For the first time in history, the majority of Americans have passports. Meanwhile, the travel book remains a pariah among publishers. This seems illogical. But a novel creates its own world, and puts readers into the lives of others. A traveler thinks: Why should I read somebody’s account of a place I can visit myself?
"A plague of tourists is afflicting the world. It has dropped hordes of the problematic into the lap of the precarious. It has reduced air travel to a demoralizing form of mass transit and caused cruise ships to balloon into seagoing amusement parks. It has turned ancient cities into mobbed enclaves and tranquil islands into party zones. It has clogged boulevards and thronged squares and overrun beaches. It has produced long lines at heritage sites, art museums, car rental counters, taxi stands. It has loaded historic centers with Airbnbs, creating soulless neighborhoods of transients while displacing families ensconced for generations. It has filled grocery stores with foreigners in shorts searching for their favorite breakfast foods. It has, in some places, replaced the grocery stores with souvenir shops. It has made the Irish pub a global institution.
"It has spawned the neologism 'overtourism' and the oxymoron (according to Richard Leakey) 'ecotourism.' It has tried the patience of flight attendants, market vendors, bus drivers, tour guides, park rangers, police officers, and waitstaff worldwide—not to mention daily commuters and people wanting a quick cup of coffee. It has drenched cobblestone streets and dusty lanes in the aromas of pizzas, burgers, and fries. It has put the fries, even in Italy, atop the pizzas."
I wrote that lament in 2019, in Literary Hub, and followed it with a solution: Travel to unsung places.
We’ve cancelled our August trip to Poland, which is very disappointing. But yesterday in the kitchen I flipped the page of our vintage travel poster calendar to peek at August and found a beautiful European street scene – perhaps the prettiest poster of the calendar’s 12. And I thought: At least now I’ll be able to look at it every day of the month.
Fifty years ago today I was in Kutzenhausen, France, having recently arrived as a farm hand at the 16th century Ferme des Fleckenstein. The day was like any other on the farm – cows don’t take off for national holidays – though I seem to recall that late in the afternoon the son – who was also 24 that summer – took me to the small village hall where we each received a glass of white wine. And in the evening, I believe, there was music from an oompah band.
Yesterday morning at this time I was bracing myself for the drive from Montclair to Scotch Plains and then to the Newark airport. Mid- to late-morning traffic was lighter than on 95 here, but the spaghetti network of roadways in northeastern New Jersey made the driving unpleasant, especially for someone used to the simple, clear-cut (if frequently clotted) grid of South Florida. And the harrowing thought occurred to me: what if Jersey highways were filled with Florida drivers?
The president’s picture will now appear on a select number of passports. Trump’s egotism is apparently limitless, but this development could have a beneficial effect. What better way to boost domestic travel – at a time when much of the world is avoiding the U.S. – than by putting his mug on our passports?