5 things that travel writers do not tell you

5 things that travel writers do not tell you

Before I gave up my job to travel, I worked for two years at Roughguides.com and before that as a feature editor at the magazines Asian Woman and Asian Bride. During this time I noticed that in the travel reports that I read, some common topics and sentences appeared: guests always enjoyed "hearty food", huts were always "a bit" embedded "between" and seases always consisted of "azure water" (I have the last one

much less often I came across texts that offered a rougher insight into the travel experience - and it was always refreshing when I did it. In reality, travel is not always amazing. Sometimes it's disappointing, but we rarely admit it. Here are five truths that travel writers do not like to tell them.

“The place I visited was a bit crap”

travel writers are paid to sell a dream, be it from lively Greek seas or bleak Icelandic landscapes. Their pieces tell of pulsating markets full of bright colors, of charming street children who bid their goods, of older gentlemen who doze on verands. You draw a desirable picture with the aim of inspiring you to go there or at least want to go there - why should you finally report on a travel destination just to tell the readers that you should avoid it?

In the rare cases in which it happens (like this article about Marrakech), it is not only refreshing, but also far more informative and entertaining than a love letter full of superlatives. They will often experience the truth more easily from bloggers (as in this article about Vietnam), since they are generally not prevented from maintaining relationships with tourist offices and tour operators.

A stage above I call the "Bear Grylls Treatment". Here a writer creates tension to give its history drama. "Travels" by Michael Crichton is a classic example: the deceased author speaks of climbing the Kilimanjaro, navigating from tiny African cities, camping near elephants and diving in the open sea, as if it were life -threatening activities. In truth, Peter did all of these things and they were hard but not so hard.

"The people I met weren't that interesting"

Peter and I sat on a balcony with a view of the azure water from Savusavu (sorry, couldn't help me). The dawn had broken in and the air smelled of burning wood. It was one of these nights that only required a few words, so we sat there and observed the waves in silence.

Soon a friend of the backpacker - let's call him Mark - joined us with whom we had the usual exchange (where we were, how long we were on Fiji, where we wanted to go next). When he heard that we went to Tonga, his eyes shone. "Oh, you have to visit Eua. I spent time there with a great family." He reached over and picked up the South Pacific leader on the table. He flipped it through, turned to Tonga and then gave us a 40-minute lecture on where we are going and what we should see (including all the amazing village leaders he met, and the "real" Tonganer with whom he spent his time).

Our polite attempts to contain the lecture, came up with deaf ears until Peter finally got up and said: "Wow, thank you, that's a lot of information. I am starving, so we will probably get something to eat."

travel writers insist that they will meet “fantastic people” on their travels, but sometimes that is simply not true. In fact, it is usually not true (unless your bar is "amazing" unusually low). We met impressive people on our travels and we met impressive people, but really "amazing" people are rare.

"I ignore my own advice"

Every employee travel writer will tell you that you should take malariat tablets when you are in a malarial sand, take out travel insurance, put changing clothes in your hand luggage and so on and so on. Well, when I visited Cambodia in 2010 (and wrote an associated travel article about it), I didn't take malariat tablets, even though I had traveled across the country. This is what the malaria card for Cambodia looks like:

alt = “>

In the end I was fine, but the point is that I didn't listen to my own advice. When Peter and I arrived at Faleolo International Airport in Samoa this week and learned that Fiji Airways had not invited our backpacks, we only had the clothes on our backs (and Peter didn't even have a toothbrush). This is in contrast to what every experienced traveler - including us - will tell you. What we will not tell you is that we will be complacent. We leave our passports in our backpacks instead of in the hostelsafe, we do not always share our cash and often assume that our luggage arrives safely.

"Sometimes I prefer to sniff on my laptop"

Okay, apart from the fact that nobody says "Pootle" anymore, it is true that sometimes we just sit inside and want to call up Facebook or Twitter or BuzzFeed. Even if we spent 17 hours on a boat to get to a remote bay that looks like the sky, we want to sit inside and take a look on Facebook. If the lush green trees in the wind sweeps up rain and the white sand with the sweetest echoes, we want to sit inside and take a look at Facebook. Basically we all want to be online - more Carpe Dongle than Carpe Diem.

"I wear my panties on the left"

"What will you do for washing?" Read the text of my little sister and use capital letters to present this impossible task. "Um what I do at home: Wash my clothes once a week," I typed back. Oh, optimism and naivety. Every week? In reality I am too busy exploring caves, climbing volcanoes and sailing through the sky (and, yes, to loot on my laptop). It is simply not practical every week, especially if you are dealing with dubious hygiene. Therefore, some compromises have to be made every now and then. Not always, mind you, but sometimes ...

Mission statement: Atlas & Boots

 .