A warm, gentle breeze drifts through the open-air lobby of the resort, carrying with it the muffled chatter of those sitting around the bar. The sedative effect is complemented by a cool, refreshing drink, proffered with a smile by staff as we check in. The drink helps cool the nerves, ease the mind of the stress of travel, customs, security, timelines and schedules. It is sweet, not bitter. The colour is bright, not dull. It is the first sip, the first tangible expression of the dreamscape. This service is more than a simple transaction, it is pleasurable, memorable; it is an experience. As authors Pine and Gilmore note in their book The Experience Economy, “In a post-Fordist economy businesses need to think of themselves as ‘theatres’ with their staff as performing artists in order to engage with consumers.”
Uncommon in my daily life, the drink is something that separates this from my regular place. It is a marker, this drink becomes an ingredient in the definition of this place, this region, the Caribbean.
The role of a daiquiri seems too superficial to be a cultural marker. Yet while it may defy any deeper meaning it draw significance from its role in the entry process. It starts to lay out what is different about this place, what is attractive to the tourist. It is an element of the local identity. For the semiotician, it is a sign of the place; something that signals we are at a resort, in an exotic location …
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