As the storm named Hurricane Milton took a toll on Florida, I sat, disheartened as I flicked through the pages of a cherished book of mine: ‘Florida Keys: A History and Guide’. I’ve never visited the Keys myself nor do I plan on doing so, yet this book holds a special place in my heart. It would never be surrendered to the free local libraries that are scattered across my neighbourhood, despite the inevitable obsolescence of its content.
Penned by Joy Williams, this guide of the Florida Keys was meticulously updated over the course of sixteen years, from 1987 to 2003, with a total of ten editions. The concluding portion of this edition is filled with Williams’ harsh honesty and gloomy reflections about the Florida Keys’ transformation over the course of her updating years. She noted that the rough charm of the ragged Florida Keys had been gradually diminished, leading to a heavily tourist-based economy, partially influenced by guidebook authors like herself.
In the rapidly evolving sector of modern tourism, sixteen years can see local cultures become homogenised and transformed into more glamorous and bulkier versions of their originals. Williams expressed how this was enough time for the delightfully quirky Key West to become a victim of her own commercialisation, as mentioned in her afterword. She expressed concern over the loss of various species, water reserves, open spaces and forests due to an explosion of construction and lamented that these losses couldn’t be replenished, refitted, reinvested or revamped – the words we use to falsely suggest that our world offers unlimited do-overs. Consequently, she decided it was time to cease updates to the guide.
Interestingly, Williams herself was taken aback when this candid afterword was included in the publication. During her interview with the Paris Review, she noted, “Here I am, worn out and saying how terrible everything in the Keys has become, and Random House just went ahead and put the afterword in there. Isn’t that astonishing?”
A quote from Brianna Parkins read, “The cat jumped into my life when sorrow had knocked me down.”
Certainly mesmerising, Joy Williams! It’s truly unique to find self-condemnation in a guidebook, an unusual feature in this $11 trillion industry that projects the impression of environmental stewardship and sustainable practices but lacks sincere self-evaluation. Williams dares to place herself among the swarms of tourists that descend on the Keys annually. While contemporary guidebooks tend to cautiously address the issue of overtourism, they often retain an optimistic tone suggesting that visitors can evade becoming part of the problem with a bit of consideration. However, Williams suggests that the guidebook author is the ultimate tourist.
Indeed, ever since tourism began to sprout in the heart of 19th century Europe, guidebook authors have played a crucial role in its development. With the occurrence of the industrial revolution, tourism transitioned from being a privilege exclusive to the aristocracy to an essential activity for all. Prior to this, travel was either a privileged journey or an endeavour of exploration to “unearth” new territories for beneficial purposes. I refer to this as “pseudiscovery” – the practice of voyaging to far-off lands to unearth territories for European exploitation. The invisible “p” in pseudo points towards the unnoticed people and regions overlooked in this process.
The ascendancy of colonialism accelerated the industrial growth in 18th-century England and the affluence developed by colonialism and capitalism gradually permeated to the middle and working classes, making leisurely travel accessible. As the travel infrastructure burgeoned with public stagecoaches shuttling along freshly surfaced roads and steamboats cruising through the rivers, guidebooks emerged. Karl Baedeker published an early handbook to the Rhineland in the early 1830s, followed closely by John Murray’s guide to Holland, Belgium, and the Rhine. Their respective publishing companies would later transform into extensive guidebook dynasties.
My book collection boasts a treasured item – a 1904 Baedeker guide to Italy, spanning from the Alps to Naples. This precious heirloom was gifted to me by my mother-in-law, knowing my love for guidebooks. The book saw its origin in her grandfather’s possession, an American farmer with an appreciation for antiques but without any personal travel experience in Europe. Just the sight of the guidebook, bound in sumptuous red cloth and graced with a gold-embossed title, speaks volumes of its bygone era. And that message is reinforced early on with its stated intention of serving travellers with a mere four or five weeks to expend on their trip.
Who did Baedeker envisage as his audience? These were Europe’s emerging middle-class, chiefly comprised of the British and the German, deriving their affluence from industrial and commerce sectors. Unlike the highborn, who experienced Grand Tours under the tutelage of personal experts to appreciate intricate details of Roman architecture, Baedeker’s patrons had no such privileged education but did hold an admiration for learning and culture. As such, Baedeker provided directions to recommended destinations and attractions. His guidebooks were essentially utilitarian, covering aspects like transport and lodging, comprehensive city maps, pricing information for steamboat fares, advice on local customs, and a compilation of foreign language phrases. Starting 1844, Baedeker initiated the practice of awarding a star to those attractions that an educated traveller could ill afford to miss. Plus, he also helped them filter out the less interesting attractions.
Such an approach to categorising the world can be traced back to the Enlightenment philosophy. As Edward Mendelson observes about Baedeker, his approach was influenced by classical and Baconian scientific thought. The concept of inductive reasoning introduced by Francis Bacon significantly influenced the European understanding of knowledge, and its impact is clearly palpable in mid-nineteenth century guidebooks overflowing with certainty in this approach. These publications seek to describe and categorise the world, reinforcing the belief in human rationale’s ability to fathom it. Central to this knowledge drive was a European male character, perceived as being endowed with noble reasoning and unlimited capabilities.
Baedeker’s travel guides are notorious for making condescending remarks about the lower socioeconomic groups and people of Eastern and indigenous origins, promoting caution towards dishonest practices prevalent amongst the locals from Naples to Egypt. Simultaneously however, Baedeker pioneered in democratising travel, by making it accessible to those strata previously denied the luxuries of leisurely travel. Such dichotomy is evident still, two centuries later, in the core of tourism.
Contemporary guides, whilst refraining from explicit advice to avoid close relations with Orientals, emulate Baedeker’s view – positioning the world as a scene set for westerners’ pleasure and enlightenment. A notable example is the romantisation of colonial style residing quarters in places like India by modern guidebooks. The relegation of colonialism as merely an architectural trend, and its associated atrocities, stand ignored. The acts of plundering and human trade – the roots behind the captivating balconies and colonnaded verandas, find no mention. This distortion of history isn’t unintentional.
It implicitly justifies the western traveller’s disregard for the sociopolitical reasons that allow them the freedom to tour, whilst the majority of native service providers can’t visit western countries as tourists. This glaring lack of balance is the foundation of global tourism.
On a brighter note, an emerging group of guidebook authors, notably from diverse ethnic backgrounds, are redefining tourism narratives. Minal Hajratwala’s Fiji guidebook, for instance, enlightens readers about the historical reality of slave trade and the eventual anti-colonial resistance prevalent on the island. The need for more such enlightening guidebooks is prevailing.
As we reflect on the year 2023, it’s evident that over a billion global tourists roamed around our planet. This figure is projected to rise, with an increasing disposable income igniting the travel desires of vast middle-classes in the ‘Third World’ – an intentional term choice, favoured for its poetic ambiguity rather than the more politically correct ‘developing world’. Tourism, on this spectacular scale, comparable to the entire population of India or China, traverses a planet that is exploited and commodified, with stark resemblances to Florida Keys.
Travel guides, whether in digital or traditional print form or as audio strolls and downloadable maps, effectively target this captive market. They may arguably be the most influential genre of literature globally. The past of these guides is tainted by biased perspectives, including racism, strong Eurocentric leanings, and environmental insensitivity. However, their future can be different.
Shahnaz Habib’s latest release, ‘Airplane Mode: Travels in the Ruins of Tourism’, made its debut via September Publishing last year, calling attention to this transformative potential.