Landscapes of Leisure

Leisure Studies in a Global Era

Series Editors: Karl Spracklen, Professor of Leisure Studies, Leeds Beckett University,
UK, and Karen Fox, Professor of Leisure Studies, University of Alberta, Canada.

Titles include:

Udo Merkel
IDENTITY DISCOURSES AND COMMUNITIES IN INTERNATIONAL EVENTS,
FESTIVALS AND SPECTACLES

Soile Veijola
DISRUPTIVE TOURISM AND ITS UNTIDY GUESTS

Robert A. Stebbins
CAREERS IN SERIOUS LEISURE

Oliver Smith
CONTEMPORARY ADULTHOOD AND THE NIGHT-TIME ECONOMY

Brett Lashua
SOUNDS AND THE CITY

Karl Spracklen
WHITENESS AND LEISURE

Leisure Studies in a Global Era

Series Standing Order ISBN 978–1–137–31032–3
978–1–137–31033–0
(outside North America only)
You can receive future titles in this series as they are published by placing a standing order. Please
contact your bookseller or, in case of difficulty, write to us at the address below with your name
and address, the title of the series and one of the ISBNs quoted above.
Customer Services Department, Macmillan Distribution Ltd, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire
RG21 6XS, England
Landscapes of Leisure
Space, Place and Identities

Edited by

Sean Gammon
Senior Lecturer, University of Central Lancashire, UK

and

Sam Elkington
Senior Lecturer, Northumbria University, UK
Selection, introduction and editorial matter © Sean Gammon and
Sam Elkington, 2015
Individual chapters © Respective authors, 2015
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2015 978-1-137-42852-3

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this

publication may be made without written permission.
No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted
save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence
permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency,
Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS.
Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this work
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published 2015 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN
Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited,
registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke,
Hampshire RG21 6XS.
Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC,
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies
and has companies and representatives throughout the world.
Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States,
the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries.
ISBN 978-1-349-68244-7 ISBN 978-1-137-42853-0 (eBook)
DOI 10.1007/978-1-137-42853-0
This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully
managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing
processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the
country of origin.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
Contents

List of Illustrations vii

Notes on Contributors viii

1 Reading Landscapes: Articulating a Non-Essentialist

Representation of Space, Place and Identity in Leisure 1
Sam Elkington and Sean Gammon
2 Unravelling Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 8
David Crouch
3 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places:
The Everyday Aesthetics of Leisure 24
Sam Elkington
4 The Social Dynamics of Space Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles 41
Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long
5 Zombie Places? Pop Up Leisure and Re-Animated
Urban Landscapes 55
Brett D. Lashua
6 Last Resting Places? Recreational Spaces or Thanatourism
Attractions – the Future of Historic Cemeteries and
Churchyards in Europe 71
Tony Seaton with Magda North and Gabriela Gajda
7 Animating Public Space 96
Troy D. Glover
8 Sport Tourism Finding Its Place? 110
Sean Gammon
9 Youth Leisure, Places, Spaces and Identity 123
Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson
10 Phenomenology and Extreme Sports in Natural Landscapes 135
Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer
11 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 147
David Jarratt
12 Savouring Leisure Spaces 164
Jaime L. Kurtz and Erik Simmons

v
vi Contents

13 Weaving Place Meanings into Outdoor Recreation

Sustainability: The Case of the Niagara Glen 176
Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard
14 Distant at Your Leisure: Consuming Distance as a
Leisure Experience 192
Gunvor Riber Larsen
15 The Lure of the Countryside: The Spiritual Dimension of
Rural Spaces of Leisure 202
Deborah Jepson
16 Performing Leisure, Making Place: Wilderness Identity and
Representation in Online Trip Reports 220
Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

Index 233
List of Illustrations

Figures

5.1 After the pop up cinema at Marshall’s Mill, May 2012 64

6.1 Australian billiards 76
6.2 Irish famine grave 77
6.3 Cuba Firemen’s monument, 1890 79
6.4 Brookwood air crash monument, 1938 80
6.5 Nunhead 82
6.6 Brookwood 83
6.7 Maribor/Lidija 87
6.8 Gothic cemetery 92
7.1 Categories of public space 97
14.1 Distance as phenomenon 195
14.2 The importance of distance for the experience of the journey 198

Table

6.1 Changes in the function and consumer usage of

cemetery space 74

vii
Notes on Contributors

Eric Brymer is a principal lecturer in the Department of Exercise and Sport

Science at Manchester Metropolitan University, UK. Eric’s research focuses
on understanding the relationship between people and the natural environ-
ment. He has written extensively on extreme sports and the psychological
health benefits of nature-based experiences.
Joseph G. Champ is an assistant professor in the Department of Journalism
and Media Communication at the Colorado State University, USA. After a
television journalism career, Joseph completed graduate work with a focus
on critical/cultural interpretations of environmental communication. He
studies the intersection of media, nature and culture. This has included:
audience research of nature-focused television, movies and magazines;
textual analysis of newspaper coverage of fish and wildlife; organizational
communication about wild land fire mediation efforts; and online commu-
nication about wilderness.
Joan Abbott-Chapman, recently retired Professor of Education at the
University of Tasmania and University Associate of the Faculty of Education
and the Menzies Research Institute, is an internationally cited sociologist,
whose research and publications focus on factors that encourage young
people’s educational and social engagement, their health and well-being.
Her long-standing research collaboration with Margaret Robertson has
highlighted the role played by social constructs of space and place in the
development of young people’s identity, resilience and sense of belonging.
David Crouch is Professor Emeritus in Cultural Geography and Senior
Research Fellow at the University of Derby, UK. David makes many distinc-
tive contributions to developing conceptual debates in cultural geography,
in research, writing and teaching. His wide-ranging, conceptual and empiri-
cally evidenced work ranges from the creative character of the encounters
individuals have with space in everyday life to professional and popular
art practice, and across landscape, leisure and tourism performance, nature,
consumption and community gardens.
Ana Paula C. Pereira recently completed her PhD at the University of
Campinas (São Paulo, Brazil). Currently, she is a Lecturer in Leisure Studies
at Centro Universitário de Volta Redonda, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Her research
interests include: the phenomenon of second homes upon leisure lifestyles;
leisure and the concept of social capital and symbolic violence. In 2011, she
was a visiting researcher at Leeds Metropolitan (now Beckett) University–UK

viii
 Notes on Contributors ix

(under the supervision of Professor Jonathan Long), with the funding of

Brazilian Federal Agency for Support and Evaluation of Graduate Education
(CAPES). Ana is a member of the Leisure Studies Association.
Sam Elkington is Senior Lecturer in Sport Management at Northumbria
University, UK. Sam’s research reflects his interests in the theory, manage-
ment and pedagogy of sport and leisure, namely understanding the social
and environmental psychological dimensions of sport and leisure experi-
ences and investigating the incidences of entrepreneurship, innovation
and creativity in contemporary sport. Sam’s books include Contemporary
Perspectives in Leisure: Meanings Motives and Lifelong Learning (2014, with Sean
Gammon) and The Serious Leisure Perspective: An Introduction (2014, with
Robert Stebbins).
Sean Gammon has been actively researching in the area of sport tourism
for nearly 20 years and was responsible for designing and delivering the
first BA (Hons) Sport Tourism undergraduate degree in 1998. He is widely
published in the area, primarily focusing on sport tourist customer motiva-
tion, nostalgia and heritage. His latest book (with Ramshaw and Waterton)
titled Heritage and the Olympics offers an international perspective on how
the Olympics generate genuine and meaningful heritage encounters. In addi-
tion, he continues to contribute to the field of leisure, recently co-editing
(with Elkington) a new text on Contemporary Perspectives in Leisure.
Troy D. Glover is a professor in the Department of Recreation and Leisure
Studies at the University of Waterloo and a fellow in the Academy of Leisure
Sciences. His research explores the interplay between leisure and commu-
nity. His scholarship in the areas of social capital and transformative place-
making exposes social inequities to encourage critical reflection about
exclusive practices or policies that privilege certain groups over others. Much
of his work engages community members directly in dialogue to envision
their aspirations for a healthier community.
Ryan Howard works at the University of Northern British Columbia, Canada,
in the Department of Outdoor Recreation and Tourism Management. Ryan’s
research and teaching interests include recreation programming, outdoor
recreation and place allegiance.
Garrett Hutson works at Brock University, Canada, in the Department of
Recreation and Leisure Studies. Garrett’s research and teaching interests
include the interconnected topics of place, outdoor recreation and outdoor
leadership education.
David Jarratt is a senior lecturer and a course leader at the University of
Central Lancashire (UCLan), Preston, within the School of Sport, Tourism
and the Outdoors. David has an industrial background in heritage attraction
x Notes on Contributors

management and is interested in the study of tourist motivation and sense of

place. Tourism and heritage in seaside resorts and rural areas are particular
sites of interest for his research. In the near future David plans to publish
more on the motivation of visitors to traditional seaside resorts as well as the
use of sense of place toolkits in rural areas in relation to the interpretation
and branding of these destinations.

Deborah Jepson holds a PhD in Tourism Management. She lectures in

tourism, hospitality and event management at the University of Central
Lancashire, UK. Her research interests are in the area of rural tourism, sense
of place, spiritual tourism and tourism behaviour and experiences. She is
particularly interested in tourists’ subjective experience of place. She has
published in both the Annals of Tourism Research and the Journal of Sustainable
Tourism. Currently, she is expanding her research interests into the practical
and business application of the emotive experience of tourists. She is also
working on an MEd with planned research focusing on the student learning
experience within the school of tourism.

Jaime L. Kurtz is Associate Professor of Psychology at James Madison

University in Harrisonburg, Virginia, where she studies happiness and
savouring strategies. Her research has been published in journals such
as Psychological Science, the Journal of Positive Psychology, and Personality
and Social Psychology. Her current research focuses on the psychology of
travel and cross-cultural well-being. In addition to offering courses on
personality, social and positive psychology at the undergraduate level,
she teaches seminars on well-being strategies to health-care professionals
across the US.

Gunvor Riber Larsen is a postdoc at the Centre for Mobilities and Urban
Studies, Aalborg University and Urban Development Consultant at Hjørring
Municipality, Denmark. Her research interests include the mobilities
of people, hereunder leisure mobilities and the mobilities performed in
everyday life. She is currently undertaking research into leisure and busi-
ness aeromobility at the regional airport in Northern Jutland, as well as
leading a research project exploring the mobilities of citizens in Hjørring
Municipality.

Brett D. Lashua is a senior lecturer in the Carnegie Faculty at Leeds

Beckett University, UK. His scholarship is concerned primarily with the
ways that young people make sense of their lives through arts, leisure and
cultural practices such as popular music, as well as how young people are
‘made sense of’ through particular representational and narrative strat-
egies. He recently co-edited (with Karl Spracklen and Stephen Wagg)
Sounds and the City: Popular Music, Place and Globalization (2014).
 Notes on Contributors xi

Jonathan Long is Professor in the Research Institute for Sport, Physical

Activity and Leisure at Leeds Beckett University, UK. Jonathan does interdis-
ciplinary research on leisure and social change with a particular emphasis
on social justice. This includes his interest in: inclusion, integration and
equity; leisure policy; space and place in the leisure lives of new migrants;
race and racism in sport. Using a wide range of different research approaches
he has directed or jointly directed some 50 projects for external clients,
including government departments and non-departmental public bodies
like the sports councils, local authorities and third sector organizations.
Robert D. Schweitzer is Professor in the School of Psychology and
Counselling at Queensland University of Technology, Australia, where he
established a post-graduate training program in Clinical Psychology. He has
a long commitment to phenomenology, being the founding editor of the
Indo-Pacific Journal of Phenomenology.
Tony Seaton is MacAnally Professor of Travel History and Tourism
Behaviour at the University of Limerick and Emeritus Professor of Tourism
Behaviour at the University of Bedfordshire, UK. He has a first class degree
in the Social Sciences, an Oxford master’s in Literature, a PhD in Tourism
from Strathclyde University, and a master’s in Monastic History from the
University of Lampeter. He has taught and researched Tourism and Cultural
Studies at six universities in England, Scotland and Ireland. His continuing
research/teaching interests include: tourism behaviour, thanatourism, reli-
gious iconography, and the representation of travel in literature and graphic
satire.
Erik Simmons is an undergraduate at James Madison University, USA,
where he is pursuing a bachelor’s degree in Psychology and a minor degree
in Writing, Rhetoric and Technical Communications. His previous work has
been published in undergraduate journals of literature. Simmons’ research
interests are diverse, ranging from the biology of stress to the implementa-
tion of behavioural measures to improve the lives of students. He aspires to
be a professor, and plans to continue his academic career in a doctorate-level
psychology program in the future.
Margaret Robertson is Professor of Education at La Trobe University, Australia.
Her teaching interests in geographical education and innovative pedagogy
are reflected in her long-standing research involvement in Youth Studies and
cross-cultural differences, including doctoral supervision and teaching of
graduate students from diverse cultural settings. Margaret’s current research
focusses on youth voices in peri-urban zones of sprawling cities. His profes-
sional outreach activities include membership of the Steering Committee for
the International Year of Global Understanding project which is an initiative
of the International Geographical Union.
xii Notes on Contributors

Daniel R. Williams works for the United States Forest Service, Rocky
Mountain Research Station, Fort Collins, Colorado, USA. His research draws
from environmental psychology, consumer behaviour and human geog-
raphy to study the meanings and uses of natural environments for applica-
tion to tourism and outdoor recreation management, planning and policy.
His current research uses place concepts to inform the adaptive governance
of complex social-ecological systems. He was past Leisure Sciences (1993–
1998) and Society and Natural Resources (2011–2014).
1
Reading Landscapes: Articulating a
Non-Essentialist Representation of
Space, Place and Identity in Leisure
Sam Elkington and Sean Gammon

The decision to use the word landscape in the title of this volume was not
taken lightly. It is, after all, a famously awkward term to pin down, and
like place, space and location, has many interpretations and meanings. The
primary reason it was chosen was that it illustrated the breadth and variety
that particularly space and place play in our experiences of leisure. Of
course the problem with taking this viewpoint is that many definitions of
landscape imply that landscape can only be encountered from the outside
and usually from a distance. But in order to gain some kind of perspective
we need to step back and appreciate the complexity of the vista. In the
same way that space and place can be understood and analysed from both
subjective and objective stances – so too can landscape. Therefore, although
the idea of landscape suggests distance, it also encourages reflection and
exploration. ‘Landscape’ as Tuan so eloquently puts it, ‘allows and even
encourages us to dream. It does function as a point of departure. Yet it can
anchor our attention because it has components that we can see and touch’
(1977:101). Furthermore, we can travel through landscapes and encounter
the many spaces and places they hold, whilst gazing back to the landscape
from which we came. This interaction between leisure spaces and places
and its consequent impact on identity acts as the primary focus of this text,
but requires further discussion in order to reveal its many implications.
The notion that space and place are significant components of how and
where leisure is experienced and enacted has gained much currency in the
past two decades. Moreover, since questions of ‘who we are’ are often inti-
mately related to questions of ‘where we are’, that leisure identities are discov-
ered, affirmed and framed within specific places is also now accepted as a
fundamental consideration in leisure studies. Social space has become explic-
itly operationalized at the service of leisure (Lonsway, 2009). Leisure patterns
are necessarily spatial; their spatial structures settings for certain activities to
take place. Leisure space has historically responded to the dominant demands

1
2 Sam Elkington and Sean Gammon

of specific activities – that is recreation centres, theatres and shopping malls.

However, the places in which modern leisure, in all its forms, takes place
are no longer perceived as functional spaces that offer just opportunity for
some form of engagement – but are now understood as being an integral and
highly influential element of all leisure experiences and choices. The correla-
tion between globalization and the lack of a persistent sense of locale, and the
continual sense of upheaval and displacement that accompanies much of our
contemporary lives need not mean there is an enduring sense of placelessness.
Instead, the unmooring of social relations, production and consumption, and
even one’s identity from particular places leads to an often uneasy freedom
(through leisure) to contest the meanings people ascribe to both their imme-
diate and more distant surroundings. The contemporary leisure landscape is
a complex and diverse one that is both natural and built, dark and light, safe
and dangerous, contained or without boundary, and profoundly influences
the manner in which leisure is performed and experienced.
Space and place have been problematized through increasing attention to
context and contingency, as well as through efforts to understand new social
landscapes accompanying the ways in which places are tied to global flows of
people, meanings and things. In addition, because of these changing relations
with the surrounding world, spaces themselves are never isolated and bounded,
and as such their places are never static. On the contrary, places are continu-
ally produced and reproduced in interaction with their spatial surroundings
and thus may acquire new meanings over time. Places, from this perspective,
are not essences or essential components of these spatial surroundings but
processes, and, so conceived, will not mean the same thing to everybody.
Critique becomes necessary when traditional concentric categories of space
are employed, self-identically, as if referring to the ‘things themselves’, as fixed
social identifications, reflecting modern society’s reliance on equivalence – the
basis of exchange value; the one place or the only place for certain activities
and experiences – instead of being understood as a meaningful representa-
tion of them. The recurrent emphasis on the condition of equivalence further
enhances the power of space ‘as category’ to process social objectives, and
their spaces, based on abstractions of certain core qualities fixed around nodal
points where identity can be constructed and maintained.
To some theorists, specific spaces and places become increasingly irrel-
evant (Laclau, 2007). Here the argument is that personal relationships (to
places as well as to other people) become less stable, and that more and
more personal experience and social relations become mediated by infor-
mation and communication technologies, and thus are disembedded from
their local context. This view echoes, to some extent, earlier phenomeno-
logical perspectives on place, claiming that modernity and internationaliza-
tion produce ‘placelessness’, lacking sense of place and inauthentic physical
environments (Relph, 1976). To others, globalization brings about localiza-
tion (Beck, 2000) and the ways in which people relate to places – mobility/
cosmopolitanism, immobility/localism – become an important expression
 Reading Landscapes 3

of the wider social geographic tapestry (Bauman, 1998). Such general theo-
retical arguments give rise to important questions about the role and mean-
ings of space and place in the everyday landscape of contemporary life. They
also raise questions about how everyday experiences of leisure are related to
the conceptualization of space and place. Relph (1976), in his influential
work on place and placelessness, identifies three components of place: phys-
ical setting, activities and meanings. He argues that of these three compo-
nents, meanings are probably most difficult to grasp than the others, and
yet it is crucial to any comprehensive understanding of place. Architects
and planners in not considering the meanings that places have to individ-
uals and groups, run the risk of destroying authentic place, and producing
inauthentic ones (Seamon, 2002). From a phenomenological orientation,
Relph (1976) values the particularity of specific places, and attempts to iden-
tify the ‘basic elements’ or ‘constituents’ of place, and so arriving at the
essences of places, as lived. Agnew (2011) offers a different perspective of
how the concepts of space and place have been used in the social sciences
more broadly, defining three main elements: ‘locale’, the settings in which
social relations are constructed (these can be informal or institutional);
‘location’, the geographical area encompassing the settings for social inter-
action as defined by social and economic processes; and ‘sense of place’, the
local ‘structure of feeling’ in relation to specific places. In most research,
argues Agnew, one of these elements tends to predominate. Yet in order to
capture fully the particularity of place, the complementarity of all three
elements should be taken into account. Thus, meaningful places emerge
in a social context and through social relations; they are geographically
located and at the same time related to their social, economic and cultural
surroundings. Massey (2005) claims that much research regarding space and
place is influenced by commonsensical notions of space and place that are
built upon traditional concentric definitions. Thus, places are depicted as
having singular, essential identities, based upon history and tradition, and
the definition of a place all too often means drawing a boundary around it,
separating the inside from the outside. Against these notions Massey sets
out a more progressive conception of space and place, stressing that neither
is isolated, but rather should always be regarded in relation to the outside
world. What makes a place special, argues Massey, is not necessarily any
intrinsic qualities of the space or locale itself – it may also be the particu-
larity of the linkage to the ‘outside’ which is itself part of what constitutes the
place. In this way, places are inherently part of spaces and spaces provide the
resources and the frames of reference through which places are made. Places
are not bounded, claims Sack (1997); rather they are usually and perhaps
increasingly in a globalized world, located within a series of extensive socio-
cultural, economic and political networks. Rather than being opposite to or
disruptive of place, connectivity and mobility are an inherent part of how
some places are defined and operate as they are woven together through
space by the movements, commitments and practices of people.
4 Sam Elkington and Sean Gammon

By definition everything, leisure included, happens somewhere. Typically

the definition adopted has been the view of space as location on a surface
where things ‘just happen’, rather than the more holistic view of spaces as a
geographical context for the mediation of physical, social and economic proc-
esses. The recent revival of interest in place in leisure focuses on the medi-
ating role of place in both social relations and the acquisition of meaning
rather than on some transcendental realization of place. This in turn leads us
to an understanding of space and place that is never fixed and bounded but
is open to interpretation, returning us to a core ontological debate, namely
the nature of space/place relations, but now in the context of a non-essen-
tialist perspective. This implies a reading of spatiality in non-linear terms,
a readiness to accept geographies and temporalities as they are produced
through experiences, practices and relations of different spatial stretch and
duration. This is not a matter of assuming an amorphous geography of inces-
sant fluidity and mobility, within which all that is solid has fallen away. It
is not about claiming the modern condition represents the dematerializa-
tion of everyday life owing to the rise of the knowledge economy and infor-
mation and communication technologies, or the displacement of a space of
places by a space of flows. It is about claiming first, that the materiality of
everyday life is constituted through a very large number of spaces – discur-
sive, emotional, affiliational, physical, natural, organizational, technological
and institutional. Second, that these spaces are also recursive spaces, that is,
the conveyors of organization, stability, continuity and change. Third, the
geography of these spaces is not reducible to single, multiple, or distance-
based considerations. Fourth, space is also a doing that does not pre-exist
its doing, which, in turn, is the articulation of relational practices. From
this perspective, the challenge is as much epistemological (how we know) as
ontological (what exists). We always look at the world from somewhere, from
a place in space and time. Such a realization serves to reiterate that knowl-
edge is always geographically contextual and inherently reflexive; that is, it
is process-oriented not just a frame or category. This really knocks the idea of
space and place as essentialized entities.
It is the aim of this chapter initially, and this volume more broadly, to
dislodge recurrent essentialist forms of spatial thought. Such a re-articu-
lation leads to an examination of the productive uncertainties, complexi-
ties and disturbances commensurate with a non-essential perspective. The
tone of the offering is to signal the possibility of different insights (not a
single superior one) to spatial thinking in leisure studies. The question then
becomes: what is the relationship between established theoretical conceptu-
alizations of place and peoples’ everyday experiences of leisure? A growing
body of empirical research in leisure studies about the meanings of places
employs notions such as place identity, place attachment and sense of place.
However, much of this research investigates special or particular places, and
will invariably emphasize one or possibly two of these areas and does not
say enough about their inherent complexity – the multiple roles, norms,
 Reading Landscapes 5

processes, internal spatial divisions and external links to other places. To

open up to this kind of complexity means thinking about place and space
together. You cannot hold spaces and their places still; since you cannot
stop time. What you can do is meet up with them, catch up with where
another’s history and development has got to ‘now’ and acknowledge that
‘now’ is constituted by that encounter. ‘Here’, in this sense, is not a place in
space; rather, it is an intersection of trajectories, of movements from and to,
through and past. Each encounter, in this way, is a ‘here’, and every ‘here’
a ‘here-and-now’. It is not space or time that takes the life out of place, but
representation. The trouble is the traditional equation of representation with
spatialization has taken the life out of place. The distinctiveness of societies,
communities and cultures is based upon a seemingly unproblematic divi-
sion of space, and the fact that they ‘naturally’ occupy discontinuous space.
It is in this way that space functions as a central organizing category in the
social sciences at the same time that it disappears from analytical purview.
Representations of space are remarkably dependent on images of break,
rupture and disjunction. The industrial production of space, entertainment
and leisure has led, paradoxically, to the advent of new forms of imagining
and animating notions of place, culture and community. It has also enabled
the creation of new forms of solidarity and identity that do not rest on an
appropriation of space where contiguity and face-to-face contact are para-
mount. In the compressed yet fractured space of postmodernity, space has
not become irrelevant: it has been re-territorialized in a way that does not
conform to traditional space norms. Places, from this perspective, are where
social norms map out possibilities for action set against a spatial landscape.
Physically, then, place is a space which is invested with understandings of
behavioural appropriateness, cultural expectations and so on. We wouldn’t
describe some behaviour as being ‘out-of-space’, but would certainly describe
them as ‘out-of-place’. Place not space frames appropriate behaviour.
All spaces and places stand against a background. At the end of the hike the
cabin appears within the forest. The sports stadium rises from the horizon as
we drive along the highway. If a certain myopia accompanies this position,
there is irony too, for places are arguably most highly charged and richly evoc-
ative in leisure. Because of their inseparable connection to specific localities,
places may be used to summon an enormous range of mental and emotional
associations – associations of time and space, of history and events, of people
and social action, of oneself and stages of one’s life. Indirectly perhaps, but
no less significantly, participants in these encounters put landscapes to work.
Landscapes are available in symbolic as well as physical terms and so can
be detached from their fixed spatial moorings and transformed into instru-
ments of thought and vehicles of purposive behaviour. Thus transformed,
landscapes and the places that fill them become tools for the imagination –
expressive means for accomplishing human activities, and also, of course,
eminently portable possessions to which individuals can maintain deep and
abiding attachments regardless of where they are. We learn to appropriate
6 Sam Elkington and Sean Gammon

our landscapes, to think and act within them, as well as about and upon
them, and to weave them, through language and individual and collective
action into the foundations of social life. People do read landscapes and land-
scape representations. Landscape images form part of the media flow today.
From advertisements selling holiday destinations to rock music videos, all
make efficient use of landscapes in conveying ideas and feelings, making use
of our everyday experiences, understandings and subconscious readings of
landscape sceneries. When reading images of real-world landscapes, we also
make use of the fact that landscape is both context and process – the simulta-
neous manifestation of the past, as well as the reflection of ongoing processes
(cultural, political etc.). In this way, landscapes and landscape elements may
remain unfamiliar and unintelligible to some because the social and cultural
context is unfamiliar, or because the context of representation is unknown.
The concepts of space and place remain crucial parts of the reading of land-
scape – providing we have an understanding of the different ways and means
they are manifest. We must be aware of the different contexts of leisure in
order to understand the function of its many spatial forms, but it is the basic
question of space/place relations that forms the starting point from which
the inquiry is put into context. On the topics of landscape, space and place,
the artist and architect Barrie Greenbie writes:

What we call the landscape is generally considered to be something “out

there”. But, while some aspects of the landscape are clearly external to
both our bodies and our minds, what actually each of us experience is
selected, shaped and coloured by what we know.

There are many different kinds of places associated with modern leisure
and many different dimensions along which these places might be exam-
ined. A blunt contrast between space and place or place and non-place is
not helpful. These leisurescapes are increasingly becoming significant sites
for the construction of individual and shared frameworks in which people
orientate themselves and act in wider society, emphasizing the significance
of collective practices and language through which specific places and place
identities are formed, reproduced and modified. Language becomes the
force that binds people to places in the modern age – it is through language
that everyday experiences of self-in-place form and re-form; moreover, it
is through language that places themselves are imaginatively constructed
in ways that carry implications for who we are (and who we want to be).
Relatedly, the impact of globalization on contemporary societies in the
production and consumption of leisure place has profound implications for
understanding modern identity and the social self. Identity is widely under-
stood as lived and imagined in ways that break down its contiguousness
with a geographically bounded locality. Much has been written about the
modern globalized public sphere as a new space for socio- cultural, economic,
 Reading Landscapes 7

technological and political exchange – the paradigmatic representation of

which resembles that of an increasingly nomadic existence. The modern
condition has made possible rapidly accelerating rates of exchange, move-
ment and communication across spaces, creating a tension within local
places between searching out ever wider spheres of exchange and move-
ment, while simultaneously provoking an inward and deliberate search for
authenticity, through a conscious effort to evoke a sense of place and culti-
vate meaningful connections. The question is how to hold on to that notion
of spatial difference, of uniqueness, even of rootedness if that is what people
want without being reactionary and retreating into, and so perpetuating,
essentialized conceptions of space, place and identity.
Set against a non-essentialist backdrop, discussions in this collection offer
a timely transdisciplinary reading of the changeable landscapes of leisure,
and in doing so examine critically the praxi of place-making and identity
construction in leisure through a spatial language to unveil the growth and
evolution of altogether new notions of space in leisure. What is depicted
hereafter is less a narrative of decline or loss of place-based meaning as it
is often interpreted, but of transformation in how such meaning is created,
constituted, and mediated in and through the multivalent spaces of modern
leisure. The following chapters offer invaluable insights from a wide range
of contexts and theoretical positions of what part leisure places and spaces
have upon those who encounter them. They illustrate dramatically the
many and varied landscapes that leisure produces, and in doing so, reveal
the extraordinary influences they have upon us.

References
Agnew, J. (2011) ‘Space and Place’. In Agnew, J. and Livingstone, D. (eds) Handbook of
Geographical Knowledge. London: Sage.
Bauman, Z. (1998) Globalization: The Human Consequences. Columbia University Press.
Beck, U. (2000) ‘Risk Society Revisited: Theory, Politics and Research Programmes’. In
Beck, U. and Van Loon, J. (eds) The Risk Society and beyond: Critical Issues for Social
Theory. London: Sage.
Laclau, E. (2007). Bare Life and Social Indeterminacy? In Calarco, M. and DeCaroli, S.
(eds) Giorgio Agamben: Sovereignty and Life. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press,
pp. 11–22.
Lonsway, B. (2009) Making Leisure Work: Architecture and the Experience Economy.
London: Routledge.
Loon, J. (eds) The Risk Society and beyond: Critical Issues for Social Theory. London:
Sage.
Massey, D. (2005) For Space, London: Sage.
Relph, E. (1976) Place and Placelessness. London: Pion Limited.
Sack, R.D. 1997: Homo Geographicus: A Framework for Action, Awareness and Moral
Concern. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Seamon, D. (2002) ‘Physical Comminglings: Body, Habit, and Space Transformed
into Place’. OTJR: Occupation, Participation and Health, 22(1), 42, pp. 42–51.
Tuan, Y. (1977) Space and Place, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
2
Unravelling Space and Landscape in
Leisure’s Identities
David Crouch

Introduction

This chapter considers leisure identities through the occurrence of land-

scape. Prevailing notions of landscape are questioned and critiqued, from
the notion of what landscape is, so as to work towards a discussing of the
relationships between ourselves, landscape and ‘place’ in the doing of leisure.
Landscape, as with place, is neither simply fixed or prefigured settings of
leisure, but unstable, contingent and fluid, alongside our own experience
and identities in leisure. A participative, creative character of doing leisure
is presented. In this more engaged role in both leisure and landscape it
becomes possible to examine the lively and fluid process through which
our identity can be negotiated.
The following section sketches the character of our relations with space
and leisure practices, through the notion of flirting with space, in a way
similar to Kathleen Stewart’s (2011) use of the term ‘worlding’, and here,
with our relation with the spaces incurred in doing leisure. This section is
followed by a summary consideration of conceptual orientations towards
identity frameworks, engaging also the idea of belonging and space.
Subsequently, consideration addresses space [place, landscape] in terms of
identity negotiation.

Flirting with space

In his marvellous novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera

asks what flirtation is:

One might say that it is behaviour leading to another to believe that

sexual intimacy is possible, while preventing that possibility becoming
a certainty. In other words, flirting is a promise of sexual intercourse
without a guarantee. (Kundera, 1984:174)

8
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 9

Such pregnancy of possibility, and possibility of becoming; the implicit if

possibly agonising playfulness; the very combination of contingent enjoy-
ment, uncertainty, frustration, anxiety and hope would seem to thread
across living. Along with these, living holds a felt possibility of connec-
tion, meaning, change. To fix may be assurance, certainty or entrapment,
closure or a mix of these. Flirting provides the ground to consider the work
of leisure and space in making identity.
The more explorative, uncertain and tentative ways in which our being
part of a world of things, movements, materials and life; openings and
closures, part openings mixed with part closures; engaged in living suggests
a character of flirting; spaces of possibility; exemplified in the way in which
we can come across very familiar sites finding new juxtapositions of the
emphasis of materials in our feeling of here, now, as it were, ‘unawares’.
Our emotions become alive in the tactility of our thought; we discover our
life and its spaces anew. However modest these feelings of vitality may be
this quiet dynamic can unsettle familiar and expected cultural resonances
and the work of politics; questions and enriches how we understand those
planks of contemporary excitement, around mobilities, technology, the
making and contextualizing of ‘culture’ and so on. What was felt ordinary,
mundane and everyday becomes otherwise; changes in texture and in a
feeling of what matters.
Encounters like this can happen in diverse, nuanced, complex ways
amongst moments of doing things, across different spaces and journeys
of our lives and different intensities of encounter. Familiar and habitual
rhythmic engagement, meaning and relationships with things can change
in register. In these ways flirting is a creative act in a practical, embodied
ontology of living and the feeling of its doing and becoming (Harre, 1993;
Shotter, 1993).
Such is our relationship with space; our participation in its emergence and
change; the relationality of affects involved, mutually, commingling, how
we lend that moment of spacing meaning and significance. Flirting is not
something in passing, superficial. Flirting offers a means through which
to explore the character of living space-time through a number of threads
that connect everyday living and our feeling and thinking. It serves as a
means to articulate life in its negotiation, adjustment, disorientation and
becoming. Whilst it may be caught in more widely dispersed influences and
affects of the contemporary, flirting is not offered as a 21st-century emer-
gence. Flirting with space is a vehicle to explore the dynamics of what is
happening and how that flirting can affect things. Yet what is ‘space’ in this
context; do we flirt ‘with’ it or is space of the flirting itself, only engaged,
not detached or semi-detached from us?
As the geographer Massey (2005) has explored, in a coarser grain from the
close-up everyday, space, like the matter of feelings and meanings of doing
leisure are incomplete, contingent and temporal. Space is complex, multiple;
10 David Crouch

existing and constituted in energy, living, doing, thinking and feeling. New
moments of encounter, however seemingly familiar, have the potential to
open up new relations and significance. Furthermore, through the philo-
sophical work of Deleuze and Guattari a generative frame of thinking emerges
that is open in the character of deploying a flexible notion of subjectivity
in which the individual takes part, affected and affecting things around
her. I agree Deleuze and Guattari’s work has much to offer here. I would
suggest a little elaboration on this body of work here for those not familiar
with or schooled in this particular strain of critical theory. The energy and
vitality of space is articulated in the work of Deleuze and Guattari (1988)
that has helped unravel and unwind familiar philosophies of the vitality
of things; the multiplicities of influences and the way they work; and in a
world of much more than the result of human construction. They offer a
means to rethink the dynamics of space. Spacing occurs in the gaps of ener-
gies amongst and between things; in their commingling. Their interest thus
emerges ‘in the middle’, the in-between (Ibid.) constantly open to change;
to what happens in moments between events, thus affecting changes in our
identity and in the character of our relationships both with each other, and
our surrounding environments. The focus of their work thus centres on the
potential of change, in daily living or in wider worlds: becoming, rather
than settled, that they expressed in their interest in energies. What we call
space, or place, then, space is no longer, fixed or controllable by significant
centres of power, but becomes highly contingent, emergent in the cracks of
everyday life, affected by and affecting energies both human and beyond
human limits. Individuals are no longer to be understood socially to be
trivial in the wider pattern, or determined in their identities by ‘higher’ (sic)
powers, but are participants in the making of worlds, in what makes sense,
becomes valued – and how.
An attention to everyday sensuality remains germane; the poetics of
the body’s way of touching the world in the widest sense (Crouch, 2001;
Crossley, 1995; Radley, 1995). As Brian Massumi expressed: ‘When I think
of my body and ask what it does to deserve its name, two things stand out.
It moves. It feels, and it feels itself moving ... intrinsic connection between
movement and sensation whereby each immediately summons the other’;
‘the way we live it is always embodied’ (Massumi, 2002:1). The revitalized
critique of Merleau-Ponty’s multi-sensual phenomenology has delivered us
of the detached ‘gaze’ of encountering where we are, its materiality and
cultural references. Senses seem to apply to the moment of response in acts
of senses individually and collectively. Feelings are partly this, but they also
nudge into moments or ongoing reflections, consciously and not, of much
thicker and more relational character.
Phenomenology conjoins with performativity. The notion of performance
engages the manner, the complex character of the ways in which we engage
in doing, acting, getting a grasp on how and where we are. Performance
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 11

is a component of the active and felt way in which we do things and feel
about them. Performativity happens in performance. This way of thinking
about how we encounter space or landscape emerges in a webbed collection
of theories unfortunately labelled ‘non-representational theory’, significant
across a wide range of disciplines and influential discussions in humani-
ties, social sciences and art theory (Thrift, 2008; Crouch, 2010b). Of course,
representations surround us and emerge in our leisure: representations work
in the performativities.
Being somewhere to do leisure, for example, can feel different from the
way that ‘where’ was expected to feel; even in the feel of somewhere different
from when we may last have been there. Furthermore, the performativity in
‘performing’ a site, an experience, emerges in part in things we do and the
way we do them; and in relation to where we are. One fascinating compo-
nent of performativity – in terms of the unexpected, half-expected and
the intended – is that all these factors work and commingle; they can be
useful in how we negotiate our lives in relation to situations in which we
find ourselves, for example our surroundings. Elizabeth Grosz’s and others’
discussions of how we can find ourselves doing things, using and visiting
particular sites, places through the time of our living, involve multiple and
relational tendencies towards ‘holding on’ and ‘going further’ (Grosz, 1999;
Thrift and Dewsbury, 2000; Crouch, 2003). Moreover, performance and
performativity work, not as poles of opposites, in bi-linear succession, but
in flows, oppositions and conjunctions; the predictable and the unexpected
commingling in sometimes subtle, sometimes dramatic ways. Performance
and performativity are lively, active and uncertain.
Although performance can emphasize the framework of everyday proto-
cols, the performative errs towards the potential of openness. The recon-
figuring, or reconstitutive, potential of performance is increasingly cited
in terms of performativity; as modulating life and discovering the new, the
unexpected, in ways that may reconfigure the self, in a process of ‘ ... what life
(duration, memory, consciousness) brings to the world: the new, the move-
ment of actualisation of the virtual, expansiveness, opening up’ – enabling
the unexpected (Grosz, 1999:25). Thus, the borders between ‘being’ – as a
state reached – and ‘becoming’ are indistinct and constantly in flow (Grosz,
1999).
This arena of theory gives emphasis away from only concentrating upon
the affect and power of representations, and their familiarly senior partner,
the visual, in forming and shaping the way the individual understands and
values the world and things they and others do. Instead of examining the
work of representations it examines moments of occurrence; things as they
happen; connections between things that happen and how they feel and
are understood and valued. The emphasis of the performative in perform-
ance is a significant component of this collection of new theoretical work,
and perhaps of particular insight for studies of landscape.
12 David Crouch

Geographer Anne Volvey (2012) asks how individuals feel about the world
in order to acknowledge the tactile character of experience. That feeling
about the world has an important character too of making expression,
often in gesture, about being active, live, in the world. This living includes
the embodied performativities that occur, are affected and can affect: can
influence change as well as respond to it. The notion of feelings appeals,
and I argue contributes to compose the cultural. Contexts, prefigured and
surrounding our lives such as external culture do not determine or ‘struc-
ture’, they work in relation with, flicker, may affect.

Doing leisure, negotiating identity in place

It is familiar across the wider reaches of leisure work to focus on two related
threads: design and ‘the gaze’, the latter exemplified in tourism landscapes
(Urry, Larson, 2012). Design presumes that the setting of leisure – sports
stadia, holiday destinations, clubs, provides vibes towards the enjoyment
or fulfilment of leisure desires. The gaze provides the means through which
we engage that setting. These settings amount to place, indoors or outdoors.
Most notably the gambling sites in Las Vegas were designed with the idea
of blocking out daylight, creating an eternal time for extended gambling.
Similar character can help to create, to construct, clubs and bars towards
similar feeling of reverie, closeness and intimacy. Tourism destinations
provide safety, or adventure, according to the way the features of their
surroundings are combined.
As the main conduit through which tourism sites, in particular, are expe-
rienced is through vision: detached, surveying; either ironically or in full
receipt of the messages they convey, whether in terms of natural features of
the Grand Canyon or designed features of the tourist enclave. Sport specta-
tors lend vision, affect the significance, of this particular kind in surveying
the game. These approaches to leisure deploy a structuralist notion: the
sense of individuals’ action being shaped, meanings prefigured, by soci-
etal structures. Structuralism is not wrong in itself, but needs to be drawn
forward with emerging awareness of greater nuance and complexity in
the way life works. Thus the importance of power and the role of cultural
contexts in influencing what we do, inflecting, flickering, rather than a
pre-determining setting through which individuals live, experience iden-
tity and the environments in which leisure practices may occur.
In a similar way, the emergence and character of identity is explained.
Through the closing decades of the 20th century identity and leisure tended
to be conflate with social group distinctions; class, age, ethnicity, gender,
influenced by writings especially in cultural studies at the time, yet often
very simplistically in their categories. In leisure studies, the structuring place-
ments of class, ethnicity, gender and nationalism habitually have tended
to carve the main ways in which leisure identities have been understood
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 13

(Crichter, 2006). Interpretations mainly from the social sciences at the time
still tended habitually to underplay the role of the individual, the group,
the family and so on, save in the matter of subculture. Such straightjackets
were loosened a little later into a more complex thinking concerning the
nuance and more of numerous and diverse subcultures (Hebdige). Whilst
holding close to the social structuring of class and ethnicity, Hall signifi-
cantly acknowledged the more complex character of diverse culture (Hall,
1996).
The character of identity became foregrounded by ideas on consumption,
where the matter of purchase, desire of cultural and life changes were read
as matters of status and affected by the market place of consumerized mate-
rials, supported and promoted through the design of the spaces, like objects
and other humans and other-than human life, that they each respectively
supposed to use and why. Increasingly leisure focused around consumption,
thought of as ‘lifestyle’ matters, have shifted attention away from these pillars
(Rojek, 2000, Lury, 1996). Not least they made presumptions concerning
the ways in which individuals encountered, and engaged sites of doing
leisure and were ale to negotiate memory in the practice. Acknowledging
the character of individual participation in recolouring cultural constraints,
John Fiske early on opened understanding to the diverse appropriations of
apparent ‘consumption’ objects in his classic essays (1989).
These approaches spill over into landscape-thinking. Landscape becomes
interloped with power within the wider structure. Design can determine:
the gaze offers clear messages into which individuals will be expected to
fit, respond on cue. That latter may apply as much to Urry’s image of the
more contemporary tourist however much she may be ironic in ‘the view’.
More recently, Urry has pursued a structuralist line through the pursuit of
mobility studies (2007). Central to this notion is the centrality of mobilities
in contemporary social structure and cultural identities, as much as tradi-
tional categories as class, gender and ethnicity. Sociologically this implies
that identity, too, will be similarly shaped in mobilities. In a similar vein,
culture tends to be framed in terms of, for example, ‘Cities of culture’ and
Cultural Quarters that impose an asserted character, type of ‘culture’.
Each of these category-driven readings of identity, leisure and life, things
are done from the ‘outside’ of the human being; things are pre-figured,
shaped; we are ‘in receipt’ of who and how we are. Of course, matters of
gender and each of the other supposed simple categories are also deeply
‘felt’; they are matters of emotion, notably sustained in Butler’s accounts
of gender (1997). Moreover, it is worth at this point noting that what are
considered as prefigurings are also connected with something of affects:
that is that things outside of ourselves – others, objects and life of the mate-
rial world, and so on, can affect our thinking, feeling and emotion: it is
not all a matter of individual psychology. Yet at the same time, the simpler
ways of overbearing context, often filtered through the media and the
14 David Crouch

arts, comment little on how they affect and may impact upon us (Crouch,
2009).
In contrast there have been a number of contributions to the making of
leisure through more everyday practices rather than through institutional
frameworks. Anthropologists such as Ruth Finnegan and more recently
Sarah Cohen have demonstrated the participation of individuals in the
making of culture in the everyday lives of individuals amongst others, in
and across in their own homes, in local events. They examined the exam-
ples of local amateur music making and knitting circles, other work has
focused upon gardening and allotment holding, clubbing, enjoying the
beach and the car boot sale field (Finnegan, 1989; Cohen, 2009; Crouch,
1999; Malbon, 2001; Crewe and Gregson, 1997). Individuals make culture
in their living, in their everyday lives; not exclusively, but nor without
significance. Individuals do not control their lives, their desire, awareness
or opportunity to discover, to enlighten are affected by deeper life circum-
stances and outward limits or controls over their potential. Yet, similarly
they may filter, resist; alternatively make something of the prefigured (de
Certeau, 1984). It is towards this kind of engagement that the following
discussions orient themselves.
Thus, in cultures of doing leisure, cultures can be emergent through
leisure, along with particular ways of thinking landscape, and place, feed,
or are fed, into individuals’ and groups’ identity, through their own partici-
pation rather than as directed by particular readings of significations due to
outside frameworks. Site, feeling, attitudes and value relate.
Progress in thinking over the last two decades has rendered richer
and more nuanced processes through which identity emerges in relation
with leisure and much else in life, and in particular leisure in relation,
or relationally, with the forming and negotiation of identity through
interaction with the sites or surroundings in which leisure is practiced.
Phenomenology and performativity have given insight to the way leisure
is done rather that how it fits particular pre-given or mediated frameworks.
In the passages that follow, the potential of context and its representations
and mediation are acknowledged as having influence, yet more through
inflections and affects than pre-programming (of such as desire). For
example, Burkitt positions identity in a much more subtle, complex arena
emergent through practices and their contingency; individual encounters
and practical ontology and their multiple interplay merging with contexts
(Burkitt, 1999). Indeed, with Burkitt, I would argue that this is how most
people function in their everyday lives: by acting on the basis of a sense of
what ought to be done, drawn from experience of previous situations and
the tacit knowledge that has developed, along with ‘gut feelings’ about
which is right in the circumstances. Most people refer to this as intuition
or common sense, where it is actually a complex interplay of knowledge
and feeling.
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 15

Feelings, recall or memory and our relations with the material world are
not enacted as secure and fixed, but become unsettled and shuffled in new
ways in a composition of self and its grooved relations. Emotions are increas-
ingly acknowledged in their affect upon our lives and identities, the spaces
that emerge in our doings, vibrations of space that affect us; a spatiality
and temporality in emotions and ‘how emotions are produced in relations
between and amongst people’ (Davidson et al., 2004:1,3). There is a relation-
ality of belonging and identity that draw on our pasts and presents (Fortier,
1999). Identity is an embodied event (Budgeon, 2003).

Spacing leisure identities

Space where leisure is done can feel ‘belonged’ through how we express
and feel; the combination of relations and practices through which we
contribute to the constitution of spaces. Multi-sensual experiences and their
immanence and possibility draw practice and performativity of spacetimes
into remembering, presence, absence and loss (Radley, 1990; Wylie, 2009).
This is ownership without legal or financial connection, but something that
is much deeper; ownership through living. In a sensitive essay, Owain Jones
expresses autobiographically emotional significances of belonging (2004).
He is concerned particularly with the merging of memory and contempo-
rary, happening, feelings of belonging: drawing disoriented alignments in
recall, connecting and feeling loss. He says ‘memories mobilise, a landscape
within me comes alive, yet into something fresh. I change’ (Jones, 2004:
208). Jones’ belonging and identity are not fixed in a particular spacetime,
but draw upon it. Jones explores his life, his space that he acknowledges
through emotions as intensely political, gendered and spatially articulated.
Individuals doing leisure tell stories that express a series of journeys
across varied distance, regularly and infrequent. Feelings of belonging
can occur that affect identity. These accompany emergent creativities of
feeling, association, isolation, inter-subjectivity, doing something different
but bearing mementoes or tributes of home and continuity. That conti-
nuity can be sustained by the transfer of simple, reassuring tasks. These
fragments of creativity are expressed in movements, talk, actions and
shared memory. In the allotments and in the caravanning stories there
is a commingling of the site of doing, memory, emotion, materiality and
belonging. There is rhythm in their matterings too (Edensor and Holloway,
2008). In each case things happen with some relation to the context and
institutional history and politics. These journeys and their quiet crea-
tivity resemble Miller’s account of the comfort of things through accu-
mulated material goods that give meaning to individuals’ lives, histories
and presents, in emotion, comfort and identity (Miller, 2008). Shopping,
‘do-it-yourself’ pastimes, car boot sales and plant-buying tactics can help
to crack familiar conceptualizations of contemporary consumption in
16 David Crouch

a way that acknowledges neither the splendour of the ‘availability’ (sic)

of consumer products, in some cultures aplenty, nor the terrible reduc-
tivity of human life it delivers (Miller, 1998; Gregson and Crewe, 1997; Lee
2004). As Morley writes of the media, leisure is not merely ‘consumed and
used in ... context ... (it is) better to connect patterns of ... consumption to
the material geographies in which audiences live out their lives’ (Morley,
2001:426, my parenthesis).
Such an approach deviates from earlier efforts to focus upon the land-
scape of national or local and informal sport, for example, that habitu-
ally tends towards consideration of the production of the site through
intended design by business or government agents. Recall Bale and discus-
sion centred on the Design of sites of sport that were, following a contex-
tualizing description, done in such a way to prefigure the experience, the
felt character of watching sport (Bale, 1995). Of course, being present at
a sports or any other kind of staged or performed event is also to partici-
pate in being there. Once again, such components of contexts influence,
inflect and affect; they do not determine or structure.
To acknowledge phenomenology puts ‘the gaze’ of leisure in its place.
Instead of being understood as the prime means of relating with the
features and configurations of a site, it is displaced to share a position with
all our other senses. Senses do not work in isolation, nor do they deliver
simplistic read-offs of things that are around us. They take diverse messages
and feelings in and from things merge in nuanced ways with our subjective
reflections.
Whereas habitually work on both leisure and landscape has tended to
work on the notion of sight in design and ‘shape’ in the character of sites
of leisure, notably and perhaps infamously made extreme in the idea of the
Gaze, it is evident that such a ‘frame’ is hopelessly reductive. Rather, the
notion of phenomenology has enabled us to articulate the multiple, rather
than singular, ways in which we experience doing things here or there: all
our senses are involved, without individual privilege, liveliness of living,
and of space in interaction. Even in just [sic] ‘being there’ we discover a
panoply of participation: the feel of the wind, and its smell, equally of inside
locations; the sounds around us and through us; the feel of the ground
over which we tread. Moreover, this openness of feeling goes beyond pre-
programming. The feminist philosopher Iris Marion Young (1991) observed
how her daughter threw a ball, that in growing up it was her way not regu-
lated in gendered expectations.
Particular aspects of performativity come in relation to its potential
to reconstitute life (Grosz, 1999). Butler’s emphasis on performance and
performativity is in terms of: being ritualized practice, working to pre-given
codes, habitually repeated and conservative (Carlsen, 1996). However, she
acknowledges the possibility whereby relations with contexts may be recon-
figured, broken, adjusted, or negotiated (Lloyd, 1996; Thrift and Dewsbury,
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 17

2000) thus affecting, as well as being the affect of, context. Performativity –
in the opportunities, breaks, unexpected occurrences and happenings in
life, in doing, feeling and thinking, the unexpected – means that change
is an open book. Things are not constrained by contexts and their commu-
nication in representations. Things can happen ‘anew’; in the moments of
being alive.
Recalling performativity, discussions of how we can find ourselves doing
things, using and visiting particular sites, places through the time of our
living, involve multiple and relational tendencies towards ‘holding on’ and
‘going further’ (Grosz, 1999; Thrift and Dewsbury, 2000; Crouch, 2003).
Such an interpretation readily lends to ideas of the negotiation, making
and remaking of our identities. Moreover, performance and performativity
work, not as poles of opposites, in bi-linear succession, but in flows, opposi-
tions and conjunctions; the predictable and the unexpected commingling
in sometimes subtle, sometimes dramatic ways. Performance and performa-
tivity are lively, active and uncertain.
Being and becoming are directly relevant to understanding the openness
and sometimes worried closure of our identity, our feeling of belonging. In
the ‘making’ of our culture, this individual participation is central. Rather
than our identity being bespoken according to outside influences, perfor-
matively practicing leisure, as in other fields of human activity, can crack,
bend or shuffle the presumed categories of identity. The ways in which we
encounter what is around us; in touch, feeling, and the other senses, flickers
of memory and more widely originating influences. Somehow we manage,
from time to time, to gather a feeling of close relation with the things,
others and events around us, influencing them and partly making them
our own. Somewhat selectively we relate to them, and can find and feel
a belonging. That belonging may last, may be recalled another time, may
recall another time, or be lost or become disoriented. We may struggle or
cope with the enormous crevasses that may be felt to separate our respective
worlds and a ‘wider world’. Doing leisure involves in a process of ‘worlding’
in the ‘atmospheres’ surrounding our living (Stewart, 2008, 2010); in the
surroundings- or environment-experience that goes beyond the idea of our
world as only pre-scripted by a wider culture and is instead open and contin-
gent. These ideas can relate to the very ordinary felt creative, exemplified
in our leisure. Anthropologist Kathleen Stewart’s notion of worlding seeks
to draw in the multitude of affects upon us in making our world as it feels
along with our actions; and how our acts and feelings, actions, movements
and senses affect those outward affects themselves; a complex and often
nuanced assemblage of energies (Stewart, 2010). She draws the multiple rela-
tions that settle, unsettle, may settle us, and so on. Leisure participates in
this process.
Identity, wrought or negotiated through doing leisure is not an abstract
thing: it occurs in our living. Our home, doing leisure at home, can give
18 David Crouch

the feeling of identity, where we are and things with which may surround
ourselves: ornaments; particular leisure clothing, choosing a particular
kind of location, not because it is trademarked so, but for our reasons,
and so on. Without explicitly orienting his narration and reflections upon
things that matter and that (may) give comfort and so are bought or made
to put in the living room, anthropologist Danny Miller charts the ways
in which a dozen or so individuals living in one street in north London
express object by object and tell their stories (Miller, 2008). Yet as we
know, ‘home’ can be unsettling, even threatening. To be ‘somewhere else’,
away from the building we live in, can find us belonging; can offer us and
perhaps establish us identity.

Making, living, landscape

What a landscape is might be hills, fields, buildings, road edges, indus-

trial buildings, a back garden or a skyscraper. Yet these just as objects, or
objects that align with and are juxtaposed into the space around us: perhaps
human-formed, shaped, attended, positioned, designed for leisure, for sport
and so on.
Landscape assessments and familiar surveys of what landscapes individ-
uals like, or what would be most effective or efficient in using sites, or in
enjoying spectacle, or performance in terms of sport – and so on – habitu-
ally make assumptions of what landscape is as well as what it means. What
is it in a landscape that makes us engage with it in one way or another?
Something (perhaps thereby) making a ‘lovely’, a ‘bleak’ or other land-
scape? Is the character of a landscape merely something that we consume,
respond to?
Stepping back a little from this line of enquiry a moment, is landscape
about the material ‘stuff’ out there: those fields, streets, clubs, pubs, sports
grounds and so on; the material and its happenstance of juxtaposition,
intended or not by human effort? Moreover, is it ‘merely’ a matter of
vision; the messages of the fields transmitted through our sight only, or
at least primarily? Of course, for several decades ideas about landscape
have been enriched by reference to social, political, cultural and ethical
tendencies. But again, are these signs embedded in the material reality of
‘landscape’, or inserted by us or particular powers of influence at partic-
ular times; from children’s stories and role models to contemporary film
and music?
But what do we do in relation with landscape: do we just gaze at it? Almost
certainly not. We feel it; or at least we feel something in our relationship
with ‘it’. Treading, smelling, turning and feeling the sense of space, open
or closed-in; touching a leaf, a building’s stone: a kaleidoscope of senses, a
resurgence of memory of the similar and different. A kaleidoscope of senses
and feelings, not a spectatorial detached gaze as though we were some
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 19

trainee surveyor. We participate, are involved in, landscape. Our emotions

and feelings happen in the round; qualitatively; subjectively.
Landscape is situated in the expression and poetics of spacing: appre-
hended as constituted in a flirtatious mode: contingent, sensual, anxious
and awkward. For a moment avoiding the habitual loading of ‘landscape’,
a ‘site’ frequently visited may this time feel different. We are affected by
signs amongst the materiality and its human purposeful intention yet not
constrained by them; they can be resisted, creatively negotiated or manipu-
lated: we affect how it feels and what it means. The presence or absence
of others is a further example of the feeling generated. To consider land-
scape as only prefigured is anachronistic. Instead landscape itself is vital.
Our feelings and reflections commingle with what may exist, happen, now
and before.
Landscape occurs in the expression and poetics of our encounters: appre-
hended as constituted in a flirtatious rather than intellectual- objective
mode with our surroundings, partly playful, partly hesitant; fleetingly
contingent, sensual, anxious and awkward. Growing unease with land-
scape identified only in rooted circumstances or in someone else’s value
set is well marked in conceptualizations of vitality, flows of energies and
affects, that tend to emphasize the relatively multiply-located character
of the ways in which individuals live. Further, there are developing ideas
concerning increased tendencies towards rapidity, of movement and
temporality, distance and its projected shallowness of encounters. Rather
than merely dwell on the shallowness of encounters, it is worth noting
that a brief encounter with somewhere may have deep and lasting felt
significance. A key challenge to our thinking – and feeling – is to be able
to reason landscape in relation with the complexity, tension, adjustment
and becoming in life.
Landscape occurs in our relationship with moments and durations of
being here; here and there; now and then [hence the work of our memory
too] and so on. It occurs because we engage with[in] it. We contribute to
what it is, how it feels and what we may gather or simply find as meaning.
We can ‘hold on’ to the landscape with which we associate, our heritage,
part of who we feel we are or want to be; seek to steady its presence,
meaning and significance in our lives, our identity. Yet subtle and some-
times significant shifts can also occur; and we may semi-consciously wield
it to do so, to shift our own world a little. Our sense of heritage may occur
and be fluid in the same way (Crouch, 2010b). Landscape changes and
changes with us; not merely as literal manipulation but in the swirl of
affect and affecting. Landscape resonates with our human capacities for
belonging, and also for disorientation and disruption. Landscape is not
perspective and horizon, or lines, but felt smudges, smears, kaleidoscope,
a multi-sensual expressive poetics of potentiality, becoming, and the here
and now.
20 David Crouch

Space, place and landscape in leisure’s identities

In the practice of leisure where it occurs we lend character, meaning and

significance to the materiality around us, that we may use; other present
and absent in our flirting with space. Different ‘sites’ in which leisure
occurs hold their own distinctive character, yet this is not merely a factor
of the place where we are. The space is animated through our presence, our
performative murmurings, and how we feel. Pubs, dance clubs, the field of
a car-boot sale, the beach, sports ground, heritage site, hills or gardens can
be rendered in a particular character, influenced by our doing leisure. The
spaces, their subjective, embodied feeling in us; the material world around
us, objects and those living, combine in our feeling of space. What we find
to be landscape is our expression of this mixture, an expressive poetics.
Just as our identity and subjective feeling of leisure is affected by the
moment of practice, and moments of practice over different durations, so
memory can influence, part of which is one of nuanced and multiple space-
times of doing leisure, here and there, held onto or reconfigured in the
present. Identity and belonging may be settled or unsettled; places unfa-
miliar, whether new to us or practiced habitually can give feelings of being
secure, at one or disoriented, dislocated from ourselves and the leisure we
are doing, in which we take part. To consider living, practices and feelings
in this way is not to exaggerate away from familiarity and steady-state into
endless uncertainty and even chaos, but to acknowledge more openness;
to be aware of the fluidity with which things occur, and do not confine us
from participative human action in our everyday lives, as in the work we do;
the affects we may engage and engender, in doing leisure.
We may feel that ‘place’ is settled, secure and be reassured thereby; or it
may be found, or felt to be shifting, fluid. Outward adjustments in the mate-
rial world around us, or who we are with, or something recently that has
unsettled our momentary feeling of our leisure; mixings of others, spaces,
multiple memories and presents, can all shuffle the landscape in or experi-
ence. Yet that feeling can be repositioned in belonging. We can revert back
into how things felt, or engage the fresh. Flirting with space, or spacetimes,
that physical, material, emotional and metaphorical assemblage in our
surroundings and our relations with it, across different sites can correlate,
however awkwardly. These memories are felt rather than ordered neatly.
They can emerge unselected, flowing as if around or in us. Identity and
belonging merge. Feeling that we belong can emerge through a habitual
doing and physical location or site of our living. Doing leisure, and the
particular material and lived world in which that happens, helps forge our
identity; who we think we are.
The idea of place suggests a fixity that is often at odds with how our
lives are fluid, unsettled through things we do and what happens in the
world around us – not least in doing leisure. Hence the notion of space so
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 21

far discussed appeals. Place becomes significant in those moments where

things pause, where we emphasize the ‘holding on’ character of how we
feel, how the world feels. The idea that landscape, as, for example, dance, is
contextualized in the way it is grasped epitomizes a representational way of
thinking about landscape or understanding how it works. Moreover, in the
case of landscape, this representational ‘perspective’ [sic] privileges land-
scape as experienced visually – concerns ways of seeing; features composed
in perspective and particular aesthetics. Individuals ‘see’ sites they visit
through a ‘gaze’, marked by detachment and overseership (Rose, 1993).
Representations act as the referent and channel for knowing landscape.
Landscape resonates a capacity of identity, belonging and disruption: it
occurs in moments of our expression of spacing, an expression that is poetic.
Whilst ‘place’ may continue in popular exchange, conceptually it seems
superfluous in the face of spacing. The term place may have significant fluid
connotations, but it is also archetypal in popular tourism literature: the
synagogue or temple to be visited, the vibrant city, ‘fixed’. It is difficult to
relate place to process conceptually. The character of space and landscape
emergent in doing leisure is dynamic and complex, working away from the
particularly fixed character familiarly associated with place and landscape
in and as representation; identity as largely ‘given’; shuffling, unstable and
lively. All landscapes are therefore ‘liminal’ (Crouch, 2012).
To ‘feel’ landscape in the expressive poetics of spacing is a way to imagine
one’s place in the world. The individual can feel so connected with space
that s/he no longer is aware, momentarily, of being (merely) human. In our
performativity, we can become the landscape in feeling, meaning (Crouch,
2013). Landscape can collide with something else that resonates a sense of
our own lives, and has the power to re-assemble it. Such intensities of signif-
icance, or merely calm moments of reassurance, happen across the range of
performativities and their circulation in representations. Landscape reso-
nates a capacity of belonging and disruption.

Summary

Identity in leisure studies habitually has been reasoned from frameworks:

from social and cultural shaping. Landscapes have been reasoned simi-
larly through ideas of their given, formative character; designed or natu-
rally appropriate. Emergent thought and critique has changed this a priori
position of explanation. We as individuals, groups, formal and informal,
participate in a lively, part-controlled, part uncertain, always nuanced,
complex and reciprocating process of constituting meaning, response,
feeling, action. As a significant focus in our living, our practices in leisure
contribute to this active process of participation, affected by other participa-
tions and influences and open to adjustment. To an extent, the shaping of
experience, meaning and so on is affected by designed structures, decisions
22 David Crouch

on event location, lending stimulus and so on, can be influenced by formal

and informal bodies, institutions, wider cultural mediations; but only to a
degree. The ways in which those bodies affect may need more intelligence,
responsive modes and flexibility and partnership in order to response and
respond to the more complex ways in which our worldings occur.

References
Bale, J. (1995) Landscapes of Sport. Routledge.
Budgeon, S. (2003) Identity is an embodied event. Body and Society, 9(1):35–55.
Burkitt, I. (1999) Bodies of Thought: Embodiment, Identity and Modernity. London:
Sage.
Butler, J. (1997) Excitable Speech: A Politics of Performance. London: Routledge.
Carlsen, M. (1996) Performance: A Critical Introduction. London: Routledge.
Cohen, S. (2007) Decline, Renewal and the City in Popular Music Culture: Beyond the
Beatles. Farnham: Ashgate.
Crichter C. (2006) A touch of class. In Rojek, C., Shaw, S. and Veal, A. (eds) A Handbook
of Leisure Studies. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.
Crossley, N. (1995) Merleau-Ponty, the elusory body and carnal sociology. Body and
Society, 1(1):43–61.
Crouch, D. (ed.) (1999) Leisure/Tourism Geographies: Practice and Geographical Knowledge.
London: Routledge.
Crouch, D. (2001) Spatialities and the feeling of doing. Social and Cultural Geographies,
2(1):61–75.
Crouch, D. (2003) Spacing, performance and becoming: the tangle of the mundane.
Environment and Planning A, 35:1945–1960.
Crouch, D. (2009) The diverse dynamics of cultural studies and tourism. In Jamal, T.
and Robinson, M. (eds) The Sage handbook of Tourism Studies. London: Sage.
Crouch, D. (2010a) The perpetual performance and emergence of heritage. In
Waterton, E. and Watson, S. (eds) Culture, Heritage and Representation: Perspectives on
Visuality and the Past, pp. 57–74.
Crouch, D. (2010b) Flirting with space: thinking landscape relationally. Cultural
Geographies, 17(1):5–18.
Crouch, D. (2010c) Flirting With Space Journeys and Creativity. Farnham: Ashgate
Crouch, D. (2012) Afteword. In Andrews, H. and Roberts, L. (eds) Liminal Landscapes.
London: Routledge.
Crouch, D. (2013) Landscape, performance and performativity. In Howard, P.,
Thomspon, I. and Waterton, E. (eds) The Routledge Companion to Landscape Studies.
London: Routledge.
Davidson, J., Bondi, L., Smith, M. (eds) (2004) Emotional Geographies. Farnham:
Ashgate.
de Certeau, M. (1984) The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Rendell, S. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Deleuze, G., Guattari, F. (1988) A Thousand Plateaus. London: Athlone Press.
Fiske J. (1989) Understanding Popular Culture. London: Routledge.
Edensor, T., Holloway, J. (2008). Rhythmanalysing the coach tour: The Ring of Kerry,
Ireland. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 33 (4):483–501.
Finnegan, R. (1989) The Hidden Musicians: Music Making in an English Town.
Buckingham: Open University Press.
 Space and Landscape in Leisure’s Identities 23

Gregg, M. (2004) A mundane voice. Cultural Studies, 18(2/3): 363–383.

Gregson, N., Crewe, L. (1997) The bargain, the knowledge and the spectacle: making
sense of the of the car boot sale. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space,
15(1): 87–112.
Grosz, E. (1999) Thinking the new: of futures yet unthought. In Grosz, E. (ed.)
Becomings: Explorations in Time, Memory and Futures. Ithaca, NY: Cornel University
Press, pp. 5–28.
Hall S. (1996) Introduction: who needs identity? In Hall, S. and du gay, P. (eds)
Questions of Cultural Identity. London: Sage, pp. 1–17.
Harre, R. (1993) The Discursive Mind. Cambridge: Polity Books.
Hebdige, D. (1979) Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Routledge.
Jones, O. (2004) An emotional ecology of memory, self and landscape. In Davidson,
J. et al. (eds) Emotional Geographies. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 205–218.
Lee, R. (2000) Shelter from the storm: geographies of regard in the worlds of horticul-
tural consumption and production. Geoforum, 31(2): 137–157.
Lloyd, M. (1996) Performativity, parody and politics. In Bell, V. (ed.) Performativity
and Belonging. London: Sage, pp. 195– 214.
Lury, C. (1996) Consumer Culture. London: Routledge.
Malbon, B. (1999) Dancing, Ecstasy and Vitality. London: Routledge.
Massumi, B., Zournazi, M. (2002b) Navigating Moments. www.21cmagazine.com,
210–242, www.brianmassumi.com/english/interviews.html.
Massey D. (2005) For Space. London: Sage.
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1962) The Phenomenology of Perception. Trans. Smith, C. London:
Routledge.
Miller, D. (2008) The Comfort of Things. London: Routledge.
Miller, D. (1998) Material Culture: Why Some Things Matter. London: Routledge.
Morley, D. (2001) Belongings: place, space and identity in a mediated world. European
Journal of Cultural Studies. 4(4): 425–448.
Radley, A. (1995) The elusory body and social constructionist thinking. Theory Body
and Society, 1(2): 3–23.
Rose, G. (1993) Feminism and Geography: The Limits of Geographical Knowledge.
Wisconsin: University of Minnesota Press.
Rojek C. (2000) Leisure and Culture. London & New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Shotter, J. (1993) The Politics of Everyday Life. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Stewart, K. (2007) Ordinary Affects. Durham NC: Duke UP.
Stewart, K. (2011) Atmospheric attunements. Environment and Planning Society and
Space, 29 (3): 445–453.
Thrift, N. (2008) Non-representational Theory: Space, Politics, Affect. London:
Routledge.
Thrift, N. and Dewsbury, J-D. (2000) Dead geographies-and how to make them live.
Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 18: 411–432.
Urry, J. (2007) Mobilities. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Urry, J. and Larson, J. (2012) The Tourist Gaze. London: Sage.
Volvey, A. (2012) Towards a haptic regime of knowledge in geography. In Paterson, M.
(ed.) Touching Space, Placing Touch. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 103–130.
Wylie, J. (2008) Landscape, absence and the geographies of love. Transactions of the
Institute of British Geographers, 34(3): 275–289.
Young, I. M. (1991) Throwing Like a Girl and Other Essays in Feminist Philosophy and
Social Theory. Indiana: Indiana University Press.
3
Disturbance and Complexity in
Urban Places: The Everyday Aesthetics
of Leisure
Sam Elkington

Introduction

There are a multitude of spaces popularly thought of as being used for

leisure – the skate park, the shopping mall, the playground, the coffee shop,
the recreation centre, theme parks, the public square. With the sinuous
rhythms of people’s daily lives invariably shepparding them into, through
and past increasingly urbanized environments, the construction of such
spaces transforms previously continuous geographical locations into a
series of fleeting places, images and encounters (Simmel, 1997). While
leisure theorists remain largely ambivalent about such places, there is
growing consensus that the impact of modernity has led to their increasing
‘commodification’ and ‘devaluation’ that, in turn, perpetuates a broader
narrative of loss; characterized by a loss of meaning, a loss of proper
connection between people and locations, and the perceived proliferation
of non-places (Augé, 1995). Bartolucci speaks to this modern predicament
in experiencing space and place, claiming:

Our sense of place keeps getting vaguer ... we find ourselves uprooted,
adrift in an uncharted, alien terrain ... we’ve failed to accept that the old
definitions of place no longer apply; place is now as much virtual as it is
physical ... our notion of place, then, must be reinvented ... if we are at
last to create a contemporary sense of place ... we need to acknowledge
the ugly as well as the beautiful, the disturbing as well as the cozy, the
virtual as well as the real. It is this totality that today constitutes the
“here” (Bartolucci, 1997, pp. 60–61).

Modern leisure and its many amorphous places has increasingly become
part of this ‘totality’, of our everyday aesthetic experiences and concerns.
However, because of their prevalence and apparently mundane nature, we

24
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 25

tend not to pay much attention to them, let alone examine their aesthetic
significance. There is, perhaps, a lot not to like about many contemporary
leisure places, but to write them off simply as commodified ‘non-places’
does not treat them critically. In this chapter other qualities of contem-
porary places of leisure are mobilized to question such overly general
critiques while developing a new value perspective that emphasises a place’s
complexity, connectedness and aesthetic significance.
The spaces of everyday life shift from being sites for revolution against
the dictates of modern capital and class domination (Casey, 2013), to more
nuanced ‘encounters’ which find resistances inherent in the spatial and
the material media of our increasingly urbanized environments. Current
explorations of the spaces of everyday life, from shopping to walking,
gardening to drinking coffee, have unwittingly uncovered sites of resist-
ance serving many communities; from individuals seeking modes of alter-
native social practices, to corporations selecting strategies to transform
everyday routines (Lonsway, 2009). An important geographical feature
that contributes directly to the experience of leisure today is the changing
nature of time-space relations, and with it a new set of aesthetic tensions,
that, in turn, highlight a new identity of place in leisure; reflecting a
porous, flexible, concept stretched out in space and time creating new
spatial outcomes (Massey, 1994). Picture, for example, a young person
sitting on a park bench connected to their smart phone apparently bliss-
fully ‘disconnected’ from the physical space of the park itself and yet
evidently immersed in and connected to the digital media modern day
communication technology has to offer. Which reality is ‘more real’ to
this individual? And who is to say otherwise? Understanding the social
practices and spaces inherent of the hitherto undifferentiated everyday-
ness of leisure becomes critical, thus, not only for understanding the rela-
tions of these practices and spaces to the people, cities, communities and
cultures they affect, but also for understanding the opportunities for new
social products, spaces and experiences they open up. This contemporary
narrative of leisure place, as we shall see, has a legitimate provenance as a
way of looking, an orientation, to social-spatial manipulation specifically
because of the way it accommodates the multiplicity of personal narra-
tives of individual leisure experiences. In the context of mass leisure, an
alternative narrative of complexity, connectivity and transformation is
put forward as a way of encountering and exploring everyday urban space on
its own terms and of opening up to the reality that, contrary to what many
detractors believe, today’s urbanized society is still creating real human
places. Comprising explorations of the rich material nature and complex
processes that imbue the encountering of these places with meaning, the
chapter seeks to draw to the fore the relevance of the particularities of
contemporary urban leisure places and their capacity to reflect, and in
some cases enrich, human experience.
26 Sam Elkington

From place to non-place and placelessness

Leisure happens and is produced in space. These spaces may be material and
related to concrete locations, yet the spaces, and therefore geographies, of
leisure may be metaphorical, even imaginative (Crouch, 2000). Space can be
important in shaping the meaning of leisure spaces and leisure experience
may be transformed by the way in which people encounter those spaces and
activities and give them meaning as place. Space, then, is not synonymous
with place. Indeed, at the core of the various meanings of the terms is the
dispute between that abstract spatial analysis which tends to view places as
nodes in space, simply reflective of the spatial imprint of universal phys-
ical, social or economic processes and that concrete environmental anal-
ysis which conceives of places as milieu that exercise a mediating role on
those processes and thus affect how they operate and exist (Agnew, 2011).
The first is a geometric conception of place as a mere part of space and
the second is a phenomenological understanding of a place as a distinc-
tive coming together in space. From this view point, if place in the former
sense is definable entirely in relation to a singular spatial metric, place in
the second sense is constituted by the impact that being somewhere has on
the constitution of the processes in question (Agnew, 2011; Cresswell, 2013).
The main current challenge to both of the dominant meanings of place
comes from the idea that the world is itself increasingly ‘placeless’ (Relph,
1976) as space-spanning connections and flows of information, things and
people undermine the rootedness of a wide range of processes anywhere in
particular (Agnew, 2011).
Place is commonly reduced to the three elements of locale, location and
sense of place (Arefi, 2007). Locale primarily deals with social relations,
while location emphasizes how economic transactions shape and affect the
conception of place. Sense of place examines people’s ties and attachment to
certain places. Edward Relph (1976) paid more attention to the importance
of the ‘authenticity’ of places: according to him, a deep sense of place, or
feeling of belonging, could only be developed when places were authentic,
not detached from their surroundings nor from the history of the location.
Building on Heidegger’s notion of Dasien (approximately dwelling), Relph
describes what he terms as practical knowledge of places – the very everyday
fact of our knowing where to enact aspects of our lives. We live in one
place, work in another and find leisure in another. But we are also willing
to protect our places against those who do not belong and we are frequently
nostalgic for places we have left. Relph used the concept of ‘placelessness’ to
refer to the spaces where all the links between the present and past as well
as between people and the environment were missing. For him, commer-
cial shopping strips, airports and hotels are examples of ‘placeless places’
where no real sense of place could be constructed. French anthropologist
Augé (1995:43) writes about ‘anthropological places’, which are ‘places of
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 27

identity, of relations and of history’. He sees places as sites where identity

is constructed and thus a personal bond with the place is created. For Augé
‘non-places’ are contrasted with ‘anthropological places’, detached from the
past and from the people who act there. Augé’s ideas of non-places come
close to Relph’s concept of placelessness. The idea of places disconnected
from their actual location resembles the ways everyday environments are
dealt with: banal, mundane environments that are situated in between the
landmarks or sightseeing locations that are traditionally valued as impor-
tant or interesting (Agnew, 2011).
For some, the impact of modernity on leisure space has led to its ‘commod-
ification’ and ‘devaluation’ that, in turn, has functioned to perpetuate a
narrative of loss in relation to place characterized by a loss of meaning, a
loss of proper connection between people and locations, and the perceived
proliferation of non-places (Arefi, 2007; Knox, 2005; Mayer and Knox, 2006).
Non-places refer to places of transience in modern urban life that do not hold
enough significance, through meaning, to be regarded as ‘places’ – that is
hotels, supermarkets, shopping strips and industrial estates. This broader
narrative of loss holds profound consequences for the production of leisure
space. For instance, the non-place urban realm has particularly affected the
conceptualization of leisure as location. These changes have emerged in two
distinct ways: a weakening of connectivity and changes in social obligations
(Augé, 1995). What counts today is the number of connections rather than
the quality of connections between locations. This leads to concerns over how
the proliferation of non-places has entailed what some consider a loss of ‘sense
of consequence’ (Arefi, 2007), or the improper connection between the spaces
of leisure. Why is this an important concern? The non-place urban realm of
leisure has, over time, altered what Augé (1995, p. 94) calls the ‘contractual
obligations’ of social life. Non-places are conducive to ‘solitary’ as opposed
to the traditional ‘collective’ contractual obligations based on shared values
and beliefs. In our urban landscapes today these two types of social obliga-
tions co-exist – airports, super-markets, cafes all exemplify solitary contrac-
tual obligations where ‘how to’ instructions shape individuals’ behaviour and
obligations. Under such conditions individual behaviour is not based on pre-
modern ‘centred’, collective, shared, values and beliefs accumulated over time
and experience. Instead, individuals react to a set of predetermined instruc-
tions, codes, and signs, programmed for carrying out certain types of activi-
ties (Kolb, 2008; 2011) – that is boarding a plane, shopping at the mall, using
recreational facilities. Collective obligations require a different set of condi-
tions that rest on established social values and norms. This dual set of obliga-
tions (solitary and collective) reveals an inherent tension that persists in our
experiences of leisure space today. Instruction is more norm than exception
and is favoured over connectivity. Accessibility has become superior to prox-
imity; accessibility provides availability, while freedom from the constraints
of proximity captures the essence (and irony) of mass leisure today.
28 Sam Elkington

Place as location and locale have not been the only transformations in the
contemporary conception of place. Concurrent with the devaluation and
commodification of place, sense of place has experienced drastic changes.
Indeed, our contemporary experiences of leisure in urban landscapes
increasingly reflect advances in new media and technology with unprec-
edented implications for notions of community, space, place and identity
in leisure. A fixed notion of space, typical of pre-modern communities, no
longer holds. Typically, social relations not only reflect how people interact
with space but also partly explain the nature of social production of space
(Levebvre, 1991). However, whereas pre-modern, fixed, notions of space
brings fixed interpretations of social relations based on the incremental
production of space through experience, today identification through and
with space no longer represents such a definitive interpretation. Instead, it
reflects a porous, flexible concept that is more accurately stretched out in
space (Massey, 2005). With the collapse of traditional sources of meaning
in wider social life, leisure stands to fill the void (Williams, 2002). Guided
by fewer strictures on how and what to choose, the individual is at once
liberated through the expansion of leisure and, at the same time, saddled
with the burden of making choices from among an ever-widening market
of options. Yet consumerism and mass leisure are also subject to many of
the same forces that contribute to the dilemma of place meaning (Rojek,
1995). For all the apparent choice and freedom to construct meaningful
identities (through the freedom of leisure), our personal appropriation of life
choices and meanings are often constrained by highly standardized modes
of production and consumption (Blackshaw, 2010; Kolb, 2011; Williams,
2002). These same forces function to disrupt the emotional attachment to
place, instead producing increasingly homogenous landscapes, sowing the
seeds of placelessness (Relph, 1976).
Set against this backdrop, Ingold (1993, 2009) questions the persistent
habit of counter-posing space and place and non-place in criticisms of
contemporary treatments of place that seek to lift us from the ground
of ‘real lived experience, upwards and outwards, towards ever higher levels
of abstraction’ (2009, p. 30, emphasis added). Time and time again philoso-
phers have assured us that we can only live, and know, in places (Casey,
2001). This line of thinking is characteristic of what Ingold (1993) terms
a ‘logic of inversion’; a way of conceiving of place that turns the pathways
along which life is lived into boundaries within which it is enclosed. Viewed
through inverted logic, life is reduced to an internal property of things in
a world that is occupied but not, strictly speaking, inhabited. The logic
of inversion thus transforms our understanding first of place; secondly,
of movement; and, finally, of knowledge. Emplacement becomes enclo-
sure, travelling becomes transport; ways of knowing become transmitted
culture (Ingold, 2009). Additionally, with contemporary experiences of
leisure subject to increasing commercial prompting, much of the dynamic
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 29

potential of modern leisure remains unrealized. That is to say it has become

performative rather than expressive (Blackshaw, 2010). It is little wonder,
then, that people tend to seek out those leisure experiences that tell them
how to live their lives: how to pose, what music to listen to, where to shop,
what to eat and drink and where to travel. By extension people’s pursuit
of leisure invariably means giving nothing of themselves, absorbing only
themselves, in what is a mash-up of superficial experiences devoid of any
real meaning (Elkington and Gammon, 2013). Places, then, at least in this
contemporary narrative, are called upon to perform the trick of inversion,
turning the affordances for dwelling, opened up as we move through our
day to day lives, into an enclosed, bounded, container for life suspended
therein; the idea that places are situated in space is the product of this inver-
sion (Ingold, 2009).
Crucial to Ingold’s critique is his assertion that the distinction, between
space and place, is not immediately given to our experience. Instead, he
suggests any distinction made must be drawn from an appreciation of a
contemporary life-world that is never exclusively here or there, lived in this
place or that, but always on the way from one place or another. Our leisure
lives, when viewed through Ingold’s prism of movement, affordance and
dwelling, are not led inside places, but rather through, around, to and from,
and from and to places elsewhere. For David Kolb (2008), the proliferation
of what he calls ‘suburban sprawl’ – that is housing developments, commer-
cial shopping strips and industrial estates – is emblematic of an alternative
view of contemporary place that is perhaps more attuned to that envisioned
by Ingold. In dealing with contemporary places we need to learn how to
see them in and of their complexities and to take advantage of their new
modes of unity and connection so as to ‘fight their dilution’ (Kolb, 2008).
When taken together, Ingold and Kolb offer a framework of connection and
complexity that opens up to the rhythms of contemporary places, breaking
down traditional hierarchical and concentric structures that are replaced
by networks dominated by flows of not just capital, but ideas, people and
meaning.

Unravelling the complexity of sprawling leisure places

We know places that make us feel centred and more alive (Kolb, 2008; 2011).
Often these places are older, perhaps because they are coloured by more
layers of history and greater detail, perhaps because they resonate from some
past experience. Other places are less resonant – we are often ambivalent
about such places as theme parks and other seemingly superficial locales.
Such places feel brittle and fleeting, remembered more for quick thrills than
for opening our minds and centering our lives. In studying contemporary
leisure places, the challenge is to get beyond traditional criticisms based on
classical orientations to space and place – that is small communities and
30 Sam Elkington

centralized cities – that concentrate on the problems of place today. Instead

we need to open up to the new spatial and social possibilities they offer.
There is a need to think more pragmatically about notions of place in modern
society (Kolb, 2008). Today’s economy is not the same; our images of past
places are perhaps too idealized; today’s society is less restricted. Places today
are different because our lives are different – we are more mobile, perhaps
more self-conscious, more stretched out, certainly more fragmented, and
yet abruptly mixed and linked together (Agnew, 2011; Kolb, 2008).
To the degree that technology allows us to experience expanses of virtual
space in which movements and gestures can take on different social mean-
ings, we can also speak of ‘real-places’ in virtual space (Kolb, 2008). Modern
technology can provide adjunct spaces and meeting places for people whose
daily routines now include a virtual component. Unprecedented exposure
to new media, technologies and other forms of social communication has
essentially reduced the distances between people and places resulting in the
acceleration and ‘compression’ of our experiences of time and space (Harvey,
2008). It has, therefore, become easier to move information across spaces;
speeding up the pace of life while abolishing traditional spatial barriers,
thus allowing people to change the spatiality of their environments (Harvey,
2008). Change has now become expected. Relatedly, change in the textures
and patterns of place happen for contingent reasons and from all directions.
Today changes in places that happen through deliberate interventions have
become more common. These bring the explicit generation of new social
norms for possible actions; new kinds of transition and gestures; new rituals
and expectations. For instance, architects must be sensitive to the different
ways a place can change, as they are often tasked with reusing or repur-
posing older structures or to build new structures that alter a place. Themed
places are an expression of this process in leisure, and it also happens as
people work to weave the separate units of suburban sprawl that structure
their day-to-day routines into linked patterns of living (Kolb, 2008).
The term ‘sprawl’ captures well the patchwork of divergent places with
separate uses; the inevitable accompaniment of our increasingly suburban
existence (Ingold, 2009). It also captures something of the changing expec-
tations about connections to, and relationships with, contemporary leisure
places. For Kolb the commercial shopping strip is emblematic of this new
kind of order. Despite its apparent dis-order and less than aesthetically
pleasing demeanour, one cannot expect to understand the strip just by
looking at its architectural form, because it’s sprawling character involves
connections other than that of spatial proximity – better resembling ‘a list
with links’ than a unified rhythm of architectural form (Kolb, 2008). Viewed
in abstract terms, what has happened is the apparent clamorous disconti-
nuity of transitions and movements through the strip has replaced coopera-
tive unity; walking the strip is analogous to perusing a list (Kolb, 2008). But
what may first appear as dull repetition and superficial relations, upon closer
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 31

inspection involves complicated rhythms and intersecting linkages (with

other people and places; nearby and elsewhere) and inter-mingling activities
(isolated and collective, private and social). The strip needs no hierarchy;
the discontinuous yet linked structure of the list prevails. New ‘lifestyle’
shopping malls that cluster shops around carefully positioned squares, and
other combinations of separate buildings, may resemble older downtowns,
but are merely the strip in a new geometry (Kolb, 2008). Place in this sense
more accurately resembles an extended location consisting of one or more
expanses of space where social norms of action sketch out significant areas
and transitions for activities. Places are permeated by social norms offering
possibilities for action. Once we see how proximal-spatial relations are not
the only connections that unify a place, we begin to notice many more
kinds of place unity. Places in this sense do not have to be organized hier-
archically, they may diverge and overlap. A place’s borders may, therefore,
be as vague as the borders of their composite activities that, by extension,
are not fundamentally place-bound, as place-binding (Ingold, 2009). The
notion of ‘sprawling leisure place’ describes the embodied, aesthetic, char-
acter of this perambulatory movement – it unfolds not in places but along
paths. For Ingold (2009), experiencing place is to proceed along a path and
‘where individual paths meet, they become entwined as the life of one
person becomes bound up with those of others. Every entwining is a knot
and the more paths that are entwined, in place, the greater the density of
the knot’ (p. 34). Places, then, are analogous to knots, and the threads from
which they are tied are the lines, or paths, of their (co)inhabitants.
The sprawling character of leisure places is evident away from the
commercial shopping strip – that is it can be felt at the market place, the
recreation centre, the holiday camp, the local park. The logic of inversion
works to turning the paths along which people lead their lives into internal
properties of self-contained and bounded jostling equivalent to what Ingold
terms ‘occupation’. Woven into the very texture of the surfaces of sprawling
places are the lines of growth and movements of the people that inhabit
them. What is formed is not a network of point-to-point connections, but a
tangled ‘mesh’ of interwoven and complexly knotted strands where ‘every
strand is a way of life and every knot a place’ (Ingold, 2009). Ingold’s use
of ‘mesh’ here is akin to a net in its original sense of an openwork fabric of
interlaced or knotted lines. In a world obsessed with inverted logic, we are
perhaps more inclined to think of it as a complex of inter-connected points
than of interwoven paths. The distinction between net-work and mesh-
work is imperative here. The key distinction being the recognition that the
lines of the ‘meshwork’ are not connectors – rather, they are the paths a long
which life is lived, and it is the binding together of lines, not the connec-
tion of points that constitutes the meshwork’s form and feel (Ingold, 1993,
2009). Rather than being on the fringes of things, the commercial strip, the
market place, the themed café are all ‘real places’ inscribed with communal
32 Sam Elkington

activities and have their uses and modes of life. To say that these places
are non-places questions their apparent simplicity and their thin social
roles, and yet even with that, they remain human places. Identifying real
places with only traditionally centred and hierarchical locales for unified
communities is to apply overly rigid concepts to a world that has all but
moved on.
Physically, place is space which is invested with shared understandings of
appropriate modes of behaviour and cultural expectations; we are located
in space, but act in place (Crouch, 2010; Kolb, 2008, 2011). To this Kolb
(2008:33) adds a phenomenological note in that ‘we experience a place in
time as we move through it in space’. All leisure has its place, permeated by
social norms offering possibilities for action; that is to say, they are locations
that are places-we-do-something, rather than just places-where-something-is.
It is place, not space, that frames appropriate action – ‘place creates sali-
ence’ (Kolb, 2008). Traditionally this information has been ready-to-hand;
however, amidst the sprawl of contemporary leisure places, it is becoming
increasingly necessary for us to construct concepts and norms that reflect
the changeable, often temporary, spatial outcomes and subsequent possibili-
ties for action. These spatial outcomes are inherently short-lived, increas-
ingly uncertain and consistently weaken the sense of permanence and
temporal continuity of conventional, incremental production of place
through experience. Leisure places so conceived are transitional, resisting
specific identities, giving way to a meandering sense-of-place and new forms
and assemblages of leisure practice. Inherent within these places are the
makings of new spatial and social possibilities for leisure perhaps more
attuned to the divergent rhythms of contemporary life.

Place – to go

Sprawling leisure places are woven together through space by movements

and ties that produce places as changing constellations of human activity.
Thrift (1999) emphasizes the materiality of places, so conceived, as ‘open
spaces’ that take ‘shape only in their passing’ (p. 310). From this perspec-
tive, rather than just a ‘frame’ and/or ‘categories’, place is process-oriented,
representing the ambition to show their inherent complex and dynamic
character that is best thought of relationally rather than simply opposite to
place. The sprawling character of leisure place makes for a more discerning
framework of leisure space that challenges accepted notions of place and
place norms. What characterizes the experiencing of sprawling leisure place
is that it increasingly involves circulating through geographically extended
networks of social relations that might at once be spread out across a multi-
plicity of locations (leisure and non-leisure), or concentrated into one or
more physical spaces (Williams, 2002). Crucially, such circulation is not
limited to daily or short-term circulation around some fixed location; rather,
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 33

it effectively deterritorializes traditional geographically bounded concep-

tions of space and identity and has profound impacts on the meaning and
experience of place and social interaction in leisure. This is the complexity
of place.
A complex place will have multiple roles, forces, norms, processes, internal
spatial dimensions, and external links to other kinds of places, that, in
turn, offers a density of roles and relations (Kolb, 2008). The intensities that
develop from this kind of complexity are not immediate bursts of experi-
ence; they build up over time and enrich the horizon of alternative possibil-
ities within which actions are performed. For this reason, place complexity
is not directly contingent on architectural form; that said, there still needs
to be some explicit links and signs that allow inhabitants or users to experi-
ence the place in its larger context. Complex places provide more occasions
for self-awareness; the more complex the place, the more intersecting roles
and social norms it has, and so also more opportunities for place distur-
bances, pushing inhabitants to question and be jarred into forced awareness
of new norms and practices (Kolb, 2008). In short, there are more chances
to experience otherness; whether in different inhabitants, different ways
of inhabiting, or in collisions of norms that make one evaluate one’s own
behaviour. Encountering competing senses of place created through leisure
practice is an important source of perspective; itself a basic and fundamental
element in our capacity to achieve any kind of unity between other people
and the material world (Ingold, 2009). Through repeated experiences and
complex associations, our capacity for perspective allows us to construct a
sense of place, to give them meanings that are deepened and qualified over
time with multiple nuances.
On the surface, many modern places typically associated with leisure
appear not to offer what might be termed as thick relations and identities.
In these thin places there are only thin social roles (Augé, 1995). However,
it would be wrong to condemn such places solely on these grounds; these
places offer new kinds of opportunities that are still concerned with identity
and relations, just with thinner roles and more attuned to movement (read:
circulations) as opposed to fixidity in place. It is important to note here that
thickness is not the same as complexity; the former refers to the quality of
the contemporary roles in a place, whereas complexity refers to the multi-
plicity of these roles and the nature of their interaction with one another. A
place can engage only thin roles but still be complex because of the number
and interrelation of these roles (Kolb, 2008). Thinness happens when social
roles become less substantial, more spread out, and more abstracted from
other aspects of a person’s identity. Thickness, on the other hand, provides
a richer texture to anchor affiliations with place than do thin and diluted
places. However, Ingold and Kolb have shown that finding density in place
can have a similar affect. For what may be conceived of as a thin place is, for
Ingold, just as likely to comprise a compendium of tightly knotted pathways
34 Sam Elkington

lived and laid out as inhabitants move in, through and past that place. For
a time each pathway becomes bound up with others; it follows, then, the
greater the number of pathways, the greater the density of the knot, and
so the greater the likelihood of the kinds of place disturbances and self-
awareness that is at the centre of Kolb’s notion of place complexity.
When multiple norms are engaged in a place they can conflict in ways
that demand creative interpretation and judgement that may, in turn, be
used to provide opportunities and insight for the formation of new ideas
and leisure pursuits. For example, Lashua (2013; see also Lashua, this
volume) has examined the pop-up cinema phenomenon in relation to
urban cultural regeneration and cultural heritage spaces. Pop-up cinema is a
phenomenon in which films are screened publicly at ad hoc, often outdoor,
venues – that is car parks, brownfield sites, beneath roadway flyovers, parks
or pedestrianized spaces – screenings can ‘pop up’ literally anywhere and are
typically publicized on the day through social, and/or other forms of local
media. Pop-up cinema events are just one example of a wider contemporary
global movement of creative, temporary, bottom-up and counter- cultural
uses of urban spaces – other forms of pop-up events/activities include: art
instillations and galleries, shops, restaurants, gardens and even businesses.
Their fleeting, transient and often confrontational character means pop-up
leisure events/activities, quite intentionally, disturb the fabric and rhythm
of everyday urban life, so as to draw attention to difference and communi-
cate alternative associations – the uses and meanings of particular places –
for inhabitants that might otherwise fall outside of the purview of social
convention. By moving beyond specific geographical locations and material
form, pop-up events are, on the one hand, an open critique of the homog-
enization and standardization of urban landscapes, and on the other hand,
examples of ‘place-shaping’ (Fairclough, 2001); calling attention to the ‘local,
ordinary, typical, everyday, small, personal, intangible things that create a
daily sense of place’ (p. 153). Each event represents a specific time-space
configuration, made up of the intersection of often momentary encounters
between people, objects and space, and reflects the practical means of ‘going
on’ and ‘moving through’, rather than a concern with the utilitarian char-
acter of some space in time. It is in this way that pop-up culture can enrich
and re-animate urban spaces (Johnson and Glover, 2013; Lashua, 2013; see
also Glover and Lashua’s chapters in this volume), bringing variety and
complexity into people’s lives, which has given rise to alternative pop-up
approaches to improving urban spaces. For example, Candy Chang’s ‘Before
I die’ initiative enables citizens to write their dreams on a neighbourhood
chalk-board. The project started in New Orleans, but over the last few years
similar chalk-boards have ‘popped-up’ in cities like Berlin, Melbourne,
Budapest, Johannesburg, Amsterdam, Buenos Aires and Beirut. ‘Park(ing)
Day’ is another annual world-wide event where artists, designers and citi-
zens transform metered parking spots into temporary public gardens, or
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 35

green spaces. ‘Jane’s Walk’ is another initiative that involves a series of free
neighbourhood walking tours that helps put people in touch with their
environment (both urban and rural) and with each other by bridging social
and geographical gaps and creating a space for cities and their suburbs to
(re)discover themselves. Finally, the now famous street piano project ‘Play
Me, I’m Yours’ offers still another example. In 2008, British artist Luke
Jerram decided to install pianos in parks, train stations, markets and other
urban public spaces, with an open invitation to passers-by to play or simply
enjoy listening to the music.
Such alternative urban culture events and ideas are able to flow across the
globe thanks to the sharing and connecting capacity of new social media
platforms – the local becomes global, and visa-versa. Place, in this sense, is
not strictly a physical location, nor is it a state-of-mind; it is the engagement
of the conscious body with the conditions of a specific site, with partic-
ular ways of thinking and seeing, of being-in-the-world. In short, place is
embodied. People move and stop, settle and move again; places are shifting
and changing; places are meandering, always becoming through people’s
engagements – both material and discursive – through and with them. In
this way, place is not where social relations simply take place, but an inherent
ingredient of their modalities and actualization (Lefevbre, 1991; Kolb, 2008).
The true terrain of leisure place, from this perspective, is human imagina-
tion and creativity; that special way of feeling and seeing, only permitted
in leisure, an outlook turned on to the world rather than simply reflecting
(or inverting) it that provides us with our own unique window through
which to view the world in new and complex ways. Crucially, the complex
phenomenology of these alternative approaches reveals a dimension of
experience that is easily overlooked in accounts of leisure, a dimension that
may be the most critical of all because it concerns experience of the most
primary sort; namely that of aesthetic appreciation (Elkington, 2013).

Everyday aesthetics and leisure

Aesthetics is ordinarily thought of as referring to art; to the value that distin-

guishes the arts from other, more ordinary and mundane objects or activities.
A general meaning of place as aesthetic reveals a perceptual environment
that joins a distinctive physical identity and coherence, a resonance, with
a memorable character, or form, with which an individual actively engages
through action (Berleant, 2003). But everyday aesthetics opens up a whole new
domain of inquiry that allows us to talk about things that do not generally
come up in traditional aesthetics (Saito, 2008). While some philosophers tie
the concept of aesthetic properties to the arts, another tradition sees aesthetic
properties as characteristics of objects and events that give us pleasure in the
sensuous and imaginative appreciation of them. The ‘properties’ appreciated
in everyday aesthetics are neither wholly objective nor wholly subjective but
36 Sam Elkington

rather properties of experienced things, not physical objects abstracted from

our everyday lives. The distinctive pleasure we associate with the arts, for
instance, involves an aesthetic of physical objects; an aesthetic of art objects
and sometimes of objects of nature. These properties stand at the theoretical
centre and most discussion concerns the distinctiveness of such objects, their
qualities, their form and order and how they transfigure the wider-world in
ways that render it aesthetically enjoyable. Complementing this aesthetic
of objects is a distinctive way of appreciating them; a form of attention that
is essentially passive and contemplative, a response that delights in those
objects for their own sake without any concomitant application or ulterior
purpose. However, aesthetic appreciation, so conceived, encourages the
seeking out of only the scenically interesting and beautiful parts of our envi-
ronment. As a result, those environments devoid of effective composition,
form and excitement are considered lacking aesthetic value (Saito, 2008).
Such a view reiterates the common inclination to depreciate the scenically
challenged parts of our environment. Indeed, many urban spaces commonly
associated with leisure, which are notably unremarkable with little or no
obvious aesthetic appeal or value would be neglected on these grounds. But
why can we not just enjoy those aspects of our environment that appeal to
us and forget the apparently boring and uninteresting landscapes? We can,
of course, approach our increasingly urbanized leisure environments as we
might approach art, that is, we can simply enjoy its forms and colours or
enjoy perceiving it however we may happen to encounter it. Why not then
relax and just enjoy those things that appeal to us in our leisure? Because
such an approach unduly limits our aesthetic appreciation as much as it
misleads us.
On one hand, the everyday may be seen as ordinary and self-evident, on
the other, as something extraordinary and opaque. This opaque character
of everyday life is often taken-for-granted, and people’s routine behaviour
and activities are easily glossed over (de Certeau, 1984). At the same time,
however, a major part of our lives is constructed of daily routines, and much
of our time is spent in seemingly unspectacular environments which, even
when they do not seem to be interesting for everyone, carry special mean-
ings and engender particular emotions for others. Haapala (2005) empha-
sizes the importance of emotional attachment to one’s surroundings in the
context of everyday aesthetics. This unique bond is an essential part of the
aesthetic appreciation of one’s everyday environment. Here familiarity and
a sense of belonging work as a basis for everyday aesthetics and make the
experiences qualitatively different from those of unfamiliar surroundings
(Haapala, 2005). But we are, in this chapter, concerned with those encoun-
ters with places in leisure that are perhaps less familiar and often so fleeting
that they do not permit the time (or space) necessary to construct any form
of immediately tangible bond. How then are we to build any sort of mean-
ingful aesthetic appreciation of leisure within our everyday environments?
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 37

Crucially, these temporal moments of expression elucidate the embodied

character of place wherein the body permits transportation of sensual feel-
ings so that objects and other people are lent significance through the way in
which they are encountered. Material content of places become significant
in this process. Of special importance is the relationship between everyday
aesthetics and environmental aesthetics – here there is considerable overlap,
analogous to the highly embodied relationships that Parkour practitioners,
known as ‘traceurs’, develop with their everyday environments; both in terms
of the emotions attached to the surrounding spaces, and in terms of the
aesthetic appreciation of them.
Parkour has attracted increasing academic interest in recent years. Such
interest is understandable given the fresh light that these activities shed
on the relationship between moving bodies and the spaces around them
(Ameel and Tani, 2012; Geyh, 2006; Gilchrist and Wheaton, 2011). The
concept of dérive (drift) (Débord, 1967) has been used to describe the
traceurs’ habit of letting go of conventional ways of behaving and allowing
themselves to be drawn into occasional encounters while they find their
way through urban spaces. Parkour has also been investigated as an inno-
vative and critical way of looking at urban space. Researchers have been
quick to highlight the ability of traceurs to see, reveal, appropriate and
challenge the conventions inscribed in urban architecture. The potential
of Parkour to see the environment differently and to reinterpret constraints
rather than to remove or delete them combines the ideas of creativity and
playfulness with the active exploration of environmental affordances. If we
are to better understand the sprawling character of leisure place, we would
do well to take note of how traceurs interpret their urban environments
by applying their capacity to perceive beyond the discursively constructed
meanings of objects and space and finding personal, creative ways to
use the spaces available to them. Such an orientation speaks to a way of
looking, a gaze to be turned on to the world. There are certain features,
intrinsic to this conception of aesthetic appreciation, which permit us to
see urban leisure space in a new light and, crucially, in a way that reflects
how we experience it today. It certainly demarcates some distinct ground
from which the changing relationships between the embodied nature of
people’s spatial experiences and the social practices of the everyday can be
marked out. People would not view their urban environment as a totality
but as a compilation of fragments that can be interpreted through move-
ment. To gaze, in this sense, depicts new ways of attaching emotions to our
everyday environments, giving new meanings to everyday spaces, and so
making the everydayness of everyday worth a closer look. This alternative
leisured aesthetic is to be viewed as both positive and creative, not some
ontologically fixed relationship to leisure space, but rather active, ‘rhizo-
matic’ (Deleuze and Guattari, 1988); always in flow and transformation
within the lived experience of social life.
38 Sam Elkington

The commodification critique claims that places have lost their power to
locate and shape our lives. Form and meanings weaken as surface effects
become primary and places become items to be collected and consumed.
Our refusal to encounter urban space on its own terms indicates an unwill-
ingness on our part to put aside (at least temporarily) our own ethnocentric
and present-minded perspectives or the pursuit of easy pleasure and enter-
tainment – to open up to the complexities and connections of contemporary
leisure places with their often unlanguaged textures, contours and patterns
of movement. Granted, our willingness to do so may prove disappointing
as we tend to get bogged down in our daily routines, to the extent that we
hardly ever pause to think about the meaning of our experiences: even less
often have we the opportunity to compare our private experience with the
fate of others, to the social in the individual, the general in the particular
(Bauman, 2000). But we should not let such possibilities discourage us. In
the case of the everyday aesthetics of leisure, our efforts at encountering and
appreciating form, structure and connections within certain leisure places
through such openness indicates our willingness to recognize a reality quite
apart from our own and suspend the exclusive pursuit of entertainment and
casual acquaintances with leisure space. Instead of imposing some instru-
mental standard of aesthetic value – coherence, form, order, exchange value
and so on – we must be willing to acknowledge and appreciate the different
ways in which our everyday environments speak and reveal themselves,
though some may not be clearly comprehensible at first. It is important to
reiterate here that an awareness of place complexity is not passive contem-
plation; given we are active in the interpretation and re-production of place
norms (Lefebvre, 1991). Much like the relationships that Parkour practitioners
develop with their environments, perceiving this complexity demands sensi-
tivity to the contingent links, textures and patterns inherent in experiencing
contemporary leisure places that are more than spatial; they are produced by
social relations that reproduce, mediate and transform (Lefebvre, 1991). The
materialization of this dialectical interchange is space itself; the sublation of
social relations and urban space on an uncertain path in ways that open up
toward the reformation of each in what is a social-spatial praxi.
A social-spatial praxi consistent with this understanding demands that
when taking up the task of interpretation, we must begin with the realiza-
tion that place norms are not fixed, final and complete, but are complexly
interrelated, porous and always under re-construction even when they
appear fixed (Sack, 1997; Massey, 2005). Rather than lamenting the absence
of place we are more likely then to become acquainted with the aesthetic
properties of the everyday and critically reflect upon the multiple and
increasingly temporary representations of place available within leisure.
The temporality of sprawling leisure places as revealed in this chapter can
encourage new spatial and social outcomes – socially liberating experiences
can emerge from the carnival, the street performance, the local pop-up
 Disturbance and Complexity in Urban Places 39

cinema event, for example. It is not a mystification of the material effects of

such socially liberating experiences – premised as they are on social differ-
ences and disturbances ‘in place’ – to assert their contingently constructed
nature; rather a recognition of their complexity. As praxi, the pre-condition
of self-awareness requires that we are asking questions as to how differences
(through complexity) arise, are amplified and maintained through shared
experiences and new forms of social practice, and to what effects. Such
complications need to be discussed and dealt with in leisure studies, as new
linkages and connections provide new modes of contact, connection and
possibility – it is these changes that need to be emphasized. Finally, under-
standing the complexities of sprawling leisure places as a form of urban
exploration allows for greater appreciation for their relevance. Convergences
and creative combinations in place that take forward new patterns of leisure
are occurring in our urban landscapes. They may not be great in number
yet, but they are there, and the possibilities are open. We just need to know
where and how to look.

References
Agnew, J. (2011) Space and place. In Agnew, J. and Livingstone, D. (eds) Handbook of
Geographical Knowledge. London: Sage, pp. 316–330.
Ameel, L., & Tani, S. (2012) Everyday aesthetics in action: Parkour eyes and the beauty
of concrete walls. Emotion, Space and Society, 5(3), pp. 164–173.
Arefi, M. (1999) Non-place and placelessness as narratives of loss: rethinking the
notion of place. Journal of Urban Design, 4, pp. 179–194.
Augé, M. (1995) Non-places: introduction to an anthropology of supermodernity.
Trans. Howe, J. Verso: London.
Bauman, Z. (2000) Liquid Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Berleant, A. (2003) ‘The aesthetics in place’, in Menin, S. (ed.) Constructing Place: Mind
and Matter, London: Routledge.
Blackshaw, T. (2010) Leisure. London: Routledge.
Casey, E. S. (2013) The fate of place: a philosophical history. Univ of California
Press.
Casey, E. S. (2001) Between Geography and Philosophy: What Does It Mean to Be in the
Place-World?, pp. 683–693.
Certeau, M. D. DE (1984) The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley.
Cresswell, T. (2013) Place: A short Introduction. John Wiley & Sons.
Crouch, D. (2000) Places around us: embodied lay geographies in leisure and tourism.
Leisure Studies, 19(2), 63–76.
Crouch, D. (2010) Flirting with space: thinking landscape relationally. Cultural
Geographies, 17(1), pp. 5–18.
Debord, G. (1967) Society of the Spectacle. Trans. Knabb, Ken. London: Rebel.
Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1988) A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia.
Bloomsbury Publishing.
Elkington, S. and Gammon, S. J. (2014) Introduction. In Elkington, S. & Gammon
S. J. (eds) (2013). Contemporary Perspectives in Leisure: Meanings, Motives and Lifelong
Learning. Routledge, pp. xvi–xxvi.
40 Sam Elkington

Elkington, S. (2014) Sites of serious leisure: acting up in space and place. In Elkington,
S. and Gammon, S. J. (eds) Contemporary Perspectives in Leisure: Meanings, Motives,
and Lifelong Learning. London: Routledge, pp. 93–111.
Fairclough, N. (2001) The dialectics of discourse. Textus, 14(2), pp. 231–242.
Geyh, P. (2006) Urban free flow: a poetics of parkour. A Journal of Media and
Culture, 9 (3). <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0607/06-geyh. php> (accessed
20.4.2014).
Gilchrist, P., & Wheaton, B. (2011) Lifestyle sport, public policy and youth engage-
ment: examining the emergence of parkour. International Journal of Sport Policy and
Politics, 3(1), pp. 109–131.
Haapala, A. (2005) On the aesthetics of the everyday: familiarity, strangeness, and
the meaning of place. In Light, A. and Smith, J. M. (eds). The Aesthetics of Everyday
Life. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 39–55.
Harvey, D. (2004) ‘The Right to the City.’ In Lees, L. (ed.) The Emancipatory City?
Paradoxes and Possibilities. Thousand Oaks: Sage, pp. 236–239.
Harvey, D. (2008) Rebel Cities: From the Right to the City to the Urban Revolution. London:
Verso.
Ingold, T. (1993) The temporality of the landscape. World Archaeology, 25(2),
pp. 152–174.
Ingold, T. (2009) Against space: place, movement, knowledge. Boundless Worlds: An
Anthropological Approach to Movement, pp. 29–43.
Johnson, A. J., & Glover, T. D. (2013) Understanding urban public space in a leisure
context. Leisure Sciences, 35(2), pp. 190–197.
Knox, P. L. (2005) Creating ordinary places: slow cities in a fast world. Journal of Urban
Design, 10(1), pp. 1–11.
Kolb, D. (2008) Sprawling Places. University of Georgia Press.
Kolb, D. (2011) Many centers: suburban habitus. City, 15(2), pp. 155–166.
Lashua, B. D. (2013) Pop-up cinema and place-shaping: urban cultural heritage
at Marshall’s Mill. Journal of Policy Research in Tourism, Leisure and Events, 5(2),
pp. 123–138.
Lonsway, B. (2009) Making Leisure Work: Architecture and the Experience Economy.
London: Routledge.
Massey, D. (2005) For space. London: Sage.
Massey, D. B. (1994) Space, Place, and Gender. U of Minnesota Press.
Mayer, H., & Knox, P. L. (2006) Slow cities: sustainable places in a fast world. Journal
of Urban Affairs, 28(4), pp. 321–334.
Relph, E. (1976) Place and Placelessness (Vol. 67). London: Pion.
Rojek, C. (1995) Decentring leisure: rethinking leisure theory (Vol. 35). London: Sage.
Sack, R. D. (1993) The power of place and space. Geographical Review, pp. 326–329.
Saito, Y. (2008) Everyday aesthetics: prosaics, the play of culture and social identi-
ties. The British Journal of Aesthetics, 48(4), pp. 461–463.
Simmel, G. (1997) The concept and tragedy of culture. Simmel on Culture. London:
Sage.
Thrift, N. (1999) The place of complexity. Theory, Culture & Society, 16(3),
pp. 31–69.
Williams, D. R. (2002) Leisure identities, globalization, and the politics of place.
Journal of Leisure Research, 34(4), pp. 351–367.
4
The Social Dynamics of Space
Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles
Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

Introduction and background

In this chapter we explore the relationships between different segments

of the community as mapped through their leisure behaviours. We do this
through a consideration of the different constructions of the ‘same’ place held
by second home owners and long-term residents. The community in question
is a rural one in the Yorkshire Dales National Park where we examine the diver-
gence between production and consumption as the driver for using space.
We show how the consumption needs of the second home owners contrast
with the production needs of the local residents and insert into this mix the
in-migrants now living in the community, but still identified as distinct.
More than this, their constructions of the idea of the Dales differs. Our main
analytical goal is to understand how leisure activities are embedded in the
social dynamic of this community based on the binary concept of ‘authentic’
and ‘inauthentic’ space (Urry, 1995, p. 140). Before considering the empirical
data, however, we need to establish the background context: first in terms of
the nature of space and then in terms of second homes.
Geographers recognize that investigating the construction of space
requires links with other social sciences and humanities on the basis that
‘issues of location, physical accessibility, participation and distributions’
(Crouch, 2006, p. 125) are inescapably related to social interaction at some
level. Further, Bauman and May (2001, p. 109) explain that the concept of
space allows us ‘to make comparisons between ideas, attitudes and action
by charting their historical variations within spaces that are both physical
and symbolic’. This emphasis on both the symbolic and physical is impor-
tant to our own case. As Bauman and May explain, physical space refers to
urban and regional landscapes, whereas symbolic space refers to how they
are viewed and what significance is attached to relations and objects within
those spaces as ‘places’ of interaction.
However, it is important to highlight the many derivatives of the concept
of space, such as ‘locality’, ‘place’, ‘territory’, ‘authentic space’ and ‘inauthentic

41
42 Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

space’. The social scientists who refer to these concepts tend to reject ‘the
thesis of space as absolute, it is essential that we do not eliminate all spatial
effects by concentrating upon the mere distribution of objects’ (Urry, 1995,
p. 65). Urry’s argument is that it is the social elements within these spaces
that interact rather than the patterning of the spaces themselves. Moreover,
the pattern of social practices derives from the social relations in a given
geographical area. As Rojek (1995:88) pointed out: ‘Marx’s thesis that proc-
esses of circulation are subordinate to the processes of production has been
widely challenged’ on the grounds that goods and services are bought and
sold not just because of their use value, but because they have a symbolic
value as well. It might lead us to reflect that the concept of space has a
variety of dimensions, ‘from the concrete to the metaphorical to the ideo-
logical, and can offer insights into cultural meanings’ (Birrell, 2006, p. 346)
that rest on collective belief. In the current context it is not just a house that
is being bought and sold, but a dream and associated status.
Those writing about second homes agree that they have become a global
phenomenon closely associated with leisure lifestyles, but no matter when
they were writing seem to bemoan the lack of a firm evidence base (Coppock,
1977; Pitkanen, 2008; Oxley et. al, 2008; Paris, 2009). Paris (2009, p. 295)
noted that ‘distinctions between second homes and other dwelling use are
blurred and changing’. The definition and significance of second homes
depends on both the region (locality) and the authorities that are dealing
with this political issue. For instance, ‘some authorities consider static cara-
vans as second homes, but others not, since they can be, and often are,
moved at the end of the season and are not regarded as part of the housing
stock’ (Coppock; 1977, p. 2). However, in general, second homes are consid-
ered to be properties used for holiday purposes that are owned by residents
who own their primary residence elsewhere (Office for National Statistics,
2011). Crucially, they can be distinguished from primary residences because
they are occupied only occasionally and mainly for leisure.
As Gardavsky (1977, p. 63) explained, second homes as we now know
them are the product of ‘migration flows that have concentrated increasing
proportions of populations in towns and cities’. Urbanization changed
working patterns and leisure practices (Rojek, 1995), latterly to be expressed
through the McDonaldization (see, for example, Blackshaw, 2010) of shop-
ping centres/malls, parks, themes parks, and so on. We encounter the idea
that since the industrial revolution most people have been alienated from
the land, resulting in the fetishization of Nature as a place of spiritual
repose (Bunce, 1994). Homogenization and separation from countryside
and coast created a longing for less urban experiences that underlies why
people from urban areas have been attracted to buying a second home ‘to
get away from the city’ (Campbell, 1967; Oxley et. al, 2008). However, until
wealth and mobility increased that longing could only be satisfied for a very
small minority. Coppock (1977, p. 4) pointed out that the antecedents of
 Space Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles 43

the present phenomenon lie in the shooting boxes of Victorian Britain and
the summer cottages on the Atlantic coast of North America. Still a mark
of distinction, their popularity is such that second homes now dominate
many rural/coastal settlements in attractive parts of the UK. Just as many
British potential second home owners were looking to overseas destinations
(e.g. Spain, France, Greece, Florida) the international financial crisis and
mortgage restrictions dampened enthusiasm.
Although one of the biggest segments of the second home market today
is the purchase of luxury accommodation in London by wealthy overseas
nationals, our concern here is with second home ownership in National
Parks, specifically the adjoining villages of Grassington and Kettlewell in
the Yorkshire Dales. As Clark (1981, p. 59) explained, consideration of second
homes in the UK ‘moved towards an analysis of the conflicts between the
different groups [local residents and second home owners] competing for
houses’ but as we show here there were also implications for the leisure prac-
tices evidenced within such places. The tensions thus created were aggravated
by ‘an acute awareness in some areas of the cultural distinctiveness of the
newcomers’ (Clark, 1981, p. 59). The most notorious representation of this
resentment was in North Wales where, from 1979 to the mid-1990s, the Sons
of Glyndŵr (Welsh nationalists) burnt over 200 second homes belonging to
(presumed) wealthy English people. Almost 30 years later, Carter (2010:77)
lays more emphasis on the ‘out-migrations of people seeking a new way of
life’ as the main difficulty in maintaining the Welsh culture rather than
in-migration, though of course the two are intertwined.
As intended, the original attacks drew media attention to resentment
about the dilution of Welsh culture and language and the impact on the
housing stock. Part of their argument was that the purchase of holiday
homes contributed to house prices rising beyond the means of many locals.
Although not meeting with the same response the concern over higher
property prices driving people away has been expressed in rural commu-
nities around the country and there is empirical evidence to support this
price elevator (e.g. NHPAU, 2008; Barnett, 2014). Within the national parks
the competition for housing has been accentuated by additional planning
constraints on the construction of new houses, imposed for fear of detracting
from the aesthetic appeal of these specially designated areas.

Second homes and authentic space

Unlike a person’s primary residence, selected on the basis of necessity, a

second home is selected on the basis of pleasure: people did not have to select
a home in the Yorkshire Dales, they chose to do so. In part, of course the very
possession of a second home carries symbolic value; it bestows bragging rights
in a society in which identity is displayed through consumption. However,
the location, in this case the countryside, also carries symbolic value. This
44 Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

is not something intrinsic to the countryside, but is socially and culturally

constructed. For example, Harrison (1991) identified the significance of a
particular social group developing an appropriate aesthetic through a notion
of landscape, and Lowenthal (1985) associated the countryside with nostalgia
for different times. Urry (1995:213) describes how a cultural desire was created
such that the countryside became ‘an object fit for the gaze of very many
visitors’ rather than ‘merely a working environment from which people
would escape as soon as they could’. In an era when ‘our world may suddenly
seem senseless to many people because ... it is relatively placeless’ (Meyrowitz,
1985:309), the countryside still offers a sense of place to urbanites.
While the phenomenon of second homes has antecedents dating back
to before the industrial society and has been associated with ‘the prac-
tice of summering away [ ... ] among more fortunate city-dwellers’ (Wolfe,
1977:17), the form of second homes, the timeline of their development and
the research and political issues involved vary from country to country. One
of the central concerns in the UK was with the ‘conflicts between owners
of second homes and others [in the host community]’ (Coppock, 1977:1),
whereas McNicol and Glorioso (2014:42) suggest that, ‘In North America,
neither academic writing nor public media has paid much attention to the
effects of changes on the local permanent residents’. The same might be said
of Brazil, where we have been studying second homes for the last six years.
In fact, in Brazil this terminology, ‘second homes’, is almost exclusively part
of the world of scholars working in the field. It rarely appears in high level
political debate or media reports.
The recent special issue of the Annals of Leisure Research (February
2014) attempts to capture the social dynamic of the interaction between
people through considering what most second home owners (in-migrants)
would like to follow and what the host society expects (in positive or nega-
tive ways). Key to the debate is recognition of differences attributable to the
distinction between newly constructed second homes, those that were previ-
ously occupied by permanent residents and homes let to a succession of tour-
ists (Paris, 2014; Barnett, 2014). The 1960 (p. 4) dream sold by the Douglas Fir
Plywood Association was of forging something new in the pioneer spirit:

With everyone enjoying longer vacations ... more free time ... better high-
ways making remote retreat areas more accessible ... plus the need for
family recreation ... this mass exodus to the mountains, desert, or seashore
is easy to understand and-even better-fun to participate in.

That is rather different from taking over a home in an established commu-

nity. In this regard Paris (2014,6/7) notes:

[T]he transformation of agricultural production and associated labour

shedding across most of the Western world has resulted in the development
 Space Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles 45

of the ‘post-productivist’ countryside, where land remains a vital element

of production; the settlements which once housed agricultural workers
have been re-used, and distinctively in Britain are now largely gentri-
fied enclaves of the middle and upper classes, ruthlessly protected by the
most restrictive land-use planning regime in the world.

Such a transition inevitably results in contestations over the form the

society and spaces should take. Moreover, with each form of second home
(new, colonized, let) there is the tension caused by intergroup distance. As
noted by Urry (1995:73): ‘it is part of the culture of those living in a given
geographical area that there is a distinction drawn between those who are
local, “people like us”, and those who are non-local, “outsiders”, “off-comers”’.
At the most basic level, this distinction reflects the dreams of somebody else
who intends to own a place for relaxation, enjoying leisure. However, what
this idea entails is the transformation of the space with a variety of housing
to adapt to the second home owners’ needs. In other words, in Urry’s terms,
the transformation of the space by second home owners denies the reality
of the authentic space as understood by permanent residents.
In Brazil, as in the US, this sort of conflict is clearly visible in terms of
the physical space because of the apparent division in a given geographical
area where the second home market tends to attempt ‘to create woodsy
open spaces with artificial lakes, planted forests, and man-made streams’
(Blakely and Snider, 1997:48). This physical construction of the space
suggests that material objects have restructured the idyllic ideal to explore
what is meant by a fishing village or a rural area. In other words, people
have been delighting in ‘inauthenticity’ (Urry, 1995:140). This is justified
through production and consumption, which ‘involves those selling the
services who, to varying degrees, try to guarantee a particular social experi-
ence’ (ibid:131). In other words, the inauthentic space is part of the ‘mass-
produced housing based on a leisure-time model, incorporating garages,
work rooms, and game and television rooms into ordinary dwellings’
(Blakely and Snider, 1997:48).
Two questions become immediately obvious:

● If Paris (above) is correct, should a failing economic model of production

be the key determinant of authenticity?
● If that is what represents the authentic might second home owners be
more enthusiastic about safeguarding it than permanent residents keen
to find economic alternatives?

An outsider getting closer

(This section is written in the voice of the first author as the person operating in
the field )
46 Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

I have been engaged with the investigation of second homes associated

with leisure for six years in Angra dos Reis, a city located on the south coast of
Rio de Janeiro state in Brazil and popular with second homeowners because
of the large number of beaches (approximately 2000) along the coast. Besides
this, I am also a second home owner and I established social interactions in
a particularly picturesque area located in Rio de Janeiro called Visconde de
Mauá. As such I can claim to be following the essence of the ethnographer’s
principle of knowing a thing absolutely, not just superficially, by being that
thing. At the same time as an academic I try to bring a critical perspective to
that experience. ‘That is the heart of the participant observation method –
involvement and detachment’ (Sluka and Robben, 2007, p. 1).
I arrived in the UK with that knowledge of second homes based on a model
of newly built, gated communities and had to familiarize myself with the
rather different characteristics of the phenomenon I now had available for
study. Using the literature and the knowledge of my co-author I tried to gain
a preliminary understanding of what might be happening in terms of second
homes through the lens of social capital. Writing about touristic experiences
Macleod (2006a:184) observed that ‘the truth is out there but inaccessible
to them’. I was concerned that this might apply equally to my search as
a researcher. I was also keenly aware of Relph’s (1976:49) observation that
‘our sense of place is very much determined by our experience of “insid-
erness” and “outsiderness”, which arise from our feeling of belonging and
influences our perspective on place’. As an outsider I wanted to get closer
to different realities of second home sites in the ethnographic tradition and
had to unlearn some of my previous understanding of what was meant by
‘second home’.
For my first foray into the field, I set off to the Lake District (particularly
the area around Windermere) because of its high concentration of second
homes and past attempts to limit the purchase of houses to people with a
residential qualification. That visit confirmed an antipathy towards second
homeowners. I was suitably enthused, but the logistics of repeated travel
from Leeds to the Lake District made it unsuitable as a field site and so
I started exploring the Yorkshire Dales and concentrated my activity on
Grassington and Kettlewell, two adjacent villages in Upper Wharfedale.
Arriving there for the first time I was fascinated by the rural way of life and
started asking myself some basic questions. How do people live in a village
like that? How do people enjoy their leisure time in a rural area?
My initial perception was of stepping back in time and indeed there are
constant historical reminders in both villages. In the past, Grassington was
a mining and farming community. Whilst the mining has long gone it has
left its legacy on the whole area. However, it also became apparent that
not all those living there are rooted in that history. The village square in
Grassington is the epitome of its cultural legacy, yet is a space shared by
tourists, those whose families have lived there for generations, newcomers
 Space Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles 47

and second home owners. The Square and its surrounds might reasonably be
described as ‘quaint’. Its history can be seen in the old buildings and alley-
ways (known as folds) and the establishments around the square mostly
cater for tourists. These include cafes, gift shops, pubs, a hotel, post office,
outdoor clothing shops, country gentlemen and ladies clothing shops, art
galleries, a Spar grocer, a hardware shop and a museum.
Importantly, the village holds two events each year to bring in tour-
ists. Grassington Festival (music and arts) is held in the summer for two
weeks staging a variety of events from mining seminars to pop groups
and attracts a large number of people. The Victorian Festival (commonly
referred to as ‘the Dickensian’) is held for three consecutive weekends just
before Christmas and tries to create a Victorian atmosphere with braziers,
toffee apples, street entertainment etc. and people wearing period costume.
Coaches bring people from all over the country and special park and ride
arrangements have to be set up using a large local quarry to accommodate
the coaches.
It was also easy to find the ‘Hub’, which provides an information centre,
meeting place for locals, library, video link with the hospital for patients to
see a consultant without travelling, and offices for the Music Festival staff.
Having visited and observed Grassington and Kettlewell on six consecu-
tive weekends (May and June, 2011), I might have written something akin to
the description above, in tune with one response I later received:

Village with lots of life, lots of leisure opportunities for retirement [for
instance]. Enough shops to be self-sufficient. Good doctors, dentist.
Friendly people who help each other. A great Town Hall for events. A new
Hub Office containing a library. Great place to be!

My first perceptions of the village were in line with one of the locals who
used to run The Dickensian (The Victorian Festival): ‘Grassington is a very
caring village, it is a very caring community’ (Interview, December, 2011).
However, I was becoming aware that this told nothing of the underlying
stresses, power struggles or attitudes of the local population. I needed to
know more. To research social capital I needed to develop my own social
capital, starting from a position of knowing no one at all in either village.
Staying at one of the pubs in Kettlewell (since closed – attributed locally
to lack of custom because of the number of second homes in the village)
helped to start with. I enlisted the support of the publican and staff at the
post office in Grassington to conduct a questionnaire survey that produced
a response from 65 households (651 in the village of Grassington – data
from Royal Mail Group, October 2011). I also had two extended stays (bed
and breakfast and rented cottage) in my field area in August and December.
That allowed me to go to coffee mornings, church services, a jumble sale,
pubs and cafes. I started to feel I was getting closer to groups that allowed
48 Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

me to establish different connections and insights to local leisure lifestyles.

Alongside this, I conducted 11 unstructured interviews that were carried out
between November and December 2011.

Dales folk, offcumdens and second home owners

Local people were keen to observe that, ‘In the past Skipton was well known
as the sheep town, now it is called the gateway to the Dales’, which is a
further reminder of the shifting balance of industry. An early interview
with the Strategic Planning Officer for the Yorkshire Dales National Park
Authority confirmed my starting point and offered clues to understanding
how the package of landscape, the countryside and the rural style of life is
‘being read, how it is appropriated, and how it is exploited, and that these
changes increasingly depend upon the economic, social and geographical
organization of contemporary tourism’ (Urry, 1995:173).

All the National Parks in England and Wales have high percentages of
second homes and the reason is [ ] they’re very attractive landscape.
In the late 1960s a lot of people who were living in the countryside in
England and Wales moved to the town and freed up a lot of property. So
by 1970 people were buying up homes very cheaply in the National Park
and that’s when the number started to go up a lot ... That probably peaked
in the 1990s and then it dropped to today, and the reason probably is
because in Britain it became cheaper to fly overseas on holiday ... to more
exotic places ... In 1991 80 percent of all the houses were second homes;
that’s now dropped and we have 55 percent. Still very high, 55 percent is
a lot of housing stock.

Historically, Yorkshire people have revelled in asserting their distinct iden-

tity as a unique type of ‘Englishness’ (Brass, 2010; Fletcher, 2012). Arriving as
an outsider I found the most immediate marker of difference lay in language
(quotes used here do not attempt to represent local dialect). Brass (2010)
even suggests that the use of dialect is one way people from a rural space
defend themselves by deflecting attacks and thereby deriving some measure
of empowerment. The ways people in the Dales see and classify groups also
express boundaries. An important challenge for me was to establish what
represented the concept of ‘local’ in the Dales. On just my second day in the
field I encountered the term, ‘offcumdens’, coined by the true locals, as they
would like to be known, who consider there needs to be three generations
buried in the graveyard before a family is considered local.

Well, it all started when people from outside came into the local commu-
nity. So of course they got a nickname that just started as joke. Of course
it stuck, you know. ‘Offcumdens’ basically means an outsider coming to
 Space Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles 49

local community ... Very old locals still resent the people coming in ... but
it’s getting better now. Yes, we still get upset that there’s a lot of outsiders
coming in. A lot of people come to Grassington for 2 or 3 years and say
‘I’m a local I’ve been here 3 years’. They’re not a local, right? I have three
generations in the graveyard. My great grandfather, my grandfather
(died 1943), and my father (died in 2001). But that’s just an old saying, a
Grassington saying. (Local, born in the Dales, December 2011)

Of course the Yorkshire Dales has always had incomers. In the past there
were big influxes of people as mining grew in the 18th and 19th centuries
culminating or in the 1920s with the building of Grassington Hospital (now
demolished and replaced with expensive houses). The people who came
with the hospital seem to be the last to be recognized now as true locals.
Similarly, second home owners are not a new phenomenon.

My grandparents had a house in Kettlewell, they had a holiday cottage

in the 1920s before the second world war. They used to come up for the
weekends and holidays, the olden days really. I have photographs and
things. (Second home owner, interview, June 2011).

Over the course of fieldwork it became clear that most of the village prob-
lems are blamed on the offcumden, and the second home owners are seen
as part of that: ‘The holiday people do little to support the wellbeing of the
area, and the percentage of second homes denies indigenous family growth’
(survey of Kettlewell and Grassington communities, July 2011). Another
respondent highlighted two concerns triggered by the growth of second
homes that echoed those of some of Barnett’s (2014) respondents in Devon.
First, ‘second home owners come and go and when they come they are busy
with their concerns; when they go, the house stands empty’. Second, ‘they
do not get involved with local affairs and they rarely appear in the village
street, even to post a letter’.
On reflection, it seems that we are dealing with a complex and multi-
stranded ideological defence, yet the reality is more complex still because
the village is not just split between true locals [as they define themselves]
and the visitors. Beyond this, are the new locals (some used to be second
home owners who moved to the Dales after their retirement), many of whom
get involved with new events as they see them as important to local village
activity. The true locals are then connected with the new locals through the
main events that take place within the village, the Music Festival and the
Dickensian. Both were started by local people, but as the former organizer
of the Grassington Festival noted now:

... it’s the input of the new people who have moved here from the South
mainly and like to keep everything going. They come with their ideas
50 Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

and local people, then really, follow the newcomers. When I had my last
Festival Committee, for example, we were twenty three and two of us
were [true] local people the rest all people from outside.

This is a pattern familiar to many who have lived in or researched rural

communities (see, for example, the concern in the Highlands of Scotland
reported by Burnett, 1998), though in truth more often asserted than substan-
tiated. As the original organizer of the Grassington Festival, our respondent
noted how its increasing size had required a corresponding professionaliza-
tion of the organization and that the incomers were more likely to have
the necessary skills. Just as such events possess the ability to encourage the
sharing of space, they may at the same time serve to accentuate distance.
Similarly, one of the local landlords had no hesitation in characterizing the
clientele of the different pubs, identifying one that was dominated by people
who were not (in his eyes) local. The social dynamic represented here reflects
the empowering effect of the Yorkshire identity set against the human capital
of those able to use their economic capital by being able to afford properties
in the Dales. In other words, the true locals live around the myth that the
Dales should be a place just for those who were born there. One local who
was born in the 1950s confirmed this: ‘I prefer the village how it used to be
but we can’t go back to the past but if I had my way I would go back to the
sixties and stop there’ (Interview, December, 2011).

Whose spaces are authentic?

There is the possibility that the leisure activities that materialize in the
physical spaces of facilities such as the Hub, Church House, the Town Hall or
the museum, become an entirely artificial construction. The village might
be all part of a dreamscape for visual consumption ‘through constructing
the physical environment as a landscape (or townscape) not primarily for
production but embellished for aesthetic appropriations’ (Urry, 1995:174).
Following that line of reasoning it might seem that the myth (an idealized
construction in the mind) of the rural way of living (a model of the tradi-
tional lifestyles and values: e.g. pottering in the garden, peace of mind, the
beauty of the environment, even having a meal with the family) appears
just on the surface. Rojek (1995) would cast these villages as images and
signs of a nostalgic idea of living in the landscape that seem to generate a
consumer culture based on the artificiality and superficiality of life.
However, we are more inclined to Spracklen’s (2011:113) view that:

... .there is no true, authentic tourist experience and no object by which

such authenticity could ever be measured. All we have are narratives and
stories about authenticity and place and critical analyses of symbolic
construction and hegemony.
 Space Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles 51

No arbiter can claim priority in designating the authentic. The point here is
to recognize how different people construct their version of the authentic,
and to recognize divisions within the local community.
One of the newer residents, when asked about leisure events and facilities
in Grassington was sure of their significance because:

everybody meets everybody, people know each other. This is the most
important thing. Everybody gets together, everybody cares for each
other, it’s a very good way to live. We don’t call it leisure, it’s really a way
of living, it’s the right way to live.

Yet information provided about the Festival suggested the lack of participa-
tion by the locals. For some the Festival represents an alien leisure form (as
it would for some in any community), but it was also argued that in practice
locals cannot always get tickets for more popular shows as they are sold out
before they go on sale. Patrons (sponsors) get first choice and there are two
levels of patronage depending on the amount of the donation. Whether
or not it is the case, ‘offcumden’ are perceived as the rich patrons who get
advance tickets for themselves and friends at the expense of true locals. And
some popular local musicians are aggrieved that they are not accepted by
the festival committee when it selects performers; hence, a sense of indig-
nity is engendered.
Entries in the field diary remind of two further tensions that signal a
conversion of use-values into exchange-values. The first related to the
Channel 4 ‘reality’ series, Love Thy Neighbour, filmed in Grassington. I was
informed in no uncertain terms that the majority of the village did not
want it. Responses to it offered insight into the social dynamics within the
village and how people were constructing meanings and negotiating the
space they understood to be the village. It was reported that the people who
took part were mainly ‘offcumden’ with only a couple of locals, something
that spread a lot of bad feeling within the village as this was the face of
the village being portrayed to the nation. The second related to the resent-
ment ‘true’ locals expressed towards what they saw as officious restrictions
(on satellite receivers, parking and planning) imposed by the National Park
Authority. They remember a time they perceive to have been characterized
by freedom. On the other hand, the offcumden and second homeowners
tended to support the idea of a national park having moved there after it
was already established to protect their idea of authentic countryside. Even
more aggravating to locals is that rich ‘offcumden’ are recognized as being
more successful in negotiating the bureaucracy to achieve what they want.
For locals the authenticity of the Dales is something rooted in the past, but
they are not averse to modern comforts and certainly desire economic secu-
rity. For second homeowners the authenticity of the Dales is something rooted
in the past, to which they seek access through their economic security.
52 Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

Conclusions

Of course no communities are homogeneous, and all change, and as

MacLeod (2006b:223) observes, ‘the demographic recomposition of many
places has been said to challenge the very link between place and commu-
nity. ... the idea of place has always been contested, holding different mean-
ings simultaneously’. She goes on to note that ‘tourists may play a role as
catalysts in the innovation of new hybrid cultural forms and the revival of
a sense of “local pride” in host communities’ (MacLeod, 2006b:224). The
Grassington Festival and the Victorian Festival were set up to appeal to some
from each of visiting tourists, second home owners, offcumdens and long-
time locals. Yet at the same time as they bring some together they represent
sites of division for others. In its form and representation, the Victorian
Festival in Grassington is a contrivance, not something that would satisfy
many criteria of authenticity, yet it fits well the tradition of fetes, festivals,
fairs and shows, characteristic of the area.
There seems to be a presumption that authenticity can only be conferred
by the past, and that may be ill-suited to present needs ... to make matters more
complicated, the authenticity of the past for some lies in landscape/nature,
and for others in a way of life, even a sense of being. Our research certainly
challenges any idea of objective authenticity depending on some presumed
external criteria of the ‘real’ and ‘genuine’ (Jamal & Hill, 2002:84). There is
no certificate of authenticity attached to an experience of Grassington and
Kettlewell. The ‘three generation’ locals may have prior claim on matters
of authenticity, but for the most part they have less economic power and
organizational skill than the offcumdens.
What this research represents is not some arcane debate about naïve tour-
ists being sold some inauthentic good (MacCannell, 1973), but one about
the tensions in deciding what should be the defining characteristics of a
place. People come to places like Grassington and Kettlewell not just for
their natural beauty, but in a nostalgic search for what they think a ‘real’
place should be, untainted by the commercial placelessness of globaliza-
tion, but even here you can watch your favourite soap opera, drink foreign
beer and receive work emails. Second homeowners may well feel they are
shedding the skin of artifice in leaving the city to experience something
more ‘real’ in the countryside in accord with Wang’s (1999) conception of
existential authenticity. However, their use of the village as a leisure retreat
does not match the authentic origins of the village as a site of production.
Instead, in this sense the village is now a function of consumption serving
the reproduction of labour.

References
Ball, M. (2005) ‘The Second home boom’, The Appraisal Journal, Summer, pp. 240–249.
 Space Constructions and Leisure Lifestyles 53

Barnett, J. (2014) Host community perceptions of the contributions of second homes.

Annals of Leisure Research, 17(1), pp. 10–26.
Bauman, Z. and May, T. (2001) Thinking Sociologically. Oxford: Blackwell.
Birrel, S. (2006) Sport and sport studies. In Rojek, C., Shaw, S., Veal, A. J. (eds), A
Handbook of Leisure Studies. Basingstoke: Palgrave-Macmillan, pp. 335–353.
Blackshaw, T. (2010) Leisure. London: Routledge.
Blakely, E. J., Snyder, M. G. (1997) ‘Fortress America: gated communities in the United
States’. Washington, D. C. & Cambridge and Massachusetts: Brookings Institution
Press and Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.
Brass, T. (2010) ‘Fiends, friends and fools: screen images and/as rural struggle’.
Dialectical Anthropology. 34 (1), pp. 105–142.
Bunce, M. (1994) The Countryside Ideal: Anglo-American Images of Landscape. London:
Routledge.
Burnett, K. (1998) Local Heroics: Reflecting on Incomers and Local Rural Development
Discourses in Scotland. Sociologia Ruralis, 38 (2), pp. 204–224.
Carter, H. (2010) Against the Odds: The survival of Welsh Identity. Cardiff: Institute of
Welsh Affairs.
Clark, G. (1982) Housing Policy in the Lake District. Transactions of the Institute of
British Geographers, New Series, 7(1), pp. 59–70.
Coppock, J. T. (1977) ‘Second homes in perspective’. In Coppock, J. T. (ed.), Second
Homes: Curse or Blessing? Oxford: Pergamon.
Crouch, D. (2006) ‘Geographies of Leisure’. In Rojek, C., Shaw, S., Veal, A. J. (eds), A
Handbook of Leisure Studies, pp. 125–139.
Fletcher, T. (2012) ‘Cricket, Identity and Community: British Asians and the Magical
Recovery of Yorkshireness? In Adams, A. Spracklen, K. (eds) Sport and Leisure, Ethics,
Rights and Social Relationships. Eastbourne: LSA Publication, pp. 113–135.
Gardavsky, V. (1977) ‘Second Homes in Czechoslovakia’. In Coppock, J. T. (ed.), Second
Homes: Curse or Blessing? Oxford: Pergamon, pp. 63–74.
Harrison, C. (1991) Countryside Recreation in a Changing Society. London: TMS
Partnership.
Jamal, T. and Hill, S. (2002) The home and the world: (post) touristic spaces of
(in) authenticity. In Dann, G. (ed.) The Tourist as Metaphor of the Social World.
Wallingford: CABI, pp. 77–107.
Lowenthal, D. (1985) The Past is a Foreign Country. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
MacCannell, D. (1973) Staged authenticity: Arrangements of social space in tourist
settings. American Journal of Sociology, 79(9), pp. 589–603.
MacLeod, N. (2006a) The placeless festival: identity and place in the post-modern
festival. In Picard, D. & Robinson, M. (eds) Festivals, Tourism and Social Change:
Remaking Worlds. Clevedon: Channel View Publications, pp. 222–237.
Macleod, N. (2006b) Cultural tourism: aspects of authenticity and commodifica-
tion. In Smith, M. & Robinson, M. (eds) Cultural Tourism in a Changing World:
Politics, Participation and (Re)Presentation. Clevedon: Channel View Publications,
pp. 177–190.
McLeod, B., & Busser, J. (2014) Second homeowners hosting friends and relatives.
Annals of Leisure Research, 17(1), pp. 86–96.
McNicol, B., & Glorioso, R. (2014) Second home leisure landscapes and retirement in
the Canadian Rocky Mountain community of Canmore, Alberta. Annals of Leisure
Research, 17(1), pp. 27–49.
Meyrowitz, J. (1985) No Sense of Place. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
54 Ana Paula C. Pereira and Jonathan Long

National Housing and Planning Advice Unit (October 2008), Rapid Evidence
Assessment of the Research Literature on the Purchase and Use of Second Homes,
By De Montfort University, Leicester.
Oxley, M., Brown, T., Lishman, R. and Turkington, R. (2008) ‘Rapid evidence assess-
ment of the research literature on the purchase and use of second homes’. Leicester:
Centre for Comparative Housing Research, Leicester Business School.
Paris, C. (2009) ‘Re-positioning second homes within housing studies: household
investment, gentrification, multiple residence, mobility and hyper-consumption’.
Housing, Theory and Society, 26(4), pp. 292–310.
Paris, C. (2014) Critical commentary: second homes. Annals of Leisure Research, 17(1),
pp. 4–9.
Pitkanen, K. (2008) Second-home landscape: the meaning(s) of landscape for second-
home tourism in Finnish Lakeland. Tourism Geographies, 10 (2), pp. 169–192.
Relph, E. (1976) Place and Placelessness. London: Pion.
Rojek, C. (1995) Decentring Leisure. London: Sage.
Sluka, J. and Robben, A. (2007) Fieldwork in Cultural Anthropology: An Introduction.
In Sluka, J. and Robben, A. (eds) Ethnographic Fieldwork: An Anthropological Reader.
Malden (MA): Blackwell, pp. 1–28.
Spracklen, K. (2011) Dreaming of drams: authenticity in Scottish whisky tourism
as an expression of unresolved Habermasian rationalities. Leisure Studies, 30 (1),
pp. 99–116.
Urry, J. (1995) Consuming Places. London: Routledge.
Wagner, L. (2014). Trouble at home: diasporic second homes as leisure space across
generations. Annals of Leisure Research, 17(1), pp. 71–85.
Wang, N. (1999). Rethinking authenticity in tourism experience. Annals of Tourism
Research, 26, pp. 349–370.
Wolfe, R. I. (1977) Summer cottages in ontario: purpose-built for an inessential
purpose. In Coppock, J. T. (ed.), Second Homes: Curse or Blessing? Oxford: Pergamon,
pp. 17–32.
5
Zombie Places? Pop Up Leisure and
Re-Animated Urban Landscapes
Brett D. Lashua

Introducing zombie places

This chapter focuses on a temporary, site-specific ‘pop up’ cinema held in

May 2012 at Marshall’s Mill, Leeds (UK), as a case study of changing urban
leisure landscapes. In contrast to the Cineplex, pop up cinema has been
described a ‘grassroots movement, where audiences get to participate and
experience films communally in unique locations’ (Bennett, 2010, para. 1).
The case study of pop up cinema is framed more broadly through theo-
rizations of urban regeneration and re-use of ‘dead’ city spaces; fittingly,
the chapter links the pop up cinema event and re-animated places together
through the metaphor of ‘zombies’. Zombies are approached in two concep-
tual ways: to theorize and critique dead zones in cities but also to celebrate
their resourceful, and often playful, re-animation through pop up events.
Cities often have dead spaces wherever semi-abandoned or disused;1 they
are also sites of the ‘living dead’, people who frequent featureless strip malls,
ubiquitous fast food restaurants, carbon-copy big box stores, corporatized
entertainment attractions and theme parks and monolithic sports stadia.
These sites offer standardized, simulated or ‘inauthentic’ leisure and lifestyle
experiences – places Ritzer (2003) has named ‘islands of the living dead’ and
Harvey (1988) called ‘voodoo cities’. In this chapter, I draw these concepts
together and build upon them, as ‘zombie places’.
As a fictional character the zombie inspires fear and fun, attraction and
repulsion (Lowenstein 2010). Since the release of Victor Halperin’s (1932)
White Zombie, zombies have become a familiar trope in cinema.2 They are
usually construed as mindless beings unnaturally returned from the dead
whose sole purpose is to feed off the living. While mostly intended to scare,
zombie films are often funny, and frequently ironic or satirical. In cinema,
zombies have been seen stumbling listlessly through shopping malls (e.g.,
Dawn of the Dead 1978); they have been used to poke fun at everyday life
in dull neighbourhoods (e.g., Shaun of the Dead 2004); they have offered
critique of the nuclear family (e.g., Night of the Living Dead 1968) and they

55
56 Brett D. Lashua

have warned of global environmental catastrophe (e.g., World War Z 2013).

As ‘zombie comedy’ or ‘zombedy’ (Bishop 2011), some films can be under-
stood as mocking human foolishness (e.g., Zombies on Broadway, 1945) akin
to classical Greek comedy (e.g., Zombieland 2009). As ‘zombie terror’ (Birch-
Bayley 2012), some films stress prevailing crises and collective fears (28 Days
Later 2002). These are but a few examples from a lengthy list of films where,
in most instances, the zombie is a strange and unnatural force that awakens
or prompts people to change (although, in most zombie films, usually after
it’s too late).
As a symbolic figure, zombies also call scholarly attention to changing
places and offer useful commentary on ‘lifeless’ existence in urban spaces.
The first part of this chapter explores the zombie in film and cultural theory,
before turning in its next sections to questions of place, cities and leisure
landscapes. On one hand, zombies can be understood as powerful critiques
of neoliberal approaches to urban regeneration, and an indictment of
places of capitalism and consumerism (Bishop, 2010) exemplified in George
Romero’s use of the shopping mall in Dawn of the Dead (1978). In this sense,
the second part of the chapter explores where critics have argued people
are already zombie-like as they circulate through everyday leisure spaces
(Harper 2002; Ritzer 2003), a terrain that May (2010) termed ‘zombie geog-
raphies’. On the other hand, the third part of the chapter explores ‘pop up
leisure’ (Lashua 2013) and the re-animation of otherwise dead urban spaces
by asking how these places might be brought ‘back to life’ through Do-It-
Yourself events. In the case of pop up leisure, and more hopefully, sometimes
people re-animate seemingly dead spaces in acts of creative ‘place-shaping’
(Fairclough 2009). In this final sense, ‘zombification’ becomes something
more fun and hopeful, while retaining a critical edge toward contemporary
leisure geographies (Waitt, 2008).

Zombie theory

Zombies feature in diverse theorizations across arts and social sciences

scholarship (Birch-Bayley, 2012; Bishop, 2010, 2011; Pulliam, 2009; Shaw,
2013). Although fictional, zombies offer powerful conceptual frames that
can be used to view and interrogate contemporary cultural practices, rela-
tions and identities (Ponder, 2012). Birch-Bayley noted that ‘early zombie
films were subtly built on the premise of emergent imperialism, capitalism,
and cultural racism or ethnocentrism’ (2012, p. 1138), and in turn cultural
research has used zombie films to critique those ‘-isms’. For example, George
Romero’s Night of the Living Dead franchise3 exemplifies capitalist critique
(Bishop, 2010), and scholars have argued the zombies are shown (with the
ability act cooperatively in ways that humans cannot) as ideal ‘workers’
seemingly ‘able to develop the class consciousness that is a precondition
for socialist revolution’ (Pulliam, 2009, p. 43). For other scholars, zombie
 Zombie Places? 57

films attack and subvert the signs and symbols of consumer society (Bishop,
2010; Harper, 2002). In an oft-quoted scene in Romero’s Dawn of the Dead
(1978), following the zombie apocalypse a small group of human survivors
have taken refuge in a suburban shopping mall. During a moment of respite
and reflection, watching innumerable zombies shuffle listlessly through the
mall, the survivors question one another:

Francine: What are they doing? Why do they come here?

Stephen: Some kind of instinct. Memory, of what they used to do. This
was an important place in their lives.
[hearing the zombies pounding against the shopping mall’s glass doors]
Peter: They’re after the place. They don’t know why, they just
remember. Remember that they want to be in here.
Francine: What the hell are they?

The implied answer, of course, is that they’re us. May (2010, p. 285) also
quotes from this film, in which one character muses while watching a
group of zombies walking up an expressway ramp: ‘They’re just looking
for a place to go. Same as us.’ Through these kinds of questions and state-
ments, zombie films invite introspection on the human condition (Fox,
2000): Who are we? How do we inhabit and think about the world? Why do
people do what they do? What is authority, and what is habit? As catalysts
for critique, zombies invert the natural order – humanity is shifted into
‘an environment where they are no longer at the top of the food chain’
(Pulliam, 2009, p. 42). This inversion of power also presents a useful kind
of sociological exercise, to de-familiarize the familiar in order to question
everyday social relations and constructions of social ‘reality’. In this regard
some films, such as Dawn of the Dead, provoke rather overt questions of
freedom and capitalism: for example, does the shopping mall control its
consumers, rather than the other way around? At one point in Dawn of the
Dead, Francine chides Stephen, saying that he has been duped by the mall:
‘It’s so bright and neatly wrapped you don’t see that it’s a prison too.’ In
ways such as this Romero’s fictional mall-cruising zombies are set in simple
juxtaposition to everyday shoppers who do not think to question what
they do, where they go or who they are (Harper, 2002). As Bishop (2011)
put it: ‘The insatiable need to purchase, own, and consume has become
so deeply ingrained in twentieth-century Americans that their reanimated
corpses are relentlessly driven by the same instincts and needs’ (p. 235).
While somewhat ridiculous (people are not zombies, after all), the contrast
of consumers and zombies offers an invitation to further questions about
broader social relations.
Zombie films also often invite viewers to think more critically about
social identities and spaces, presenting a frightening yet satirical view of
58 Brett D. Lashua

contemporary society (Birch-Bayley, 2012). For Birch-Bayley, zombie films

reflect anxieties explicitly concerned with a ‘crisis’ culture, ranging from the
crisis of the dissolution of the perceived nuclear family in the 1970s, to the
crisis of global terror in the post-9/11 era. Some zombie films are able to offer
insights into pressing social issues and generate cultural critique. Dawn of
the Dead is widely regarded for this sort of cultural commentary. In another
scene, the film contrasts a direct call to the audience for reflexivity with
an example that illustrates how the human survivors remain unthinking
consumers even after the shock of the zombie apocalypse:

[running through a department store after evading a horde of zombies]

Roger: Well, we’re in, but how the hell are we gonna get back?
Peter: Who the hell cares! Let’s go shopping!
Roger[looking in a display case]: Watches! Watches!
Peter: Wait a minute man, let’s just get the stuff we need! I’ll get a
television and a radio.
Roger: Ooohh, ooohh, lighter fluid! And chocolate! Chocolate!
[he runs down a clothing aisle]
Roger: Hey, how about a mink coat!
Peter: Why not?

Although an unsophisticated example of mindless consumerism that

oversimplifies consumers as cultural dupes (Fiske, 1989), Romero presents
these characters as failing to see that after the fall of humanity expensive
goods no longer carry ‘luxury’ connotations or elite cultural capital. Harper
(2002, para. 10) referred to the commodity fetishism of these characters
who ‘indulge in a carnivalesque parody of rampant consumerism’ – a mink
coat, TV and chocolate is not ‘stuff we need’ especially after the zombie
apocalypse, but arguably not before it either. By exposing these taken for
granted values, scenes such as this showcase cinema’s ability to ask the audi-
ence to voyeuristically look back at itself (Denzin, 1995), to invite introspec-
tion about who we are and what we do. This voyeuristic cinematic society,
Denzin argues, ‘knows itself in part through the reflections that flow from
the camera’s eye’ (1995, p. 1). The shopping mall and other sites (such as
the theme park that features in Zombieland ) also highlight the ways that
people come to know themselves through the places they inhabit – these
places shape who people may become and what they do (Casey, 2001). Casey
(2001) referred to the mutual co-constituency of people and place; people
shape places, as in turn, places are part of producing human identities and
cultures (Smith and Hetherington, 2013). As a disruption of these relations,
zombie cinema offers useful ways to reflect upon and critique the power of
place.
 Zombie Places? 59

Zombieland: zombie geographies and the political economy of

place

Zombies have figured in some cultural geographies (May, 2010; Ritzer,

2003); May (2010, p. 285) referred explicitly to ‘zombie geographies’ in
his work on cities and embodiment. Ritzer (2003) depicted an emerging
“McDonaldized” cultural geography characterized by isolated ‘islands of
the living dead’. Within this landscape people increasingly live, work, play
and move between controlled, risk-free, homogenized environments. For
Ritzer, where these ‘islands’ are ‘isolated from one another (think of the
various fast food restaurants on a typical suburban strip or the malls scat-
tered throughout suburbia), it is possible in this context to think of them as
forming an archipelago of fantasy islands’ (2003, p. 123). Ritzer envisions
these ‘fantasy’ islands in a nod to Benjamin’s (1999) work on phantasma-
goria, with shopping arcades as ‘cathedrals of consumption’ that simulta-
neously ‘evoke the most pleasant of dreams and the worst of nightmares’
(Ritzer, 2003, p. 123). That is, they are places that both attract and repel
in some measure, not unlike zombie films. For Ritzer, these islands have
become something beyond an iron cage, or series of iron cages (Weber,
1968/1921) that, although affluent, people rarely leave. In echoes of
Francine’s comments in Dawn of the Dead (above, regarding the mall as a
kind of dressed-up prison), Ritzer’s islands of the living dead ‘are worlds
of enchantment, or at least settings where great efforts have been made
to enchant them’ (2003, p. 123). These enchanted places – shopping malls
provide good examples; theme parks are perhaps better – appear to offer
homogenous, pleasant, safe havens in an otherwise chaotic and dangerous
world-in-crisis. This process of ‘enchantment’ has become more widely
known, and critiqued, as the Disneyization of society (Bryman, 2004) or the
Disneyfication of cities (Warren, 1996; Zukin, 1996). As science-fiction films
(and fiction) have also repeatedly alerted viewers (and readers), such highly
rationalized, heavily surveilled and controlled ‘risk-free’ zones can quickly
become dystopian (Berg, 2008; Collie, 2011). Urban sociologists, planners
and geographers have long shared these concerns.
For some urban scholars, zombie cinema provides useful ways to theo-
rize the relationships between bodies and cities (May, 2010; Shaw, 2013).
In a particularly apt and gruesome turn of phrase, May (2010, p. 288) refers
to zombie geography as a ‘meatspace’ of bodies and cities. In this space,
zombie films illustrate social inequalities that can cut through and across
cities. May (2010, pp. 293–294) also noted how zombie films have blurred
the boundaries between public/private, zombies/humans and us/them:

Public spaces, indeed, outside spaces, have become two things: space for
milling about zombies, and a transitory space for the living. [ ... ] The
unsettled feeling that many characters have in public spaces and the
60 Brett D. Lashua

comfort they feel in private spaces is not always met with actual safety.
[ ... ] the bodily ambiguity between ‘zombie’ and ‘living’ is transferred
to the spaces of the city. The way that personal and spatial difference is
constructed in cities to exclude many forms of otherness is challenged;
zombies show that the divide between ‘us’ and ‘them’ is never so clear.

Just as some scholars interpret zombies films as critiques of capitalism or

family relations, for May (2010) zombies offer opportunities to deconstruct
and challenge the dominant spatial politics of urban space and social
difference.
In another kind of zombie geography, Bishop (2011) centralized the
zombie comedy Zombieland (2009) as a means to comment, satirically, not
only upon the genre’s archetypal personae but also the familiar trope of an
‘elaborate geographical journey’ (p. 30) in which the survivors of a zombie
plague attempt to reach a safe haven. Furthermore, Zombieland offers a play
on the well-known, epic ‘quest as a road trip’ (Bishop, 2011, p. 30) common
to many films, irrespective of genre. In the case of Zombieland, the human
survivors journey across the American southwest to a theme park called
Pacific Playland, ‘[r]ather than simply wandering happily across the post-
apocalyptic countryside’ (Bishop, 2011, p. 33). The stereotypical cast of
characters (e.g., a ‘damsel in distress’, a reluctant hero, an oddball, and an
orphaned child) recreate the (dysfunctional) American family as they ‘drive
west across largely deserted Highways’ (Bishop, 2011, p. 33) in their migra-
tion to Pacific Playland. They eventually arrive at the theme park, which is,
according to Bishop (2011), ironically set up as a destination where this new
kind of family coalesces as a social unit. Zombieland plays upon the recog-
nizable tropes of ‘road movies’, family vacation comedies and classic zombie
horror films, and melds them into a stinging satire of American culture and
values.
These examples support the notion that zombie films provide an alarming,
subversive and sometimes funny means of commenting upon the relations
between people, leisure and change. They also call attention to the political
economy of place (Harvey, 1989; Logan and Molotch, 2007). For Molotch
(2013[1976]), the political economy of place is characterized by a process by
which ‘land, the basic stuff of place, is a market commodity providing wealth
and power’ (p. 309). The transmutation, making place into a commodity, is
driven by market capitalism and its institutions and cultures – many of the
targets of zombie films such as Dawn of the Dead, Zombieland and others.
In the realm of non-fiction, other kinds of zombie places help to illus-
trate the political economy of place. A recent news item (Carrington,
2013) referred to ‘zombie airports’ that were either supplanted by newer,
more capacious airports nearby (e.g., Hong Kong’s former Kai Tak Airport),
or were built speculatively in anticipation of use that never occurred (e.g.,
Ciudad Real Central Airport in Spain). These unused airports sit oddly within
 Zombie Places? 61

the landscape, neither ‘alive’ as intended but not ‘dead’ either. In a fitting bit
of zombie-style dismemberment, they await fragmentary re-use: ‘the owners
are simply biding their time until they sell it [Ciudad Real Central airport],
piecemeal’ (Carrington, 2013, para. 9). This phenomenon – waiting for the
property market to ‘pick up’ in order to sell off unused or disused land for
a profit (or perhaps just less of a loss) is known as ‘land banking’. Land
banking is a widespread problem in cities, especially during recessions such
as the global economic downturn following the financial crisis of 2008.
Once sold off, in pieces, some zombie airports will be re-animated (e.g., the
former Kai Tak Airport is now in part a cruise ship terminal; the former
Stapleton Airport in Denver is being converted into housing). Alternately,
while awaiting sale, there is a ‘meanwhile potential’ for creative re-use.
Ciudad Real Central Airport has been used as set for movies and as a site
to film car advertisements on its long, unused runways. Other sites of land
banking – typically interstitial parcels of land in high density urban areas –
will be used, temporarily, in any ways possible, but most often as car parks.
These profit-driven temporary re-animations are exemplary zombie places.
Zombism and critiques of capitalism often go hand-in-hand. Another
kind of zombie place, also drawn into the foreground following the 2008
global economic crisis, is the ‘zombie bank’. According to the Oxford English
Dictionary (2008), a zombie bank is: ‘A financial institution which is insol-
vent but which continues to operate through government support.’ That is,
a zombie bank is ‘dead’ (it has less than zero assets) but is kept alive by loans,
and needs to be kept alive (re-animated) in order to hold out the promise
of repayments on this debt to creditors and governments (Onaran, 2012).
Zombie banks highlight some of the most nefarious aspects of global capi-
talism and wealth built upon debt.
And so, failed airport projects, vacant lots and car parks (‘land banking’),
and failing banks are but a small variety of real-life zombie places. They are
troubling and troublesome expressions of the political economy of place –
by-products of the neoliberal regeneration of urban areas. Even ‘success-
fully’ regenerated urban areas that have navigated shifts to post-industrial
order exemplify, in many respects, characteristic kinds of ‘zombielands’ or
what Silk and Andrews (2008, p. 396) called ‘phantasmagorical zones’ of
urban renewal and redevelopment. Here the metaphor of a zombie place
intersects with the concept of clone cities (Law, 1993) or ‘standardised urban
spaces’ (Loftman and Nevin, 1995, p. 308) as (perhaps) places where the
zombie contagion has spread. That is, many zombie places are copied and
imitated, and more zombie places are quickly reproduced. Harvey (1989,
p. 21) described these place-processes of as formulaic:

The recipe is pretty standard. Take a run-down segment of the inner city
and depopulate it of unwanted characters. Blend an enclosed and secure
space for retailing (preferably post-modern in design and populated
62 Brett D. Lashua

with Laura Ashleys, Benettons and a few up-market [clothes] stores) with
highly functional office space (preferably masked also with post-modern
facades). Mix in either some imitation Italian piazzas, fishing wharves,
medieval-looking squares lined with fake Georgian or Tudor shops and
housing, or, appropriate the traditional spaces of working-class living
(terraced houses) and working (wharves, warehouses and factories) and
rehabilitate them to bourgeois taste. Top it all off with entertainment
and cultural facilities galore and designate the whole space as an historic
monument, worthy of entry into the catalogues of contemporary heritage
culture.

Although written 25 years ago, Harvey’s description is prescient, and has

become widely characteristic of regenerated city centres in post-industrial
economies. Examples abound, and as cases, are broadly indicative of domi-
nant trends in the reconfiguration of city centres through ‘prestige projects’
including large shopping centres, sports stadia and waterfront developments
(Silk and Andrews, 2007, 2008). Writing about re-imagined American cities,
and particularly Memphis, Silk and Andrews argued that such projects have
led to ‘a form of American urban apartheid’ 2008, p. 396) characterized by
‘islands of affluence [ ... ] sharply differentiated from the surrounding urban
landscape’ (Judd, 1999, p. 53) – or as Ritzer (2003) disparaged them, ‘islands
of the living dead’. For Harvey (1988) these places are ‘voodoo cities’ where,
according to Featherstone (1994, p. 401) ‘the post-modern facade of cultural
redevelopment can be seen as a carnival mask which covers the decline of
everything else’. As voodoo cities, zombie places or phantasmagorical zones,
these regenerated sites of leisure are – paradoxically – both alive and dead
spaces; they signify new life through regeneration yet such places do not
fully come alive (Ritzer 2003). Here the zombie metaphor is cautionary, and
for Ritzer such places ‘need more of the things associated with life – insta-
bility, seduction, ambivalence’ (2003, p. 129), or what Baudrillard (1993,
p. 109) referred to as ‘the natural disorder of the world’. Sometimes zombies
can symbolize a return to this disorder, and in this latter instance the zombie
metaphor is more playful, and hopeful. It is in this spirit that the chapter
turns next to pop up leisure, and more specifically, pop up cinema.

Pop up leisure, re-animating place and place-shaping

This penultimate section of the chapter spotlights ‘pop up’ cinema as one
such disorderly activity, part of a wider range of pop up leisure activities (e.g.,
pop up shops, music events, ballrooms, restaurants, and even pop up hotels)
that enliven urban landscapes through temporary, site-specific events. A
pop up cinema event held in the car park of a regenerated Leeds mill in
May 2012 is presented as a specific case offering an alternative, celebratory
kind of zombie place that was (momentarily) re-animated and returned to
 Zombie Places? 63

(disorderly) life through leisure. The event drew a capacity crowd of approxi-
mately 150 people. On-site catering from local pubs, including a draught beer
van, hot drinks van and a barbeque were brought in; university students ran
a cake stall as a fundraiser for an international volunteering trip. A docu-
mentary film, Happy (2011), was shown (as a partner site in the UK Green
Film Festival no zombie films were available for us to screen, unfortunately).
As I have noted elsewhere (Lashua 2013, p. 131), ‘to some extent, the film
was not even the point of the event: there was a festive, street party atmos-
phere as people made use of a space that would otherwise be dead at that
hour (or that they might never visit at all)’.
Site-specific pop up cinemas are part of a wider phenomenon of crea-
tive, temporary, Do-It-Yourself, often grassroots and potentially transgres-
sive uses of spaces that were not designed nor intended for such use. Pop up
cinemas been staged in motorway underpasses, scrap yards, brownfield sites,
train stations and car parks – they can ‘pop up’ anywhere; however, sites are
typically chosen purposely, to take advantage of any unique affordances of
a setting or place. In one example, a pop up cinema called ‘Films of Fridges’
(2011), presented a series of classic sports-themed movies projected onto
a screen made from a 20-foot-high pile of discarded refrigerators cleared
from a site for the 2012 London Olympics. This pop up cinema served to
remark on the role of leisure and sport in regeneration whilst also critiquing
the process of sanitization and homogenization in the area of the Olympic
park.
Other pop up cinemas, as noted by Bennett (2010) have taken place in
train tunnels, railway underpasses, derelict petrol stations, car parks, or
simply out-of-doors in the open air. One part of what makes these events
unique is that they are ad hoc and grassroots, organized and operated by
small groups of friends and film enthusiasts; they often fizz with an air
of the unexpected or potential – one pop up event, called ‘Secret Cinema’
does not reveal the title of the film to be shown until the last moments
before the screening; a text message is sent shortly beforehand and the
audience is expected to arrive at the event dressed in apparel as if an extra
for whatever film is being shown. Another crucial aspect of the appeal of
pop up cinemas is that they are usually site specific, making the most of
the unique environment in which they are screened. Many pop ups aim to
provide ‘a refreshing alternative to the blandness of the multiplex’ (Bennett,
2010, para. 2) and in doing so they call attention to the distinct and often
otherwise overlooked places where they occur.
As pop up events are often site-specific they can be viewed as part of
‘place-shaping’ processes. Place-shaping refers to ways that people crea-
tively alter and inflect existing places around them. According to Fairclough
(2009, p. 153) place-shaping involves consideration of ‘the local, ordinary,
contextual, typical, everyday, small, personal, intangible things that create
a daily sense of place’. Because pop up events interrupt the everyday, they
64 Brett D. Lashua

are capable of calling attention to otherwise easily-overlooked and taken-

for-granted places of quotidian life. The slightest of actions might be
considered place-shaping, whether to alter the texture of place or re-use it
in different, and differently meaningful, ways. Pop up cinema events are
just one example of such alterations to the fabric of urban life; art installa-
tions offer another kind of re-shaping. In this regard, Jones and Mean (2010)
referred to the creation of a temporary urban ‘art trail’ as a way to engage
with ‘resilient places’ such as disused and hidden sites. In these places
art is capable of surprising and alerting viewers to ways to develop urban
landscapes to the benefit of local communities. In this spirit of spectacle
(Debord, 1994[1967]), disused or interstitial places may become temporary
pop up shops; pop up restaurants occur in unlikely spaces, usually outdoors;
otherwise empty night-time spaces may become animated sites of films,
concerts, or other temporary events. These few examples highlight opportu-
nities to experiment with place-shaping process through pop up events that
might be too financially risky for more established environments.
The site of the pop up cinema in which I was involved (see Lashua and
Baker, 2014; Lashua, 2013) was screened in the car park at Marshall’s Mill
(see Figure 5.1), the largest building in the Holbeck Urban Village in Leeds,
an area of over 30 protected industrial heritage buildings. Marshall’s Mill is
a post-industrial space (a former flax mill) converted into offices for creative

Figure 5.1 After the pop up cinema at Marshall’s Mill, May 2012
Source: Photo courtesy of Rick Harrison.
 Zombie Places? 65

industries. It is a beautiful, vast historic building not unlike innumerable

other mills or former manufacturing buildings that have been treated in a
similar fashion in post-industrial cities. Only a short walk from the city’s
central train station via Water Lane, Marshall’s Mill is somewhat isolated,
located south of Leeds’ pedestrianized city centre and its main watercourse,
the River Aire. Situated on the outskirts of the Holbeck Urban Village regen-
eration area, it is removed from the more accessible and heavily trafficked
areas of Leeds, such as its historic Victorian central market, Edwardian
arcades and high-profile shopping areas including the recently opened
(2013) Trinity Leeds shopping centre. The Marshall’s Mill site is bordered,
to the west, by existing and disused railway lines and viaducts, and from a
bird’s eye view the mill sits at the south-western fringe of the city centre.
The physical isolation of the site produces a paradoxical sense of proximity
and remoteness evident in the ways it is marketed as being near to the heart
of the city, yet distinctly part of its own official ‘urban village’ (Holbeck
Urban Village n.d.). Thus, within Leeds’ cityscape, Marshall’s Mill isn’t a
high-profile heritage site nor is it visited by many people beyond those with
direct links to it. Additionally, the surrounding area is notoriously one of
the city’s ‘red light’ districts – further evidence of its ‘edgy’ status on the
periphery of the new gleaming, ‘prestige’ developments closer to Leeds’ revi-
talized urban core (Chatterton and Hollands, 2004; Douglas, 2009).
Here the paradoxical aspects of how I am framing ‘zombie places’ come
more sharply into relief. As a means of interrupting the decay of the Holbeck
area as well as resisting its Disneyfication, Jones and Mean (2010) remarked
on the ways artists created a temporary art trail ‘to encourage people to
explore the heritage city, poke into its nooks and crannies, and open spaces
that had long fallen out of use or into disrepair’ (p. 31). This is an example
of how place-shaping can have a positive impact on a neglected or under-
appreciated area. However, in this particular case Jones and Mean also
commented that some ‘spaces that were previously no-go areas were bright-
ened up and given life beyond the menace that they had previously held
for many local people’ (2010, p. 31). Thus there are clear echoes of critiques
such as Harvey’s (1989), Ritzer’s (2003) and Silk and Andrews’ (2008), by
which the Holbeck art trail, and so too the pop up cinema at Marshall’s
Mill, may readily fall victim to the pattern of soulless zombie geographies
outlined above. In the case of Marshall’s Mill – a regenerated building now
used for creative and cultural industries – the pop up cinema contributes
to replicating the post-industrial order of many cities such as Leeds that
privilege elite workers in the ‘new knowledge economy’ or the ‘creative class’
(Bramham and Wagg, 2009; Florida, 2002). In sum, pop up leisure events
are dangerous – they create playful zombie places that pop up to disrupt
and re-shape the logic of some places, but also risk reproducing or zombi-
fying those places as part of the wider inequities of the political economy of
place. In a further example, in August 2013 the new Trinity Leeds shopping
66 Brett D. Lashua

centre – one million square feet of shopping in over 100 stores, restaurants
and entertainment venues in the heart of Leeds city centre – hosted a pop
up shop in partnership with the local premier football club, Leeds United.
Key players were on hand to sell the latest range of club apparel and a retro
collection of team shirts celebrating past glory (Leeds Trinity, 2013). In this
instance, the pop up concept is reduced to little more than a marketing
gimmick to promote the football club and the shopping centre, a ghost of
what it represents at grassroots levels. Perhaps a victim of its own success
and ability to attract interest, in many instances the pop up phenomenon
has been zombified, with the concept taken over for corporate marketing
and promotions, rather than Do-It-Yourself, community leisure. As with the
zombie films noted above, pop up leisure (especially pop up cinema) offers
a cautionary tale. Like zombies that pop up suddenly to scare, challenge and
provoke a film’s characters into action, so too pop up cinema can provide a
surprising, creative re-use of place to re-awake or alert people to its poten-
tial. In this sense, like zombie cinema, pop up leisure can activate a critical
sense of the relations between people and place. However, as zombie films
often admonish, many people prefer their ‘zombie geographies; they like
their ‘islands of the living dead’ and it is perhaps already too late to shake
them loose from these places. Like Romero’s zombies who return to the
shopping mall out of habit, there is comfort in the known, ordinary and
commonplace, even when it is the familiarity of a ‘dead space’. Ironically,
zombies help to call attention to the social, political and economic rela-
tions that people often take for granted; sometimes it takes strangeness to
(re)awaken to the relations that already shape everyday life. Embracing some
of this strangeness in a ‘strange’ place (or what Shaw (2013) called ‘strange
zones’) may help return, or re-animate, places to being more fully lived.
Perhaps this is the best thing about zombie films – when they are over and
the credits roll, viewers may go back to the places of their everyday lives, see
them with fresh eyes – perhaps more critically: Maybe it is not too late for
us after all.

Conclusion

This chapter has offered contrasting theorizations of ‘zombie places’ in order

to better understand leisure landscapes within broader processes playing
out in urban contexts. My central point has been that zombism, as a spatial
metaphor, can cut both ways. That is, zombie places are increasingly char-
acteristic of, but may also provide critical commentary on, neoliberal urban
leisure – ‘zombification’. In order to explain these competing conceptualiza-
tions, the first part the chapter described ‘zombie theory’ in order to reframe
questions around the relations of people and place. In this reframing, I
argued that zombie films are usefully provocative ways to ‘de-familiarize
the familiar’ and view taken-for-granted socio-geographical relations in
 Zombie Places? 67

different ways. The chapter’s second section mapped out ‘zombie geogra-
phies’ through different examples (zombie airports, zombie banks, etc.) as
a point of entry into processes of urban regeneration and gentrification as
a kind of zombification. Ritzer described this contemporary landscape of
‘islands of the living dead’ (Ritzer, 2003) as comprised of ‘enchanted’ areas
of affluence and McDonaldized consumerism. Finally, the chapter’s third
section contextualized pop up leisure, and specifically one pop up cinema
event I helped to organize in Leeds, as a creative re-animation of place, with
local, participatory, community aims. Pop up leisure has the potential to
transgress and transform place, enabling local communities to reclaim and
re-activate (if momentarily) disused or neglected urban places for neigh-
bourhood use.
As such, pop up leisure represents a potential shift away from neoliberal,
commercialized and commodified activities toward non-elite and commu-
nitarian values (Arai & Pedlar, 2003). However, as the pop up phenomenon
has become more popular and successful, it has also been increasingly
‘zombified’ too, co-opted and employed as part of mainstream marketing
and promotional campaigns. Pop up leisure and zombie places offer echoes
of what Waitt (2008) characterized as ‘geographies of hype, hopelessness
and hope’, where it reproduces neoliberal agendas (hype), is part of broader,
powerful zombie geographies (hopelessness), or inspires critical questioning
about the relations between people and place and what makes both become
more fully alive (hope). In the latter sense, I am hopeful that zombies can
remain onscreen, perhaps viewed at a pop up cinema.

Notes
1. For example, recent figures on Detroit assert that as much as 1/3 of the former city
is abandoned and vacant (Conlin, 2013).
2. Some cineastes argue that Frankenstein (1910) was the first ‘zombie’ film. While
Dr. Frankenstein’s creation, ‘Adam’, was re-animated, he was not the cannibalistic,
brain-hungry creature that has come to characterize the zombie genre.
3. Romero’s oeuvre includes Night of the Living Dead (1968), Dawn of the Dead (1978),
Day of the Dead (1985), Land of the Dead (2005) and Diary of the Dead (2007).

References
28 Days Later (2002) Directed by Boyle, Danny. Los Angeles: 20th Century Fox.
Arai, S., and Pedlar, A. (2003) ‘Moving beyond individualism in leisure theory: A
critical analysis of concepts of community and social engagement’. Leisure Studies,
22(3), pp. 185–202.
Baudrillard, J. (1993) The Transparency of Evil: Essays on Extreme Phenomena. London:
Verso.
Bennett, L. (2010) ‘How the pop up craze is giving cinema back its soul’. The Guardian
[Online], http://www.theguardian.com/film/2010/sep/09/pop-up-cinema-takes-
hold, date accessed 1 April 2014.
68 Brett D. Lashua

Berg, C. (2008) ‘“Goddamn you all to Hell!”: the revealing politics of dystopian
movies’. The Institute of Public Affairs: A Quarterly Review of Politics and Public Affairs,
60(1), pp. 38–42.
Bishop, K. W. (2011) ‘Vacationing in Zombieland: the classical functions of the
modern zombie comedy’. Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts, 22(1), pp. 24–38.
Bishop, K. W. (2010) ‘The idle proletariat: Dawn of the Dead, consumer ideology, and
the loss of productive labor’. Journal of Popular Culture, 43(2), pp. 234–248.
Bryman, A. E. (2004) The Disneyization of Society. London: Sage.
Carrington, D. (2013) ‘Rise of the zombie airport: how ghost hubs are brought back
to life’, http://edition.cnn.com/2013/07/29/travel/rise-of-zombie-airport/index.
html?hpt=hp_c2, date accessed, 2 March 2014.
Casey, E., (2001) ‘Between geography and philosophy: what does it mean to be in thep-
lace-world?’. Annals of the Association of American Geographers, 91(4), pp. 683–693.
Chatterton, P., and Hollands, R. (2003) Urban Nightscapes: Youth Cultures, Pleasure
Spaces and Corporate Power. London: Routledge.
Collie, N. (2011) ‘Cities of the imagination: science fiction, urban space, and commu-
nity engagement in urban planning’. Futures, 43(4), pp. 424–431.
Conlin, J. (2014) ‘Motown revival: detroit’s first steps towards urban renewal’. The
Guardian, http://www.theguardian.com/travel/2014/mar/02/detroit-michigan-
first-steps-urban-renewal, date accessed 2 March 2014.
Dawn of the Dead (1978) Directed by Romero, George A. Los Angeles: United Film
Distribution Company.
Debord, G. (1994[1967]) The Society of the Spectacle. Trans. Nicholson-Smith, D. New
York: Zone Books.
Denzin, N. K. (1995) The Cinematic Society: The Voyeur’s Gaze. London: Sage.
Douglas, J. (2009) ‘Cranes over the city: the centre of leeds, 1980–2008’. In Bramham,
P. and Wagg, S. (eds) Sport, Leisure and Culture in the Postmodern City, Farnham,
Surrey: Ashgate, pp. 33–62.
Fairclough, G. (2009) ‘Place-making and place-shaping’, in Council of Europe.
Heritage and Beyond, Strasbourg: Council of Europe Publishing, pp. 153–154, http://
www.coe.int/t/dg4/cultureheritage/heritage/identities/PatrimoineBD_En.pdf, date
accessed 20 October 2013.
Featherstone, M. (1994) ‘City cultures and post-modern lifestyles’. In Amin, A. (ed.)
Post-Fordism: A Reader, Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 387–407.
Fiske, J. (1989) Reading the Popular. London: Routledge.
Florida, R. (2002) The Rise of the Creative Class: And How it’s Transforming Work, Leisure,
Community and Everyday Life. New York: Basic Books.
Fox, K. M. (2000) ‘Echoes of leisure: questions, challenges and potentials’. Journal of
Leisure Research, 32(1), pp. 32–26.
Happy (2011) Directed by Belic, Roko. New York: Wadi Rum Productions.
Harper, S. (2002) ‘Zombies, malls and the consumerism debate: George Romero’s
Dawn of the Dead ’. Americana: The Journal of American Popular Culture (1900 – present),
1(2), http://www.americanpopularculture.com/journal/articles/fall_2002/harper.
htm, date accessed 28 December 2014.
Harvey, D. (1989) ‘Down towns’. Marxism Today, 33(1), p. 21.
Harvey, D. (1988) ‘Voodoo cities’. New Statesman and Society, 30 September, pp. 33–35.
Hayden, D. (1996). The Power of Place: Urban Landscapes as Public History. London:
MIT Press.
Holbeck Urban Village. (n.d.) ‘Holbeck urban village’, http://www.holbeckurbanvil-
lage.co.uk, date accessed 27 June 2013.
 Zombie Places? 69

Jones, S., and Mean, M. (2010) Resilient Places: Character and Community in Everyday
Heritage. London: Demos, http://www.demos.co.uk/files/Resilient_places_-_web.
pdf?1274821268 date accessed 22 August 2013.
Judd, D. (1999) ‘Constructing the tourist bubble’. In Fainstein, S. and Judd, D. (eds)
The tourist city. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, pp. 35–53.
Lashua, B. D., and Baker, S. (2014) ‘Cinema beneath the stars, heritage from below’. In
Schofield, J. (ed.) Who Needs Experts? Counter-Mapping Cultural Heritage. Farnham,
Surrey: Ashgate, pp. 133–145.
Lashua, B. D. (2013) ‘Pop up cinema and place-shaping at Marshall’s Mill: Urban
cultural heritage and community’. Journal of Policy Research in Tourism, Leisure and
Events, 5(2), pp. 123–138.
Law, C. M. (1993) Urban Tourism: Attracting Visitors to Large Cities. London: Mansell.
Leeds Trinity (2013) ‘Leeds united pop-up opens in trinity leeds’, http://trinityleeds.
com/press-releases/leeds-united-pop-opens-trinity-leeds, date accessed 1 August
2013.
Loftman P., and Nevin, B. (1995) ‘Prestige projects and urban regeneration in the
1980s and 1990s: a review of the benefits and limitations’. Planning Practice and
Research, 10(3–4), pp. 299–315.
Logan, J., and Molotch, H. (2007) Urban Fortunes: The Political Economy of Place.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Lowenstein, A. (2010) ‘Living dead: fearful attractions of film’. Representations, 110,
pp. 105–128.
May, J. (2010) ‘Zombie geographies and the undead city’. Social & Cultural Geography,
11 (3), pp. 285–298.
Molotch, H. (2013[1976]) ‘The city as growth machine: toward a political economy of
place’. American Journal of Sociology, 82(2), pp. 309–332.
Night of the Living Dead (1968) Directed by Romero, George A. Pittsburgh: Image Ten
Onaran, Y. (2012) Zombie Banks: How Broken Banks and Debtor Nations Are Crippling the
Global Economy. Hoboken, NJ: Bloomberg Press.
Oxford English Dictionary (2008) ‘Zombie bank’, http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/
definition/english/zombie-bank?q=Zombie+bank, date accessed 30 January 2014.
Ponder, J. (2012) ‘Dawn of the different: the mulatto zombie in Zack Snyder’s Dawn
of the Dead ’. Journal of Popular Culture, 45(3), pp. 551–572
Pulliam, J. (2009) ‘Our zombies, ourselves: exiting the foucauldian universe in
George A. Romero’s Land of the Dead’. Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts, 20 (1),
pp. 42–56.
Ritzer, G. (2003) ‘Islands of the living dead: the social geography of mcdonaldiza-
tion’. American Behavioral Scientist, 47(2), pp. 119–136.
Shaun of the Dead (2004) Directed by Wright, Edgar. London: Universal Pictures,
UK.
Shaw, D. B. (2013) ‘Strange zones: science fiction, fantasy and the posthuman city’.
City: analysis of urban trends, culture, theory, policy, action, 17(6), pp. 778–791.
Smith, R. J., and Hetherington, K. (2013) ‘Urban rhythms: mobilities, space and inter-
action in the contemporary city’. The Sociological Review, 61(1), pp. 4–16.
Waitt, G. (2008) ‘Urban festivals: geographies of hype, helplessness and hope’.
GeographyCompass, 2(2), pp. 513–537.
Warren, S. (1996) ‘Popular cultural practices in the post-modern city’. Urban
Geography, 17(6), pp. 545–567.
Weber, M. (1968/1921). Economy and society. Totowa, NJ: Bedminster.
World War Z (2013) Directed by Forster, Marc. Los Angeles: Paramount Pictures.
70 Brett D. Lashua

Zombieland (2009) Directed by Fleischer, Rueben. Los Angeles: Columbia

Pictures.
Zombies on Broadway (1945) Directed by Dines, Gordon and Douglas, Gordon M.
New York: RKO Radio Pictures.
Zukin, S. (1996) The Cultures of Cities. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.
6
Last Resting Places? Recreational
Spaces or Thanatourism Attractions –
the Future of Historic Cemeteries and
Churchyards in Europe
Tony Seaton
With Magda North and Gabriela Gajda

Introduction

The late Benny Hill, one of Britain’s most successful comedians, was probably
the only performer to make jokes about cemeteries. ‘Why?’ he once asked,
with an expression of innocent bemusement, ‘do they put walls around
cemeteries? There’s nobody outside who wants to get in; and nobody on the
inside who’s going to get out!’
There is reason to believe that neither of the assumptions behind
his joke is now wholly true, if they ever were. Since the 1980s, as
part of expanding service economies that have developed in the face
of European, industrial decline, cemeteries and burial grounds have
increasingly been promoted to potential visitors as interesting, recrea-
tional spaces from which they are expected to return, alive and kicking,
as satisfied consumers. This chapter surveys and evaluates some of the
contemporary initiatives in seeking to reposition cemeteries as leisure
and tourism resources for people who do not necessarily have dead rela-
tives and friends interned within them. It includes an appraisal of the
aims and work of the Association of Significant Cemeteries in Europe
(ASCE) and reports on research into visitor profiles and experiences at
two prominent historic cemeteries in the UK.

The rise and decline of the cemetery

Although the notion of cemeteries and churchyards as playgrounds and

meeting spaces for the living might seem perverse, the truth is that they
have always been an unofficial part of the leisure life of local communi-
ties in parts of Europe, and also visitor attractions for strangers. St. Pauls’

71
72 Tony Seaton

churchyard was at different times a social thoroughfare of book shops, clubs

and coffee houses, and also scene of the execution of one of the Gunpowder
plotters. Hogarth in the 18th century depicted card playing and gambling
on table tombs in London churchyards. There were also depictions of court-
ship, dancing and even sex taking place in churchyards. Campo Santos –
large, mass, burial grounds for the poor in Tuscany and Naples – became
excursion destinations for English grand tourists in the 18th century and
19th centuries.
However, profane usages of churchyards diminished in the 17th and
18th centuries with the growth of post-Reformation Protestantism. Later,
as urban populations increased across Europe and in America, it was the
physical, not spiritual, health hazards of churchyards and burial grounds
that concerned opinion leaders, as bodies were layered, one on top of one
another, in overcrowded, urban burial grounds. The London churchyard of
St Martin-in-the-Fields was only 60 metres square but thought to accommo-
date between 60 and 70,000 bodies in the 1840s. Eventually it grew more
and more difficult to cope with the density of the dead in the churchyards
of rapidly growing European cities.
The urban crisis in city churchyards led to the rise of the modern cemetery
located away from urban centres that we know today. These rapidly multi-
plied from the 1840s and 1850s in the great cities of Europe and America
and spread provincially through the century. Though conceived primarily
as mono-functional, internment spaces where behaviour should be decently
regulated, they were also designed and constructed as pleasant spaces to
visit, walk and reflect in. As early as the 1830s new cemeteries in Britain,
America and continental Europe published guidebooks that emphasized
their natural attractions for the living, as well as their internment functions
for the dead (Seaton, 2001).

Decline, dereliction and the heritage crusade

After a growth period for most of the 19th century, churchyards and ceme-
teries entered a period of decline in the 20th, due to a game-changing devel-
opment in funerary practices – the advance from about 1870s in cremation
instead of burial, which reduced spatial pressures in churchyards and ceme-
teries. Though resisted initially, cremation became the preferred means of
funerary farewells and accounts for more than 70 per cent of them today. A
second development that affected churchyards and smaller burial grounds
in England was a progressive decline in church attendance which led to the
closure, not just of Anglican churches, but those of once important non-
conforming sects – the Moravian Brethren, the Unitarians, the Primitive
Methodists, the Quakers and others who, from the 17th and 18th centuries,
had had their own burial grounds. In the decades following the Second
World War many of these declined or closed down, becoming neglected
 Last Resting Places? 73

or derelict wildernesses. A symbolic, low point in the decline of historic

cemeteries and burial grounds was reached in 1975 with the closure of the
Western cemetery at Highgate in London.
But the 1970s turned out to be not a tipping point, but a turning point
which generated a radical re-appraisal of the status of old cemeteries, and
priorities about their future. A movement to reclaim historic cemeteries as
important architectural heritage, regionally and nationally developed in the
1970s and 1980s which was prominently associated with James Stephen Curl.
Deploring the neglect and vandalism affecting old cemeteries in the UK, he
campaigned to save and restore a number of the more important ones. (Curl,
1975, 1977, 1981, 1982). His arguments were made as an architectural historian,
but they chimed with critiques made by the radical and visionary planner,
Lewis Mumford from the late 1930s onwards, on the destruction of the past
in modern urban development, and the importance of more considered
approaches which retained the physical evidence of layered pasts alongside
newer developments, as part of a city’s holistic identity (Mumford, 1958, 1961).
Mumford even regarded cemeteries as the earliest form of urban settlement:

The city of the dead antedates the city of the living. In one sense ... the
city of the dead is the forerunner, almost the core of every living city
(Mumford, 1961, p. 6).

Curl’s campaigning lit a torch that others took up in the 1980s (Boyle, 1984;
Meller, 1985; Brooks, 1989). The evolution of cemeteries from internment
sites to historic heritage, and then as visitor attractions had begun. It spread
to other parts of Europe and beyond, and has been usefully modelled by
Tanas in Poland (Table 6.1).
This model is a useful aid in assessing the life cycle position of a cemetery
from its past and present status in order to manage its future. It posits a
three-part sequence of functionality in cemetery evolution: an original one
as a burial site for the dead; as a nexus of leisure amenities for living, local
communities; and as leisure space for visitors from outside the community
to pursue activities and seek experiences, around which a commodifying,
service economy may develop.

Discursive domain and visitor orientations

If we exclude the basic burial function and concentrate on the other two
functionalities, it is possible to envisage cemeteries as discursive domains,
made up of many potential narratives, activities and experiences that
appeal to two kinds of visitor – the local ‘insider’, and the ‘stranger’ from
outside. For the former a cemetery will be part of an existential ‘centre’,
home ground in a known location that may hold personal associations.
For the outsider the cemetery will be the ‘other’ – an alien, burial ground
74 Tony Seaton

Table 6.1 Changes in the function and consumer usage of cemetery space

Cemetery
Urban Space Cemetery Space Function

Exploration The visitor A cemetery is a burial place for Burial – main

space searches for, local inhabitants, not directly of
discovers and interest to tourists. Individuals visit
explores new the cemetery for educational or
unknown areas. recreational reasons. Tourism –
Individual additional
interest. Little
tourism.
Penetration Visitors want A cemetery is a limited burial Burial – main,
space to see historical place and acquires historical equivalent
monuments significance. It contains graves of
commonly people who were important for
regarded as the local community. Monuments,
attractive, or chapels, tombs are under partial
their motive or complete historical and
is short – term conservation protection. The
recreation. visitor (often a group of visitors) Tourism –
Significant wants to see architecturally and additional,
tourism. historically interesting monuments equivalent
or places where famous people were
buried. The cemetery is a place of
recreation, interesting from the
tourism point of view, described in
guides and promoted.
Urbanization Transforming A cemetery – a tourism attraction Burial –
space a non – urban surrounded by tourism buildings equivalent,
into an urban and facilities. Facilities supporting additional
space. tourism activity appear (souvenir
shops, devotional articles). The
cemetery changes from a peripheral Tourism –
into a ‘central’ area and the city equivalent,
‘consumes’ the cemetery area. It dominating
is a closed area limiting or totally
stopping burials.

Source: Tanas, S. (2004) Turyzm, 14 (2): 71–87.

in an unfamiliar locality, where everything may be different from home –

the layout, memorials, settings, buildings, narratives. The many, potential,
discursive domains inscribed in cemeteries may hold different values for
different visitors.
The most obvious and signposted discursive domain in cemeteries is that
of celebrity. Celebrities are culturally significant others, whose power and
 Last Resting Places? 75

influence varies with the size of the audiences to whom they are known,
and the intensity of veneration accorded to them. The earliest celebrities
were religious figures – saints, prophets and martyrs – whose memorials and
internment sites became shrines of pilgrimage. Later celebrity took many
different forms – royal, military, political literary, and today includes almost
any well-known, public performer in the arts or sporting world whose
death may inspire secular, graveside pilgrimages at sites ranging from grand
mausolea like that of Lady Diana at Althorp, to more modest, self-chosen
plots like that of George Orwell, buried without epitaph under his real name,
Eric Blair, in the churchyard of Sutton Courtenay, Oxford, not far from the
grave of Herbert Asquith, a Conservative Prime Minister.
An important domain, associated with celebrity, is that of history (Weil,
1992). Until the 18th century, stone and marble memorials inside churches
and in public spaces, mainly celebrated history as the lives of elite figures –
royal, political and military – who had made a name in public events. But the
development of cemeteries brought the lives of ordinary people into view
on grave markers and headstones as improved communications brought
down the cost of quarrying and transporting stone, putting durable memo-
rials within reach of those who had previously had to settle for perishable
wooden ones. Cemeteries and churchyards became archives under open
skies of the names, occupations and lives of urban masses. This democratic
development had its quirky aspects. In Plymouth the grave of a not very
successful, 19th century actor commemorates his best known role – playing
the back legs of a pantomime horse in local Christmas shows. In Melbourne
Cemetery, the irreverent individualism of Australians and their respect for
the little guy are expressed at the 20th century grave of a billiard player who
got his biggest, posthumous break with a flat top, table tomb designed like a
billiard table complete with cue.
More recently in Ireland even the history of the nameless poor who died of
disease or starvation in fever hospitals in the 1840s and 1850s, and were buried
in unmarked graves, has been marked with a memorial tablet.
An increasing discursive domain in European cemeteries is that of diasporic
presence and absence. Urban cemeteries often provide tangible evidence of
population movements brought about by immigration, emigration and war.
At Brookwood, the military cemetery sections pay tribute to the Czechs,
Poles and other nationalities who came to live in England to continue the
fight against Hitler. The Jewish Cemetery in Prague offers chilling evidence
of the Holocaust because there are fewer and fewer internments by the end
of the 1930s, and then none at all.
The art and design of cemeteries constitute another domain, appealing to
general visitors and those with a more specialist interest in aesthetics that
is well supplied with guide books (Gillan, 1972; Ragon, 1983; Llewellyn,
1992; Curl, 2002; Chabot, 2009). Funerary semiotics are a prime feature in
the Slovenian cemetery of Ljubljana. Plecnik, an architect who achieved
76 Tony Seaton

Figure 6.1 Australian billiards

European fame, played a major role in the overall cemetery design, as well
as that of memorial chapels, monuments and headstones (Prelovsek, 1997).
Lutyens’ memorial designs are one of the features of Commonwealth War
Graves in France and Belgium. In some parts of Britain, particularly the
south west, it is still possible to identify the designers who have signed the
slate memorials that have survived in churchyards and cemeteries.
 Last Resting Places? 77

The style and scale of memorial styles is not just a matter of architectural
and sculptural note, but a form of social and economic history. The marble
monuments in Woodlawn and Greenwood, the grand cemeteries of New
York, speak less about their architects, than fin-de-siècle, corporate power,
where millionaire industrialists competed in death, as they had in life, for

Figure 6.2 Irish famine grave

78 Tony Seaton

conspicuous status through the height and extravagance of their tombs and
memorials.
Family history and genealogy are interests that make historic churchyards
and cemeteries a potential leisure setting for indigenous populations, as well
as diasporic groups seeking their roots. This has already been recognized by
tourist organizations in Scotland and Ireland which have developed, over the
last two decades, searchable databases in Tourist Information Centres that
allow domestic and overseas visitors to look up their family name, and obtain
dates and topographical information about it, which may then affect their
itineraries and stimulate detours that would not otherwise have happened.
The target for these are diasporic visitors from USA, Australia, New Zealand
and other ex-colonial outposts.
Two long-established domains that still continue in the present are
epitaph collecting and brass rubbing. Epitaphs collecting and recording
began as historical fact finding by antiquarians anxious to preserve traces
of British history disappearing over time on monuments. It later became a
collector’s hobby that resulted in many published anthologies of epitaphs
that were quaint, funny and interesting as social history (Andrews, 1899;
Lindley, 1965; Hawes, 1992). Brass rubbing was another, popular antiquarian
hobby, pursued mainly within churches, but occasionally done from monu-
mental inscriptions outside them. Catalogues once listed the location of
brass memorials that people could take their rubbings from (Bouquet, 1956;
Stephenson, 1964; Busby, 1973), but few churches now allow this due to the
wear it creates on the original brass images. One of the last enthusiasts to
record her brass rubbing tours was Betsey Lewis who called her memoirs,
Through England on My Knees (Lewis, 1977).
Cemeteries also offer a variegated domain for visitor reflections on
‘extreme mortality’ through events of violent death and disaster they some-
times commemorate. This domain includes memorials to victims of train
crashes, air crashes, murder, earthquakes and fires. It is one where it may
be difficult to separate the extent to which the visitor response is one of
voyeurism or retrospective compassion.
These domains may be more explored at length in the plethora of general
and specific cemetery and churchyard guides that have multiplied since the
1970s. There are now guides to cemeteries and graveyards by country and
city for Europe, the United States, some produced by commercial publishers,
others by tourism or governmental organizations.1

Leisure in the community

Domain activities and interests may be pursued by both local people and
tourists from outside an area, but they are more likely to attract visits
from the latter. Local people are less likely to visit a cemetery as sightseers
and more for leisure purposes (e.g. for walking, dog walking, jogging or
 Last Resting Places? 79

Figure 6.3 Cuba Firemen’s Monument, 1890

enjoying peace and scenery). Much will depend upon the physical features
of the cemetery including its location, layout, fauna and flora. Cemeteries
and churchyards are increasingly being promoted by local authorities and
church groups as distinctive, environmental spaces uncontaminated by
80 Tony Seaton

Figure 6.4 Brookwood air crash monument, 1938

chemical and pesticides used widely in agriculture elsewhere. As a result

they may become the habitat for rare species of plant or bird that can form
the basis of local, educational excursions and natural history projects in
schools.
 Last Resting Places? 81

An unusual example of the cemetery as botanical habitat is the English

Cemetery in Corfu which was primarily a colonial graveyard for British mili-
tary personnel and their families, and is still a Commonwealth War Grave
Cemetery with memorials to British soldiers from several wars. For more
than 60 years it was managed by the same family, one of whom, George
Psailas, noted the appearance of several breeds of rare orchids and decided
to add to them. By the late 1990s, 30 of the 50 wild orchids found in Corfu
flourished in this tiny cemetery.

What do people do in cemeteries? Visitor research

The domains represent activities and experiences potentially available in

cemeteries and churchyards for different kinds of visitors, but they give
no indication of whether people take advantage of them, and who they
might be. For this visitor research is necessary but published studies are
limited. Two small scale studies were, however, conducted in the UK at two
of London’s most important, historic cemeteries in 2004 and 2009 which
offered insights into some of the differences between cemeteries with strong
community and leisure affiliations, and those with a wider constituency of
visitors from outside the area. The studies were conducted, as part of MA
programmes at Birkbeck College, London, and the University of Bedfordshire
by two researchers, Magda North and Gabriella Gadja, undertaking theses in
Environmental Planning and International Tourism, respectively. The studies
were of Nunhead and Brookwood, two of the most important, historic ceme-
teries in London and the South East (North, 2004 and Gadja, 2009).
Nunhead was opened for burials in 1840. It was originally located in a
rural setting, but is today a relatively populous, residential area of southeast
London. Though it closed as a functioning cemetery in 1969, it was one of
the cemeteries singled out by Curl and the heritage crusaders (Curl, 1977),
and was subsequently saved for, and maintained by the community under
the management of an active Friends Association which has characterized
its 52 acres as, ‘an unexpected and unique environmental asset to the area’
(Friends of Nunhead, 1988, p. 9).
Brookwood was opened in 1854, 30 miles to the southeast of London near
Guildford, to relieve the pressure mounting on burial spaces in the capital.
It was unique in having its own railway that ran from a coffin-carrying plat-
form at Waterloo Station to a small station inside the cemetery, from which
funeral parties travelled by special rail trains. It became the main cemetery
for the East End dead, and Brookwood is today in a picturesque out-of-town
setting, and in addition to its main cemetery, includes special gardens of
remembrance for the soldiers of foreign countries who fought the Nazis, as
exiles in England, while their countries were occupied.
The studies of these two cemeteries shared some common aims, but had
differences, since they were undertaken independently, and were based
82 Tony Seaton

Figure 6.5 Nunhead

 Last Resting Places? 83

on different questionnaire surveys. The common aims were threefold: to

profile cemetery visitors; to identify their journey patterns; and to iden-
tify their experience, activities and motives. The studies differed because
the Brookwood survey was designed to monitor general visitor satisfaction,
while the Nunhead survey was tailored to address specific managerial issues,
including respondents’ opinions on a number of proposed improvements
that required funding. Despite the differences, the surveys are comparable
on several indicators, and offer insights into the differences between historic
cemeteries with a high local population (Nunhead), and those which depend
upon visitors from further afield (Brookwood).
Both studies initially proved difficult to conduct because of the limited
number of visitors on any one survey day over the 3–7 months they were
being conducted. At Brookwood this problem was addressed by distributing
self-completion surveys on Sunday afternoons to members who had signed
up to guided tours, where a reasonable number of visitors was guaranteed.
At Nunhead, the study was conducted through personal interviewing with
random samples of visitors, over a period of four months, except in the
final stages when numbers were ‘hot housed’ by interviewing on the day
of Nunhead’s annual Open Day in July, a well-attended event that included
side shows, family activities, catering and second-hand stalls.

Figure 6.6 Brookwood

84 Tony Seaton

The results of the surveys will be summarized under three main headings:
the cemetery journey, the cemetery experience and the cemetery visitor.

The journey
There were significant differences among visitors to Brookwood and
Nunhead in distance travelled, time taken and transport used. At Nunhead,
90 per cent of the visitors were locals from London and Southwark and
43 per cent walked to the cemetery with 49 per cent arriving by car. For
81 per cent of the visitors the journey time was less than 30 minutes.
At Brookwood, only 2 per cent walked, 78 per cent came by car and
19 per cent by train. The dependence on mechanized transport was due to
the fact that 66 per cent of Brookwood’s visitors lived between 6 to 20 miles
from the cemetery, 12 per cent between 20 and 40 miles, and 6 per cent
more than 40 miles away.
The ease of access to Nunhead for local residents meant greater frequency
of visit. Fourteen per cent of its visitors visited once a day or more, 31 per cent
visited a few times a week, 13 per cent once a week or fortnight and 9 per cent
about once a month. Frequency of visit questions were not included in the
Brookwood survey, but respondents were asked if they visited other ceme-
teries for leisure reasons and 84 per cent said they had.

Experiences, activities and motives

Brookwood investigated party size and found that 95 per cent of the respond-
ents, attending as members of conducted tours on Sunday afternoons, came
with others, and only 5 per cent visited alone. The length of their stay on
tour was 3–4 hours in 79 per cent of cases with 21 per cent spending 1–2
hours. The results suggest that cemetery visiting was taken as a social excur-
sion with friends and/or relatives.
Few visitors to either cemetery had personal links to the dead. Only
7 per cent of visitors at Brookwood, and 3 per cent at Nunhead, said they
had a relative or friend buried there. However, the scores could have been
higher had the Brookwood sample not been people recruited from the
guided tours, and if at Nunhead interviewers had not deliberately excluded
as respondents people who looked as if they were visiting individual graves.
It is also likely that the proportion of visitors with links to the dead would
be higher in working cemeteries; Nunhead had been closed since 1977,
and Brookwood was now in private ownership rather than part of a large
public company serving London. At both cemeteries there were a few visi-
tors doing so for family history/genealogical reasons (Brookwood 6% and
Nunhead 5%).
What were the motives for visiting if not personal connections? Despite
the differences in the specific questions there were some common dimen-
sions of inquiry. At Brookwood, 31 per cent of respondents rated ‘interest
in history’ as second only to, ‘interest in war memorials/graves’ (36%) while
 Last Resting Places? 85

at Nunhead ‘historic interest’ was also the second most popular motivation
with 26 per cent of respondents, behind the first which was ‘to come for a
walk’ (27%). The third most popular motivation with 15 per cent visitors at
Nunhead was ‘walking a dog’, while at Brookwood it was ‘interest in famous
people’s graves’, given by 17 per cent visitors.
The Nunhead survey included a number of evaluative and attitudinal
questions, focused on: how people perceived the cemetery; what phys-
ical and service improvements they would like to see; and what impor-
tance they gave to them. These were measured on a five-point Likert scale
with, ‘Strongly agree’ as one end of the scale and, ‘Strongly disagree’ at
the other. They showed that more than half of Nunhead visitors strongly
agreed/agreed that it was ‘a pleasant place to visit’, that it was ‘peaceful and
quiet’, and ‘very interesting’. Its main perceived weakness was that only
9 per cent thought that it had ‘good facilities’, while four times as many
disagreed/strongly disagreed with the statement. However, when asked to
rank a number of specific, physical facilities as developments not all were
welcomed. Twenty two per cent of respondents disagreed/strongly disagreed
with the idea of having a ‘public cafeteria’. The preferred improvements
included: restoration to one building, scaffolding removal and public toilet
facilities. Improvements in services and activities that received endorse-
ment by more than half of the respondents included: visits by local schools;
lectures on ecology, history and heritage; nature conservation workshops;
exhibitions on people buried in the cemetery; and exhibitions on wildlife
and history.

Visitor profiles
The profile of visitors to the cemeteries tells a tale familiar to any who have
been associated with profiling cultural and heritage enthusiasts, namely
that they are typically better educated in formal terms and higher in social
profile than the general population.
At Nunhead, 58 per cent of visitors had a degree, Masters or PhD and
68 per cent were ABC1 in social grading (the top three of six category grades
in the UK). Brookwood did not monitor social grading but income which
revealed that 67 per cent of its visitors had annual earnings of £21,000–
40,000; 14 per cent earned £41,000–60,000 with 3 per cent earning over
£60,000. Only 14 per cent were in the £13,000 to £20,000 range which was
the one closest to the national average wage. A number of respondents volun-
teered their occupations which included: landscape gardener, accountant,
teacher and scientist. All of them were ABC1 occupations.
The one major difference between visitors to the two cemeteries was in age.
At Brookwood only 12 per cent were under 40, while at Nunhead the figure
was 51 per cent. Conversely, 77 per cent of Brookwood visitors were over 50
while at Nunhead there were 29 per cent. The differences were a reflection
of the young residential catchment populations from which Nunhead drew
86 Tony Seaton

its visitors and the more remote position of Brookwood without the same
residential community close by.

Summary
Both studies must be regarded as exploratory due to the limitations of
sample size, variations in the questions asked, and the way in which the data
was collected. Despite these limitations both the questions asked, and the
responses to them, suggested how differences between cemeteries in location,
catchment area and narrative resources (i.e. stories of their natural attractions,
history, celebrity associations, etc), affect research agendas and the number
and nature of their visitors. Brookwood and Nunhead seemed to represent,
what emerged as, two different types of cemeteries. Nunhead was more a
community, leisure amenity for people living locally, while Brookwood, as a
historic English cemetery with its intriguing death train, and also its European
military memorials, attracted tourists from further afield.
The studies demonstrate the value of comparative data as a way of devel-
oping typological schema for cemeteries that can be cumulatively improved
on as data on more cemeteries is acquired. It is the opportunities for sharing
comparative data and planning knowhow that lies behind one of the most
important development in historic cemetery management in the last two
decades – the Association of Significant Cemeteries in Europe (ASCE).

The Association of Significant Cemeteries in Europe (ASCE)

ASCE was established in 2001 in Bologna, Italy, as a charitable network of

public and private organizations from eight countries in Europe respon-
sible for the management and care of cemeteries in Europe considered to
be of historical or artistic importance. Its main goals are the promotion of
European cemeteries, ‘as a fundamental part of the heritage of the humanity’,
and to raise European awareness of their importance in their own commu-
nities and in the wider world. ASCE’s remit includes the sharing of experi-
ences and best practices between members, and cooperation in measures
that facilitate the protection, restoration and maintenance of significant
cemeteries. The initiative began in Italy but now has a membership of 130
cemeteries in 99 countries.
ASCE may be seen as a legacy of the heritage crusade that began in the
1970s to promote the cultural importance of historic cemeteries. It dissemi-
nates news of events and activities across its membership on its website on
a year round basis, and holds an annual conference at which delegates meet
to discuss common problems and developments.
The current President of the Association is Lidija Pilbersek, who in addi-
tion to leading ASCE is also Chief Executive of Maribor Cemetery, the
second biggest in Slovenia. Her dual role has allowed her to act as a catalyst
 Last Resting Places? 87

influencing both the organizations she represents. She can disseminate

and/or apply best practices and ideas, generated on the ASCE network, at
Maribor (and also at Zale, Slovenia’s main national cemetery in Ljubljana,
with whom she works closely); but, conversely, she can also transmit new
initiatives from Maribor and Ljubljana to the ASCE. The results have been
forms of knowledge-transfer that have helped both organizations.
Plibersek’s main goals at ASCE have been to broaden the appeal of historic
cemeteries as heritage sites, strengthen their community links, and promote
their educational and cultural potential. In pursuing them she has put in
place a range of technological, managerial and promotional programmes.
A major initiative with which she has helped to develop has been a,
‘European Cemeteries Route’, a heritage trail started in 2009, linking 63
cemeteries in 50 cities in 20 countries which attracted five million visitors.
It was launched on the ASCE website and by a well-illustrated booklet of
58 pages that mapped the itinerary and described the cemeteries along the
route. Spain had greatest involvement in the trail featuring 19 cemeteries in
16 cities. The project was awarded the UNWTO Ulysses special jury award
in 2011 for innovative approaches in tourism.
Over the period of Plibersek’s presidency the importance of digital
marketing, particularly social media and mobile technology, has greatly
increased. ASCE has responded to this changing technological environ-
ment with web improvements that have included an interactive, digital
map of member cemeteries, and posting a constantly updated year-round,

Figure 6.7 Maribor/ Lidija

88 Tony Seaton

calendar of events and developments across the whole cemetery network,

so that potential visitors could, if they wanted, plan tourism trips or short
excursions to events and cemeteries of their choice at times they choose.
The website is also used to promote and solicit papers for the annual confer-
ence which takes place in a different European city each year, and attracts
members from both cemetery management and academia, a linkage that is
often difficult to achieve.
The most recent technological development has been in France, Spain
and Austria, of self-guided cemetery tours, using specially developed apps
downloaded on to mobile phones. This took almost a year to develop and
now allows visitors to navigate their own way round cemeteries by mobile
phone from different start positions in the cemetery. The technology is seen
as a development that will particularly assist ASCE’s educational aims of
reaching younger audiences, including school parties.

Maribor and Zale

At Maribor, Plibersek’s main strategic goals have been: improving the
cemetery’s overall layout and sectional divisions, and erecting signage
that narrates the story of each part of the cemetery for visitors; strength-
ening its community relations ; and developing its educational and cultural
programmes.
The main structural work has been in planning the design and layout
of the cemetery by sections as a series of narratives about Slovenia and
its urban history. The distinguished environmentalist, Lewis Mumford
mentioned earlier, who wrote extensively about city development and plan-
ning, regarded cemeteries as ancestral spaces. The managers of Maribor
and Zale, Slovenia’s main historic cemetery in the capital Ljubliana, share
Mumford’s belief in the cultural importance and centrality of cemeteries as
urban heritage. A book-length study of Zale begins with a credo that could
equally be a mission statement for the work of ASCE:

The culture of a nation can be learned from its cemeteries. All we know of
many ancient nations is merely the way they prepared themselves for life
after death. ... it is not a coincidence that graves, tombstones and rituals
connected to the deceased lead to the beginning of time and culture. At
the same time graves denote the humanity of any civilisation. (Prelovsek
and Kopac, 1997, p. 11)

Slovenia’s past has been particularly fraught and violent. It has been fought
over, invaded and occupied, and been the final resting place for the dead
of many nations, friends and foes. The informing idea at Maribor is to tell
this story by commemoration of the dead of all nationalities as a both a
historic record and a form of reconciliation in the present. The cemetery
acts as a walk-through, history lesson. It comprises memorial sections on
 Last Resting Places? 89

the First and Second World Wars, the efforts of the Slovenian Resistance
and a memorial garden for Russians who were massacred by being forced
by their Nazi captors to take part in a marathon without clothing in the
depths of winter in 1941. But it also includes memorials to German residents
of Maribor who were the majority population before the war, but are long
gone. In addition the cemetery includes spaces to other nations temporarily
domiciled in Maribor.
In addition to these grand narratives of war and peace, Maribor also
showcases local and national heroes like Rudolf Maister, poet and resistance
leader; Leon Stukelj, the Slovenian gymnast who won an Olympic Gold
Medal in 1924; and Franz Swaty, the business man who became a million-
aire manufacturing abrasives used by barbers for sharpening razors, now
sold on eBay as collectibles!
Another community initiative has been the attempt to make the cemetery
a teaching resource for local schools. It is Prebersek’s belief that, used imag-
inatively by teachers in collaboration with cemetery management, ceme-
teries can be a way of contextualizing curricula content in subjects such as
national and local history, geography, environmental studies, and art and
design. There has also been a move to train some children as guides, and
give them responsibility in hosting visitors. Other ways of engaging with
local communities in Maribor have been the arranging of photographic
exhibitions on site and musical recitals in the remembrance chapel.
The community highpoint of the year at Maribor and Zale is the Catholic
festival of All Souls day on November 1. For a month before the day, large
numbers of relatives and friends spend time in the cemeteries to tend and
beautify the graves and on the day itself, thousands pay religious homage
and remembrance.
ASCE has continued to grow since its formation to such an extent that its
first guidebook is now out of date (Felicori and Zanetti, 2004). What does
the future bring? As other cemeteries apply to join, what will be the basis for
admitting them? This depends on the criteria used to identify ‘significant’
historic cemeteries, which will determine how many are deemed to exist.
In the past the UK campaigns to save historic cemeteries were focused on a
limited number of historic sites in cities like York, Edinburgh and London,
with known features of interest (celebrity graves, exotic monuments etc).
These comprised only a tiny minority of all historic cemeteries in exist-
ence. In London, for example, in addition to the ‘big six’ cemeteries there
are over 100 other 19th century cemeteries, and scores of older ones if one
includes non-Anglican burial sites for Jews, Catholics, Moravians, Quakers
and other denominational groups and so on. Similarly, Pere La Chaise and
Montmartre, the best known cemeteries in Paris, are only two among more
than 150.
The problem for ‘lesser’ cemeteries seeking ASCE membership will be that
of establishing their historic importance. There are two possible ways of
90 Tony Seaton

doing so. The first is by uncovering new facts and angles on their history
and inmates. Few of the lesser-known cemeteries have detailed biograph-
ical information on everyone buried within them. Systematic research will
always open up new narratives. They can be undertaken without too much
difficulty because most cemeteries hold burial records in their archives. In
Cuba the existence of historic records on its national cemetery in Havana was
thought worthy of inclusion in the guide and map handed out to visitors:

The cemetery archive contains a library of Burial and Protocol books of

ethnographic, sociological and historical information spanning the years
from its foundation in 1871. (Anon, c. 1990, undated)

Cemetery research can be productively linked to the educational agendas

and community goals discussed earlier. For students in colleges and univer-
sities cemetery research can be a subject for individual dissertations, as in
the case of Nunhead and Brookwood. In other cases it may be possible to set
up bigger, team-based, collaborative work between cemetery organizations
and educational institutions to produce continuing data on a cemetery’s
inmates and its visitors.
The other possibility is that ASCE could introduce a grading system that
would differentiate between kinds of historic cemetery. These need not be
hierarchical, but could distinguish and rank cemeteries by variables such as:
‘regional vs. national or international importance’; ‘high in art and design
features’; ‘political and military significance’; ‘variety of diasporic features’
and other relevant attributes.

Cemeteries and the ‘Dark’ secret of Thanatourism?

The visitor attractions of cemeteries were first discussed in tourism discourse

as part of, what has been categorized as, Thanatourism or ‘Dark Tourism’
(Seaton, 2002). How well do the uses and activities inventoried in this chapter
accord with a Thanatouristic interpretation? Are historic cemeteries visited
as psychological peripheries for encounters with a dark ‘other’, or are they
rituals of identity maintenance and confirmation – the ‘I’ – at-home in the
comfort zones of the routine and familiar?
One answer is that, if the original definition of thanatourism as travel
associated with, ‘symbolic, or actual, encounters with death’, is accepted,
then all cemetery visiting falls within it, since all cemeteries are inher-
ently associated with death and no visitor can be unaware of the fact. A
more difficult issue is whether the transgressive connotations of thana-
tourism, when called ‘Dark tourism’, are helpful? To what extent can dog
walking, concerts in cemetery chapels, educational experiences for school
children, nature walks, or grave dressing on All Saints Day be seen as ‘dark’
practices?
 Last Resting Places? 91

Answering this involves a short detour into the realm of representation and
myth. Cemeteries and graveyards have come to possess an extreme otherness
for some, not just because of their functional association with death, but from
culturally specific habits of imagining and thinking about them. These have been
the outcome of a Gothic code which has evolved in Northern Europe since the
time of the Reformation to its highpoint in 19th century Romanticism. The
code repeatedly linked cemeteries and graveyards with transgression themed
with narratives of time, change and death and represented them stereotypi-
cally as wild, unkempt wildernesses with gloomy solitudes of undergrowth,
irregular rows of tilted gravestones, skeletons, and dominated by grim monu-
ments and effigies. These iterated images were transmitted successively in
early epitaph guides (see Figure 6.8), Gothic novels, popular melodrama and
Grand Guignol theatre, fantasy art and graphics, horror films and in heavy
metal semiotics (Davenport-Hines, 1998).
But these transgressive, Gothic associations are not ones that all share.
The Gothic is much less of an aesthetic disposition in Eastern Europe and
cultures further afield and is not the only way of imagining and perceiving
cemeteries. The dark secret of Thanatourism is that it is constructed by
representations, and selective perception may produce alternative ways
of experiencing them. Though transgression may seem by some to be
inscribed in particular sites and events, they may not be recognized as
such by others. This emerged unexpectedly in a study of visitors staying
at a site that looked superficially like a textbook example of ‘dark tourism’,
Lansdown Tower near Bath, which is managed by the Landmark Trust,
an upmarket, charitable foundation that reclaims and restores historic
buildings, and then lets them out as holiday accommodation. Lansdown
Tower was a Victorian folly, built by William Beckford, a gothic novelist,
dilettante collector and notorious eccentric who turned the garden into a
cemetery, complete with a marble mausoleum for himself and his dog. A
study of comments left by visitors who had stayed at various times over the
first six years that the Tower was open to the public showed that few had
been attracted by any ‘dark’ motives. Not many knew about the cemetery
before they booked their stay, and fewer still knew who Beckford was. The
main motives in booking breaks were the social and status attractions of
Landmark-branded properties, and the special occasions that made many
want to celebrate them in a luxurious setting (Seaton, 2008).
These are not just linguistic debates. The ‘dark’ in ‘Dark tourism’ is a
problem with managers in the leisure and tourism world. At Ljubljana and
Marabor, the managers do not see their leisure and tourism initiatives as
‘dark’. Nor do Tonie and Valma Holt who have been running battlefield
trips to France and Flanders structured around Commonwealth War Grave
Cemeteries for thirty years (Holt and Holt, 1995); they feel that the word
‘dark’ misrepresents what they and their clients experience as pilgrimages of
homage and respect. George Psaila, whose family had managed the English
92 Tony Seaton

Figure 6.8 Gothic cemetery

Cemetery in Corfu for more than 60 years and developed it as an orchid

garden, was proud of its diverse appeals and the pleasure it brought to visi-
tors. In a guide published to celebrate the 50th anniversary of his family’s
link with the cemetery, he described its delights in words that offer no hint
of darkness or transgression:

As ... can be seen in the visitors’ book more than 500 people visit this calm
place monthly during the tourist period. They visit the Cemetery not only
to venerate the memory of their beloved relatives but also to see its histor-
ical monuments ... Journalists, painters, archaeologists, botanists come to
study the works of art, the antiquities, the various plants and trees.

He finished with words that sound less like a ‘Dark Tourism’ guidebook,
than a medieval, religious lyric:

I have written these few words about this lovely scented garden with the
company of the singing birds. (Psaila, 1984, p. 17)
 Last Resting Places? 93

Conclusion

This chapter has traced the functional evolution of the historic cemetery from
internment site to leisure resource and tourism attraction, and the discursive
domains that have emerged during this evolution. It has explored the profile
of cemetery visitors, and the differences between those for cemeteries with a
strong residential community around them, and those with more ‘sights to
see’ but greater dependency on visitors from outside the locality. The chapter
has described the development and aims of ASCE, and initiatives at Slovenian
cemeteries which have been linked to its work. The final section revisited the
status of historic cemeteries as thanatourism and ‘dark’ sites.
Historic cemeteries may never be mega attractions, but they engage
minority audiences for many different reasons, as well as providing a recrea-
tional resource for the community in urban locations. Moreover, a historic
cemetery, simply by its physical presence, may contribute to a destination’s
identity, particularly in crowded and developing townscapes where, along
with public parks, it may be the only outdoor evidence of a visible past
that survives, beyond commodification, as a space for personal escape and
private reflection.

Notes
The authors thank Lidija Plibersek, President of ASCE and Chief Executive of Pobre Je
Cemetery, Maribor, and her staff, and the Chief Executive of Zale Cemetery, Ljubljana,
Robert Martincic, for their time, hospitality and assistance in preparing this chapter.
1. Cemetery guides to the UK, especially London, are particularly plentiful. For the UK,
see Greenwood, 1982; Bogle, 1989; Kerrigan, 1995. For London, see Anon, 1978;
Bailey, 1975; Hackman, 1981; Barker, 1984; Miller, 1985; Stokes, 1988; Selwyn, 1988;
Culbertson and Randall, 1992; Stevenson, 2003; Glinert, 2008. For Glasgow and
Edinburgh in Scotland, see Black, 1982; Boyle, 1984; Berry, 1987; Turnbull, 1991;
Hutt, 1996. In Ireland, Dublin has led the field in cemetery guidebook publishing,
because of the importance of Glasnevin; see, Anon, 1997. For the USA, where New
Orleans features prominently as a cemetery centre, see, Culbertson and Randall,
1987; Mann and Greene, 1990; Sloane, 1991; Brock, 1999; Florence, 1996 and 1999.
For France and Italy, see Culbertson and Randall, 1986 and 1996.

References
Andrews, William (1899) Curious Epitaphs. Farringdon Square, London: William
Andrews.
Anon (1978) Highgate Cemetery with a Foreword by Sir John Betjeman. London: Friends
of Highgate Cemetery.
Anon (1990) Map and guide, Havana Cemetery.
Anon (1997) Glasnevin Cemetery. A historic walk. Dublin: Dublin Cemeteries
Committee.
Bailey, Brian (1987) Churchyards of England and Wales, London: Robert Hale.
94 Tony Seaton

Bailey, Conrad (1975) Harrap’s Guide to Famous London Graves. London: Harrap.
Barker, Felix (1984) Highgate Cemetery Victorian Valhalla. London: John Murray.
Berry, James (1987) The Glasgow Necropolis Heritage Trail. Glasgow: City of Glasgow
District Council.
Black, Jimmy (1992) The Glasgow Graveyard Guide. Edinburgh: Saint Andrew Press.
Bogle, Joanna (1989) Who Lies Where? a Guide to the Resting Place of the Famous.
London: Lamp Press.
Bouquet, A. C. (1956) Church Brasses. London: Batsford.
Boyle, Anne (1984) Ruins and Remains – Edinburgh’s Neglected Heritage. Edinburgh:
University of Edinburgh.
Brock, Eric J. (1999) New Orleans Cemeteries. Charleston: Arcadia.
Brooks, Chris (1989) Mortal Remains. the History and Present State of the Victorian and
Edwardian Cemetery. Devon: Wheaton.
Brown, Frederick (1980) Pere La Chaise. Elysium as Real Estate. New York: Viking
Press.
Busby, Richard J. (1973) A Companion Guide to Brasses and Brass Rubbing. London:
Pelham Books.
Chabot, Andre (2009) Dictionnaire Illustre de Symbolique Funeraire. Brussels:
Memogrames.
Culbertson, Judi and Randall, Tom (1987) Permanent New Yorkers. Vermont: Chelsea
Green Publishing.
Ibid (1986) Permanent Parisians. Chelsea, Vermont: Chelsea Green Publishing
Company.
Ibid (1992) Permanent Londoners. London: Robson Books.
Ibid (1996) Permanent Italians. New York: Walker and Company.
Curl, James Stevens (1975) ‘Saving a Victorian burial ground: Nunhead Cemetery,
South London’. Country Life, July.
Curl, James Stevens (1977) ‘Nunhead Cemetery, London, a history of the planning,
architecture, landscaping and fortunes of a great nineteenth century’. Transactions
of the Ancient Monuments Society, London.
Curl, James Stevens (1981) ‘Northern cemetery under threat: Jesmond, Newcastle on
Tyne’. Country Life, June 12.
Curl, James Stevens (1982) ‘Neo-Classical Necropolis in Decay: York Cemetery’.
Country Life, June 12.
Curl, James Stevens (2002) Death and Architecture. Stroud, Gloucester: Sutton
Publishing.
Dale, Antony (1991) Brighton cemeteries. Brighton Borough Council.
Davenport-Hines, Richard (1998) Gothic 400 Years of Excess, Horror and Ruin. London:
Fourth Estate.
Felicori, Mauro and Zanotti, Annalisa (2004) ‘Cemeteries of europe. a historical
heritage to appreciate and restore’, Comuune di Bologna, Scene Project.
Florence, Robert (1996) City of the Dead. a Journey through St Louis Cemetery 1, New
Orleans. Lafayette: Univ. of Southwestern Louisiana.
Florence, Robert (1999) New Orleans Cemeteries. New Orleans: Batture Press.
Gadja, Gabriela (2009 ‘Visitor profiling and motivation, and the management of
historic cemeteries’. M.Sc. Thesis. Bedfordshire: University of Bedfordshire, UK.
Gillon, Edmund V. (1972) Victorian Cemetery Art. New York: Dover.
Glinert, Ed (2008) London’s Dead. a Guided Tour of the Capital’s Dead. London:
Collins.
Greenwood, Douglas (1982) Who’s Buried Where in England. London: Constable.
 Last Resting Places? 95

Hackman, Harvey (1981) Wate’s Book of London Churchyards. London: Collins.

Hawes, Esme (1999) The Little Book of Epitaphsz. Bath: Siena.
Holt, Tone and Valma (1995) Battlefields of the First World War. London: Pavilion.
Hutt, Charlotte (ed.) (1996) City of the Dead: The Story of Glasgow’s Southern Necropolis.
Glasgow: Archives and Libraries.
Kerrigan, Michael (1995) Who Lies Where – a Guide to Famous Graves. London: Fourth
Estate.
Lewis, Betsey (1977) Through England on My Knees. London: Gazelle Books.
Lindley, K. A. (1965) Of Graves and Epitaphs. London: Faber and Faber.
Llewellyn, Nigel (1991) The Art of Death. Visual Culture in the English Death Ritual,
c. 1500–c.1800. London: V. and A. and Reaktion.
Mann, Thomas C. And Greene, Janet (1990) Over Their Dead Bodies. Yankee Epitaphs
and History. New York: Barnes and Noble Books.
Meller, Hugh (1985) London Cemeteries: An Illustrated Guide and Gazetteer. London.
Mumford, Lewis (1958, 3rd edition) The Culture of Cities. London: Secker and Warburg.
Mumford, Lewis (1961) The City in History. Its Origins, Its Transformations and Its
Prospects. London: Secker and Warburg.
North, Magda (2004) ‘Securing heritage lottery funding for historic cemeteries: the case
study of Nunhead Cemetery’. M.A. Thesis, Bedford College, London University.
Penny, Nicholas (1977) Church Monuments in Romantic England. Newhaven and
London: Yale University Press.
Prelovsek, Damjan and Kopac, Vlasto (1997) Zale by Architect Joze Plecnik. Ljubliana,
Slovenia: City of Ljubliana.
Psaila, George (1984) The Orchid House. Corfu: privately published.
Ragon, Michel (1983) The Space of Death. a Study of Funerary Architecture, Decoration
and Urbanism. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia.
Sears, John F. (1989) Sacred Places: American Tourist Attractions in the Nineteenth Century.
Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Seaton, A. V. (2002) ‘Thanatourism’s final frontiers? visits to cemeteries, church yards
and funerary sites as sacred and secular pilgrimage’. Tourism Recreation Research,
27 (2), pp. 73–82.
Seaton, Tony (2008) ‘Beckford and the tourists: gothic performances at lansdown
tower, bath’. The Beckford Journal, pp. 61–82.
Selwyn, Bernard (1988) The Brompton Cemetery. London: Friends of Brompton
Cemetery.
Sloane, David Charles (1991) The Last Great Necessity: Cemeteries in American History.
Baltimore and London: John Hopkins University Press.
Stephenson, Mill (1964) A List of Monumental Brasses in the British Isles. London:
Monumental Brass Society.
Stevenson, Tim and Carol (2003) A Short Guide to Nunhead Cemetery. London: Friends
of Nunhead Cemetery.
Stokes, Gwyneth (ed.) (1988) Nunhead Cemetery. London: Friends of Nunhead
Cemetery.
Turnbull, Michael T.R.B. (1991) The Edinburgh Graveyard Guide. Edinburgh: St.
Andrews Press.
Weil, Tom (1992) The Cemetery Book. Graveyards, Catacombs, and Other Travel Haunts
around the World. New York: Hippocrene Books.
Wright, Geoffrey (1972 and 1987) Discovering epitaphs. Aylsebury, Bucks: Shire
Publications.
7
Animating Public Space
Troy D. Glover

Introduction

This chapter interrogates the growing and ongoing bond forged between
leisure and public space to shape the urban landscape and imbue it with
collective meaning. Focusing on the animation of public space, which I
define here as the deliberate, usually temporary employment of festivals,
events, programmed activities, or pop-up leisure to transform, enliven, and/
or alter public spaces and stage urban life, I aim to sensitize readers to the
contested meaning of ‘public’, underscore the complexity of place mean-
ings and values, and expose the routine appropriation of the ‘animation’ of
public space to legitimize claims to urban space and serve the public good.
In so doing, I emphasize the politics of transformative place-making and
implicate leisure as an appropriating device in this process.

What is a public space?

Every city contains a diversity of public spaces, even if not readily recog-
nizable as such. Urban parks, city trails and town squares come to mind
as obvious examples, yet other spaces, such as streets, back alleyways
and abandoned buildings (e.g., brownfields), though among a city’s most
underutilized and potentially valuable assets, seem less apparent. For still
others, such as shopping malls, coffee shops and drinking establishments,
their claim as public spaces remains highly controversial, largely because of
their commercial influence and content. Even so, many people experience
these places as public spaces and perceive them as such (Oldenburg, 1999;
Tonnelat, 2010). So what makes a public space public?
While other factors affect the use of a public space, Johnson and Glover
(2013) insisted ownership and access shape individual perceptions of it.
Consider, for example, that many so-called public spaces operate under
models of hybrid collaboration, whereby public agencies and commercial
enterprises work in partnership to deliver them to the ‘public’. Sponsorships,

96
 Animating Public Space 97

outsourcing and asset-sharing, among other examples of contemporary

management practices, challenge the purity of a space’s public character.
To obscure matters further, many people experience so-called private
spaces as public spaces. Pubs, often referred to as public houses, may not
be considered ‘public’ in the strictest sense of the word, yet they remain
open to the wider community and serve as spaces in which the general
public can interact freely (Oldenburg, 1999). Restrictions to access still
apply, however, yet the same can be said for what we may deem purer
public spaces, those considered less contaminated by commercial inter-
ests, such as parks. For this reason, Kingwell (2009) encouraged us to apply
the ‘sleep test’ to any space labelled public. That we would be removed
by police from a park if we were to sleep there overnight suggests a park
is excludable and therefore not public after all, at least not in Kingwell’s
estimation.
In contrast to Kingwell’s insistence there is no true public space, Johnson
and Glover (2013) proposed to broaden our conceptual understanding of it
by outlining four ideal-typical categories of public space based on ownership
and accessibility (see Figure 7.1). First, quasi-public spaces are privately owned
spaces in which access can be easily denied, yet are regarded as public by
their users (e.g., a pub). Second, commons are privately owned spaces in which
access cannot be easily denied, and so these spaces are viewed as public by
its users (e.g., a community gardens with allotment plots). Third, club spaces
are publicly (i.e., government) owned, yet designed in a way that access may
be denied if its operators so choose (e.g., municipal swimming pools). And
fourth, outwardly public space is publicly-owned and access cannot generally
be denied (e.g., urban park). I mention this framework simply to underscore
the contested nature of public. All of these spaces can be and are routinely
perceived as public spaces, yet each, in its own way, has features that make
its status as a public space ambiguous. Urban spaces, in other words, exhibit
various dimensions of ‘publicness’.
If public is not defined in the classic economic sense of a public good
(see Ostrom & Ostrom, 1999), then perhaps it makes more sense to charac-
terize it within the context of serving the public good. By serving the public
good, I mean providing space for the benefit or well-being of the public.

Easy to deny access Difficult to deny access

Private ownership Quasi-public space (e.g., pub) Commons (e.g., community

garden)
Public ownership Club space (e.g., swimming pool) Outwardly public space
(e.g., urban park)
Adapted from Johnson & Glover, (2013)

Figure 7.1 Categories of public space

98 Troy D. Glover

Under this premise, public space assumes an aggregative meaning insofar

as it is intended to be good for everyone, in some sense, as opposed to
good for most (Mansbridge, 2014). The challenge here, of course, is that
a claim to serve the public good is a claim that can be made for almost
anything, thereby making it a matter of politics. Staging political protests
in public space asserts our democratic rights (which are presumably good
for everyone), even though it may, on the day of the protests, preclude
others from engaging in their desired activities. Adding greater surveillance
over public space makes public space safer for everyday enjoyment (which
is presumably good for everyone), though it limits the scope of freedoms
enjoyed within the space. Commercial investment in public space can add
needed vitality to a cityscape and thus improve the economic prosperity
of the region by drawing more tourists (which is presumably good for
everyone), but its emphasis on consumption can create a lifestyle divide
that leaves some people out. In short, claims of serving the public good
are asserted in all of these cases, yet counter-claims exist, too. Thus, the
unsettled, contested nature of the concept of public space is part of the
unsettled, contested nature of politics (Mansbridge, 2014). The public good
is under constant discussion.
When all is said and done, public space matters to people, irrespective
of how we define, categorize or understand it. Though the causal relation-
ship remains under scrutiny (see Moroni & Chiodelli, 2013), public spaces
advance democracy by serving as political spaces within which the public
sphere – the area of social life in which citizens come together to freely
discuss collective problems and influence political action – is formed,
policed and contested (Blomley, 2001; Mitchell, 2003). Accessible public
spaces prove indispensable to environmental sustainability and the move-
ment toward high-density multifunctional developments by providing
attractive urban destinations that encourage walking and public transpor-
tation usage (Demerath & Levinger, 2003; Filion, 2009). Relatedly, aestheti-
cally pleasing, well-functioning public spaces enhance livability and
encourage urban vitality (Lloyd & Auld, 2003) by providing lifestyle advan-
tages to city residents (Zukin, 1998, 2009) and spaces of hospitality to visi-
tors (Bell, 2007). They also encourage vital social interactions by enabling
‘spaces of encounter and/or gathering’ (Friedmann, 2010) that generate
social ties, a sense of community, civic identity and culture (Silverberg
et al., 2013). In so doing, vibrant public spaces play a role in attracting new
residents (Florida, 2002) and tourists (Ashworth & Page, 2011), giving these
important community amenities a legitimate role in economic develop-
ment and the advancement of local prosperity. All told, the recognized
political, environmental, social, cultural and economic impacts of public
spaces make them crucial features of prosperous, livable cities. Given these
positive externalities, public spaces clearly warrant investment. At least,
one would think so.
 Animating Public Space 99

The animation of public space as transformative

place-making

In the current age of austerity, public investment in public spaces can be

viewed as a luxury. Accordingly, experimenting with short-term, tempo-
rary improvements that ‘animate’ public spaces, such as festivals, events,
programmed activities and pop-up leisure, offers exceptional flexibility
and serves as a persistent and ongoing means of transforming or altering
landscapes and staging urban life inexpensively (Bell, 2010; Project for
Public Spaces (PPS), 2012). Where resources are limited, the animation of
public space, not surprisingly, represents a welcome strategy (Lashua, 2013).
By supporting such initiatives, cities draw upon local assets and people and
reshape public spaces into ‘exciting laboratories that reward citizens with
authentic places’ (PPS, 2012, p. 15). The positive activity and perception of
vitality associated with animation draws positive attention to public spaces
and catalyzes communities around common goals (Németh & Langhorst,
2013). In this sense, animation serves as a form of what Silverberg et al.
(2013) described to as ‘transformative place-making’ by emphasizing the
creation of seemingly positive change for people and communities and
(re)shaping, (re)territorializing and (re)making public space.
As a transformative place-making initiative, the animation of public space,
at its crux, aims to enhance sense of place – the socio-cultural meanings and
attachments held by an individual or group for a spatial setting – in commu-
nities, participants, visitors and ‘animators’. More than simply focused on
a geographic location and material form, animation involves interpreting,
narrating and imagining place, thereby inscribing a place with meaning and
value (Gieryn, 2000). In this sense, the animation of public space is used to
recognize, legitimize and value various perspectives on what it means to live
in a city, a neighbourhood and/or a community. Stokowski (2002) argued,
‘each effort to create a place becomes an elaboration of the beliefs and values
of some collection of people, expressed and fostered in their promotion of
a preferred reality’ (p. 374). Accordingly, discussions about the animation
of space have the potential to embody multiple landscapes – by which I
mean multiple visions for the social, aesthetic and physical transformation
of a space – each grounded in the cultural definitions of those who wish
to animate it. How a public space is animated, therefore, provides a rich
understanding of people’s values and attachments (Brandenburg & Carroll,
1995).
For these reasons, programming deserves, though it fails to receive, the
same attention as the design and construction of public space. Design
and construction, when approached within the context of transforma-
tive place-making, focus on front-end community engagement, whereas
programming focuses on continuous place-making (Silverberg et al., 2013).
Animating public space, in other words, enables the ongoing alteration of
100 Troy D. Glover

places to better meet the needs of communities. Moreover, by involving few

constraints to entry, a wider community of individuals can be involved with
minimal investment. By programming public space, communities that may
otherwise go unnoticed can self-identify. Accordingly, such initiatives give
communities something tangible to which to react, thereby making outreach
and inclusion potentially easier. ‘The act of creating, rather than reacting or
opposing,’ wrote Silverberg et al. (2013, p. 56), ‘brings a self-selected group
to the table – a group ready to deliberate and create positive change’ (my
emphasis). In short, animating space focuses on the transformation of phys-
ical space to serve various communities within the community.

Right to the city?

Congruently, creating change through leisure programming enables anima-

tors to assert Lefebvre’s (1996) ‘right to the city’. As interpreted by Harvey
(2008, p. 23), ‘The right to the city is far more than the individual liberty
to access urban resources: it is a right to change ourselves by changing the
city’ (my emphases). Under this premise, animating public space represents
an opportunity to enable community members to lay claim to this right. It
adapts the identities of public spaces and opens them up to different groups,
uses, and interests. As Németh and Langhorst (2013, p. 7) wrote, ‘The ability
to occupy and use open space for all kinds of activities empowers indi-
viduals and communities to increase their quality of life and assert their
“right to the city”, both in physical terms and in terms of access to decision
making channels.’ Moreover, the question of what kind of city community
members want is intimately tied to the kinds of social ties, lifestyles and
aesthetic values they desire (Harvey, 2008), all of which are advanced in and
through their animated renderings of public space.
The insurgent possibilities associated with animation make the trans-
formation of public space a potentially emancipatory practice through the
complex re-coding of social space (Soja, 1996). Here lies the possibility of
social change, for public spaces can be ‘dynamic, counterhegemonic social
spaces that are spaces for diverse, resistant and oppositional practices’ (van
Ingen, 2003, p. 204). Take, for instance, the international urban phenom-
enon of Park(ing) Day, an event scheduled in cities across the globe on the
third Friday of every September during which parking spaces are trans-
formed temporarily into ‘parks’. Under this practice, ‘park(ing) spaces’ are
animated with anything from green grass, a bench and an umbrella to
lemonade stands, nurseries and interactive spaces with surveys about local
issues. During Park(ing) Day,

public spaces are repurposed to draw attention to specific local issues and
orient pedestrians toward aspects of urban life that are often overlooked
in our crowded visual sphere. These urban ‘interventions’ differ from
 Animating Public Space 101

conventional activist concepts in favor of fun activities. They are easy to

embrace yet still carry a message. (Coombs, 2012, p. 64)

Animation of this sort dissolves the borders between art, protest and
everyday life by advancing what Coombs described as ‘gentle activism’
aimed at provoking the public and raising awareness about local issues (e.g.,
the lack of public space, the privatization of public space, our dependency
on cars), while seeking to help passersby imagine different ways of nego-
tiating urban life. The aesthetic qualities of these events make for visible
attempts to reclaim public space for social and political impact. Arguably,
they also ostracize motorists. Moreover, like any use of space, they attract
certain participants (e.g., young, white, educated) and potentially ward off
others (e.g., old, non-white, uneducated). Admittedly, these condemnations
remain unfounded, yet they merit investigation.
As Lefebvre (1991) and Soja (1996) warned, all spaces, including spaces of
resistance, ought to be problematized. Critical spatial analysis warrants that
scholars aim to recognize contradictions within public space. The qualities
that define a public space, as demonstrated above, can be at once liberating
(for activists and like-minded supporters) and exclusionary (for others) inas-
much as they support one social group’s entitlement, while physically and/
or symbolically evicting its ‘others’ (Glover, Parry & Mulcahy, 2013). Put
briefly, the animation of public space can be oppressive, sometimes embod-
ying sites of discriminatory practices wherein marginalization is produced
and enforced (van Ingen, 2003).

Who sets the ‘program’?

As Zukin (1998, p. 1) reminded us, ‘Whoever controls public space sets the
“program” for representing society,’ an observation consistent with Lefebvre’s
(1991) belief that space, whether public or private, encourages and discourages
certain forms of interaction and gives form to social structures and ideologies.
Put more bluntly, Levebvre suggested space perpetuates the power of domi-
nant groups by normalizing the authority of specific social groups, setting
out spatial boundaries and functioning as a symbol of social values. Public
space provides a clear example of this. To wit, the application of wax on rough
surfaces to smooth ledges and enable speed, a ubiquitous animation practice
applied to public spaces by skateboarders, is routinely vilified by authorities as
the defacement of public property, yet perceived as a gesture of solidarity and
an ethic of care for the built environment by its practitioners (Vivoni, 2013).
Given the power differential involved, however, ‘waxing ledges’ represents
an illicit activity when practiced outside the safe confines of the ‘skate park
panopticon’. Public spaces, in other words, are in no way value neutral.
Even so, Lefebvre argued all social spaces, including public spaces, are not
readily recognized as reflections of power because they tend to be divided
102 Troy D. Glover

inconspicuously into physical and conceptual components to obfuscate its

social functions. To this end, Lefebvre maintained space renders itself an
abstraction through its representation as Cartesian coordinates, Euclidean
geometry and cartography. These abstractions hijack the production of
space by imposing an image of space to regulate its use (e.g., a town square
showcases the works of local artisans at its weekly market, not graffiti or
‘tagging’; a park is for family picnicking, not teenage loitering). Power
camouflages its own reproduction under and through the programming of
public space, thereby omitting, evading, and removing all opposed to it
(Shields, 1999). While abstractions appear to make space transparent and
intelligible, Lefebvre argued ‘this transparency is deceptive, and every-
thing is concealed’ (p. 286). In other words, ‘power stems from the ability to
abstract space’ (Miller, 2005, p. 65).
Leisure is complicit in this abstraction. Its seductive guise as unas-
suming ‘fun and games’ masquerades its very real function in fashioning
tastes and its habitual appropriation as cultural capital. Far from trivial,
leisure’s growing conflation with consumption practices only exacerbates
its effects. What Ritzer and Stillman (2001, p. 103) described as ‘the implo-
sion of leisure and consumption’ awakens the imagination of consumers by
creating a spectacle that combines the fantastical virtues of leisure with the
commercial proclivities of consumption-oriented enterprises. ‘Such settings
are more magical’, wrote Ritzer and Stillman (2001, p. 103), and therefore
tremendously appealing. Animation exploits leisure to enchant public
space and enhance urban vitality, a key measure of the quality of urban life.
Vitality refers to ‘the numbers of people in and around the street (pedestrian
flows) across different times of the day and night, the uptake of facilities,
the number of cultural events and celebrations over the year, the presence
of an active street life, and generally the extent to which a place feels alive
or lively’ (Montgomery, 1998, p. 97). Animation generates vitality through
the ‘spectacularization of urban space’, therein making it a politically useful
strategy to promote the positive, unique and variable amenities of a city.
‘In this way,’ wrote Silk and Amos (2005, p. 283), ‘the entire urban core is
looked upon as a recreational environment and as a tourism resource.’
Within the context of public space, Silk (2007, p. 255) noted with discern-
able trepidation, the increasing desire among city officials to transform their
downtown landscapes into ‘spectacular consumptive environments pred-
icated on capital leisure spaces’, which amount to consumption- oriented
strategies of urban (re)development focused on the creation of visual attrac-
tions that make people spend money (see Zukin, 1998). Previously preoc-
cupied with the everyday management of the city, local governments now
focus their attention on selling the city through the deployment and crea-
tion of imagery and symbols (Cormier, 2008). Industries associated with
the symbolic economy based the design and production of goods for
specific leisure lifestyles are now viewed as furthering a city’s economic
 Animating Public Space 103

growth (Florida, 2002; Zukin, 1998), a trend evidenced in the proliferation

of gourmet food trucks, pop-up farmer’s markets, and local arts events,
not to mention themed restaurants, boutique shopping and tourist attrac-
tions. Initiatives to ‘spectacularize’ (Silk, 2007), ‘Disneyfy’ (Zukin, 1998),
‘McDonaldize’ (Ritzer & Stillman, 2001), and secure public spaces (Atkinson,
2003) aim squarely at marketing the quality of urban living in such loca-
tions. Given this trend toward what he referred to as urban imagineering,
Silk (2007, p. 270) cautioned scholars ‘not to be blinded or dazzled by the
seductive visual economy of leisure-oriented environments that favour civic
image over improved citizen welfare’. Far from innocent, the aesthetics of
animation projects have profound social and cultural impacts.

Staging urban life

If public space is not neutral, then neither is its animation. The anima-
tion of public space, irrespective of how it unfolds or who engages in its
practice, asserts a deliberate, albeit often veiled, claim over space. It does
so by staging urban life. Through its animation, public space becomes a
cultural product imagined, defined, articulated and exploited as a strategy
(Silk, 2007). The animation of public space, in effect, introduces a means
by which its animators can refashion existing landscapes, shift attention
toward their own desirable interpretations of urban life, and engineer
exclusive notions of community, thereby redefining place in the minds of
external and internal ‘consumers’ (Silk, 2007). By involving the ‘theming’
of the urban landscape, it changes how public space looks. The visual
aspects of the built environment – its aesthetics – influence the experience
of public space by giving cues about what kinds of interactions take place
there and among whom (Borer, 2013). Animation uses leisure, moreover, to
construct distinctive spatial practices, give folks something to talk about,
and, validate the judgement of participants as a ‘“critical infrastructure”
of new urban culture’ (Zukin & Kosta, 2004, p. 102). Questions remain,
however: who does the (re)imagining and cultural packaging? On whose
terms? These answers have implications for the quality of urban life (Knox,
2005).
The arts are increasingly implicated in this process. Nuit Blanche, the annual
night time arts festival found in cities across the globe, including Paris,
Toronto and Sao Paulo, provides a current example. The all-night arts and
cultural festival transforms the city core into a de facto art gallery by hosting
art installations, musical, film, and dance performances, and themed social
gatherings in public space (see Jiwa et al., 2009). In so doing, it explicitly aims
to ‘bring art within everyone’s reach, using it to cast a new light on the city
and encourage community and social cohesion through a common sense of
vision and belonging’ (Jiwa et al., 2009, p. 159). Despite these laudable goals,
animators, in this example, appropriate public space and colonize it through
104 Troy D. Glover

the manipulation of ‘urban cool’ (Deslandes, 2013). That is, ‘Cultural capital
is expressed in high levels of visual and textual literacy and often informed
by a liberal arts education. This form of capital can thus be used to advocate
and promulgate the lifestyles, habits and values of the people who carry it
against those who possess these assets in lesser amounts’ (Deslandes, 2013,
p. 222). Important questions thus arise about the inclusivity and exclu-
sionary implications of these events: who becomes part of the event? Which
groups are excluded? Will certain groups, post-event, have an altered sense
of local identity or cohesion? Will other groups feel distanced from full
community membership?
A similar critique arises when critically examining the street food renais-
sance currently captivating North America. Despite longstanding xeno-
phobic and anti-immigrant sentiment that prohibited or constrained
immigrant and minority entrepreneurs from selling ‘racialized’ food in
public spaces (see Newman & Burnett, 2013), street vending now represents
a local economic strategy in North America aimed at (re)energizing stag-
nant public spaces. As a growing strategy for urban (re)development, the
visual appeal of hip, bohemian retail provides aesthetic evidence of social
and cultural diversity, as ethnic varieties in food choices become visual
assurances of cultural vitality. Eating in public space now embodies an
authentic urban experience, thereby playing a critical role in shaping the
urban fabric. Positioned as chic alternatives to ‘the homogenising tendency
of imported foods or multinational chains’ (Newman & Burnett, 2013,
p. 234), North American street food venders cater to specific lifestyles and
appeal to niche customer bases, thereby establishing their businesses as
alternative consumption sites that legitimize public spaces as commercial
attractions (Zukin, 2008). With this newfound appreciation for street food
and the accompanying surveillance and control over public space (Zukin,
1998), immigrant street vendors are tolerated as public characters who work
the public spaces of the city, thereby augmenting the ‘aestheticization of
everyday life’ (Featherstone, 1991) or sustaining a specific kind of themed
spectacle on which the public space in which they operate depends (Zukin
& Kosta, 2004). Far from expanding provisioning options and combating
unequal access to food, then, the street food renaissance contributes to the
re-imagining of the city and the attraction of desirable visitors and resi-
dents. As such, we must ask ourselves: How do tastes serve as expressions of
difference in public space? Who gains from the commodification of public
spaces? For whom do certain aesthetics represent urban life?
In short, aestheticization – the superficial embellishment (Welsch,
1996) of public space into visually appealing lifestyle amenities and domains
of experience (Florida, 2002) and taste (Zukin, 1998) – breeds exclusion.
Through its visual appeal, animation aimed at niche markets (e.g., hipsters,
foodies) positions its activities, and by extension public space, according
to tastes. Here, animation ‘can easily become a weapon for claiming moral
 Animating Public Space 105

superiority by those who possess or “see” it and exclude those who cannot
or do not’ (Zukin, 2009, p. 544–545). When examined critically, we can
see how animation becomes a means of keeping others out. Thus, ‘Tightly
programmed, heavily controlled events aimed at privileged audiences do
not loosen space, they restrict it’ (Smith, 2014, p. 260).
Over time, these temporary practices effect lasting change. Zukin’s (1995)
notion of ‘domestication by cappuccino’ comes to mind as an apt illustra-
tion. Animation, under this process, aids not so innocently in attracting
new (more affluent) communities to areas of the city as a lifestyle offering.
However, though drawn to these neighbourhoods for their chicness, in
large part, because of the appealing grittiness of the urban landscape and
the seemingly cool spatial practices of its existing residents, newcomers can
be turned off by uncomfortable differences associated with the real diver-
sity of residents within these spaces. Animation, then, becomes an effec-
tive means for new residents to cleanse and claim space in a manner that
reflects their own self-interest. The new community mobilizes around its
members consumption practices made tangible through the animation of
public space. Animation, in this example, works to the newcomers’ advan-
tage, eventually displacing the very people who made the neighbourhood
cool in the first place. Because these new communities are premised on
consumption practices rather than on controversial divisions of social
class, ethnicity, or race, this covert process becomes generally palatable, for
displacement is regarded as unfortunate collateral damage. Thus, tastes and
constructions of authenticity become means of excluding others from space
(Zukin, 2008).
Even when focused on inclusion, animation has the very real potential
to exclude. Take the example of multicultural festivals. Intended to offer
creative possibilities to ethnic residents by blurring the boundaries between
spectator and participant, these festivals aim to promote and sustain local
ethnic cultures, communities, and traditions as part of ‘a social strategy
to combat feelings of insecurity, senselessness, and placelessness often felt
in public spaces’ (McClinchey, 2008, p. 252). Nevertheless, the construc-
tion of unity at these events amounts to a ‘stylized exotic, packaged and
palatable for a global audience, a surface aesthetic’ (Silk, 2011, p. 741).
Ethnic differences are sanitized and made palatable for the consumption
of a privileged audience. ‘Sharing the streets with working class and non-
white residents,’ wrote Lloyd (2006, p. 77–78), ‘even if personal inter-
action remains superficial, is part of their image of an authentic urban
experience.’ Animation, then, becomes a tactic in fusing consumption,
entertainment and popular culture to resemble an imagined urban space,
yet one that is sanitized and devoid of the diversity it used to support.
Differences dissolve into taste and lifestyle, thereby concealing the politics
of race, ethnicity, social class and gender. In short, animation does little to
challenge social polarizations.
106 Troy D. Glover

Conclusion: Whose public good?

Several questions emerge from the discussion above. First, how does the
animation of public space represent urban life? What kinds of social ties
are developed in these contexts? Whose use is prioritized? Whose aesthetics
really count? Who benefits? Whose interests are being furthered? And in
what sense does animation divide residents by lifestyle (rather than by race,
ethnicity, gender, or social class)? These questions warrant attention from
leisure, tourism, sport and event scholars who are interested in the anima-
tion of public space.
Van Ingen (2003) wrote, ‘What is perhaps most deceptive in geographical
work is the way in which spaces are read as uncontested or innocent places’
(p. 206). Indeed, it would be naïve and only partial to interpret animated
public spaces as positive spaces with positive outcomes. Certain bodies are
always absent from public space. Their absence exposes a level of exclusivity
not readily apparent (in effect, concealed) in the social space that is public
space. From a research perspective, paying attention to who is excluded
from public space and the broader social forces that have produced those
patterns is crucial to undertaking a critical analysis of the animation of
public space.
It is easy to dismiss leisure as a trivial matter, but, as Brown (2000, p. 62)
noted, ‘what appears in space as simply “just there”, or “there naturally”,
diverts our critical attention from the broader social forces that produced
those patterns.’ What remains hidden within animated public space? What
social identities are present and absent? That certain bodies are missing
from public space is not mere happenstance, for ‘those groups, classes,
ideas, representations, and values that fail to make a mark on [public]
space lose their effective power and become signs, abstractions, or fanta-
sies’ (Friedman & van Ingen, 2011, p. 89). Put bluntly, power is expressed
through the animation of public space and centrality/periphery of space
(Lefebvre, 1991). Through aestheticization, the animation of public space
advances certain social, political, economic, cultural and spatial values and
normalizes the absence of certain groups, chalking them up to differences
of taste. As Lefebvre (1991, p. 289) argued, ‘there are beneficiaries of space,
just as there are those excluded from it, those deprived of space; this fact is
ascribed to the “properties” of a space, to its “norms”.’ In making this argu-
ment, he underscored what he described as ‘the violence intrinsic to abstrac-
tion’ (p. 289). Leisure abstraction conceals material, political, theoretical
and cultural practices through the staging of urban life, the appropriation of
public space, and the regulation of its use. The animation of public space, in
other words, enables a particular form of community membership, partici-
pation, and engagement that, on the surface, implies a space of freedom.
But as Rojek (2010) asked, freedom from what? Freedom from whom? And
freedom to what end?
 Animating Public Space 107

In the end, no use of public space, whatever the use, animated or other-
wise, is neutral. Nor does any use unquestionably serve the public good.
Debating how we think we ought to use public space requires us to debate
the meaning of the public good. Thus, any claim to serve the public good
through the animation of public space must be subject to considerable scru-
tiny before agreeing to make sacrifices on its behalf.

References
Ashworth, G., & Page, S. J. (2011). Urban tourism research: recent progress and current
paradoxes. Tourism Management, 32(1), pp. 1–15.
Atkinson, R. (2003). Domestication by cappuccino or a revenge on urban space?
control and empowerment in the management of public spaces. Urban Studies,
40(9), pp. 1829–1843.
Bell, D. (2007). The hospitable city: social relations in commercial spaces. Progress in
Human Geography, 31(1), pp. 7–22.
Bell, D. (2010). Sport, leisure and culture in the postmodern city. Journal of Policy
Research in Tourism, Leisure and Events, 2(3), pp. 284–285.
Blomley, N. (2001) Introduction. In Blomley, N., Delaney, D. & Ford, R. T. (eds), The
Legal Geographies Reader. Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 3–5.
Brandenburg, A. M., & Carroll, M. S. (1995). Your place or mine?: the effect of place
creation on environmental values and landscape meanings. Society & Natural
Resources, 8(5), pp. 381–398.
Brown, M. (2000). Closet Space: Geographies of Metaphor from the Body to the Globe.
London: Routledge.
Coombs, G. (2012). park (ing) day. Contexts, 11(3), pp. 64–65.
Cormier, B. (2008). Public culture: the question of culture and control. In Bergmann,
A. (ed.), Music-City. Sports-City. Leisure-City. a Reader on Different Concepts of Culture,
Creative Industries and Urban Regeneration Attemps. Bauhaus-Universitat Weimar:
Institut fur Europaische Urbanistik, pp. 45–53.
Demerath, L., & Levinger, D. (2003). The social qualities of being on foot: a theo-
retical analysis of pedestrian activity, community, and culture. City & Community,
2(3), pp. 217–237.
Deslandes, A. (2013). Exemplary amateurism: thoughts on DIY urbanism. Cultural
Studies Review, 19(1), pp. 216–227.
Filion, P. (2009). The mixed success of nodes as a smart growth planning policy.
Environment and Planning B: Planning and Design, 36(3), pp. 505–521.
Florida, R. L. (2002). The Rise of the Creative Class: And How It’s Transforming Work,
Leisure, Community and Everyday Life. Basic books.
Friedman, M. T., & van Ingen, C. (2011). Bodies in space: spatializing physical cultural
studies. Sociology of Sport Journal, 28(1), pp. 85–105.
Friedmann, J. (2010). Place and place-making in cities: a global perspective. Planning
Theory & Practice, 11(2), pp. 149–165.
Gieryn, T. F. (2000). A space for place in sociology. Annual Review of Sociology, 26(1),
pp. 463–496.
Glover, T. D., Parry, D. C., & Mulcahy, C. M. (2013). At once liberating and exclu-
sionary? a Lefebvrean analysis of Gilda’s Club of Toronto. Leisure Studies, 32(5),
pp. 467–486.
Harvey, D. (2008). The right to the city. New Left Review, 53 (Sept/Oct), pp. 23–40.
108 Troy D. Glover

Jiwa, S., Coca-Stefaniak, J. A., Blackwell, M., & Rahman, T. (2009). Light Night:
an “enlightening” place marketing experience. Journal of place Management and
Development, 2(2), pp. 154–166.
Johnson, A. J., & Glover, T. D. (2013). Understanding urban public space in a leisure
context. Leisure Sciences, 35(2), pp. 190–197.
Kingwell, M. (2009). Masters of chancery: the gift of public space. In Kingwell, M. &
Turmel, P. (eds), Rites of Way: The Politics and Poetics of Public Space. Waterloo, ON:
Wilfrid Laurier Press, pp. 3–22.
Knox, P. L. (2005). Creating ordinary places: slow cities in a fast world. Journal of
Urban Design, 10(1), pp. 1–11.
Lashua, B. D. (2013). Pop-up cinema and place-shaping: urban cultural heritage
at Marshall’s Mill. Journal of Policy Research in Tourism, Leisure and Events, 5(2),
pp. 123–138.
Lefebvre, H. (1996). The right to the city. Writings on Cities, pp. 63–181.
Lefebvre, H. (1991). The Production of Space. Malden, MA: Blackwell.
Lloyd, R. (2006). Neo-Bohemia: Art and Commerce in the Post-Industrial City. New York:
Routledge.
Lloyd, K., & Auld, C. (2003). Leisure, public space and quality of life in the urban
environment. Urban Policy and Research, 21(4), pp. 339–356.
Mansbridge, J. (2013). Common good. The International Encyclopedia of Ethics. Wiley-
Blackwell.
McClinchey, K. A. (2008). Urban ethnic festivals, neighborhoods, and the multiple
realities of marketing place. Journal of Travel & Tourism Marketing, 25(3–4),
pp. 251–264.
Miller, V. (2005). Intertextuality, the referential illusion and the production of a gay
ghetto. Social & Cultural Geography, 6(1), pp. 61–79.
Mitchell, D. (2003). The Right to the City: Social Justice and the Fight for Public Space.
New York: Guilford Press.
Montgomery, J. (1998). Making a city: urbanity, vitality and urban design. Journal of
Urban Design, 3(1), pp. 93–116.
Moroni, S., & Chiodelli, F. (2013). The relevance of public space: rethinking its mate-
rial and political aspects. In Basta, C. & Moroni, S. (eds), Ethics, Design and Planning
of the Built Environment. Netherlands: Springer, pp. 44–55.
Németh, J., & Langhorst, J. (2013). Rethinking urban transformation: temporary uses
for vacant land. Cities. DOI: dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cities.2013.04.007.
Oldenburg, R. (1999). The Great Good Place: Cafes, Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Bars, Hair
Salons, and Other Hangouts at the Heart of a Community. New York: Marlowe.
Ostrom, V., & Ostrom, E. (1999). Public goods and public choices. In McGinnis,
M. (ed.), Polycentricity and Local Public Economies: Readings from the Workshop in
Political Theory and Policy Analysis. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press,
pp. 75–105.
Project for Public Spaces. (2012). Placemaking and the Future of Cities. New York:
UN-HABITAT Sustainable Urban Development Network.
Ritzer, G., & Stillman, T. (2001). The postmodern ballpark as a leisure setting:
enchantment and simulated de-McDonaldization. Leisure Sciences, 23, 99–113.
Rojek, C. (2010). The Labour of Leisure: The Culture of Free Time. Thousand Oaks, CA:
Sage.
Sennett, R. (2010). The public realm. In Bridge, G. & Watson, S. (eds), The Blackwell
City Reader. London: Blackwell, pp. 261–272.
Shields, R. (1999). Lefebvre, Love and Struggle: Spatial Dialectics. London: Routledge.
 Animating Public Space 109

Soja, E. W. (1996). Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other Real and Imagined
Places. Malden, MA: Blackwell.
Silk, M. (2007). Come downtown and play. Leisure Studies, 26(3), pp. 253–277.
Silk, M. (2011). Towards a sociological analysis of London 2012. Sociology, 45(5),
pp. 733–748.
Silk, M., & Amis, J. (2005) Sport tourism, cityscapes and cultural politics. Sport in
Society: Cultures, Commerce, Media, Politics, 8(2), pp. 280–301.
Silverberg, S., Lorah, K., Disbrow, R., & Muessig, A. (2013). Places in the Making: How
Placemaking Builds Places and Communities. Cambridge, MA: Massachusetts Institute
of Technology.
Smith, A. (2014). ‘Borrowing’ public space to stage major events: the Greenwich Park
controversy. Urban Studies, 51(2), pp. 247–263.
Stokowski, P. A. (2002). Languages of place and discourses of power: constructing
new senses of place. Journal of Leisure Research, 34(4), pp. 368–382.
Tonnelat, S. (2010). The sociology of urban public spaces. In Wang, H., Savy, M. &
Zhai, G. (eds), Territorial Evolution and Planning Solution: Experiences from China and
France. Paris: Atlantis Press.
van Ingen, C. (2011). Spatialities of anger: Emotional geographies in a boxing program
for survivors of violence. Sociology of Sport Journal, 28(2), pp. 171–188.
Vivoni, F. (2013). Waxing ledges: built environments, alternative sustainability, and
the Chicago skateboarding scene. Local Environment, 18(3), pp. 340–353.
Welsch, W. (1996). Aestheticization processes: phenomena, distinctions and pros-
pects. Theory Culture and Society, 13(1), pp. 25–50.
Zukin, S. (1998a). Urban lifestyles: diversity and standardisation in spaces of consump-
tion. Urban Studies, 35(5/6), pp. 825–839.
Zukin, S. (1998b). Politics and aesthetics of public space: the “American” model. Real
City, Ideal City: Meaning and Function in the Modern Urban Space.
Zukin, S. (2008). Consuming authenticity. Cultural Studies, 22(5), pp. 724–748.
Zukin, S. (2009). Changing landscapes of power: opulence and the urge for authen-
ticity. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 33(2), pp. 543–553.
Zukin, S., & Kosta, E. (2004). Bourdieu off-Broadway: managing distinction on a
shopping block in the East Village. City & Community, 3(2), pp. 101–114.
8
Sport Tourism Finding Its Place?
Sean Gammon

Introduction

Watching the recent team performances that took place in the opening
matches at the football World Cup in Brazil, viewers could be forgiven for
acquiring more enjoyment from the surprised look on the managers’ faces –
as they did from the open and attacking styles displayed by their teams.
Why was it that even the most defensively minded of teams played more
creative and expansive football? Part of the answer undoubtedly has to do
with place. The ambience and atmosphere, coupled with the history and
heritage of Brazilian football seemed to impact on the players (arguably
in a negative way for the local team). This, albeit, over simplistic example,
illustrates well the invisible connections that influence how sport tourists
(in all their guises) feel, perform and behave in designated areas primarily
designed for sport.
Sport tourism and place are not newly acquainted concepts in the litera-
ture. This is unsurprising given that notions of place, and its applications,
lie at the heart of both the study of tourism and sport. Place reveals much
about the essence and nature of sport tourism; not just from the obvious
topographical perspectives but, more critically, in the manner in which it is
experienced and embraced. Its importance cannot be underestimated, and
although the fundamentals of place’s influence upon sport tourism has
already been established (Higham and Hinch, 2009), there is still much to
explore. Yet there is a further connection that both these concepts share.
Similarly to place (though not as paradigmatically diverse), sport tourism
has been a notoriously awkward term to conceptualize. Whilst place has
received much attention in this regard, sport tourism has received (with
the exception of Hinch and Higham, 2009; Weed and Bull, 2009) rela-
tively little debate concerning the critical elements which contribute to a
distinct conceptualization.
This chapter, therefore, will revisit and evaluate current understandings
of sport tourism with particular reference to the part that place takes in

110
 Sport Tourism Finding Its Place? 111

both its conceptualization as well as in how it is encountered and experi-

enced. To help position this discussion better it is first necessary to map out
the various approaches and debates that have contributed to the directions
that sport tourism currently takes.

Sport tourism

Although sport-related tourism has a long history (see Standeven and

DeKnop, 1998; Weed and Bull, 2009) it was only in the latter part of the
20th century that significant and sustained academic interest in the subject
took shape. Arguably, the first time the two fields of sport and tourism had
been brought together and discussed as a singular term (at least in English)
was by Anthony (1966) in a paper for the Council of Physical Recreation in
the UK. However, it was much later when the first academic studies in sport
tourism began in earnest (Glyptis, 1982). The call for sport and tourism to
move closer together in both political and academic terms became the key
focus in most of the 1990s and was helped by the newly formed Journal of
Sport Tourism (later to become the Journal of Sport and Tourism). In tandem
with the growing debates that championed the reciprocal nature of the two
fields, much work during this period attempted to first define and catego-
rize sport tourism – which in turn encouraged more theoretically positioned
studies. As is often the case when attempting to define hitherto unlabelled
phenomena, definitions ranged from the deceptively simple such as that
proposed by Kurtzman (1995:1): ‘ ... the use of sports for tourism endeav-
ours’ – to the more complex that attempt to include the temporal and spatial
qualities of the field – as proposed by Hinch and Higham (2001:29): ‘ ... sport-
based travel away from the home environment for a limited time where
sport is characterised by unique rule sets, competition related to physical
prowess and a playful nature’. Further definitions have been included to the
mix, each of which highlighted particular features of the term. For example,
some have focused on the motivational and experiential features of sport
tourism (Nogowa et al., 1996; Gammon and Robinson, 1997) whilst others
brought to light the social, cultural and economic implications that the
conflation of sport and tourism generates (Weed and Bull, 2004). As with
the separate fields of sport and tourism varying definitions abound, and
although sport tourism has suffered from the same academic cacophony,
the many definitions in their own way point to the simple conclusion that
sport-related tourism involves travelling in order to experience sport in
some way.
Categorizations too developed over this period which, similarly to the
definitions outlined above, shed light on the breadth and multi-faceted
nature of the field. Gibson’s (1998) tripartite categorization, delineating
sport tourism into Active Sport Tourism, Event Sport Tourism and Nostalgia
Sport Tourism remains a revealing and popular illustration of sport tourism
112 Sean Gammon

types – though more recent studies have suggested that Nostalgia Sport
Tourism (visits to sports museums, halls of fame and stadium tours, etc.)
would be better framed more broadly around the term heritage (Ramshaw
and Gammon, 2007). In contrast, Kurtzman and Zauhar’s (1997) catego-
rization highlighted what they believed to be the core products of sport
tourism, namely: tours, resorts, attractions, cruises and events. In this case the
category indicates the deliverers of sport tourism, and so highlights both the
potential size of the market and its economic significance. However, some
commentators (Gibson, 1998; Standeven, 1998) pointed out that whilst this
industry-based categorization signified the likely scope of the field it failed
to capture the more synergistic qualities of sport-related tourism. An alterna-
tive classification was posited by Gammon and Robinson (1997) (augmented
later by Robinson and Gammon, 2004) that aimed to highlight, through
adaption of secondary reinforcement theory (Calder and Staw, 1976), the
complex visitor drives that help map out the motivational interaction and
transaction which takes place between primary and secondary considera-
tions in sport tourist decision-making. In other words, it was suggested
that sport tourism refers to those who travel primarily to experience sport in
some way, whereas tourism sport refers to those where sport is a secondary
or incidental consideration to their travelling. Although this framework has
been, and continues to be, applied in many sport tourism-related studies
(Hudson and Hudson, 2010; Kim et al., 2008; Smith, 2010; Williams, 2008;
Yusof et al., 2007 etc.), it has been criticized for assuming that either sport
or tourism takes a dominant role and in so doing detracts from the syner-
gistic qualities of the subject (Weed and Bull, 2009). Using Lefebvre’s view
(from Soja, 1996) of the trialectic, Weed and Bull (2009) contend that sport
tourism adds up to more than the sum of its parts (incidentally, an argu-
ment put forward by Gammon and Robinson, 1997; Gammon, 2003), that
sport tourism’s constitutive parts should not be perceived as an additive
combination but should be deconstructed and reconstructed, producing ‘ ... a
third phenomenon that is both similar and strikingly different’ (Weed and
Bull, 2009:62). Confusingly, Weed and Bull (2009) attribute the previous
quote and its implications to the work of Lefebvre (1991) where in actuality
it emanates from the work of Soja (1996:61) who interpreted and applied
Lefebvre’s ideas to his own. Notwithstanding this oversight, asking for a
more holistic approach to the nature of sport tourism (originally posited by
Weed, 2005) helps reveal the special unique qualities that the term implies
though does not take account that, for many, the experience for sport-
related tourism is sought in order to benefit from the reinforcing qualities
that sport has upon tourism – and tourism has upon sport. Put simply, sport
tourism is unquestionably a blend of two phenomena that will in turn create
many differing yet related manifestations. In the same way that the colour
green is made up from yellow and blue and will vary in hue depending on
the dominance of its constituent colours – so will sport tourism. However,
 Sport Tourism Finding Its Place? 113

it is important to note that the above differing approaches do not represent

a discontinuity in the study of sport tourism but instead illustrate the many
theoretical and philosophical directions that it can take, thereby further
justifying a subject rich for study.
In reality there are probably more similarities to the positions outlined
above as there are differences. Both outline the important holistic qualities
of sport tourism and both bring attention to the synergetic features of the
term. They differ in that Robinson and Gammon (2004) outline the rein-
forcing qualities each element brings to the other whereas Weed and Bull
(2009) direct attention to the unique singularity of sport tourism that tran-
scend it from its constituent parts. They do this by conceptualizing sport
tourism as a unique interaction between activity, people and place which
will be examined later in the chapter. The debates outlined above raise an
important point concerning, first, where sport tourism should be situated
academically and politically, and second, what part place takes in how it is
perceived, experienced and delivered.

Place and sport tourism

As discussed in other chapters within this text, and so illustratively by

Creswell (2004), the term place is famously awkward to pin down. It is
beyond the scope of this chapter to explore all the place-related nuances
that potentially impact upon sport tourism so it aims to focus upon those
relatively underexplored place-implications that emanate from some of the
current thinking in the field. There is little doubt that some of the most
revealing and powerful descriptions of sport tourism are those that have
place as a key component. For example, Standeven and De Knop (1999)
believed that definitions are limiting in articulating the essence of what
sport tourism actually is – that it is more revealing to identify the nature of
sports tourism, which, ‘ ... is about an experience of physical activity tied to
an experience of place’ (Standeven and De Knop, 1999:58). This deceptively
simple sentence illustrates effectively the dynamic and special qualities of
sport tourism that makes it, for many, an experience worth pursuing. Weed
and Bull (2009:63) have developed this notion further by conceptualizing
sport tourism as ‘ ... arising from the unique interaction of activity, people
and place’. Here the interactive qualities are highlighted which in turn,
Weed and Bull (2009) argue, underpin their position of sport tourism being
understood as free from the dominance of its constituent parts. It could be
argued that this latest conceptualization lacks specificity; in that it could be
applied to numerous phenomena such as shopping, socializing – or indeed
any other type of tourism endeavour. It could also be questioned over the
nature and significance of the uniqueness of the interactions – given that
most interactions between a place, a person and a specified activity is likely
to be unique in some way. Nevertheless, it represents an interesting and
114 Sean Gammon

revealing approach that identifies the critical components that make up the
sport tourism experience.
As intimated earlier, it is not the intention of this chapter to explore in
detail all connections between sport tourism and place, as much has already
been addressed elsewhere (Higham and Hinch, 2009). The main aim is to
explore those place-based relationships and theories that have not had signif-
icant coverage in the literature, and by doing so add further argument for
place to be considered as a central element of sport tourism. Previous studies
have explored the place-sport tourism relationship in variety of ways, and
before outlining any new approaches, it is first necessary to identify briefly
some of the key studies that have already been established. For example,
some have explored the environmental dynamics of sports places; identi-
fying the key issues and impacts of those venues which are situated within
and/or as part of the natural or built landscape (Bale 1989; Gammon, 2004;
Higham and Hinch, 2009; Hudson, 2000). Other studies have examined
how some sports places have the ability to trigger off powerful nostalgic
emotions from those that visit them. Such experiences are more likely to
occur at venues which hold some form of personal meaning to the visitor,
and have been examined in the context of stadium tours (Gammon and
Fear, 2007), sports heritage-themed events (Ramshaw and Hinch, 2006) and
sports museums and halls of fame (Fairly and Gammon, 2005; Snyder,
1991). Furthermore, it has been argued that the often emotive and memo-
rable experiences that take place at regular sporting events can themselves
produce poignant reflections of the past:

Playing the sports we played when younger or watching a match in

familiar surroundings can often take us back to earlier days spent with
family and friends who are perhaps no longer with us. So sporting events
have the ability to generate non-sporting reflections related to the way we
were back then, as well as triggering bittersweet memories of the people
that shared in our lives at the time. (Gammon and Ramshaw, 2013)

Since sports events and attractions are now increasingly accepted as inte-
gral parts of many tourism destinations’ offerings, some studies have
explored how such places are sensed and experienced by the visitor. For
example, Gaffney and Bale (2004) explored how sports places are felt by
the spectator by predominantly drawing on the somatic senses encoun-
tered when attending a stadium event. Using a similar approach, Gammon
(2011) discussed the experiences of visitors to stadia outside event condi-
tions (mostly in the context of stadium tours) where the motives to attend
differed from the live event setting in that patrons desired to access places
otherwise reserved for the privileged few, such as players’ locker rooms,
media centres and executive boxes and so on. However, what links both
these studies is that a key experience sought by both sets of visitors is a
 Sport Tourism Finding Its Place? 115

desire to encounter an authentic sense of place. Those attending a sports

event have the opportunity to immerse themselves in and around a people
at play – and thereby achieving, through place, a closer and more inti-
mate connection with a given community (Nauright, 1996; Jarvie, 1996;
Higham and Hinch, 2009). For visitors to stadia outside event conditions,
the pursuit for authenticity differs in that their desires revolve around the
opportunities to interact more closely with iconic sports venues as well as
with the hidden places that lie within them (Gammon, 2011, Gammon
and Fear, 2007; Stevens, 2005). This layered revealing of place illustrates
the myriad ways that place can be encountered. For example, at first the
visitor experiences the place (town or city) in which the place (in this
case the sports venue) is located, which then proceeds to entering and/or
viewing the many places that reside inside. Places unsurprisingly interact
with other places (Malpas, 1999), though to what extent that such interac-
tion impacts upon the experience of the sport tourist has had scant atten-
tion in the literature and will be explored later in this chapter.
Authenticity also plays a part in the manner in which sport places are
perceived as representations of home. For the ardent, highly identified fan,
the team venue transcends its functional purpose to house sports events
into a powerful and salient representation of home – not just of the team
but of the community of supporters that follow them (Bale, 1994, 2000).
Additional studies have extended this notion of home by finding that some
stadia have the ability to symbolically represent not only the home of a coun-
try’s sport, but also the spiritual home of a sport as well as underpinning
notions of national identity (Ramshaw and Gammon, 2010). The growth in
North America of retro sports stadia during the 1990s onwards adds an addi-
tional dimension to place attachment. In this case the past is manufactured
and partially recreated through the retrospective designs of ballparks. Such
designs are often part of more general urban planning strategies that aim
in enticing tourism – as well as offering fans new sports places which retain
a familiar ‘feel’ to those venues from the past (Friedman, 2007). Whatever
its size, design or age, it is little wonder that many sports structures have
become key elements in destination (re)imaging strategies, and significant
features in urban regeneration initiatives (Smith, 2005).
These examples show just a snapshot of the complex and critical relation-
ship that sport has with place. As a consequence there is no over-arching
theory that frames them all but certainly those that are related to place
identity and place attachment appear to be the most popular (Higham
and Hinch, 2009). In addition, Higham and Hinch (2009) introduce place
dependence as a further dimension to the sport tourism and place research.
Place dependence is a concept that draws attention to both the personal
assessment of a sports place and the subjective dependence that it causes,
and will help determine the nature of the relationship that sport tourists
have with the sports places they visit and engage with. Undoubtedly, gaining
116 Sean Gammon

deeper insights into the many relationships that exist between sport places
and visitors is fundamental to the field. And one of the most critical aspects
of these relationships must be in identifying to what extent the experi-
ence of engaging in sport as a tourist differs from that which is encoun-
tered at home. Studies could then move onto exploring in more detail the
consequent personal impacts that such experiences engender. Place, and
the manner in which it’s experienced, unquestionably lies at the nub of
sport tourism. Conversely, to solely focus upon the interactions that occur
between place and sport may not reveal the whole picture as the many inter-
actions that places have with other places must also be considered. Places do
not exist in a vacuum; as they can be found in and around other places, and
they are often compared and contrasted with other places far removed.

Unfolding sport tourism

Earlier in the chapter the more conceptual issues of sport tourism were
discussed, paying particular attention to Weed and Bull’s (2009) conten-
tion that sport tourism can be understood as a unique interaction between
activity, people and place. Considering sport tourism in these terms helps
bring to light the critical elements that drive much of the research related
to the area. But it is not just about the interaction between people, place and
activities – sport tourism also concerns the critical interactions that occur
between people and people; between activity and activity, and of course
between place and place. The interaction that takes place between people in
a sport tourism context has largely been addressed in quite diverse literatures.
The socio-cultural impacts that can take place at spectator events has already
been alluded to earlier is one such example, as are studies that have identi-
fied the strong social interactions that take place during sports participation
(Caron and Hausenblaus, 1998), along with the less than positive outcomes
that can occur between rival fans (Weed, 2002). The interactions between
activity and activity have surprisingly had less coverage in the literature. Of
course the activities that take place whilst on vacation are one of the defining
elements of sport tourism and have been covered extensively in the litera-
ture (Kurtzman and Zauhar, 1997). Curiously, studies that have explored the
complex interactions that take place between activities has been covered less
which is surprising given its importance in the sport tourist decision-making
process. For example, the comparison between the activities engaged in at
home and the activities that are offered whilst on vacation is a central consid-
eration for many sport tourists. In fact, in what way the experience(s) of sport
as a tourist differs from that experienced at home should remain at the heart of
all sport tourism studies. More recently, Griffith (2013) has identified appren-
ticeship pilgrimage as a specific type of sport tourism that feeds off the desire
to experience a more authentic experience of an activity through travelling
to ‘centres’ where experts in a chosen field will help deliver more legitimate
 Sport Tourism Finding Its Place? 117

tuition. This example not only highlights an interaction between activities

(between home and away) but also between the relatively inauthentic place
at home and the authentic place where the origins of the activity stems from
(Gammon, 2004). Also, the demand to see sports legends from the past, either
in competition or in an entertainment capacity suggests that a dialectic takes
place between the legends’ present abilities and the achievements from their
pasts (Gammon, 2014).
So what of sport tourism places? Much of sport tourism involves travel-
ling, in order to engage and interact in some way with sport places. But
sport places are not simply venues and facilities that host and/or offer
sporting activities and experiences. They can represent wider, natural
expanses of land and water such as those required for skiing, surfing or
climbing. They can be routes from tours which are made up of many places
such as starting and finishing places, and all the many other places that
lie between (Berridge, 2012). Also, sport places house smaller places that
hold interest and importance to the sport tourist. Stadium tours incorporate
access to a number places within their venues; a practice which is essentially
their primary product. In many cases, events, for example the Wimbledon
tennis championship, will offer the spectator the opportunity to encounter
a number of places, from show courts to outside courts, to restaurants or the
museum. Furthermore, sport museums and halls of fame add a temporal
dimension to the predominantly topographic examples of place outlined
above, where visitors are reminded and taken back (in a Proustian sense) to
places and events from their pasts.
Sport tourism places therefore are rarely experienced in isolation; they are
often related to other places which can frame and reinforce their importance
and authenticity. Malpas (1999) draws attention to the manner in which
places can turn inward towards other places or outward to expose others.
In doing so, it is suggested that this interconnection of places promotes
differing perspectives on the part(s) we play within them:

Place always open up to disclose other places within them (within

the place that is the garden or a house, a town or a countryside, there
are places for different things, for different moods, for different people),
While from within any particular place one can always look outwards
to find oneself within some much larger expanse (as one can look from
the room in which one sits to the house in which one lives. (Malpas,
1999:171)

There is a folding and unfolding of places that collectively reveals something

deeper or different about the places we visit and inhabit – as well as revealing
something about the nature of the people who occupy and visit them.
Moreover, the places in which we travel from have a bearing on the choices
of places we visit, as well as contributing towards the manner in which any
118 Sean Gammon

new places are perceived and encountered (Suvantola, 2002). As way of an

example, a visiting golf fan travelling to watch the game at Augusta might be
first drawn to their favourite 12th hole. They may be attracted to this hole
because they know it to be deceptively difficult for the players to negotiate,
or because it’s the one hole they remember most when they watched the
tournament on TV back home, or perhaps it’s because of a famous sporting
moment that took place there. The hole itself consists of many places: the
teeing off area, Hogan Bridge, Rae’s Creek and of course the green – all of
which interact with each other. Folding outwards, the hole is part of the
course, which is situated in Augusta that is located in Georgia – a south-
eastern state of the United States. The further out and more ‘unfolded’ the
place, the more abstract it becomes – and the more uncertain its interaction
will be (Malpas, 1999). It is likely that the subjective influence and relation-
ships that places have upon each other are dependent on the familiarity and
significance which are attributed to them by the visitor. The juxtaposition
between familiar and unfamiliar places may well be a critical factor in the
sport tourist experience. Urry (1990) mentions that an important element
of the tourist gaze is that the tourist experiences both the familiar and the
different: ‘There is the carrying out of familiar tasks or activities within an
unusual visual environment. Swimming and other sports, shopping, eating
and drinking all have particular significance if they take place against a
distinctive visual backcloth’ (Urry, 1990:12). The significance of this expe-
rience within a sport tourism context requires further attention, and it is
hoped that further research will shed much needed light in this area.
So sport tourism ‘finding its place’ is not so quite straight forward as first
thought. Sports places house other places within them which are, in turn,
framed by other places. It may be opportune to return briefly to Weed and
Bull’s (2009) conceptualization of sport tourism, as the likelihood of solely
focussing on the interactions that occur just between place and place ignore
the fact that without people there are no places, and that for a place to
be acknowledged as such, some kind of activity should take place there.
Nevertheless, the complex interactions that occur between place, whether
it be between the familiar and the unfamiliar, the specific and the general
or between those at home and those away from the home environment,
lies at the essence of sport tourism. Currently the nature of such interac-
tions are unclear, but by adopting some of the approaches discussed at the
beginning of this chapter, the dialogue that arises between these places will
be better understood. For example, does an interaction take place between
sport places and tourism places, and if so will one place take preference
over another? Alternatively, are there distinct sport tourism places that are
perceived as such, supporting more holistic notions of the subject? Also, in
what ways does the folding in and out of place impact upon the experiences
of the sport tourist? Is there, as Malpas (1999) intimates, a deeper connec-
tion with place when we look outward to other places and in so doing gain a
 Sport Tourism Finding Its Place? 119

more nuanced sense of ourselves within that place? Perhaps these questions
may act as starting points for future research initiatives.
From a more prosaic perspective the manner in which sport tourism is
understood and defined has some important implications on where it’s
more likely to be positioned – both academically and politically. Although
discussion outlining the holistic, synergistic qualities of sport tourism help
further the cause for sport tourism to be considered as a distinct subject
area, it can confuse decisions as to which fields it should be best situated.
Currently, sport tourism is delivered and researched in a range of depart-
ments and divisions such as those located in sport management, tourism
management and geography and so on. This may cause discord with Weed
and Bull’s (2009) anti-binary notions of sport tourism, but the reality is that
it will continue to be delivered in departments that are predominantly sport
or tourism-based. To what extent this effects how sport tourism is delivered
and studied is unclear and again may prove to be a fruitful research project.
Similarly, the present schism in many government departments that frus-
tratingly divides sport from tourism in both policy and funding seems to
stem from tradition rather than an understanding of the reciprocal nature
of sport tourism (Weed, 2006).

Conclusion

From both conceptual and experiential viewpoints, place is unquestionably

an integral part of sport tourism. Current debates that champion the holistic
nature of the subject, and those that draw attention to the reinforcing quali-
ties that each element brings to the other will determine how place is dealt
with in the future. Whilst some approaches to sport tourism have focused
upon the important interactions that take place between people, place and
activities, this chapter has brought attention to the significance of the inter-
actions that occurs in and between sport-related tourism places. Particular
consideration was taken to the potential folding in and out of places and
its consequent impacts to those who are engaged in sport tourism. Taking
this approach highlights a central enquiry relating to how sport tourism is
encountered and engaged in, and that is: do sport tourists engage in distinct
sport tourism places or does such engagement only occur at sport places
situated within tourism places? This seemingly unimportant difference in
how places are perceived not only impacts upon future-based studies in
place but also upon the broader conceptual debates posed at the beginning
of the chapter.

References
Anthony (1966) Sport and Tourism. London: CCPR.
Bale, J. (1989) Sports Geography. London: E & FN Spon.
120 Sean Gammon

Bale, J. (1994) Landscapes of Modern Sport. London: Leicester University Press.

Bale, J. (2000) The Changing Face of Football: Stadiums and Community. Soccer &
Society, Vol. 1, No.1, pp. 91–101.
Berridge, G. (2012) The Promotion of Cycling in London: the Impact of the 2007 Tour
de France Depart on the Image and Provision of Cycling in the Capital. Journal of
Sport and Tourism, Vol. 17, No.1, pp. 43–61.
Calder, B. J. and Staw, B. (1976) Self-perception of Intrinsic and Extrinsic Motivation.
Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 31, No.4, pp. 599–605.
Caron, A. V. and Hausenblaus, H. L. (1998) Group Dynamics in Sport. Virginia: Fitness
Information Technology.
Cresswell, T. (2004) Place: A Short Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.
Friedman, M. (2007) The Spectacle of the Past: Leveraging History in Fenway Park and
Camden Yards. In Gammon, S. and Ramshaw, G. (eds) Heritage, Sport and Tourism:
Sporting Pasts – Tourist Futures. London: Routledge, pp. 103–121.
Gibson, H. (1998) Sport Tourism: A Critical Analysis of Research. Sport Management
Review, Vol. 1, pp. 45–76.
Glyptis, S. (1982) Sport and Tourism in Western Europe. London: British Travel Education
Trust.
Gaffney, C. and Bale, J. (2004) Sensing the Stadium. In Vertinsky, P. and Bale, J. (eds)
Sites of Sport: Space, Place, Experience. London: Routledge.
Gammon, S. (2003) The Dissemination of Sport Tourism: Spreading the Word. The
Journal of Sport Tourism, Vol. 8, No.1, pp. 5–7.
Gammon, S. (2004) Secular Pilgrimage and Sport Tourism. In Ritchie and Adair, D.
(eds) Sport Tourism: Interrelationships, Impacts and Issues. Clevedon: Channel View
Publications, pp. 30–45.
Gammon, S. (2011) Sporting New Attractions? The Commodification of the Sleeping
Stadium. In Sharpley, R. and Stone, P. (eds) Tourist Experience: Contemporary
Perspectives. London: Routledge, pp. 115–126.
Gammon, S. (2014) Heroes as Heritage: The Commoditization of Sporting
Achievement. Journal of Heritage Tourism, Vol. 9, No.3, pp. 246–256.
Gammon, S and Fear, V. (2007) Stadia Tourism and the Power of Backstage. In
Gammon, S. and Ramshaw, G. (eds) Heritage, Sport and Tourism: Sporting Pasts –
Tourist Futures. London: Routledge, pp. 23–32.
Gammon, S. and Ramshaw, G. (2013) Nostalgia and Sport. In Garrod, B. and Fyall, A.
(eds) Contemporary Cases in Sport. Oxford: Goodfellow Publishers Ltd, pp. 201–219.
Gammon, S. and Robinson, T. (1997) Sport and Tourism: A Conceptual Framework.
Journal of Sport Tourism. Vol. 4, No.3, pp. 8–24.
Griffiths, L. M. (2013) Apprenticeship Pilgrims and the Acquisition of Legitimacy.
Journal of Sport and Tourism, Vol. 18, No.1, pp. 1–15.
Higham, J. and Hinch, T. (2009) Sport and Tourism: Globalization, Mobility and Identity.
Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann.
Hinch, T. and Higham, J. (2001) Sport Tourism: A Framework for Research. The
International Journal of Tourism Research, Vol. 3, No.1, pp. 45–58.
Hudson, S. (2000) Snow Business: A Study of the International Ski Industry. London:
Cassell.
Hudson, S. and Hudson, L. (2010) Golf Tourism. Oxford: Goodfellow Publishers
Limited.
Jarvie, G. (2006) Sport, Culture and Society: An Introduction, London: Routledge.
Kim, S., Kim, J. and Richie, B. W. (2008) Segmenting Overseas Golf Tourists by the
Concept of Specialization. Journal of Travel and Tourism Marketing, Vol. 25, No.2,
pp. 199–217.
 Sport Tourism Finding Its Place? 121

Kurtzman, J. (1995) Sports Tourism Categories Revisited. Journal of Sport Tourism, Vol.
2, No.3, pp. 1–11.
Kurtzman, J. and Zauhar, J. (1997) A Wave in Time – the Sports Tourism Phenomena.
Journal of Sport Tourism, Vol. 4, No.2, pp. 19–17.
Malpas, J. E. (1999) Place and Experience: A Philosophical Topography. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Nauright, J. (1996) ‘A Besieged Tribe’? Nostalgia, White cultural Identity and the Role
of Rugby in a Changing South Africa. International Review for the Sociology of Sport,
Vol. 31, No.1, pp. 69–85.
Nogawa, H., Yamaguchi, Y. and Hagi, Y. (1996) An Empirical Research Study on Japanese
Sport Tourism in sport-for-all events. Case Studies of a Single-Night Event and a
Multiple-Night Event. Journal of Travel Research, Vol. 35, No.2, pp. 46–54.
Ramshaw, G. and Gammon, S. (2007) More Than Nostalgia? Exploring the Heritage/
Sport Tourism Nexus. in Gammon, S. and Ramshaw, G. (eds) Heritage, Sport and
Tourism: Sporting Pasts – Tourist Futures. London: Routledge. pp. 9–23.
Ramshaw, G. and Gammon, S. (2010) On Home Ground? Twickenham Stadium Tours
and the Construction of Sport Heritage. Journal of Heritage Tourism, Vol. 5, No.2,
pp. 87–102.
Ramshaw, G, and Hinch, T. (2006) Place Identity and Sport Tourism: The Case of the
Heritage Classic Ice Hockey Event. Current Issues in Tourism, Vol. 5, pp. 399–418.
Robinson, T. and Gammon, S. (2004) Revisiting and Applying the Sport Tourism
Framework: A Question of Primary and Secondary Motives. The Journal of Sport
Tourism, Vol. 9, No.3, pp. 221–233.
Smith, A. (2005) Reimaging the City: The Value of Sport Initiatives. Annals of Tourism
Research, Vol. 32, No.1, pp. 229–347.
Smith, A. (2010) the Development of ‘Sports-City’ Zones and Their Potential Value
as Tourism Resources for Urban Areas. European Planning Studies, Vol. 18, No.3,
pp. 385–410.
Snyder, E. (1991) Sociology of Nostalgia: Halls of Fame and Museums in America.
Sociology of Sport Journal, Vol. 8, No.3, pp. 228–238.
Soja, E, W. (1996) Thirdspace: Journeys to Los Angeles and Other-and-Imagined Places.
Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd.
Standeven, J. (1998) Sport Tourism: Joint Marketing – a Starting Point for Beneficial
Synergies. Journal of Vacations Marketing, Vol. 4, pp. 39–51.
Standeven, J. and De Knop, P. (1999) Sport Tourism. Leeds: Human Kinetics.
Stevens, T. (2005) Sport and Urban Tourism Destinations: The Evolving Sport Tourism
and Leisure Functions of the Modern Stadium. In Higham, J. (ed.) Sport Tourism
Destinations. Issues, Opportunities and Analysis. London: Elsevier, pp. 205–221.
Suvantola, J. (2002) Tourist’s Experience of Place. Hampshire: Ashgate.
Urry, J. (1990) The Tourist Gaze. Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies. London:
Sage.
Weed, M. E. (2002) Football Hooligans as Undesirable Sports Tourists: Some Meta
Analytical Speculations. In Gammon, S. and Kurtzman, J. (eds) Sport Tourism:
Principles and Practice. Eastbourne: LSA Publications, pp. 35–52.
Weed, M. E. (2005) Sports Tourism Theory and Method – Concepts, Issues and
Epistemologies. Sport Management Quarterly, Vol. 5. No.3, pp. 229–242.
Weed, M. (2006) The Influence of Policy Makers’ Perceptions on Sport-Tourism Policy
Development. Tourism Review International, Vol. 10, No.4, pp. 227–240.
Weed, M. and Bull, C. (2009) Sports Tourism: Participants, Policy and Providers. Oxford:
Butterworth-Heinemann.
122 Sean Gammon

Williams, A. (2008) Motivational Dimensions of Equestrian Sport Tourists.

International Review of Business Research Papers, Vol. 4, No.4, pp. 62–74.
Yusof, A., Shah, P. and Geok, S. (2007) Sport Events as a Tourist Attraction: A Study of
the Champions Youth Cup in Malaysia. The International Journal of Sport and Society,
Vol. 1, No.1, pp. 69–110.
9
Youth Leisure, Places, Spaces and
Identity
Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson

Introduction: the social context of young people’s

leisure spaces and places

Research which the authors have conducted over the years has uncovered
a widespread need among mainstream adolescents to escape from time to
time from ‘people and things which bother me’ to a favourite place, on
their own or with friends (Abbott-Chapman, 2006; Abbott-Chapman &
Robertson, 2001, 2009a, b). Places and spaces used by young people for their
leisure pursuits, for relaxation and recreation, are better understood in this
context. International research conducted among ‘youth’ aged between 13
and 19 years will be the main focus of this chapter, but since place attach-
ments, place memories and place habits are formed in the earliest years the
choices and uses of leisure spaces, such as playgrounds, by primary school
age children will also be briefly discussed. Many of the teenagers studied
by Abbott-Chapman & Robertson (2001, 2009a, 2009b) said they enjoyed
being in a place apart in the privacy of their own bedroom, or in favourite
places in nature such as the ‘bush’ or the beach, to pursue activities they
enjoy away from adult surveillance. In these private places, that allow them
to make meaning of the things which are happening around them in the
global, post-modern world, the young people said ‘I can be myself’, ‘I can
have my own things around me’, ‘I can relax’. The search for ‘peace’ and
‘quiet’, for relaxation and retreat, among Australian teenagers was initially
unexpected, but similar results were revealed in international studies and in
other cultural contexts (Robertson & Williams, 2004).
The pressures of globalization, consumerism, commodification and
the rapid social, economic and technological changes taking place in
society, local community and family, impact especially upon the young,
at a time when they are struggling for independence and to find their
own identity and sense of belonging (Eckersley, Wierenga, & Wyn, 2005).
The fragmentation of traditional, collective identities, which are tied to
social institutions and to places, leads to the emergence of individualized,

123
124 Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson

reflexive subjectivities and the pressures of choice (Beck, Giddens & Lash,
1994). The attenuation of social relationships, the sense of fluidity and
impermanence (Bauman, 2000) all accentuate the teenage ‘angst’ associ-
ated with the normal developmental pressures of ‘growing up’ (Bahr &
Pendergast, 20007). There is increasing evidence that the search for ‘fun
and excitement’ and engagement in potentially risky and harmful activi-
ties by both females and males, such as binge drinking and use of illicit
‘recreational’ drugs, are ways of ‘escaping’ from the pressures, demands
and responsibilities of day-to-day life (Abbott-Chapman, 2000; Abbott-
Chapman, Denholm & Wyld, 2008a). Research has shown that strength of
social norms and values, the support of parents and family, and the aspira-
tions towards education and career goals, all help to discourage harmful
risk-taking, develop resilience and promote positive life-choices (Abbott-
Chapman, Denholm & Wyld, 2008b). We need to know more about ways
in which disadvantaged and disengaged youth, who may lack some of
the social anchors to family and community, find privacy, relaxation and
recreation in their own ‘identity spaces’, both physical and social, without
being ‘hassled’ in public spaces by ‘controlling’ adults (Copeland, 2004;
Wilson, Rose & Colvin, 2010).
More generally, the boundaries between ‘leisure’ times and spaces set apart
for rest, relaxation and a sense of play, are becoming more porous for today’s
young people. This development has both positive and negative effects. Time
and space distinctions between ‘work’, ‘study’ and ‘leisure’ have become
blurred by mobile technologies that ensure that communication is always
open 24/7 and opportunities for learning as well as for ‘entertainment’ are
infinite (Lingard, 2013). The web of electronic communication, in which
most young people are involved, may also represent for some a means of
escape from spatio-temporal realities, where the navigation through ‘real’
life multiple choices appears difficult, to a ‘virtual’ life where people, rela-
tionships and events seem on the face of it more simple and clear cut.
However, spatio-temporal barriers that are permeable and fluid become open
to personal construing and misconstruing, depending on context and the
individual’s maturity and referential background. This blurs the distinction
between private and public spaces, in which threats of bullying, physical and
sexual exploitation and mental harm may become for some young people
the very opposite of the safe and friendly haven they are seeking (Jochen
& Valkenburg, 2010). Thus ‘bio- and information technologies could jeop-
ardize the inner privacy that we regard as the very essence of who we are’
(Greenfield, 2008, p. 129). This is particularly true of social media. Ten years
ago in February 2004, Mark Zuckerberg started an Internet revolution when
he created Facebook,which now has over a billion users of all ages. This has
had an enormous impact on young people’s leisure lives, but now, according
to one commentator, they are ‘leaving in droves’ (Marder, 2014). We must
ask why.
 Youth Leisure, Places, Spaces and Identity 125

Third places or ‘interstitial’ spaces and young people’s leisure

activities

The search for meaning and identity in familiar, friendly and safe places in
the physical and the cyber world is immensely important to young people
(Crawford & Rossiter, 2006). Young people need to discover and to ‘own’
places of enjoyment and retreat where they have the freedom to relax and
pursue ‘leisure’ in the old meaning of the word. Urban sociologist Oldenberg
(1991, 2000) identified such community places ‘apart’ as ‘Third Places’, that
are casual, socially ‘level’ meeting places for unstructured leisure, informal
interaction and conversation. Third places are ‘neutral’ spaces separate from
the two ‘predominant’ places of home and work, and may include such
places as cafes, pubs, coffee shops and corner stores. Their distinctiveness,
recognizability, seating and shelter are important features (Mehta, 2009).
Third places are highly accessible, welcoming and comfortable and may
involve food and drink, but not necessarily. In the case of young people,
third places might be said to be separate from home and educational insti-
tution. Third places used by young people also include parks, plazas and
shopping malls, where friends regularly congregate to ‘hang out’. Oldenberg
(1991) argues that such public places are important for the nurture of civil
society, civic engagement and for social interaction, play and recreation.
These places feel familiar and encourage verbal, non-verbal and symbolic
interchanges that may appear meaningless to outsiders and so engender a
sense of belonging and identity among users.
Since Oldenberg coined the phrase ‘third places’, changes in the social
landscape and digital technology have blurred distinctions between first,
second and third places. While Oldenberg saw third places as important
features of the physical environment, it has since been suggested that the
internet may also provide a ‘virtual’ third place (Soukup, 2006). However,
evidence suggests that young people need both physical and virtual ‘third
places’ as hybrid spaces that reflect the ‘global’ and the ‘local’ me (Massey,
2005; Zachary, 2000; Abbott-Chapman & Robertson, 2009b). Places contex-
tualize youth diversity and the materialities of their situation, as part of the
discursive constructs of youth subcultures and of ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’
(Hodkinson & Deick, 2007). In addition, places are meeting points of tempo-
ralities and constellations of narratives or ‘stories so far’ embedded in webs of
relationships (Massey, 2005, p. 132). In consequence, ‘screen-based’ interac-
tion in itself may not satisfy all the social needs of the developing brain and
‘may initiate a fundamental change in the development of a robust concep-
tual framework based on a wealth of different narratives’ (Greenfield, 2008,
p. 180). The design and production of places which young people choose to
use for leisure activities therefore need to allow for creativity, imagination
and experiential learning expressed in spatial narrative, cultural practice
and cognitive representation (Lefebvre, 1991).
126 Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson

Architects and planners are increasingly aware of the influence of the natural
and built environment upon an individual’s ‘place identity’ (Haage, 2007). The
production of complex spatialities in the built environment within ‘intersti-
tial’ or ‘intermediate’ spaces is socially significant for young people (Karrholm,
2012). Such spaces may be used over time for multiple social and interactional
purposes that may or may not coincide. These purposes may differ from urban
planners’ first intentions for spaces such as paths or walkways, patches of grass,
secluded corners, steps or other spaces where people, especially young people,
may congregate regularly and so lay claim to the space. Early examples, with
lessons for today, of the development and use of interstitial spaces that benefit
primary age children and young teenagers, are found during the rebuilding
and reconstruction of bombed-out European cities after the Second World War.
These years saw the emergence of a movement to create playgrounds for inner
city children left with no places to play or meet socially. The work of Aldo van
Eyck in Holland and Lady Allen of Hurtwood in the UK marked a shift from
top-down organization of space by architects and planners towards a grass-
roots approach to space creation that gave children scope for their imagination,
natural energy and high spirits. Post-war playgrounds, especially adventure
playgrounds, were integrated for the first time into the fabric of cities, using
empty blocks of land and ‘waste’ materials, including re-use of bomb sites
(Allen & Nicholson, 1975, Chap. 18; Lefaivre, 2002; Lefaivre & Roode, 2002).
Interstitial spaces in both the built and the natural environment depend on
the users’ interpretation of location, related activities and relationships and so
give scope for the users’ imagination and creativity and the playing of many
roles. Affordances of the environment broaden or limit the activities of indi-
viduals and groups and invite a sense of identity and belonging or alienation
and exclusion (Gibson, 1979). In the absence of designated space or territory
Brighenti (2010) suggests that young people may lay claim to special landscape
features such as walls in urban public space and use them as their ‘own’ as
part of their social territory-making capacity. Such features may be ‘marked’
by street art or graffiti by those who lay claim to ‘ownership’. This process
represents social territory-making, of ‘interstitial’ spaces, shared with others
who have similar place experiences. This provides an opportunity to develop
hybrid spaces and identities (Lefaivre & Roode, 2002; Karrholm, 2012). It also
encourages an ‘extroverted’ sense of place in which a strong sense of place
attachment co-exists with an awareness and involvement in the ‘outside’
environment (Massey, 1994). In these hybrid spaces young people may vary
and control their role performances and audiences at will, depending on their
perceptions of them as ‘frontstage’ or ‘backstage’ regions (Goffman, 1971).

Private and public space – the front stage and backstage regions

Research had shown that ‘my bedroom’ and places in the natural envi-
ronment are favourite places of young people in which to pursue their
 Youth Leisure, Places, Spaces and Identity 127

activities alone or with friends (Abbott-Chapman and Robertson, 1999,

2001, 2009a). With the advent of mobile technologies both these spaces
become ‘hybrid’ in which work, study and play spaces intersect and in
which identities may be assumed or discarded in relation to context and
the presence or absence of other actors. The fluidity of place perceptions,
performances and relationships in front of other actors, such as friends,
are all part of the process of experimentation, discovery, socialization and
emerging identity of youth (Crawford & Rossiter, 2006; Bahr & Pendergast,
2007).
The permeability of time and space and the malleability of young
people’s subjective perceptions and meanings of physical space have led to
re-definitions of what is meant by private and public space, both indoors and
outdoors (Abbott-Chapman & Robertson, 2009a; Goffman, 1971). Concepts
of frontstage and backstage regions and the use of dramaturgical metaphor
illuminate the interrelation of social and physical space. In these spaces,
bounded by barriers to perception, actors play a multiplicity of roles and
present different faces to different audiences. The interactions and relation-
ships within the front stage and backstage regions are manipulated and inter-
preted by the use of visual props and clues, such as dress, manner, furniture
or equipment. These designate whether the performance is interior or exte-
rior, rather than simply by architectural forms and conditions (Goffman,
1971). Thus a young person’s bedroom may be defined as ‘private’ at times
when its occupant wants to sleep or listen to music alone, but as ‘public’
when friends share the music or use of computer and other equipment. The
decor, wall posters and other symbolic paraphernalia indicate the occupant’s
involvement in activities and youth subcultures beyond the perceptual
borders of the bedroom (Lincoln, 2012). ‘My bedroom’ plays an important
part in the ethnography of young people’s use and representation of space.
Lincoln (2012) argues that bedrooms as identity spaces are important aspects
of contemporary youth cultures in which materiality, consumption and
bedroom cultures are on display. During use of social media, photographs of
‘my bedroom’; may be posted on Facebook or other social media sites and so
become ‘public’ at least to Facebook ‘friends’. Media ‘zones’ thus extend the
borders of the actual bedrooms and enhance the role of virtual bedrooms as
relational and identity spaces.
Similarly, places in nature, such as the beach, may be interpreted as public
open space and also as a third or ‘residual’ region (Goffman, 1971). This
means the space is neither ‘front’ nor ‘back’ for particular role performances,
with the possibility of being both. In consequence, public open space may
at times be defined by young people as ‘backstage’ or private, by ensuring
audience segregation through front region control, so that unwanted audi-
ences (such as parents) do not see the performance of illicit or antisocial
activities between peer group friends (Goffman, 1971). ‘Keep Out’ notices to
parents on bedroom doors serve the same purpose!
128 Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson

The ‘freedom’ and relaxation of outdoor activities, including a wide range

of sporting activities, in the natural environment have also been reported as
main attractions by young people and as sources of deep place attachment
(Abbott-Chapman & Robertson, 2009a, 2009b; Stewart & Abbott-Chapman,
2011). The subjective and objective benefits of youth leisure activities
pursued in outdoor spaces therefore generally coincide (Abbott-Chapman,
2006). In the face of increasingly ‘passive’ indoor activity promoted by long
periods of computer use, research has revealed the physical and mental
health benefits of contact with the outdoors and nature in ‘greenspaces’
(Wells & Evans, 2003; Moore & Cooper Marcus, 2008; Babey, Hastert, Yu
& Brown, 2008; Dyment & Bell 2008; Staempfli, 2009; Jack, 2010; Lucas &
Dyment, 2010). These studies demonstrate that children and young people
are more physically active in ‘green space’ than in ‘non-green space’, that
green playgrounds, especially adventure playgrounds, promote children’s
activity, creativity and physical development rather than those that are
largely bitumen; that access to neighbourhood parks and to the green spaces
in the urban and peri-urban environment improves the long-term health
and well being of young people by promoting physical awareness and by
reducing stress and anxiety.
There are practical implications of research findings for policy makers
and planners – that developing and siting parks and playgrounds, and
improving access, should form part of preventive health strategies. There
is a wide and growing literature on the values and importance of ‘nature’
in the city, including parks, plazas and playgrounds in densely built-up
areas, and the design of communities to promote children’s physical
activity (Binns et al., 2009). Moore and Cooper Marcus (2008) emphasize
the need to understand and incorporate children’s ideas and preferences
into the planning and design of such public leisure spaces, in order to
ensure optimal use. Byrne and Sipe (2010) assert that ‘urban design must
ensure that greenspaces are easy to get to, safe and have high levels of
environmental quality’ (p. 4). In deciding what comprises greenspaces
and ‘nature’ and their appropriate usage, Macnaghten and Urry (1998)
remind us that the natural environment has always been contested space
in conceptualization, utilization and representation – a point highlighted
by developments in the environmental movement. The concept of nature
is at least in part socially constructed and differs over time and with socio-
cultural context. The socio-cultural constructs of nature and of the indi-
vidual/nature relationship that bring together perceptions of body, the
senses and space, are given different emphases and are perceived differ-
ently within different communities and cultures, reflecting different
visions of sustainable futures (Robertson, 2007). These constructs are
ever changing and ‘situated in specific geographical contexts and prac-
tices’ (Ekers & Loftus, 2013. p. 28). Young people’s socio-cultural percep-
tions and constructs of leisure spaces and greenspaces sometimes differ
 Youth Leisure, Places, Spaces and Identity 129

from those of the planners and policy makers seeking to cater for their
spatial needs. Urban planners are therefore beginning to discover that it
is imperative to consult the end users about their spatial preferences in
the design of green space within the urban and peri-urban environment
(Beilin, Reichelt & Sysak, 2013).

Differential access of young people to leisure spaces and places

The environmental ‘affordances’ (Gibson, 1979) of the spatial and material

culture to which young people have access is influenced by social class,
rural or urban residence, ethnicity and gender (Heintzman, 2010; Castree,
2013). For example, girls tend to prefer indoor spaces, such as their bedroom
and boys more often prefer outdoor spaces such as sports arenas (Abbott-
Chapman & Robertson, 2001; James, 2001). These differences in young
people’s access and ‘take up’ of public and private leisure places reflect the
‘geographies of power’ (Malone, 2002, p. 158). Within the home, these
differences are expressed, for example, by the presence or absence of books
and the affordances of digital technologies and social media (Jochen &
Valkenberg, 2013). A study of young people’s constructs of ‘home’ revealed
sharp contrasts between respondents’ ideas of their ideal and where they
actually lived (Abbott-Chapman & Robertson, 1999). The ideal home tended
to be spacious, light and warm with a large garden in a quiet neighbourhood,
while the reality was that most of the working class students lived in small
houses with small yards in crowded, noisy neighbourhoods. Having ‘my
own bedroom’ was highly prized but in many lower socio-economic homes,
particularly of large families, bedrooms had to be shared. Small wonder that
three respondents said that their favourite place was the toilet, which was
the only place they could get some peace and quiet! A sharp contrast in
environmental affordances!
Differential access of young people to places in nature, parks, play-
grounds, school gardens and other green retreats is also marked, in terms of
social and economic status, ethnicity, rural and urban neighbourhoods and
provision and affordability of public transport. The richness or poverty of
environmental affordance to which young people are exposed, inside and
outside the home, influences their degree of social and civic engagement
(Chawla & Heft, 2001; Chawla, 2002). This is particularly true in urban
environments in which physical and social barriers may impede young
people’s access and reduce opportunities for exploration and discovery.
Young people with disabilities may be particularly disadvantaged in this
way. Providing young people with access to recreational open space in both
the built and natural environment has the potential to encourage a sense
of freedom, inclusivity and the development of subjective geographies,
through the physicality of playing, exploring and being in touch with the
natural world.
130 Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson

Young people in search of interstitial space

All of the aspects discussed accentuate the importance of provision of flex-

ible ‘interstitial spaces’ that are open to individual interpretation, usage and
‘ownership’ of young people, whatever their socio-cultural background and
physical and mental status. However, although motivated by the best inten-
tions, policy makers, educators and especially local government are unlikely
to meet all interstitial place needs of the many diverse groups within local
communities. The voices of young people are often ‘drowned out’ by the
competing claims of others and are notably absent in decision making proc-
esses. Yet, there are good reasons for policy makers to adopt youth engagement
proactively in the decision making process, in ways that avoid the totalising
tendency of ‘group archetypes’ in assuming youth space needs (Frijters and
Foster, 2013). Young people are prime users of public space and amenities
including schools, sporting, swimming and recreation facilities and trans-
port, and their voices need to be heard in targeting and improving such
amenities. In addition, by responding to youth preferences and space needs,
local government provisions can better encourage positive youth personal
development and civic engagement. For public institutions and individuals
alike information processing is circumscribed by social norms and expecta-
tions. Hence, the lived experience for young people is often very different
from what is assumed by policy makers and planners. Three vignettes of
youth experiences taken from research within one peri-urban context on
the outer fringes of the Australian city of Melbourne illustrate these tensions
between the ‘official’ and ‘personal’ view of young people’s use of interstitial
public space. This youth engagement project is being undertaken in collab-
oration with one of Melbourne’s local shire councils and aims to provide
advice to council on how best to provide viable spaces for young people. This
council is proactive in supporting a program for youth that employs quali-
fied youth workers. Pseudonyms are used and stories adapted from inter-
views with real people.
John is 15 and the eldest child within a blended family of his biological
mother, step-father and siblings from the families of both partners. John
strives to be positive in his family’s complex and sometimes fractious inter-
actions. Recognized by school authorities as ‘troubled’, he struggles to accept
the structured expectations of his local school. John’s ‘schooling’ has thus
been shifted to a local community shopping complex where other young
people who share a dislike of formal schooling, and/or simply do not ‘fit’
in schools, are tutored in a smaller, more relaxed context. After-school time
is also supported by a program of youth engagement facilitated by youth
workers attached to a local government outreach program, in an adjacent
building. Within both these publically funded and managed contexts the
primary purpose is mentoring, conflict resolution and building resilience to
make socially responsible decisions.
 Youth Leisure, Places, Spaces and Identity 131

In an interview, John reported that his stress minimization coping strategy

is to catch a local bus which has a two hour route from the city fringe to the
centre and back. ‘I look out the window at the people and things outside
and this makes it [inner turmoil] go away.’ ‘When I feel better I go home.’
This is an example of the use of interstitial space, in this case on a bus, to
find retreat from ‘things and people that bother me’ cited at the beginning
of the paper. The bus is ‘interstitial space’ but not exactly ‘leisure’ space in
the traditional meaning of the word. Yet they have much in common. In
another analogy the bus, which is a public or front stage region in Goffman’s
(1971) terms becomes for this young person a ‘backstage’ region of private
reflection and retreat. It is significant that John perceives the bus as a place
of ‘escape’ that will provide him with the same safety, security, comfort and
familiarity that other young people have said they find in their ‘favourite
place’ (Abbott-Chapman & Robertson, 2009a).
For Simon catching a bus is not so simple. He is 15 years of age, gay and
openly proud to be so. He lives with his family in a recently built detached
house in a dense new housing suburb. As part of the urban sprawl and
approximately 35 kilometres from the city centre the area appears to be
a monotonous layer of concrete over the landscape with little evidence of
greenspace provision apart from scattered small and ‘child-proofed’ and
‘safe’ playgrounds. Simon reported going to this nearby space at night with
his friends. For him getting access to private space for leisure is not easy.
The only transport out of his immediate environment is an hourly bus. The
railway station and shopping complexes are too far away to walk. Access to
urban leisure places is therefore a big issue for Simon. He and other young
people, in similar circumstances are dependent on parents and driving-age
family and friends in ‘escaping’ to their own private spaces of imagination,
interaction and identity away, from adult surveillance.
Emma attends the local secondary high school. She too is 15 years of
age and lives near the railway station. For Emma, and many of the young
people interviewed, the railway stations are interstitial or leisure spaces of
conflicted experiences. They are ‘scary’ she reported and ‘I’ve been bullied’.
They are also exciting social spaces where ‘you meet up with friends’. For
youth, safety and security are important features of interstitial leisure spaces.
Emma conducted our research team on a tour of a recently updated railway
station and identified its safety features including video cameras, lighting,
protected toilets and clear vision access to tracks. She reported a sense
of safety in travelling on the trains in the evening as a result of recently
appointed Public Security Officers who are trained to restrain potential
offenders and protect travellers. This initiative has been largely welcomed
by the public especially the vulnerable young and elderly.
The spatial meaning-making of John, Simon and Emma provides a
glimpse into the inner worlds of adolescents and their search for private
‘interstitial’ leisure space. Significantly, they and other research participants
132 Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson

were unanimous in their nominated favourite place. Locally known as ‘the

gorge’ this overgrown space runs alongside the local river and is fondly
remembered by the young people as a place of relative freedom in which to
play and ‘explore’. Yet this place has now been ‘lost’ to them through local
government action to close down a toilet block on the previously cleared
adjacent picnic area in response to perceived inappropriate ‘after hours’ use
of the area. Although this place is unkempt and known to harbour poisonous
reptiles, the young people in this project reported feeling saddened by the
‘loss’ of this space. No alternative space has been provided.
Small, open and formally structured ‘green spaces’ suit the legal obligations
of local government responsible for land care and the risk management of users.
However, young people surveyed have shown they favour more ‘unstructured’,
interstitial, places in the natural environment that are akin to the early ‘adven-
ture playgrounds’ and to the ‘wilderness’ areas that adults seek for adventurous
recreation. These Third Places also equate to the places in the bush, by the
river or on the beach identified in the earlier studies cited of young people’s
‘favourite places’ (Abbott-Chapman & Robertson, 2001, 2009a). Research find-
ings highlight that policy makers and planners need to recognize that young
people’s fun activities and exploration are not always well catered for within
highly regulated recreation areas, especially for young people like John, Simon
and Emma, whose spatial affordances for relaxation and leisure interactions
with other young people are restricted by their social circumstances.

References
Abbott-Chapman, J. (2000) Time Out, Spaced Out – Young People Make Meaning.
Youth Studies Australia, March 19(1):21–25.
Abbott-Chapman, J. (2006) Time Out in Green Retreats and Adolescent Wellbeing.
Youth Studies Australia, (Dec.) 25(4):9–16.
Abbott-Chapman J., Denholm C. & Wyld C. (2008) SoCial Support as a Factor
Inhibiting Teenage Risk-Taking: Views of Students, Parents and Professionals.
Journal of Youth Studies, 11(6):611–627.
Abbott-Chapman, J. & Robertson, M. (1999) HOme as a Private Space: Some Adolescent
Constructs. Journal of Youth Studies, 2(1):23–44.
Abbott-Chapman, J. & Robertson, M. (2001) Youth, Leisure and Home: Space, place
and identity. Societe et Loisir, 24(2):485–506.
Abbott-Chapman J. & Robertson M. (2009a) ADolescents’ Favourite Places:
Re-Defining the Boundaries between Private and Public Space. Space and Culture,
12(4):419–434.
Abbott-Chapman, J. & Robertson, M. (2009b) Leisure, Place and Identity. in Furlong,
Ed Andy (ed.), International Handbook on Youth and Young Adults (Chapter 29).
Oxford and New York: Routledge International, pp. 243–248.
Allen, M. & Nicholson, M. (1975) Memoirs of an Uneducated Lady. London: Thames &
Hudson.
Babey, S. H., Hastert, T. A., Yu, H. J & Brown, E. R. (2008) Physical Activity Among
Adolescents- ‘When Do Parks Matter?’ American Journal of Preventive Medicine, 34(4):
345–348.
 Youth Leisure, Places, Spaces and Identity 133

Bahr, N. & Pendergast, D. (2007) The Millenial Adolescent. Camberwell, Vic.: ACER
Press.
Bauman, Z. (2000) Liquid Modernity. Oxford & Malden, MA: Polity Press & Blackwell
Publishers Ltd.
Beck, U., Giddens, A. & Lash, S. (1994) Reflexive Modernisation: Politics, Tradition and
Aesthetics in the New Modern Order. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Beilin, R., Reichelt, N. & Sysak, T. (2013) Resilience in the Transition Landscapes of
the Peri-urban from ‘Where’ and with ‘Whom; to ‘What’. Urban Studies, 51 (5):1–17
doi:10.1177/0042098013505654.
Binns, H. J., Forman, J. A., Karr, C. J., Osterhoudt, K., Paulson, J. A, Roberts, J. A.
et al. (2009) The Built Environment: Designing Communities to Promote Physical
Activity in Children. Paediatrics, 23(6):1591–1598.
Brighenti, A. M. (2010) At the Wall: Graffiti Writers, Urban Territoriality and the
Public Domain. Space and Culture, 13(3):315–332. http://www.capacitedaffect.net/
wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Brighenti-2010-At-the-Wall.pdf (accessed 1 March
2012).
Byrne, J. & Sipe, N. (2010) Green and Open Space Planning for Urban Consolidation –
a Review of the Literature of Best Practice. Brisbane, Qld: Urban Research Program,
Griffith University.
Castree, N. (2013) Making Sense of Nature. London: Routledge.
Chawla, L. (2002) Growing Up in an Urbanizing World. London, Paris: Earthscan
Publications/UNESCO.
Chawla, L. & Heft, H. (2001) Children’s Competence and the Ecology of Communities:
A Functional Approach to the Evaluation of Participation. Journal of Environmental
Psychology, 22, pp. 201–216.
Copeland, A. (2004) Public Space: A Rights Based Approach. Youth Studies Australia,
23(3):41–45.
Crawford, M. & Rossiter, G. (2006) Reasons for Living: Education and Young People’s
Search for Meaning, Identity and Spirituality, a Handbook. Camberwell, Vic. ACER
Press.
Dyment, J. E. & Bell, A. C. (2008) Grounds for Movement: Green School Grounds as
Sites for Promoting Physical Activity. Health Education Research, 23(6):952–962.
Ekers, M. & Loftus, A. (2013) Gramsci, Space, Nature, Politics. In Ekers, M., Hart, G.,
Kipfer, S. & Loftus, A. (eds) Gramsci: Space, Nature, Politics. Chichester: John Wiley
and Sons, pp. 15–44.
Eckersley, R., Wierenga, A. & Wyn, J. (2005) Life in a time of uncertainty: Optimising
the health and wellbeing of young Australians. Medical Journal of Australia. 183
(6):402–404.
Frijters, P. & Foster, G. (2013) An economic theory of greed, love, groups and networks.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Gibson, J. J. (1979) The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Boston: Houghton
Mifflin.
Greenfield, S. (2008) I.D.:The Quest for Identity in the 21st Century. London: Hodder &
Stoughton Ltd.
Haage, A. L. (2007) Identity and Place: A Critical Comparison of Three Identity
Theories. Architectural Science Review. 50 (1):44–51.
Heintzman, P. (2010) Nature-Based Recreation and Spirituality: A Complex
Relationship. Leisure Sciences, (32):72–59.
Hodkinson, P. & Dieck, W. (eds) (2007) Youth Cultures: Scenes, Subcultures and Tribes.
Abingdon, Oxon. & New York: Routledge.
134 Joan Abbott-Chapman and Margaret Robertson

Jack, G. (2010) Place matters: The Significance of Place Attachments for Children’s
Well-being. British Journal of Social Work, 40(3):755–771.
James, K. (2001) ‘I Just Gotta Have My Own Space!’: The Bedroom as a Leisure Site for
Adolescent Girls. Journal of Leisure Research, 33, pp. 71–90.
Jochen, P. & Valkenburg, P. (2013) The Effects of Internet Communication on
Adolescents’ Psychosocial Development. The International Encyclopaedia of Media
Studies. New York: Wiley, Blackwell Publishing.
Lefaivre, L. M. (2002) Space, place and play. In Lefaivre, L. M. & Roode, I. (eds) Aldo
van Eyck: the playgrounds and the city. Rotterdam: NAI Publishers, pp. 16–58.
Lefebvre, H. (1991) The Production of Space. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers.
Lincoln, S. (2012) Youth Culture and Private Space. Basingstoke, Hampshire and New
York: Palgrave Macmillan.
Lingard, R. (2013) Education and ICT. Professional Educator, Issue 6:3–4.
Lucas, A. J., & Dyment, J. E. (2010) Where Do Children Choose to Play on the School
Ground? the Influence of Green Design. Education 3–13. International Journal of
Primary, Elementary and Early Years Education, 38(2):177–189.
Macnaghton, P. & Urry, J. (1998) Contested Natures, London, Thousand Oaks: Sage
Publications.
Malone, K. (2002) Street Life: Youth Culture and Competing Uses of Public Space.
Environment and Urbanisation, 14 (2), pp. 157–168.
Marder, B. (2014) Facebook at 10. University of Edinburgh Podcast. Are the Kids Alright
accessed on 27.2.2014 at: http://www.ed.ac.uk/news/2014/kidspodcast-200214.
Massey, D. (1994) Space, Place and Gender. Minneapolis: Polity: University of Minnesota.
Massey, D. (2005) For Space. London: Sage.
Mehta, V. (2009) Third Places and the Social Life of Streets. Environment and Behaviour,
42 (8): 779–805.
Moore, R. C. & Cooper Marcus, C. (2008) Healthy Planet, Healthy Children:
Designing Nature into the Daily Spaces of Childhood. In Kellert, S., Heerwagen, J.
& Mador, M. (eds), Biophic design: Theory, science and practice. Hoboken, N.J.: John
Wiley & Sons Inc., pp. 153–203
Oldenberg, R. (1991) The Great Good Place. New York: Paragon House.
Oldenberg, R. (2000) Celebrating the Third Place: Inspiring Stories about the ‘Great Good
Places’ at the Heart of Our Communities. New York: Marlowe & Company.
Robertson, M. & Williams, M. (eds) (2004) Young People, Leisure and Place: Cross-
Cultural Perspectives. New York: Nova Science Publishers Inc.
Robertson, M. (ed.) (2007) Sustainable Futures. Teaching and Learning: A case study
approach. Camberwell, Vic: ACER Press.
Soukup, C. (2006) Computer-Mediated Communication as a Virtual Third Place
Building Oldenberg’s Great, Good Places on the World-Wide Web. New Media and
Society, 8(3): 421–440.
Staempfli, M. B. (2009) Reintroducing Adventure into Children’s Outdoor Play
Environments, Environment and Behaviour, 41(2): 268–280.
Stewart, A. & Abbott-Chapman, J. (2011) Remote Island Students’ Post-Compulsory
Retention: Emplacement and Displacement as Factors Influencing Educational
Persistence or Discontinuation. Journal of Research in Rural Education, 26(6):2–16.
Wells, N. M. & Evans, G. W. (2003) Nearby Nature: A Buffer of Life Stress Among
Rural Children. Environment & Behavior, 35(3):311–330.
Wilson, D., Rose, J. & Colvin, E. (2010) Marginalised Young People, Surveillance and
Public Space: A Research Report. Melbourne: Youth Affairs Council of Victoria and
the School of Political and Social Enquiry, Monash University.
Zachary, G. P. (2000) The Global Me. London: Nicholas Brealey Publishing.
10
Phenomenology and Extreme Sports
in Natural Landscapes
Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer

Introduction

In the early 1900s, Husserl (1970) reminded us of the imperative to return

to the Lebensweldt, or life-world. He was preoccupied with the crisis of
Western science which alienated the experiencing-self from the world of
immediate experience. His call to return to immediate experience assumes
more salience in our increasingly urban and digital world than at any time
previously. Arguably we are more divorced from the immediate experience
of being part of the natural world than in any previous period in history.
Examining the experience of people engaged in extreme sport provides
us with the opportunity of gaining an understanding of the dimensions
of human experience in the context of the natural landscape with all its
complexity and richness.
Immediate experience provides a foundation for what it means to be
human. Heidegger (1962), building upon these ideas, foresaw a threat to
human nature in the face of ‘technicity’. He argued for a return to an
‘authentic self’ as part of nature predicated upon the notion of ‘letting be’
in which humans are open to the mystery of being. Self and nature are not
conceived as alienated entities but as aspects of a single or intentional act. In
modern times, the assumed separation between the immediate experience
of self and the world is further evidenced by rational modes-of-being exem-
plified through consumerism and technology. In contrast, extreme sports
provide an opportunity for people to return to the life-world by living in
immediate relation to the natural world. We have argued elsewhere that
a more phenomenological understanding of extreme sports alters tradi-
tional perceptions on the relationship to risk and also perceptions on the
relationship between extreme sports and the natural world (Brymer, 2010;
Brymer, Downey, & Gray, 2009; Brymer & Gray, 2010a, 2010b; Brymer
& Schweitzer, 2013a, 2013b). In this chapter, we argue that a phenom-
enological understanding of extreme sport experiences in relation to the
natural landscape provides the grounding for realizing human authenticity.

135
136 Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer

Participating in extreme activities enables a return to authenticity as we

rediscover self through an experiential realization of our place within the
natural landscape.
Humans have existed in the context of the natural landscape over the
millennia. Notions of place have always been founded in connection with
the land. The experience of living in large-scale collectives is relatively
recent, perhaps initiated with the onset of farming but certainly exponen-
tially advanced during the Industrial Revolution in the 1700s. Arguably the
most significant change in our living arrangements has occurred relatively
recently, with the rise of technology. We are now able to delegate many
previous activities to robots and other innovative technologies, and even
exercise occurs in gyms with monitors measuring our exertion against a
screen of outdoor places which are replayed within a bountifully air-condi-
tioned environment. We are able to control the effort we make, the tempera-
ture of the air and the sounds in our ears. Yet at the same time, we are
witnessing higher rates of loneliness, isolation and distress than during any
previous time in recorded history. We are spending ever more time in front
of a screen which has been linked to poor health and low levels of well-
being (Public Health England, 2014).
Humans have not only become disaffected by scientific concepts, but
arguably, have become estranged from the natural world. We argue that the
present predicament was foreseen by Edmund Husserl in the early 1900s
in his critique of western sciences (Husserl, 1970). Phenomenology, with
its concepts of the Lebensweldt (life-world), intentionality and authenticity
provides a response to this predicament. Drawing upon Husserl’s notion of
the Lebensweldt, we demonstrate that extreme sports participation opens up
an opportunity to evoke an enduring experience of being-within-nature.
We thus rediscover what it means to be truly human across the phenomeno-
logical dimensions of lived-body, lived-other, lived-time and lived-space.

Contextualizing phenomenology

Phenomenology, as originally used by Husserl, refers to the study of struc-

tures of consciousness as experienced from a first-person perspective. The
philosophical foundation of phenomenology was, in part, a reaction to
Descartes’s radical separation of the immaterial human mind from the
world of objects in which humans were purported to exist. The ‘splitting’ of
the world into ‘subject’ and ‘object’ and the ramifications of the industrial
revolution underpins the ‘steady plundering and despoilment of nonhuman
nature’ in the natural environment (Abram, 1996, p. 78). In contrast to
Descartes, Husserl’s dictum, which was to ‘return to the thing itself’, calls for
a non-discursive return to human experience as a basis for understanding.
Experience is thus privileged over constructs such as the dominant perspec-
tive that the ‘subject’ is separate from the ‘object’ and that the world can,
 Phenomenology and Extreme Sports in Natural Landscapes 137

and should be studied through empirical methods only. Within psychology,

phenomenology has been at the forefront of a move to reconsider the study
of human experience. Psychology as a basis for understanding identity thus
becomes a descriptive or human science, with an emphasis upon human
experience of self and place as lived through body, time, space and other.
The central structure of an experience from a phenomenological perspec-
tive, is its intentionality, that is, consciousness is directional. For example,
within an extreme sports context, Mount Everest presents a good oppor-
tunity for understanding intentionality. Climbing is seen, not only as a
physical act of moving from the bottom of a mountain to the summit, but
includes the person’s relationship with the mountain and with the Sherpas.
Climbing is much more than an activity, but is transformed into a mean-
ingful experience and a way of making sense of the world. The Cartesian
notions of ‘subject’ and ‘object’ are considered coupled and co-constituted
in such a way that they cannot conceivably be separated in immediate expe-
rience. Continuing with the mountain example, climbing of the mountain
may represent a spiritual journey and can be conceived as a dance (Brymer
& Gray, 2010a). It is tempting for us to refer to ‘the person’ and ‘the environ-
ment’ yet from a phenomenological perspective, it is impossible to make this
distinction. That is, all experience is co-constituted. While the tyranny of
language problematizes this relationship, in the following sections, we draw
upon the experience of people engaged in extreme sports to demonstrate
the ways in which humans experience being part of the environment and
that this experience evokes authenticity. This is the essence of an under-
standing of the Lebensweldt.

The life-world

The notion of the Lebenswelt or life-world as formulated by Husserl (1970) was

perhaps his most significant achievement and has most salience in under-
standing extreme sports in the context of natural landscapes (Husserl 1970).
Lebenswelt refers to the world as encountered and lived in everyday life,
given in direct and immediate experience. Husserl distinguished between
the ‘rational’ world as known to science and the world in which we live,
that is the Lebenswelt. The crisis of European Sciences to which Husserl
addressed himself, was to be found in the ‘objectivism’ which characterized
the natural sciences. Objectivity was understood as being synonymous with
reality. To the uncritical observer, there is no differentiation between the
objective world and the life-world (Husserl, 1970). Thinnes (1977) discusses
the implications of Husserl’s position in the following terms: ‘The crisis
of Western man is a direct consequence of the development of European
objective science, since, by implicitly assuming that scientific reality is the
only source of facts, the subject loses every possibility of placing himself in
everyday life’ (ibid, p. 123). Consequently, the only way to address the crises
138 Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer

and reinstate the ‘referenceless subject’ into the realm of immediate experi-
ence of the life-world was to return to the pre-scientific foundation of the
objective sciences, which is found in the very structure of the life-world.

Being-in-the-world

Being-in-the-world (In- der-Welt-sein) is in an original and essential way a

perspective where personhood is oriented to the world so every manifesta-
tion of ‘being’ is a mode of being actively related to the world. A person is
neither inert matter nor pure interiority – people ‘exist’ and as such, are
open to the world. Human subjectivity is not a locked-in ‘I’, but mani-
fests primarily as a ‘being-with’ and a ‘being-open-to’. Person and the
world cannot possibly be conceived separately. Humanity is aboriginally a
being-in and to-the-world and through dialogue with the world humanity
makes the meaning of things appear in the sense of lumination. Human
subjectivity is originally and in essence intentional and self-transcendent.
Only through familiarity with the world does humankind realise ‘self’. It
is only through familiarity with the world that a person becomes familiar
with oneself. Heidegger summarizes his position by stating, ‘The “essence”
of Dasein lies in its existence ’ (Heidegger 1962, p. 67). Thus it is not possible
to think of being-human which would not be a mode of being-in-the-
world. Humanity’s being is a being-conscious-in-the-world, a being-open-
to-the-world, a dwelling-in-the-world and a being-familiar-with-the-world
(Heidegger, 1962; Luijpen, 1966). Being-towards-death, an extension of this
concept, where personhood experientially realizes the fragility of life and
the certainty of death and is freed from social constraints leads to authen-
ticity (May, 1983). Extreme sports in natural landscapes bring this reali-
zation to the fore as a participant realizes their place within the natural
world. The notion of Dasein will be evident in the chapter through the use
of hyphens to represent the experience of lived-space, lived-other, lived-
body, lived-time, and lived-place.
Day to day living in a highly technological world where relationships are
increasingly digital can lead to a sense of ‘referencelessness’. The experience
of extreme sports, from a phenomenological perspective, offers the oppor-
tunity for people to gain a sense of the life-world in the Husserlian sense of
experiencing their existence with immediacy. We refer to the experience of
the mountaineer, Breashears (1999), who describes climbing Mount Everest,
not in terms of an object external to himself, but with an immediacy which
reveals both the natural landscape and his relationship with the natural
landscape, and most importantly, his own sense of who he is, which emerges
from his relationship (or intentionality) with the natural landscape.

I recognized something very familiar about this scene; yet I also felt an
acute sense of displacement. I’ve always looked to the sky, the snow, the
 Phenomenology and Extreme Sports in Natural Landscapes 139

clouds for that light. I’ve climbed to the highest reaches of the planet
in search of it. But when I looked closely into Bruce Herod’s eyes, facing
his own camera lens, I saw what I might have known all along, and it
is this: The risk inherent in climbing such mountains carries its own
reward, deep and abiding, because it provides as profound a sense of self-
knowledge as anything else on earth. A mountain is perilous, true; but it
is also redemptive. Maybe I had dimly understood this as a boy, with no
earthly place to call my own, I deliberately chose the iconoclast’s rocky
path of mountain climbing. But in the moment of pure clarity I realized
that ascending Everest had been, for me, both a personal declaration of
liberty and a defiant act of escape. Now suddenly, I felt an inexpress-
ible serenity, a full-blooded reaffirmation of life, on Everest’s icy ridges
(Breashears, 1999, p. 304).

There are various ways of being-in-the-world. Immediate experience with

natural landscapes can provide a new and health-giving perspective on
sense of self and our sense of place. In particular, we draw upon interviews
with extreme sports participants conducted by the first author to provide
examples which extend our understanding of the experience of extreme
sports. These interviews provide insights into sense of self as referring to not
only the self as commonly conceived, and encapsulated within our human
form, but as including our relationship with sense of place as well as experi-
ence of self. Self is experienced as being co-constituted by both the sense
of who one is, and living in relation to the ‘other’. This perspective will be
supported by reference to primary research and will also draw upon written
accounts of extreme sports in the literature.
Big wave surfing could be seen as ‘on the crest’ of extreme sports and takes
place in a natural landscape not often entered by human beings, big sea
waves. Big wave surfing deals with the most intimate relationship between
the self, nature and the dynamic interactions which results from ‘catching
the wave’. Daniel was a ‘big wave surfer’ with experience in several parts
of the world. He recalled experiences of being ‘towed out’ to catch waves
which would exceed the expectations of most! In interviewing Daniel, he
gave expression to the experience in terms of the immediacy of the experi-
ence and lessons around human survival:

Surfing is such a big part of my life. I’ve had a lot of time in the water
alone and therefore I ponder much about life especially when I’m alone,
it also can be very challenging especially when I’ve been in a very very
big surf by myself. It’s a real challenge to deal with that [experience] to
survive it and to stand on the firm beach again. Having survived, that
is an awesome feeling of achievement. I guess surfing gives me great ... I
guess it reinforces that belief in myself (Daniel).
140 Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer

And later:

I’m the same in the water as I would be out of the water because I’ve had
to deal with extreme challenge (Daniel).

Daniel exemplifies the immediacy of his experience. He engages in a leisure

activity which challenges him on many levels, and yet he chooses to articu-
late, not the physical prowess of his skill in dealing with waves up to 40
meters high, but rather the immediacy of survival on a very personal level.
He also talks of his relationship with the water. Metaphorically, he is not
‘riding the wave’ where the wave is an objective aspect of the world around
him, but engages with the sea in a manner which reminds him of his own
mortality and reaffirms the qualities which contribute to who he is as a
person. His description of himself is consistent with Husserl’s notion of Zu
den Sachen, back to the thing itself!
Breashears (1999) provides an articulate account of the experience of
climbing Mount Everest. He reflects on the experiences of 1986 following
the deaths of climbers due to significant adversity. Notably, his descrip-
tion does not dwell on the actions of climbing but upon the immediacy
of being-within-nature and the lessons to be drawn from such a realiza-
tion. Similarly, his account is not about conquering the mountain, but the
mountain is revealed as having inanimate qualities but at the same time,
as animate.

If ever there was a mountain that can temper human arrogance and teach
humility, it’s Everest. Whatever name you want to give it, the Nepali
Sagarmatha, or the Tibetan Chomolungma-the Mother Goddess-or the
British surveyor general’s name, Everest, the mountain is a massive living
presence that changes every day. With the terrible winds of 1986, it
seems that Everest was intent on showing us how fragile we truly are
(Breashears, 1999, p. 171).

He then expands upon his experience:

And I was certain that in exploring the terrain of the mountain, we

were really exploring a far more mysterious terrain-the landscape of
our souls ... People tell themselves that Everest is a dangerous place. For
some people that makes the mountain more appealing. Only a few of
the people heading towards camp IV that late afternoon really under-
stood the indifference Everest holds toward human life. You can climb
the mountain a thousand times, and it will never know your name.
Realizing your anonymity, accepting it in all its terrible consequences,
is the key to a mountaineer’s humility, key to a climber’s self-awareness
(Breashears, 1999, pp. 242–259).
 Phenomenology and Extreme Sports in Natural Landscapes 141

From a phenomenological perspective Breashears’ experience is inten-

tional, that is, co-constituted by both human consciousness and the
‘thing’ of consciousness which in this instance, refers to natural land-
scapes. His description challenges the idea of nature as ‘external other’
and gives expression to engagement in nature in defining our experi-
ence of who we are. Nature is not simply seen as a construct. Returning
to Husserl (1970), who warned us about the ‘mathematisation of nature’,
Breashears (1999) reminds us of the potential for transcendence where
the rocks, lichens and snow are able to engender a new relationship
which would not be possible with inanimate objects separate from the
self.
These reflections are exemplified in the experience of an extreme climber,
Lynn Hill, (cited in Olsen, 2001) who determined:

It’s all about learning to adapt totally to the environment you’re in. I
think it provides the perfect opportunity for learning about what makes
you tick. When you’re that involved in the external world, you can really
explore your inner nature (Hill cited in Olsen, 2001, p. 66).

She gives voice to the degree to which outer and inner experiences are
related, certainly at the more extreme end of the continuum of human
activity. In a sense, the world in which we exist becomes the shared world of
the participant. The distinction between inner and outer is seen to dissolve
as the natural landscape plays a determining role in who we are, and we
play a role in defining what constitutes the ‘things’ which provide structure
to our lives. The experience touches something deep inside a participant’s
being that enables a participant to better ‘know’ themselves.
We have argued that phenomenology provides us with the opportu-
nity to appreciate what it means to be human from the perspective of the
immediacy of lived-experience. In gaining a better understanding of lived
experience in the context of extreme sports, we refer phenomenological
concepts such as if: lived-body, lived-other, lived-time and lived-space.
Lived-body or corporeality describes the notion that we are always bodily
in the world. The world is always experienced through our bodies. The
notion of lived-time (temporality) is located in past, present and future.
Lived-space is defined as felt space (van Manen, 1997). Traditionally lived-
other describes the sense of the other as explicitly human centric. However,
alterity can also be within self-hood and with nature (Johnson & Smith,
1990; Merleau-Ponty, 1999; Zimmerman, 1992). Such relationships to
otherness point to opposites, lost parts of ourselves or relationship to the
aesthetic other, referred to as the numinous, that which is beyond concrete
expression.
Realization of the intense and experiential nature of extreme sports
involves body and thereby feelings enabling the realization of inner
142 Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer

concepts of authentic being. Realization of self comes about through an

experiential relationship between self and natural landscapes involving a
sense of openness which has been described as an aboriginal connection
to that which makes us human. For example, a climber considered that
‘climbing brings you back to a primal place, where values are being created
and transformed’(Pilling cited in Roberts, 1994, p. 5). Thus, we are able to
reconnect with an authentic experience of self through a sense of place and
self which has been described as ‘primal’.
Vinathe described her experience as a mountaineer:

... you’re in this incredibly spectacular environment dealing with really

really primal forces. Not only primal forces in the environment but primal
forces within yourself! You know we are ... genetically we have primitive
parts of our being that are connected to primitive parts of every other
being ... like Jung’s collective unconsciousness we are part of everything
that’s around us at some deep deep deep unconscious level connected to
it. So to go mountaineering is to reinvigorate, re-establish that connec-
tion with a really fundamental core part of your being and yourself and
ahhh you have to go through this. ..to find you know that core stuff
within yourself (Vinathe).

The concept that alterity is within self-hood and with nature means that
to fully realize self a person must realise self-within-nature. Relationships
to otherness point to opposites, lost parts of ourselves or that which is
always beyond. A return from the dialectic, alienated view of the natural
world to embracing ones place within the natural landscape restores inter-
connectedness and reciprocity while at the same time re-establishing
intimacy and humility (Langer, 1990). The experience of integration of
self-as-other and natural-world-as-other which reveals a belonging to the
world is experienced, by some, as a calling towards the primordial Being.
Such a momentary integration passes beyond a naïve understanding of the
relationship between self and natural world to a new eco-centric under-
standing of one’s place within the natural world (Brymer, 2009; Brymer
et al., 2009; Brymer & Gray, 2010a, 2010b).
From a phenomenological standpoint, gaining a perspective on iden-
tity and place requires an appreciation of the experience of the lived-other
which emerges through the experience of the lived-body. The lived expe-
rience emerges as dominant as Vinathe extends upon her experience and
reflects on the degree to which her experience mirrors aspects of her own
being. The notion of authenticity, derived from Husserl’s early work assumes
new meaning as Vinathe expresses ideas of being within something larger
than self. Climbing a mountain is no longer a simple physical activity of
transporting oneself from one point to another and observing beautiful
scenery, rather it is about an experience of transformation in which one’s
 Phenomenology and Extreme Sports in Natural Landscapes 143

being enters into a relationship described by this participant as primal, from

the Latin primus, ‘first’.
Primal is often associated with the wild in expressing an authentic level of
being. Vinathe’s participation in extreme sport allows her to achieve a sense
of experiencing herself, not as a series of external events, but as a process of
inner transformation. The landscape is no longer a place external to the self
but becomes a constituent of who she is. Sense of place is thus reconstituted
in terms familiar to human experience.
Time assumes new meanings within a phenomenological paradigm.
Extreme sports engender experiences in which ‘time loses its linear point of
reference, personal limits are transcended, the individual has an energy not
bound by the usual rules’ (Midol & Broyer, 1995, p. 209), where participants
speak about being continually present in the ‘now’ or ‘in the moment’.
Rhienhold Messner (1998) referred to this experiences as being beyond the
traditional concepts of time and space. Time takes on different character-
istics and is experienced as slowing down, senses are described as being
enhanced, life is lived solely in relation to the natural environment. For
example, Arnould, Price and Otnes (1999) described a slowing down of
time, being free from time or living on river time as they realized their
place within nature. Geoff, a BASE jumper spoke of the experience of time
as follows:

28 seconds into a BASE jump, how do you describe it, we talk about the
Zen Philosophy of now living. For those seconds you are more alive than
any other time in your life. The only thing I can compare it to is riding
a wave in front of a tube in surfing – when time slows down, and you
slip into being with life, it’s one of those experiences. It’s putting you
right in the now right now. You’re not thinking about what’s coming up
next, not worrying about what went before (personal communication,
Richardson, 2001).

Experiences of time slowing down and enhanced visual, auditory, kinaes-

thetic, olfactory and gustatory sense ability have been often reported by
extreme sport participants (Dennison, 1995; McCairen, 1998). For example,
Jane related perceptions as time ‘slowing down’ and allowing a greater
perception of the environment:

on every BASE jump you will experience something interesting in that

your awareness of one second expands enormously so what we would
normally perceive in one second is very little compared to what you
perceive in one second on a BASE jump ... so you can deal with everything
that you have to ... slows things down so when you’re doing it, it feels like
it’s in slow motion whereas when you watch it back on footage you look
and go wow ! You know that’s over in like a blip (clicks fingers) but when
144 Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer

you’re doing it you know you can see the tiny little creases in the rock and
different colours in the sky and you’re totally aware of where your body is
in space and how its moving and ... . It’s very surreal (Jane).

Engaging in extreme sport activities involves a sense of transformation

where, and at a certain point, time loses its traditional, linear systematic
process. The interval moment that is present is suddenly stretched, time is
said to have slowed down. What is perceived to be an age in experiential time
happens in an instant of worldly time. The mundane flow of consciousness
is temporarily interrupted for the extreme sport participant and replaced
with a slower stream of consciousness. This can best be understood in the
phenomenological sense of ‘lived-time’. In this instance the participant
experiences time as if it is slowing down.
Lived-space for the extreme sport participant achieves greater significance
than space defined by measurement. The extreme sport participant moves
beyond the everyday and experiences a ‘returning home’ by stepping into
the ineffable void, abyss and danger of lived-space (Bollnow, 1961). The
extreme sport experience dissolves the boundaries between the intellec-
tual assumptions of inner and outer space. That is, intentionality, a central
assumption which defines phenomenology, provides expression of life-force
which is neither internal nor external but is experienced as one and in the
moment.
Drawing upon key phenomenological concepts, such as the life-world,
intentionality and Dasein or being-in-the-world contributes to our under-
standing of the experience of extreme sports. Whether scaling the Mount
Everest, surfing big waves, or engaging in BASE jumping phenomenology
allows us to gain a better appreciation of our place within the natural land-
scape. This is not one of the individual as separate from nature, but Dasein
represents an experience of transformation in which the traditional theo-
retical perceptions of subject, and object as other, dissolve. The person expe-
riences being-within the world, as every sense comes alive to the world in
a true phenomenological moment. The experience is consistent with the
phenomenological concepts of lived-time, lived-space, lived-other and
lived-body.
Extreme sports demand complete engagement within the natural land-
scape. It is not enough to partially engage and admire the natural landscape
for its aesthetic appeal, it is not enough to partially engage by wandering
through the natural landscape in a distracted and non-engaged manner.
For the extreme sports person engagement is complete, where every sense
is alive to the moment. Extreme sports in natural landscapes afford this
opportunity and as a result the everyday experience of lived-space, lived-
other, lived-body and lived-time changes and place and identity merge
as the participant glimpses authenticity and what it means to be truly
human.
 Phenomenology and Extreme Sports in Natural Landscapes 145

References
Arnould, E. J., Price, L. L. & Otnes, C. (1999) Making consumption magic. Journal of
Contemporary Ethnography, 28(1), pp. 33–68.
Bollnow, O. F. (1961) Lived-space. Philosophy Today, 5, pp. 31–39.
Breashears, D. (1999) High Exposure: An Enduring Passion for Everest and Unforgiving
Places. New York: Simon & Schuster.
Brymer, E. (2009) Extreme sports as a facilitator of ecocentricity and positive life
changes. World Leisure Journal, 51(1), pp. 47–53.
Brymer, E. (2010) Risk and extreme sports: a phenomenological perspective. Annals
of Leisure Research, 13(1&2), pp. 218–239.
Brymer, E., Downey, G., & Gray, T. (2009) Extreme sports as a precursor to environ-
mental sustainability. Journal of Sport and Tourism, 14(2–3), pp. 1–12.
Brymer, E., & Gray, T. (2010a) Dancing with nature: rhythm and harmony in extreme
sport participation. Adventure Education & Outdoor Learning, 9(2), pp. 135–149.
Brymer, E., & Gray, T. (2010b) Developing an intimate ‘relationship’ with nature
through extreme sports participation. Loisir, 34(4), pp. 361–374.
Brymer, E., & Schweitzer, R. (2013a) Extreme sports are good for your health: a
phenomenological understanding of fear and anxiety in extreme sport. J Health
Psychol, 18(4), pp. 477–487. doi: 10.1177/1359105312446770.
Brymer, E., & Schweitzer, R. (2013b) The search for freedom in extreme sports: a
phenomenological exploration. Psychology of Sport and Exercise, 14(6), pp. 865–873.
doi: 10.1016/j.psychsport.2013.07.004.
Dennison, R. (Writer) (1995) Risk: yelling in the face of life. In O. F. Making Movies,
D Network Co-Production (Producer), Wild Releasing Adventure. NZ: Beyond.
Heidegger, M. (1962) Being and Time. London: SCM Press.
Husserl, E. (1970) The Crisis of European Sciences and the Transcendental Phenomenology:
An Introduction to Phenomenological Philosophy. Evaston: North Western University
Press.
Johnson, G. A., & Smith, B. M. (1990) Introduction. In Johnson, G. A. & Smith, B. M.
(eds), Ontology and alterity in Merleau-Ponty. Evanston, Ill: Northwestern University
Press, pp. xvii–xxxiv.
Luijpen, W. (1966) Existential Phenomenology (2nd ed). Pittsburg: Duquesne University
Press.
May, R. (1983) The Discovery of Being: Writings in Existential Psychology. NY: W. W.
Norton & Company.
McCairen, P. C. (1998) Canyon Solitude: A Women’s Solo River Journey through the Grand
Canyon. Washington: Seal Press.
Merleau-Ponty, M. (1999) Phenomenology of Perception (Trans. Smith, C.). London:
Routledge & Keegan Paul.
Messner, R. (1998) Free Spirit: A Climbers Life (Trans. Neate, J.). Seattle, WA: The
Mountaineers.
Midol, N., & Broyer, G. (1995) Toward an anthropological analysis of new sport cultures:
the case of whiz sports in France. Sociology of Sport Journal, 12, pp. 204–212.
Olsen, M. (2001) Women Who Risk: Profiles of Women in Extreme Sports. New York:
Hatherleigh Press.
Public Health England (2014) How healthy behaviour supports children’s wellbeing.
London.
Richardson, J. (2001, May 9th) ((Personal Communication), Birdman: Now and Zen,
over the top).
146 Eric Brymer and Robert D. Schweitzer

Roberts, P. (1994) Risk. Psychology Today, 27(6), pp. 50–56.

Thinnes, G. (1977) Phenomenology and the Science of Behaviour. London: George Allen
and Unwin.
van Manen, M. (1997) Researching Lived Experience: Human Science for an Action Sensitive
Pedagogy (2nd ed.). London, Ontario: The Althouse Press.
Zimmerman, M. E. (1992) The blessing of otherness: wilderness and the human condi-
tion. In Oelschlaeger, M. (ed.), The Wilderness Condition: Essays on Environment and
Civilization. San Fransisco: Sierra Club Books, pp. 245–270.
11
Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside
Resort
David Jarratt

Introduction

British seaside resorts are associated with the birth of mass tourism and are
amongst the most significant leisure spaces since industrialization. Despite
sliding down the expanding leisure ‘consumption spaces hierarchy’ within
the later decades of the 20th century (Urry 1997:104), they are still signifi-
cant leisure resources and are a durable element of British culture (Tunstall
and Penning-Rowsell, 1998). Whilst the British seaside is often associated
with decline, Walton (2000) suggests that observers should instead try to
explain its survival. With this in mind, it is perhaps surprising that the
motivation of modern day seaside visitors has not attracted more attention
from academics. Indeed Tunstall and Penning-Rowsell (1998:331) call for
further qualitative research in this area to, ‘deepen our understanding of
individuals’ lifelong experiences of coasts, and the meanings they attach
to them’.
This chapter is concerned with the sense of place experienced by visi-
tors to a traditional British seaside resort. More specifically it adopts a case-
study approach through focusing on the traditional resort of Morecambe
in Lancashire, which is introduced in the following pages. The primary
research involves semi-structured interviews with a small purposive sample
of 55–74-year-old visitors from the North of England, reflecting the resort’s
visitor demographics (Gibson, Crawford and Geddes, 2008; Locum and
Arkenford, 2006).
This research suggests a seaside resort sense of place, introduced here as
seasideness, which is influenced by socio-cultural elements and the perceived
characteristics of blue space. Blue space refers to sea in this case, the term is
used by Environmental Psychologists to refer aquatic environments (White,
Smith, Humphryes, Pahl, Snelling and Depledge, 2010). This place-based
research suggests that the sea is the main attraction; furthermore it shapes
and dominates the visitor experience in a variety of ways. The visitors value
these seaside experiences and associate them with nostalgia, wellness and

147
148 David Jarratt

spirituality which lie at the heart of seasideness. These associations and mean-
ings result from interpretation and characterization of the sea and coastal
environment. These rather romantic readings of the sea feed into and shape
seasideness. The most relevant of these characteristics are divided into the
following four sections:

● The picturesque and sublime

● Dynamic and powerful sea
● The sea, vastness and awe
● The timeless sea

Morecambe is a deteriorated resort facing various socio-economic and

image related challenges, so the link to the sublime may not be obvious
for many. Yet one must remember that the main activity of these visitors,
as confirmed in the interviews, was walking down the regenerated prom-
enade and looking out to the Irish Sea or across the second largest bay in
England to the hills of the Lake District. The characteristics listed above
clearly reflect the interviewee’s perceptions of the coastal environment;
sensing blue space lies at the heart of their sense of place. Before discussing
this further, Morecambe, the underpinning research and seasideness are
introduced in turn.

Morecambe: a brief history

The setting for this research is Morecambe, Lancashire, England, a tradi-

tional seaside resort (population 39,000). It developed in the 19th century
and expanded rapidly in the early 20th century into a popular, medium-
sized resort. In the decades following a brief post-World War Two boom,
decline set in. The once popular resort went on to experience a dramatic fall
in visitor numbers and sustained loss of attractions, touristic infrastructure
and reputation. By the early 1980s, it was obvious that the resort’s tourism
economy had been transformed, ‘Morecambe suffered a calamitous fall
in visitor spending from £46.6 million in 1973 to £6.5 million in 1990,
expressed in constant values. Few resorts have suffered such a collapse’
(Hassan 2003:254). The resort lost its two piers, a variety of indoor attrac-
tions such as The Winter Gardens and in the 1980s it could not even offer
a cinema (Bingham 1990). The resort became associated with a number of
enduring socio-economic problems, not least unemployment and poverty.
The 1990s saw a partial recovery from the lows of the 1980s, as parts of the
resort and especially the promenade saw regeneration. However, recovery
was slow to gather momentum, inconsistent and not helped by the closure of
the swimming pool and then Frontier Land theme park – the last significant
man-made tourist attraction in the resort. The interviewees in this study
suggested that Morecambe was divided between the regenerated coastal
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 149

area (notably the promenade) which they visited and the rest of the town,
which they did not. This divide was confirmed in the 2012 Morecambe Area
Action Plan (Lancaster City Council, 2012).
The resort has an enduring image problem dating at least as far back as
mid-1970s and the jokes of Colin Crompton, a popular comedian of the
time. He dubbed the resort the ‘Costa Geriatrica’, where ‘they don’t bury the
dead but just prop them up in bus shelters’ (Bingham 1990:273). In 2003,
Morecambe was the inspiration for a popular book called Crap Towns: The
50 Worst Places to Live in the UK in which the resort was awarded third place
behind Kingston upon Hull and Cumbernauld (Jordison, 2013). For some
years now resorts such as Morecambe have signified poor taste (Urry, 1997).
Yet British seaside resorts are a resilient social construction (Ward and
Hardy, 1986) and have a long tradition of re-invention (see Walton, 2000).
Over the last 15 years or so visitor numbers in Morecambe, especially along
the coastal area, have steadily increased (Lancaster City Council, 2011;
Trotman, 2007). The destination Midland Hotel was reopened by Urban
Splash in 2008 to become a beacon of hope for the resort. Along with the
promenade it represented a rare significant investment in the touristic infra-
structure and the re-opening of this modernist hotel drew media atten-
tion to Morecambe (BBC2, 2007). Even the author of Crap Towns concedes
that the resort has greatly improved (Jordison, 2013). However, some have
pointed out that recovery in Morecambe has stalled in the aftermath of the
economic crisis (Harris and Domokos, 2011). For further discussion on the
flow and ebb of the tourism economy in Morecambe or the British seaside
refer to Bingham (1990), Walton (2000) and Beatty and Fothergill (2003).
The resort has been a victim of socio-cultural shifts, economic forces and
life-cycle (Butler, 1980) but Morecambe, has survived as a functioning resort
that still attracts visitors.

Method

This primary research aimed to uncover a sense of place at the modern

day seaside, which is lacking from the literature indeed there is relatively
little work on sense of place and tourists more generally (Kyle and Chick,
2007). Research was completed in 2012 and focused on leisure visitors to
Morecambe. More specifically, the aim of the research was to establish if a
seaside sense of place, referred to and introduced here as seasideness, existed
amongst these visitors to Morecambe, and if so what form it took.
In-depth, semi-structured visitor interviews, utilizing Interpretative
Phenomenological Analysis (or IPA), were conducted. Interviewees were
asked about their experiences and motivations as visitors to Morecambe.
IPA is a systematic form of analysis that lends itself to particular forms
of information collection, notably semi-structured interviews, and small
sample sizes (see Howitt, 2010; Howitt and Cramer, 2011; Shaw, 2010;
150 David Jarratt

Smith, Flowers and Larkin, 2009; Smith and Osbourn, 2008). IPA allows
the texture of individual experience to be revealed.
The sample was chosen to reflect Smith et al.’s (2009) observation that the
ideal IPA sample is small, homogeneous and will find the research question
meaningful. Indeed, within IPA purposive homogeneous sampling is vital,
if one is to probe with sufficient depth to represent a specific perspective
or type of experience (as opposed to a population). Visitors to Morecambe
hotels and cafes were asked to fill in their details as part of a scoping survey,
the main aim of which was to identify suitable respondents for interview.
The final sample of ten participants was decided through the application of
three screens; these ten interviewees were aged 55 to 74 years, resided in the
North of England (more specifically Lancashire, Yorkshire, Cheshire and
Cumbria) and were repeat visitors to Morecambe. These three screens were
based around the ‘average’ visitor to Morecambe in terms of demographics
and visiting habits, according to research carried out for the public sector
(Gibson, Crawford and Geddes, 2008; Locum and Arkenford, 2006). The
split of the interviewees by gender, retired or working and socio-economic
class (i.e. between working class and middle class based on (ex) occupations)
was 50 per cent in each case.
Interviewees were put at ease to build their confidence before conducting
the interview; for instance location was decided by the interviewee, often
at their home. These recorded in-depth interviews were fully transcribed
verbatim.
This chapter discusses the main relevant themes that emerged from the
interviews and includes a selection of quotes from the interviewees that best
demonstrate said themes. These quotes from the interviews are in italics in
order to avoid confusion.

Seasideness: the seaside experience at Morecambe

Relph (1976) identified three key aspects to place: the physical character-
istics of the environment, the meaning of place – associations, memories,
connotations, denotations and so on – and, finally, the activities afforded
by the place, including the social interactions associated with the place
(Turner and Turner, 2006). Over the years, these three dimensions have
been refined by other scholars and have informed later definitions of
sense of place (see Patterson and Williams, 2005). Contemporary Human
Geography considers place to be diverse, conflicted and constructed (see
Creswell, 2013). Geographers refer to sense of place as the subjective and
emotional attachment people have to place (Creswell, 2004); the following
definition is as clear and relevant to this chapter as any.

The term ‘Sense of Place’ is often used to describe your feelings for a
place, and the elements that make that place special to you – it may be
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 151

memories of past visits, views, sounds, people, tastes, even the smell of
the place! (Forest of Bowland AONB n/d)

Therefore sense of place is when place identity is significant enough to be

felt or experienced. Issues of identity permeate the study of leisure places
(for instance, Aitchinson, Macleod and Shaw, 2002; Williams, 2002).
Furthermore, spaces that are perceived as natural can be considered a blank
canvass onto which one can paint oneself (Preston-Whyte, 2004; Gayton
1996). Any such perceptions of place or space, including the sea, are of
course socially and culturally constructed and should not be considered
permanent or fixed (see Corbin, 1994).
The seaside specific sense of place, experienced at Morecambe by these inter-
viewees, is referred to here as seasideness. The most significant and strongly
expressed of these seaside meanings centred on the following themes:

● wellness / restoration
● spirituality / re-connection
● nostalgia / childhood

All of these themes were inter-connected with each other and connected to
the seaside environment. The sea and its perceived characteristics could be
described as informing or even dominating the seaside experience and the
associated meanings listed above. Morecambe’s coastal strip was important
to the interviewees; to experience this natural attraction or environment
was the main reason to visit.
The interviews clearly indicate that senses are intensely engaged at the
seaside. Breathing in fresh sea air, smelling the sea, feeling the wind, hearing
the waves and looking out across the Bay and out to sea lie at the heart of
the seaside experience in Morecambe. The interviewees tended to bundle
the senses together, for instance they associated seaside smells and sounds
with the movement of the sea, as well as relaxation.

I think it’s the smell of the sea air, and the noise of the waves, or just the rippling
of the water.

Sea views were mentioned frequently and whilst these descriptions tended
to be ocular-centric, they often encompassed other senses too. We move
past the Tourist Gaze (Urry, 1990) and even the smell-scape (Dann and
Jacobsen, 2003) to a holistic seaside experience which relates directly to
a variety of feelings including touch (Obrador-Pons, 2007/2009). These
observations mirror Crouch’s (2013:18) words on landscape,

But what do we do in relation with landscape: do we just gaze at it? Almost

certainly not. We feel it; or at least we feel something in our relationship
152 David Jarratt

with ‘it’. Treading, smelling, turning and feeling the sense of space, open
or closed-in; touching a leaf, a building’s stone: a kaleidoscope of sense
and feelings, not a spectatorial detached gaze as though we were some
trainee surveyor. We participate, are involved in landscape. Our emotions
and feelings happen in the round; qualitatively; subjectively.

Various cultural signifiers are associated with Morecambe and the British
seaside. The built environment is an important element of this; it was
considered an old fashioned place that is rich in tradition. The Bed and
Breakfasts, ice-cream parlours, amusement arcades and the promenade
informed seasideness, personal nostalgia, collective nostalgia and even
national identity. Play on the beach was perhaps the richest source of remi-
niscence. For the interviewees, cultural signifiers of the seaside and memory
are intertwined:

You know, that I think a lot of people sort of my age in a way, remember about
the seaside, would be the typical visit to the seaside, spending time on the
beach, the ice cream, the building sand castles ...

Such cultural signifiers are common across most traditional British seaside
resorts, just as the sea itself is. Indeed the most significant and distinctive
aspect of seaside visits to Morecambe are the sights, smells and sounds of
the sea and the way they make one feel. Similar experiences can be had in
other resorts. One potential consequence of this is an inter-changeability
or transferability of seaside experiences. Interviewees tended to make little
distinction between resorts, treating them all as ‘seaside days’. A transfer-
able seasideness appears at least as important as any resort-specific sense of
place.

... there is a bit of a blueprint, there are certain things that make a seaside a
seaside.
I mean to me the seaside is, as the name implies, it’s the seaside. And I don’t
think it matters too much where you are ...

Visitors tended to refer to the traditional built seaside environment in

generic terms, however these references were occasionally punctuated by
specific reference to The Midland Hotel or other local landmarks. These
informed Morecambe’s sense of place which in turn fed into a more trans-
ferable seasideness. Exactly which resorts are interchangeable and to what
extent is questionable.
Whilst culture and heritage defines and characterizes seasideness, so
does the sea itself. This ubiquitous blue space is described and character-
ized in a number of different ways by interviewees but four clear themes,
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 153

or pairs of themes, emerge. The sea-related themes are: picturesque and

sublime, dynamic and powerful vast and awe inspiring, and timeless and
unchanging. These are now considered in turn and in doing so the core
elements of seasideness (wellness, spirituality and nostalgia) are discussed
along the way, in order to explore the relationships between these four
themes and seasideness.

The picturesque and sublime

The view out to sea or across the bay is described more often and in much
more emotive terms than any other physical aspect of the resort. Interviewees
even express an attachment towards the seascape itself as demonstrated in
the interview excerpt below, which is an example of building a positive rela-
tionship with place as recognized by Tuan (1977).

But I think it’s also the fact that you look across that bay, particularly on a
summer’s evening when the sun’s going down, and, and it’s over the bay and
there’s such beautiful sunsets and beautiful views that you can’t help but, but
be, be attracted to it and can’t help but be affected by it. And I think this is what
sort of happened over the years – I think it’s turned much more into that, into
the, the serenity and, and the, the ... the love of that view ...

Interviewees focus on the importance of seeing the sea on holiday. Visual

consumption of romantic vistas is an important aspect of the tourist’s
seaside experience:

I think probably all the time actually my eye would be drawn out to sea. And I
couldn’t really say why. It’s just a nice feeling to look out to sea. I think every-
body does, especially, you know, when you’re there at the seaside. Probably one
of my favourite spots would be right out at the end of the stone jetty, because
you can just look out.

The interviewees designate Morecambe Bay as ‘picturesque’ or ‘beautiful’ and

‘sublime’. These words have been associated with landscapes throughout the
industrial and post-industrial phases of Britain’s history (Aitchison, Macleod
and Shaw, 2002). The term landscape suggests a natural scene that has been
framed by the agency of human perspective. The traditions of the picturesque
are especially associated with framing however the tradition of the sublime
was somewhat different in that it relied on boundaries (Aitchison et al., 2002).
Punter (1994:223) explains this difference, ‘The Picturesque frames rough-
ness and variety; the Sublime has to do with being overwhelmed, surprised,
being taken out of one’s frame by a scene’. Sublime landscapes and seascapes
still serve their purpose of putting things into perspective and us in our place,
‘Sublime landscapes, through their grandeur and power, retain a symbolic
154 David Jarratt

role in bringing us to accept without bitterness or lamentation the obsta-

cles we cannot overcome and events we cannot make sense of’ (De Botton,
2002:178).
This seaside environment was interpreted in such a way as to allow a
sublime experience. Descriptions of looking out at the view and experi-
encing the seaside in the interviews were often the pre-cursors to obser-
vations regarding their lives, their place in the world and spirituality.
In other words, the interviewees display a feeling of expanded thought
through experiencing ‘nature ’ and blue space. This feeling and a poten-
tial connection through awe, as well as other milder emotions, can be
traced at least as far back as the work of Edmund Burke’s 1756 writings on
the sublime (Burke, 2001). The sublime offers a potential umbrella term
for all of these aspects of the sea: the powerful, dynamic, vast, awesome,
time-less and primeval. Schopenhauer developed Burke’s concepts by
producing a type of sliding scale between the beautiful to fully sublime.
As one moves through the scale one becomes more aware of one’s own
fragility and the object appears more antagonistic (see Schopenhauer,
2010:xxxi). Most interviewees made comments which would register on
the more sublime half of such a scale. Parallel observations regarding the
postivie and potentially awe inspiring reactions to the environment can
be seen with another IPA-based study which took place in the Scottish
wilderness (Hinds, 2011).

Dynamic and powerful sea

The sea follows a number of cycles and is seemingly in a constant state of flux.
Six interviewees refer to these dynamic aspects of the seaside environment.
These constantly changing features are seen as fascinating, beautiful and
appealing in their own right. Movement is of central importance to this:

And I think with me there’s a fascination with the sea, with the water, it’s
something that always attracts me, just the fact that it keeps moving, going out
and moving and coming back.

Running alongside these observations of a dynamic environment is the

theme of the powerful sea.

Well it’s like, it’s almost like a wild animal isn’t it? Like you could be looking at
a tiger in a zoo and thinking how wonderful it is and how you feel this love for
it, but yet it’s completely unapproachable and you know it’s untameable and
it’s. ... .a force to be reckoned with. ... .

The interviewees describe the sea as powerful and dynamic. It is dynamic

because it is considered ever changing through the fast changing tides,
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 155

weather, storms, seasons and light conditions. These movements, patterns

and forces were described as beautiful, intriguing and out of our hands,
thereby underpinning to the idea of a powerful sea. It is perhaps this dual
perception of the powerful and picturesque that makes the sea so fasci-
nating and appealing.
The descriptions offered by the interviewees are reminiscient of those of
pathos and sublimity from earlier centuries as described by Corbin (1994). He
points out that the powerful sea became a source of hope precisely because
it inspired fear. In facing the sea one faced one’s personal perils, thereby
overcoming the anxieties associated with urban society and re-establishing
harmony between body and soul (Corbin, 1994). Our views of the seaside
may have moved on from those of the 18th-century (Ryan, 2002; Shields,
1991) but for one interviewee the restorative appeal was still bound to her
fear of the sea:

You know because it’s so vast and scary. It’s like out of space almost isn’t it?

The sea, vastness and awe

Some interviewees refer specifically to awe, whilst others referred to vastness

as thought provoking and powerful but did specifically use this word. These
two themes blend into one and in many cases would be difficult to separate.
Indeed, awe has been defined as the combination of ‘perceived vastness and
accommodation’ (Keltner and Haidt, 2003:303). Accommodation here refers
to the adjusting of mental structures that cannot assimilate a new experi-
ence. To be awestruck is to experience reverence to something much more
powerful or vast than oneself. In the context of landscape or seascape, the
natural environment would usually demonstrate this power through its vast-
ness and/or severity. For a moment, we connect with something far greater
than us, we feel part of something bigger and at the same time humbled and
potentially changed by it. Vastness puts things into perspective and puts us
in our place.
Interviewees consider visiting the sea to be a potentially powerful experi-
ence; they comment on its vastness and see it as awe-inspiring. All seven
of the interviewees who made such comments found the openness and
vast outlook of the seaside to be thought provoking and appealing. This
appeal took slightly different forms; vastness was associated with nature,
the elements and beauty for the most part but also curiosity and imagining
what lies on the other side, travel and the past:

But, I mean, so you can have a feeling of distance and thinking about what
it’s like on the other side of what you can see so it kind of opens up your
imagination.
156 David Jarratt

Two interviewees specifically use the adjective ‘awesome’ (in the correct
sense of the word). They linked the awesome nature of the sea to our place
in the world and creation. The awesome nature of the sea is a comfort, an
assurance that there is something bigger out there:

... because I mean when you’re in it yourself, you know, you’re just like a tiny
little speck and a wave and all these huge rollers coming in and different tides
and, you know, it does make you feel, you know creation, well to me I just feel
it’s very peaceful and, you know, sort of quite awesome really.
... so when I go to Morecambe you can look out, so it’s unrestricted. And then
you look across the bay and you look across at the ... to the far side, and you
begin to see the Lakeland hills and so on. And then I begin to think, I put on my
dog collar and I begin to think about God and about creation.

Indeed, many of the quotes concerning scale and vastness, as can be seen
above, should be read as containing spiritual connotations. To be more
specific, their imaginations ran free, they considered travel to another place
far away, the source of this vast space and the distant past. Notably the sea
still represents something of a mystery of what lies on the other side; the
unknown and freedom. Vastness is clearly one of the unique features of
this environment which underpins its spiritual significance or, at the very
least, a uniquely contemplative sense of place. One reason for this may be
that the information-processing demands are much less in this environ-
ment, when compared to an urban environment where levels of sensory
stimulation can be overwhelming (Akhurst, 2010). These observations
regarding vastness clearly inform the earlier discussion on the Sublime and
the Beautiful, although in the research they did emerge as separate seaside
characteristics in the eyes of the interviewees.
Bull’s (2006) conceptual overview of coastal spirituality is relevant to this
study. His focus seems to be secular spirituality that sits outside, but does not
necessarily contradict or exclude, formalized religion. His work clearly demon-
strates various relevant interpretations of spirituality at the coast and poten-
tially it provides a useful framework. Bull postulates the inherent influences
over the spiritual draw of the sea, identifying four sets of such influences:

Spiritual and physical well-being – Correspondence of the sea’s rhythms

to life rhythms
Freedom of the limitless – The beach as liminality, safe margin to view
the seascape
Adventure and daring – Regression to childhood
Return to the womb, or pre-terrestriality – Surrender to great spiritual
power (Bull, 2006).
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 157

Lencek and Bosker (1998:97) observe that Wordsworth, Keats, Coleridge and
Byron ‘sensed in the vast organic entity of the sea the same amalgam of
spirit that stirred in the depths of the human soul’. The sea as a metaphor for
something equally as deep can be seen in the 1851 novel Moby Dick, Ishmael
observes, ‘there is, one knows not what sweet mystery about this sea, whose
gently awful stirrings seems to speak of some hidden soul beneath’ (Melville,
2002:397). Notably, a connection between the vastness of seascapes and our
soul was later explored by Bachelard (1994). He saw a connection between
the immensity and limitlessness of the seas and the depth of inner space
within us all, a void connecting with a void. This connection is perhaps best
expressed in The Wasteland:

On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing. (Eliot, 1922:300)

When one looks at both nothing and a hidden world at the same time, one’s
spirit can no longer remain ‘sealed or indivisible’ (Bachelard 1994:206). To
Bachelard and countless post-Renaissance poets, artists and authors, the sea
tells us something about ourselves.

The timeless sea

The interviewees make a number of connections between time and the

seaside. For instance, the experience of being by the sea goes hand in
hand with leisure time, the seaside holiday being framed and given
meaning by space and time. More striking though was the fact that this
environment is associated with timelessness that is standing outside of
the normal notions of time. Interviewees tend to describe the seaside
as ‘unchanging’ and ‘timeless’; the seaside environment is reassuring and
potentially contrasts with change as they experience it in their own lives.
In this sense it provides a constant, a timeless and unchanging back-
drop to whatever human activity takes place on its shores. The seaside is
also place of expanded thought, so the interviewees’ reflections on time
should come as no surprise.
The timeless seaside environment contrasts sharply with the frenetic pace
of modernity, the pressures of work and the nature of modern life. Relph
recognized precisely this phenomenon, which he links to place attachment:
‘The feeling that this place has endured and will persist as a distinctive
entity even though the world around may change’ (Relph 1976:31). The
unchanging seaside offered an opportunity to put things in perspective in
terms of time, to tune into a natural rhythm of waves and tides and essen-
tially to slow down (see Baerenholdt, Haldrup, Larsen and Urry, 2004). This
158 David Jarratt

is one reason why the seaside is seen as reassuring, calming and relaxing.
These observations are reflected in these interviewees’ statements:

... And to be able to look at something that is unchanging, and for all intents
and purposes will always be like that, maybe it’s a little bit ... has a calming
effect, you know, to see that something won’t change. Mankind’s changing so
much.
... it takes your mind completely away from all our sort of manmade hustle and
bustle. It takes you right back to nature really doesn’t it?

Interviewees considered the seaside experience to be good for them, a time

to relax. One interviewee observed that these visits made him, ‘feel ten
years younger’. Natural environments have been linked to restorativeness
and health by academics in recent years (for example Bell, Fisher, Baum
and Greene, 2006). Even more recently, startling associations between the
coastal environment and health have been correlated (see White et al., 2010;
Ashbullby, White, Pahl and Depledge, 2012).
The seaside sits outside of time as we see it – unchanged, unchanging except
for its own cycles. The seaside offers both a re-connection with nature and our
past or origins. Two interviewees even used the word ‘primeval’ to describe the
sea and suggest an evolutionary aspect to this bond:

Whether it’s a sort of a primeval thing where they say that we came from the
sea I don’t know, but it’s that sort of a feeling.

Nostalgia is a significant aspect of seasideness; it is associated with child-

hood, play and issues of identity. Re-visiting this place with its distinct sights
and smells tends to be a nostalgic experience of the sort we might associate
with Proust (1984). The interviews indicate that the timeless seaside made
the perfect backdrop for nostalgia.

I think it [looking at the views] does take me back to, you know, to years gone by
when I used to go for a walk along the prom with, with mum and dad ...
It’s ... I think the bay is just spectacular, it’s just beautiful. And I always feel ... I
always feel very nostalgic when I go to Morecambe.

Interviewees tended to describe their childhood family holidays in great

detail. They saw the beach and sea as unchanging thereby highlighting
changes in the wider world and especially childhood. There was a sense
that childhood itself had changed with modern day children having higher
expectations but less freedom and independence in terms of play. Others
saw these virtues as intact on the beach, which was a refuge of timeless
childhood play, but this highlighted wider socio-cultural change.
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 159

I do believe that a beach gives freedoms that aren’t necessarily there in the way
that we live these days.

Seaside nostalgia and issues of identity operated on personal and collective

levels, some which were much less directly related to timelessness. Notably,
the physical coastline itself and seaside culture at traditional resorts appeared
to inform Britishness; a seaside visit was described as a ‘Very British thing to
do’. Images associated with the seaside are instantly recognizable as ‘part of
England’s collective consciousness’s, our folk memory’ (Elborough, 2010:7)
and they reinforce the self-image of an island nation.
So the time-less (sea) is a constant by which to compare our own lives
(Relph, 1976). Nostalgia is a clear and significant manifestation of this
comparison and would make a fascinating area for future research. However
the sea was also viewed as standing outside of the modern world in the
sense that it is traditional and ancient; it was associated with our historic
and pre-historic past. The ‘primeval’ sea was even associated with our evolu-
tionary past by the interviewees in the form of some genetic memory (Ryan,
2002) which may link to a much more distant past (see Morgan, 2009).
However one explains this phenomenon, people seem naturally drawn to
the timeless and our perception of time affects sense of place.

Conclusion

The seaside can be characterized as a culture-nature interface (Preston-

Whyte, 2004). Sense of place, as discussed in this chapter, is informed by
the perceived characteristics of blue space, the sea itself. These are beauty/
picturesque, dynamic/powerful, vastness/awe and the timeless sea. Of
course the senses, which are very much engaged at the seaside, are central
to these perceptions and also lie at the heart of seasideness. The sea is not
only a contributory factor to sense of place, it was in the object to which
interviewees felt attachment to, at least as much as to the town itself. For the
interviewees, the seaside resort (in this case Morecambe) is the place which
facilitates access to one of the most uninterrupted and pure forms of space
available. Access to this environment is considered beneficial by individuals
and much valued by them.
Issues of identity as they relate to place pervade the findings of this
research and indeed the study of leisure places more generally (Aitchinson
et al., 2002; Williams, 2002). In this case place identity is partly a reflection
of a transferable and more generic seaside identity rather than something
more specific to Morecambe. In a similar fashion, the interviews reveal an
attachment to the seaside but only a limited attachment to the resort of
Morecambe specifically. Indeed places more generally are a reflection of
relationships and connections with other places (Massey, 1993). The attach-
ment to the seaside was very much intertwined with place identity but place
160 David Jarratt

dependence was similarly affected; visitors depended on the seaside more

than one might expect – spiritually, physiologically and psychologically.
This is in alignment with the psychological benefit suggested by Tuan (1977),
when a person achieves a balance between what can he called place and
a space. It should be remembered that space and place are socio- culturally
constructed, constantly changing, relational and not always easily distin-
guished (Creswell, 2013; Massey, 1993). Nevertheless for generations the
seaside environment offered wide open spaces to visitors, and has been asso-
ciated with well-being in some form (see Hassan, 2003 for a full discussion on
this topic). Recently academics have established clear links between natural
environments and the sea to health and well-being (Ashbullby et al., 2012;
Akhurst, 2010; Bell, Fisher, Baum and Greene, 2006; and White et al., 2010).
Within leisure studies it has been recognized for some time that visitors
value their relationships with leisure places (see Williams, 2002) and the
interviewees certainly value and even depend on their seaside visits. Yet
these same visitors are not necessarily tied to or dependent on a specific
resort. Another seaside resort would do because, as one of the interviewees
put it, ‘if you are at the seaside you’re at the seaside’. This would suggest that
the range of other traditional resorts available, their perceived social desir-
ability, issues of access and other considerations would be likely to dictate
destination choice as long as they all offer blue space and a shoreline where
children, the inner child or memory can be free and at play. Other resorts
with more complete touristic infrastructures and different reputations may
be able to offer something of the Carnivalesque too, which was noticeably
absent in the sense of place for Morecambe as explored in this research.
Seasideness contains socio-cultural elements and is based on primary
research associated with one traditional British resort; it is likely to vary
between cultures, regions, resorts and socio-demographic groups. However
at its centre lies a relationship with, or interpretation of, blue space which is
likely to contain elements that reach across a wide range of people(s). Natural
landscapes can ‘often act as blank canvases into which we paint, and define,
ourselves’ (Gayton, 1996:55) and this is true for the coastline too (Preston-
Whyte, 2004). The seaside environment offers uninterrupted space, vastness
and potential sublimity more completely than almost any landscape. We
take what we need or desire from this environment. The Interviewees desired
access to blue space and an associated re-connection between the vast bay
or seemingly endless sea and that which lies beyond easy reach; an external
power, the past, and something or someone that stirs within.

References
Aitchinson, C., Macleod and Shaw, S. (2002) Leisure and Tourism Landscapes: Social
and Cultural Geographies. London: Routledge.
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 161

Akhurst, J. (2010) ‘Exploring the Nexus between Wilderness and Therapeutic

Experiences’. Implicit Religion, 13(3), pp. 295–305.
Ashbullby, K., White, M., Pahl, S. and Depledge, M. (2012) The Psychological Benefits
of Visiting Natural Environments: Different Effects of the Coast, Countryside and Urban
Open Space on Positive Effect. Academic poster was received by e-mail from authors,
8 May 2012.
Bachelard, G. (1994) The Poetics of Space. Boston: Beacon Press.
Baerenholdt, J., Haldrup, M., Larsen, J. and Urry, J. (2004) Performing Tourist Places.
Alershot: Ashgate Publishing.
BBC2 (2007) Coast: series 3, episode 3. Broadcast on British television on 17 June
2007.
Beatty C. and Fothergill S. (2003) The Seaside Economy: The Final Report of the Seaside
Towns Research Project. Centre for Regional Economic and Social Research, Sheffield,
http://www.shu.ac.uk/research/cresr/publication_downloads.html., date accessed
1 June 2008.
Bell, P., Fisher, J., Baum, A., and Greene, T. (2006) Environmental Psychology. Orlando:
Harcourt Brace College Publishers.
Betjeman, J. (2010) ‘Margate’, 1940. Available at: http://penchef1.wordpress.
com/2010/08/09/margate-1940-by-sir-john-betjeman/ Accessed 1 September 2012.
Bingham, R. K. (1990) Lost Resort: The Flow and Ebb of Morecambe. Milnthorpe,
Cumbria: Cicerone Press.
Bull, A. (2006) ‘Is a trip to the seaside a spiritual journey?’ Proceedings of Tourism:
The Spiritual Dimension Conference, Lincoln, UK, April.
Butler, R. (1980) ‘The Concept of a Tourist Area Cycle of Evolution: Implications of
Management Resources.’ Canadian Geographer, 24(1), pp. 5–12.
Burke, E. (2001) ‘On the Sublime and Beautiful. Vol. XXIV, Part 2. The Harvard Classics’,
http://www.bartleby.com/br/02402.html., date accessed 26 September 2012.
Corbin, A. (1994) The Lure of the Sea. Oxford: Blackwell.
Creswell, T. (2004) Place: A Short Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell.
Creswell, T. (2013) Geographic Thought: A Critical Introduction. Oxford: Wiley-
Blackwell.
Crouch, D. (2013) ‘And now for a few words from David Crouch: Landscape’. Leisure
Studies Association Newletter, No.96: November.
Dann, G. and Jacobsen, J. (2003) ‘Tourism Smellscapes’. Tourism Geographies, 5(1),
pp. 3–25.
De Botton, A. (2002) The Art of Travel. London: Hamish Hamilton.
Elborough, T. (2010) Wish You Were Here: England on Sea. London: Sceptre.
Eliot, T.S. (1922) The Wasteland. New York: Horace Liveright.
Forest of Bowland A.O.N.B. (n/d) ‘Sense of Place’, http://www.forestofbowland.com/
bn_sop, date accessed 17 August 2012.
Gayton, D. (1996) Landscapes of the Interior: Re-Explorations of Nature and the Human
Spirit. Gabriola Island, BC: New Society Publishers.
Gibson, I., Crawford, C. and Geddes (2008) ‘England’s Northwest Staying Visitor
Survey 2007–8’, http://www.lancashireandblackpool.com/xsdbimgs/Microsoft%20
Word%20-%20Final%20Report%20NW%20Staying%20Visitors.pdf, date accessed
3 January 2013.
Harris, J. and Domokos, J. (2011) ‘Anywhere but Westminster, Morecambe: The seaside
town that cuts brought to a standstill’ [video]. The Guardian, London, http://www.
guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/video/2011/jul/21/morecambe-cuts-video, date
accessed 15 December 2012.
162 David Jarratt

Hassan, J. (2003) The Seaside, Health and The Environment in England and Wales since
1800. Aldershot: Ashgate.
Hinds, J. (2011) ‘Exploring the Psychological Rewards of a Wilderness Experience:
An Interpretative Phemenological Analysis’. The Humanistic Psychologist, 39(3),
pp. 189–205.
Howitt, D. (2010) Introduction to Qualitative Methods in Psychology. Harlow, UK:
Pearson.
Howitt, D. and Cramer, D. (2011) Introduction to Research Methods in Psychology.
Harlow, UK: Pearson.
Jordison, S. (2013) ‘Morecambe’s revival: how the original Crap Town turned itself
around’. The Guardian – The Northerner Blog, http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/
the-northerner/2013/oct/10/morecambe-crap-towns-revival-midland-hotel, date
accessed 26 October 2013.
Keltner, D. and Haidt, J. (2003) ‘Approaching Awe, a Moral, Spiritual, and Aesthetic
Emotion’. Cognition and Emotion, 17(2), pp. 297–314.
Kyle, G. and Chick, G. (2007) ‘The Social Construction of a Sense of Place’. Leisure
Sciences, 29(3), pp. 209–225.
Lancaster City Council (2011) ‘Morecambe STEAM Report 2010’, http://www.lancaster.
gov.uk/tourism/destination-performance/, date accessed 17 November 2012.
Lancaster City Council (2012) ‘Morecambe Area Action Plan – Consultation Draft
2012’, http://www.lancaster.gov.uk/planning/regeneration/morecambe-area-ac-
tion-plan/, date accessed 20 December 2012.
Lencek, L. and Bosker, G. (1998) The Beach: The History of Paradise on Earth. New York:
Viking.
Locum and Arkenford 2006 Locum and Arkenford (2006) ‘Northwest Visitor
Segmentation Research: Results Compendium’, http://www.nwriu.co.uk/
publicationsandreports/2 1.aspx, date accessed 4 November 2009.
Massey, D. (1993) ‘Power-Geometry and Progressive Sense of Place’ in Bird, J., Curtis,
B., Putnam, T. and Tickner, L. (eds) Mapping The Futures: Local Cultures, Global
Change. London: Routledge.
Melville, H. (2002) Moby Dick. London: Wordsworth Editions.
Morgan, E. (2009) The Aquatic Ape Hypothesis. London: Souvenir Press.
Obrador-Pons, P. (2007) A Haptic Geography of the Beach: Naked Bodies, Vision and
Touch. Social and Cultural Geography, 8(1), pp. 123–141.
Obrador-Pons, P. (2009) Building Castles in the Sand: Repositioning Touch on the
Beach. The Sense and Society, 4(2), pp. 195–210.
Patterson, M. and Williams, D. (2005) ‘Maintaining Research Traditions on Place:
Diversity of Thought and Scientific Progress’. Journal of Environmental Psychology,
25, pp. 361–380.
Preston-Whyte, R. (2004) ‘The Beach as a Liminal Space’ in Lew, A., Hall, M. and
Williams, A. (eds) A Companion for Tourism. Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 349–359.
Proust, M. (1984) Remembrance of Things Past. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin.
Punter, D. (1994) ‘The Picturesque and the Sublime: Two Worldscapes’ in Copley, S.
and Garside, P. (eds) The Politics of the Picturesque. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Relph, E. (1976) Place and Placelessness. London: Pion Limited.
Ryan, C. (2002) ‘Memories of the beach’. In Ryan, C. (ed.) The Tourist Experience.
London: Thomson, pp. 156–172.
Schopenhauer, A. (2010) The World as Will and Representation – Volume 1. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
 Seasideness: Sense of Place at a Seaside Resort 163

Shaw, R. (2010) ‘Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis’. In Forrester, M. (ed.) Doing

Qualitative Research in Psychology: A Practical Guide. London: Sage, pp. 177–201.
Shields, R. (1991) Places on the Margin: Alternative geographies of modernity. London:
Routledge.
Smith, J.A. and Osborn, M. (2008) ‘Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis’. In
Smith, J. A. (ed.) Psychology: A Practical Guide to Research Methods. London: Sage,
pp. 53–81.
Smith, J. A., Flowers, P. and Larkin, M. (2009) Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis:
Theory Method and Research. London: Sage.
Trotman, J. (2007) Lancaster City Council: Morecambe – Tourism Trends and Redevelopment.
Letter and briefing report [hard copy] – dated June 2007.
Tuan, Y. (1977) Space and Place. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Turner, P. and Turner, S. (2006) ‘Place, Sense of Place, and Presence’. Presence, 15(2),
pp. 204–217.
Tunstall, S. M. and Penning-Rowsell, E. C. (1998). ‘The English Beach: Experiences
and Values’. The Geographical Journal, 164(3), pp. 319–332.
Urry, J. (1990) The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies. London:
Sage.
Urry, J. (1997) ‘Cultural Change and the Seaside Resort’. In Shaw. G. and Williams,
A. (eds) The Rise and Fall of British Coastal Resorts: Cultural and Economic Perspectives.
London: Mansell, pp. 102–117.
Walton, J. K. (2000) The British seaside: Holidays and resorts in the twentieth century.
Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Wang, W. (1999) ‘Rethinking Authenticity in Tourism Experience’. Annals of Tourism
Research, 26(2), pp. 349–370.
Ward, C. and Hardy, D. (1986) Goodnight Campers! History of the British Holiday Camp.
London: Mansell Publishing.
White, M., Smith, A., Humphryes, K., Pahl, S. Snelling, D. and Depledge, M. (2010)
‘Blue Space: The importance of water for preference, affect, and restorativeness
ratings of natural and built scenes’. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 30(4),
pp. 482–493.
Williams, D. (2002) ‘Leisure identities, Globalization and the Politics of Place’. Journal
of Leisure Research, 34(4), pp. 351–367.
12
Savouring Leisure Spaces
Jaime L. Kurtz and Erik Simmons

The most visible joy can only reveal itself to us when we have trans-
formed it, within.
– Rainier Rilke (1923/2005).

If a person has the luxury of taking a few hours out of her busy day, or is
contemplating where to spend a relaxing or engaging weekend outside of
the home, thoughts of leisure spaces may naturally come to mind. She may
decide to take a walk in a nearby garden, visit an art museum, or even join
in a game of soccer. As disparate as these options may seem, they all involve
spending time in a leisure space; that is, a place intended for enjoyment,
engagement, or relaxation. However, if she visits one of these spaces in a
state of stress or distraction, it will be less likely to serve its intended func-
tion. In other words, while leisure spaces provide the raw material needed
for engagement, relaxation and pleasure, a complicated chain of internal,
psychological processes must be activated in order to fully enjoy them.
Specifically, people must notice and savour these spaces if they are going to
be fully enjoyed.
In this chapter, we will explain the state of savouring and distinguish it
from related concepts of gratitude, flow and mindfulness. We will explain
why it is often difficult to savour, and yet why it is also beneficial for psycho-
logical well-being. Finally, we will discuss savouring in the context of leisure
spaces, arguing that one’s mindset and goals are as important as the space
itself when attempting to relax and enjoy.

Savouring defined

Bryant and Veroff (2007) define savouring as the ability to notice and appre-
ciate positive experience. It can also be thought of as mindfully attending
to a positive, present experience. (Although one can savour the past, in the
form of reminiscence or nostalgia, or savour the future, in terms of antici-
pation, this chapter will focus on savouring present experience). Savouring

164
 Savouring Leisure Spaces 165

is synonymous with appreciating and relishing, but is distinct from related

concepts like mindfulness, intrinsic motivation, emotional intelligence,
happiness, flow and meditation (Bryant & Veroff, 2006). While similar to
gratitude, generally, gratitude is thought of as having a distinct source (‘I am
grateful to my husband for taking out the trash’ or ‘I am grateful to God for
this beautiful day’; Emmons & McCullough, 2003) whereas savouring often
does not. One who is savouring is simply basking in the present moment,
taking it in and appreciating it.
It is also important to distinguish the state of savouring from that of
mindfulness, which has been the focus of much recent research attention
(e.g., Brown & Ryan, 2003; Ekman, Davidson, Ricard, & Wallace, 2005).
Mindfulness is a state of mind in which one ‘pays attention in a particular
way: on purpose, in the present moment, and non-judgmentally’ (Kabat-
Zinn, 1994, p. 4). One could argue, then, that savouring is a more specific
form of being mindful. Savouring is the active process by which people
attempt to create positive emotions and derive fulfillment from any given
experience (Beaumont, 2011). In other words, we can think of savouring as
being selectively mindful to positive, present experiences.

The challenges of savouring

The ability to savour positive experiences is an individual difference,

varying from person to person. While one who is generally proficient in
savouring would possess the capacity to find pleasure in almost any given
space, one who is not proficient would not find pleasure in even the most
ideal of spaces. For instance, a natural savourer could derive pleasure from
a meager flower amidst a field of concrete, while an individual who strug-
gles – for whatever reason – to savour would not be able to acknowledge the
most gorgeous of sunsets.
People who are high in the traits of mindfulness, hope, optimism, extra-
version and emotional intensity tend to be better able to savour. There is
also a notable sex difference, where women find savouring more easy and
natural than do men (Bryant, 2003).
Despite these variations, generally speaking, savouring is a process that
does not come easily to many people. As described in greater detail below, it
requires that attention be drawn to the positive qualities of an object or expe-
rience. However, attention is necessary but not sufficient for savouring. After
attending to something positive, one must experience thoughts or engage
in behaviours that create feelings of appreciation, enjoyment or happiness.
This process is inherently challenging, but is made even more difficult by
our tendency to grow accustomed to positive but enduring experiences.
We tend to focus on novelty and change, oftentimes finding ourselves
consumed by thoughts of work, family and other obligations that demand
attention. This sometimes makes savouring subtle constancies like a sunset
166 Jaime L. Kurtz and Erik Simmons

or a painting feel like a luxury. Imagine, for example, that Sue is spending a
few hours on a hike. Although she should, in some sense, understand that
she is surrounded by beauty, it is likely that she will find herself frequently
distracted by thoughts of the past or future, rather than fully appreciating
the present. Technology may exacerbate this distraction, pulling her out of
the moment with text messages and social media updates.
Aside from the many external demands that constantly vie for her atten-
tion, internal adaptation processes (e.g., Brickman & Campbell, 1971;
Parducci, 1995) also hinder the ability to savour. Simply put, over time and
through repeated exposure, events that were once sources of great pleasure
or great pain gradually lose their emotional power. This is undoubtedly
beneficial for negative life experiences. No one wants to dwell endlessly on
a painful breakup or constantly relive a tragedy. However, the adaptation
process works in a similar fashion for positive events, making it easy to
grow accustomed to pleasant, enduring things. To illustrate, imagine that
Sue hikes on a particular trail every few days. The first few times she does
this, she savours the beauty and peacefulness of her surroundings. However,
over time she adapts, and the trail ceases to bring her the deep pleasure
it did initially. Through no fault of her own, Sue has come to see hiking
on the trail as just a normal event in her day, and it will take something
very different or something more striking to bring her the same amount
of pleasure this hike initially did. She will need to exert effort to overcome
this, perhaps mindfully attending to her hike or cultivating a sense of grati-
tude for it.

The benefits of savouring

If savouring is such a difficult process, requiring mental resources and

attentional capacity, one may wonder whether it is beneficial. Shouldn’t
attention be focused on where it is naturally being pulled? Is it counterpro-
ductive to actively force attention to where it is not demanded, as beautiful
or meaningful as the object may be? These are valid questions, and there
are certainly times when savouring is detrimental. Staring out the window
at a mountainous view is probably unwise while giving an important pres-
entation or navigating heavy traffic. But, when one has attention to spare,
there are certainly benefits that come from noticing and appreciating the
good things in life; hence the importance of setting aside leisure time where
attention for savouring is available.
A recent meta-analysis statistically combined the results of 16 studies on
savouring to examine larger trends and draw broader conclusions on the
benefits of savouring (Smith, Harrison, Kurtz, & Bryant, 2014). Findings
revealed that, overall, instructing people to actively savour was related to
small but significant increases in happiness. The kinds of savouring activi-
ties examined here included sharing news of a positive event with others,
 Savouring Leisure Spaces 167

collecting mementos and taking pictures as a way of preserving it in their

memories, or writing about an experience, elaborating on the details of it
and how good it made people feel (Bryant, 2001; Pennebaker, 1997).
Related research on gratitude finds evidence for the benefits of counting
one’s blessing and keeping gratitude journals, tasks that require people
to attend to and write down things in their lives that they appreciate.
These activities, which engage a person in the savouring process, appear
to be related to increases in mental and physical well-being (Emmons &
McCullough, 2003; Sheldon & Lyubomirsky, 2006). These techniques may
help inhibit processes of adaptation and allow people to revel in their
accomplishments and good fortune for extended periods of time, thereby
promoting increased appreciation and well-being.
In addition to the benefits, there are serious costs that come from not
savouring. No one wants to look back on a phase of life and realize that it
was not appreciated, or was taken for granted. In the classic play Our Town,
the ghost of a girl is reflecting on the simple pleasures of her former life
and expresses profound regret at not appreciating them. A second character
sums up her feelings by claiming, ‘Now you know! That’s what it was to be
alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance ... To spend and waste time as
though you had a million years’ (Wilder, 1938/1998, pp. 139–140).
In other words, one downfall to not savouring is a sense of regret when
reflecting on the past, realizing critical moments were squandered or
ignored.
Savouring is thought to have social benefits as well. People who are aware
of the positive qualities of their loved ones might place a higher value on
those relationships. They may even be motivated to tell these people how
appreciated they are, an activity that has been shown to have psycholog-
ical benefits for the individual and for the dynamics of the relationship
(Seligman, Steen, Park, & Peterson, 2005). In general, then, savouring does
appear to require a good deal of motivation and mental resources. However,
as described below, researchers in the emerging field of positive psychology
(Seligman & Csikszentmihalyi, 2000), which focuses on happiness, appre-
ciation and related concepts, are examining both the benefits of savouring
and the ways people can structure their lives to make it easier to savour.

The individual experience of leisure

Much of the current research specifically on leisure spaces looks solely at

the objective physical environments we occupy (Daniel, 2014, personal
communication). Indeed, Diener and Biswas-Diener (2008) note that the
specific nature of the relationship between leisure and well-being has not
been adequately explored. This may be due to a lack of communication
between academic psychologists who focus on internal states and proc-
esses (e.g., savouring and happiness) and those who study external, physical
168 Jaime L. Kurtz and Erik Simmons

environments. However, there is a natural overlap between these fields.

Specifically, research in positive psychology suggests that savouring is a vital
component to an enjoyable experience in a leisure space (Bryant & Veroff,
2007). Furthermore, one’s ability to savour these spaces can be influenced
by his or her goals, personality and state of mind.
A primary consideration is the kind of leisure activity. As people go about
their daily lives, they may not be consciously aware that they can partake
in different forms of leisure, or notice when they may have an opportu-
nity for leisure. The nature of leisure can be just as diverse as the spaces an
individual occupies. The observation of structural leisure – indexed by the
amount of time spent on activity outside of work – considers the variables
of time and frequency by which leisurely activities are structured (Newman,
Tay, & Diener, 2013). For example, consider the amount of time one spends
with friends, watching television, or exercising. These are all activities that
may consume different amounts of time outside of work.
More relevant to savouring, the construct of subjective leisure considers
one’s subjective sense of leisure involvement; the amount of utility, or good,
one gains from an activity. Leisure is inherently subjective. For instance,
two friends watch the same television program together each week. Because
they are experiencing the same program for the same amount of time, the
structure of their leisure is identical. However, one friend may find little
utility, or subjective pleasure, regarding this leisure, while the other may
find immense pleasure in it, reinforcing the importance of one’s psycho-
logical state.

Goals: flow, savouring, and mindfulness

When an individual settles into a leisure space with the intention of enjoy-
ment, the expected activity and goals that occur in the space are impor-
tant. One’s preconceived notions dictate the perception of an interaction
with a leisure space; however, external factors may be beyond one’s control
or not what was expected. Imagine heading to the park on a sunny day
with the intention of meditating in peace, but regrettably there is a band
holding a concert. Or imagine visiting the same park with the goal of
enjoying a nice long run, but construction is taking place on all of the
routes you could possibly travel. Surely, accomplishing the intended goal
would become difficult. Additionally, these unexpected external factors
could have an adverse effect on savouring, instead producing frustration
and disappointment.
Also, although savouring is a highly desirable and beneficial state of
mind – mindfully attending to the positive aspects of an experience – it is
not always compatible with our goals, and there are several different mind-
sets that one may bring to leisure. In fact, we may think of a savouring
mindset as one specific version of a leisure state of mind, characterized by a
 Savouring Leisure Spaces 169

feeling of freedom as well as both intrinsic and extrinsic motives (Neulinger,

1981).
Another mindset that also relates to leisure is the flow state
(Csikszentmihalyi, 1990). Rather than stepping back to bask in or relish a
positive experience, sometimes we seek to lose ourselves in a challenging
activity. Flow involves a state of extreme, active, goal-directed focus on a
challenging task. The optimal amount of flow occurs when one’s skill level
or mastery is a perfect fit for the challenge at hand. When reflecting on a
flow experience, people may say that they lost sense of time, experienced
diminished self-focus, and that they were focusing all of their attention on
the activity at hand, pushing their boundaries and making progress towards
a meaningful goal. They also report a strong desire to have a similar experi-
ence in the future.
While the flow experience is not exclusive to leisure, leisure can certainly
provide ample opportunity for flow to occur. However, the choice of active
versus passive leisure can determine how much flow we experience. Active
leisure, which may include challenging activities such as chess playing or
rock climbing, requires skill and is conducive to the experience of flow.
The opposite is true for passive leisure, which includes less challenging
activities such as watching television or surfing the Internet. Active and
passive leisure serve different functions. At the end of a long day, we may
want nothing more than to disengage, perhaps passively relaxing in front
of the television (Sonnentag & Zijlstra, 2006). However, although it may be
harder to initiate, active leisure is linked to enhanced well-being, as well as
to a sense of meaning and intrinsic motivation (doing something simply
because it is enjoyable; Csikszentmihalyi, 1990).
To experience flow, it is essential to be able to get lost in a moment, rather
than being pulled out of it by distractions and frustrations. Some leisure
spaces may be more conducive to the flow state than others. For example,
John finds it much easier to get lost in the moment while playing baseball
in his spacious backyard than in his cramped basement. Alice can focus for
hours when she is painting a portrait in a quiet studio rather than in the
middle of a bustling sidewalk. This makes the backyard and the studio more
efficient leisure spaces because they are more in keeping with individual
goals.
It is important to distinguish flow from mindfulness. Both of these
constructs require a state of awareness. The difference between the two is
that to attain flow, an individual must take an active role in engaging with a
specific activity. A state of mindfulness is much more consistent with a state
of present being, and can be acquired through a focus on the breath, on the
body, or through meditation (Kabat-Zinn, 1994). Both states require in-the-
moment presence and awareness, but while in flow one actively engages
with a challenging task and does not focus on the self. In mindfulness, an
individual is a passive and aware receptacle to the world around him or her,
170 Jaime L. Kurtz and Erik Simmons

with any and all thoughts and feelings being possible and valid. Attention is
free-flowing, rather than focused solely on one activity. Some leisure spaces
may be more conducive to mindfulness than to flow. For example, Mark is
sitting on a bench next to a beautiful lake. The task of sitting requires no
skill and presents no challenge, therefore this bench is not conducive to
flow. However, the spectacular view and tranquility of the lake makes it very
conducive to a state of mindfulness.
Using savouring, flow and mindfulness as examples, it becomes clear that
the relationship between goals and physical space is interactive and malle-
able. The nature of this relationship changes based on the many factors that
dictate the context: what one is doing, who one is with, one’s goals, and
one’s mental state are all aspects to consider. When one is optimally focused
and challenged, and when the activity is befitting one’s personality and
goals, it is likely to be a rewarding leisure experience.
But how does the physical space we occupy uniquely contribute to this
relationship? After all, there is a complex interaction between the indi-
vidual and the leisure environment. As discussed, there is no one specific
environment that qualifies as the perfect leisure space. However, this is not
to say that certain spaces where people engage in leisure are not more likely
to lead to a satisfying experience.

The best savouring spaces

Instead of laying out a general set of criteria that focus, say, on a specific
array of colours or a certain organizational or aesthetic style, we attempt to
identify the factors that best promote satisfying leisure. Many of the phys-
ical qualities of a leisure space are unique; however, there are variables that
occur in the relationship between an individual and a space that allow for
the optimal amount of leisure and savouring.
As discussed earlier, savouring is a key component of enjoyment, although
it can often be difficult to develop and sustain (Brickman & Campbell,
1971; Parducci, 1995). Noticing and appreciating one’s surroundings is the
first step towards making the best out of any given leisure space. Certainly
aesthetically attractive environments will be easier to savour than ones that
are less pleasing to the eye. However, a person’s internal state – how focused
and attentive he or she is – is also important. Consider the example of a
person who, at the end of a stressful day, goes to a favourite quiet spot to
take a walk and watch the sun set. Despite the beauty and peacefulness of
her surroundings, she is having trouble settling in to a mental state that
allows her to enjoy her experience. She cannot enjoy the present because
her mind is wandering to thoughts of the workday, concerns of future tasks,
responsibilities she must attend to, or to a negative event that persists in her
memory. Her surroundings are calm; her mind is not, and her experience is
likely to be unfulfilling (Killingsworth & Gilbert, 2010). Enhanced, focused
 Savouring Leisure Spaces 171

awareness will allow her to bring her mind back to the present moment and
savour the experience at hand.

Nature and savouring

Although there does not seem to be one perfect kind of leisure space, there
is a growing body of research on the effects that nature has on happiness
and satisfaction. Most find the outdoors as a metaphoric hotbed for leisurely
experience. Wilson (1984) introduced the concept of biophilia – the general
human need to affiliate with life, or things that resemble lifelike processes.
This is a domain of evolutionary psychology that suggests that, throughout
history, interactions with nature have been adaptive for survival. Hence,
we have an innate propensity to find pleasure in activities that allow us to
interact with nature. Indeed, most people report finding more pleasure and
enjoyment in nature than in manmade spaces (Kaplan & Kaplan, 1989).
Studies suggest a strong relationship between the outdoors and psycho-
logical and physical well-being. Nisbet and Zelenski (2011) performed
an experiment that measured happiness after two different groups took
a brief walk. One group of participants was randomly assigned to walk
around an indoor track while a second group walked outside. They found
that those who walked outside showed higher levels of happiness after
their walk.
Despite the benefits of being in nature, this is not always feasible due to
time constraints, weather, or lack of access. Other research suggests that
simulated nature may also produce benefits (Kahn, Severson, & Ruckert,
2009). The real question is, does this synthetic replication have the exact
same benefits of the real thing? The answer seems to be yes, somewhat.
Kahn and colleagues (2008) conducted an experiment to examine the
effects of simulated nature versus real nature. All participants were put in a
low-level stressful situation while their heart rates were monitored. Then the
researchers manipulated artificial nature versus authentic nature by placing
participants in an office in one of three conditions: they either faced a glass
window, a plasma television display of a real-time natural scene, or a blank
wall. Those in the glass-window condition were the only ones who showed
significant decrease in heart-rates following low-level stress. Essentially,
they calmed down more quickly. The plasma-window condition seemed to
evoke some restorative benefits, but not nearly as much as those facing the
glass window. The researchers concluded that artificial connections with
nature did promote some enhanced physical well-being, but not nearly as
much as authentic nature. We may find some comfort in artificial nature
settings, and they may often be more convenient. In other words, taking a
walk during the lunch hour may be ideal, but one might also benefit from
placing a plant – even an artificial one – in his office. However, Kahn and
colleagues (2008) argue that, if we continue to accept this lesser form of
172 Jaime L. Kurtz and Erik Simmons

satisfaction as the status quo, we could end up living in a culture where

physical and psychological well-being levels are suboptimal.

Suggestions for enhancing savouring

Mounting research is establishing the relationship between the ability to

savour and happiness, or subjective well-being (Smith, Harrison, Kurtz, &
Bryant, 2014). Modern life can make savouring – that is, attending to and
appreciating positive, present experience – quite challenging. However,
leisure time presents us with the opportunity to turn an appreciative eye to
the beauty and meaning around us. Sheer amounts of free time, however,
are often not enough, as it is easy to squander on unfulfilling tasks, such
watching television or mindlessly surfing the Internet. We are also increas-
ingly prone to multitasking, which certainly makes it difficult to focus on
and appreciate any one thing (Csikszentmihalyi, 1998, Killingsworth &
Gilbert, 2010). In light of these challenges, the next section contains specific
suggestions on how to best use leisure time.
When at leisure, it is important to devote as much attention as possible to
the activity at hand. This can require turning off cellular phones; clearing
the mind of stressful, distracting thoughts; or allowing oneself to be
immersed in a challenging activity. This calm, focused mindset can be diffi-
cult to acquire and maintain. Therefore, one might also consider practicing
mindfulness to learn to be more aware of and appreciative of the present
(see Kabat-Zinn, 1994, 2001, for advice).
One may also implement empirically-validated savouring techniques.
For example, in one week-long study, participants were instructed to take
a 20-minute walk, during which they should ‘try to notice as many posi-
tive things around them as they could (e.g., flowers, sunshine, music), to
acknowledge each of these things in their mind when they noticed it, and
to identify what it was about each thing that made it pleasurable’ (Bryant &
Veroff, 2007, pp. 184–185). People engaging in this activity reported being
happier after a week. Notably, this was in comparison to those who were
took a walk but focused on negative thoughts, or took a walk with no special
instructions. It seems, then, that the thoughts and feelings one brings into a
pleasant environment are critical to the experience of savouring.
Another study (Kurtz, 2012) asked participants to go for a walk around their
everyday environments – in this case, a college campus – and take photo-
graphs. Instructions varied, with some being told to take photographs of
what was most meaningful and noteworthy to them, while others were told
to take neutral, informative photographs of campus facilities. Participants
taking meaningful photographs reported being in a better mood following
the activity, perhaps because this activity put them in a mindset that was
conducive to savouring positive aspects of their lives to which they had
grown accustomed.
 Savouring Leisure Spaces 173

More generally, keeping a gratitude journal – essentially, writing down

three good things that happened that day or writing more broadly about
things one is grateful for – is linked to enhanced appreciation and happiness
(Emmons & McCullough, 2003). Perhaps focusing attention on the positive
qualities of one’s leisure time or leisure spaces makes for a natural applica-
tion of this technique.
These recent studies suggest that just being in a pleasant environment is
not sufficient to bring benefits. Because savouring is often quite difficult,
even the most striking or beautiful environment may not successfully elicit
it. People also need to practice the art of savouring internally in order to be
fully present.

Conclusion

As Thoreau mused during his experiences in nature, ‘He enjoys true leisure
who has time to improve his soul’s estate’ (1840). With all due respect to
Thoreau, the ways in which we approach our leisure time and how they
mesh with the spaces where we spend this time are essential to consider.
When selecting a leisure space in which to spend time, again, there is no
perfect place. A person must consider his or her goals. Is it to have fun
playing a team sport? To sit quietly taking in a scenic view? To get some
exercise after a stressful day? To socialize with friends? Each of these goals
would suggest a very different kind of leisure space, which is why we hesi-
tate to call any one place ‘optimal’.
According to Argyle (2001), there is a relationship between happiness and
the experience of leisure, although there is also evidence to suggest that
people are often poor at using their leisure time optimally (Csikszentmihalyi,
1998). Future research could capitalize on the natural but largely unexplored
connections between positive psychology and the field of leisure studies to
offer concrete advice on how to best use leisure time and leisure spaces to
promote meaning, engagement and pleasure.

References
Argyle, M. (2001) The Psychology of Happiness. New York: Winston & Sons.
Beaumont, S. L. (2011) Identity styles and wisdom during emerging adulthood:
Relationships with mindfulness and savoring. Identity, 11, pp. 155–180.
Brickman, P., & Campbell, D. T. (1971) Hedonic relativism and planning the good
society. In Appley, M. H. (ed.), Adaptation-Level Theory. New York: Academic Press,
pp. 287–305.
Brown, K. W. & Ryan, R. M. (2003) The benefits of being present: mindfulness and
its role in psychological well-being. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 84,
pp. 822–848.
Bryant, F. B. (2003) Savoring Beliefs Inventory (SBI): A scale for measuring beliefs
about savouring. Journal of Mental Health, 12, pp. 175–196.
174 Jaime L. Kurtz and Erik Simmons

Bryant, F. B., & Veroff, J. (2007) Savoring: a new model of positive experience.
Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum Associates.
Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1990) Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. New York:
Harper & Row.
Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1998) Finding Flow: The Psychology of Engagement with Everyday
Life. New York: Basic Books.
Diener, E., & Biswas-Diener, R. (2008) Happiness: Unlocking the Mysteries of Psychological
Wealth. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing.
Ekman, P., Davidson, R. J., Ricard, M., & Wallace, B. A. (2005) Buddhist and psycho-
logical perspectives on emotions and well-being. Current Directions in Psychological
Science, 14, pp. 59–63.
Emmons, R. A., & McCullough, M. E. (2003) Counting blessings versus burdens: an
experimental investigation of gratitude and subjective well-being in daily life.
Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 84, pp. 377–389.
Kabat-Zinn, J. (1994) Wherever You Go, There You Are. New York: Hyperion.
Kabat-Zinn, J. (2001) Mindfulness for Beginners. Louisville: CO: Sounds True.
Kahn, P. H., Severson, R. L., & Ruckert, J. H. (2009) The human relation with nature
and technological nature. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 18, pp. 37–42.
Kaplan, R., & Kaplan, S. (1989) The Experience of Nature: A Psychological Perspective.
New York: Cambridge University Press.
Killingsworth, M. A., & Gilbert, D. T. (2010) A wandering mind is an unhappy mind.
Science, 330 (6006), 932.
Kurtz, J. L. (2012) Seeing through new eyes: An experimental investigation of the benefits
of photography. Unpublished manuscript.
Neulinger, J. (1981) The Psychology of Leisure, 2nd Ed. Springfield, IL: Charles C.
Thomas Publisher.
Newman, D. B., Tay, L. & Diener, E. (2013) Leisure and subjective well-being: a model
psychological mechanisms as mediating factors. Journal of Happiness Studies, 15, 1–24.
Nisbet, E. K., & Zelenski, J. M. (2011) Underestimating nearby nature: affective fore-
casting errors obscure the happy path to sustainability. Psychological Science, 22,
pp. 1101–1106.
Parducci, A. (1995) Happiness, pleasure, and judgment: The contextual theory and its
applications. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
Pennebaker, J. W. (1997) Writing about emotional experiences as a therapeutic
process. Psychological Science, 8, pp. 162–166.
Rilke, R. M. (2005) Duino elegies (Trans. Miranda, G.). Falls Church, VA: Azul Editions
(Original work published 1923).
Seligman, M. E. P., & Csikszentmihalyi, M. (2000) Positive psychology: an introduc-
tion. American Psychologist, 55, pp. 5–14.
Seligman, M. E. P, Steen, T., Park, N., & Peterson, C. (2005) Positive psychology progress:
empirical validation of interventions. American Psychologist, 60, pp. 410–421.
Sheldon, K, M. & Lyubomirsky, S. (2006) How to increase and sustain positive
emotion: the effects of expressing gratitude and visualizing best possible selves.
The Journal of Positive Psychology, 1, pp. 73–82.
Smith, J. L., Harrison, P. R., Kurtz, J. L., & Bryant, F. B. (2014) Interventions for
enhancing the capacity to savor positive experience. In Parks, A. C. (ed.), Handbook
of Positive Psychological Interventions. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.
Sonnentag, S., & Zijlstra, F. R. H. (2006) Job characteristics and off-job activities as
predictors of need for recovery, well-being, and fatigue. Journal of Applied Psychology,
91, pp. 330–350.
 Savouring Leisure Spaces 175

Thoreau, H. D. (1840) The Journal of Henry David Thoreau, 1837–1861. New York: New
York Review of Books Classics.
Wilder, T. (1938/1998) Our Town. New York: Perennial.
Wilson, E. O. (1984) Biophilia. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
13
Weaving Place Meanings into
Outdoor Recreation Sustainability:
The Case of the Niagara Glen
Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

Introduction

While the academic discussion of ‘place’ continues to evolve within research

and practice domains, there remains little agreement to which place
concepts and constructs are most useful to the topic of outdoor recreation
sustainability and its potential to drive a more robust practice of environ-
mental sensitivity and care. It is generally accepted within the place-based
research literature that people are more likely to protect places that hold
special meaning in their lives (Halpenny, 2010; Hinds & Sparks, 2008; Vaske
& Kobrin, 2001). Additionally, the research literature suggests that outdoor
recreation may be one catalyst for developing meaningful relationships with
outdoor places (Ewert, Place, & Sibthorp, 2005). Therefore, it is reasonable
to surmise that special relationships with outdoor recreation places may be
one area that deserves further exploration to advance the topic of outdoor
recreation sustainability. Exploring ways to further illuminate, and put into
practice, the connections between place concepts and outdoor recreation
sustainability is the purpose of this chapter.
More specifically, the purpose of this chapter is to (1) unpack the transi-
tion of ‘space’ to ‘place’ to better understand its usefulness to contemporary
dimensions of outdoor recreation sustainability; (2) provide an argument for
how ‘place meanings’ can be one of the primary drivers of effective outdoor
recreation sustainability through presenting a case analysis of boulderers and
the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve in southern Ontario, Canada; and (3) discuss
the road ahead to new ways of thinking about long-term outdoor recreation
sustainability by introducing the concept of place allegiance.
Impetus for this chapter extends, in part, from the notion that outdoor
recreation place-based research has reached a necessary point of transition,
which is highlighted by Brehm, Eisenhauer and Stedman’s (2013) assess-
ment that ‘it is not sufficient to simply demonstrate that individuals or

176
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 177

groups have strong emotional connections with a particular geographical

locale. Rather, it is imperative to understand the implications of attachments
and meanings related to them’ (p. 522). Therefore, this chapter is meant to
open another door into the dialogue of place in the hopes of increasing its
usefulness in supporting a high quality of life for both the people involved
in and the natural environments utilized for outdoor recreation. Before
moving into the primary discussion, a brief introduction to the concepts
of ‘place’ and ‘sustainability’ and the ways they are theoretically framed in
this chapter follows.
The topic of ‘place’ is a multidimensional and complex concept that
encompasses specific environments and all of the meanings (positive and
negative) that are assigned to those environments (Manzo, 2005). Low and
Altman (1992) suggest that dimensions of place may be thought of broadly
in terms of the emotional, cognitive, and practice domains that characterize
person-place and group-place relationships. The often cited Yi-Fu Tuan (1977)
suggests that a space becomes a place when it has been assigned personal
meaning, emotion and value. Conceptually, this chapter follows the four
tenets of place meanings as described by Davenport and Anderson (2005),
and which are supported in the broader research literature on place:

1. Places manifest the physical characteristics of a setting, activities and

experiences in a setting, social phenomena and processes, and individual
interpretations.
2. People assign meanings to places and derive meaning in their lives from
places.
3. Some place meanings translate into strong emotional bonds that influ-
ence attitudes and behaviours within the context of those places.
4. Place meanings are maintained, challenged and negotiated in natural
resource management and planning. (p. 627)

These four tenets are not meant to limit possibilities and definitions of place;
they are presented here as a context for connecting the topic of place more
clearly to sustainability. We acknowledge and celebrate that definitions of
place and their associated constructs are varied and diverse in the research
literature and conceptual writing. Part of the purpose of this chapter is to
make suggestions for using and understanding specific place meanings in a
particular context as well as making suggestions for expanding the language
of place into a more focused sustainability dialogue.
Sustainability ‘can be traced to the 1987 report of the World Commission
on Environment and Development, which advanced the principle that
managing the environment for the benefits of the present generation
should not preclude the ability of future generations to attain needed
environmentally related benefits’ (World Commission on Environment
and Development, 1987, as cited in Manning et al., 2011, p. 25). The term
178 Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

sustainability will be used in this chapter in both environmental and social

contexts as adapted from Littig and Greissler’s (2005) work on political prag-
matism and social theory. Environmental sustainability will be discussed
through exploring the need to reduce exploitation of valuable resources and
damaging actions toward outdoor recreation environments. In the context
of this chapter, it is also important to problematize the ways outdoor recrea-
tionists think, feel, and behave in natural environments and how those
behaviours may impact (positively and negatively) those places for genera-
tions to come. Furthermore, sustainability will be defined in this chapter
from a social perspective, which recognizes the needs and preferences of
outdoor recreation participants as they relate to the continuation of recrea-
tion activities in natural places with a long-term view. Outdoor recreation
sustainability, as it is presented in this chapter, will be discussed with the
aim of beginning to explore how it may become more durable from both
environmental and social perspectives. Overall, our treatment of sustain-
ability is meant to inform, and perhaps shape, the place relationships of
outdoor recreationists just as they shape the places where they engage in
their preferred activities. Exploring how that shaping and informing may
unfold from practice, management and sustainability perspectives is part of
our intention. First, we will return to the broad topic of the transition from
space to place to elaborate on its usefulness to this discussion.

Unpacking the transition of ‘space’ to ‘place’

Differentiating space and place has long been described as a binary process
where spaces (undifferentiated locations) become places (environments of
care that house and help to create meanings, memories and sentiments)
(Relph, 1976). How spaces transition into places within leisure contexts has
gained attention from various scholars both inside and outside of the leisure
research traditions (Ewert, Place, & Sibthorp, 2005). It is beyond the scope
of this chapter to comment on all of the ways this process unfolds; our
primary aim is to unpack the role and utilization of place concepts (first,
place meanings, followed by place allegiance) that may clarify and expand
the benefits of this transition. Furthering the understanding of the transi-
tion from outdoor space to place is important because long-term thinking
on the subject of outdoor recreation sustainability depends on advancing
ways to transform the translation of place-based thoughts and feelings
into actions. This point is underscored by Brehm, Eisenhauer and Stedman
(2013) who suggest that increasing understanding of the implications of
place meanings should be one of the primary foci of place researchers. First,
however, attention will be given to the evolution of place concepts and the
ways they contribute to understanding the transition from space to place in
the context of outdoor recreation.
Delineating the differences between spaces and places is a logical starting
point to this discussion. Broadly discussing the ways people internalize
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 179

the transition from space to place represents the scaffolding that has the
potential to support a useful integration of place and outdoor recreation
sustainability. So what exactly is a space? Smale (2006) offers a helpful defi-
nition for us to consider: ‘Space is essentially the geometry of a physical
location, and as such, has objectively defined properties characterized by
points, lines or routes, areas, and surfaces’ (p. 370). Objectivity is a key part
of this definition as this treatment of space is measurable, quantifiable and
easily described. Norberg-Schultz (1971) takes the definition of space a step
further and outlines five space types: ‘Pragmatic space integrates man [or
woman] with his [or her] natural “organic” environment, perceptual space
is essential to his [or her] identity as a person, existential space makes him
[or her] belong to a social and cultural totality, cognitive space means he
[or she] is able to think about space, and logical space ... offers him [or her] a
tool to describe ... others’ (as cited in Relph, 1976, p. 26). Here, perhaps, the
transition from space to place is more recognizable through distinct dimen-
sions that have their own multitude of meanings. Conceptually, it is safe to
suggest that the ways space and place relate are many; the separation point
between space and place seems to take form when individuals and groups
see their subjective thoughts, feelings and behaviours as constituent parts
of their spaces turning into places.
Philosopher Edward Casey highlights this separation by noting the insep-
arability between people and their feelings toward place: ‘Place is as requisite
as the air we breathe, the ground on which we stand, the bodies we have.
We are surrounded by places. We walk over and through them. We live in
places, relate to others in them, die in them. Nothing we do is unplaced’
(1997, p. ix). Casey’s ideas highlight the personal ways places inundate the
lives of human beings through a nexus of possibilities. Along similar lines,
Smale (2006) points out that ‘place shifts attention to the subjective or lived
experience of location, the profound meanings we ascribe to it, and to the
wholly human experience of place’ (p. 370). Given these commentaries, the
transition phase of a space into place is potentially useful to the subject of
outdoor recreation sustainability when characterized in the context of lived
experiential processes. In the context of outdoor recreation, one example
of this transition might be a weekend warrior mountain biker at a local
park who begins to volunteer his or her time maintaining and cleaning up
trails, and who eventually purchases forested land adjacent to those trails to
prevent urban sprawl from encroaching on them.
As noted in the previous example, the subjective motivations and perspec-
tives that individuals and groups use to define their experience of space
have a formative impact on the creation of turning a space into a place.
Tuan (1977) offers a useful summary to this discussion. He suggests that
pure open space has no trodden paths or signposts with fixed patterns of
established human meaning. He further notes that space is like a blank sheet
on which meaning may be imposed. Compared with space, place can be
180 Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

thought of as a centre of established values and meanings or a space that has

become humanized (Tuan, 1977). And it is this process of ‘place-becoming,’
from a human-dimension perspective, that may have the greatest influence
on outdoor recreation sustainability, as we will argue later. While there
have been many concepts and constructs to characterize various aspects
of person-place relationships (e.g., sense of place and place attachment), we
will now turn our attention to highlighting ‘place meanings’ to bridge an
understanding between place and outdoor recreation sustainability.

Place meanings

Drawing on Davenport and Anderson’s (2005) theoretical framework as

described above, place meanings represent a holistic way to think about
the characterization of person-place relationships. Many place concepts
overlap in their conceptual definitions as well as the ways they have been
used in the research literature. For instance, ‘sense of place’ has often been
defined through the emotional bonds that evolve between a person and
place with an acknowledgment of the history and culture of that particular
location (Williams & Stewart, 1998). ‘Place attachment’ has been commonly
thought of as the strength or intensity of the bonds that an individual and/
or group assign to a specific environment. Furthermore, place attachment
has been commonly divided into place dependence (functional reliance
on a space that fulfills needs) (Stokols & Shumaker, 1981) and place iden-
tity (the ways in which one defines her or his sense of self in relation to a
setting) (Proshansky, 1978). Farnum, Hall and Kruger (2005) suggest that
place meanings are distinct from these other concepts.
Most notably, Farnum, Hall and Kruger (2005) note that place meanings
and place attachment often overlap in the literature; however, they high-
light an important difference. They note that place attachment emphasizes
the emotional, often positive, bonds that form between people and signifi-
cant places and, as a result, those bonds highlight the strength of attach-
ment. Place meanings, however, represent the entirety of the experience,
including the person, his or her subjective experience in a specific loca-
tion (positive or negative), and the particulars of the physical environment
itself (Stewart, 2008). For the purposes of this chapter, place meanings help
to highlight meaning differentiation from a holistic perspective of place
(Creswell, 2004). Further, differentiation from a biological point of view
highlights the difference by which cells and tissues change from general-
ized to specialized kinds during development (Collins English Dictionary,
n.d.). It may be beneficial to make a comparison within a social science
context: as person-place relationships evolve so does the specialized nature
of the place meanings assigned to locations. This evolving meaning forma-
tion is housed inside the various ways people and groups think, feel, and
act toward places, which certainly shape the operationalizing of concepts
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 181

such as outdoor recreation sustainability. A case study follows in the next

section that highlights some of the ways place meanings have heavily
shaped the operationalizing of outdoor recreation sustainability at the
Niagara Glen Nature Reserve in southern Ontario, Canada.

Case study of boulderers at the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve

The Niagara Glen became a nature reserve in 1992 and is under the jurisdic-
tion of the Niagara Parks Commission (NPC). The park is on the Niagara
River near the city of Niagara Falls, Ontario, and is home to many limestone,
shale and sandstone formations and a variety of flora and fauna, some of
which are both rare and endangered in this particular part of the Carolinian
forest landscape of Canada (Ritchie, 2002). The park is a popular tourist and
recreation day-trip destination with close proximity to the iconic Niagara
Falls, which attracts thousands of tourists every year. Many of these tourists
visit the Niagara Glen while exploring the various green spaces along the
Niagara Parkway.
Bouldering is a form of rock climbing in which individuals scale boul-
ders without the use of ropes or harnesses, using only their feet and hands
to climb while keeping relatively close to the ground. The activity became
popular in the Niagara Glen in 1996 and continues to grow in popularity
(Ritchie, 2002, 2008). The Niagara Glen has been featured in international
climbing magazines as a bouldering destination and attracts ongoing inter-
national attention as a special interest outdoor recreation resource (Roth,
2007). In 2008, the NPC determined that the Niagara Glen was an area
that could benefit from restrictions and/or changes to outdoor recreation
because of the environmental damage being caused by various user groups.
One concern was trampled vegetation in popular areas caused by boul-
derers accessing climbing sites off the main trails. In response, the NPC
contemplated various management approaches to protect these natural
areas (Ritchie, 2002; Roth, 2007), one of which was to close access. The
possibility of boulderers losing this access spurred a letter-writing campaign
from rock climbers around the world asking the NPC to keep the area open
for bouldering. The regional bouldering community responded by coming
together with a unified vision communicated through the Ontario Rock
Climbing Access Coalition. The coalition began meeting on a regular basis
with NPC personnel engaging in solutions-oriented discussions to what had
been framed as an outdoor recreation sustainability challenge.
The end result has been the implementation of a bouldering permit
system, which specifies the areas that are open and closed to climbing as
well as promoting the best practices for minimum impact bouldering. What
began with conflict, tension, and some misunderstanding transitioned
into a successful outdoor recreation sustainability initiative. This was made
possible largely through a process of place meanings negotiation. This
process followed three steps that are useful to discussions about integrating
182 Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

place meanings and outdoor recreation sustainability: (1) defining the place
identities of boulderers; (2) community-making between boulderers and
stakeholders of other protected areas; and (3) enacting policy that includes
the place meanings of boulderers.

Defining the place identities of boulderers

As people’s place identities have been shown to be linked to their associated

history with a particular place (see for instance Leith, 2006, for a discussion
about older women and historical associations with the concept of home),
the boulderers at the Niagara Glen were often associated with a specific
history that seemed to be misinterpreted by the NPC and other stakeholders.
This associated history, in part, revolved around the idea that boulderers
represented a counterculture known for breaking park rules and regulations.
While this did appear to happen in isolated cases, a deeper analysis revealed
that the social and recreational world of boulderers, at least in this particular
context, was much more complex than originally considered, especially in
the context of human dimensions of outdoor recreation sustainability.
Thompson, Hutson and Davidson (2008) and Thompson (2010) have
explored these tensions through action research and focus group interviews
with the local bouldering community (N=26) at the Niagara Glen. These
findings illuminate three core themes: (1) barriers to bouldering sustain-
ability; (2) the social role and responsibility of boulderers; and (3) specific
dimensions of bouldering location attachment. These core themes have
shaped and put into motion a sustainability conversation and plan that has
worked well for all stakeholders involved at this site. Barriers were discussed
reflectively in terms of perceived barriers erected by the park (e.g., lack of
communication about policy) and the perceived barriers of boulderers (e.g.,
too much focus on climbing and not enough on environmental sustain-
ability). Barriers were helpful in terms of defining pragmatic problems
and solutions. The social role and responsibility of boulderers gave shape
to a more nuanced conversation about place meanings, bouldering and
sustainability.
The social role and responsibility of boulderers was discussed in a variety
of ways. The most important was in the context of sustainability through
the ways bouldering appeared to shape the long-term person-place rela-
tionships of boulderers at the Niagara Glen. For example, many facets of
the activity itself kept the Niagara Glen as a place that these participants
were deeply attracted to and who expressed a love of returning. This love
of returning was described as part of the social role boulderers defined for
themselves in this particular environment. Bouldering was the recreational
activity that kept participants coming back to the Niagara Glen, but it also
served as a catalyst for creative, physical and community expression that
by its very nature facilitated a ritual of person-place participation. It is here
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 183

that a place-based sustainability narrative took form for this special interest
group. Specific boulders at the site were described through the symbolism
they represented as meeting places where friends got together to share
lived experiences with others. Participants described feelings of happiness
in seeing everyone together at common meeting locations – everyone was
a witness to evolving place relationships that were taking form in shared
ways. Those who had accumulated the most time in climbing at the Niagara
Glen reported feeling a responsibility to ‘teach others’ (Thompson, 2010) the
ways of accepted behaviours within this social world – and those minimum
impact behaviours were in direct response to the needs of the Niagara Glen
creating a unique type of minimum impact place-responsiveness (Hutson,
2012). In other words, through recognizing outdoor recreation impacts,
boulderers were able to respond to the needs of the Niagara Glen, which in
turn protected both their activity and the environment.
Responding to this place’s needs and giving definition to the boulderers’
place identities was perhaps most explicitly captured in the specific dimen-
sions of finding meaning and the processes of becoming attached to the
Niagara Glen through its specific features (Thompson, Hutson & Davidson,
2008). Participants reported the significance of spending time around the
boulders, forest, and water in the context of their lives, identities and happi-
ness, which were consistent with broad themes described within the place
attachment literature (Jorgenson & Stedman, 2001). As one participant from
the bouldering focus group interviews explains:

I don’t know if I would say I think or feel first when someone says the
Niagara Glen. I just get kind of a happy feeling, then I think of the Danzig
boulder, I think of the water, I think of so many days of laughter there, I
think of peacefulness and joy and all the times that I felt like this is what life
is all about when I’ve been there, but a lot of it is originally when someone
says the Niagara Glen I just, I feel happiness. (Thompson, 2010, p. 92)

To have this place taken away seemed to mean losing part of an individual
boulderer’s sense of self. While responding to place needs through enacting a
stronger commitment to minimum impact recreation practices, the Niagara
Glen bouldering community was also protecting its own collective sense of
identity, which had been woven into the Niagara Glen environment.
Part of this shifting place-identity process involved developing new ways
of interacting with this particular environment with a long-term vision for
practice (e.g., making it mandatory to not climb on top of the boulders
to protect fragile vegetation). Such commitments and regulations may also
shape the place views of upcoming generations of boulderers. Through the
physical performance of bouldering, and these newly introduced recreation
and environmental frames of best practices, a boulderer now is asked to
stop his or her climb just short of the top of a boulder so as to protect
184 Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

particular species of wildflowers and other plants growing there. This serves
as a positive interruption into common preferred bouldering practices, and
it is a major first step toward integrating further environmental sustain-
ability practices into the minds of bouldering participants. This process has
simultaneously begun to give further definition to the place identities of
boulderers within the Niagara Glen bouldering community as well as the
way that identity is perceived by other stakeholders of the protected area.
Furthermore, the process of defining boulderers’ place identities became
solidified through shared community-making with other climbers and
stakeholders. A pertinent example of how positive community-making took
shape through a unified message came out of focus group interviews and
frames the significance of the next section. As one boulderer explains:

Community empowerment is built, I think, through having more people

support the Ontario [Rock Climbing] Access Coalition in the pursuit of
making things better for the Niagara Glen and in cooperation with the
Niagara Parks Commission. We should also take other boulderers out and
educate them on places within the Glen. We should be sure that the focus
is not based on being selfish and everybody being fixed on their sends
[climbs] for the day, but rather focus at times with sharing the day will all
the people around them. Make sure that people get to see how beautiful
the Glen is, and at the same time learn what they should and shouldn’t
do, or what they should and shouldn’t be on, you know topping out boul-
ders that kind of thing. I think the spread of that kind of word builds a
sense of community. (Thompson, 2010, p. 95)

Community-making between boulderers and other protected

area stakeholders

Community-making has the potential to problematize and change place

meanings (Saar & Palang, 2009), and, in the context of this discussion, a
holistic shift of place views has been beneficial to all parties involved. For the
bouldering community, this shift occurred through attempting to develop
a unified message and stance on sustainable practices. For many within the
bouldering community, a common first response was a denial (Thompson,
2010) that place-based changes were even warranted. For others, a more
sustainable focus came through wanting to protect the recreational activity,
thus, behavioural compromises were acceptable and were seen as proactive
measures that would protect both the resource and the recreation that the
place provided. For still others, the process appeared to be more reflective
and confronting, as some common bouldering practices were presented as
having negative impacts on the environment, which stood in opposition to
many within this outdoor recreation community who prided themselves on
being environmentally conscious.
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 185

In the context of sustainability planning and actions, further progress was

made by the common place-based experiences that were shared between
boulderers and other stakeholders at the Niagara Glen. The Niagara Glen
is an extremely popular area for the observation of wildlife, rare plant and
tree species, and geological rock formations that are unique to the region.
A ‘Friends of the Glen’ group, consisting primarily of naturalists and bird
watchers, and the bouldering community came together during these initial
discussions and participated in a volunteer-day wildflower inventory. With
the leadership of the NPC and the involvement of the friends group and the
Ontario Rock Climbing Access Coalition, a unique plan was developed to
begin an initial cataloguing process of the different types of species growing
on the tops of the boulders. Boulderers had the skills and experience to
climb to the tops of the boulders with digital cameras and the naturalists
had the skills and experience for species identification. Where it was possible,
boulderers and naturalists ascended boulders together by ladder and worked
side by side. Additionally, boulderers showed the naturalists some of their
climbing practices and equipment and the naturalists pointed out various
points of interest regarding flora, fauna and the geological history of the
area. There was authentic interest from both groups about different ways of
experiencing the meaning of place at the Niagara Glen.
The place meanings exchange was the most important aspect of the
collaborative experience. Both groups were able to share and specify the
elements of the Niagara Glen that they most cared about – all afforded by
the place itself. Sharing these experiences facilitated positive community-
making between the two special interest groups and built a bridge of under-
standing between different typologies of place meanings. Martin (2003,
p. 746) calls this the development of ‘place frames,’ which provide deeper
insight into how place meanings manifest differently but are still united
through a common context for action. It is the shared common location
and the shared experience of community-making between boulderers and
naturalists that encouraged an appreciation of unique place meanings;
these meanings were then transformed into a more common ‘collective
action frame’ (Martin, 2003, p. 746) – the Niagara Glen being at the centre
of everyone’s attention and desire to take pro-environmental actions then
and in the future.

The enacting of policy that includes the place meanings of

boulderers

The final part of the process of formalizing the boulderers’ presence at the
Niagara Glen was to integrate these events into policy documents. Before
2011, bouldering was not considered a sanctioned activity at this particular
location. When the activity was sanctioned by the NPC, it communicated a
general message of acceptance to this particular group, which had reported
186 Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

feeling marginalized in the past (Thompson, 2010). The permit process was
thoughtful in that it began as a voluntary process and transitioned into a
requirement. The permit process was not about policing; rather, it was about
communicating best practices to both new and seasoned veteran boul-
derers alike. Today, bouldering appears on the Niagara Parks Commission
website, and some bouldering equipment is available for purchase at the
nature centre, which is situated near the access point of the Niagara Glen
and which also features a bouldering interpretive poster presentation that
describes the process and story of bouldering at the Niagara Glen. Finally,
trails are being marked with climbing symbols that designate popular areas
for bouldering.
These documents, signage, and products are not unique – they represent
recommendations and rules and promote best practices similar to other
climbing areas across the world. In the context of potentially losing a ‘place’,
however, the language and place meanings discourse that appear within the
policy documents are certainly important especially in long-term thinking
about social and environmental sustainability in an area like the Niagara
Glen. The creation of these policy documents communicates something to
the effect of ‘my place meanings are supposed to be here – there is struc-
ture and support for them to exist’. When place meanings appear in policy
documents, they provide definitions and strategies that lend themselves to
building a more robust place-frame through which boulderers can operate.
And since bouldering attracts new climbers, these policy documents repre-
sent a resource to return to if and when problems arise.
In summary, the case of the Niagara Glen and its bouldering commu-
nity represent a successful negotiation and re-creation of place meanings
with a shared goal of sustainability. While being far from perfect, this
collaborative experience successfully wove together the place meanings of
those with competing perspectives in a meaningful way that encouraged
all stakeholders to re-examine their own views and consider alternative
ways of knowing while creating common ground within these competing
domains. The final section of this chapter will consider how place mean-
ings can become more durable by exploring the concept of place allegiance.
Examples from the Niagara Glen bouldering community will be used to
demonstrate how this may be possible.

Conceptualizing place allegiance

Up until this point, place meanings have been discussed conceptually and
in a real-world case to demonstrate their usefulness and utility for thinking
about the subjective human dimensions of place and outdoor recreation
sustainability. In the first section of this chapter, we unpacked the transi-
tion of space into place. It is that transition on which many place researchers
have focused their explorations, using concepts such as sense of place, place
attachment and place meanings. In the context of the prior discussion about
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 187

bouldering, the Niagara Glen was transformed for boulderers from a space
to a place through layers of continued experience and outdoor recreation
practice. The location took on new meaning when there was a possibility
of it being lost as a preferred place for outdoor recreation. It was notable
that those who spent the most years using the Niagara Glen as an outdoor
recreation resource for bouldering fought the hardest to keep it open to
bouldering enthusiasts (Thompson, 2010). This transition is consistent
with the research literature on place and with its associated concepts and
constructs that push the limits of understanding the different ways people
form psychological bonds to places.
However, little work has considered how outdoor recreation may play a
role in the long-term durability of the psychological bonds between people
and places. Given that research has shown that higher levels of place
attachment have the potential to predict pro-environmental attitudes and
behaviour (see, for instance, Halpenny, 2010), it is plausible that exploring
what makes these levels of attachment more durable and lasting would be
worthy of discussion. Howard (2014) suggests that the next logical step in
understanding person-place relationships is to develop new language for
thinking about how these relationships exist and evolve from a long-term
perspective.
Howard’s (2014) place allegiance model is adapted from Funk and James’
(2001) psychological continuum model (PCM). Funk and James’ PCM
provides a framework for exploring the psychological connections between
individuals and sports or sports teams. Overall, the PCM distinguishes the
varied psychological connections that a sports fan or a spectator experiences,
these include awareness, attraction, attachment and eventual allegiance to
a particular sport or team. While much of the place attachment literature
is congruent (with only semantic differences) with the general concepts of
awareness, attraction and attachment, it is the concept of allegiance (and,
more specifically, place allegiance) that we believe has the greatest potential
to shape new ways of thinking about outdoor recreation sustainability.
Allegiance, as conceptualized by Funk and James (2001), is largely framed
by a resistance to change and a commitment to a particular relationship
(for our purposes, a relationship to a place). Funk and James make clear
the distinctions between attachment (defined as beginning to internalize
psychological features) and allegiance (persistence within psychological
commitments that are difficult to break). Additionally, Funk and James also
describe allegiance and the way that it shapes a need to protect internal
consistency regarding values and beliefs. If there is inconsistency, Funk and
James suggest those who hold allegiance for something will tend to fight for
their beliefs until internal consistency returns. In the context of sport, this
may occur when a fan stands up for and protects the value of his or her team
against oppositional positions. In the context of the Niagara Glen, this was
observed when boulderers resisted notions that their values, behaviours and
188 Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

place meanings were incompatible with the place in comparison to others.

As a concept, allegiance appears to have potential in deepening under-
standing about ways people commit to particular place-based relationships.
It is this commitment found within place allegiance that drives the concept
of outdoor recreation sustainability.
Consistent with elements of Funk and James’ (2001) PCM model, Howard
(2014) proposes that place allegiance be explored through the following
dimensions (symbolic value, durability, functional knowledge, behaviour/
action dispositions). Howard suggests symbolic value is the varying levels of
significance of a place in one’s life. For boulderers, the Niagara Glen took on
significance as a place for recreation, a place to build community and a place
to connect with nature. All of these elements contributed to the symbols that
the Niagara Glen represented for boulderers. Howard describes durability
as the persistence and resistance to changes in the relationship with place. At
the Niagara Glen, this was clear in the ways that boulderers defended their
practice and demonstrated their resistance to potential change. Functional
knowledge is depicted as an in-depth understanding of the particulars of a
location. This occurred at the Niagara Glen as individual members of the
bouldering community developed a deeper understanding about the needs
of the place to better protect it and as they engaged with experts to further
their own knowledge of the needs of the place. Howard suggests behav-
iour/action dispositions are those behaviours and actions that maintain a
particular person-place relationship and the place’s ability to incite future
behaviours and actions. The Niagara Glen bouldering community showed
behaviour/action dispositions through their involvement in policy develop-
ment that supported bouldering becoming a sanctioned activity of the park.
All of these behaviours lead us to believe that the case of bouldering at the
Niagara Glen shows elements of place allegiance in action.
However, there remains much to be explored. Just as place meanings
negotiation helped us to understand how the bouldering community could
be exhibiting variables potentially related to place allegiance, what are the
factors that detract from it? What biases might the bouldering community
have, which give an unfair or uninformed position regarding environmental
sustainability? And, finally, when does devotion to something become blind
devotion? These are all questions that further research and theorizing can
begin to answer. Perhaps the most important question to consider now is:
How might place meanings and place allegiance promote long-term outdoor
recreation sustainability actions?
First, as in the case of the Niagara Glen, other outdoor recreation groups
should be reminded not to take their special places for granted. From our
observations, the Niagara Glen bouldering community of today would not
be as progressive as it is in terms of environmental and social sustainability
had it not come face to face with a chance of losing their place as an outdoor
recreation resource. A common phrase that now floats around the Niagara
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 189

Glen bouldering community is ‘it is a privilege to climb here, not our right’.
It is that privilege that the bouldering community wants to make more
durable through its own heightened awareness and sensitivity towards the
various ways place meanings are shaped and interpreted at the Niagara Glen
by all user groups and decision-makers.
Second, outdoor recreation groups like the Niagara Glen bouldering
community should take time to periodically examine and re-examine their
own ways of constructing place meanings. Outdoor recreation groups should
look closely at how place meanings are contributing to the long-term dura-
bility of person-place relationships as well as the long-term environmental
sustainability of their particular place. Just as place meanings evolve, so
should the practices of those who create them so they can address the needs
of places like the Niagara Glen that continually evolve and change.
Third, place allegiance needs to be promoted across the lifespan.
Individuals who are part of communities of outdoor recreation, like the
Niagara Glen bouldering community, should strive to find ways to broaden
their loyalty and devotion to place beyond the technical performance of
bouldering or participating in any other outdoor recreation activity. More
broadly, outdoor recreationists should be primed to remember the myriad
ways that outdoor recreation places have improved the quality of their
life, their family’s life and their community’s life over time. For those who
perhaps can no longer be involved as intensely as they once were in partic-
ular outdoor recreation activities, place allegiance denotes a long-term devo-
tion, which may help to inspire people to continue protecting and giving
back to outdoor places that have had a positive influence on their lives.
This will require intentional messaging from both parks and outdoor recrea-
tion organizations such as the Ontario Rock Climbing Access Coalition and
entities like the NPC. Furthermore, there will be a need to challenge the
dominant paradigm of activities, like bouldering, that often define success
through a physical performance orientation. Outdoor recreation success
should be reframed through an evolving goal of place allegiance over the
course of one’s life, thereby extending notions of environmental and social
sustainability into an ongoing person-place dialogue.

Summary
The culmination of this discussion ends with a call for the continued
intentional integration of subjective place meanings into outdoor recrea-
tion sustainability management in order to effectively mitigate challenges
such as those present at the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve. The subjective
dimensions of place in the case presented were the variables that the park’s
personnel and other stakeholders chose to view with a lens of differen-
tiation to put a plan into action that used the kaleidoscope of meanings
present at the Niagara Glen to their advantage. This particular collection
of place meanings seems to have the potential to be further utilized in
190 Garrett Hutson and Ryan Howard

promoting long-term care of the site through supporting the development

of person-place allegiance. It should be reiterated that our discussion is
not a ‘one-size-fits-all’ solution to outdoor recreation sustainability chal-
lenges. It does, however, provide a contemporary example for how specific
place meanings and themes of place allegiance can be put into action to
improve human and environmental quality of life in an outdoor recreation
context.

References
Brehm, J., Eisenhauer, B., Stedman, R. (2013) Environmental concern: Examining the
role of place meaning and place attachment. Society and Natural Resources, 26(5),
pp. 522–538.
Casey, E. S. (1997) The fate of place: A philosophical history. Berkley: University of
California Press.
Creswell, T. (2004) Place: A short introduction. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell.
Davenport, M. A., & Anderson, D. H. (2005) Getting from sense of place to place-
based management: an interpretive investigation of place meanings and percep-
tions of landscape change. Society and Natural Resources, 18, pp. 625–641.
Differentiation. (2014, April 9) Collins English Dictionary – Complete & Unabridged 10th
Edition. Retrieved from http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/differentiation.
Ewert, A., Place, G., & Sibthorp, J. (2005) Early life outdoor experiences and an indi-
vidual’s environmental attitude. Leisure Sciences, 27, pp. 229–235.
Farnum, J., Hall, T., & Kruger, L. E. (2005) Sense of place in natural resource recrea-
tion and tourism: an evaluation and assessment of research findings. Recreation and
Tourism Initiative: Forest Service, United States Department of Agriculture.
Funk, D. C., & James, J. (2001) The psychological continuum model: a conceptual
framework for understanding an individual’s psychological connection to sport.
Sport Management Review, 4, pp. 119–150.
Halpenny, E. A. (2010) Pro-environmental behaviours and park visitors: the effect of
place attachment. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 30, pp. 409–421.
Hinds, J., & Sparks, P. (2008) Engaging with the natural environment: the role of
affective connection and identity. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 28(2),
pp. 109–120.
Howard, R. A. (2014) The conceptualization and exploration of place allegiance: Towards
a unified model of person-place relationships within outdoor recreation. Unpublished
Doctoral Dissertation Proposal, Brock University.
Hutson, G. (2012) The seeds of leave no trace grow well beyond the backcountry.
In Wagstaff, M. & Martin, B. (eds), Controversial Issues in Adventure Programming.
Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics, pp. 243–247.
Jorgensen, B. S., & Stedman, R. C. (2001) Sense of place as an attitude: lakeshore
owners’ attitudes toward their properties. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 21,
pp. 233–248.
Leith, K. (2006) ‘Home is where the heart is ... or is it?’: a phenomenological explora-
tion of the meaning of home for older women in congregate housing. Journal of
Aging Studies, 20(4), pp. 317–333.
Littig, B., & Griessler, E. (2005) Social sustainability: a catchword between political
pragmatism and social theory. International Journal of Sustainable Development, 8(1/2).
pp. 65–79.
 Outdoor Recreation Sustainability 191

Low, S. M., & Altman, I. (1992) Place attachment: a conceptual inquiry. In Altman, I.
& Low, S. M. (eds), Place attachment. New York: Plenum Press, pp. 1–12.
Manning, R., Valliere, W., Anderson, L., Stansfield McCown, R., Pettengill, P., Reigner,
N., Lawson, S., Newman, P., Budruk, M., Laven, D., Hallo, J., Park, L., Bacon, J.,
Abe, D., van Riper, C., & Goonan, K. (2011) Defining, measuring, monitoring, and
managing the sustainability of parks for outdoor recreation. Journal of Park and
Recreation Administration, 29(3), pp. 24–37.
Manzo, L. C. (2005) For better or worse: exploring multiple dimensions of place
meaning. Journal of Environmental Psychology, 25(1), pp. 67–86.
Martin, D. (2003) ‘Place-framing’ as place making: constituting a neighborhood for
organizing and activism. Annals of the Association of Human Geographers, 93(3),
pp. 730–750.
Norberg-Schultz, C. (1971) Existence, space and architecture. New York: Praeger.
Proshansky, H. (1978) The city and self identity. Environment and Behavior, 10,
pp. 147–159.
Relph, T. (1976) Place and placelessness. London: Pion.
Ritchie, R. A. (2002) Niagara Glen trail management system: Executive summary. Niagara
Parks Commission.
Ritchie, R. A. (2008, October) Niagara Glen Overview. Overview presented at the
Niagara Parks Commission Roundtable Meeting, Niagara Falls, ON.
Roth, J. (2007, August). Glen nebula: big trouble in little Niagara. Climbing Magazine259,
54.
Saar, M., & Palang, H. (2014, March 15). The dimensions of place meanings. Retrieved
from http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/de/.
Smale, B. (2006) Critical perspectives on place in leisure research. Leisure/Loisir, 20(2),
pp. 369–382.
Stewart, W. (2008) Place meanings in stories of lived experience. In Understanding
concepts of place in recreation research and management. General technical report
PNW-GTR-744. Kruger, L. E.,Hall, T. E. and Stiefel, M. C. (eds), Portland, OR: US
Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Pacific Northwest Research Station,
pp. 83–108.
Stokols, D., & Shumaker, S. (1981) People in places: a transactional view of settings.
In Harvey, J. (ed.), Cognition, social behavior and the environment. Hillsdale, NJ:
Erlbaum, pp. 441–448.
Thompson, J., Hutson, G., & Davidson, J. (2008) A case study of the environmental
perspectives of boulderers and access issues at the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve.
Australian Journal of Outdoor Education, 12(12), pp. 24–31.
Thompson (2010) Climbers’ perceptions toward sustainable bouldering at the Niagara
Glen Nature Reserve. Unpublished masters thesis project, Brock University.
Tuan, Y.-F. (1977) Space and place: the perspective of experience. Minneapolis: University
of Minnesota Press.
Vaske, J. J., & Kobrin, K. C. (2001) Place attachment and environmentally responsible
behavior. Journal of Environmental Education, 32(4), pp. 16–21.
Williams, D. R., & Stewart, S. I. (1998) Sense of place: an elusive concept that is
finding a home in ecosystem management. Journal of Forestry, May, pp. 18–23.
14
Distant at Your Leisure: Consuming
Distance as a Leisure Experience
Gunvor Riber Larsen

Distance and leisure

Leisure is frequently portrayed as an activity that takes place somewhere

specific, such as the home, a sports club or a theme park. It should therefore
be reasonably straightforward to argue that physical distance plays a role for
leisure, and that leisure has an obvious spatial dimension when leisure is under-
stood as physical activities that people undertake in their free time. But other
than leisure being the activities that people undertake in their time off work
(Appadurai, 1986), leisure is also discussed as the perceived voluntary engage-
ment in an activity (Neulinger, 1981). Here the leisure label is a result not of
the type of activity undertaken, nor of the place where it is conducted, but is
dependent on the state of mind in which any given activity is performed. This
understanding of what it means to be at leisure challenges a discussion of what
spatiality of leisure is, and accentuates that the relationship between distance
and leisure is one that needs unpacking for the purpose of painting a clearer
picture of the spatiality of leisure. In this chapter, the argument is brought
forward that understanding the spatiality of leisure unavoidably involves posi-
tioning leisure and distance, whether this distance be physical or relative (a
distinction that shall be made clearer through the cause of this chapter). This
chapter will present a contribution to a discussion of the spatiality of leisure
through a focus on exploring what role distance has for leisure experiences.
Sophisticated elaborations on the phenomenology of leisure and leisure’s
complex reality can be found elsewhere (cf. Appadurai, 1986; Rojek, 1995;
Neulinger, 1981; Iso-Ahola, 1980). These leisure theories will not be discussed
in detail here, yet the coming discussion of distance and leisure will rest
upon them through the two different, although overlapping leisure under-
standings: leisure as something you do in your free time, and/or as activities
undertaken voluntarily. The following discussion rests on these two leisure-
understandings, but unpacking the relationship between distance and
leisure will also require a more thorough understanding of what distance
actually is than most leisure studies have provided up until now.

192
 Distant at Your Leisure 193

‘Most things involved in daily life one understands well enough until
asked to define them: unless asked, one would hardly need to define them
in the first place’ (Bauman, 2000:171). Distance is such a thing: most
people will have an intuitive understanding of what distance is, and that
understanding will be sufficient in most everyday life situations. But for
this discussion of distance’s role for leisure experiences it is not enough to
assume a reasonably uniform understanding of what distance is among the
readership. An explicit understanding of the nature of distance must be
established, and therefore the discussion must first turn towards geography,
which Watson (1955) claims to be the science of distance. Gatrell (1983)
conceptualizes distance as a spatial relationship, concurring with Tobler’s
(1970) argument for distance’s importance for the strength of a relation
between things or phenomena. Before embarking on his explorations of
more relative forms of distance, Gatrell (1983) defines Euclidean distance
between places as the straight line that can be calculated by using math-
ematical formulae (Gatrell, 1983:25). This Euclidean distance, often repre-
sented by uniform units, such as kilometres or miles, has elsewhere been
called line distance, absolute distance or physical distance, which ‘is a mere
attribute or property of the physical world itself or of its mappings’ (Pirie,
2009:246). Gatrell (1983) recognizes physical distance as a relationship,
but calls it a particularly constrained one. Physical distance is a simplistic
measure, that fails to capture the reality of distance, but rather focusses
on ‘how the crow flies’, which in most cases does not represent a usable
approach to distance (Gatrell, 1991).
The distances that are sensitive to their contexts are labelled relative
distances by Pirie (2009). What constitutes a relative distance must be
understood in relation to which distance is being conceptualized. Nystuen
(1963) argues that

distance may have several properties. In one study it may be scaled off
in miles, feet or some other unit measure. In other circumstances the
distances between elements under study may only be ranked as near,
next nearest, and so on, without reference to scalar measure. This is a
different type of distance, and these differences have important bearing
on understanding the difference between geographical problems.
(Nystuen, 1963:373–374)

Gatrell (1983) lists four types of relative distances, which he notes are impor-
tant for understanding spatiality. The dimensions of distance he mentions
are time-distance, economic distance, cognitive distance and social distance.
Pirie (2009) adds effort distance and affective distance to the list of relative
distances, and Cooper and Hall (2008) includes network distance. These
are all relative distances that couples physical distance with the context it
must be understood within in order to be relevant for the spatiality it seeks
194 Gunvor Riber Larsen

to describe. A relative distance is thus any phenomenon that emphasizes

the importance of spatiality in a relationship. The substance of the rela-
tive distance is dependent on the relevant context, so, for example, time
distance becomes time distance because time is used to demarcate a spatial
relationship (Larsen, 2013).
Distance can then be thought of as a phenomenon that has three ‘layers’:
spatial separation, relations and contextualizing dimensions, as illustrated
in Figure 14.1. Spatial separation is of course omnipresent, and this sepa-
ration is always signified by distance in one form or another. However,
this distance only becomes relevant when there is a relation across space.
This relationship across space is contextualized through the top layer of
distance, which are the contextualizing dimensions of distance. It is through
these contextualizing dimensions that distance is evident and experienced
and through these the influences distance has on individuals and societies
are felt. Examples of contextualizing dimensions are the relative distances
mentioned above (bearing in mind that that list is not an exhaustive one).
So how is this conceptualization of distance relevant in relation to leisure?
To begin with, the instances where leisure does not appear to have a relevant
relationship to physical distance, it must be noted that not all leisure activi-
ties are framed by a spatial separation from the locations where other non-
leisure activities take place. The most prominent example of this would be
the home: many activities in the home are not leisure activities, including
house work, homework or working from home. The spatial change from
doing house work to being at leisure in the home is (nearly) non-existing,
certainly if emphasis is put on the distance element of spatiality. It therefore
follows that distance is of no, or little, relevance, highlighting that even
though distance always will have a spatial element, leisure-spaces and non-
leisure-spaces are not necessarily separated in an Euclidean space, but some-
times only in a social and mental space.
But often there is physical distance between places where leisure is
conducted and other places. In the above conceptualization of distance, a
relevant relation across space was the first prerequisite for any meaningful
discussion of distance, as spatial separation is omnipresent, but more often
than not meaningless exactly due to the lack of any relevant relation across
the space divide. In this discussion of distance in leisure, the relevant rela-
tion across space comes in the form of the desire to engage in a given leisure
activity, which then, presumably, results in a crossing of that space, and
therefore also an engagement with distance.
The nature of this engagement is then dependent on the contextualizing
dimensions, which form the top layer of the distance-triangle in Figure 14.1.
The ability and willingness to engage in leisure activities that are spatially
separate from the spaces of other everyday life activities is dependent on
the ability and willingness to engage with the distance in-between the
non-leisure and leisure spaces. These distances are contextualized through
 Distant at Your Leisure 195

Contextualising dimensions

Relation

Spatial separation

Figure 14.1 Distance as phenomenon

Source: Larsen 2013

phenomena such as time, economy, infrastructural connectivity, sociality

and other factors that in one way or another influence the cognition of
distance, and the perception of whether a leisure space is close or far away.

Transfer into leisure

As all leisure takes place somewhere, there must, for all the leisure that
takes place in a space that is not the home of the leisuree, necessarily be a
spatial transition into the leisure space of some sort. This requires a physical
and manifest engagement with distance (all three layers of it), but also a
less conspicuous transition from mentally not being at leisure to being at
leisure.
But first of all: what might a leisure space be? One suggestion could be that
a space’s leisure status comes and goes with the activities people perform
there. Obviously spaces can be more or less targeted towards hosting leisure
activities, either intentionally through design or by having gradually devel-
oped into a space where people do or feel at leisure (Gottdiener, 2000;
Lefebvre, 1991; Urry, 1995; Urry and Larsen, 2011). Indeed, two people can
be in the same place, for one it being a leisure space for the other not. As a
way of an example, the roller-coaster-operator in the fun fair hard at work
giving uncounted masses thrilled entertainment in a space that for them
is an epitome of leisure. This makes it a theoretical challenge to define a
leisure space, as it, just as with leisure itself, depends on the eyes that sees
it (or rather: the mind that perceives it). Both within leisure, and the accen-
tuated leisure activity that is travelling on holiday, the mental perception
of the nature of the activities engaged in is at least as important for the
identification of an activity as leisure as the physical manifestations of it
(Parinello, 1993; Ehn and Löfgren, 2007; Neulinger, 1981; Moscardo and
Pearce, 2004; Lassen, 2006). While the physical transition is obvious to see,
and therefore also reasonably straightforward to analyze (though thereby
not saying that it is not a complex matter), the mental transition is hidden
from view, maybe even from the person undergoing the transition. In rela-
tion to holidaying, Larsen (2013) explored the role of transition from home
196 Gunvor Riber Larsen

to away, and found that the time spent on physical transit is also used as a
period of mental transition. This mental transition, undergone while physi-
cally engaging with distance, is important for the feeling of being away from
the spatial setting of everyday life, something that has also been captured
by Vacher (2011):

[T]he journey [ ... ] can be understood as a differentiating displacement

that creates a distance from everyday life that is far more than just spatial.
It seems to have an almost cleansing effect, removing bodily tensions
and bringing about a different state of mind (Vacher, 2011:52).

A leisure journey, be it a long one when traveling on holiday, or shorter when

going to the nearby park, will thus have both a materially manifest element
as well as a less conspicuous one taking place in the mind. This merger
of the physical and mental transition from non-leisure to leisure might be
divided into three categories: an instrumental journey, an intrinsic journey
and a combination of the two (Larsen, 2013).
Some engagements with the distance between non-leisure and leisure spaces
is instrumental, it is just a journey that has to be over and done with. As such
these journeys do not have any function beyond the fulfilment of the neces-
sity of physical movement from one place to another. Examples of this could
be the journey to the local fitness centre or the train journey to visit family
members. Other engagements with distance for leisure purposes are fully
intrinsic (Cao et al., 2008), meaning that the overcoming of distance is the aim
itself of the leisure activity, as for example the bicycle ride through the forest.
This distinction between instrumental and intrinsic travel has been estab-
lished by Lumsdon and Page (2004) and Larsen (2013) specifically in relation
to tourism transport, but it would not require a far stretch of the imagination to
recognize similar patterns in leisure journeys. In-between the two arc typical
experiences of the physical and mental transition to a place where leisure is
performed lies the engagements with distance that holds instrumental as well
as intrinsic elements. This is probably a more common experience of leisure
transport, and represents the journeys that are undertaken because they have
to in order to reach a given leisure place or space (the instrumental element),
but is also enjoyed as a leisure activity in its own right (the intrinsic aspect).
An example of such an engagement with distance could be the car journey to
a fun fair, where efforts are made to make the journey an experience by stop-
ping at interesting sites along the way or enjoying an ice cream.
Given that distance will almost always have to be overcome in order to
reach a leisure space, the argument here is that the individual’s percep-
tion of that distance plays a role for their general experience of the leisure
activity itself. It matters how (you are able to) travel to a space of leisure, as
the activity of travelling holds values in its own right, but is also entangled
in, and becomes part of, the leisure experience.
 Distant at Your Leisure 197

Leisurely consumption of distance

Appadurai (1986) argues that leisure time is the product of work, and thus a
commodity that is bought through the selling of time in a work place. This
commodification of leisure leads to the notion that leisure is something
that is consumed (Appadurai, 1986; Baudrillard, 1998; Featherstone, 2007;
Vacher, 2011), although its status as a commodity is somewhat challenged
by its intangible nature:

[L]eisure time, unlike most physical objects, is a commodity that is devoid

of any predefined substance. Its content has to be infused by the consumer
before it can be consumed. This puts pressure on consumers and explains
why, for many people, leisure time has to take place, acquire content,
and gain substance in ways and at locations significantly different from
everyday life in order to optimize its use value in relation to relaxation
and recreation. Going away marks time as different, and spending it
at special locations doing special things fills it up and prevents it from
vanishing without a trace. (Vacher, 2011:49)

The consumption of leisure time is, according to Vacher (2011), made easier
by physical distanciation between the spaces of everyday life and the spaces
of leisure, because this movement, and the being in another space optimizes
the leisure value. This indicates that distance has an important role to play
for the experience of leisure, but it is not necessarily distance quantity that
is important (the physical distance that is travelled), but maybe rather the
quality of distance: that some distance lies between the leisure and non-
leisure space, and the leisuree’s perception of the nature of that distance (cf.
the contextualizing distance dimensions in Figure 14.1).
If leisure time is more easily consumed when there is a physical distancia-
tion between the non-leisure space and the leisure space, would it then be
possible to also talk about consumption of distance as part of the leisure
experience? Larsen (2013) has explored how distance is consumed as part
of holiday travel. Distance is an obvious part of the activity of travelling on
holiday, but there are variations in what role the distance plays for the holiday
experience, and it is only in relation to some holidays that it makes sense
to denote the tourist as a consumer of distance. Illich (1974) first labelled
the mobile individual a consumer of distance, an individual who was left
powerless to influence the transport systems they were dependent on for
the mobility necessary for the daily life in the city. Since then, mobility
has become the centre of analysis of the contemporary society (Sheller and
Urry, 2006; Adey, 2010), with some of the limelight also shining on the role
distance, the stretch of space that moving individuals are mobile across,
has for the experience and organization of travel (Urry, 2007). Distance
cannot be done away with, and the way distance influences any kind of
198 Gunvor Riber Larsen

travel must be unpacked. Larsen (2013) found that tourists do, sometimes,
consume distance when they travel: this happens when the travel itself is
engaged in for intrinsic reasons, when people are travelling just for the sake
of travelling.
Holiday and leisure mobility are not the same, but both rest within the
same temporal domain, as something that is done it the free time, and is
done with (some degree of) voluntariness. Tourists consume distance as part
of their holiday mobility, and if distance can become part of the holiday
experience as an intrinsic element, it must also be possible that distance
holds a greater role for the leisure experience than some leisure studies give
it credit for. Clawson and Knetsch (1966) presented a similar thought, when
they outlined that a recreation experience consists of five phases (anticipa-
tion, travel to the recreation space, on-site behaviour, home travel and recol-
lection), where the travel to and from the place where leisure is undertaken
is regarded as an important element of the experience as a whole. Further,
some leisure experiences are the actual engagement with distance, where
it is the movement across distance that becomes the centre of the activity,
whereas distance is absent from other leisure experiences as an integrated
element. Thus it is possible, inspired from Lumsdon and Page’s (2004)
continuum of tourism transport from travel as utility to travel as tourism,
to propose a similar continuum of leisure mobility, where travelling across
distance holds an increasingly important role for the leisure experience (see
Figure 14.2).
The one end of the continuum would be the mobility that is purely instru-
mental, and where the movement from non-leisure space to leisure space
does not hold any value as leisure. This type of leisure mobility will mostly

Importance of distance
for the experience value
of the journey

Instrumental leisure mobility Intrinsic leisure mobility

Figure 14.2 The importance of distance for the experience of the journey
 Distant at Your Leisure 199

be found in relation to what might be termed ‘mundane leisure experiences’,

those leisure activities that are done on a regular, possibly weekly, basis, such
as going to the gym or visiting friends. Not that such leisure experiences
are mundane, but they happen so often, that they become interwoven with
everyday life in a way, that can make the associated mobility difficult to
distinguish from other everyday life mobilities. Quite often, leisure mobility
and everyday life mobility can become part of the same daily trips, done
with the same modes of transport, along the same routes. At the other end
of the leisure mobility continuum are the journeys that are intrinsic, and
where the act of movement across distance is in itself the leisure experience.
Examples of this could be a bike ride with a purpose only to get some fresh
air and exercise, or a walk along a favoured path. Such leisure activities are
also enjoyed on a regular basis, just as the instrumental journeys, so the role
the overcoming of distance has for a leisure experience is not a result of how
often they occur, but rather how the leisuree regards the journey in relation
to the main leisure experience: whether the journeys are separate or fully
integrated into the activity. The middle of the continuum represents that
leisure mobility that holds both instrumental and intrinsic values. These
are the necessary journeys to spaces where leisure is experienced, but where
enjoyment is also derived from the journey itself.
Some leisure journeys can, if using the classification from Larsen (2013),
be identified as consumption of distance. All journeys that are to places
of leisure outside the home represents an engagement with distance, but
some of them move beyond the mere crossing of distance, and have a more
meaningful relation to distance. If the journey has intrinsic value, distance
is consumed as part of the journey, both as the enjoying of movement itself,
which can be a sensuous experience, as well as with the land – or cityscapes
the journey makes a trajectory through. With these leisure journeys that
are to nowhere in specific, consumption of distance is at its purest, and it
is possible to talk of consuming distance as a leisure experience. Moving
further along the continuum distance is consumed less and less, with the
instrumental journeys not representing any consumption of distance, as
the engagement with distance is not part of the experience of the journey,
and therefore not part of the leisure experience.

Positioning leisure and distance

To conclude that distance is part of leisure would be too simple. Rather,

the interesting theme emerging from this theoretical merger of leisure and
distance in a contribution to the unpacking of a spatiality of leisure is a chal-
lenge to un-spatial leisure theories, with the claim that leisure cannot be
comprehensively understood as a central element of the human condition
without regard for its spatial nature. Space is not just distance, so a discus-
sion of what the spatiality of leisure is would need further reflections on
200 Gunvor Riber Larsen

space than those offered here, but this chapter provides one mooring point
through its positioning of leisure and distance.
The chapter has highlighted how distance plays a role for the experi-
ence of being at leisure. It has attempted to do so by first suggesting a more
complex understanding of distance than what is often offered in leisure
texts. Distance in this chapter is framed as a phenomenon that holds three
distinct layers: spatial separation (which is omnipresent, and therefore not
immediately interesting analytically), relevant relations across space (which
gives the omnipresent spatial separation meaning and relevance), and
contextualizing dimensions (which frames the physical distance in relation
to how a given distance is perceived by an individual) (Larsen, 2013).
Following the establishment of a common understanding of distance the
chapter then argued that an important element of the leisure experience
is the spatial separation between non-leisure and leisure spaces, and that
the movement across distance from one space to another in itself repre-
sents both a physical and mental transition into leisure. This transition can,
however, hold various degrees of significance: for some leisure experiences
the movement is purely instrumental, while for others it is intrinsic. This
leads to a need for a form of classification of the importance the crossing of
distance has, and this is done through the framing of some leisure trips as
consumption of distance. The consumption of distance as a leisure experi-
ence happens when the leisuree travels for the sake of travelling, and with
no other purpose than the journey itself.
This chapter has offered a positioning of leisure and distance: distance
is part of all leisure that takes places in locations that are physically sepa-
rate from the non-leisure spaces of everyday life, but with a more complex
understanding of distance, it also becomes evident that distance and leisure
experiences in some situations are linked in a relationship that is one of
consumption of distance through leisure.

References
Adey, P. (2010) Mobility. London: Routledge.
Appadurai, A. (1986) The Social Life of Things – Commodities in Cultural Perspective.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bauman, Z. (2000) ‘Time and space reunited’. Time and Society, 9, pp. 171–185.
Baudrillard, J. (1998) The Consumer Society – Myths and Structures (Transl. Turner, C.)
London: Sage (original published 1970).
Cao, X., Mokhtarian, P. and Handy, S. (2008) ‘No particular place to go: an empirical
analysis of travel for the sake of travel’. Environment and Behavior, 41, pp. 233–257.
Clawson, M. and Knetsch, J. (1966) Economics of Outdoor Education. Baltimore MD:
John Hopkins Press.
Cooper, C. and Hall, C. M. (2008) Contemporary Tourism. Oxford: Butterworth
Heinemann.
Ehn, B. and Löfgren, O. (2007) När ingenting särskilt händer: Nya kulturanalyser. Höör:
Symposuim.
 Distant at Your Leisure 201

Featherstone, M. (2007) Consumer Culture and Postmodernism, 2nd ed. London: Sage
Gatrell, A. (1983) Distance and Space: A Geographical Perspective. Oxford: Clarendon.
Gatrell A. (1991) ‘Concepts of space and geographical data’. In Longley, P., Goodchild,
M., Maguire, D. and Rhind, D. (eds.), Geographical Information Systems, 1st ed. West
Sussex: Wiley.
Gottdiener, M. (2000) New Forms of Consumption: Consumers, Culture, and
Commodification. Oxford: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers.
Illich, I. (1974) Energy and Equity. New York: Harper and Row.
Iso-Ahola, S. (1980) The Social Psychology of Leisure and Recreation. Dubuque IA:
William Brown.
Larsen, G. (2013) Consumption of Distance: An Exploratory Investigation of Understandings
of Distance of Danish Tourists, Ph.D. Thesis. Preston: University of Central
Lancashire.
Lassen, C. (2006) ‘Rethinking central concepts of work and travel in the “age of aero-
mobility”’. Environment and Planning A, 38, pp. 301–312.
Lefebvre, H. (1991) The Production of Space (Transl. Donaldson-Smith, N.) Oxford:
Basil-Blackwell.
Lumsdon L. and Page S. (2004) ‘Progress in transport and tourism research: reformu-
lating the transport-tourism interface and future research agendas’. In Lumsdon, L.
and Page, S. (eds.), Tourism and Transport. Issues and Agenda for the New Millennium.
London: Elsevier.
Moscardo G. and Pearce P. (2004) ‘Life cycle, tourist motivation and transport: some
consequences of the tourist experience’. In Lumsdon, L. and Page, S. (eds.), Tourism
and Transport. Issues and Agenda for the New Millennium. London: Elsevier.
Neulinger, J. (1981) The Psychology of Leisure, 2nd ed. Springfield: Charles C Thomas
Publisher.
Nystuen, J. (1963) ‘Identification of some fundamental spatial concepts’. Papers of the
Michigan Academy of Science, Arts, and Letters, 48, pp. 373–384.
Parrinello, G. (1993) ‘Motivation and anticipation in post-industrial tourism’. Annals
of Tourism Research, 20, pp. 233–249.
Pirie, G. (2009) ‘Distance’. In Kitchin, R. and Thrift, N. (eds.), International Encyclopedia
of Human Geography. Oxford: Elsevier.
Rojek, C. (1995) Decentring Leisure. Rethinking Leisure Theory. London, Sage.
Sheller, M. and Urry, J. (2006) ‘The new mobilities paradigm’. Environment and
Planning A, 38, pp. 207–226.
Urry, J. (1995) Consuming Places. London: Routledge.
Urry, J. (2007) Mobilities. Cambridge: Polity.
Urry, J. and Larsen, J. (2011) The Tourist Gaze, 3rd ed. London: Sage.
Tobler, W. (1970) ‘A computer movie simulating urban growth in the Detroit region’.
Economic Geography, 46, pp. 234–240.
Vacher, M. (2011) ‘Consuming Leisure Time. landscapes of infinite horizons’. Social
Analysis, 55, pp. 45–61.
Watson, J. (1955) ‘Geography – a discipline in distance’. Scottish Geographical Magazine,
71, pp. 1–13.
15
The Lure of the Countryside:
The Spiritual Dimension of
Rural Spaces of Leisure
Deborah Jepson

Introduction

The human search for spiritual fulfilment and transcendence, as a domi-

nant contemporary theme, is increasingly evidenced in the area of tourism
and leisure pursuits (Heintzman, 2009; Narayanan and Macbeth, 2009;
Norman, 2011; Satpathy and Mahalik, 2010; Schmidt, 2005; Sharpley and
Jepson, 2011). Tourism is inextricably tied to the concept of leisure places
and the nature of tourists’ engagement with place, in particular their
emotional/spiritual engagement, is fundamental to our understanding of
tourist behaviour and motivations. In exploring landscapes of leisure, the
emergent fascination for rural landscapes, particularly seen as the antithesis
to city life, has been a principal factor in the development of tourism and
leisure in the countryside (Aitchison, Macleod and Shaw, 2000).
In the UK, the fascination and draw of rural spaces has been influenced by
historic events that have shaped the modern day view of rural Britain. The
countryside is perceived today as an idyllic space for retreat and restoration,
offering endless opportunities to engage in a diverse range of recreational
pursuits (Roberts and Hall, 2003). Additionally, the lure of the countryside is
strengthened by the perceived naturalness of rural spaces. There is a collec-
tive view that associates rural areas with nature and the natural environment,
settings that have been shown to stimulate intense emotional effects, some-
times understood as spiritual experiences (Jepson, 2013). Tourists’ motivations
for visiting and their experiences of rural places are undoubtedly influenced
by a complexity of processes but it is conceivable that rural settings, as a
specific type of tourist destination, may provide an environment conducive
for spiritual inspiration and well-being. The following chapter is contextual-
ized in a framework of two central themes: the collective interpretation and
understanding of rural spaces in Britain and the shifting societal under-
standing of the concept of spirituality. Subsequently, these themes are drawn

202
 The Lure of the Countryside 203

together in an exploration of the lure of the countryside, not only as a place for
leisure activities but as a place that offers a context for contemporary spiritual
experiences.

Interpreting rural landscapes

Rural is a spatial concept, as it fundamentally refers to place (the country-

side). Rural places, as all places, are spaces of representation; spaces cultur-
ally, economically and politically produced (Anderson, 2009; Woods, 2011).
The social production of the space of the countryside developed from the
manipulation and production of spaces in nature (Macnaghten and Urry,
1998). Early interpretations of rural space were associated with the provision
of natural resources such as food, fuel and building material but this func-
tional perspective on rurality has evolved into a view of the rural as a play-
ground offering scenic views, outdoor pursuits and tranquillity (Aitchison
et al., 2000; Woods, 2011). However, the term ‘rural’ defies any clear and
concise definition, reflecting the evolving nature of rural place which has
long been, and still is, subject to significant influences on many levels. At an
objective level, the forces of economic transformations, geographical condi-
tions, cultural representations and political boundary-making have served
to influence and obscure classification of the term ‘rural’. At a more subjec-
tive level, aesthetically and culturally driven shifts in values have also trans-
formed the rural from what has been deemed as ‘desolate and culturally
empty spaces’ into ‘desirable culturally laden places’ (Darby, 2000:54).
Generally, today, when people envision the countryside, there is a percep-
tion of areas devoid of heavy human activity and unburdened by the pressures
commonly associated with urban environments (Sharpley and Jepson, 2011).
Geographically, though, there exist no clear cut boundaries to delineate the
rural from the non-rural; rather there is an unconscious collective conceptu-
alization of rural, linking countryside to agricultural land usage and, more
recently, largely as spaces for recreational and tourist pursuits (Burchardt,
2002; Hoggart, 1990; Woods, 2011).
Thus, the countryside, conceived as an imagined space, has become a
place characterized by scenic beauty offering leisure spaces for relaxation,
family time, outdoor exploits and perhaps most importantly, escape –
escape from the negative effects of city living (Kastenholz and Lima, 2011).
This vision of the countryside continues to mobilize tourists into rural areas
and provides the stimulus for rural tourism, an industry responsible for
economic and social regeneration of much of the countryside in Britain.

The lure of the countryside

With the growth of cities in Britain during the 1800s and the profound changes
to society and the landscape the term countryside was coined to delineate
204 Deborah Jepson

between urban and non-urban physical environment and to distinguish

between the rural and urban social environment and lifestyle (Macnaghten
and Urry, 1998). The appeal and appreciation of the countryside would develop
later with the Romantic Era as a revolt against industrialization, societal norms
and the scientific rationalization of nature (Seaton, 2013). In essence, rural
tourism in Britain largely emerged from the Romantic Era as a revolt against
the scientific and rational mind-set prevalent prior to and during the Industrial
Revolution (Burchardt, 2002).
The Romantic Movement elevated the status of nature and led the
way in the valorisation of the countryside, providing the initial impetus
for tourism in the early 19th century (Lane, 2009). Bunce (1994:37) has
argued that in a culture increasingly disconnected from interaction with
nature, the land and country life, the main stimulus for the idealization of
the countryside has been the images and values propagated through early
Romantic literary and artistic works and, more recently, the persuasive
power of mediated representations. These popular cultural representation,
both from the works of the Romantics and from present day influences,
have engendered an on-going and omnipresent vision of rurality and rural
life (Aitchison et al., 2000; Horton, 2008). Consequently, rural tourism
grew rapidly in the latter half of the 20th century and the countryside
became known as the ‘playground of the urban population’ (Hall and
Page, 1999:189).
As evidenced, tourism in rural Britain stems from a long history of events
that has culminated with contemporary rural tourism adding significantly
to the rural economy as the lure of the countryside stimulates people’s imag-
inations and draws them away from urban lifestyles. The modern English
countryside is an ideal, a mixture of myth and reality, that has developed
over the last centuries through a combination of historical, societal and
cultural processes that have shaped rural Britain’s growth and forged a
national identity (Burchardt, 2002; O’reilly, 2007; Short, 1991). The place
of countryside engenders a vision of landscape and spatiality of nature
coalesced with the nostalgic imaginings of a simpler and more harmonious
way of life offering a refuge from modernity (Aitchison et al., 2000; Bunce,
1994). The socially constructed nature of the countryside provides a collec-
tive understanding but, through individual experiences, personal construc-
tions of the countryside are reshaped, redefined and, thus, implicated in the
tourist decision-making process.
The aesthetic value of rural landscapes is significant to most tourism
activities but at a functional level, societal factors such as greater mobility,
increased leisure time and more financial security are all factors that have
underpinned the increasing popularity of rural landscapes for leisure and
recreational pursuits (Aitchison et al., 2000; Harrison, 1991; Lane, 2009).
Correspondingly, the more subjective motivations of relaxation, escapism,
romance, adventure and mental well-being, fundamental to participation
 The Lure of the Countryside 205

in most forms of tourism, are also of primary consideration in rural tourism

(Cain, 2013).
Indeed, motivations for visiting rural areas are diverse and for many
the countryside is a place to pursue recreational activities that involve
engaging with the outdoors and interacting with the natural environment
(Kastenholz and Lima, 2011) but at a deeper, affective level, rural landscapes
may provide a setting that fulfils a subconscious need/desire to find mental
and spiritual well-being.

Spirituality: a fundamental human trait?

The contemporary search for spiritual nourishment is often attributed to a

fundamental and instinctive human need (Danesh, 1997; Hay and Socha,
2005) and is believed by some to be ‘central to human social psychology’
(Haq and Jackson, 2006:1). The notion that not only is spiritual well-being
essential to all aspects of life but also that human beings are inherently
spiritual is a widely held academic belief; it is a belief that humankind has
always had a spiritual life, not necessarily at an awareness level but deeply
embedded in the human sub-consciousness (Hay and Socha, 2005; Teasedale,
1999; Vukonic, 1996). Indeed, according to Hay and Socha (2005:598), ‘spir-
itual awareness is a natural human disposition’ and religion is only a subset
of spirituality. Humankind, from prehistoric to modern times, has engaged
in spiritual practices, rituals and rites, and the spiritual quest for enlight-
enment is reflected in the multiplicity of ways, myths and journeys that
people have engaged in throughout history (Schmidt, 2005). If spirituality
is natural to the human state, this suggests that human beings will at some
point in their lives, consciously or subconsciously, seek ways to explore and
develop their spiritual being. Moreover, although, spirituality may be an
intrinsic part of humankind’s psyches this does not determine the socio-
cultural context for the current growing demand for activities that offer
spiritual outcomes.

Shifting tourism demands: a societal context

Increasingly, it is recognized that contemporary tourism is driven by rising

demands, on the part of the consumer, to seek new experiences, to not
only ‘gaze’ passively (Urry, 2002) upon landscapes, peoples and places but
to also engage in and, perhaps, ‘co-create’ the experience (Gotyia and De
La Rica, 2012; Ritchie and Hudson, 2009). That is, it is suggested that the
contemporary tourist displays the desire to become involved in touristic
experiences that fulfil inner emotional needs; experiences that are trans-
formative, memorable and personal. Thus, the experience economy (Pine
and Gilmore, 1999) is driven by tourists from Western cultures who are
no longer satisfied with simply observing places and events but who seek
206 Deborah Jepson

interactive experiences that invoke emotional responses (Cooper and Hall,

2008).
It is, perhaps, no coincidence that this shift in the nature of consump-
tion and sought experiences has occurred during a time in Western society
that the traditional supports of community and family have been eroded.
The state of contemporary society appears to echo a Durkheimian type
of anomie, a state of ‘normlessness’ (Durkheim, 1897) in which a break-
down occurs between individual and community, and in which there is
a collapse of social standards and values. Society has become increasingly
disenchanted by the values espoused by capitalist consumerism (Berry,
1990; Meltzer, 2012; Schwartz, 1996; Szerszynski, 2005) and there is a
growing disillusionment with the pace and stresses of modern day living
(Danesh, 1997; De Vulpian, 2008; Sharpley, 2009; Timothy and Conover,
2006). Additionally, an alleged secularization of society can be observed
alongside the decline of the church (Houtman and Aupers, 2007; Lambert,
2004; Pargament, 1999), an institution that historically demanded moral
and social responsibility of the community (Heelas, 2008; Heelas and
Woodhead, 2005; Wuthnow, 1998) and, in return, offered stability, cohe-
sion and spiritual guidance to its followers. This purported post-modern
decline in traditional religion and the commensurate secularization of
society has meant that Western civilization has been set adrift with no
moral compass to guide society, no sense of belonging or support (Houtman
and Aupers, 2007). Without the church and traditional religious ritual as
the cornerstone of society and with a lack of strong community/family
structure, individuals have become ‘disconnected’; a religious/spiritual
void has opened up that has triggered a complex quest to find spiritual
satisfaction through other means (Wuthnow, 1998).
Culturally, religious conviction and involvement may have weakened but,
in its place, there is evidence of an escalating desire by society to sustain
and nurture spiritual health (Heelas and Woodhead, 2005). According to
Wuthnow (1998:138), over the last half of the 20th century religion expe-
rienced a major shift that saw ‘traditional spirituality of inhabiting sacred
places giving way to a new spirituality of seeking’. In contrast to religion
that is fixed not only in time-bound rituals, sacred sites of worship and
communal responsibility, contemporary spirituality offers the freedom to
choose one’s own path of faith without the condemnation and constraints
exerted by ecclesiastical mandates. The general acceptance of both tradi-
tional and alternative religious beliefs has allowed people to have spiritual
experiences without religious faith. Timothy and Olsen (2006:4) note that
many people who consider themselves as spiritual would not view them-
selves as religious and vice versa. Clearly, spirituality has become a ‘dynamic
process’ (Pargament, 1999:4), with individuals seeking to define their own
private faith and adopting a patchwork quilt (Wuthnow, 1998) or bricolage
(De Vries, 2008) of flexible beliefs and practices.
 The Lure of the Countryside 207

In exploring the post-modern rise in demand for spiritual experiences,

Tacey (2004:4) identifies the phenomenon as a ‘counter revolution against
materialism, inhumanity, and economic rationalism’. It has become
increasingly apparent that the forces of capitalism and scientific reason
may once have defined the Western world but it has become harder to
assess the worth of things that have no market value, such as emotion,
spiritual need and responsibility to oneself and society (Flanagan and
Jupp, 2007; Heelas and Woodhead, 2005). Thus, today’s preoccupation
with spirituality is focussed more on happiness and peace of mind in the
here and now rather than insuring a comfortable future in the unknown
hereafter (Heelas, 2008). In summary, the cynicism and nihilism of
the post-modern, according to Flanagan and Jupp ((2007:5), have been
rejected, ‘hence the turn to hope, to trust and to the need to consider
matters of ultimate veracity ... spirituality is a revolt against the artificiality
of modernity’.
Clearly, as demonstrated, the social context of contemporary spirituality
may be framed by the rise of secularization and individualism but this does
not determine contemporary understanding of the meanings attached to
the concept of spirituality.

What is spirituality?

Spirituality, as the buzzword of the age (Brown, 1998), remains an elusive

term that defies clear definition (Zinnbauer, Pargament, Cole, Rye, Butler,
Belavich, Hipp, Scott and Kadar, 1997; Zinnbauer, Pargament and Scott,
1999); as Schmidt and Little (2007:222) assert, ‘it is a domain used to describe
that which is indefinable, immaterial and affects the core or souls of indi-
viduals’. Once firmly contained within religious guidelines, the term spirit-
uality has become disconnected from its traditional religious connotations
and presently encompasses a widening, very personal and elective scope
of definitions (Bregman, 2005; McSherry and Cash, 2004; Zinnbauer et al.,
1997). These definitions represent a spiritual taxonomy that, according to
McSherry and Cash (2004:155), can ‘range from the religious to the exis-
tential to the mystical’ depending on philosophical perspective. In the
context of modern day interpretations, academics offer several definitions
for the term spirituality. It has been described as, amongst other things, ‘a
desire for connectedness, relating to an invisible sacred presence’ (Griffiths,
2006:3), ‘a search for universal truth’ or ‘a conscious or unconscious belief
that relates to the world and gives meaning and definition to existence
(Scott, 1997:115). Alternatively, Bouma (2006:12) defines spirituality as ‘an
experiential journey of encounter and relationship with otherness, with
powers, forces and beings beyond the scope of everyday life’. The concept of
spirituality is commonly viewed as a phenomenon encompassing elements
of transcendence, meaningfulness, connection to the world and others,
208 Deborah Jepson

and frequently, recognition of a higher or divine power (Bregman, 2005;

Estanek, 2006; Schmidt, 2005).
Thus, this pluralism of definitions and context reflects the nebulousness
and malleability of the term spirituality and, as a consequence, will always
remain subject to individual and subjective interpretation (Mcsherry and
Cash, 2004; Spilka, 1993; Zinnbauer et al., 1997). In adding some clarifi-
cation to a murky concept, the above definitions all offer qualities char-
acteristic of contemporary understanding of the concept of spirituality.
Regardless of definitional obscurities, spirituality has become a personal
modern day quest to find meaning and purpose in life, a search that has
often evolved into travel to fulfil this need (Digance, 2003; Schmidt and
Little, 2007; Willson, 2010)

Tourism, contemporary spirituality and rural places

There is increasing reference to the role of travel and tourism in fostering

peoples’ search to find meaning and purpose in life, and facilitating experi-
ences of personal significance (Cohen, 1979; Pine and Gilmore, 1999; Prentice,
Witt and Hamer, 1998; Ryan, 1995; Willson, 2010; Zahra, 2006). Tourism is
not only about the physical and functional action of movement to a place
but can involve psychological benefits, self-actualization, self-sacrifice,
personal development, life changing and spiritual moments (Willson, 2010;
Wilson and Harris, 2006). Contemporary tourists are no longer satisfied to
just ‘gaze’ upon different cultures and sights (Urry, 2002) but seek active
participation in their experiences, wanting to invoke personal meaning
and situate their experiences within the wider context of their lives (Farber,
2007; Lean, 2012; Mcintosh and Prentice, 1999). Moreover, commentators
have also noted the positive emotional and spiritual well-being of experi-
ences emanating from tourist and leisure pursuits (Heintzman, 2000, 2009;
Narayanan and Macbeth, 2009; Schmidt, 2005; Schmidt and Little, 2007),
acknowledging that these activities not only effect the individual at the
physical and cognitive levels but also have bearing on spiritual outcomes.
Subsequently, within contemporary Western society the quest for new spir-
itual horizons is reflected in the need for individuals to seek spirituality
through touristic pursuits (Laing and Crouch, 2009; Little and Schmidt,
2006; Sharpley and Sundaram, 2005).
It is the changing views of spirituality within contemporary society
that have led to a broader interpretation of what defines a place as sacred
or spiritually meaningful (Timothy, 2013). The concept that sites may be
‘imbued with a spiritual magnetism’ (Griffiths, 2006:3) may now be trans-
lated to encompass non-conventional places of individual religiosity. In
effect, contemporary spiritual tourism can be part of any tourist experience,
partaking in any activity at any location, dependent on individual interpre-
tation of personal spirituality and context.
 The Lure of the Countryside 209

Interestingly, this broader scope of spiritually meaningful settings has

led to contemporary society witnessing a renewal or revalidation of natural
environments. This is recognizable in the growth of non-religious forms
of spiritual tourism to spiritual retreats in nature, often with an emerging
focus on deep ecology, ecofeminism, environmentalism and nature adula-
tion (Coats, 2008; Timothy, 2013; York, 2001). The natural environment as a
spiritual resource is not a new idea (Roberts, 1996). Nature has been deified
and revered throughout human history from the ancient mysticisms, to the
archaic religions on to the monotheistic traditions, all exalting the sublime
sacred qualities and transcendent characteristics of nature (Booth, 1999;
Egri, 1997; Schroeder, 1991). But over the centuries the world, is deemed to
have lost its spiritual connection to the natural world, displaced by tech-
nology, science and consumerism (Roberts, 1996). This has led to a revali-
dation of natural environments as places engendering spiritual occasions,
and it is not surprising in our increasingly urban societies that the recrea-
tional values of natural areas contribute, not only to physical well-being but
mental and spiritual well-being.
In largely urbanized Western societies, the opportunities to encounter the
beauty and intrinsic qualities associated with the natural environment are
predominantly located in areas considered to offer rural qualities, commonly
thought of as the countryside. Nature is not exclusive to rural areas, but it
is normal in western society to link nature to the countryside; the popu-
lace’s greatest exposure to the natural environment is in rural landscapes.
Within the UK, this has led to an ever rising number of people pursuing
leisure activities in the multi-faceted rural environment. The benefits of
rural spaces in facilitating tourist leisure experiences is well documented
but understanding the role of rural natural landscapes as a catalyst for spir-
itual nourishment is largely unexplored (Jepson, 2013; Sharpley and Jepson,
2011). Despite the limited knowledge there are still multi-disciplinary
conclusions demonstrating the benefits of natural landscapes contributing
to spiritual experience.

Elements of the rural leisure experience contributing to

spirituality

In seeking to interact and connect with nature, tourists will often visit places
in rural areas to fulfil their physical, emotional and psychological needs
(Mannell, 1996). The countryside, seen as the antithesis to the perceived
negative effects of the built environment (Roggenbuck and Driver, 1996),
has become instrumental in promoting relaxation, restoration and spiritual
benefits associated with leisure activities in natural settings (Ashley, 2007;
Mannell, 1996). Notably, there are a number of specific elements of human
leisure experiences in the countryside that encourage spiritual occurrences
within rural landscapes:
210 Deborah Jepson

Physical environment
The landscape of the countryside is a powerful enticement for tourists,
whether purely to gaze upon or to physically interact with the environment.
Emotional and spiritual engagement to rural places is stimulated, largely,
by the physical characteristics associated with the outdoors (Soini, Vaarala
and Pouta, 2012; Stedman, 2003). The beauty of the landscape, frequently
connected to a leisure activity, provides conditions for deeply emotional or
spiritual experiences (Sharpley and Jepson, 2011). Additionally, changing
weather conditions generate a certain ambient mood. Atmospheric changes,
clouds building, sun through the clouds, odd light conditions, thunder
clouds, crisp snow on the ground, cold but clear – all may add a special
quality to the experience. The aura created by certain weather and light
conditions can evoke intense feelings and provoke a frame of mind open to
spiritual moments (Jepson, 2013). The physical environment, in its different
states seems to ‘heighten one’s level of sensory awareness’ (Fredrickson
and Anderson, 1999:34), and this increased level of consciousness appears
conducive to spiritual inspiration and meaningful experiences.

Nature
Historically, mankind’s relationship with the natural environment is a long
and complex one highlighted by the spiritual significance of nature. Nature
has always held an aura of mysteriousness and enchantment, inspiring
respect, ritual and worship (Booth, 1999; Schroeder, 1991). Throughout
the centuries, mankind’s relationship with the natural environment has
been diminished by societies that largely live in urbanized areas. In effect,
modern man has lost touch with nature and, in doing so, has lost meaning
and rootedness to place as natural places (Cessford and Abramovici, 2008).
According to Roberts (1996:69), ‘the human search for connectedness with
the Earth and each other is universal’. Supporting this belief, is Wilson’s
(1984) biophilia theory of an innate bond between human beings and other
living systems. His argument maintains the idea that human preferences
towards nature are a result of biological evolution and that our human
spirit and heart are inextricably woven with life and lifelike processes
found in nature. Essentially, humans are hardwired to connect with nature,
commonly referred to as the human-environment transaction (Gelter, 2000;
Williams and Harvey, 2001).
In more recent societal history, 18th century Romanticism, revital-
ized the idealization of nature, leading to a movement that advanced the
transformation of nature into countryside (Macnaghten and Urry, 1998).
This veneration or sacralisation of nature (Tuan, 1974, 2013) embodied
a general sentiment about rural scenery that was supported by the belief
that rural life is more natural than urban life (Bunce, 1994). Significantly,
the Romantic Movement championed the passionate emotional responses
 The Lure of the Countryside 211

to authentic experiences derived from the aesthetics of nature (Barsham

and Hitchcock, 2013), embracing the merits of ‘emotion, joy, freedom and
beauty that could be gained through visitation to untamed landscapes.
According to Harrison (1991:21) it was ‘the educated and cultured few
that began to view the countryside as a source of spiritual renewal’. For
example, Wordsworth eulogized that nature was the ‘gateway to spiritual
truth’ (Burchardt, 2002:47). Other Romantic poets attributed nature with
the power of healing along with the positive spiritual qualities of being in
nature (Aitchison et al., 2000).
Within the context of leisure and tourism, emergent literature has explored
natural environments, such as the wilderness, forests, rivers, the ocean and
the outdoors, examining emotive/spiritual outcome (Allcock, 2003; Bull,
2006; Fredrickson and Anderson, 1999; Heintzman, 2010; Springer and
Mcavoy, 1992; Taylor, 2001; Williams and Harvey, 2001). Natural settings
and communion with nature have been shown to catalyze profound experi-
ences, creating feelings of rejuvenation and reverence (Arnould and Price,
1993). Further research demonstrates that the natural environment has
profound psychological and physiological effects, and that the thoughts
and feelings that arise from these encounters with nature are those most
commonly linked to spirituality, such as awe, inspiration, reverence,
connectedness, timelessness and reflection on personal meanings (Cessford
and Abramovici, 2008; Crystal and Harris, 1997; Fredrickson and Kerr,
1998). Undoubtedly, the spiritual benefits manifested in different environ-
ments vary according to participants’ individual experiences and expecta-
tions (Arnould and Price, 1993; Daniel, 2007; Heintzman, 2010; Williams,
Patterson, Roggenbuck and Watson, 1992) but these studies clearly indicate
that spirituality, in some form, can be experienced in a diverse range of
natural landscapes.
Nature, as an element of the physical environment, provides a backdrop
for tourist experiences and activities. To be outdoors in nature appears to
feed some inner need, an innate need to interact with the natural envi-
ronment (De Pater, Scherer-Rath and Mertens, 2008, Roberts, 1996). Rural
areas nurture these feelings by providing access to nature. The search for
solace, reflection and communion with nature, may be a consequence of
the conspicuous contrast between the unnaturalness of the city and the
simplicity of nature commonly found in rural areas (Timothy, 2013).
Fundamentally, nature seems to strip back the superficial layers of contem-
porary society and take us back to an instinctive and intuitive unity with
the natural world, a relationship that has largely been lost in the material-
istic, urbanized societies of the western world (Roberts, 1996). Man’s manip-
ulation of nature is evident in the countryside today but the experience of
nature, albeit in a constructed natural environment, still offers the oppor-
tunity for humankind to shed the trappings of a modern object oriented
society and reconnect with a more natural world.
212 Deborah Jepson

Physical activity
Physical activity undertaken in a specific environment fosters a sense of
close engagement with place (Wylie, 2005). Spiritual experiences, it has
been demonstrated, arise from gratifying physical activities that focus the
attention completely on the task, attributed to a state of ‘flow’ (Williams
and Harvey, 2001). According to Williams (2001:250), flow is a state whereby
‘the usual distinctions between self and object are lost’ and ‘internal and
external worlds are fused into a single stream of being’. Flow experiences
are typified by a transitory quality, richer perception, forgetting oneself,
centring of individuals’ attention and total involvement with the activity
at hand, whilst peak experiences in Maslow’s (1971) view are ‘moments of
highest happiness and fulfilment’ habitually achieved through ‘the nature
experience, aesthetic perception, creative movement, intellectual insight,
organismic experience, athletic pursuit and the like’ (Mannell, 1996:47).
The value of physical activity is recognized as beneficial to our phys-
ical, psychological and spiritual well-being (Fouhy, 2007; Pelletier, 1994).
According to Drury (2008:145), ‘across nearly all spiritual traditions and
throughout many lands – walking plays a central role in spiritual practice,
texts disciplines and customs’, a leisure activity pursued by many rural tour-
ists. Although Drury’s theory is directed to walking, similar benefits have
been associated with other physical activities that take place in outdoor
leisure environments (Jensen and Guthrie, 2005; Keyes, 2013).

Physical challenges, exertion and achievement

In explorations of leisure activities in the countryside, the element of phys-
ical challenge is often a stimulus for intense emotional experiences that may
be a precursor to spiritual moments. This phenomenon has been noted in
a study by Fredrickson and Anderson (1999), which attributed participants’
spiritual feelings to a renewed sense of their physical bodies and a reawak-
ening to their physical capabilities. The participants felt they could indulge
in the physical side of nature rather than the intellectual, all leading to a
sense of empowerment, self-esteem and spiritual awareness. The physicality
of an activity, particularly if a challenge, seems to trigger a psychological
frame of mind favourable for emotional and spiritual realization (Jepson,
2013). The elements of exertion and achievement seem to give meaning to
the experience allowing for an openness of mind conducive for spiritual
realization. Additionally, in engaging in physical activity, the element of
danger intensifies emotions, particularly fear, and overcoming obstacles
contributes to a sense of renewal (Arnould and Price, 1993). Fear heightens
awareness and clarity of mind that may help to define one’s sense of self
(Donohue, 1991). This may not necessarily inspire spiritually peaceful
moments but, perhaps, sharpens our sense of insignificance, vulnerability
and need for strength from some greater power or something intangible and
 The Lure of the Countryside 213

unnamed. Although, rural leisure activities may only entail minimal risk
or physical challenges the elements associated with physical challenge in
natural environments have been shown to catalyze spiritual moments.

Solitude
Solitude is a concept academic studies have associated with contempla-
tive and reflective time that supports emotional well-being (Fredrickson
and Anderson, 1999; Heintzman, 2009). Solitude is a highly regarded state,
appealing to many people. It is a time for introspection, problem solving,
shedding of stressful issues, and cleansing of negative thoughts. Stringer and
McAvoy (1992) observe that spiritual experiences are enhanced not only by
the physical setting but the being away from the constraints and responsibil-
ities associated with normal, everyday built environments. Solitude, silence,
time and space are all deemed to be important factors in spiritual well-being
and nature is seen as life-giving and rejuvenating (Heintzman, 1999). Rural
landscapes offer the opportunity for time alone or for moments of solitude;
contexts that encourage spiritual realization.

Silence, quiet and the sounds of nature

Silence or the sounds of nature arouse strong positive emotive feeling,
demonstrating the desire to be removed from the noise and disharmony
of the built environment. In discussing rurality, Bunce (1994) noted that
the rural idyll is not only represented visually by its landscapes but also
by soundscapes, often referred to in terms of tranquillity, quiet and peaceful,
perceived in contrast to urban noises, such as traffic, construction, sirens,
loud music and machinery. Furthermore, he reasons that the rural soundscape
adds another dimension to the rural gaze, impacting on biological processes
and relaying messages expressive of the rural landscape. Thus, the idealized
soundscape of rurality is associated with serenity and calmness, inclusive of
natural sounds such as birdsong, waterfalls, farmyard noises and weather
(Bunce, 1994). It is notable that the qualities of silence or quietness provide
conditions that promote highly positive mental states, elements of leisure
rural experiences that appear to predispose visitors to heightened emotional
or spiritual experiences (Jepson, 2013). In supporting this idea, Heintzman’s
(1999, 2010) studies establish that environments characterized by silence,
quiet and solitude are favourable for spiritual experience and spiritual
well-being.

Sense of place

The attraction of rural landscapes as spaces for leisure is attributable to

a combination of elements and as a result of the powerful draw of these
elements a sense of place develops. Sense of place is a complex phenomenon
recognizing the emotional, cognitive and conative linkages that people
214 Deborah Jepson

develop from encounters and engagement with specific places; it is a human

place bonding process (Farnum, Hall and Kruger, 2005; Stedman, 2002;
Tuan, 1974). Peoples’ psychological and physiological reactions to place can
generate deep feelings, incorporating aesthetic, cultural, emotional and
spiritual values engendering a sense of place (Cessford and Abramovici,
2008; Fredrickson and Kerr, 1998; Kaltenborn, 1998). Referring to sense
of place and spirituality, Heintzman and Mannell (2003) consider that in
pursuing leisure activities, people will tend to use this as an opportunity to
engage with places or settings that heighten spiritual experience or spiritual
well-being. Tourists’ synergistic spatial relationships with rural settings can
stimulate intense emotional/spiritual reactions contributory to sense of place,
and offering further motivation for tourists to engage with rural landscapes
not only for leisure purposes but for deeper more emotionally, meaningful
experiences.

Conclusion

In recent decades, the UK has witnessed an increase in visitors to the coun-

tryside; visitors aspiring to engage in leisure and recreational pursuits. As
noted earlier, tourists’ interactions with rural landscapes are motivated by
a complexity of reasons, tangible and intangible, conscious and subcon-
scious. At a time in history when people are seeking to establish connec-
tions to place and fulfil the basic need to belong, rural landscapes provide
a setting in which to realize these needs, a place to have meaningful
experiences. Essentially, an epochal shift is taking place as people seek
simpler, more fundamental ways to enjoy their leisure time in aestheti-
cally appealing natural settings, environments that satisfy both superficial
objectives and deeper, more complex human aspirations. The natural envi-
ronment, commonly associated with rural landscapes, offers the intangible
benefits of health and wellness and is deemed to be a catalyst for spiritual
experiences. In essence, the rural tourist may not be on a definitive search
for spiritual fulfilment but there is, nevertheless, a clear recognition that
their experiences in rural landscapes may offer emotional and spiritual
benefits.

References
Aitchison, C., Macleod, N. & Shaw, S. (2000) Leisure and tourism landscapes: Social and
Cultural Geographies. London, Routledge.
Allcock, D. (2003) From the Plains to the Peaks: The Outdoors as a Repository of
Spirituality. Horizons, 21:10–12.
Anderson, A. (2009) What is rural? Discussion Paper. Lincoln,UK: University of
Lincoln.
Arnould, E. & Price, L. (1993) River Magic: Extraordinary Experience and the Extended
Service Encounter. Journal of Consumer Research, 20(1): 24–45.
 The Lure of the Countryside 215

Ashley, P. (2007) Toward an Understanding and Definition of Wilderness Spirituality.

Australian Geographer, 38(1):53–69.
Barsham, D. & Hitchcock, M. (2013) Prophets of Nature: Romantic Ideas of Nature
and their Continuing Relevance for Tourism Today. In Holden, A. & Fennell, D.
(eds) The Routledge Handbook of Tourism and the Environment. Oxon: Routledge.
Berry, T. (1990) The Dream of the Earth. San Francisco: Sierra Club Books.
Booth, A. (1999) Does the Spirit Move You? Environmental Spirituality. Environmental
Values, 8(1):89–105.
Bouma, G. (2006) Australian Soul: Religion and spirituality in the Twenty-first Century,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Bregman, L. (2005) Spirituality: A Glowing and Useful Term in Search of a Meaning.
Omega: The Journal of Death and Dying, 53(1):5–26.
Brown, M. (1998) The Spiritual Tourist. London: Bloomsbury.
Bull, A. (2006) ‘Is a Trip to the Seaside a Spiritual Journey?’. In Sharpley, R. (ed.)
Tourism: The Spiritual Dimension. Lincoln, UK: University of Lincoln.
Bunce, M. (1994) The Countryside Ideal: Anglo- american Images of Landscape. London:
Routledge.
Burchardt, J. (2002) Paradise lost: Rural idyll and Social Change Since 1800. London:
I.B. Tauris.
Cain, T. (2013) The Importance of the Aesthetic. In Holden, A. & Fennell, D. (eds) The
Routledge Handbook of Tourism and the Environment. Oxon: Routledge, pp. 65–74.
Cessford, G. & Abramovici, M. (2008). ‘Sense of Place Literature Review’. Internal
Report. Department of Conservation. Wellington, NZ: Parks Forum.
Coats, C. (2008) Is the Womb Barren? A Located Study of Spiritual Tourism in
Sedona, Arizona, and its Possible Effects on Eco-consciousness. Journal for the Study
of Religion, Nature & Culture, 2(4):483–507.
Cohen, E. (1979) A Phenomenology of Tourist Experiences. Sociology, 13(2):179–201.
Cooper, C. & Hall, C. M. (2008) Contemporary Tourism: An International Approach.
Oxford: Elsevier Ltd.
Crystal, L. & Harris, C. (1997) The SOS – A Spiritual Opportunity Spectrum: Theory and
Implicatuions of Spirit of Place for Ecosystem Management. Proceedings of the 1997
Conference on Integrating Social Science and Ecosystem Management: A National
Challenge, Helen, GA: US Department of Agriculture, Forest Service, Southern
Research Station.
Danesh, H. B. (1997) The Psychology of Spirituality: From Divided Self to Integrated Self.
New Delhi: A Sterling Paperback.
Daniel, B. (2007) The Life Significance of a Spiritually Oriented, Outward Bound-
type Wilderness Expedition. Journal of Experiential Education, 29(3):386–389.
Darby, W. (2000) Landscape and Identity. Oxford: Oxford International Publishers.
De Pater, C., Scherer-Rath, M. & Mertens, F. (2008) Forest Managers’ Spiritual
Concerns. Journal of Empirical Theology, 21, pp. 109–132.
De Vries, H. (2008) Religion: Beyond a Concept. Bronx, NY: Fordham University Press.
De Vulpian, A. (2008) Towards the Third Modernity: How Ordinary People are Transforming
the World. Axminister: Triarchy Press Ltd.
Digance, J. (2003) Pilgrimage at contested sites. Annals of Tourism Research,
30(1):143–159.
Donohue, J. (1991) Dancing in the Danger Zone: The Martial Arts in America. Chigaco:
Association for Consumer Research.
Drury, P. 2008. Sustainability and Spirituality in Cascadia. In Todd, D. (ed.) Cascadia:
The Elusive Utopia – Exploring the Spirit of the Pacific Northwest. Vancouver, CA:
Ronsdale Press.
216 Deborah Jepson

Durkheim, E. (1897) Suicide: A study in sociology. New York: The Free Press.
Egri, C. (1997) Spiritual Connections with the Natural Environment: Pathways for
Global Change. Organization & Environment. 10(4):407–431.
Estanek, S. (2006) Redefining Spirituality: A New Discourse. College Student Journal,
40(2):270–281.
Farber, M. (2007) Emotion and Environment: Visitors’ Extraordinary Experiences
Along the Dalton Highway in Alaska. Journal of Leisure Research, 39(2):248–270.
Farnum, J., Hall, T. & Kruger, L. (2005) A Sense of Place in Natural Resource Recreation
and Tourism: An Evaluation and Assessment of Research Findings. Recreation and
Tourism Initiative. Portland, OR: US Department of Agriculture, Forest Service,
Pacific Northwest Research Station.
Flanagan, K. & Jupp, P. (2007) A Sociology of Spirituality. Surrey: Ashgate.
Fouhy, C. (2007) Spiritual Well-being and Physical Activity: Their Influence on Self-esteem
and Life Satisfaction. Doctor of Philosophy, Capella University.
Fredrickson, L. & Anderson, D. (1999) A Qualitative Exploration of the Wilderness
Experience as a Source of Spiritual Inspiration. Journal of Environmental Psychology,
19(1):21–39.
Fredrickson, L. & Kerr, W. (1998) Spiritual Values: Can They be Incorporated into
Forest Management and Planning? Proceedings of the 1998 Northeaster Recreation
Research Symposium. Newton Square, PA: US Department of Agriculture, Forest
Service, Northeastern Research Station.
Gelter, H. (2000) Friluftsliv: The Scandinavian Philosophy of Outdoor Life. Canadian
Journal of Environmental Education, 5, pp. 77–90.
Gotyia, A. & De La Rica, A. (2012) Personal Experience Tourism: A Postmodern
Understanding. In Sharpley, R. & Stone, P. (eds) Contemporary Tourist Experience:
Concepts and Consequences. Abingdon: Routledge.
Griffiths, M. (2006) ‘The Visitor Experience at Catholic Cathedrals in Australia’.
Tourism: The Spiritual Dimension. Lincoln, UK: University of Lincoln.
Hall, C. & Page, S. (1999) The Geography of Tourism and Recreation: Environment, Place
and Space. London, Routledge.
Haq, F. & Jackson, J. (2006) ‘The Recognition of Marketing of Spiritual Tourism as a
Significant New Area in Leisure Travel’. Tourism: The Spiritual Dimension. Lincoln,
UK: University of Lincoln.
Harrison, C. (1991) Countryside Recreation in a Changing Society. London, The TMS
Partnership Ltd.
Hay, D. & Socha, P. (2005) Spirituality as a Natural Phenomenon: Bringing Biological
and Psychological Perspectives Together. Zygon: Journal of Religion & Science,
40(3):589–612.
Heelas, P. (2008) Spiritualities of Life: New Age Romanticism and Consumptive Capitalism.
Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.
Heelas, P. & Woodhead, L. (2005) The Spiritual Revolution: Why Religion is Giving way
to Spirituality. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.
Heintzman, P. (2000) Leisure and Spiritual Well-being Relationships: A Qualitative
Study. Loisir & Societe, 23(1):41–69.
Heintzman, P. (1999) Leisure and Spiritual Well-being Relationships: A Qualitative
Study. Ninth Canadian Conference on Leisure Research. Nova Scotia: Acadia
University.
Heintzman, P. (2010) Nature-based Recreation and Spirituality: A Complex
Relationship. Leisure Sciences, 32(1):72–89.
Heintzman, P. (2009) The Spiritual Benefits of Leisure. Leisure/Loisir: Journal of the
Canadian Association for Leisure Studies, 33(1):419–445.
 The Lure of the Countryside 217

Heintzman, P. & Mannell, R. (2003) Spiritual Functions of Leisure and Spiritual Well-
being: Coping with Time Pressure. Leisure Sciences, 25(2):207.
Hoggart, K. (1990) ‘Let’s do away with rural’. Journal of Rural Studies, 6(3):245–257.
Horton, J. (2008) ‘Producing Postman Pat: The Popular Cultural Construction of
Idyllic Rurality’. Journal of Rural Studies, 24(4):389–398.
Houtman, D. & Aupers, S. (2007) ‘The Spiritual Turn and the Decline of Tradition:
The Spread of Post-christian Spirituality in 14 Western Countries, 1981–2000’.
Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 46(3):305–320.
Jensen, C. & Guthrie, S. (2005) Outdoor Recreation in America, Champaign, IL:
Macmillan Publishing Company.
Jepson, D. (2013) An Exploration of the Relationship Between Contemporary Spirituality,
the Physically Active Rural Tourist and the Geography of Place: A Case Study of the Lake
District. PhD, University of Central Lancashire.
Kaltenborn, B. (1998) Effects of Sense of Place on Responses to Environmental
Impacts: A Study Among Residents in Svalbard in the Norwegian High Arctic.
Applied Geography, 18(2):169–189.
Kastenholz, E. & Lima, J. (2011) The Integral Rural Tourism Experience from the
Tourist’s Point of View: A Qualitative Analysis of its Nature and Meaning. Tourism
and Management Studies, 7, pp. 62–74.
Keyes, C. (2013) Mental Well-being: International Contributions to the Study of Positive
Mental Health. New York: Springer Publishing.
Laing, J. & Crouch, G. (2009) Lone Wolves? Isolation and Solitude within the Frontier
Travel Experience. Geografiska Annaler Series B: Human Geography, 91(4):325–342.
Lambert, Y. (2004) A Turning Point in Religious Evolution in Europe. Journal of
Contemporary Religion, 19(1):29–45.
Lane, B. (2009) Rural Tourism: An Overview. In Jamal, T. & Robinson, M. (eds) The
Sage Handbook of Tourism Studies. London: Sage Publications Ltd, pp. 355–372.
Lean, G. (2012) Transformative Travel: A Mobilities Perspective. Tourist Studies,
12(2):151–172.
Little, D. & Schmidt, C. (2006) Self, wonder and god! The spiritual dimensions of travel
experiences. Tourism: An International Interdisciplinary Journal 54, pp. 107–116.
Macnaghten, P. & Urry, J. 1998. Contested Natures. London: Sage Publications.
Mannell, R. (1996) Approaches in the Social and Behavioral Sciences to the Systematic
Study of Hard-to-define Human Values and Experiences. In Driver, B., Dustin, D.,
Baltic, T., Elsner, G. & Peterson, G. (eds) Nature and the Human spirit: Toward an
Expanded Land Management Ethic. State College, PA: Ventura Publishing Inc.
Maslow (1971) The Farther Reaches of Human Nature. New York, NY: Viking.
Mcintosh, A. & Prentice, R. (1999) Affirming Authenticity: Consuming Cultural
Heritage. Annals of Tourism Management, 26(3):589–612.
McSherry, W. & Cash, K. (2004) The Language of Spirituality: An Emerging Taxonomy.
International Journal of Nursing Studies, 41(2):151–161.
Meltzer, G. (2012) Contemporary Communalism at a Time of Crisis. In Ben-Raphael,
E., Oved, Y. & Topel, M. (eds) The Communal Idea in the 21st Century. Leiden,
Netherlands: Brill Academic Publisher.
Narayanan, Y. & Macbeth, J. (2009) Deep in the Desert: Merging the Desert and the
Spiritual Through 4WD Tourism. Tourism Geographies, 11(3):369–389.
Norman, A. (2011) Spiritual Tourism: Travel and Religious Practice in Western Society.
London: Continuum International Publishing Group.
O’Reilly, K. (2007) The Rural Idyll, Residential Tourism, and the Spirit of Lifestyle Migration.
Association of Social Anthropologists Conference 2007. London.
218 Deborah Jepson

Pargament, K. (1999) ‘The Psychology of Religion and Spirituality? Yes and No’.
International Journal for the Psychology of Religion, 9(1):3.
Pelletier, K. (1994) Sound Body, Sound Mind: A New Model for Lifelong Health. New York:
Simon and Schuster.
Pine, J. & Gilmore, J. (1999) The Experience Economy. Boston: Harvard Business School
Press.
Prentice, R., Witt, S. & Hamer, C. (1998) Tourism as Experience: The Case of Heritage
Parks. Annals of Tourism Research, 25(1):1–24.
Ritchie, J. R. & Hudson, S. (2009) Understanding and Meeting the Challenges
of Consumer Experience Research. International Journal of Tourism Research,
11(2):111–126.
Roberts, E. (1996) Place and spirit in public land management. In Driver, B., Dustin,
D., Baltic, T., Elsner, G. & Peterson, G. (eds) Nature and the Human Spirit: Toward an
Expanded Land Management Ethic. State College, PA: Venture Publishing Inc.
Roberts, L. & Hall, D. (2003) Consuming the countryside: Marketing for ‘rural
tourism’. Journal of Vacation Marketing, 10(3):253–263.
Roggenbuck, J. & Driver, B. (1996) Public Land Management Agencies, Environmental
Education and an Expanded Land Management Ethic, State College, PA: Ventur
Publishing Inc.
Ryan, C. (1995) Researching Tourist Satisfaction. Issues, Concepts, Problems. London:
Routledge.
Satpathy, B. & Mahalik, D. (2010) A Study on Spiritual Tourist Site Selection Under
Multi-criteria. South Asian Journal of Tourism and Heritage, 3(1):107–117.
Schmidt, C. (2005) Being, Becoming and Belonging: The Phenomenological Essence
of Spiritual Leisure Experiences. PhD Doctorate Doctor of Philosophy, Griffith
University.
Schmidt, C. & Little, D. (2007) Qualitative Insights into Leisure as a Spiritual
Sxperience. Journal of Leisure Research, 39(2):222–247.
Schroeder, H. (1991) The Spiritual Aspect of Nature: A Perspective from Depth Psychology.
Saratoga Springs, NY: Northeastern Recreation Research Symposium.
Schwartz, W. (1996) Contemporary and Non-distributist Examples of Disillusionment
with the Consumerist Dream. The Chesterton Review, 22(4):541–544.
Scott, A. (1997) Categorising Definitions of Religion and Spirituality in the Psychological
Literature: A Content Analytical Approach. Bowling Green: Department of Psychology,
Bowling Green State University.
Seaton, T. (2013) Tourism and Romantic Myths of Nature. In Holden, A. & Fennell, D.
(eds) The Routledge Handbook of Tourism and the Environment. Oxon: Routledge.
Sharpley, R. (2009) ‘Tourism, Religion and Spirituality’. In Jamal, T. and Robinson, M.
(eds) Handbook of Tourism Studies. London: Sage Publications, pp. 237–255.
Sharpley, R. & Jepson, D. (2011) Rural Tourism: A Spiritual Experience? Annals of
Tourism Research, 38(1):52–71.
Sharpley, R. & Sundaram, P. (2005) ‘Tourism: A Sacred Journey? The Case of Ashram
Tourism, India’. International Journal of Tourism Research, 7(3):161–171.
Short, J. (1991) Imagined country: Environment, Culture and Society. London: Routledge.
Soini, K., Vaarala, H. & Pouta, E. (2012) Residents’ Sense of Place and Landscape
Perceptions at the Rural-urban Interface. Landscape and Urban Planning,
104(1):124–134.
Spilka, B. (1993) Spirituality: Problems and Direction in Operationalising Fuzzy a Concept.
Toronto, Canada: American Psychological Association Annual Conference.
Springer, L. & Mcavoy, L. (1992) The Need for Something Different: Spirituality and
Wilderness Adventure. Journal of Experiential Education, 15, pp. 13–21.
 The Lure of the Countryside 219

Stedman, R. (2002). ‘Toward a Social Psychology of Place: Predicting Behaviour

from Place-based Cognitions, Attitudes and Identity.’ Environment and Behaviour,
34(5):561–581.
Stedman, R. (2003) ‘Is it Really just a Social Construction?: The Contribution of the
Physical Environment to Sense of Place’. Society & Natural Resources, 16(8):671.
Szerszynski, B. (2005) Nature, Technology and the Sacred. London: Blackwell Publishing.
Tacey, D. (2004) The Spirituality Revolution: The Emergence of Contemporary Spirituality.
London: Routledge.
Taylor, B. (2001) Earth and Nature-based Spirituality (part 1): From Deep Ecology to
Radical Environmentalism. Religion, 31, pp. 175–193.
Teasedale, W. (1999) The Mystic Heart. Novato, California: New World Library.
Timothy, D. (2013) Religious Views of the Environment: Sanctification of Nature and
Implications for Tourism. In Holden. A. & Fennell, D. (eds) The Routledge Handbook
of Tourism and the Environment. Oxen: Routledge.
Timothy, D. & Conover, P. (2006) Nature Religion, Self-spirituality and New Age
Tourism. In Timothy, D. & Olsen, D. (eds) Tourism, Religion and Spiritual Journeys.
New York: Routledge.
Timothy, D. & Olsen, D. (eds) (2006) Tourism, Religion and Spiritual Journeys. Abingdon:
Routledge.
Tuan, Y. (1974) Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perceptions, Attitudes and Values.
Prentice Hall.
Tuan, Y. (2013) Romantic Geography: In Search of the Sublime Landscape. Wisconsin:
University of Wisconsin Press.
Urry, J. (2002) The Tourist Gaze. London: Sage Publications.
Vukonic, B. (1996) Tourism and Religion. Oxford: Elsevier Science Ltd.
Williams, D., Patterson, M., Roggenbuck, J. & Watson, A. (1992) Beyond the
Commodity Metaphor: Examining Emotional an Symbolic Attachment to Place.
Leisure Sciences, 14, pp. 29–46.
Williams, K. & Harvey, D. (2001) Transcendant Experience in Forest Environments.
Journal of Environmental Psychology, 21(3):249–260.
Willson, G. (2010) Exploring Travel and Spirituality: The Role of Travel in Facilitating Life
Purpose and Meaning Within the Lives of Individuals. Doctor of Philosophy (PhD),
University of Waikato.
Wilson, E. (1984) Biophilia. Cambridge, Harvard University Press.
Wilson, E. & Harris, C. (2006) Meaningful Travel: Women, Independent Travel
and the Search for Meaning. Tourism: An International Interdisciplinary Journal,
54(2):161–172.
Woods, M. (2011) Rural. London: Routledge.
Wuthnow, R. (1998) After Heaven: Spirituality in America since the 1950’s. Berkeley:
University of California Press.
Wylie, J. (2005) A Single Day’s Walking: Narrating Self and Landscape on the South
West Coast Path. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, 30(2):234–247.
York, M. (2001) New Age Commodification and Appropriation of Spirituality. Journal
of Contemporary Religion, 16(3):361–372.
Zahra, A. (2006) The Unexpected Road to Spirituality via Volunteer Tourism. Tourism:
An International Interdisciplinary Journal, 54(2):173–185.
Zinnbauer, B. J., Pargament, K. I., Cole, B., Rye, M. S., Butler, E. M., Belavich, T. G.,
Hipp, K. M., Scott, A. B. & Kadar, J. L. (1997) Religion and Spirituality: Unfuzzying
the Fuzzy. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 36(4):549–564.
Zinnbauer, B. J., Pargament, K. I. & Scott, A. B. (1999) The Emerging Meanings
of Religiousness and Spirituality: Problems and Prospects. Journal of Personality,
67(6):889–919.
16
Performing Leisure, Making
Place: Wilderness Identity and
Representation in Online Trip Reports
Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

Introduction

Efforts to understand leisure as a spatial practice are surprisingly recent.

It is only in the past decade or two that leisure studies has devoted much
attention to the vital role of place and spatial practices for understanding
how leisure is performed and experienced, how leisure related identities
are constructed and affirmed, and ultimately how through these perform-
ances leisure places are made and remade (Crouch, 1999). A quick glance
through the indexes of major theoretical works on leisure from the early
1990s (e.g., Rojek, 1993), show a remarkable absence of spatial terms. Prior
to the mid-1990s what little work being conducted on leisure, identity
and place was largely centered on identifying place attachment and place
meanings associated with leisure settings. This work followed a cognitive-
attitudinal approach in which place meanings and affinities were treated
as already formed mental entities (Van Patten & Williams, 2008). Similarly,
work examining leisure as an identity affirming practice has relied heavily
on cognitive approaches to characterizing leisure as an arena for cultivating
and expressing identity (Haggard & Williams, 1992).
In this chapter we explore an alternative approach anchored in narrative
or discursive theorizing (e.g., Derrien & Stokowski, 2014; Di Masso et al.,
2014) to examine social media as an emerging venue for leisure performance
and place making, specifically the content of online trip reports about visits
to selected wilderness areas in Colorado, USA. Having noticed online trip
reports through our own casual Internet searching about outdoor recreation
places, it piqued our interest in how place-making and identity affirmation
were being played out in the blogosphere. To examine this new arena as a
source of narrative data we began an investigation of online communica-
tion related to the recreational use of four wilderness areas in Colorado.
Our aim was to investigate how online trip reports might provide insights

220
 Performing Leisure, Making Place 221

into new forms of practice at the intersection of identity, narrative, place

experience, and new media technology – an evolving recreation experience
of cybernetic space.
In the analysis that follows we will present a frame for this chapter,
touching on what past scholarship has made of the previously mentioned
concepts of place experience, narrative, identity and new media technology.
Specifically, the purpose of this chapter is to apply developments in discur-
sive social psychology to the study of place-making as a discursive practice
that is increasingly performed through social media. Accordingly meaning
is understood as a social act performed and negotiated within a community.
This study of how individuals appropriate, perform or apply certain mean-
ings to specific acts, events or objects has come to be known as discursive
social psychology. An emerging venue within which leisure can be exam-
ined as a discursive performance involves the use of online media to both
construct narrative identities and negotiate the use and meaning of leisure
places.

Background

Though place is relatively new to leisure studies, the study of leisure as a

venue for identity affirmation has a somewhat longer pedigree (Kelly, 1983).
Early research on identity was often preoccupied with questions of affect
and self-evaluation. This slowly evolved to include a broader focus on
the idea of the self-expressive functions of leisure and the pursuit of ‘self-
affirmation’ in which people strive to affirm or validate self-images that
they deem desirable and congruent with a subjective sense of self (Haggard
& Williams, 1992). According to self-affirmation theory, individuals have at
their disposal a variety of identity affirmation processes including displays
of signs and symbols of their identities, selective performance of jobs,
tasks and hobbies that permit identity expression, selective affiliation with
others whose appraisals are identity relevant and supportive, interpersonal
behaviours designed to shape such appraisals, and cognitive strategies such
as selective attention recall and interpretation of self-identity affirming
information. In other words, one’s choice of leisure activities, self-displays,
performances and affiliations derive their significance from their capacities
to represent or reflect various aspects of identity.
As an agentive practice, identity affirmation can be interpreted as a delib-
erate and reflexive project to build and sustain a coherent, yet continuously
revised, biographical narrative. Moreover leisure as an identity affirmation
practice needs to be set in the larger context of modernity and globalized
social relations (Williams, 2002). As Giddens (1991) argues, assembling and
maintaining a coherent identity narrative is a particularly daunting chal-
lenge in the face of modernity’s disorienting qualities. He notes that although
modern identities are actively performed and reflexively constructed ‘this
222 Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

task has to be accomplished amid a puzzling diversity of options and possi-

bilities’ (Giddens, 1991, p. 3). Coming more from psychology Bruner (1990)
similarly describes how identities have become reflexive projects involving
both the stories we tell ourselves and the stories we tell to others. ‘The object
of a self narrative is not its fit to some hidden reality but its achievement
of external and internal coherence, livability and adequacy ’ (Bruner, 1990,
p. 112).
Giddens and Bruner were writing about this ‘puzzling diversity of options’
in the early 1990s, well before the enormous growth of networked, mobi-
lized social media. Commenting only a few years later, Cronon (1995, p. 45)
provided an early, prescient commentary on how social media technology
might impact wilderness experience: ‘We live in a time when the prolifera-
tion of networked computers, ... the anarchic world of the Internet, and so
many other features of the electronic universe make it increasingly possible
to inhabit a cultural space whose analogues in nature seem ever more
tenuous.’ Hine (2000) encapsulated a similar view when noting how the
Internet involves new ways to conceive of time and space and ‘a questioning
of dualism such as the real and the virtual, truth and fiction, the authentic
and the fabricated, technology and nature, and representation and reality’
(p. 5). Both Cronon and Hine were writing in the relative ‘Middle Ages’ of
the Internet and the rise of social media as ubiquitous aspects of everyday
life. Since that time, we have seen much that even they could not have imag-
ined then, and we have gained new insights and perspectives not possible at
the beginning of this new century.
As but one example of these new social media practices, ‘blogs’ have been
an important online communicational element that, despite challenges
from even more recent social media developments (e.g., Instagram, Pinterest,
Tumblr and Twitter), reveal more possibilities with every passing year. In
particular, blogs allow the individual the control and protected space of the
personal homepage, while being open to dialogue with others. Blog visitors
are essentially given the opportunity to eavesdrop on an open diary and
are encouraged to comment and add to an ongoing discussion on the topic
and blog content (Schmidt, 2007). At a larger level blog posts and the wider
discussions they sometimes engender may evolve to form a distinct identity
known as a ‘blog community’, linked by a common interest in the topic,
conversation and stimulating characteristics of particular, unique blogs
(Gurak & Antonijevic, 2008).
That is not to say that blogs are an anything-goes free-for-all (Gurak &
Antonijevic, 2008; Schmidt, 2007). Like any communicational form and
community, successful blogs (in terms of deep and/or wide followings)
elicit various levels of structure seen as authentic, even inevitable, by their
followers. The result has been not just new objects of communication, but
new ‘communicative events’ or processes of meaningful narrative and self,
open to participation and observation. Blogs ‘can serve as a lens to observe
 Performing Leisure, Making Place 223

the way in which people currently use digital technologies and, in return,
transform some of the traditional cultural norms’ (Gurak & Antonijevic,
2008, p. 67). Wilderness trip blogging is not a simple reflection of unmediated
experience with nature. It can present a meaningful experience in-and-of-
itself. For example, Mitra (2008) examined blogs and related communication
posted to the Internet site ‘Desipundit: The Best of the Indian Blogosphere’
which compiles blogs by people who originated in India. She notes how
without prior direct experiences with real places, the interactivity in and
around the Desipundit blogs would probably not have been possible. But
as this community of communication is established a window is opened to
a new experience – a sense of travelling and dwelling ‘in the space discur-
sively created by the blog’ (p. 471). Mitra calls this realm where discourses
of the material and the virtual blend together, ‘cybernetic space’ (p. 460).
Cybernetic space could not exist without either analogue or digital experi-
ence. Humans may exist in various locations along a continuum between
the opposite poles of experience with a real world and experience with
an online world, but most people, especially bloggers engaged in the trip
reports we studied, blend both realms.
Finally, the theoretical and methodological principles of discursive social
psychology provide a powerful lens through which to examine wilderness
trip blogs as a place-making practice and identity performance. Discursive
social psychology represents an increasingly visible research approach
within social psychology (Korobov & Bamberg, 2004; Potter & Wetherell,
1987), leisure studies (Champ et al., 2009; Derrien & Stokowski, 2014; Van
Patten & Williams, 2008), and the study of place (Di Masso et al., 2014;
Dixon & Durrheim, 2000). One of its central tenets is to reject cognitive
explanations which reduce linguistic behavior to ‘a product of mental enti-
ties or ... other cognitive furniture such as attitudes, beliefs, goals, or wants’
(Potter & Wetherell, 1987, p. 157). Rather, discursive social psychology is
noted for its focus on how people construct versions of social and psycho-
logical reality through the use of language and verbal accounts and descrip-
tions of various sorts. These verbal accounts constitute ‘a lexicon or register
of terms and metaphors drawn upon to characterize and evaluate actions
and events’ (Potter & Wetherell, 1987, p. 138) and construct individual
identities (Korobov & Bamberg, 2004). Rather than focusing on attitudes as
predictive of behaviors, narrative performers are seen as both building up
and marshalling a repertoire of interpretive frames, scripts, or tropes of the
phenomena to account for their actions.
As Korobov and Bamberg (2004) argue, however, even discursive social
psychology is susceptible to potentially problematic ‘already-given’ mental
entities – such as interpretive repertories, frames, or scripts – that it seeks
to avoid. They instead adopt what they call an agentive approach in which
discursive resources are not so much given but rather accomplished through
‘narrative positioning’ in which individuals strategically perform a discursive
224 Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

script among those available, which when practiced over time become part
of a repertoire to be employed in varying contexts. They argue that reper-
toires are not so much preformed (e.g., as with attitudes and other mental
entities) but rather performed (e.g., in this case through blogging). Thus as
examined in this chapter, online trip reports can be examined as a set of
interpretive repertoires, frames, or scripts (as a set of stylized place mean-
ings and practices) as well as individual rhetorically accomplished identity
affirming performances.

Analytical approach

For analytical purposes our qualitative approach to the textual material

contained in blog posts builds progressively upon four interpretive elements:
memes, strips, narratives and discourse. We begin at the finest level with the
notion of ‘meme’ (from Dawkins, 1989) as our foundational target. Meme,
here, refers to a ‘basic unit of meaning’ identified and described by the
researcher. Next memes can be linked to form broader ‘strips’ (Goffman,
1986) of meaning-rich associations of basic meanings. For example, the
individual memes ‘hiking’, ‘trail’ and ‘dog’ may be linked together in the
idea that one hikes the trail with her dog. Third, strips can be linked to
describe broader narratives of storied experience (Somers, 1994). This is the
level around which one begins to organize coherent sense of self-identity
as a consistent, cogent life narrative (Bruner & Kalmar, 1998). For instance,
perhaps the dog-owning recreationist (actor) may have suffered a signifi-
cant loss in the recent past (challenge). Hiking with her canine companion
(deployment of resources) in an undeveloped setting (context) helps her
regain a sense of a balanced identity as she strides into the future (desired
outcome). Fourth, we identify patterns of memes, strips, and narratives
that form overarching discourses that perform as umbrellas of meaning
that make the interpretive repertoire available to actors in a discursive
community. Discourses are paradigmatic meaning systems, something Hall
(1997), drawing from Foucault, referred to as clusters or formations ‘ ... of
ideas, images and practices, which provide ways of talking about, forms of
knowledge and conduct associated with, a particular topic, social activity
or institutional site in society’ (p. 27). They also establish norms of behav-
iour associated with recreation places. Returning once again to our grieving
hiker, one might reasonably imagine demonstrating that her quest is lodged
in relation to a discourse of late modernity, which provides a model for
maintaining a coherent sense of self through significant experience in
undeveloped, natural settings.
We applied these four levels of coding to what Lindlof and Taylor (2011)
called the ‘practices’ and ‘performances’ of communication. Practice is
essentially the structure of communicative acts – the normative forms and
styles in which media texts are routinely presented. For instance, one usually
 Performing Leisure, Making Place 225

opens an online wilderness trip report to find a title, location, activity date,
and often other concrete details, such as miles travelled, elevation gained
and total time expended. These facts and statistics are typically followed by
an introductory statement with trip goals and other perfunctory remarks
about anticipation and preparation. Photos (and increasingly, links to
videos) of what the author considers important moments and elements
of the journey, usually accompany a chronological, textual recounting of
the trip. Often the ending offers reflection as the author assesses the level
of success, lessons learned and plans for the future. Many of these posts
include commentary at the end from people who have read the reports,
with occasional responses from the authors themselves. It is not unusual
for outside commenters to seem to know the authors, but it is also just as
common for those commenting to apparently not know the author. Most
of the statements are congratulatory for succeeding in the face of a difficult
challenge, and/or for having done a good job producing the report. Other
commenters will include new information about the wilderness area based
on their own experience there. And occasionally, commenters will engage
in good-natured teasing directed at the author, making light of something
they have reported.
These online practices play an increasingly important role in place-
making by communicating a set of social and material practices through
which people iteratively create and (re)create a shared experiential geog-
raphy, and establish norms and expectations for use and management
of given leisure spaces. In contrast to the structural aspects of trip blogs,
identity-rich aspects of wilderness trip reports lie expressly within what
Lindlof and Taylor (2011) would call their performances, events they
consider ‘creative, local, and collaborative’ (p. 4). Here, the meaning of
mediated texts is not seen to be merely the result of normative structures,
or simply a reflection of some underlying reality. Meanings are largely a
function of the text’s presentation and interpretation. In a gestalt sense,
we see performance as the ways in which the memes and strips, including
those that make up the structures of practice, were combined to consti-
tute (as interpreted) narratives, which may further be imagined to connect
with deeper, broader societal discourses.

The case of ‘13er Dude’

To illustrate the identity and place-making aspects of trip blogs we will draw
from one trip report from our broader study by a man we describe as ‘13er
Dude’. The name is the result of this poster’s enthusiasm for slightly more
diminutive peaks – the ‘13ers’– mountains whose highest points lie below
Colorado’s most celebrated summits, those above 14,000 feet known as the
‘14ers’. Below we offer a narrative/discursive explanation for 13er Dude’s
rationale for setting his climbing goals a little lower than the norm. But first,
a brief discussion of the structural practice presented in his trip reporting.
226 Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

The banner across the top of 13er Dude’s trip report is based on a logo for
‘14ers.com’, a website devoted to reports about climbing Colorado’s highest
peaks. The report’s upper left-hand corner contains a box with some of the
logistics mentioned earlier: peaks 13er Dude reportedly climbed, elevations,
climbing date and report date, all lending his text an empirical, scientific
feel.
Next, the rather humble headline, ‘San Juan Solitude—the 13ers’ hints at
an important narrative developed later. From here 13er Dude states his goal,
summiting Colorado’s 637 ranked peaks over 13,000 feet. Having already
successfully bagged the taller peaks, his plan for the summer was climbing
the remaining peaks – most of them shorter 13,000-feet mountains. This
report offers highlights and insights gained from several weeks of almost
nonstop climbing.
One can immediately see the density of observable primary memes and
how 13er Dude linked them to form basic strips. For instance, the report
almost immediately names target peaks, heights, a departure date, the trip
reporter (13er Dude) himself, specific trip goals, lower 13ers, the summer
climbing season, 13ed Dude’s home, and a subtler concept, perhaps, fewer
climbers. Moving down into the report, one continues to observe other basic
memes, presented in a linear continuum representing the trip’s progres-
sion. Not all these memes are textual, including pictures of spectacular
scenery: rocky peaks set against blue skies, high angle views down steep
slopes, snow-choked gullies and couloirs, high grassy plateaus, a topaz lake,
an inviting cave, and multi-coloured wildflowers. It is notable, especially
considering the key narrative discussed later, that out of the 20 pictures,
only five contain images of the climbers – all in various poses along key
points in the climbs (and one of those climbers was 13er Dude’s regular
adventure companion, his dog). The other images represent mostly massive
spaces, completely devoid of humans.
Most of the 14 comments at the end were the usual congratulatory, cele-
bratory and supportive. A couple reached the level of worship. ‘I remember
running into you at Barr Camp years ago,’ one person wrote, ‘and I
commented that you remind me of Harrison Ford. You still do. I think
I’ll start calling you “Indy.” All you need is that hat!’ Another commenter
aptly referenced at least four memes that are variously mixed into strips
that contribute to a primary, dominant narrative prominent in the trip
report:

Funny how solitude and peak-bagging are supposed to go together but

you never find that until you’re off the main 14er circuit and Centennial
circuit. Nice intro, Steve! I think a lot of us relative ‘newbies’ benefit from
hearing about the old-timers from years gone by about how this sport
has changed and continues to change. I really enjoyed reading this report
and gawked over the ‘original’ summit registers.
 Performing Leisure, Making Place 227

The four memes include solitude, peak-bagging, lesser mountains (i.e.,

13ers), and history. First, we consider history. The commenter is referencing
a story 13er Dude related in his report in which he describes finding an
‘original’ 1934 climbing register placed on a ‘ranked’ 13er by a famous San
Juan Mountaineer:

The entire first page was filled with names from the summer of 1934
(over half were women). The top of the next page was signed by Mike
Garret in 1984: a 50 year hiatus! The second page had just filled. There
were as many climbers in the 1984–2008 window as there were in the
summer of 1934. All the determined peak baggers whose names we all
know were there ... The only register that ever excited me more had the
original signatures of Dwight Lavender, Frank and HL McClintock, Bob
Orrmes and, of course, me! That register is on an unranked 13er, but it is
in such a popular area it probably won’t be there much longer.

13er Dude’s enthusiasm for the historical significance of these registers

evokes a sense of the sacred and he seems thrilled to associate, literally, his
name with these forefathers (and foremothers!) of climbing’s past. For him
the place identity is still very strongly tied to this rich peak-bagging history
that emphasizes the 14ers (see Blake, 2002).
Returning to the commenter’s meme-rich statement (above) the writer
also mentioned peak-bagging and solitude. 13er Dude integrates both into
his performance with the explanation that many climbers ignore the lower
mountains (again, another important meme for the narrative we are identi-
fying), and another reference to history:

... most peak baggers still haven’t gotten around to climbing the lower
13ers. With no peaks in the top 300 in my sights, it happens that not
too many people will be trudging around the areas that I want to visit.
What a throwback the climbing of 20 years ago this trip turned out to be!
Solitude, solitude, solitude!

We could think of these memes in terms of past, present, and future. 13er
Dude claims legitimacy by connecting his experiences to a past he implies
is highly authentic. He notes that climbers in the late 1970s and early 1980s
‘expanded the paradigm’ of the sport. He connects that past to the present
by literally juxtaposing his name (and experiences) alongside those of his
heroes. 13er Dude evokes the future when, throughout his report, there is
a playful sense of elitism linked to the idea that the right to experience
these special places and historic treasures (the registers) must be earned.
He actually withholds some details of his climbs, proudly stating that he
is making it more difficult for the lesser informed (the illegitimate recrea-
tionists) to follow in his footsteps. Future climbers must be deserving of
228 Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

the right to experience the past and present authenticity of climbing the
13ers!
And there are many more examples of foundational memes that link to
form strips in 13er Dude’s report. For example, he integrates the peak-bagging
meme with his aversion to sharing his wilderness experiences with others –
outside of the people (and dog, ‘Cooper’) he has chosen to accompany him
(they are deemed legitimate and worthy). In this way he puts a complexi-
fying spin on a seemingly simple idea like peak bagging – particularly peaks
slightly lower than the famed fourteeners. His quest is not an end in itself,
but a means to achieve a measure of solitude. It is also a route to achieving
a sense of companionship, which supports Gurak and Antonijevic’s (2008)
notion of ‘community’ in Internet-based communications. We see it in 13er
Dude’s pictures – some playful – of his trip mates, and even his dog. And we
sense it in his descriptions of the trip – which highlight his dog’s climbing
moxie:

My dog, Cooper, joined me for 42 mountains; he took a few rest days (I

worried his paws might be getting tender) and he got left behind two
days (Lavender/Moss and Babcock/Spiller) where I thought it best he stay
at the car. Also, I tied him up a few times a couple hundred feet below a
difficult summit finish and he immediately learned to take a nap while I
tagged the top and returned to retrieve him. Mind you, he can comfort-
ably scramble some pretty hard stuff (into the mid class 4 range) and
even silently endured a 15’ free rappel as I lowered him down an over-
hang when Mark and I (well, REALLY Mark!) made bad route choices on
a harder 12er.

In this way, 13er Dude is utilizing the meme of his dog, Cooper, which is
linked with other memes, such as, 13er Dude, the mountains they climb,
the act of being left behind, of scrambling, rappelling, hard ‘stuff’, and so
on. Together this forms a strip we could call ‘13er Dude’s relationship with
his mountain talented dog’.
But what of this central narrative that we have been promising will tie
these memes and strips together? Following Bruner and Kalmar (1998), our
actor, 13er Dude, presents an ideal of the legitimate wilderness/mountain
climbing experience (the goal). As discussed, the best climbing experiences
include targets (peaks yet to be bagged and recorded), that are achieved with
close companions, but ideally no one else, and all the while recognizing
that past climbers established the sport for us, including developing routes
and techniques still used today. These goals are not always easily achieved.
We have not quoted and paraphrased every aspect of 13er Dude’s report, but
he repeatedly shares his experiences, deploying resources (time, energy and
reasoning) to overcome a series of challenges that threaten to keep him from
his goals. These goals include: avoiding strangers (threatening solitude);
 Performing Leisure, Making Place 229

occasional dangerous weather (thunderstorms, heavy rain, and lightning);

lack of appropriate equipment (e.g., ropes, crampons); family issues which
interrupted the trip; bad maps listing inaccurate routes; his dog’s foot prob-
lems; and the march of time (i.e., looming end of climbing season).
Finally, what statement can we make about the fourth dimension of 13er
Dude’s online text, the overarching discourse (or discourses) associated with
this identity presentation? As noted, 13er Dude mentions earlier climbers
who ‘expanded the paradigm,’ which hints at his own sense of Hall’s (1997)
directive that we also seek to link our interpretations to broader sets of
discursive formations. Mullins (2009, p. 237) evoked this spirit when he
wrote:

The physicality and meaning of a place ... are not simply individual but are
fluid, ever-changing and highly contestable social processes. Very little
research in recreation and leisure studies ... addresses how place meanings
come to be shared collectively within society. As learned and shared ways
of acting in and comprehending one’s surroundings, skilled activities
likely contribute to sharing narratives of past movement that flow from,
contribute to and ignore particular socio-environmental histories.

In sum, the self-presentations contained in trip reports appear to be playing

an increasing role in making and contesting place by providing models for
others to emulate, modify and even contest. Such reports illustrate the role
of online communication as a venue in which narrators participate in the
process of place making. These narrators do more than reiterate the mate-
rial character of the place, they discursively (re)construct what it means and
how it should be used and experienced. For example, 13er Dude re-creates
peak-bagging of the 14ers as a central feature of Colorado wilderness iden-
tity, ironically by focusing both on his admiration for the early explorers
who first conquered many of the highest summits and, at the same time,
highlighting what he saw as some of the overlooked virtues of the lesser
summits.

Conclusion

What do the memes, strips and the central narrative identified in 13er
Dude’s trip report indicate about collectively shared meanings of wilderness
or these specific places within society? First, they illustrate the role of discur-
sive practices in process of place making. By posting tales of their activities,
impressions, and feelings online – in the form of texts, maps, photos, and
so on – wilderness visitors have expanded the audience for their perform-
ances, promoting an ongoing, evolving dialogue of place and meaning.
The dialogue has moved beyond the historical writings of advocates such
as Thoreau, Muir, and Leopold and the governmental and formal venues of
230 Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

wilderness policy making to include a vibrant user community collectively

(re)defining what it means to experience these places.
Second, 13er Dude engages in a number of behaviours in his report that
point to seemingly modern discursive themes of a unitary psycho-socio iden-
tity. As Haggard and Williams (1992) pointed out, he is self-expressive, he
exhibits self-affirmation of an identity, he does this through the display of
signs and symbols, he presents a selective affiliation with others who affirm
his identity (both in his trip report narrative and in the follow-up comments),
he demonstrates selective attention and recall (as in, he does not relate every-
thing that happened during his three week trip). Ultimately, he is engaged in a
reflexive project to build and maintain a coherent biographical narrative.
Following discursive social psychology, 13er Dude’s trip report illustrates
the agentive techniques and strategies individuals and groups may deploy
to advance this notion of a modern identity. 13er Dude utilized a repertoire
of online tropes, scripts and frames of experience to represent his material
activities, which we tried to map into identifiable memes, strips and narra-
tives. This performed narrative positioning, reflexively engaged with the
audience and us as researchers, provides some measure of cultural coher-
ence, livability and a sense of adequacy to his identity narrative. Gurak and
Antonijevic (2008) help us understand that the normative practice of online
communicators like 13er Dude, illustrates the human desire to express iden-
tity, to do so in community, and in such a way that temporally structures
past and present experiences. Though perhaps driven by the ‘ontological’
insecurity of living in a hyper-modern age (Giddens, 1991) 13er Dude
nevertheless employs the tools it makes available to perform and present
a coherent identity narrative built up from myriad meaning elements
(memes and strips) to form a culturally relevant and identifiable identity
narrative. 13er Dude does not seem challenged or daunted by his media
ecology. There is a sense of joy and accomplishment in his performance.
But we cannot deny that something is happening when 13er Dude shares
his memes, strips, and narratives online that goes beyond the original mate-
rial experience of his wilderness outing. Mitra (2008) helps us to see that
blogs do not simply reflect reality: the presentation is meaningful in-and-of-
itself. And yet, to varying degrees, online communication always depends
on material experience, and thus occupy a halfway point – not completely
material, not completely virtual, something new that draws from both –
a space discursively created, yet dependent on place. Interestingly, Gurak
and Antonijevic (2008) wrote about the way in which online communica-
tion is uniquely positioned to ‘ ... transform some of the traditional cultural
norms’ (something demonstrated in 13er Dude’s promotion of a legacy of a
more authentic paradigm of past climbing practices). 13er Dude can feel and
live this philosophy while out climbing in the field, but the concentrated,
linear, storied and available nature of his trip report elevates his ontology to
new levels of awareness.
 Performing Leisure, Making Place 231

References
Blake, K. S. (2002) ‘Colorado fourteeners and the nature of place identity’. The
Geographical Review, 92:155–179.
Burner, J. (1990) Acts of Meaning. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Bruner, J., and Kalmar, D. A. (1998) Narrative and metanarrative in the construc-
tion of self. In Ferrari, M. & Sternberg, R. J. (eds) Self-Awareness: Its Nature and
Development, New York: Guilford.
Champ, J. G., Williams, D. R., and Knotic, K. (2009) ‘Wildland fire and organic
discourse: Negotiating place and leisure identity in a changing wildland urban
interface’. Leisure Sciences, 31: 237–254.
Cronon, W. (ed.) (1995) Uncommon ground, toward reinventing nature. New York:
W.W. Norton.
Crouch, D. (1999) Leisure/tourism geographies: Practices and geographical knowledge.
London: Routledge.
Dawkins, R. (1989) The selfish gene. Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press.
Dixon, J., and Durrheim, K. (2000) ‘Displacing place-identity: a discursive approach
to locating self and other’. British Journal of Social Psychology, 39:27–44.
Derrien, M. M., and Stokowski, P. A. (2014) ‘Sense of place as a learning process:
Examples from the narratives of Bosnian immigrants in Vermont’. Leisure Sciences,
36:107–125.
Di Masso, A., Dixon, J., and Durrheim, K. (2014) Place attachment as discursive prac-
tice. In Manzo, L. & Devine-Wright, P. (eds) Place attachment: Advances in theory,
methods, and applications. New York, Routledge.
Goffman, E. (1986) Frame analysis: An essay on the organization of experience. Boston:
Northeastern University Press.
Gurak, L., and Antonijevic, S. (2008) ‘The psychology of blogging: you, me, and
everyone in between’. American Behavioral Scientist, 52:60–68.
Haggard, L., and Williams, D. R. (1992) ‘Identity affirmation through leisure activi-
ties: leisure symbols of the self’. Journal of leisure research, 24:1–18.
Hall, S. (ed.) (1997) Representation: Cultural representations and signifying practices.
London: Sage.
Hine, C. M. (2000) Virtual ethnography. London: Sage.
Kelly, J. R. (1983) Leisure identities and interactionism. London: George Allen and
Unwin.
Korobov, N., and Bamberg, M. (2004) ‘Positioning a ’mature’ self in interactive prac-
tices: How adolescent males negotiate ’physical attraction’ in group talk’. British
Journal of Developmental Psychology, 22:471–492.
Lindlof, T. R., and Taylor, B. C. (2011) Qualitative communication research methods. Los
Angeles: Sage.
Mitra, A. (2008) ‘Using blogs to create cybernetic space: examples from people of
Indian origin’. Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media
Technologies, 14: 457–472.
Mullins, P. M. (2009) ‘Living stories of the landscape: perception of place through
canoeing in Canada’s North’. Tourism Geographies, 11:233–255.
Potter, J., and Wetherell, M. (1987) Discourse and social psychology: Beyond attitudes
and behavior. London: Sage.
Rojek, C. (1993) Ways of escape: Modern transformations in leisure and travel. Basingstoke,
UK: Palgrave Macmillan.
232 Daniel R. Williams and Joseph G. Champ

Schmidt, J. (2007) ‘Blogging practices: an analytical framework’. Journal of Computer-

Mediated Communication, 12: 1409–1427.
Somers, M.R. (1994) ‘The narrative constitution of identity: a relational and network
approach’. Theory and Society, 23:605–649.
Van Patten, S. R., and Williams, D. R. (2008) ‘Problems in place: using discursive
social psychology to investigate the meanings of seasonal homes. Leisure Sciences,
30:448–464.
Williams, D. R. (2002) ‘Leisure identities, globalization, and the politics of place’.
Journal of Leisure Research, 34:351–357.
Index
13er Dude, 225–9, 230
14ers, 225–7, 229
aesthetics, urban places, 35–9
allegiance, place, 186–9
animating public space, 96
public good, 106–7
right to the city, 100–101
setting the program, 101–3
staging urban life, 103–5
as transformative place-making, 99–100
anthropological places, 26–7
architects and planners, 3, 6, 30, 75,
77, 126
ASCE (Association of Significant
Cemeteries in Europe), 86–90
Asquith, Herbert, 75
authentic space, second homes and,
43–5
authentic spaces, 50–1
Beckford, William, 91
‘Before I die,’ Candy Chang’s initiative,
34
being-in-the-world (In-der-Welt-sein),
138–44
biophilia theory, 171, 210
blogging, 220, 222–5, 230
boulderers
case study at Niagara Glen Nature
Reserve, 181–2
community-making with protected
area stakeholders, 184–5
place allegiance, 186–9
policy including place meanings of,
185–90
Brazil
second homes, 44–6
World Cup, 110
Brookwood Cemetery, 75, 80, 81, 83–6,
90
capitalism, 56–7, 60, 61, 207
Casey, Edward, 179
233
celebrities, cemeteries, 74–5
cemeteries
art and design of, 75–6
Association of Significant Cemeteries
in Europe (ASCE), 86–90
Australian billiards, 76
churchyards and, 72–3
Commonwealth War Graves, 76, 81,
91
Cuba Firemen’s Monument, 79
discursive domain and visitor
orientations, 73–8
family history and genealogy, 78
function and usage of space, 74
Gothic, 91, 92
guides to UK, 93n1
Irish famine grave, 77
leisure in the community, 78–81
Maribor Cemetery, 86, 87, 88–90, 93
rise and decline of, 71–2
style and scale of memorials, 77–8
thanatourism, 90–2, 93
visitor research in, 81–6
Zale Cemetery, 87, 88–90, 93
Chang, Candy, 34
climbing
case of 13er Dude, 225–9
Mount Everest, 138–9, 140
natural environment, 117, 137, 142
rock, 169, 181–6, 189
see also extreme sports
Cohen, Sarah, 14
commodification, 24, 27, 28, 38, 93,
104, 123, 197
Commonwealth War Grave Cemetery,
76, 81, 91
consumerism, 28, 56, 58, 67, 123, 135,
206, 209
countryside
elements of rural experience
contributing to spirituality, 209–13
interpreting rural landscapes, 203
lure of the, 202, 203–5
nature, 210–11
234 Index
countryside–continued
physical activity, 212
physical challenges, exertion and
achievement, 212–13
physical environment, 210
sense of place, 213–14
shifting tourism demands, 205–10
silence, quiet and sounds of nature, 213
solitude, 213
spirituality, 205, 207–8
tourism, spirituality and rural places,
208–9
see also tourism
Cuba Firemen’s Monument, 79
culture, 5, 9, 13–14, 16–17, 25, 50, 180
cemeteries, 88, 91
countryside, 204-5, 208, 211
culture-nature interface, 159–60
pop-up, 34
public space, 98
seaside, 147, 152, 159–60
society and space, 45
urban, 35, 103, 105
Welsh, 43
youth, 125, 127–9
zombie, 58, 60, 62
dark tourism, 90–2, 93
Dasein, 26, 138, 144
Dawn of the Dead (film), 55–6, 57–60,
67n3
devaluation, 24, 27, 28
Dickensian, 47, 49
Disneyfication, 59, 65
distance
conceptualization of, 194–5
experience of journey, 198
and leisure, 192–5
leisure journey, 196, 199
leisurely consumption of, 197–9
as phenomenon, 195
positioning leisure and, 199–200
relative, 193–4, 195
spatial separation, 194, 195, 200
transfer into leisure, 195–6
‘do-it-yourself’ events, 15, 56, 63, 66
everyday life
aesthetics and leisure, 35–9
spaces of, 24–5
experience
extreme sports in natural world,
135–9, 141, 143–4
individual, of leisure, 167–8
extreme sports
BASE jumping, 143–4
boulderers, 181–9
natural world, 135–9, 141, 143–4
rock climbing, 169, 181–6, 189
surfing, 117, 139, 143, 144
see also climbing
Facebook, 124, 127
‘Films of Fridges,’ pop up cinema, 63
Finnegan, Ruth, 14
flirtation, space, 8–12
flow, leisure space, 168–70, 212
Frankenstein (film), 67n2
Gadja, Gabriella, 81
gaze, 10, 21, 205, 208
gender
animation, 105, 106
identity and leisure, 12–13, 15
spaces and places for young people,
129
Gothic cemetery, 91, 92
Grassington, 43, 46, 47, 49, 51
Grassington Festival, 47, 49, 50, 52
Greenbie, Barrie, 6
green spaces, 128–9, 131, 132
Grosz, Elizabeth, 11
Halperin, Victor, 55
Happy (film), 63
Holbeck Urban Village, 64–5
Husserl, Edmund, 135–8, 140–2
imagination, 5, 35, 102, 125–6, 131,
155–6, 196, 204
In-der-Welt-sein (being-in-the-world),
138–44
Industrial Revolution, 42, 136, 204
Internet, 124, 125, 169, 172, 220, 222–3,
228
interstitial space
young people searching for, 130–2
youth leisure, 125, 126
IPA (Interpretative Phenomenological
Analysis), 149–50
 Index 235

Jane’s Walk, initiative, 35 Marshall’s Mill, pop up cinema, 55,

Jerram, Luke, 35 64–5
Jones, Owain, 15 Massumi, Brian, 10
Miller, Danny, 18
Kettlewell, 43, 46, 47, 49, 52 mindfulness, leisure space, 164–5,
Kolb, David, 29, 30, 32–4 168–70, 172
Kundera, Milan, 8 Moby Dick (Melville), 157
modernity, 3, 207, 221, 224
landscape, 1 leisure place, 24, 27
assessment and encountering, nature as refuge from, 204
18–19 timeless sea, 157
countryside, 210 Morecambe Bay, 147–8, 159–60
interpreting rural, 203 dynamic and powerful sea, 154–5
space, place and, in leisure’s identities, method, 149–50
20–1 picturesque and sublime, 153–4
space and place, 1–4 research setting, 148–9
language, 6–7 seaside experience at, 150–3
Lebensweldt (life-world), 135, 136, 137 timeless sea, 157–9
leisure vastness and awe of sea, 155–7
community, 78–81 mountain climbing, see climbing
consumption of distance, 197–9 Mount Everest, climbing, 137–8, 140, 144
distance and, 192–5 Mumford, Lewis, 73, 88
everyday aesthetics and, in urban
places, 35–9 narrative positioning, 223, 230
identities in place, 12–15 nature
identity affirmation, 221–4 extreme sports in natural world,
individual experience of, 167–8 135–9, 141, 143–4
positioning, and distance, 199–200 Romantic Movement, 204, 210
public space, 102–3 and savouring, 171–2
somewhere, 4 spiritual significance of, 210–11
transfer into, 195–6 wilderness trips, 220, 222–5, 228–30
unravelling complexity of sprawling, see also countryside; Niagara Glen
places, 29–32 Nature Reserve; seasideness
see also savouring leisure spaces; Niagara Glen Nature Reserve, 176, 181
youth leisure bouldering community, 186–9
leisure’s identities case study of boulderers at, 181–2
doing leisure, negotiating identity in Night of the Living Dead (film), 55, 56,
place, 12–15 67n.3
flirting with space, 8–12 non-place, 6, 24–5, 32
landscape, 18–19 from place to, and placelessness, 26–9
space, place and landscape in, 20–1 non-representational theory, 11
spacing, 15–18 North, Magda, 81
leisure space, 2 nostalgia
Lewis, Betsey, 78 nature, 204
life-world, 29, 135, 136, 137–8, 144 savouring, 164–5
locale, 3, 26, 28 seaside, 153, 158–9
location, 3, 26, 28 sport tourism, 111, 112, 114
NPC (Niagara Parks Commission), 181,
Maister, Rudolf, 89 182, 185, 189
Maribor Cemetery, 86, 87, 88–90, 93 Nunhead Cemetery, 81–6, 90
236 Index
offcumdens, 48–9, 51, 52
online trip reports
analytical approach, 224–9
blogs, 220, 222–4, 230
case of 13er Dude, 225–9
identity affirmation, 221–2
Ontario Rock Climbing Access
Coalition, 181, 184, 185, 189
open spaces, 65, 179
occupying and using, 100
public, 127
recreational, 129
seaside, 160
second home market, 45
sprawling leisure places, 32
Orwell, George, 75
outdoor recreation
case of boulderers at Niagara Glen
Nature Reserve, 181–2
community-making between
boulderers and protected area
stakeholders, 184–5
defining place identities of
boulderers, 182–4
Niagara Glen Nature Reserve, 176, 181
place allegiance, 186–9
place-based research, 176–7
place meanings, 180–2
sustainability, 177–8
transition from ‘space’ to ‘place,’
178–80
see also nature
parking, 34, 51, 100
Parkour practitioners, 37, 38
PCM (psychological continuum model),
187, 188
performativity
performance and, in life, 16–17
phenomenology and, 10–11, 14
phantasmagorical zones, 59, 61, 62
phenomenology
being-in-the-world, 138–44
contextualizing, 136–7
experience, 35
gaze of leisure, 16
intentionality defining, 144
leisure, 192
life-world, 29, 135, 137–8, 144
lived-experience, 141
Merleau-Ponty’s multi-sensual, 10
performativity, 10–11, 14
physical activity
challenges, exertion and
achievement, 212–13
spirituality, 212
physical environment, spirituality, 210
place
allegiance, 186–9
defining, identities of boulderers,
182–4
leisure identities, 12–15, 20–1
policy including, meanings of
boulderers, 185–90
political economy of, 59–62
pop–up leisure, 62–6
rural landscapes, 213–14
and sport tourism, 113–16
sprawling leisure places, 32–5
place complexity, 33, 34, 38
place disturbances, 33, 34
placelessness, 2, 3
commercial, of globalization, 52
from place to non-place and, 26–9
public spaces, 105
‘Play Me, I’m Yours,’ 35
Plibersek, Lidija, 86, 87, 88, 93
pop-up
cinema, 34–5, 62–7
culture, 34
farmer’s markets, 103
leisure, 62–6, 96, 99
program, public space setting, 101–3
Psaila, George, 81, 91, 92
public good, 96–8, 106–7
public space, 96–8
leisure, 102–3
setting program, 101–3
see also animating public space
quasi-public space, 97
quiet, spirituality and nature, 213
re-animated urban landscapes
pop up leisure, 62–6
shopping malls, 57
zombie airport, 61
zombie places, 55–6
religious experience, see spirituality
Relph, Edward, 26–7, 46, 150, 157

restaurants, 34, 103, 117
fast food, 55, 59
pop-up, 62, 64, 66
rock climbing, see climbing; Niagara
Glen Nature Reserve
Romanticism, 91, 210
Romantic Movement, 204, 210
Romero, George, 56, 57, 58, 66, 67n3
rurality, 203, 204, 213
savouring leisure spaces, 164, 173
benefits of savouring, 166–7
best spaces, 170–1
challenges of savouring, 165–6
goals, 168–70
individual experience of leisure,
167–8
nature and savouring, 171–2
savouring defined, 164–5
suggestions for enhancing, 172–3
seasideness, 147–8, 159–60
culture-nature interface, 159–60
dynamic and powerful sea, 154–5
experience at Morecambe Bay,
150–2
history of Morecambe Bay, 148–9
picturesque and sublime, 153–4
research method, 149–50
timeless sea, 157–9
vastness and awe, 155–7
second homes
and authentic space, 43–5
Dales folk, offcumdens and, owners,
48–50
‘Secret Cinema,’ pop up event, 63
self
being-in-the-world, 138–44
experience of living, 135–7
sense of place, 3, 26
rural landscapes, 213–14
seasideness, 147, 149, 150–2, 156
shopping malls, 2, 24, 31, 55, 56–9, 66,
96, 125
shopping strip, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31
silence, spirituality and nature, 213
social media, 35, 87, 124, 127, 129, 166,
220–2
solitude, spirituality and nature, 213
soundscapes, 213
sounds of nature, spirituality, 213
Index 237
space
authentic, 50–1
interpreting rural landscapes,
203
leisure’s identities, 20–1
as location, 4
power of, as category, 2
see also savouring leisure spaces
space and place
differentiating, 178–80
landscape, 1–4
space constructions, 41–3
Dales folk, offcumdens and second
home owners, 48–50
outsider getting closer, 45–8
second homes and authentic space,
43–5
space authenticity, 50–1
spirituality, 207–8
human trait, 205
nature, 210–11
physical activity, 212
physical challenges, exertion and
achievement, 212–13
physical environment, 210
rural leisure contributing to, 209–13
silence, quiet and sounds of nature, 213
solitude, 213
tourism in rural places, 208–9
sport tourism, 12, 110, 119
categorizing, 111–13
design of sites of sport, 16
extreme sports in natural world,
135–9, 141, 143–4
familiarity, 114, 115, 118
place and, 113–16
unfolding, 116–19
see also tourism
sprawl, 30–2
Stewart, Kathleen, 8, 17
Stukelj, Leon, 89
suburban sprawl, 29, 30
surfing, 117, 139, 143, 144
sustainability, 177–8, see also outdoor
recreation
Swaty, Franz, 89
thanatourism, 90–2, 93
third places, youth leisure, 125, 132
Through England on My Knees (Lewis), 78
238 Index
tourism
animation of public space, 106
British seaside resorts, 147
cemeteries, 71, 74, 78, 81, 87–8
countryside and rural, 202, 203–5
dark, 90–2, 93
leisure identities, 12, 21
Morecambe Bay as picturesque and
sublime, 153–4
nature, 210–11
place and sport, 113–16
recreational environment, 102
research at Morecambe, 148–50
retro sports stadia, 115
seaside experience at Morecambe,
150–3
shifting demands of, 205–7
spirituality and rural places, 208–9
sport, 110, 111–13
thanatourism, 90–2, 93
transport, 196, 198
unfolding sport, 116–19
Yorkshire Dales National Park, 48
see also cemeteries; countryside; sport
tourism
traceurs, 37
Unbearable Lightness of Being, The
(Kundera), 8
urban life
public good, 106–7
public space staging, 103–5
urban places
everyday aesthetics and leisure, 35–9
from place to non-place and
placelessness, 26–9
leisure, 24–5
place to go, 32–5
spaces of everyday life, 24–5
sprawling leisure places, 32–5
unravelling complexity of sprawling
leisure places, 29–32
urban space, cemetery space, 74
urban sprawl, 131, 179
van Eyck, Aldo, 126
Victorian Festival, 47, 52
visitor research
Brookwood Cemetery, 75, 80, 81,
83–6, 90
cemeteries, 81–6
experiences, activities and motives,
84–5
journey, 84
Nunhead Cemetery, 81–6, 90
visitor profiles, 85–6
Volvey, Anne, 12
voodoo cities, 55, 62
well-being, 97, 160, 164, 169, 202
emotional, 208, 213
mental, 167, 204–5, 209
physical, 156, 167, 171–2, 209,
212
psychological, 164, 171–2, 212
spiritual, 156, 205, 208, 209, 212,
213–14
White Zombie (film), 55
wilderness trips, 220, 222–5,
228–30
worlding, 8, 17, 22
Yorkshire Dales National Park, 41, 43,
46, 48–9
Young, Iris Marion, 16
youth leisure
differential access to spaces and
places, 129
front stage and backstage regions,
126–9
green spaces, 128–9, 131, 132
insiders and outsiders, 125
interstitial spaces, 125, 126
outdoor activities, 128
private and public space, 126–9
search for interstitial spaces, 130–2
social context of spaces and places,
123–4
third places, 125, 132
Zale Cemetery, 87, 88–90, 93
zombie bank, 61, 67
Zombieland (film), 55, 58, 59–62
zombie places, 55–6
zombie geographies, 56, 59–62, 65–6,
67
zombie theory, 56–8
zombies, 55
zombification, 56, 66–7
Zuckerberg, Mark, 124