The Lonely Planet Guide Syndrome

The first time I noticed it was in India. We'd arrived in Udaipur armed with the latest edition of the Lonely Planet. Like thousands of backpackers before us, we headed for the first guesthouse it recommended.

Full.

The second.

Full.

The third.

Also full.

By the time the fifth guesthouse turned us away we were feeling less than pleased with ourselves for having followed the book so faithfully.

Eventually we wandered a little further and found a small family-run guesthouse that wasn't in the guide at all. It had better views over the lake and palace, fewer travelers, and a less hurried atmosphere. Looking back, I think we accidentally avoided what had become the traveler ghetto.

A few months later I met a young Kiwi woman somewhere else in Asia. She proudly pulled out her well-thumbed Lonely Planet and started showing me all the places she'd visited. Every page had ticks, notes and folded corners. It became obvious she was working methodically through the country's greatest hits.

Temple? Tick.

Market? Check.

Famous restaurant? Double underline.

Hidden gem that everyone already knew about? Tick.

Train to the next destination? Tick.

And there was nothing wrong with any of it. In fact, she was having the trip she'd planned.

But it made me wonder whether she'd travelled through the country or through the guidebook.

Travel is sold to us as freedom. Discovery. Serendipity. But I see so many of us board the plane carrying exactly the same mindset we bring to work. Somehow, productivity sneaks into our holidays. Optimise the itinerary to maximise the value. Don't miss the highlights and collect the experiences.

As an antidote I offer this: the Japanese have a beautiful phrase: ichi-go ichi-e, often translated as "one time, one meeting."

The idea is that every encounter happens only once. This particular conversation, this café, this sunset, this version of you, this version of the city, will never exist in quite the same way again.

Once you see travel through that lens, the guidebook becomes less important. The point is to really see something, not everything

And with that lens, some of my strongest travel memories aren't the famous places at all.

Like the time the bus we were travelling on broke an axle in rural Maharashtra, and we spent the next 15 hours watching four men at a roadside workshop patiently hammer it back into shape.

Or spending lazy afternoons in Pedro's unfashionable beachside café, run by Pedro and his wife.

Or the guesthouse that wasn't in the guidebook.

None of them were on the itinerary but all of them stay with me. So perhaps the real hidden gems are the ones no guidebook can recommend.