Hello, everyone! This week it’s my turn to act as Matthew’s substitute while he enjoys vacation.
Coinciding with the start of Matthew’s travels, a week or two ago we received a copy of an old travel guide to Rome. Its copyright being 1978, it is far too elderly to include in our collection of travel guides, which we try to keep as up to date as possible. Before it could make its way to the Secondhand Book Shop, however, it found its way to my desk. (This is not an uncommon occurrence, I am only slightly chagrined to admit; many titles destined to find new homes at the Book Shop first, as though by magic, end up in my vicinity, necessitating that I at least give them a look.) I kept opening it and flipping through its now-creaky pages, wondering at how photos of places which have not changed in centuries can still somehow feel dated, wondering, too, how anyone manages to take pictures of Rome in broad daylight with so few people in them. Many entries of sites to visit had penciled checkmarks next to them; were these places the book’s former owner had managed to see, or had aspired to see in a perhaps busy itinerary? Had this guide been a companion on their first trip to Rome? Maybe it had advised them on their only visit there, steering them toward unmissable destinations. What had felt at first like merely a quirky donation (we receive many) ended up looking more like a tiny glimpse into how and why we travel.
Up until the advent of railways and steamships in the 19th century, travel had largely been the privilege of the rich. With the increased speed, affordability, and array of connections offered by trains and efficient ships, more people could realize trips further afield. But while the practical and economic barriers to travel began to relax, the question of how to travel became more pressing; middle-class visitors to Rome, for example, could not afford a personal chauffeur to show them all the grand sights, as could wealthier travelers- they required something very much akin to our 1978 guidebook. Publishers responded quickly to this need, expanding the focus of the travel memoir, a well-worn genre by this point, to release books richer on practical advice. The most famous of these guides were those by Karl Baedeker. These guides were originally published in Germany, though they rapidly found their way to English publishers and then dominated the market due to their highly detailed fold-out maps, frequent revisions to keep them current, and pithy asides (“Prices generally have upward tendency,” reads one, an observation as applicable today as it was in the 1850s). Instantly recognizable with their red covers and gold lettering, Baedekers are handsome books, now quite collectible, and were so successful that their name became the catch-all term for any travel guide, regardless of who published it.
Our modern-day Baedekers, our Eyewitness Travel Guides and our Wallpaper City Guides, offer hints as to the why of travel, too. In their descriptions of architecture, art, customs, cuisine, local traditions and festivals, and natural wonders, travel guides subtly echo the sentiment that exposure to the world at large somehow improves us. Travel, this old theory goes, makes us uniquely more cultured, more thoughtful. Mark Twain summed up this belief succinctly: “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” I don’t know as I fully endorse this admittedly quite privileged take (are only those who can afford travel deserving of its benefits? Wouldn’t it be nice if travel cured everyone of bias and didn’t exacerbate the most boorish tendencies of some of us?), but I partially agree. Curiosity about other people and places and the wanderlust that curiosity can inspire are great antidotes to prejudice, as Twain comments, and when we travel with a willingness to be vulnerable and surprised by what we find, our experiences can greatly expand our understanding of the world.
Air travel exponentially increased the places travelers could visit, but today, travel can feel like it’s becoming less possible for many. The logistics can be punishing, the expenses vast. But our desire for the type of learning which comes from travel hasn’t decreased, and perhaps this is why an old guide book to Rome so captivated me. Our travel guides can serve as promises to ourselves. Maybe we’ll never get to New Zealand, or Argentina, or Mongolia, but by picking up a travel guide, by browsing maps and suggested itineraries, we’re reminding ourselves to stay open and curious, to remember how wide and wonderful the world is, and how surprising. And if we have made it to our destinations and back, our faithful guide books serve that same reminder- remember how cool this was, how unexpected.
The final line of the introduction to this guide to Rome reads: “We hope this new edition will be of use to tourists from both Italy and abroad, to such an extent that it will remain a pleasant souvenir of their stay in Rome, and thus induce them to return.” I hope this book was exactly that to its owner, a good keepsake, a reminder to be open to the next venture.
Whether you’re traveling by armchair, plane, or car, I hope you get there and back safely and filled with excitement for more. Happy reading always, and we look forward to seeing you at the Library!
Chloe Deblois
Adult Services Librarian
Skidompha Public Library