Well, this past week I was looking down into the holler toward Webb’s Creek thinking about how we all become “tourons” whenever we travel out of our local zones. “Touron” is a word coined by my trolley-driving friend to describe tourists who exhibit “moronic” behavior. Local natives welcoming Christopher Columbus to the West Indies might have also used that same word to describe him if it was available at the time. Chris must have been a sight for sore eyes even if he wasn’t driving a humongous diesel RV and towing a color-matched Toyota behind him. Like many modern day tourons he dressed funny and had a big floating Winnebago.
Tourons have been in existence since the very first time an adventurous caveman gathered up his cave family and vacationed in the mountains or at the beach. Certainly tourons must have been the first people to wear spray-painted shirts, eat oysters or build a collection of salt and pepper shakers. Tourons visiting in my county eat fudge and ask questions such as “When do they turn on the fireflies and waterfalls?” or “Who landscaped that stream with all of those rocks and boulders?” They come from strange faraway places like Ohio, Florida and Germany. It is a published fact that the Smokies get more tourons than any other national park in the United States. Every human being has multiple Touron Adventures and I will share #8 and #10 off my personal Top Ten list. By the way…it is easy to find a touron; look in the mirror.
My daughter graduated from U.T. and somehow landed a job at Punahau Academy (Barack Obama’s alma mater) as a Tennis Pro. She developed many inside connections which allowed our family to visit Hawaii for about the same cost as a vacation to Cleveland (Oahu has much better shave ice and hula dancers). As certified tourons we rented kayaks and paddled a couple of miles out to a little island off Kialua Beach. Instead of snorkeling on the safe beach with all of the other tourons I decided to hike to the desolate side of the island that faced the open ocean and snorkel my way back. Number 8 on my list occurred when I jumped off the painfully sharp lava rocks into a deep blue section of the ocean that perhaps no human had ever snorkeled before. As a Tennessee mountain man hiker I found myself in the midst of a million frantic fish and swimming way too close on each side of my mask were snake-like creatures with horns. My swimming fins turned into a 50 horsepower Mercury outboard and I could have won a gold medal at Beijing as I rounded that island back to my family.
On the same trip I decided to go surfing (Touron Adventure #10). In the strongest terms my spouse suggested that I take a lesson before attempting to surf on the north shore of the garden isle of Kauai. I explained that I had watched surfing on television many times and had even listened briefly to a Hawaiian surfing teacher as I was strolling down Waikiki beach a few days earlier. I rented a ten foot board and felt pretty darn cool carrying it down the street to Hanalei Bay. I paddled out to sea and saw an oncoming wave that had my name on it. I remembered my television training and began paddling feverishly and somehow was lifted to the pinnacle of the wave before my board nose-dived to the ocean floor. I was personally attached by a cord so I went along with it and was tossed around like a washcloth in a washing machine. I cut my ankle on some coral and thought my leg was broken, but it was OK. My daughters carried the surfboard back and asked the proprietor to never again rent a surfboard to a touron bearing my name.
We are all tourons traveling together on this little blue planet. We become tourons when we get out of our safe zones and travel to new places, get married, have a first child or even start a new hobby. Each new experience on life’s journey is another wonderful opportunity to be a touron. Touron mistakes, stupidity and ignorance sometimes create great memories. In the words of that famous philosopher Garth Brooks, “Don’t just stand there on the shoreline and say your satisfied. Choose to chance the rapids… dare to dance the tide” (although I would suggest taking a lesson first). That is just how it looks from my log cabin.
John LaFevre is a local speaker and co-author of the interactive national park hiking book series, Scavenger Hike Adventures, Falcon Guides, Globe Pequot Press. Contact John at scavengerhike@aol.com. Artist G. Webb lives in Pittman Center, Tennessee. Gwebbgallery.com.
Hi….TOURONS
When John Sevier did battle with the Cherokee at Boyd’s Creek…Do you suppose they (Cherokees) considered him a Touron….?