Arca Publishing

Lynch, Paul

 
 
Title: Ideologies of Hospitality: Deconstructing a Tour Guide Narrative 
Author: Paul Lynch 
Affiliation: Edinburgh Napier University 
Contact: P.Lynch@napier.ac.uk 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
Ideology refers to “a body of ideas that reflect the beliefs and interests of a nation, 
political system etc. and underlies political action”; further, “the set of beliefs by which a group 
or society orders reality so as to render it intelligible” (Collins English Dictionary, 2000, p. 767). 
All hospitality is ideological, drawing upon socio-cultural beliefs. Such ideological foundations 
of hospitality are often taken for granted, and only occasionally thrown into relief, for example, 
when experiencing welcome in a less familiar cultural or social context. Ideologies of hospitality 
include or exclude the Other, drawing upon a linguistic construction and discourse justifying 
rules, formal and informal, of welcome. Who gets welcomed may vary over time according to 
who is deemed welcome within society at a particular moment. 
This presentation considers ideologies of hospitality which informed a coach tour guide 
commentary on a day trip into China. Literature regarding tour guide narratives and ideology 
(Brin & Noy, 2010; Cohen-Hattab, 2004; Dahles, 2002; Huang & Weiler, 2010; Kim, Timothy, 
& Han, 2007; Reisinger & Steiner, 2006) is briefly reviewed, alongside consideration of the 
literature concerning hospitality and ideology (Holliday, 2010; Kroskrity, 2005; Tobin, 2015). 
The presentation draws upon findings from part of a larger ethnographic study exploring 
experiences of welcome based upon analysis of a variety of data sources including 
autoethnographies, questionnaires, photographs, and observations. Specifically, an account by a 
western male of a coach tour guide commentary on a day trip into China is analysed, focusing 
upon the ideologies of hospitality underlying aspects of the coach tour guide’s narrative.  
Themes emerging from the ethnographic study are presented: tour as embodiment of national 
hospitality; language, stereotyping, and welcome; hierarchies of welcome; instrumental and 
political hospitality narratives; asymmetrical hospitality; arbitrary hospitality; ideologies of 
hospitality. 
Brief consideration is given to the theoretical, practical, and ethical/moral implications of 
ideologies of hospitality, from the perspective of the tourist as recipient, as well as consideration 
of the broader social implications. It is concluded that ideological hospitality is, metaphorically 
speaking, part of the barbed wire that surrounds the hospitality interaction, barbed wire that 
constrains the hospitality guest/tourist who is raised on the pedestal of welcome. The purpose of 
the barbed wire in relation to constraining the guest/tourist is discussed alongside the ethical 
dilemmas such hospitality constraints give rise to. 
 
References: 
Brin, E., & Noy, C. (2010). The said and the unsaid: Performative guiding in a Jerusalem  
neighbourhood. Tourist Studies, 10(1), 19–33. 
Cohen-Hattab, K. (2004). Zionism, tourism, and the battle for Palestine: Tourism as a political- 
propaganda tool. Israel Studies, 9(1), 61–85. 
Dahles, H. (2002). The politics of tour guiding: Image management in Indonesia. Annals of  
Tourism Research, 29(3), 783–800. 
Holliday, A. (2010). Intercultural communication & ideology. Sage. 
 
 
Huang, S., & Weiler, B. (2010). A review and evaluation of China’s quality assurance system for  
tour guiding. Journal of Sustainable Tourism, 18(7), 845–860. 
Kim, S.S., Timothy, D.J., & Han, H.C. (2007). Tourism and political ideologies: A case of  
tourism in North Korea. Tourism Management, 28(4), 1031–1043. 
Kroskrity, P.V. (2005). Language ideologies. In A. Duranti, ed., A Companion to Linguistic 
Anthropology. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. 
Reisinger, Y., & Steiner, C. (2006). Reconceptualising interpretation: The role of tour guides in  
authentic tourism. Current Issues in Tourism, 9(6), 481–498. 
Tobin, W. (2015). Hospitality and the immigration crisis: We are all from elsewhere. EU-topias,  
10, 143–150.  
  


English

Ideologies of Hospitality: Deconstructing a Tour Guide Narrative

Ly, Tuan Phong

 
 
Title: Carrying Capacity in Vietnamese National Parks: A Case Study of Phong Nha-Ke Bang 
Author: Tuan Phong Ly1 & Thi Hong Hai Nguyen2 
Affiliation: Institute for Tourism Studies, Macao1; Macau University of Science & Technology2 
Contact: jack@ift.edu.mo 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
Carrying capacity is a potential prerequisite to obtain the three mandates of park 
management, including recreation, conservation, and economic value. In a developing country 
such as Vietnam, the issue of carrying capacity is recognized and has been mentioned in the 
policy and regulation documents, yet without further guidelines for implementation. This study 
thus attempts to investigate the application of carrying capacity in the Vietnamese park system 
and assesing its application process for further development of the concept.  
This study is based on a case study of Phong Nha-Ke Bang National Park. The qualitative 
field studies were conducted from 2012 to 2015. The findings show that the park has partly used 
the carrying capacity concept to control tourist flow. However, its application seems to be rather 
subjective and not scientific. 
  


Carrying Capacity in Vietnamese National Parks: A Case Study of Phong Nha-Ke Bang

Lund, KatrÃ­n

 
 
Title: Rhubarb Cutting and Other Ways of Engaging in Tourism Research 
Author: Katrín Anna Lund 
Affiliation: University of Iceland 
Contact: kl@hi.is 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
Fieldwork is earthbound – intimately involved in the natural and social landscape (James 
Clifford, 1997). 
Questions of politics of knowledge production and issues of engagement in the field of 
tourism studies have not been at the forefront but have, however, been duly dealt with in other 
related disciplines for some time already. It is a matter of concern how researchers in the field of 
Tourism Studies are often unreflexive about their position as researchers and approach the field 
in an uncritical fashion. This, I want to argue, limits the scope of generating wider and often 
alternative knowledge within the field. In this paper, I shall turn to anthropology, the discipline 
from which my educational background derives, and revisit debates about the value of the 
discipline, not least in relation to its main methodological approach, ethnography, that occurred 
in the wake of the postmodern turn during the 1980s and 1990s (see, e.g., Appadurai, 1991; 
Clifford & Marcus, 1986; Gudeman & Rivera, 1990; Gupta & Ferguson, 1997; Marcus, 1998). 
By using examples and anecdotes from research I have been involved in for the last five years, I 
will examine fieldwork as an earthbound, but simultaneously spatially and temporally mobile, 
practice and question what constitutes the field in fieldwork as well as what constitutes a 
research process. The aim is to scrutinize how knowledge is generated through collaboration 
constituted by constant negotiation and improvisations of identities, reciprocity, and exchange 
between different actors, human and non-human. We thus have to acknowledge that research 
involves embodied social beings and that the generation of knowledge happens at the interface of 
self and other, where life is lived, or with earth. 
 
 
 
 
  


Rhubarb Cutting and Other Ways of Engaging in Tourism Research

Lau, Virginia

 
 
Title: Sensory Perceptions of Asian Destinations: An Exploratory Study 
Author: Virginia Lau 
Affiliation: Institute for Tourism Studies, Macao 
Contact: virginia@ift.edu.mo 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
In today’s experience-oriented environment, tourist destinations are expected to engage 
and provide total experience to their visitors. Whilst experience is a multi-faceted construct based 
on motivation, process, and satisfaction, this paper focuses on the affective emotions and feelings 
of travelers towards different Asian destinations through perceived sensory stimuli of sight, sound, 
touch, smell, and taste. A Structural Equation Modeling (SEM) technique is utilized in an attempt 
to establish a relationship model between the five senses of experience and the destination image 
of the travelers, as well as their behavioral intention to visit the destination. Results of the data 
analysis show that, while sight, touch, and taste have significant positive influence on destination 
image, only touch and taste have significant positive influence on behavioral intention. In addition, 
destination image has a significant positive influence on behavioral intention. Finally, managerial 
implications are outlined for marketers in regard to the promotion of their destination image 
through the five senses. 
 


Sensory Perceptions of Asian Destinations: An Exploratory Study

Farsari, Ioanna

 
 
Title: An Analytical Framework of Tourism Education in an Era of Complexity and 
Sustainability: Evidence from Sweden 
Author: Ioanna Farasi 
Affiliation: Dalarna University College 
Contact: ifa@du.se 
Session Type: Presentation 
 
Abstract: 
There is growing awareness among tourism scholars about the responsibility of tourism 
education to address the complexity of the modern world and the challenges that arise from it. 
This is a sign of maturity for tourism education and a trespassing from purely vocational to 
liberal education which aims to contribute to more reflective practitioners who strive to improve 
not business alone but the world and the community they are living in (e.g., Dredge et al., 2012; 
Inui, 2006; Jamal et al., 2011; Tribe, 2002). 
Jamal, Taillon, and Dredge (2011) based their sustainability practitioner on the 
philosophic practitioner discussed by Tribe (2002) and argued for a Sustainable Tourism 
Pedagogy (STP). STP needs to be practical and action-oriented in addressing real world 
environmental and social issues, rather than only theoretical. At the same time, STP needs to 
integrate practical wisdom through the Aristotelean perspective of the good life. Nevertheless, 
very little change can be noticed in tourism education curricula. Research, together with 
education, at least in the Anglo-Saxon world, has developed around business schools addressing 
the challenges of hospitality and tourism as an industry. In spite of a number of programmes 
related to sustainable tourism and scholarly works which seek to analyse and provide a 
theoretical contribution and a framework for analysis for relevant curricula, a gap may be noticed 
between theory and practice in the development of sustainable tourism pedagogy (Jamal et al., 
2011), wherein very little is known about tourism education outside the Anglo-Saxon world. 
In parallel to the developments in tourism education, debates in pedagogy have discussed 
the role of education for citizenship. In this discourse, education must prepare “citizens of a 
complex and interlocking world” (Nussbaum, 2002, p. 292), and universities should thus 
integrate into their curricula a segment of education for citizenship. It is argued here that these 
two frameworks (i.e. Sustainable Tourism Pedagogy and Education for Citizenship) could 
inform each other to provide an operational analytical framework for tourism education in the era 
of complexity and sustainability. Indeed, tourism education could benefit from this discourse to 
define and position itself in the pedagogy discourse to address future challenges. Connection 
with the industry is as important as the ability of the graduates to extend reflection and action 
beyond the tourism industry. Education for sustainable tourism thus should be seen as a liberal 
education for sustainable development rather than a merely sectoral one. Examining sustainable 
tourism in a holistic, complex, adaptive approach allows tourism to be examined in its wider 
context and could facilitate the evolution of tourism education as education for citizenship. The 
aim of this research is to reconcile the two frameworks into an operational one for guidance in 
the development and in the evaluation of programmes and courses. An analytical framework for 
tourism curricula is developed here, and empirical data are collected from Master of Tourism 
programmes in Sweden and content analysed to examine their progress, in terms of a Pedagogy 
for Sustainable Tourism. This is a work in progress, and results are expected to contribute to the 
evolution and operationalisation and of tourism education for sustainability. 
 
 
 
 
References: 
Dredge, D., Benckendorff, P., Day, M., Gross, M.J., Walo, M., Weeks, P., & Whitelaw, P.  
(2012). The philosophic practitioner and the curriculum space. Annals of Tourism 
Research, 39(4), 2154–2176. 
Inui, Y., Wheeler, D., & Lankford, S. (2006). Rethinking tourism education: What should  
schools teach? Journal of Hospitality, Leisure, Sport and Tourism Education, 5(2), 25–
35. 
Jamal, T., Taillon, J., & Dredge, D. (2011). Sustainable tourism pedagogy and academic- 
community collaboration: A progressive service-learning approach. Tourism and 
Hospitality Research, 11(2), 133–147. 
Nussbaum, M. (2002). Education for citizenship in an era of global connection. Studies in  
Philosophy and Education, 21(4–5), 289–303. 
Tribe, J. (2002). Education for ethical tourism action. Journal of Sustainable Tourism, 10(4),  
309–324. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  


An Analytical Framework of Tourism Education in an Era of Complexity and Sustainability: Evidence from Sweden

Adu-Ampong, Emmanuel

âBut You Are Also Ghanaian, You Should Knowâ: (Re)negotiating Researcher Identity and Positionality When Conducting Fieldwork at and Away from Home

Cuffy, Violet

Is There a Role for a Lifelong Tourism Education Model in the 21st Century?

CTS 7 Featured Artist: Elisa Banal-Juaneda

Cary, Megan

 
Grace and Grief 
Megan Cary 
Inspiration and strength comes from those who are hurting most: How my sister carried me through her 
greatest loss 
      
 
 
 
 
  
 
“Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul 
And it's the only thing that I know, 
I swear it will get easier, 
Remember that with every piece of you 
And it's the only thing we take with us when we die” 
 
A man in a black suit flashed a well-practiced smile.  His smile was the perfect mix of 
happy greetings, comfort, and sympathy.  He opened the door for us.  The procession line was 
backed up almost to the entrance.  I had carpooled with my sister’s friend Cheyenne.  We had 
come early, but we were still late.  We signed the guest book and joined the line-up of grievers.  
We barely spoke.  The funeral home was well air-conditioned, and it was cold in contrast to the 
sunny, humid day outside.  My skin raised goosebumps in response to the chill as it accosted my 
skin, still sticky with sweat.  Only seconds ago I had the warm sun on my face; I now found 
myself in a poorly-lit, cold, funeral home. 
As we waited our turn, we had no choice but to absorb the sadness surrounding us.  
Diamond Rings and Old Barstools by Tim McGraw was playing.  I smiled because it was a 
country song that Travis pretended to hate.  We approached the front of the room, and I could 
finally see my sister standing with Travis’ family.  Her blonde hair was curled and she wore no 
makeup.  She stood tall in my borrowed blue dress and black cardigan.  She was beside Travis’ 
brother near the head of the casket.  I hadn’t looked at Travis.  I just watched my sister hold 
herself with more composure than any twenty-year-old girl who was grieving her boyfriend 
could ever be expected to have.  See You Again by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth began to play, 
filling my eyes with tears.  The song was a tribute to another person who had died too young – 
and too suddenly.  It had only recently become popular, but its meaning was forever changed for 
me.   
We were close enough now to see the slideshow on the TVs and the picture boards 
displayed near the front.  Travis was scowling in nearly every picture, except those where he was 
clearly high or drunk.  In nearly every picture, Travis grimaced at the camera, but those who 
were pictured with him beamed. 
I turned back to my sister, who gave me a quick, teary smile.  Her shoulders caved as she 
caught my eye; she breathed heavily to control her tears.  She was losing composure.  I’m almost 
there. I’m coming.  It’s okay.  You’re okay.   
We stood at the front of the line now.  I shook hands with Travis’ aunt, who held her 
baby son.  We introduced ourselves, though we had met before.  I then shook the hands of 
Travis’ cousins.  They were all young boys; the oldest was in grade eight.  Travis’ grandparents 
swallowed me into tearful hugs.  I awkwardly murmured my sympathies and tried to block out 
their pain.  If I allowed myself to feel it, I would fall apart.  I needed to stay together for my 
sister.   
I was almost to her. 
I reached Travis’ parents, who stood at the foot of the casket.  His Dad pulled me into a 
strong embrace and thanked me for coming.  His Mom quickly hugged me.  When she pulled 
away, I held her face and saw tears in her eyes, tears that had been streaking her face for four 
days straight.  “I am so sorry,” I choked out.  “How is everyone?” I asked as a warm tear fell 
down my cheek. 
Her kind and heartbroken eyes looked softly into mine.  “We’re okay,” she said as she 
squeezed my shoulder and shot me a smile that was meant to be reassuring.  I almost believed 
her.  Mothers are experts at comforting others – even when they’re the ones who need 
comforting.  I knew no one was okay, but I smiled back at Travis’ Mom and moved on. 
There was a gap.  Between Travis’ parents at the end, and his brother and my sister at the 
top, laid Travis.  I noticed a stuffed elephant, letters, and his favourite bucket hat around him 
inside his coffin.  I avoided looking at him, but I knew I would regret it if I didn’t see him one 
last time.  I took a deep breath and looked at his face.  It was pale and waxy.  His eyes were 
closed.  His hands were folded on his stomach.  His hair looked wrong.  Too puffy.  Too 
combed.   
There was a small line in front of Travis’ brother, so I waited with Trav.  The finality of 
Travis’ life hit me like a train.  I was numb.  For a moment, I was paralyzed.  I touched the hard, 
smooth casket and looked into his not-quite-right face. 
When it was my turn, I threw my arms around Travis’ brother’s neck and told him, “I’m 
so sorry.”  
I don’t know if he replied.  All I could see was my sister behind him.  I caught her eye 
and smiled at her, as I detangled from him. 
My sister rushed to me and fell in my arms, finally grateful to hug someone she actually 
knew.  “How are you doing, babe?” I asked. 
“I’m…I’m…Oh…Oh…Kay,” she sobbed.  I held her for a little longer before I pulled 
away to look at her.  She reigned in her tears.  She allowed herself twenty seconds of unhidden 
sorrow and was ready again to face the line of people awaiting her.  “I’m okay,” she repeated, 
nodding and smiling at me.  Her smile was remarkably similar to the one I just received from 
Travis’ mother.  There was courage in her eyes as she motioned me to move along. 
 I floated into the next room where I collapsed onto a couch.  Cheyenne sat beside me. 
 “How long do you want to stay?” she asked. 
 “I want to stay.  You can leave if you want, hon.  I’m staying at least until my Mom gets 
here.  In case she needs anything.”  
 “Okay, I want to stay too,” she replied. 
 We sat quietly for a long time.  Often, she rose to hug a friend or acquaintance and would 
leave me on the couch.  Unlike me, she went to the same high school as most of the grievers so 
she knew more of them than I did.   
 A group of Travis’ closest friends sat with us for a while.  They wore black suits, likely 
the same ones they wore to prom only one year ago.  Their eyes were bloodshot.  The smell of 
their aerosol cologne clung to them like a cloud.  They were quiet at first; I think they were 
stunned.  It was likely the first time they experienced real grief and loss.   
It certainly was mine. 
 However, their calmness quickly subsided.  As we chatted with them, they became more 
and more vocal and angry.  One would begin crying, saying “It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”  The 
group would then comfort the protestor, until another one took a turn.  They rotated outcries.   
Tables were pounded, voices were raised, and the tough, tattooed young men sobbed and 
yelled.  They burst back into the visitation room, cutting the line to gather around Travis.  They 
put their arms around each other and stood in a semi-circle huddle, in front of Travis’ coffin.  
They wept.  Travis’ brother joined them. 
Many people gawked at the group of boys.  No one knew what to make of them.  “Are 
they praying?” an older woman asked me as she entered the sitting room.  “I don’t think so,” I 
whispered in reply as I looked at them though the doorway.  Although the funeral home was 
filled with the buzz of loud whispers, the voices of the boys was clearly audible from my corner 
on the couch.  Their arms wrapped around each other to hold each other up.  They weren’t 
praying.  At least, not to God.  They were cursing God.  They were praying to their friend.   
When my mom arrived, she told me that people were confused and annoyed by the boys.  
They repeatedly came to the sitting room, got excited again, and re-entered the front of the 
visitation line.  Well-practiced funeral goers watched in disbelief as the boys not only cut the 
line, but halted the procession by standing in the way.  The visitation line was out the door and 
well onto the road now. 
It wasn’t well-mannered.  It wasn’t the regular ceremony or ritual.  It wasn’t proper 
procedure.  How could there be a proper procedure to pain? I wondered as my heart ached for 
the young men in nice suits and beat-up sneakers who were breaking apart in front of their best 
friend’s body.  They weren’t ready for this.  No amount of dead goldfish or grandparents can 
prepare a person for the impact of the sudden, accidental death of their twenty-one-year-old 
friend.  None of us were ready.  None of us were equipped to handle the sudden and detrimental 
pain now strangled us. 
In my twenty-two years, I had never experienced or witnessed anywhere close to the 
amount of grief I was exposed to at Travis’ visitation.  Suddenly, my stomach churned at the dry, 
air-conditioning aroma, and the freshly-cleaned and product-laced carpets.  Salt and mucus 
overwhelmed my taste buds.  Grief is a tear streaking a perfectly contoured cheek.  It’s a deep 
voice that keeps cracking.  It’s a faded black dress.  It’s a messy bun or a perfect ringlet.  It’s a 
suit that’s just a little too small. .  I could feel their pain, I could taste it, I could smell it.  It was 
all around.  It was infectious and smothering.  It choked me; I felt its hands around me, cutting 
off my air supply and wounding my neck.   
I sat on the couch and quietly cried as I tried not to puke.  I heard the broken voices in the 
room next door.  I cried for Travis’ family.  I cried for his parents, especially his mom.  I cried 
for his brother.  I cried for my sister, who was pushed into the role of grieving widow at twenty 
years old.  Finally, I cried for myself, because Travis was my friend too. 
I remembered two summers prior to his death returning home from university, freshly 
single and alone.  My ex had isolated me from my high school friends and when we broke up I 
had no one to fill my social life with – except my sister and her boyfriend.  My sister and Travis 
allowed me to play third wheel with them often that summer.  Travis stuck up for me in nearly 
every argument my sister and I had (much to her annoyance).   
I had gotten to know Travis better than the rest of my family, excluding my sister, of 
course.  My parents didn’t like him.  My brother didn’t like anyone.  Travis and my sister started 
dating when she was fifteen.  They were on and off for years.  He had an anger problem, like my 
sister.  In addition to my parents thinking Travis wasn’t good enough for my sister, he was 
incredibly shy around them, which didn’t help his case because they couldn’t get to know him.   
However, he was comfortable with me.  Every time he came to our house, he made sure 
to greet the dogs and say hi to me.  I had rescued my dog, Charlie, a few months before that 
summer I spent with him and my sister.  Charlie was aggressive towards strangers and had 
severe anxiety.  Travis always sat with him for ten minutes until he gained his trust.  Trav loved 
animals, especially dogs.  He was a huge help in Charlie’s socialization and behavioural 
rehabilitation.  And, it gave Travis a buffer between himself and my intimidating parents. 
I pictured Travis, wearing his Blue Jays hat and sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor 
in his skinny jeans and mismatched socks, petting my dog.  I could hear him say, “Hey, Meg,” 
and whisper softly to mine and my parent’s dog.   
From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of gold-blonde and heard heavy footsteps.  I 
looked up, worried it was my sister.  It was my Mom.  She sat down beside me and interrupted 
my reverie.  She held my hand and said “holy, there’s a lot of people here,” to which I responded 
with a nod, still zoned out.   
‘Go see if your sister needs anything,” Mom said warmly. 
I rose obediently and found my sister dehydrated.  She requested water. 
‡ 
I don’t remember leaving the funeral home or how I got home.  I was an exhausted 
witness to complete sorrow.  I couldn’t imagine how my sister was feeling. 
I didn’t go to the second visitation that afternoon, but when my sister returned, she was 
drained and tired.  Someone had given Travis’ brother pain killers.  He got high and started a 
fight.  He was kicked out of his own brother’s visitation.  My sister recounted to me these events 
with a voice filled with concern and amusement. 
 “I’m worried for him.  But…only at Travis Pepper’s visitation would there be a fight,” 
she said with a choked laugh.  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. 
“I think he’d approve,” I said. 
‡ 
The next day, the church was crowded for Travis’ funeral.  After the wearing visitations, 
everyone seemed to be better, somehow more accepting and ready for closure.  Grief had beaten 
them into submission.  The boys calmly followed procedure.  There were no outbursts of any 
kind.  The dark circles under their eyes gave the illusion that their tears were spent, the well was 
dry.  This is, until Travis’ aunt and uncle read tear-jerking tributes with choked voices and puffy 
eyes.  His uncle laughed as he remembered how Travis loved to pee on things outside – 
something I had personally witnessed after many parties and cottage weekends.  I wondered if he 
was peeing on the tracks when he was hit.  He was carried out to Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. 
 As Travis led the way, a tidal wave of black overwhelmed Church Street.  Grievers stood 
on the sidewalk, unsure what to do next.  “Now, we go to the cemetery,” my Mom and the few 
other adults told the sea of weeping twenty-somethings.  It took twenty minutes to drive just 
down the street; the road was congested by Travis’ farewell party.  People impatiently honked 
their horns and shouted in frustration at the overwhelming and unexpected traffic as 
Bowmanville’s main street continued to flood with cars. 
The parade of mourners walked somberly to the far end of the cemetery, towards the 
open grave beside a blue coffin.  A minister led a prayer, and then asked everyone to give the 
family some privacy.  We all backed up several feet, but still lingered among the dead, unsure 
where to go.  My sister began walking with us, but was gently grabbed by Travis’ grandma.  
“You’re part of this family, Paige,” she said. 
I had always been awestruck by my sister’s charisma.  Her charm had earned her 
popularity in high school, but the charisma that prompted Travis’ family to absolutely include 
her in their private and final moments with their loved one was something different – something 
extraordinary.  In her time of grief, old friends that she had lost touch with reached out to her, 
new friends from college piled into a small car and drove four hours to support her, and 
neighbours sent flowers.  It takes a special kind of person to inspire the love and devotion she 
received from her friends, acquaintances, coworkers and strangers.   
I looked around me at the ocean of grievers.  The number of grievers, and the depth of 
their pain made me realize that Travis had his own type of charisma.  He was well-liked and 
deeply missed.  I always enjoyed Trav’s company, but I hadn’t considered his unconventional 
popularity.  I thought he was just my sister’s nice, stoner boyfriend.  As I looked around and saw 
most of his graduating class, there was one word I could think of to describe Travis.  It was 
“friend.” 
A few minutes later, my sister rejoined us.  I was standing with my mom and a few of my 
sister’s high school friends.  She joined our circle and answered everyone’s individual inquiries 
about her well-being.  “I’m alright, I’m okay,” she repeated convincingly with reassuring nods 
and smiles.  Friends began sharing memories of Travis.  “He had so many friends.  Everyone 
loved him,” someone said.  My sister zoned out.  She was looking at her feet and kicking the dirt 
and grass below her shoes.   
While someone was speaking, my sister began to sing.  Everyone stopped to look at her.  
She swayed in her long blue dress.  She had a horrible voice and sang Photograph by Ed Sheeran 
off key.  She sang more to her shoes than to the audience, who gawked at her.  After a few 
verses, she realized she was singing out loud and had spectators.  She shyly smiled, a little 
embarrassed.  We all smiled back at her.   
My sister has always been the class clown, and the family comedian.  Her hysterical, loud 
laugh is usually funnier than her jokes.  She was always laughing, joking, and smiling.  Except, 
she hadn’t been.  Until this moment, I hadn’t seen her smile in five days.  Until then, I didn’t 
realize I was holding my breath.  I held my breath because I wasn’t sure if my sister was 
drowning.  When she giggled – I exhaled in relief.   
She wasn’t wearing makeup as she usually did.  Her big blue eyes were watery with tears 
that threatened to fall at any moment.  The hot August sun highlighted her light, blonde hair as 
she swayed.  Her freckles, that were usually concealed, danced across her nose as it crinkled with 
her smile.  She was beautiful.  Even in her grief, her smile was healing.   


GRACE AND GRIEF

Yoshida, Junko

Hanamura, Chikahiro

A Review of Prevention Efforts on Sexual Exploitation of Children in Travel and Tourism (SECTT) in South East Asia: Role of World Tourism Organization (UNWTO)

Not a member yet