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Travel
writers like to distinguish themselves from tourists. They call themselves
travelers, and insist they be classified in a higher light than Mr. Jones
and his sun-hat. They balk at the meaninglessness of a tourist's relaxation.
They laugh at the alcoholic concoctions that sell for ten dollars a piece.
They insist that the traveler respects a culture, but that the tourist
degrades it, makes it a pale and colorful imitation of their wealthier
suburb.
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