All-inclusives are unsustainable and show the uglier side of human instincts, says Andrew Eames. Here's why he reckons they've got to stop.
A decade ago the family resort of Cala’n Forcat, on the western end of the Spanish island of Menorca, was a lively place when evening fell. Five nightclubs, countless restaurants and pubs, and a clientele that seem to know how to have a good time.
Today, Cala’n Forcat still lays out the welcome mat to a healthy number of holidaymakers, but the street scene is far more subdued. Many of the restaurants and pubs have ceased trading, and only one of the five nightclubs remains. In online forums loyal customers bemoan the resort’s closures from one season to the next; if it gets any worse, they say, then Cala’n Forcat will become like a ghost town.
So what could possibly have happened to change the ambience so radically? Are crocodiles emerging from the Med after dark to stalk the streets? Or Colombian drug cartels using Cala’n Forcat as a bridgehead into Europe?
The answer is, of course, no. It is merely that most of the hotels have gone all-inclusive. There’s no longer any need to leave the building when you’ve got bottomless food and drink just down the corridor.
All-inclusive tourism can be either a boon or a plague
Depending on who you talk to, the recent stampede towards all-inclusive tourism is either a boon or a plague. It has been keenly studied by Tourism Concern, an NGO with a mission to ensure that local people benefit from tourism. Their recent survey of some 1,750 all-inclusive holidaymakers found that 34% never ate outside the property, and 36% never even went on any excursions. So it’s not surprising that bars and restaurants in the likes of Cala’n Forcat are finding it hard to survive.
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The all-inclusive concept has its roots in the last recession, and its main justification is a budgetary one: customers have shown themselves to be prepared to commit to an enlarged holiday cost upfront, on the understanding that they will not be ambushed by substantial further expenses whilst on the ground.
The net result is that – as Tourism Concern established in a study of the Turkish resort of Fethiye – only 10% of visitor expenditure trickles down into the local economy. Meanwhile, the big international holiday brands are pocketing a significantly enlarged share.
It is not just the local economy that suffers in this scenario; the whole holiday experience does, too.
There’s something primitive in all of us at the all-inclusive buffet
I will own up to being easily seduced by a bottomless buffet. My inner glutton takes control, and it’s not a pretty sight. I don’t think I’m alone: there is something primitive in all of us, some default trigger, which makes us want to have everything, especially in the first couple of days, in case there may not be anything tomorrow. So initially it’s all about refuelling, whilst mentally totting up what we are saving in restaurant bills.
But then reality strikes. The wine is industrial, the food is bought, and cooked, in bulk. And it all gets piled high on the plate. Prawns, roast beef, asparagus and avocado? Yes please. Mushrooms and couscous and coleslaw? Bring it on.
Remember to leave space for the main course, that’ll be the beef, the pork the chicken and the sausages, thanks very much. And – oh my god – I forgot about all those cheeses and the gateaux, they look scrummy. And there’s fruit salad, too, but I don’t think I have got space for that.
The all-inclusive is not where you see humanity at its best
Needless to say this is not sustainable. After day two or three, you reach peak gonfleur. You are, like Monty Python’s Mr Creosote, fully inflated. But unlike Mr Creosote you wisely draw back from that devastating final waffer-thin mint that tips you over the edge. However, you too have reached a crucial bridgehead: from now on, the joy has gone out of mealtimes. You see the food for what it is: quantity over quality. You wish for a bit of adventure, of refinement, of variety, but you are committed now. You’ve paid your money, now you have to do your time. It’s the hotel restaurant for you, morning, noon and night, and you’re trapped.
“How was your holiday on Lanzarote? Did you see the Manrique caves?” “No, we didn’t want to miss lunch.”
Maybe this is a good moment to contemplate, as you sit down to another plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding in your hotel in Turkey or Tunisia, why it is we go out to eat? Sure, to refuel. But the cultural experience, the new flavours, the possibility of interaction with locals, are also important.
One of the true by-products of tourism is getting rid of preconceptions, breaking down barriers and fostering more understanding of the world beyond our borders, and you’re not going to do that whilst queuing for chips alongside the people you came out with on the plane.
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A shared meal in a new destination should be an adventure. It should be memorable, not predictable. And it can easily be cheaper than going all-inclusive: buy some local bread, cheese, tomatoes and olives and have a picnic somewhere, maybe even at those Manrique caves.
No, the all-inclusive is not where you see humanity at its best. You certainly don’t want to see me there.