Good and Lost

It all starts innocently enough. A picture here and there, a magazine before bed. And then one day you’re flipping through the glossy pages and you see it. A two page spread. You give a whistle, turn the magazine and take a closer look.

At first, that’s all it is. A library over coffee, a beach while filling out your taxes, a desert ruin on a work break. But then, one day, you see one that you can’t let alone. You stare at it, fascinated. It’s a marketplace in some distant and sun-drenched land, full of color and life. You can almost smell the spices. You idly check Wikipedia, and learn that the city has been where it is for thousands of years. Why, you think, how interesting. Your city has only been there for a few hundred.

For a lark, you check airfares. Not seriously, you tell yourself, you’re just curious. The results come up, and you shrug. Almost fifteen hundred dollars. Far beyond your meager budget. Of course. Entirely unrealistic. You notice a few other city links, and click one. My, you notice, this one’s barely over five hundred. You could do that easily. If you were serious. But you’re not. Because (you say) you have nothing better to do, you look at some pictures of this five hundred dollar destination.

Grassy glens, rolling mountains, medieval cobblestone architecture. While not as old as the market city, still very old, and, one would assume, also full of interesting people. But it’s not the marketplace, not quite the same. What time is it? Your favorite television show will be on soon. To pass the few minutes until then, you casually check train fares from the grassy glens to the spice market. What a long way. Not quite as expensive as flying, but it would take so much time! You look at a few of the places along the way

Your television show is forgotten. You see cathedrals, temples, ruins, mosques, mountains and oceans, high mountain lakes, white sand beaches. All on the way. You look at a map, and trace a line with your finger. You read the city names to yourself. Purely out of curiosity you add a column of figures on a nearby piece of paper. Airfare, train fares, daily food costs, cheap lodging. You whistle and shake your head. Quite a lot of money.

But (just playing the devil’s advocate, you tell yourself), you would spend a fair portion of that were you living at home, paying for rent and groceries. You check your bank account. Not enough—but not so little, either. Out comes the piece of scratch paper again. Adding paychecks, every two weeks. If I worked some overtime, you reason, you could have enough money by next year. Theoretically.

Back to the airfare site. The numbers seem to waver on your screen. There is a little button that says “book now,” which seems to be beckoning to you enticingly. Your cursor moves of its own accord. There are probably extra fees of some sort, you say. They wouldn’t show those to you until the very last instant before you had to pay. You scoff. You’ll call their bluff. You click.

A dangerous example of travel porn.

No extra fees! the purchase page tells you exuberantly and, (you imagine) winks at you conspiratorially. Enter your credit card information here! You pull out your card and look at it. Type in the number. Just to see what it would feel like.

Your cursor moves as if possessed, and your finger—so very heavy—sinks upon the button. Thank you for your business, the website says smugly, your confirmation will be sent within two business days. You sit back, stunned. I was just browsing, you tell your friends over a beer later, and one thing led to another …

Children take note. Though you may tell yourself you’re only looking, travel porn is a dangerous, dangerous thing. One too many beautiful pictures and you too may find yourself on a journey that takes you far from the safe and secure confines of your good and normal life.

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