On being a particular type of tourist
It was while visiting Normanville, South Australia’s beachside jewel, that I came to realise there are several different types of tourist: the family tourist, the adventurous tourist, and the historical tourist being the types most easily spotted.
The family tourist is easy to spot: there are kids of various ages in tow, clothing is functional without necessarily being stylish, and the adults have a vague air of exhaustion and desperation about them.
The adventurous tourist, on the other hand, oftentimes has something in their hand––a scuba mask, a paddle or oar, a wetsuit or an adventure bike, a camera or a tripod.
The third type of tourist is the historical tourist. They are most often found around sites of historical interest, or towns full of history. Normanville has interesting history, so you could expect to find this type of tourist here.
Other pundits hold that there are at least fifteen types of tourist, including but not limited to business tourists, adventure tourists, eco tourists, event tourists, religious tourists, medical tourists, heritage tourists, war tourists, shark tourists, fertility tourists, and #Me tourists. Fertility tourism, in case you don’t know, is where couples would seek out surrogates or sperm donors to escape the sometimes exorbitantly high costs of sperm donation and fertility procedures in their own country. In truth it’s probably a subset of medical tourism.
I was down in Normanville recharging my emotional batteries. It’s my ‘go to’ spot for replenishing and refreshing, and I always find myself calmer when I leave than when I arrive. I’ve been visiting Normanville for nearly a decade and its allure never fades. There’s always something to see and take note of––a new café, a change of menu at the hotel. Houses for sale in the window of the real estate agent. I’d often thought of moving down there to live, but a six-month stay at nearby estate Wirrina Cove convinced me that life in the honeypot of Normanville and surrounds was too expensive for me. Good place to visit, but too expensive to live long-term. Plus I’d miss my glorious Adelaide Hills that I love driving in.
One of the honeypot factors was Normanville beach and jetty. The water was nearly always calm, the sand always gentle on the feet. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, it’s not always calm. A flood of the Bungala River destroyed the original jetty in 1856. A subsequent jetty was built but was deemed unfit for purpose. In 1921 a jetty was built at nearby Haycock Point, but the site was poorly chosen and the jetty was battered by wind and constant swell. By this time road transport had largely replaced ketches in cargo transportation and our favourite jetty at Normanville was shortened and maintained. It remains to this day a favourite hangout for parents, kids, dog walkers, fishing types and those looking for a good sunset.
The weather does of course turn wintry and the ocean near the jetty does gently roil, but any anger in the ocean is really more like ‘annoyance’, and calm returns once the storm has passed.
But in spring, summer and autumn the jetty and beach are calming places to be. Well, almost. During term time the visitor has the beach almost to themselves, the occasional dog walker or jetty fisherman being their only companions. But come school holidays and calm, serene Normanville beach becomes the place to be if you are of school age. Kids run around, shouting and shrieking to each other, frisbees fly, balls are kicked and thrown, cricket bats wielded with impunity. The peace and serenity I seek cannot be found on the beach, and the café is full of parents and friends chattering while capturing a moment’s respite from the onslaught of amped-up progeny. Nor can it be found in the carpark, for seagulls strut around the beach and foreshore ready to pounce noisily on any hot chip or ice cream foolishly left unguarded.
So, at times like these I escape from the beach and jetty and indulge myself in another activity altogether. Café browsing.
It’s a particular activity for those keen on ambling through life. It’s not for those who have an energetic adventurous disposition, always whizzing about here and there trying something new. No, this is for those who stroll through life, who savour the journey and enjoy the taste long after it has passed the lips. Café browsing.
It starts like this: I stand, legs slightly apart, in a comfortable pose, a pose that one could possibly hold for a good ten minutes without tiring. I inspect the café window for signs of something tasty to eat, some sign that says the café offers locally-made pastries, say, or something more substantial for lunch. It is the rare café that has no signs in the window, but have come across them. There’s one in Stirling, another tourist honeypot, that gives you no clue as to what you will find inside, food wise. Such a waste.
But after spying some clue as to what food I might expect to find inside, I do indeed sally forth and enter the café, stopping only to peruse the food cabinet. Once assured that there is at least one item that I might want to eat, I find a place and sit down with the menu to see what else I might snack or even feast on. Once that decision is made, I then turn my attention to what I’m going to drink. There was a time when coffee in all its flavours and strengths could keep me entertained for hours, but sadly my medications have turned my coffee taste buds off and now, sadly, the stuff makes me nauseous. I have gone from aficionado to… well, I don’t know what. It’s not what the thesaurus says is the opposite of aficionado, that’s for sure.
But coffee aside, my taste buds still fizz with delight over a country bakery-fresh meat pie, or an artisan-made custard-filled roll, or the chef’s-own lunchtime special. There are only so many hours in the day and I could happily spend them sitting in a café, surrounded by country-fresh treats, and drinking sparkling mineral water or the odd cold beer on a very hot day.
I am not alone in my pleasurable pastime. I see others walk into the café, check out the food offerings first before finding a table and deciding what to eat. It is usually mature couples that one sees indulging their food senses this way. I watch them out of the corner of my eye and attempt to eavesdrop on their conversation. I’m only interested in what they think about the food, about how it’s presented, about how it tastes. I hear them sharing their thoughts and am eager to join in their conversation, but I know that café browsing is a solitary game; one keeps one’s thoughts to oneself (or just with one’s companion).
And it is through recognising these kindred spirits that I realised that I am part of another tourism category. Not ‘food tourist’ because I’m not interested in going to restaurants to dine on no doubt delicious food. I’m also not interested in taking cooking lessons to find out how to cook local delicacies. Nor am I interested, as a food tourist would be, in visiting bakeries and food factories. No, my peccadillo is café browsing, in tasting and savouring the often-exquisite local delicacies that your average tourist honeypot café serves up to its sometimes-undeserving guests.
I know that I’m not alone in being a café browsing tourist, that there are others like me out there. I know that café owners welcome us, because we buy more than just a cheap cappuccino, we buy food as well. We pay for the space we take up.
I’m thinking of getting t-shirts made, ‘Proud café browsist’. Maybe there’s a market for them somewhere.
