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Talking Travel with Chuck Thompson
Aaron recently introduced Chuck Thompson's new book, Smile While You're Lying, and today Gadling got the opportunity to have a chat with him. The interview talks about savage travel stories, "Journalistic Tiramisu," travel-blogging, the authors complaints on the road, and the future of the travel-industry. Enjoy!We also have 5 copies of the book to giveaway, so stick around after the interview to find out how you can score one for free!
Thank you for talking to us here at Gadling! The content of your book elaborates on savage travel truths that are usually off-limits for general travel-press, what motivated you to make this book happen? What were the challenges you faced in getting this book published?
I got fed up with coming back from intense experiences on the road - and I mean ¿intense¿ in both good and bad ways - and being muzzled by editors who demanded copy that sacrificed intelligence and storytelling for the sake of advertiser-friendly pap. Not just in travel, but a lot of magazine writing these days is basically glorified PR copy. The stories I told my friends over beers or wrote about in emails never seemed to make it into my bylined pieces. I'd have a story published somewhere and weeks later a friend would call and say, ¿Hey, I saw your article on Panama in such-and-such magazine.¿ And I'd sort of cringe and say, ¿Oh, man, let me tell you what really happened in Panama.¿
The challenges were pretty much the challenges faced by any unknown writer with a book proposal-it's matter of finding the right agent and editor who really “get” your idea in the same way you do. The first agent I sent my proposal to sent back a nasty note telling me how appalled she was by the pitch and my Thailand chapter and how I'd better rethink what I was doing. She actually sent me some photocopied pages from a book on how to be a successful writer. But I remained pretty confident about finding the right people to get behind this. From the time I sent the first proposal out to the book actually getting published took about three and a half years.
What inspired the title of the book and its visual?
The title alludes to the small fibs that travel writers such as myself have to go along with in order to preserve their jobs as travel writers, the larger ones told everyday by the travel industry that perpetuate the accepted myths of the industry, and also the broader triumph of public relations that's made our mainstream media supplicant to corporate and government spin. As for the cover, it's meant to express what the book aims to be-fun and entertaining, but also something that shines a subversive light upon travel icons. A lot of people don't catch it, but if you look at the cover closely, you'll find a little subversive visual joke hidden in there.
I had to laugh as you tagged travel stories in glossy commercial magazines as "Journalistic Tiramisu," could you explain this term?
Just the sort of lightweight, drooling, praise-heavy hack copy routinely applied to make mundane places and trips sound “magical” and “resplendent.” Travel writers can't just walk, they have to “amble” or “meander.” They don't simply eat, they “dine.” Any store opened within the last two years is “hip,” “hot,” or “happening.” All seas sparkle, all views are breathtaking. My favorite descriptions of this sort of travel reporting are “witless puffery” and “sun-dappled barf,” both of which I heard from other travel writers. (So please don't present them as mine, even though I wish they were.)
You talk about the travel industry being in a state of dramatic flux and that the "golden age" of international tourism may be drawing to a close; what then, in your opinion, is the future of the travel industry?
There seem to be two divergent opinions on the matter. Boeing and Airbus and other travel and transportation companies-many based in China and around Asia-currently forecast a five-percent annual increase in air travel over the next two decades. This will cause world air traffic to triple by 2030. Imagine three times more babies and three times as many wankers in the middle seat battling you for armrest hegemony on your flight from New York to L.A.
There is a mitigating factor and that is oil. Can we get a stable supply of it out of the Middle East for the next twenty years? Even if we can, is Peak Oil for real and, if it is (which I happen to believe), how soon will it begin causing major problems with mass transportation? Look, you can build all the battery-powered cars you want and probably make 'em work, but getting a fully-loaded 757 off the ground or turning diesel-powered props of a cruise or cargo ship is quite another story. At the moment, there's nothing even close to alternative fuel for those monsters. Those things aren't little, plastic four-seaters that need to range 150 miles at a time. They require real power.
The "savage" type of content in your book is often found on travel blogs. How do you think the blogging industry -- that warrants personal, raw and original content -- will affect the travel publishing industry?I love blogs. I like contributing to them, reading them, and being a part of them. It's the best place right now to find authentic travel writing, even if it's sometimes rough. I wish I had more time to spend reading them. However, I firmly believe the demise of print media has been greatly exaggerated. I don't expect print to go away in my lifetime, I don't expect books or magazines to lose their appeal, especially not as long as we continue to condition our kids to read on paper. You know what's happening with the children's book market in this country? It's a gold rush, a boom economy. When I walk into a bookstore and see rows and rows of featured children's books, I think, “Good for all of us in the print biz.” And just for portability and tactile pleasure and saving my eyeballs, I do prefer books, magazines, and other hard copy to reading on a monitor. I think blogs already are and will become an even larger part of the legit media mix. This is great. But they aren't going to replace mainstream media anytime soon.
You say in your intro that one of the best things of being a traveler is complaining about the parts you don't like, I couldn't agree more! Care to share some of your biggest complaints on the road with Gadling readers?
I know it comes with the territory and I'm generally good-natured and smiley about it, but I absolutely hate being the zoo-animal white guy celebrity in rural Asian and African villages. There's a smile-when-you're-lying moment for you-me surrounded by thirty kids yanking at my arm hair with a big idiot grin of affability on my face. I've got a bunch of those photos and in every one I was hating life when it was taken.
Another complaint I have is with uppity “travelers” who complain about all the damn “tourists.” We're all tourists, to a degree, none really any better than the next. If someone wants to spend his travel dollars squatting for two weeks in a bamboo hut in Cambodia, cool. If someone else wants to take her three kids to Walt Disney World in Orlando and stuff them with fried dough and Mega-bucket Dr. Peppers, as far as I'm concerned, that's just as authentic an experience, whether they enjoyed it ironically or not.
What is the worst thing that has happened to you on the road?
I guess having all my money-$1,200-stolen in Thailand. I attempted to turn this into a humorous story in Smile When You're Lying, but it was absolutely horrible when it happened and I was not thinking at the time how enriching an experience it was. In fact, I was sort of panicked. I was on an island and couldn't even get off to make a phone call for help for lack of ferry fare. Wandering around that island starving and begging for help was lonely and miserable and embarrassing.
The biggest travel myth in your opinion?
That places are dangerous and people are scary and out to get you. I've been to a lot of cities and countries I was repeatedly warned not to go because it was so dangerous. Muslim-rebel territory in Mindanao in the Philippines. The Congolese jungle. Caracas. Wherever there are people, there's normalcy. People go to work and school, they buy food at the market, they make dinner, they love their families, they're generally kind or at least civil with strangers. I'm not talking about legitimate war zones, which are different, but for the most part, the paranoia of many people about international travel is grossly unjustified. People who don't travel to these places think that those of us who do are adventurous and brave. But you go to these places and you see what a lie that is. And you come home and smile about it. What the hell, let 'em think you're brave. Maybe they'll buy one of your books.
Thanks, Chuck!
More information can be found at www.chuckthompsonbooks.com
Want to win a copy of the book? It's easy. Here's how:
- To enter, simply leave a comment below telling us about the worst thing that's happened to you while traveling. Make sure to use a valid e-mail address, or else we'll have no way to contact you if you win!
- The comment must be left before Friday, January 4, 2008 at 8:00 PM Eastern Time.
- You may enter once.
- 5 winners will be selected in a random drawing.
- 5 winners will receive Smile When You're Lying (valued at $15.00).
- Click Here for complete Official Rules.
Filed under: Talking Travel
Reader Comments (Page 1 of 1)
xarissa Dec 31st 2007 12:08PM
My favorite "worst" travel story comes from Paris. A Canadian friend and I had spent three months on a study abroad in France, and finished up with a few weeks in Great Britain. We came back to Paris for the last night of our trip, to catch a CDG flight back to North America the next morning.
While every detail of our trip had been meticulously
planned, somehow this last night escaped our attention and we found ourselves homeless. Since it was a warm night in June, we figured we'd be fine. We'd heard that the train stations stayed open all night, so we locked our bags in a locker (which we would not be able to access until the next morning) at Gare du Nord, and after a midnight stroll through our favorite parts of Paris, settled in on benches near the tracks. Well, we were awfully surprised a few hours later to find that Gare du Nord CLOSES overnight, and some very large, slavering dogs had been called in to inform us of this fact.
Now we were truly homeless, and had no friends in town we could call on, and since almost everything we had was still locked in the train station, trying to find a hotel would be an act of total futility. A brief period of hyperventilating panic gave way to resignation, and in the true Les Miserables tradition, found an alcove off one of the streets to curl up in. At 2am in one of the less savory districts of Paris, we felt like orphans.
We were not to be left alone, however. A few minutes later, a short Frenchman shuffled up to us, and in very slurred French asked if he could sit with us. My friend, who was very conveniently pretending to be asleep, forfeited her right to refuse and my own language abilities had suddenly deserted me. So down he sat. His name was Bern, and he told us he was a horse jockey who'd missed his train to Lyon for a match. I believed him only because he smelled so strongly of horse. Luckily, he was too sloshed to be dangerous, and he promptly fell asleep on a cardboard box. We were also joined by Danny, a Swedish Spanish teacher who was on his way to his girlfriend in Spain. He and I had a very good conversation about the subtleties of musical theater variations in the US and in Europe, and I soon became so comfortable that I stopped clutching the swiss army knife I keep in my purse for bottle opening and nail trimming!
Alas, this peace was not to last, as one more man came to join the party. This one came from a group of young adolescent men we'd been watching down on the corner, and apparently wanted us to all join the fun. His French was strangely accented (like French ebonics almost) and since our Frenchman Bern was still asleep, the Swede spoke no French, and my friend was once again pretending unconsciousness, it was up to me to deal with this. I, of course, had no idea what he was saying. For all I know, he could have been trying to mug us. He got more and more agitated as I played dumb, and eventually flipped up his t-shirt to show us the pistol he had stuck in the waist of his jeans.
Now, I've always felt safer in Paris than in most American cities, so my first instinct was to laugh. I restrained this mad urge, and continued playing idiot American. Danny's eyes were huge and focused on my feet. I finally stopped talking and just stared this wannabe gangster down. (Oh, to be 19 and stupid again.) Frustrated, he moseyed back to his buddies on the corner, where we he heard shouts and laughter. In concerted motion, Danny lifted Bern, I grabbed P., and we high-tailed it around the block to find a 24-hour cafe. This cafe closed at about 3:30 am (truly French), so we found another one, and when that closed at 5am, we went to hang out with the guys loading newspaper boxes at the train station. Finally we made it back into Gare du Nord, boarded our train, made it onto the plane and back to the US. My bag burst in transit and my family forgot to come pick me up, but that's another story entirely...
I still feel safer in Paris than I do in Washington, DC.
Alice Jan 2nd 2008 9:02PM
In retrospect, my worst experiences have always made for good stories, so I try and keep that in mind when my frustrations are running high while traveling.
My friend and I thought it would be smart to take the overnight train from Prague to Budapest to save time and hostel money. The plan: go to sleep when we boarded and wake up in a new, exciting city. Genius!
Not so much....we were woken up approximately every 2 hours by either border control or the train's ticket puncher. To make matters worst, the little sleep we got was pathetic; we kept sliding off the vinyl seats and the cabin was inexplicably hot. So much so, we needed to open the window to get some relief, but that met being sprinkled with cold rain all night long.
When we finally arrived in Hungary, we mindlessly wandered in search of a hostel and promptly crashed, so much for our genius plan.
Eva Dec 31st 2007 7:32PM
Great interview, Abha! Really enjoyed this - not sure which I like better, "journalistic tiramisu" or "sun-dappled barf"...
My worst travel experience...hmm... It has got to be when I got sick in India. I know, I know - everyone gets sick in India. But I was a pretty inexperienced traveler, I was alone, and I really had no idea what to expect. It was my own crazy imagination that made it so bad, rather than the being sick itself (though that was no picnic).
I was so out of it, I genuinely thought I was dying. For two days I just lay in my bed and cried, and then got mad at myself for wasting bodily fluids on tears when I was clearly already dying of dehydration, and then I cried even harder. I even called my dad to say goodbye! (For which he has very kindly forgiven me.) Making things even worse, on the second night, the hotel owner let himself in to my room to tell me that his "village guru" had taught him a "special massage technique" that would make all my problems go away...
On the plus side, it was, like, so totally the best diet ever. Ha.
dromedarius Jan 3rd 2008 7:34AM
Lets see ...the time I got pulled over at gun point travelling in the back of a strangers car whilst crossing the Guatemalan border into Honduras ... nope
The time I walked through the flooded streets of Calcutta and a rat thought I was an escape raft ... nope
How about the time I worked in Indonesia managing a remote resort .. ah yes ..that one
I managed this remote resort on the island of Java. The country was in upheaval, students had recently been shot on the streets of Jakarta and my security manager came into see me.
"Pak", he says. "Bad news. The local people they not like the resort making money on their land. They coming tomorrow to burn it down".
"ok", says I, attempting to be calm. "time to put our contingency plans into gear". Thinking all along how absurd it was that I had contingency plans, for rioting villagers, ready to go.
12 hours later our guests had been relocated along with non emergency personnel
18 hours later the local military had set up barbed wire outside the resort entrance. Their Sergeant was setting their lines of fire. This was most definitely not part of the contingency plan which consisted mostly of getting the hell out of there just after our guests had buggered off.
18 hours and 2 minutes later I was furiously trying to find a solution and panicking at the sight of armed men playing with their weapons.
20 hours later the owners of the resort finally send a delegation down from Jakarta.
22 hours later the Jakarta delegation pays off the local Kepala Desa (Village Headman) and he persuades his villagers we're good people after all.
2 days later I visit the village with food and gifts. They invite me in for lunch. Nice people..I should go back some time.
dromedarius's latest blog posting can be found at http://whereoldbackpackersgotodie.blogspot.com/
Oddsocks Jan 1st 2008 12:58PM
I picked up one of my least pleasant travel memories about ten years ago in South Africa.
My plan was to leave Johannesburg for Pretoria, nip into the Australian embassy to vote in the federal election and then continue on into Zimbabwe.
It started to go wrong when the guy who was giving me a lift to the train station was scratching around and wasting time. Missed the express and had to take the local train. Less than sixty seconds after pulling out of the station, five guys came in from the next carriage, said a few words to the other passengers, and then I felt myself being ripped up over the back of my seat by my neck and noticed a knife being held to my stomach.
One of those big ones for hunting with the jagged back and the groove in the blade for the blood to spurt out.
While I was trying to work out who knew that I would be on this train and was organised enough to pull such an elaborate prank, my pockets were rifled, my belt undone and shoes taken off in the search for hidden money and then "it's in the bag, take the bag".
So walletless, passportless and bagless, I couldn't think of anything better than to stay on the train and go to the embassy anyway. Trouble with that was, I had to change trains and my ticket was gone too, wasn't it?
Luckily one of the other passengers was good enough to come along and help me find and report to the railway police (who patrol in groups of six with pump-action shotguns). They in turn passed me onto the real police, who made a report and offered to drive me to the social-help office.
Only problem was that the police car wouldn't start. No problem-get the white guy to push. The police wear their bullet-proof vests the whole time there, and I found myself wondering if I didn't deserve one as well, for getting the car started and all. The social help office turned out not to be very helpful, but they did let me use their phone to call the hostel I’d stayed at. The hostel manager said "get in a taxi and come here; we'll pay for it and look after you until you get yourself sorted out". Saved.
The whole thing happened amazingly quickly and it didn't really hit me until I had to explain to my Mum what had happened. I was philosophical about the loss until I found out that the expenses on my visa card were $250 worth of takeaway food and $600 for alcohol. "Need it more than I do" like hell! The money wasn't too bad though, the worst things I lost were a volume of my journal and all my rolls of film to date (almost three months' worth).
I'm not sure what the moral of the story is, but if you can avoid being robbed, then do, because your Mother will still be upset, even if you begin your call with, "Don't be worried, I'm not hurt, but...."
Sorry Mum.
YVRunner Jan 3rd 2008 3:33PM
My story takes place on an overnight train from Barcelona to San Sebastian in Spain in the summer of 2006. We had a private room with beds and a shower, and while my boyfriend was in the shower about 1 hour into our overnight trip, the train came to a screeching halt. High pitched sounds came from the brakes and tracks. We were stopped in the middle of no where for almost two hours. We finally found out that the train had hit and killed someone crossing the tracks. Needless to say, it was not a very relaxing/enjoyable trip after that.
Marc Jan 3rd 2008 4:57PM
Worst ever for me -- Bolivia 2006. I visited the mine in Potosi and my guide was part of the local NGO helping mine workers to get additional funds from tourist visiting the silver mine. When our group of three entered the mine, we got deeper in deeper in the mountain. Suddenly a railroad car came racing towards us out of the nothing and we had to get out of the way immediately. I had a helmet on, but hit my head against a rock. I left the mine while the headache increased. A taxi took me to the nearby bigger city Sucre where I planned to get checked medically. I arrived at night and got robbed at the spot infront of the hospital. Well, with no money left, I managed to find eventually a doctor in the hospital who believed my story and treated my concussion without any payment till I recieved wired money.
Bolivia is a great country with wonderful people. I returned last year again without having any crime experience this time. It could have happened anywhere...
rebecca Jan 4th 2008 3:23AM
While visiting family in Oklahoma, we decided to stay at a Best Western to make the trip less hetic. Big mistake.
Day 9 of the hotel stay, we found drops of blood on our sheets. Called the front desk, they could care less. I ended up changing the sheets myself. I'm assuming the maid cut herself.
It gets worse...
Day 10 of the hotel stay, there was a knock at the door around 11 PM. Person claimed he was the hotel manager and there was a funny smell coming from our room. I refused to open the door.
Then we get a phone call from the front desk asking why we didn't open the door. Duh, it was 11 PM and I don't know who it was. He claims that he smells a pot smell coming from our room. In our room was my husband, me and my 12 year old daughter. My daughter was removing finger nail polish. Hum.. when in the world did finger nail polish remover smell like pot.
Well, to make a really long story short. He called the police because I wouldn't let him in our room. We called 911 to make sure our story was recorded. When the police showed up past midnight (apparently the report of pot smell isn't a big emergency), we welcomed them to come in and search the room.
Yes, my 12 year-old was frightened and crying. It was just finger nail polish remover. The police laughed and said the manager was watching to much tv. A week later after complaining to the higher ups, we were credited the full 10-day hotel stay. Guess they were afraid of getting sued. It was horrible.
mh84 Jan 4th 2008 9:37PM
I'll make it short. My worst travel experience is when i was in New York. In fact, it was at my hotel. After a day full of activities i was returning to my room late at night. I was with some friends and the elevator fell off about 10 stories. It was a pretty scary experience and it's why it makes my worst travel experience. Thank god the elevator door open by magic and i jump out of it!