The Age of the Tourist

This time will be known as the Age of the Tourist.

The time when people strapped cameras around their necks and held selfie sticks high as they took air conditioned buses to the natural and manmade wonders of the world.

The time when millions of people excitedly took the exact same photograph at the exact same spot and checked it off their list.

The time when international communities grew like Lake Louise in Canada and Ruby’s Inn in Utah. You can hear every language in the world there, but most often Korean and Chinese.

The time when people perused fine art and trinket shops more than they spent time getting to know the area, its spirit and its people. Quick peeks and momentos.

The time when poor or rich, famous or unknown, politician or teacher, we all stood in the same places.

We can just about go anywhere, so we do. We marvel at geologic beauty and the history of what humans have made. Arches and the Great Wall. Stonehenge and Bryce Canyon.

There is a culture to tourism. It is international. Lake Louise, Yellowstone, Windsor Castle. People crowded together from all over the world taking their short turn to be amazed, to make their own digital image that is made hundreds of times each day.

We read the history, accepting what the pamphlets tell us, not even considering that history is nearly always someone’s version of it and not the whole story. We accept the theories of scientists as if they are certainties.

And we overrun the beautiful places of the earth.

Chinese, Portuguese, Korean, Russian, French.

Port-a-potties and smooth stone steps and interpretive signs.

When we finish checking all the boxes, seeing all the wonders, what will we have learned about the earth, about humankind?

As millions use plastic forks in eating areas and unwrap another little hotel soap to be used once or twice, will the next age of humanity be the Age of the Unending Trash Heap? And what will become of the beautiful wonders then?

It doesn’t surprise me that some places are being kept secret. To open up certain beautiful places is to leave them vulnerable to the masses of our overpopulated touring world.

I’ve been to some of the secret places. Rather than paying a fee, you pay in sweat. A long hike or rough road drive is usually the way to arrive. What you see means so much more when you’ve had to work for it rather than driving in, getting out the car, popping over to the viewing point, making the same photograph as the so many others doing the same thing. When you have to look for it, when you have to navigate a hairpin road, when you hike a strenuous six miles, it’s as if you’ve earned the right.