On Discovery
Is there such a thing as “too discovered”, or have we just stopped seeing?
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” — Marcel Proust
What does it mean to say a place is “too discovered”? It seems there is a certain type of personality for whom places are just scaled-up versions of a trendy new bar or an up-and-coming designer. It’s all about what’s on the cutting edge of destinations: the more remote and esoteric, the better. Whether it’s Bhutan, Ljubljana (“The new Prague!” Or is that Tallinn?) or the latest under-the-radar gem (Uruguay? Sri Lanka?), what matters is getting there first.
Sometimes, when reading travel magazines or blogs, I get a nagging feeling that certain destinations are chosen according to their “exotic” quotient, rather than a sincere desire to see and experience the world more fully. It seems there’s a not-so-subtle goal of being the cool kid in the travel clique, part of a well-seasoned traveler tribe that eschews more touristed locations, turning up their noses in disdain at places as familiar as, say, Tuscany or the south of France. Knowing the next “undiscovered” destination is akin to knowing the entrance password to hotspots like PDT, the well-publicized NYC speakeasy. (PDT: “Please Don’t Tell.” Hey, at least they’re overt about using exclusivity as a marketing device.)
“It” destinations become the season’s must-have accessory, like the latest Balenciaga bag; your choice of location signals your sophistication and edginess, branding you a savvy, in-the-know traveler. Call it destination cachet. The fewer people who have heard of the place you’re going, the better. The few who have heard of it nod knowingly, tacitly granting membership in their elite tribe. It’s the same phenomenon Jonathan Kauffman articulates in his essay comparing food trends with indie rock bands. “In an age where we’re trained from birth to acknowledge brands…everything becomes a brand.” *
There is nothing wrong with seeking new territory, or the thrill of discovering those corners of the world less trodden by the Nike-shod feet of the tourist hordes. Those “undiscovered” places call to me too, and call loudly. But I also want to experience every place, “discovered” or not, for its intrinsic value, not because I’m collecting points on some elite travel scorecard. Exploring the world is too important, too much of a privilege to be cheapened this way.
To me, travel is profound, even sacred. Travel is MEANING, everywhere you look.
The real secret is that you can find meaning anywhere. Oh, I too long for distance, for difference, for the eye-opening jolt that comes with finding yourself in an entirely new, utterly unknown place. But I want to be able to experience real discovery in more prosaic places too.
Sometimes “difference” is all the more surprising when nested in familiar settings.
“Ah yes, the European America!” one friend exclaimed, after hearing I was headed to Germany. The implications were clear: a known quantity, where much of that “known” equalled “sameness.” Smiling wryly, I agreed that Germany wasn’t high on my list of places to visit, given its Western, first-world status. Even the weather and landscape is remarkably similar to the where I lived already. So I didn’t expect much in terms of discovery.
But, as with many things, it’s in the details.
Details like trees that look familiar, except they stand naked from the neck down, all red-brown trunk topped by a bristly scrub-brush shock of needles. Similar, but different. The landscape is pretty familiar too: lots of rolling fields and forests, but with the addition of 200-year-old farmhouses crowned with solar panels, and villages invariably punctuated by a church spire. People look very much like me, but I instantly notice a reserve, a reluctance to make eye contact that is very much at odds with my hopelessly American openness: all broad smiles and “Hallo!” friendliness.
I knew at least food would be more or less the same. Well, more bratwurst than usual, but pretty much everything else was the same. Except, wait…it wasn’t. Yogurt, (yes, yogurt) is approximately fourteen times better than any stateside yogurt I’ve ever had. It’s technically the same thing, but in a class all its own. The same goes for bread. What’s more straightforward than bread? Certainly no revelatory cultural insights here, right? Wrong. It looks the same but it isn’t, at all. It is the Platonic Ideal of bread, and for about one-quarter the price. Don’t even get me started on the chocolate.
It was a disconcerting experience, because on the surface, most things look more or less like you’d expect. This superficial familiarity can lull you into the illusion of sameness, of nothing new to discover. Or perhaps the lack of obvious, full-volume difference is an opportunity to see the subtle, myriad ways in which a distinct sense of place emerges. Despite the temptation to write it off as a known quantity, this is a place with an identity all its own. Often, the places that most confound our expectations are the places we think we already know.
So I’m all for the “undiscovered” destinations, the far-flung, the foreign, the exotic. But I’m also for honing an awareness of those “undiscovered” qualities right in front of us, in the places we least expect them. Saying a place is “too discovered” is just another way of saying I’ve stopped seeing. Just because a place might be familiar doesn’t mean I have come close to plumbing its depths or truly explored what inevitably lies under the surface, waiting to surprise, to confound, to delight.
Look again. Open your eyes. There is always something more to discover.
- “And You Will Know Us by the Trail of German Butterballs”, Johnathan Kauffman, Seattle Weekly
- Thanks to Fierce Gentleman for providing feedback.
