I’m becoming more selfish about places I love the more I write about them. Is that so wrong?
There’s a line all travel writers must walk when covering a given destination’s wheres, whats, and whens. It’s our job to inform and to inspire. To lay a foundation of awareness, to provide answers and directions, and to steer travelers towards–or in some cases away from–those experiences which we have gained informed opinions of. Essentially, it’s our job to share. I really enjoy doing it (especially when I get paid to do it).
Sometimes, though, I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to share. Sometimes, I want to keep a local bar, well, local, instead of writing it up and potentially opening the door for all those things that made it so special to be compromised by the bottomless appetite of tourism. Sometimes, I want to write about places in my private journal, and only in my private journal. I want to keep them secret and keep them sacred. Nothing personal, but sometimes I don’t want to see you there unless I bring you or invite you. (Don’t worry, though, I know another great little bar you’ll love. It’s on page 254 in your Lonely Planet guidebook, and… )
I know these places might make for a memorable, sell-able story, or would greatly enrich a listings section, or would help prove that yes, I really do know this destination well enough to discover a place as wonderful as this. The varying levels of restraint that we do (or do not) exercise in these instances, and the editorial filters through which we choose to work are, I think, things all travel writers grapple with from time to time. To share or to not share, that is the question. (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.)
Of course, it’s not just about me.
Guidebook listings are insanely influential and can obviously have a profound impact on an establishment’s bottom line. For example, there’s a row of restaurants located just outside the main entrance of the Sukhothai Historical Park, in Thailand. The menus at each one are fairly similar and the restaurants themselves all look fairly alike, but on the day I visited one of them was absolutely packed, while the ones on either side of it were nearly empty. After pulling up a table at one of the empty ones, we whipped out our guidebook and, sure enough, the one that was packed was the one that had the featured listing.
The food was delicious and the service exceedingly friendly at the place we chose: all the difference in the world came down to the somewhat arbitrary decision by that writer to eat at that one place and list it. (If you’re the writer in question and actually ate at each one of them before deciding which one to list, hey, more power to you.)
To that end, where do the travel writer’s responsibilities lie, and who is our allegiance to: ourselves, our readers, or to the places we love (or the commissioning editor)? Probably all of the above, to varying degrees and based on the situation. Is it selfish to decide that a favorite local bar is too precious to risk tourism contamination, and thereby my personal enjoyment, and to not write it up? Maybe.
I assume that a listing in the right book, or a mention in the right article, helps keep some places from going under that otherwise might struggle to stay financially afloat. What if that favorite local bar I’ve kept to myself doesn’t catch on with the backpacker crowd–but simply closes down? What if I’m the break the friendly owners needed so desperately? (I’m not actually insinuating that I have that much pull or influence, because I don’t; this is strictly hypothetical.) I think about this a lot; that is, the power my words can potentially wield, and the tenuous line travel writers must walk. There’s no right or wrong answer here.
I had some amazing experiences this week in Bangkok, and I’d love to tell you about them, someday, maybe. For now, though, I admit it: I’m feeling selfish.
You make an interesting point, Brian. I do a lot of advance research on the general destination I plan to travel, but being somewhat of an “independent” traveler, I am loathe at the idea of flipping through guidebooks on the destination’s “whats, wheres, and whens”. I know this way I’m missing out on some really interesting places (and probably spending much more time and effort re-discovering some of them on my own), but in return I get the thrill of the unknown and a very personal experience overall.
Not to downplay the use of guidebook listings in any way. If future when I might travel with my would-be kids in tow, I would rather plan my itinerary around known and recommended places than walk around town in blazing sun to find a place of my own liking!
While it’s a fact that some of these featured places, say restaurants, see higher traffic intially, I wonder how long it remains so? In my view, if the establishment wants to see sustained financial well-being, it will have to somehow differentiate itself from its local competitors (say enhanced quality etc). If this is the case, travel writers have only a limited impacg in how well or poor (financially) the place fares in the long run..
I hear you. As travel writers and authors of way too many guidebook, this is something that my husband and I discuss everyday that we’re on assignment.
We’ve seen some places become so successful, esp. with travellers that locals no longer visit them and they lost the appeal they initially had, and/or they rest on their laurels and are no longer worthy of the attention, or it becomes impossible to get a table or squeeze in the door (what commonly happens after a NYT review).
If we’re really concerned we will often ask a restaurant owner if they want to be included (after we’ve eaten a meal there anonymously of course), especially if we fear the character will change, that the owners might not want the attention, or that they perhaps can’t handle it.
We did that with a wonderful contemporary pizzeria in Venice that was virtually 99% locals when we first visited it – the owner honestly couldn’t tell us if he wanted to be included or not, so we left him out. A year later we returned to Venice to find he’d opened a second branch, still pretty much mostly locals, around 80% this time, and that the food was still brilliant. We did some research and discovered he wasn’t listed in any guidebooks – probably because his contemporary decor doesn’t fit most visitors’ image of what they want a Venetian pizzeria to be like, yet that’s exactly what Venetians want. He’s doing very well without our help so we refrained from writing about him again.
At the same time, we’ve hated having to choose one place of several that are very similar in quality, as you say above, but unfortunately that’s what editors want you to do, whereas in cases like the example you give, we’d rather say “there are a handful of similar seafood places opposite the wharf” and let people make their own discoveries. It’s much more fun that way, don’t you think?
And this is why you’re so good at what you do, Lara. 🙂
Asking an owner if they want to be included in a write-up seems like a great way to kind of couch your influence, so to speak… love that approach, one I’m going to keep in mind. It must have been especially satisfying to see that owner’s business flourishing without any guidebook assistance. Somewhat ironic, isn’t it, that travel writers and guidebook writers are often the first ones to recommend that travelers put the guidebook down and see where your instinct and luck takes you.
It’s becoming somewhat cliche, but so true that some of the most memorable moments and discoveries during a trip to a new place are the ones that happened without the strict guidance of a guidebook. I use them as much as anybody, but usually as a reference point, and an “idea generator”, rather than a book of law… and really, that’s what they’re for, right?
Lara, I’ve run into that “you must pick one” requirement for magazine articles too and it’s maddening. Often there are multiple places with nearly identical menus, with similar service and prices, yet the editor makes the writer list just one. You might as well go eenie meenie minie moe, but that business gets a big boost in business and stands out over the others as a result. The article is forever framed on the wall, making it look like that place is special somehow, when really it’s just the one whose number came up in the lottery.
Somehow I think a travel writer being selfish is irresponsible. I didn’t read your paid article in USA Today to find out all about your ‘feelings’ and your ‘thoughts’ and your problems with your girlfriend.
Do your job, and give credit to good places, less so to the bad. I’m pretty sure the ‘local’ bar owner would like to see a few extra customers show up – he’s in the business in entertaining, just as you are in the business of researching and summarizing travel for others, albeit you are failing at that.
Posting a location in a blog or in a daily on-line newpaper article has less permanance than being in a true guidebook, so what danger is there?
Bottom-line: No one cares about YOU; we care about your observations. Get to work, crybaby.
Thanks for the insight, Olden (though I’m not sure where you’re getting the “problems with [my] girlfriend” part). There are many guidebook-style features on this site; this clearly isn’t one of them, however.
Hey Mr. Atwoody,
We’re all for blunt feedback, but your language is needlessly rude. Please reconsider your approach. Thanks.