Many years ago, while exploring an
antiquarian bookstore in Koblenz, Germany, I came across what
appeared to be a dusty old diary. I opened the cover carefully and
saw that I held in my hands the personal travel journal of Hans
Baedeker, the unheralded and somewhat dimmer younger brother of
Karl Baedeker, the father of the modern guidebook.
Fascinated, I wiped
the cobwebs off a creaky bentwood chair in a corner of the shop and
began reading what appeared to be a 200-page lament about 1) the
horrors of traveling with ones brother and 2) the discomfort of
traveling anywhere at all in the mid-19th century.
Apparently, Hans
was Karls secretary, valet and errand boy, and, if Hans is to be
believed, he suffered unending humiliations at the hand of his more
famous and imperious older brother (who would unkindly introduce
him to new acquaintances as his Madchen Freitag or girl Friday).
But Hans did get to travel the world with Karl.
The diary, though
full of bile directed at Karl, also has invaluable observations
about travel that ring as true today as they must have when they
were written. Unlike Karl, who would give recommendations for what
travelers should see, Hans would write about all the things that
travelers should avoid.
As a service to
Travel Weekly readers and their clients, passengers, friends and
family, I offer this modest effort at translating a passage Hans
titled Things One Must Avoid at All Costs When
Traveling:
Thing No. 1:
Changings of the guard. Karl dragged me to yet another of these
mind-numbing time-wasters, this one at Buckingham Palace. I thought
nothing could be more stultifying than watching the guard-swap at
Monte Carlo, but this one raises the form to a level of absurdism
worthy of the Dadaists, once that movement is born. While I can
certainly understand the joy a parent might feel in watching his
5-year-old walk around and stomp his feet in precision with other
5-year-olds, Ill never understand why people would line up to watch
grown men unknown to them go through this. Id rather eat blood
pudding on stale crumpets than see another changing of the
guard.
Thing No. 2:
Anything with the name village in it thats not really a village. If
a commercial enterprise is called Something or Someones Village,
this is a most certain indicator of a tourist trap. (Karl is as
drawn to these as I am repelled, of course.)
We went to Santas
Village up near Stockholm last week, and it had all the importance
and substance of tinsel. If this is a village, then its a village
where all the villagers happen also to be proprietors of souvenir
shops, operators of contrived and amateurish attractions and
purveyors of boiled sweets. I suspect that, after fudge is
invented, therell be fudge shops, too.
Thing No. 3: Any
town or attraction that calls itself The (blank) of (blank). If a
city or natural attraction tries to lure you in by comparing itself
to something truly famous, you must certainly resist the
lure.
In the past two
months, Karl has dragged me to the Switzerland of Africa, the Grand
Canyon of Oman and the Paris of the German Empire. If these were
really accurate comparisons, the attraction in question would, of
course, be as famous as the site theyre comparing themselves to. I
suggest that if the German Empire wants a Paris, they should simply
conquer the one that already exists. (Translators note: There are
no documents to confirm rumors that Hans diary was once housed in
the government libraries in Berlin.)
Unfortunately,
space does not permit translation of the entire chapter, but even
these three nuggets seem worthy of preservation, if not worldwide
distribution.
This holiday
season, instead of a box of fudge for your favorite clients,
perhaps a needlepoint of Hans Baedekers Travel Words of Wisdom
would be more appreciated.