Some of the industry's newfound largesse is surely driven by consumer demand, as well: It turns out that a great majority of us are insisting that hotels do more. According to a recent Condé Nast Traveler survey, seventy-four percent of respondents think that hotels should be responsible for helping alleviate poverty in their communities. And seventy-three percent say that they would pay more than three dollars extra per night (thirty-five percent would pay more than ten dollars) to ensure that their hotel is helping the poor. "There's no question that guests are increasingly interested in these issues as they look for more meaningful experiences," says Steve Fitzgerald, CEO of CC Africa, which runs luxury lodges and funds a foundation that helps support communities in South Africa.

As inspiring as it may be to hear CEOs like Tisch and Fitzgerald speak about their obligations to the communities in which they do business, talk is cheap, and I began my investigation into the social-responsibility programs of large hotel chains with an overriding sense of skepticism. A year ago, Condé Nast Traveler published a story about small luxury resorts that are giving back to their communities (Stop Press, April 2006). But what about the big guys? Sure, many are racing to save the planet by conserving energy—particularly now that the price of oil has sent fuel bills off the charts. They have also mapped out "social responsibility" guidelines, declaring a commitment to protect the environment and be good corporate citizens. But aside from cutting back on air-conditioning, what are they really doing to help save the world? I spent a month searching for answers in Brazil, Jamaica, Thailand, and Cambodia, and saw up close some examples of what works and what doesn't.

At Banyan Tree resorts, managers have been charged with taking on social responsibility projects since the company was founded in 1993 by Stanford-educated Singaporean Ho Kwon Ping. Phuket's luxurious Banyan Tree and four other resorts (including the Sheraton Grande Laguna) were developed on blighted land that was once a tin mine, following a massive land rehabilitation project. Banyan Tree charges guests, who stay in Thai-style bungalows with plunge pools, two dollars per night and matches it dollar for dollar to fund its Green Imperative program, which supports reef restoration and other environmental projects. Banyan Tree also pays for a free preschool—with classrooms painted in pastel colors, and tiny spotless toilets and sinks lined up in the bathroom—that it runs for employees' children and other local kids. The company also offers free computer classes and recently established an English school that will provide free language instruction to local people.

But the most important evidence of the Banyan Tree's social conscience may be the way it develops talent. At its spa—Thai-style open-air treatment rooms built around a reflecting pool that stretches toward the sea—a group of country girls are in training. In one room, a student is giving her classmate a honey facial. In another, a massage lecturer stands in front of a blackboard, explaining anatomy and the flexibility of muscle tissue. Six young women, having left their black shoes neatly by the door, are taking notes. "Working here is an amazing opportunity," says Patcharee Wettayawong, thirty-two, a senior assistant training manager who started out just like these girls eight years ago. Since then, she has learned English and has worked at Banyan Tree's properties in Australia, Mauritius, and Indonesia. "If I was back home, all I could do is be a farmer or carpenter or gardener."