Sharing the Secrets of Travel

New York Times

9 hours ago

Good morning. Here's the news you need to start your day:
Manhunt: The authorities are searching for a suspect they say assassinated a Minnesota state representative and wounded a state senator.
Middle East: Israeli jets attacked Tehran's main fuel depot, while dozens of Iranian missiles rained down on Israel.
Shows of force: Tanks paraded through Washington as anti-Trump protesters marched in cities across the U.S.
We have more on these stories below. But first, a renowned travel writer reflects on his role sending tourists to quiet corners of the world.
Hidden gems
By Lyna Bentahar
I'm a member of the Morning team.
I spent September traveling by myself along the length of Japan, from Nagasaki to Tokyo. I spent some of the hottest days of the late summer lying in the forested onsens of Mount Aso and eating sushi with strangers in Tokyo. I walked dozens of kilometers every day, sweating under cloudless skies.
Along the way I visited Kyoto, a city steeped in both history and novelty. I had a plan to see the sights: the hundreds of torii of Fushimi Inari, the bamboo forest of Arashiyama. I did not expect that I would spend much of my time in one little bar filled with an eclectic mix of regulars, who pointed me to the city's hidden gems. This bar made my whole trip.
It's every right of a travel writer to share with you the name of this bar. But should I?
For 30 years, the writer Pico Iyer lived near a different, noiseless Kyoto. In an essay for today's Travel section, he wrote about the difficult choice between sharing the secrets of his chosen home or protecting the quiet city from being trampled by tourists:
'What's a travel writer to do? The very premise of the job is to tell you about attractive possibilities that you might not otherwise know about. But as those little-known jewels become better known, readers grow understandably indignant (that quiet and reasonably priced cafe is suddenly unquiet and unreasonably priced), while locals wonder how much to curse the onslaught of visitors and how much to try to make the most of them.'
The various signs warning foreigners away from private residences made clear that my presence in Kyoto was an inconvenience. Posters on crowded buses encouraged tourists to please take the train instead. When I walked among the crowds of Kiyomizu, I felt less like a traveler and more like a body in a mob.
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