Inclusivity, Exclusivity, and the Enchanting
Rocio
©2016 By: Thomas G. Tait
About
eleven years ago, a friend of mine called seeking an opinion. He owned a bunch of full-service eat-and-drinkeries
in Cancun and grappled with an issue that was pivotal to his profitability. All-inclusive
hotels, with food and beverages fixed into the room price became the rule in
Yucatan rather than the exception.
He
pointed out that as a stand-alone restaurateur, his outlets relied on a
transient public – not one held captive by in-house buffets and Bahama Mama's.
He
wondered if I had encountered this phenomenon in the US and Europe, and if so, what
steps were taken to re-level the playing field for external service providers
like him.
I
hadn't encountered the phenomenon, but I said I'd look into it.
The
concept of inclusivity was introduced by Club Méditerranée in 1950. Through the years, Club Med acquired 'homes'
in a plethora of sun-filled destinations and on two luxury cruise ships. The homes were mostly planted in 'primitive'
sub-tropical sites where the notion of venturing out for a bite was neither
practical nor recommended. In some locales,
a guest might come back bitten, and not just by mosquitoes. Out of necessity, all services were included
in the price of admission – hence inclusive.
Cruise
lines have for years been applying a modified inclusive strategy make them more
competitive: lose money on a lobster fest and make a killing on daily carb-rich
smorgasbords. And, put a price point on
everything a vacationer uses.
It
didn't take long for the cruise line slant to extract pennies from all profit
centers to find its way into land-based tourism leaders in the early 1990s. They asked, 'Why should we unleash our
customers into the wild, allowing them to snub our expectation that they spend their
disposable income with us?' That notion had particular appeal in South Florida,
the Caribbean and Mexico's coastal marketplaces to where snow birding Canadians
and Americans were a-flocking.
And
on that abstemious note, the first 'fully-captive' destination resorts were
born in select US and Caribbean markets, along the Baja Peninsula, and on both coasts
of Mexico.
In
those citadels of an architectural style known as Near-a-Beach, every activity
was available in-house: drinks, gourmet dining, nightclubs, entertainment,
sports and recreation, films, shopping, tours, gaming, and, let's not forget
the ubiquitous buffet. One Nevada-based
mega-resort brand offered its guests unlimited buffet action at seven of its
properties for one daily low price.
A
writer for the Chicago Tribune interviewed as part of a panel on touristic food
trends said, "What's so special about these resort buffets? I go to an all-you-can-eat joint in Chicago
and its okay." To which a reporter
from the Philadelphia Enquirer said, "Yeah, that's all good – but can you
eat there until you're sick?"
Later
adjustments saw once-free commodities like in-room bottled water, parking,
internet access, airport shuttle service, and lounge entertainment become new
profit centers. Those value-added amenities converted to penny-wise entries on Ebenezer's
balance sheet, adding fresh proceeds to the resort's bottom line.
Then,
a parallel marketing concept to inclusivity emerged: fractional ownership, timesharing
and destination club membership! Exclusivity in the marketplace allowed
investors the right to use a piece of the sand.
Prospects
for exclusive club membership are motivated to visit a sales office for a One-hour
sales presentation. Rewards will be exchanged for their time. Sugary enticements are dangled before them: epicurean
gifts, suite upgrades, cruises and activities like golf, zip lines and swimming
with turtles.
Entering
the sales loft you see lots of glossy photos hung hither showing animated and beautified
people: they're eating, drinking and frolicking. There too are montages of lush surroundings including
portraits of recognizable gents like Nicklaus and Norman, implying simpatico
with the organization.
The
crescendo of the three-plus hour
sales pitch is a multi-tiered, intimidatingly aggressive, deal-closing
full-court press, reminiscent of the grapefruit scene in Public Enemy where Cagney smashes citrus into Harlow's face to exclaim
his point.
Inclusive
and exclusive resorts alter the face of tourism in Earth's northern tropical
zone, and with it healthy interaction between the people that inhabit the
region and visitors is also altered. Aside from sun-drenched beaches, in/exclusive
resorts replicate amenities found in four and five-star hotels in northern temperate
nations, to create familiarity and a comfort zone that shouts out, 'Why leave?'
Resort captivity defies the definition of touristic and doesn't
bode well for a country that needs customer wealth spread throughout a
community. There is little or no
experiential trading of customs or interaction with service workers other than
that which occurs through performance of duties.
I
told my restaurateur friend that he could either collaborate with the resorts and
become an official off-property dining/entertainment option for guests, or
differentiate himself from the hotels.
He would need to hype his brands and provide better service and
experiences than the customers could find in their captive hotels (the
desirable option). He's still in
business.
The "real Mexico," like my friend's
cantinas, can found off the beaten path in every beach city. There are many local
restaurants with excellent offerings prepared by first class chefs.
This
brings me to Rocio, a testament to traditional tourism. She's a charming 50-something mother of four,
grandmother of six, breast cancer survivor (for which she prays every day) and
bar-cafe owner in the Zona Romántica of
old Puerto Vallarta. Her club, always
crowded, is named Monchi's Third Base Sports Cantina. It was deeded to the scrappy Rocio, a
long-time employee, by its previous owner, Christine Hammer, who passed from
cancer in July 2016.
Rocio,
aside from possessing a work ethic our parents would appreciate, has a local disclaimer:
she inserts the words 'F..k You' before each drink order. "You want a F..k You Margarita? With
salt?" God forbid you're male and
order wine. Gutsy Rocio has been known
to chase a sarcastic customer around her bar with a baseball bat or Taser –
both the reprobate and Rocio laughing the whole time.
All
meals are homemade from scratch – over forty are served a day in humble,
immaculate surroundings.
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