherine 187, 188 Kelly, Richard 3 Kerkeling, Hape Ich Bin Dann Mal Weg–‘I am on my Way’ 173 Kern, Roger M. 133 Kerouac, Jack 143, 145 King, Christine 103 King, Ursula 117 Knox, Robert Historical Relation of the Island of Ceylon 72 Krishnamurti, J. 142 Laing, J. H. 89, 212 Lalljee, Mansur 180 Lamine, Loykie 80, 81 Laos 7 Lassels, Richard Voyage to Italy 81 Leed, Eric J. 80 Leicester Temperance Society 84 leisured travel 91 concept of 105–9

Index pilgrimage and tourism debate and 94–9 re-creation and 91–4 and religion as unnecessary component of pilgrimage 99–105 Lenerz-de Wilde, Majolie 161 Levi-Strauss, Claude 75 life-as perspective and religion 117 liminality 10, 31, 52, 58, 64, 66, 95, 103, 108–10, 173, 181, 185, 194, 196, 204, 205 physical 104 spatial 100 Lindbergh, Charles 87 Locke, John 72 Lockwood, Renee 103 Lofland, John 132 Lourdes 8, 36, 100, 102 Lowenthal, David 127 Luckman, Thomas 123 Luhrmann, Tanya M. 127 Lyon, David 118, 119, 120, 123, 126, 127, 129 Macbeth, Jim 3, 187 MacCannell, Dean 11, 14, 22, 70, 80, 95, 96, 98, 104, 106, 145, 195 The Tourist 22, 92, 106 Macdonald, Sarah 146–7 Holy Cow 146, 197 MacKenzie, John M. 83 MacLaine, Shirley The Camino 12, 172 Mahesh Yogi, Maharishi 5, 140, 144, 201 Malaysia 7 Malinowski, Bronislaw 75 Marcus, George E. 12 Maslow, Abraham 122, 124, 190, 206 McIntosh, Robert Woodrow 81 McLeod Ganj 6, 39 McMahon, Michael 175 megalomania 164 Mehta, Gita 144, 145, 156 Karma Cola 148–9 Meteora 8

235

Mexico 57 Mirabella 188 modern spirituality 118, 126, 129, 133 Montesquieu 73 Moore, Tim 43, 168, 174 Spanish Steps 43, 197, 203 Moralejo, Serafin 164 moral justification 163 Morinis, Alan 96, 185 Mother, The 143 motivation 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 12–16, 20–1, 23, 32, 34–5, 39, 41, 43, 56, 58, 59, 72, 78, 89, 98, 101, 104, 106–7, 109, 146, 147, 150, 160, 165, 180–1, 183–6, 189–90, 193, 195, 201, 203 Mount Athos 2, 8 Müller, F. Max Sacred Books of the East 141 Mullins, Edwin 193–4 The Pilgrimage to Santiago 193 Munro, Eleanor C. 161 Murray, Michael 163, 165, 166, 168, 169, 192, 194, 195 Naquin, Susan 101 Narayanan, Yamini 3, 187 Nash, Dennison 95 Nepal 7 the Netherlands 82 New Age spiritual tourism 3, 9, 10, 11, 18, 19, 39, 42, 125–6, 127, 134, 143, 145, 186 new religious movements (NRMs) 115 New Zealand 103 Nicolao, Leonardo 198 Nietzsche, Friedrich 142 Nolan, Mary Lee 95, 167, 184, 192–3 Christian Pilgrimage on Modern Western Europe 192 Nolan, Sidney 95, 167, 184, 192–3 Christian Pilgrimage on Modern Western Europe 192 Norman, Alex 125 North America 7 Norway 33 Noy, Chaim 191

236

Index

Nugent, Thomas The Grand Tour 73, 82 Nuñez, Theron A. 92, 202 O’Reilly, Camille Caprioglio 191 obligatory pilgrimage 19 Oddie, Geoffrey A. 141 Olcott, Henry 142 Olsen, Daniel H. 95, 184, 185, 187, 194 Tourism, Religion and Spiritual Journeys 192 ontography 77 openness, spiritual 38, 45 Operating System (OS) metaphor, for self 130–1 Ozorak, Elizabeth Weiss 197, 205 Pancevski, Bojan 18 Papua New Guinea 211 Partington, Ruth 161 pastiche 127, 128, 157 peak experiences 124 Peterson, Richard A. 133 phenomenological typology, of Cohen 106–7, 120 Picaud, Aimery 165 pilgrimage 93 religion as unnecessary component of 99–105 and tourism debate 94–9 see also Camino de Santiago de Compostela; Rishikesh Plutarch 79, 80 Polo, Marco 84 Porter, Dennis 77 Porter, Jennifer E. 185 postmodernity 203 and secularization 14, 112–13, 118–22 and travel 74 post-pilgrims 194 post-war travel 87–8 Prabhupada, A. C. Bhaktivedanta 144 Presley, Elvis 103 Preston, James J. 93 Protestant Reformation 120, 130, 166, 180 psychological healing 122

Rajneesh, Bhagwan Sri 144 Raju, Alison 166 Reader, Ian 103 recreational mode, of tourism 106 re-creation and leisured travel 91–4 refugios 48, 50, 132 Reichel, Arie 188, 189–90 religion, as map making 205 religious life, contemporary forms of 112–18 secularization and postmodernity and 118–22 self in spirituality and 122–9 spirituality and piecing together practice and 132–4 spirituality in Information Age and 129–32 religious-spiritual tourism 192 religious tourists 19 see also individual entries Richards, Greg 197 Richardson, John I. 79, 84, 86 Rigby, Madeleine 20, 93, 103 Rig Veda 141 Riley, R. 103 Rimbaud, Dee 152 Rinpoche, Trungpa 145 Rinschede, Gisbert 185 Rishikesh 4–5, 6, 10, 11, 19, 23, 27, 107, 139, 151, 160, 201–2, 205 analysis 41–5 intensified and concentrated learning and practice in 34–5 observation of 28–9 in search of origins in 33–4 self-improvement and healing in 39–41 spiritual choice and activities in 37–9 spiritual tourism of 29–31, 156–9 thanksgiving in 36–7 yoga, satsang, and café conversations in 31–2 ritual process, pilgrimage as 100, 104, 109 Ritz, Cesar 86–7 Rocha, Cristina 186 Rocket locomotive 84

Index Rolling Stones 144 Romanticism 61, 73, 77, 82, 83, 128, 129, 204 Roseman, Sharon R. 95, 104, 163, 167, 178, 179, 184, 192 Rountree, Kathryn 127, 186 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 73, 81 Roy, Kartik C. Tourism in India and India’s Economic Development 191 Rubiés, Joan-Pau 71, 72, 76 Rudolph, Conrad 165, 166, 169, 174, 175, 180, 181 Pilgrimage to the End of the World 173 Russell, Richard 83 Rutan, Burt 211 Rymarz, Richard 102 sacralization, of self 117, 121, 126 Sacred Books of the East 141 sacred landscapes 118, 123–4 sacredness 1, 3, 11, 14, 65–6, 98, 101, 104, 109, 129, 135, 141, 163, 184–5, 187, 191, 194, 197, 200, 204, 206 place-centred understandings of travel and 94–5 and profanity, dichotomy with 92, 95, 96, 108, 119 self and 107, 196 and sites 100, 103, 188 Sai Baba 144, 150 Said, Edward W. 188 Saliba John A. 125 Sallnow, Michael J. 96, 102, 104, 107, 184 Santiago de Compostela see Camino de Santiago de Compostela Santos, Xose M. 167, 169, 192 Sassatelli, Roberta 128, 129 satsangs 29, 30, 35, 39, 107, 201 Savannah 84 Savoy Hotel, London 86 Scaled Composites 211 Scates, Bruce 20, 87, 93, 96, 103, 104, 185 Schafer, Edward H. 100 Schmidt, Christopher Michael 196 Scotland 85

237

Scott, Walter 85 Seaton, A. V. 199 secularization 14, 20, 23, 63, 68, 76, 93, 97, 123–4, 128, 132, 133, 195 and postmodernity 112–13, 118–22 secular pilgrimage 103 secular pilgrims 20 seeker thesis 132–3 self-actualisation 122, 123, 133, 190 self-aggrandizement 164 self-awareness 75 self-consciousness 96, 148, 203 self-construction 126 self-declaration 117 self-development 108, 117, 144, 147 self-discovery 8, 20, 78, 110, 137, 156, 171, 174, 197 self-examination 4, 5, 53, 66, 67, 68, 78, 90, 91, 106, 108, 110, 127, 131, 133, 134, 137, 139, 146, 158, 159, 171, 199, 207 self-exploration 21–2, 67, 94, 132, 134, 190 self-expression 123 self-fulfilment 132, 191, 199 self-government 18, 118, 133 self-help spirituality 200, 201 self-identification 98 self-improvement 5, 10, 32, 42, 68, 90, 127, 131, 183, 207 and healing 39–41 self-investigation 8 self-obsession 123 self-orientation 111, 118, 122, 124, 125, 159, 203 self-realization 19, 123, 124, 125, 127, 133, 134, 142, 173, 183, 187, 197, 207 self-reflection 20, 40, 61, 77, 98, 137, 172 self-reliance 108 self-religion 111 self-representation 72 self-spirituality 14, 42, 62, 107, 125, 135, 142, 187, 195–6, 207 self-transformation 57–61, 129, 139, 173, 186, 207 Sellars, Richard West 104

238

Index

Sharpley, Richard 2, 101, 110, 140, 143, 186, 188, 189, 191, 202 Sheed, Rosemary 129 Sherman, W. H. 72, 73, 76 Shinde Kiran A. 185, 191 Shiver me Timbers 153 Siegel, K. 71 Sikh pilgrimage 101 Singh, Rana P. B. 98, 101 Sivananda, Swami 140 Slavin, Sean 3, 55, 56, 66, 193, 203 slumpainter 152–3 Smiljanic, Natassja 117 Smith, Jonathan Z. 113, 115, 123, 205 Smith, Melanie 3, 187, 188 Smith, Valene 69, 91, 94, 97, 105, 190 Snyder, Samuel 3 social approval and leisured travel 97 Sørensen, Anders 191 Soubirous, Bernadette 102 Souchou, Yao 75 Spain 2, 4, 5 see also Camino de Santiago de Compostela special interest tourism 88 spiritual health 43 spirituality, significance of 112 spiritual tourist, definition of 17, 20 Sri Lanka 7 staged authenticity 22, 80 Stark, Rodney 132, 198 Starkie, Walter 167 Steel, Brian 152 Stephenson, George 84 Stokstad, Marilyn 163, 164 Stonehenge 2 Strabo 79, 80 Strauss, Sarah 2, 140, 145, 189, 190 Stringer, Martin D. 114, 118, 125 St. Thomas Aquinas 114 subjective-life’ systems and spirituality 117 Sugirtharajah, Sharada 141 Suiter, John 145 Sumption, Jonathan 100 Sundaram, Priya 2, 101, 110, 140, 143, 186, 188, 189, 191, 201

Sutcliffe, William Are You Experienced? 147–8 Swain, Tony 117 Swatos, William H. 134, 185 Sweden 34, 39 Swinglehurst, Edmund 70, 84, 85 Switzerland 79, 83, 86 Sydney Morning Herald 175 Tajani, Antonio 23n1 Taylor, Charles 134 Sources of the Self 126, 197–8 Temperance Movement 84 Thailand 1, 7 thanksgiving 36–7 Thees, Tommy 176, 178 Theosophical Society 133, 142–3 Third World tourism 107 Tibet 142 Tibetan Buddhism 143 Tidsell, Clement A. Tourism in India and India’s Economic Development 191 Tillich, Paul 114 Tilson, Donn James 167, 168, 179, 187, 188, 192 Timothy, Dallen J. 95, 185, 186, 187, 188, 194 Tourism, Religion and Spiritual Journeys 192 Tomasi, Luigi 196 tourism, definition of 18, 69 Tourism Recreation Research 187 Towner, John 78 Townsend, Pete 145 travel 69–70 earliest accounts of 79–81 golden age of 86–7 Grand Tour and 81–3 industrial age 83–4 literature 71–8 post-war 87–8 Thomas Cook and 84–5 see also individual entries Turkey 103 Turner, Edith 93, 98, 197 Turner, L. 22, 70, 105

Index Turner, Victor 34, 42, 48, 93, 95, 98, 100, 102, 108, 173, 184, 185, 197, 205 Tylor, Edward B. 114 UNESCO 47, 168, 179 United Kingdom 2, 8, 32, 35, 36, 60, 81, 84–5, 86 United Nations World Tourism Organization (UNWTO) 18 United States of America 7, 34, 54, 59, 84, 87, 88, 103 Uriely, N. 19 Urry, John 80, 104 Varanasi 6, 139 Vatican, the 8 Vietnam 7 Vipassana meditation 35–8, 40, 46n1, 55, 132, 146 Virgin Group 211 Voas, David 118 Voltaire 81 Vukonić, Boris 98, 178, 184 Wadsworth, P. M. 21 walking meditation, Camino as 56 Wallace, A. R. 73 Walpole, Horace 82, 83 Walter, Tony 104

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Watts, Allan 143 Beyond Theology 145 The Book on the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are 145 web communities 151–4, 175–8 weblogs 74 see also blogs Weir, Katherine M. 155 wellness tourism 3 Wheeler, Valerie 74, 75 Whitman, Walt 142 Willson, Greg 188 Wilson, Bryan 120 Wilson, David 144 Wise, Amanda 132 Withey, Lynne 79, 81, 82 Wordsworth, William 79, 204 World Tourism Organization (WTO) 69, 88 Xifra, Jordi 96, 185 Xunta de Galicia 168, 179 yoga 2, 9, 29, 31, 34, 35, 45, 144 Youngs, Tim 71, 72, 73 Yü, Chün Fang 101 Yuan-chün 101 Zepplin, Led 145