Travel Bug

I have somewhat of a little dream to be a travel writer. I mean, it took me long enough to put two of my favorite things together (duh!), but there it is, finally. However, I realize something the more I thumb through the colorful, exotic photographs in travel magazines. These secret places aren't so secret anymore, and I've never been a fan of the loud tourists taking up every square inch of space sporting printed button-ups with decibel levels matching that of their wearers' voices, Wal-Mart's entire array of $5 shades, and black cameras dangling from their necks. There's a very real danger that if I explore some remote location and fall in love with the beauty and simplicity of it just to write about it in a travel magazine catering to those sorts of people, I would be contributing to the ruination of the very thing that makes the place so special.  I can see it now: I write a great piece on a new, gorgeous location, and 2.5 seconds later, all these people show up in their tacky shirts bearing various photo apparatuses.

I wish I could teach people to be proper tourists, thereby single-handedly changing the stereotype by introducing them to, and making them students of, the word unobtrusive. Go to a place, observe a place, take it in for all the wonder that it is. Absorb the sounds, breathe in the air, document if you must, but don't ruin the stillness with idle, insignificant prattle. I would want us to make our intrusion of places in the world, well, less intrusive. Without a mailbox and a registered address, we should always be humble visitors in other lands. We would do well to remember that.