Religious tourism is always something that I’ve had some qualms about. That is, going to churches, temples, mosques, or synagogues, just to see them, even if you don’t follow that particular faith. Certainly, there may be architectural or historic reasons to visit such places, and it’s never a bad thing to learn about or experience views, beliefs, philosophies, or faiths distinct from your own. But I always feel like an intruder to tour in a place where people actively practice their religion. What right do I have to enter the space? The idea of speaking to and praising God as a private act that should not be interrupted is perhaps a Western bias though, or maybe an agnostic bias, I have no idea. Still, I go to these religious tourist attractions, which are incredibly common in India, and I try to maintain certain levels of respect – I observe quietly, I don’t (usually) take photos inside – but still I feel a bit like I shouldn’t be there. Not just here in India where I’m often one of a few white people in a sea of brown, but also in places where I’m part of the racial majority, like in the cathedrals of Montreal. Maybe that’s just my particular experience of religion, something that’s never really been a key aspect of my life, and something that I don’t always feel a part of. Or maybe it’s the anthropologist in me that is disturbed by the idea of bringing the profane – commercial tourism – into the sacred spaces.
Two weeks back, I was visiting friends in Mumbai. Our tours of the city included the Knesset Eliyahoo Synagogue, the Haji Ali floating mosque, and the Siddhivinayak temple. The synagogue, as it turned out was closed. My friends, wonderful as they are, couldn’t tell me much about the history of synagogue either, so we just viewed the bright blue building from the outside. But I remember visiting the historic synagogue in Jew Town, Cochin, Kerala, which is purely a tourist attraction and does not hold religious services anymore (though perhaps there are special functions for festivals like Yom Kippur, Purim, and Hanukkah). You stand in a line of visitors who crowd through a small exhibition space to read the panels about the Jewish history of Kerala, then remove your shoes to enter the temple space, no photos allowed anywhere. It is a small space, with several different chandeliers hanging from the ceiling of the room and some religious objects placed appropriately. There are benches around the outside of the room and also in the center. Many people sat on these benches and chatted about whatever pleased them. Surely there are some Jews who make pilgrimages to this historic place, allegedly the oldest synagogue in the world outside of Israel. But the way the space is set up, with crowds unmonitored, it is difficult to get a sense of the sanctity of the space. It seems to me that this sanctity, or perceived sanctity, is really the primary purpose of religious spaces. That is, providing a separate space for the sacred itself. When that sacredness cannot be sensed, even to at least some small extent by tourists, there seems to be a problem with how tourists are incorporated into the space.
At the Haji Ali mosque in Mumbai, I felt less like a tourist among tourists somehow disrespecting the historic religiosity of a place, but more as an outsider among the devout. Many local muslims had come to this mosque to pray, and there my friend and I were, two non-muslims clumsily wrapping scarves over our hair and removing our shoes to enter the recently opened women’s section of the prayer hall. The Haji Ali ranks high in the list of Mumbai tourist attractions, primarily, I think, because it is situated at the end of a wharf some few hundred meters away from the city’s shore such that when the tide is high the mosque appears to be floating. The mosque itself, however, seems to not have been well maintained in the interest of tourism. Other than its location, it is not spectacularly grand. The devout, however, washed their feet thoroughly before entering to pray sincerely. For us, we were guests within this sacred space, trying our best not to disturb or offend the religious practice there.
When visiting Hindu temples in India, like the Siddhivinayak temple in Mumbai, it is sometimes difficult not to get swept into the religious practice inside. At touristed temples especially, which are often also important pilgrimage sites, there are usually large crowds in some sort of queue or procession to participate in traditional rituals. At the Siddhivinayak temple, which imposes itself within the local cityscape, we removed our shoes and joined the queue, wanting simply to see inside. The queue bottlenecked into tight and winding stanchions and we stood again, two white non-Hindus among a sea of devout worshippers holding bowls of fruit and candles and flowers to give to the god as offerings. We were actually a bit unsure of exactly what the queue was for, but after winding through several rows of line dividers, we realized we were being led towards the innermost shrine where crowds were being swept through, some ten or twelve people at a time, to kneel before the idol of Ganesh for drum-accompanied prayer. We exited the line as soon as we could and moved past the shrine, observing the prayer from afar. Looking up and around us, it seemed that this temple, like the mosque, had also not been maintained for the purpose of tourism. It was instead an active, living place of worship with signs of natural depreciation and decay over time, but because of its impressive gopuram (temple tower) it had worked its way onto lists of tourist attractions in the city.
I suppose tourism is primarily based on experiences of “other”: other cultures, other foods, other sports and recreation, other times and places, and certainly other religions. There is so much we can learn from experiencing the other, including gaining different perspectives of what is familiar to us (perhaps one of the most important lessons we can learn). Experiencing different religious places and practices is no different in this sense. But what happens when tourism brings the profane into sacred spaces? Does the space become less religious? Does this consequently make it less of an interest to tourists? This contradiction is something we should at the very least be aware of as we continue to tour in places which have sacred value to others, doing our best to respect and maintain the sanctity of the space.
Postcards from Pondicherry 