PART 1: THE GUIDEBOOK EVOLUTION
CHAPTER 1: THE GUIDEBOOK EVOLUTION
Ever since I can remember, I have traveled with the help of a guidebook. The dependency most likely stems from a compulsion to control my surroundings, to mitigate the unforeseen. My policy is simple: what cant be expected can at least be prepared for. It has resulted in my becoming an extremely efficient traveler, someone who has always found it prudent to arrive, be it across the street or across the world, dutifully prepared, with sufficient information to both maximize the enjoyment of the journey and minimize the possibility of setbacks and complications. I have never been one to let myself get lost;” on the contrary, Ive always found the notion quite disturbing. And so, with every impending trip, my primary goal has always been to seek out as much information as possible.
This was a problem in my youth, when I had no money to buy guidebooks and the Internet didnt exist. My affinity for collecting information, therefore, manifested itself in an enthusiastic curiosity that was routinely hindered by the tools available. One year, after the long-awaited announcement of a family vacation to Walt Disney World, my efficiency as a traveler suddenly became impeded by the lack of available information on this world famous, sprawling, and far-flung (for an eight year old) locale. Undeterred and forced to cope with limited means, I quickly became dependent on the information inside Birnbaums famous Walt Disney World guidebook, considered by many to be the definitive source on the destination. Its thorough descriptions were a window to the World, the only window I had, and I used its recommendations (Space Mountain is a very popular attraction plan on visiting as soon as the park opens”) to map out itineraries, tweaking the schedules to align with my prioritized attractions. To the chagrin of my family, the guidebook would accompany me to most meals, and while I sucked down my oatmeal or picked at my pizza, my finger would trace appropriate routes from attraction to attraction. And though the book was undeniably instrumental in planning the logistical aspects of the trip, its illuminating photographs and animated narratives also managed to push my enthusiasm beyond its already magnified level. More of a tease to the Disney universe than a complete unveiling, the pictures made me yearn to see what existed behind the walls and what lurked around the corners.
By the time the trip arrived, I had my whole family equipped for the journey. I had detailed plans, and if those were interrupted, I had detailed backup plans. I knew the stories behind all the rides, the quickest paths between stops, the coolest restaurants, the quirkiest shops, the places to avoid, the prices, the secrets, the lingo I knew everything. Or, more precisely, I knew everything Birnbaum wanted me to know. Because for better or for worse, I had put my trust in that book, my faith in its recommendations. Even before we left, the guide was dog-eared and wrinkled, well-worn from its journey around my house, and when we were finally ready to leave, it was the first thing I packed the most important item in my suitcase. I wouldnt have dreamt of leaving without it.
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Twenty years later, I set off traveling once again, this time on a much more ambitious excursion. My plan was to travel for seven months, visiting nearly twenty countries on four separate continents. It was an intricate journey, designed to let me see as much of the world as possible in a limited timeframe, and I knew that preparation was the key to its success. Luckily, the guidebook had evolved significantly since my foray into Disney World and there was ample information available for nearly every destination, no matter how remote, on my itinerary.
The backbone of my preparation was, of course, the standard print guidebook, and I purchased the most updated edition I could find for each region. The online extensions of these guidebooks helped me distill the copious information even further, while also enabling me to investigate supplementary multimedia (i.e. pictures, videos, interactive maps). The most valuable guidebook advancement, however, was the abundance of online consumer-generated content, now available instantaneously and effortlessly blogs, message boards, picture galleries, videos all of which I combed through extensively in the months leading up to my trip. I found images of possible hotels, read reviews of prospective restaurants, and watched videos of potential hiking trails. When I discovered a noticeable gap in my knowledge (e.g. the cost for a particular bus route), I would post a question to a message board, and the answer would almost always materialize within twenty-four hours of my initial request.
While my preparation for Disney World had involved rough notes scribbled on the edges of my paperback guidebook, my preparation for the larger trip involved elaborate spreadsheets, complete with proposed itineraries, estimated costs, and detailed visa information. By the time of my departure, not only was I dutifully equipped to handle every practical obstacle I might encounter - currency conversions, visa requirements, medical clearances but I was also well aware of what many of the destinations were going to look like, as well as knowledgeable about those destinations level of worthiness as judged by both the traditional guidebook entities and the online contributors.
As my trip progressed, my level of adherence remained high. I would check my guidebook for sightseeing recommendations, consult the message boards to escape logistical difficulties, and rely on online reviews for hotel approvals. I was not alone everywhere I went, travelers would be accessing the same information and consulting the same sources; in essence, using the same guidebooks. And while I was unbothered by the modern day travelers near-ubiquitous reliance on guidebook information (after all, I was a practicing advocate) I couldnt help but wonder how that kind of dependence, something akin to addiction, has changed the way we see and experience the world around us. I vowed to find out.
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Apart from the critical developments and advances in transportation - such as the steamboat, the locomotive, and the airplane - no tool has influenced the world of travel more than the guidebook. In fact, one can argue that the genre, almost two thousand years old, has evolved congruently with the act of travel itself.
For hundreds of years, guidebooks complemented and facilitated specific traveling motivations. Going on a pilgrimage? Heres a guidebook. Going to Italy to study antiquity? Heres a guidebook. The books, often cumbersome and wordy, were written for audiences with well-defined, unambiguous traveling goals.
Only after the industrial revolution, when travel reached the masses and people began to venture out for fun rather than for religious or education reasons, did the guidebook begin to resemble the form we see today. Trusted brands eventually emerged Baedeker and Frommers and Lonely Planet - and the opinions and experiences of a few soon determined the actions of many. It was, of course, an inherently capitalistic relationship; the traveler, with neither the time, resources, nor desire (or some combination of the three) to wander aimlessly, would instead enlist the help of the professional,” paying a fee for efficient and timely information that would maximize the enjoyment of a trip. That relationship remained relatively static for the better part of the 19th and 20th centuries.
But in the past decade or so, the guidebook has evolved once again, undergoing a drastic, fundamental, and important transformation. This change emerged because of the way humans now access and interact with information. With heads buried in cellphones and eyes transfixed on computers, people are consuming an incredible amount of data through a blend of both established and emerging mediums. And theyre doing it whenever they want. At the media company I used to work for, we often talked about today's consumer using "the best available screen" to access content. While somewhat of a generalization (the devices we discussed, which included radio and magazine, weren't always, technically, "screens"), the concept was both correct and increasingly relevant: with a bevy of choices and options, the consumers are now the programmers - that is, they will choose when and how to find what they are looking for. Podcasts and satellite radio assuage the torturous commute to work. Broadband video complements lunch breaks. Smartphone and tablets extend primetime television onto the train ride home. As the industry saying goes, content, not the delivery of it, is now king.
Today, travel advice, once restricted to niche avenues of distribution, now develops from a seemingly infinite number of outlets. This evolution, from a simple hardcover book to a world of assistance, has necessitated a new definition for what constitutes the modern day guidebook,” a re-evaluation of the tools we use to navigate our way through the world. The simplest way to do this is to break the guidebook spectrum down into two distinct sectors.
The first can be defined as the professionals: guidebook resources that are created, marketed, and sold as essential travel companions to efficiently guide the traveler through his or her destination. The authors of this information are paid for their services, and the expertise they possess, usually of a specific region or discipline, often lends credence to the informations accuracy and reliability. While many of these professional brands” continue to generate most of their revenue from traditional print guidebooks, the massive technological shift mentioned above has forced these companies to correspondingly evolve, disseminating their content through new media channels, such as websites, podcasts, and mobile applications.
Those new digital extensions are crucial in order to compete with the second sector of the guidebook spectrum, the amateurs. Much has been made of the Internets ability to connect disparate groups of people to mobilize revolutions, to inspire philanthropy, to uncover injustices. But far too little has been said about the webs ability to consistently and continuously update the map of the world. Global in nature and vastly accessible, the Internet is uniquely positioned as a tool that can provide comprehensive information about any corner of the planet. A modern day traveler interested in visiting Peru, for example, can read a trip report about the Cordillera Blanco, watch a video about the trek into Machu Picchu, and check reviews of Lima hotels, all while procuring suggestions from a message board about their proposed two-week itinerary. Where the traditional guidebook might lack clarity, such as information about a newly launched bus route, the amateurs are waiting to pick up the pieces. Curious about a new hotel in Austria? Check the Internet. Looking for a reputable tour guide in New Zealand? Check the Internet. Want to work on a farm in Argentina? Check the Internet. For whatever reason (bravado? aspiration? boredom?), somebody will be ready and willing to provide the answer. Reliability and accountability, once the lynchpins of the traditional guidebook, have been replaced by accessibility and breadth.
And yet despite the differences, each piece of information contained inside the two sectors - every price, every picture, every opinion - can be classified under one of the three pillars of the general guidebook structure. It is this unifying categorization that bridges the gap between the professional and amateur guidebook sectors, and allows us to discuss them as a singular, albeit amorphous, entity.
The first pillar involves logistical information: content designed to tell the traveler where to go and how to get there. Bus times, operating hours, subway maps, and driving directions all fall under this broad umbrella. The earliest guidebooks, operating inside a world where travel was for the privileged few, were often forced to use tangible objects to delineate notable attractions (i.e. from Pausanias Description of Greece - As you turn from Daulis on to the high road for Delphi and go forward, you will come to a building on the left of the road called Phocicum.”) while modern day guidebooks are able to be more direct, often delivering the information through maps