I am not throwing away those battered old guidebooks just yet. My friends have moved on to smart travel apps. They have smart phones. I clutch on to my guidebooks like my life depended on them.
And I love the rustle of print. It adds bookish purpose to travel.
The other day, I took out my copy of London: A City Guide, and noticed a skein of cola stain running across the cover. It reminded me of the little cafe in Knightsbridge when I knocked over a jumbo glass of Pepsi because a very good-looking fella asked me to please pass him the mustard. (Sigh.)
I also love guidebooks because they have really huge maps. I love spreading them out and pretending I am Dora the Explorer. (Did I just say that?) And printed maps are really useful when you’re smack in the middle of God-knows-where, and Internet connectivity is a big ha-ha.
So while there are some who touch-and-type away on their little gizmos, (with no light at the end of the carpal tunnel), for many of us, hard copies will never lose their charm. My uncle swears that he will “…read a newspaper made of real paper till the day I die, even if my USA-settled son brings me a super-convenient tablet device.”
People can call us fools all they want, but aren’t we all travellers in a fool’s paradise?