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KINGFISHER BAY RESORT, FRASER ISLAND,
QUEENSLAND, AUSTRALIA
This ecoresort--constructed on the world's largest sand island, now a
World Heritage site--takes advantage of the area's natural pools (below)
and lagoon (above).
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The cruise ship Maheno (above), which washed up on the island's 75-mile
beach in 1935, is now a popular photo op. Sustainable materials--such as
the natural timber in the entrance foyer (below)--are used in all the
architecture, which was designed to leave little trace if dismantled.
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Photos: Courtesy Kingfisher Bay Resort and Village
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Richard Aynsley, who held the UNESCO chair in tropical architecture at Queensland's
James Cook University (and is now a dean at Southern Polytechnic State University,
near Atlanta) goes further. "There are some pluses for the large developments,"
he asserts. "Boutique-type places get only devotees, whereas in the
larger ones you're likely to capture 'tagalong' people. The educational
effect is only of consequence for people who go there not realizing what
the development is but achieve some understanding through their visit."
Education at an ecoresort can be seen to have two aspects: programs that
interpret the natural setting; and the buildings and systems themselves,
to the extent that they express the principles of sustainability in ways
guests can understand.
All the ecoresorts offer nature interpretation. "I don't have a person
called a 'guest-relations officer,'" says Chandra de Silva, CEO
of Ranweli, in Sri Lanka. "I have a resident botanist, zoologist, and
ornithologist." Two main themes there are mangrove ecosystems and bird
life. Besides offering guided excursions, the resort has published its own
literature on local flora and fauna. At Canyon of the Eagles, in Texas,
there is emphasis on butterflies, birds of prey, and the night sky:
a simple metal building with a roll-back roof houses two large telescopes.
"A lot of people were shut out of parks because they don't want to
camp--they're older or have families or take shorter vacations," says
Jeff Singleton, who oversees development of LCRA's eco-resorts. Canyon of
the Eagles is easily reached by paved highways. Buildings patterned after
historic Texas hill-country cottages--made of board and batten with open
dogtrot central corridors, corrugated-metal roofs, and rocking-chair porches--contain
guest rooms that have simple furnishings (and no televisions) and bear relatively
modest nightly rates of $100 to $150. "People want to get in the car,
drive somewhere, and not have to do a lot of thinking," he adds. "We
want to get people there who were not participating in nature-based recreation.
To make good stewards of nature, you need to get people out to experience
it."
But if people don't have to think, will they come home from their ecotravels
with any new understanding of the limits of nature or the possibilities
of sustainable design? Consider, for comparison, the educational program
at an ecotourism destination that is far more challenging to reach and less
commodious to stay in.
There are hot showers, but just 18 guests can sleep--in bunk beds, under
thatched roofs--at the Thomas H. Davis Ecotourism Centre, in Ecuador's Maquipucuna
forest reserve. It's only two hours from Quito--but the second half of the
ride is unpaved and requires four-wheel drive. The Maquipucuna Foundation
also maintains a scientific research program on the site, scrutinizing
rain-forest conservation and small-scale sustainable economies. Anne Shenk,
director of education at the State Botanical Garden of Georgia, is devising
the lodge's programs for children. Young guests are introduced to ecological
concepts before accompanying guides and educators on nature-viewing and
data-gathering walks. They also visit neighboring communities, where the
foundation is helping establish enterprises such as marmalade manufacture
and shade-grown coffee cultivation. Youthful ecotourists "definitely
were aware that the children down there had a very different way of life,"
Shenk says. "Seeing the erosion, they could understand that people
needed something to do that didn't require cutting down the forest. The
kids get to be closer to nature than they typically are--plus they get an
understanding of the issues facing both the rain forest and the people who
are living in it."
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COURAN COVE ISLAND RESORT,
QUEENSLAND, AUSTRALIA
Marine villas on the lagoon (above) make up the majority of the resort's
357 units; there are also forest cabins. The Australian Modern architecture
(below) features the same batten sunshades, corrugated iron, and painted
weatherboard that can be seen elsewhere in Queensland.
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Photos: Courtesy Couran Cove Island Resort, Queensland, Australia
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A visit to Canyon of the Eagles is less rigorous; still, interpretation
is not limited to nature walks. Guests receive a leaflet warning that
they must "forgo a few of the conveniences." They won't be able
to drive right to their rooms. And they will need to take care at night:
landscape lighting is minimal to maintain a "dark-sky protocol"
for the observatory. (Room keys are attached to tiny flashlights, an
evocative detail noted in every travel article about the place.) In their
subtle way, these notices interpret green aspects of the resort's design.
That's important, says Brian Trusty, who supervises the LCRA's educational
programs, "or guests just think it's cool and rustic. But if you throw
a bunch of architecture jargon at the Smith family, it's not going to demonstrate
how they can include sustainable practices at home without a big interruption
in comfort or lifestyle." Of course, many environmentalists would say
that sustainability cannot be achieved without a little discomfort.
Great effort was taken in the construction of Kingfisher Bay Resort
to minimize the effects on its World Heritage site location. To avoid introducing
exotic soil diseases, for example, all the fill was obtained right
on the property. Recognizing that tourism may at some point be deemed incompatible
with a place so delicate, the design of the buildings allows for their eventual
deconstruction with minimal lasting traces. At Couran Cove, the site-friendly
systems are equally thoughtful. They include a native-plant nursery that
supplies all vegetation for landscaping; solar-powered mosquito traps, obviating
the need for pesticides; a worm farm for processing kitchen waste, which
yields fertilizer for the gardens; solar and liquid-natural-gas generation
of all electricity; and reverse-osmosis wastewater treatment, with drip
irrigation to return water to the aquifer. There are guided tours not only
of the natural habitats but also of the waste-management facilities and
nursery. On the televisions in their rooms, guests can even monitor their
own power use--"a fun approach to energy conservation," says marketing
communications manager Julie Philips.
But Ralf Buckley, professor of ecotourism at Queensland's Griffith
University, is skeptical of the benefits. "Are there statistics on
how many people sit there watching their energy consumption--or whether
they're watching Baywatch? We all vaguely believe that if people
go into areas of high conservation value and are told that the environment
is important, when they go back to their city jobs they will pay some attention.
But with what effect no one really knows."
Still, designers say that revealing an ecoresort's green technologies has
value. "Let people see how things work," Ceballos-Lascuráin
says. "It should be a feature of your design. When things are honest
and sincere, there's beauty in that."
"Use signage, a bit of a note, a tile set into a wall," says Patricia
Michael, a Texas-based environmental designer and permaculture educator.
"Let some of the structure of the wall appear, as in straw-bale walls
when they leave a 'truth corner' that they don't plaster." Michael
urges attention as well to the language used for conceptualizing and interpreting
design. She favors formulations like "becoming accustomed to the site"
and "permissions of the site"--rather than "rules and regulations"--to
convey what systems and uses are appropriate for a place.
She also contends that the most thorough planning for an ecoresort is inadequate
if it doesn't examine the property in its regional context. "Nothing
exists by itself," she says. This may be a lot to ask of developers,
architects, and resort managers--who after all can only directly control
their own properties. Click on www.waterski.com, for example, and you will
find a glowing description of a "water-ski camp" operating
on the same Sri Lankan lagoon where Ranweli is located--and urging water-skiers
to book in at the ecoresort, with praise for its luxury, service, and quiet
air conditioners. "We're talking about a regional process, not a site,"
Michael insists, which demands "studying the whole of that bioregion
and understanding what a niche in it means."
"Can the design of the buildings help get across the message?"
Buckley wonders. "If you have a guiding staff, and if
they talk about the environmental design of the resort, and if the
features are things guests can see, and if the guides point out that
these are applicable in the lifestyle of these guests when they go home,
and if they really are applicable, then--after all those ifs--my
guess would be that the people might do something about it. But are they
more likely to become politically involved in environmental issues? To vote
green? To donate money? I don't think anyone knows."
Buckley asserts that developments like Kingfisher Bay and Couran Cove
"didn't see a market opportunity in the 'eco' end; they saw a market
opportunity in terms of location. To get permission to build, they had to
satisfy more stringent environmental criteria. It's true that they have
done things to reduce their impact and have environmental staff who are
very keen. But at the brutal bottom line, they ain't selling to environmentally
concerned people--they're selling to people who want to have a spot on the
beach."
Mehta describes the projected market for Punta Mangle, with its five-star
accommodations and multidisciplinary spa treatments, as "experienced
seekers" with $100,000 incomes: "They are a lot more environmentally
and socially conscious than the mass-tourism clientele." But Buckley's
doubts seem well enough founded. "Three years down the track,"
says Couran Cove's Philips, who is going after the less gilded traveler,
"we have learned a great deal. People do not decide which resort to
spend their holiday at based on ecotourism." The resort has undergone
rebranding. Now, she says, it is marketed as a "family island holiday
product."
Presumably the sojourner who troubles to vacation in a hut--or drags her
kids off on an educational trip to a place like Maquipucuna--already grasps
to some degree the challenge of sustainability. So does the seeker of ecoconscious
R&R who will pay a premium to be pampered at Punta Mangle. But those
mainstream tourists at Couran Cove or Canyon of the Eagles: do they get
it, about the limits of nature? It is not an argument against green design
or environmental education to concede that their effects on mass consciousness--and
through it, on our built environment--are unmeasured, and possibly slight.
"Which would have a bigger impact on the ecofriendliness of buildings?"
Buckley asks. "To do all this educational stuff, or simply to change
building regulations a bit? Changing the regulations would be far more effective."
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