Foreign travel was once a difficult, tedious process. As recently as a few decades ago it was simply too expensive for most people. When my grandmother first went to Italy in 1953, she spent two weeks on a ship, and returned as the first unaccompanied woman in our family to venture beyond these shores. Today—notwithstanding small inconveniences and indignities—international travel is quicker, cheaper, and more accessible than ever. Even in the midst of a post-pandemic lull, the numbers are astronomical: the UN World Tourism Organization estimates that 960 million people crossed international borders for leisure in 2022. This summer, the number of Americans outbound to Europe is projected to exceed 2019 figures for the first time.
But is this “democratization” of travel really spreading its benefits, or just trivializing them? Is a world of mass tourism really a better one?
Mark Twain declared, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness.” Concurred Gustave Flaubert, “Travel makes one modest – you see what a tiny place you occupy…”. These writers were speaking of the kind of edifying travel once restricted to well-off gentlemen and ladies taking the Grand Tour of Europe, finishing their academic educations by visiting the physical places they had studied. Twain and Flaubert didn’t envision three-day port calls at Disney’s Castaway Cay, or nipping to Vegas or Macau to pull slots. Still, there is a certain appeal to this quaint truism. When we speak of a certain kind of thoughtful person, doing certain kinds of exploration, travel indisputably can broaden the mind.
Trouble is, most of us are not thoughtful, and the travel "products" we are sold aren’t meant to enhance our modesty. A literal world of destinations means we approach the world like a Chinese menu, opting for the parts we already know we will like. The trillion-dollar tourism industry is only too happy to help us reinforce our tastes. To fulfill the educational premise of Twain and Flaubert, it makes more sense to travel where we never thought of going. Instead of the faubourgs of Paris, we might learn more from the favelas of Brazil. Instead of being just another warm body at St. Moritz, we might watch glaciers die in Greenland. Obviously, very few would contemplate investing their time and money this way. Notwithstanding the “broadening” of minds, the vast majority of modern travelers seek good times, not a profound ones.
Let’s not fool ourselves: even with a world of edifying opportunities at our feet, there seems very little actual education going on. Anyone who has witnessed a swarm of cruise passengers descend on Venice knows that few come to admire the Tintorettos. More customary activities include storming the Rialto bridge, taking selfies. (A recent Instagram Reel of a “Disney” guy dismissing Venice, saying “we have all this at Epcot’, racked up more than eight million views.) Nor do we photograph that eel sticking its head out of a crevice in the Great Barrier Reef to learn anything from it. The eel—and the Rialto—are just elements of backdrop for the curated “lives” we create for social media. The young man who felt free to deface the Colosseum because he “didn’t know it was ancient” was not a rare bad apple. He’s typical produce from his particular orchard.
“No matter where you go”, the old saying goes, “there you are.” To put it another way, while virtually anyone can travel to a place, leaving our biases and preconceptions behind is a great deal harder. Will that conservative retiree from Waxahachie experiencing the benefits of European train travel for the first time (“Jiminy, this sure is nice!”) revise his opinion on subsidized public infrastructure when he gets home? Will a visit to an urgent-care clinic that doesn’t first demand his credit card really change his views on “socialized medicine”? Positive as those experiences might be, as instructive of alternate ways of organizing things, is he not more likely to make excuses than reverse his core beliefs? Not all souls are cut out for epiphanies.
Venice, the Galapagos Islands, Easter Island and other unique places are delicate, in very real danger of being touristed to death. And for what, fundamentally? How many Instagram posts are worth the loss of a reef trampled by thousands of rented flippers? The French government closed Lascaux Cave in 1963 because the breath of millions of visitors was destroying rock art that had survived for 19,000 years. Visitors today see a replica, with very few aware of the difference. For most, authenticity as such was not the goal as much as sticking pins in a conquest map.
In cuisine, the word “locavore” is used a badge of honor. Maybe it’s time for something similar when it comes to travel. Instead of burning tons of jet fuel to tan in the Seychelles, we can roast ourselves on the many fine sandy beaches on the US. Instead of castles on the Rhine, we can discover the under-appreciated manses of the Hudson.
In centuries past, simply to reach a foreign destination, let alone to snag a refrigerator magnet there, amounted to a life accomplishment. Its very difficulty lent the experience a significance that almost demanded travelers to transform. Making the process more convenient, more ordinary, has paradoxically made us less likely to derive the same benefits. In a wide open world, maybe the most radical itinerary shouldn’t require an airport at all.
Nicholas Nicastro’s next book, Fulcrum: The Life and Science of Archimedes, is out next spring from Reaktion Press.
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