Touristan

 

The summer in Touristan is like a spoiled brat: 

everyone praises it, everyone eagerly awaits its arrival to “unwind”—and yet, this brat doesn’t bask in the people’s favor. 

Summer in Touristan is elitist, twisted, and pretentious. 

It treats only those with time and money well. 

In the end, only the wealthy and the half-idle enjoy summer: 

those carefree ones with big egos and deep pockets. 

The whole rotten crew that feasts, usually at others’ expense.

Summer is a brat. 

It has no trace of social sensitivity. 

The poor devils, the oppressed petit bourgeoisie, the exhausted professionals, the worn-out waiters and cooks, the half-broke merchants, the decent homeowners, the honest day-laborers, the respectable low-profile folks—summer shits on them all. 

Touristan doesn’t just despise its servants but also its customers.

Touristan’s customers sweat and stress, anxiously hoping to relax a bit from the suffocating grip that rules their lives. 

To catch a breath. 

To forget their debts, even for a little while. 

They pay with their hard-earned, blood-and-sweat money for overpriced Greek salads or fake gourmet nonsense. 

They shell out fortunes for pseudo-luxury hotels that look paradisiacal on TripAdvisor but, in reality, are far from paradise.

Worn out from the hassle, the heat, and the expenses, they return to their miserable grind for another eleven dreary months. 

Only the lucky ones with a village house and relatives to visit feel some warmth. 

Because childhood memories in the family home and blood ties are beyond the ratings of Booking.com and TripAdvisor. 

Still.