We moved into our current apartment two months ago. The old tenants (would you believe it?) didn’t have their mail forwarded to their new address, so we get their mail. Normally, we just put it in a stack. However, it turns out that the old tenants had a subscription to National Geographic Adventurer and National Geographic Traveler. Picking up the copy of National Geographic Traveler, I was reminded of the grandiose shit that travel magazines really are.
Their main problem is just how hard they try to make each destination seem interesting and the awful techniques that they will use to do so. This issue has a large article on Barcelona. Rather than just straight-forwardly describing the city, they have a married couple describe their recent trip through the city together. Alright, fair enough. One photo shows a man and a hot woman kissing passionately (the authors, perhaps) with the caption “a pervasive sensuality seems to captivate all who enter this city’s energy field.” Oh, for the love of God. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen: everyone who lives in Barcelona is constantly overcome by sensuality. Would you believe it? No, you don’t? Too bad, because National Geographic Traveler said so! Another page has two images, one of a middle-aged spaniard sipping tea in an ornard room and another of a fine chef serving meat. The enlarged caption for representing both is “the best way to get to know Barcelona is to dance with her, slowly, passionately.” The sap in that line is so thick that that it could be used as an industrial glue. Any hope of legitimate meaning is lost in the attempt to describe an entire city is some sort of enticing, exotic woman.
The fact that travel magazines are so hopelessly cheesy is only their most obvious flaw. If I ignore that element, there is still one complaint that I have. Travel magazines always portray an entire city as though it were merely a large conglomeration of hospitable foreignors waiting for rich American tourists to come by. Cities are groups of people going about the daily functions of their complex lives. Their citizens vary greatly in their political outlooks and personal tastes. They are not chiefly, mostly, and sometimes not even slightly concerned with decadence. They may not even be aware of the very attractions that are portrayed as key elements of their city, and if they are, they might not think that they’re such a big deal. After all, I have not been to any of the finest restaurants of my city, not been on the Spirit of Washington Dinner Train, not seen the Seattle Symphony, and never seen the Blue Angels. I know of less-well-advertized things to do in my city that are probably more interesting, and I have personal interests that affect my behavior as well. I know quite a few Seattleites, and I am yet to meet one that is simply a token human being whose purpose is to be a model citizen for rich tourists to observe. Travel magazines cut through all of these facts, giving the impression that French people do not exist because they have complex lives that they enjoy living, but to make you giggle at their cute accents and serve you Boeuf Bourguignonne with an expensive signature wine.
I know, I’m ranting. This is just how it is, right? Still, to anyone who steps back and examines the articles themselves, anyone who reads such garbage cannot marvel at the sappiness and cultural chauvanism that runs through them.