Rushing to Visit the World’s Native Peoples : Tourists: ‘Tribal tourism’ is hot, but many visits cheapen both viewers and viewed.

The mysterious Mayan ruins of the Yucatan are among Mexico’s most compelling sights, but many visitors to the area are even more eager to see the descendants of the empire builders--the Maya who carry on traditional lifestyles in isolated villages scattered about the peninsula and in the mountains of nearby Chiapas.

In Mexico and across the globe, Third World tribal peoples are becoming a compelling lure for First World curiosity seekers. In Kenya, Indonesia, Peru, Ecuador and more than 60 other countries, the Earth’s last remaining indigenous and tribal peoples--estimated to number about 300,000--are increasingly becoming tourist attractions.

There’s no stopping the flood of tribal tourism, only the hope that most visits will prove beneficial rather than invasive. And there’s no better time to contemplate the dynamics of cultural exchange than in 1993, named by the United Nations as the International Year of the World’s Indigenous People.

We should easily be able to agree on what meaningful cultural exchange is not.

Take, for example, a popular tour that visits the “savage” Yagua Indians of the Peruvian Amazon. As a raftload of tourists nears a jungle village, the guide blasts on a conch shell, signaling the Yagua that the visitors come in peace, he says. Otherwise, he adds, they’d be speared.

The Yagua recognize the conch shell blast as the signal for something else: time to doff their rubber boots, T-shirts and gym shorts and wriggle into loincloths and grass skirts. The tourists, after all, are expecting “real” Indians.

On arrival, the intrusive tourists trample into a village like circus elephants, blaze away with their Nikons and Sony camcorders, pass out a few cheap trinkets, then disappear back to the safety of the raft and the cultural cocoon of their own kind. An extreme example perhaps, but equally artificial meetings occur hundreds of times a day, from Mexico to Mali to Myanmar.

Both native and tourist emerge from such profoundly artificial encounters with no better understanding of each other. Such phony meetings cheapen and diminish living folkways and cloud the truth about how other people live.

Real cultural exchange is more challenging. It requires that you suspend links to your own culture and immerse yourself in the rhythms of another way of life.

“It’s a potentially unnerving experience,” says Ted Macdonald, a spokesman for Cultural Survival, a Boston-based human-rights organization. “You are experiencing something genuinely new--and you don’t have the recourse to go back to the hotel and re-create your own reality that evening.” Unfortunately, he adds, genuine experiences are hard to come by. Cultural Survival has spent months working up a list of recommended programs open to culturally sensitive travelers. So far, the list has few entries; most programs don’t qualify.

On the short list is a new program in Ecuador administered by Quechua Indians living in the village of Capirona. The Quechua ferry tourists into their remote village by canoe and play host for several days, inviting visitors to participate in their rituals, teaching them about rain-forest plants and generally introducing them to the aspects of Capirona culture that they consider important. Visitors are expected to share songs and stories from their homes, too.

Admittedly, Capirona-style total immersion is not for everyone, but following a few simple guidelines can make even a brief visit less intrusive and, hopefully, more meaningful.

You can begin before leaving home. Try to learn as much about local mores as possible. If you know that Thai hill tribe peoples, for example, take offense if anyone touches the top of a child’s head, you can avoid causing problems through an otherwise innocent gesture.

If possible, make your trip with a local guide who is a member of the community you plan to visit. At the least, try to ensure that some portion of the money you spend for a trip directly benefits those you visit. Don’t let curiosity overwhelm your sense of propriety. Balinese funeral ceremonies are a major draw for foreign tourists, and Westerners angling for photos can often be seen pushing aside grieving family members. Consider the opportunity to view ritual events a privilege, and act accordingly.

Things happen slowly in traditional communities, so don’t expect Western punctuality. The Indonesian phrase jam karet, rubber time, best defines the indigenous peoples’ concept of time. Events unfold at a more organic pace and are untethered to any clock. Don’t fight it.

Take time to communicate with your hosts, even if you share no common language. Even the most pathetic attempt to speak the local language will usually be appreciated. Instead of just asking lots of questions, share information. Take pictures of your home and family to share with your hosts.

Sharing food may be problematic, but offering it is often an integral part of hospitality. It may take an act of faith (and a cast-iron stomach) to accept a bamboo tube stuffed with freshly cooked, just-slaughtered pork (a delicacy in some parts of the Indonesian island of Sulawesi) or a baked guinea pig (an Andean favorite), but breaking bread with your hosts is one of the most basic of human interactions; refusing it is the height of bad manners.

And while being polite won’t guarantee a more meaningful trip, it will do something far more important--ensure that your visit does no harm.

Christopher Reynolds is on assignment.