Will write for free minibar Toblerones

AS you set off on your summer vacation this year, there are a couple of things you need to know about travel writers. That travel guide you’ve combed like a head full of lice, marked up like a philosophy exam, and intend to consult as often as Billy Graham thumps his bible? It was probably written by a fraud.

When you bought it, you doubtless assumed it would present to you an unvarnished view of your destination, written by somebody who had dined in all the oom-pah-pah/schnitzel houses in Aha, Germany and longed to share his worldly knowledge. You supposed that the author had tested out each of the b & bs that he (or she) had liberally festooned with star ratings.

And if you’re a fan of the Lonely Planet guides, as many people are, you likely took it for granted that your cheerful on-paper host had hiked each exotic trail about which he raved, and soaked in each hot spring, and sampled each food kiosk so delectably jammed with seared snake heads.

Oh, would that it were so. But as a book called Do Travel Writers Go to Hell? makes clear, it is almost impossible for one writer to do all that stuff for the appallingly meager wages most publishers are prepared to pay. How does the author know? He once wrote the Lonely Planet guide to Brazil, much of it without venturing anywhere near the sites he depicted so lovingly.

The book, intended to be a shocking exposé of the travel writing game, largely fails in its attempt to amuse. Author Thomas Kohnstamm tries to portray himself as a kind of Hunter S. Thompson figure – 30-odd years after Thompson first did and wrote it all. As he tells it, on his travels, Kohnstamm was far keener on indulging in the drugs and booze and sex constantly presented to him than he was on completing the task at hand. (Of course, that’s if we can believe a word he’s written.) We are meant to be shaking our heads as we chortle over Kohnstamm’s youthful hijinks. Me, I kept thinking, “I would have thought the real Brazil was a lot more interesting than this.”

I should have expected pure self-indulgence from Kohnstamm – I’ve done travel writing myself. The profession, if you could call it that, is over-run with penniless hedonists. My husband Stanley could not contain his mirth at a recent event that was packed with travel writers. He knows how badly we’re paid, and how severely we’re compromised, so my colleagues’ zippy hair-dos, discount leather jackets and boasts of having ballooned over the Panama Canal didn’t impress him a bit. He understands how cheaply they sold their souls just so the owner of Panama’s Balloons’R’Us could get a little “free” editorial ink.

To an outsider, mind you, travel writing sounds like a great gig. It’s certainly a fabulous way to get the royal treatment on a scullery maid’s wages: somebody (with an agenda) invites you somewhere, usually with other members of the media, and then puts on the dog. Your digs are free, the chef makes you special meals. Of course your experience is tremendous – how can you say otherwise? And so you don’t. You probably won’t overtly lie; if something goes amiss, you just won’t mention it. (In the next few weeks, watch for features on the wonders of Beijing that mysteriously skirt the issue of air quality.)

Some travel writers work for publications that don’t allow freebies, though those are becoming harder to find in these days of dwindling newspaper fortunes and iffy newspaper ethics. The New York Times, for instance, supposedly doesn’t permit its freelancers to accept hotel rooms or meals gratis. I’m not sure how well the Times can police its writers, however. Its contributors may be accepting free rooms or meals and just not admitting it. After all, we know that even the sainted Times has occasionally hired reporters who’ve made up the news.

Other professionals, such as the pair who wrote the excellent guidebook Maui Revealed, claim they have accepted no favours and have checked out everything in the book themselves. I happen to believe them, but there’s really no way to disprove their boast.

The dilemma for newspaper and magazine travel writers is that unless the publication buying their piece pays for accommodations and meals, which few do, those expenses must either be absorbed by the host/provider or come out of the writer’s own pocket. I have no idea what the Times pays for a travel story, but Canadian newspapers pay peanuts; nor do they spring for the trip. The writer is therefore faced with the options of seeking freebies outright, accepting freebies if they’re offered, or squandering the entire fee to be received for the article, and then some, on transportation, rooms and meals. Since the journalist then spends time researching and writing the story, often taking the accompanying photos as well, that leaves him or her in the hole financially, just so the newspaper can fill up the editorial space between the travel agency and airline ads.

As a result of this problem, many travel stories appear to be written by people who were going somewhere anyway and want to be able to write off their holiday, or are accompanying a spouse on a paid-for business trip. For a few hundred bucks or less, they’ll concoct a story and get the rare experience of seeing their name in print.

But you’d catch few of these dilettantes slaving over a guidebook for the pennies it might bring in. Travel writing is surprisingly labour-intensive if, unlike Kohnstamm, you’re doing it conscientiously. It’s not enough to simply describe the joys of paddling a kayak up Indian Arm for a day. For any worthwhile guidebook entry, the exhaustive research required might include local flora, fauna and history, directions to the rental shop, hours of operation, up-to-date prices on kayak rentals, meals available in the area, disabled access information, and so on. It’s irksome, low-paying work and, as Kohnstamm’s approach proves, lazy writers cut corners.

So be skeptical of your travel guide. Cross-reference it with its competitors. Consult the online site Trip Advisor, where actual tourists, spending their own coin, weigh in. Consider the source of your information – scum of the travel-writer pond, conscientious observer, or regular Joe? Proceed with caution. And, oh, by the way, have a happy holiday.

 

 

Comments

[David Stanley]

Good article Kate, and as someone who has made his living writing travel guidebooks since 1979, I can confirm that there's a lot in what you say. However, not all guidebook writers are corrupt. I've never accepted freebies while researching guides to the South Pacific, Micronesia, Alaska, Eastern Europe, and Cuba. I travel incognito and will even deny my identity if someone guesses who I am from the type of questions I'm asking. Of course, this creates a new problem: How do I research upscale resorts from which non-guests are banned? Especially exclusive outer island resorts in the South Pacific. Bora Bora alone has several dozen thousand-dollar-a-night properties and I'd be in the hole financially if I had to sleep in all (or indeed any) of them. Thus I'm forced to rely on secondary sources for information on places like Turtle Island in Fiji. Not the best solution, I know, but no worse than going in on a freebie and being indebted to the resort owner. Actually, it's just a matter of personal style. On a small Pacific island, everyone soon knows the hosted travel writer and I value my privacy more than that.

[Runa]

Interesting to know.

[Jewell]

Well written article.