Spendthrift Shoestring

Readers versus "Clients" in Travel Writing

Recently, I have noticed a handful of travel writers referring to both outlets (that is, publications) and promotional entities (hotels, tourist boards, and other publicity-oriented outfits) as “clients.” This is interesting. And troubling. What does a client do? A client pays a provider for a service. Usually, travel writers recognize their outlets, or publications, as clients, and publications pay for completed work. In this more or less traditional set-up, the writer’s sense of responsibility is to his or her readers, filtered through the priorities of the overseeing editor.

But if the public relations firm, tourist board, hotel, or similar entity becomes the client, then the travel writer's job is indistinguishable from marketing. If a travel writer serves a promotional-entity-as-client—as opposed to working with the promotional entity to get to a particular destination or obtain a particular experience—then the job of the travel writer shifts. Instead of aiming to serve a readership, the writer comes to work for the promotional client. In the process, the traditional ethical dance between media support and journalism is sidelined entirely.

I can imagine several bloggers I know (and like) reading the above and thinking, "yeah, so what?" But this is actually a significant issue. However chummy we might get with each other, travel writers and publicists have different objectives. Let's never forget this.

My point isn’t that travel writers shouldn’t also write marketing materials for tourist boards or move into destination branding or offer advice, solicited or otherwise, to the hotels or tourist boards comping them. The point is that these sorts of assignments are essentially marketing activities (or, in the final case, friendly recommendations) and should be understood as such. Readers are not well served by travel writers who are simply filtering the marketing priorities of hotels and other promotional entities into their published work.

What’s really going on here? It sometimes feels as if a coziness with public relations firms has given way to a more intimate, boosterish relationship with hotel chains and tourist boards. In my harsher moments I’d wager that this intimacy is the natural product of an increasingly blog-driven travel writing landscape in which traditional journalistic priorities have been junked. But I wonder ultimately if we as travel writers have simply fallen in love with perks of our profession, forgetting in the process that our job should not be first and foremost to score a week at this or that insanely lovely resort.

In order to puzzle through this last theory, I’ll share two experiences—both of which involved a few nights at insanely lovely resorts.

1. In March, 2010 I flew to Barbuda to write two stories. Barbuda is a backwater delight, the sort of place that true-blue Caribbean aficionados adore. If it is known at all, it is known for its glorious beaches and its extremely expensive resorts. For one of my two publications, I was focused on how the island might be navigated on a budget; for the other, I needed to access the island’s high-end side.

I emailed the two very pricey resorts on the island. One responded within an hour. I was invited on the spot to stay for two nights. I did so. I loved my time there. The resort delivers an amazing experience. It is very expensive, granted, although its isolation, its physical beauty, and the personal attention offered to guests place it leagues ahead of your average five-star resort. I’ve since written about the resort on more than one occasion and I’ve also raved about it to luxury-minded travel writers. Why? Because the hotel is very, very good at what it does.

2. In the early spring of 2009 I flew to another very special Caribbean resort. The resort paid for my travel from New York, my accommodations, and all my meals. This was the first press trip I’d joined in almost four years. I decided to take it for a number of reasons, chief among these was the fact that the resort's stratospheric rates were so far beyond my budget that the press trip would likely be my only opportunity to visit. The PR firm organizing the press trip was really eager to get me on board and urged me to take the press trip before I was able to confirm an assignment.

My three nights went quickly and very pleasantly. Reviewing my unpublished notes just now I am reminded again what a special place it is, how much I would have loved to publish a piece about it. I also think, if you’ll forgive the immodesty, that my notes do a very good job at getting at what makes the place so extraordinary.

I had trouble finding a home for a publication. Though the resort is storied, it’s also several decades old. It’s tough to find space for a feature about a resort that’s forty years old, especially one that hasn’t had any major upgrades recently. After extensive surveys of luxury titles and dozens of query emails, I finally found an interested publication, a gay magazine. I contacted a gay couple I'd overlapped with at the resort to make sure they'd had a good experience at the resort as a couple. Satisfied that they had, I then emailed the head of the PR firm representing the resort and passed on my news. Her response came a full four weeks after my original email:

In the past [the resort] has shied away for targeting any publications that are very niche because they like the resort to have a balance of guests so my guess is they won't be keen on the gay publication.  Have you had any luck with other publications?

I was pissed off, sure, but I was also flabbergasted. This was 2009. A recession was on. The rooms at this resort in high season were close to $1000 per night. During my visit at the tail-end of high season, the resort wasn't anywhere near capacity. And the concern was over a "niche" demographic? What did "balance of guests" even mean? I waited a few weeks and wrote to explain my concerns. I never got a response from the head of the firm or anyone at the resort. The last thing I felt compelled to do was continue to try to find a publication for a story. In fact, after mulling it over briefly I realized that I wouldn't have felt ok writing about the resort at all.

Here's the question, finally, that I want to ponder. Had my connection, my loyalty, my sense of client service been to the resort first and foremost, would I have felt obligated to continue searching for a publication despite its outright hostility to "niche" markets? I don't know. And I hope I'll never have to find out.

FutureBrand's 2009 Country Brand Index

FutureBrand's 2009 Country Brand index is out. It can be found and purchased here. It comes in at a pricey $250, though the Executive Summary can be downloaded for free.

I should offer the disclaimer that I contributed to this year's edition. That acknowledged, the report is an exciting read for anyone interested in how nations build (and flee from) their brands.

Travel Writers, Media Support, and Nonexistent Budgets

Gawker, following up on a DailyFinance post by Jeff Bercovici, ignited a mini-controversy last week over the case of Mike Albo, a freelance New York Times travel writer who went on a press junket to Jamaica. Even though Albo did not write about the junket for the Times, he violated the newspaper's code simply by participating in the press trip in the first place. To see this very particular yet marginal debate brought into Gawker's snarky bailiwick was amusing and also sort of surprising.

And then, this afternoon, the NYT fired Albo.

The question of media support and the nimbus of ethics surrounding the practice is old hat for travel writers. We think about these things in depth because we must. Travel can be expensive, you see, and unless we are simply in business to amuse ourselves, we can't lose sight of the objective of actually making money. Media support is an essential part of travel journalism.

Now I'm the first to find fault with junkets. I don't like being herded into particular activities with a bunch of travel writers. I don't like feeling insulated and protected when I travel. But media support takes a range of forms—micromanaged junkets are but one of these—and it is key to service travel writing.

The steadfastness with which the Times holds the line against media support verges on the puritanical. Plenty of excellent, reputable publications—including the Financial Times and Gadling, among many others—allow their writers to accept media support, and those of their writers who do acknowledge having received funding in their articles. Beyond the US travel media, it is interesting to note, ethical questions around media support are much less frequent.

As the Albo case demonstrates, the New York Times does not merely demand that travel writers not receive media support for present assignments. It also requires writers—including freelancers—not to have previously received any media support for a two-year period prior to writing for the newspaper. (This was, at any rate, the nature of the beast in the fall of 2006, when I wrote an article for the Times on budget Caribbean travel.)

Against this backdrop, there are consistent sins-of-omission rumors within the travel writing world—questions, in other words, about how thoroughly editors interrogate their freelancers regarding matters of trip funding. Here's an illustration, though one that is clearly based on hearsay. This past April I went on my first press trip in four-and-a-half years. I accepted it after careful consideration of income, calendar, likelihood of article placement, and type of experience on offer. Regarding the final of these considerations, the trip was one that I could never have executed on my own. I duly sent out dozens of emails to editors in search of an appropriate publication—omitting, naturally, those publications opposed to press trips. I emailed an editor at a Hearst magazine for advice. She candidly informed me that I shouldn't put any energy into worrying about which publications maintain interdictions against media support, dismissing a particularly celebrated editorial line against junkets as "bs," adding that she knew "a lot of writers [at this particular publication] that go on press trips." Fascinating. The more assiduously rulebound of us—like, um, me—might be forgiven for feeling like chumps after receiving this breezy blast of information.

Still, this is but a sideshow to the real issue, which consists, as I see it, of three parts. First, travel journalism would grind to a halt without media support. Secondly, good travel journalism and media support can coexist. Not all travel stories are equal. A detailed review of a hotel or restaurant, for example, arguably should ideally be carried out by anonymous reviewers who have neither identified themselves nor revealed their affiliations in advance. A guidebook chapter assignment, by way of contrast, might end up being far more comprehensive thanks to the involvement and support of a local tourist board. Let's also not forget that a funded trip does not always result in favorable review. Public relations firm imperatives often remain unmet. My third point belabors the obvious—yes, Albo violated the NYT's rules, as silly as they are.

It is difficult to make a living as a travel writer. Few publications pay expenses, and many publications pay terribly. I know I'm not the only travel writer who has taken assignments resulting in a net income loss. For newspapers or magazines to demand that writers not take any form of media support while failing to cover expenses or pay adequately is unfortunate. It attempts to universally map an ethical standard onto a varied and complex terrain. And in an era of slashed budgets, it will lead to thinner travel sections and a further narrowing of the field of prospective travel writers.

Whither the Travel Agent Industry?

I'm no purist when it comes to travel. On four occasions, I've booked truly inexpensive flight/hotel packages that I very much doubt I could have assembled for less on my own. And though I prefer places that are off the beaten path, I appreciate mass tourism and enjoy some of the most heavily trafficked tourist destinations around.

But in all my years of travel I've only once used a travel agent—back in 1998, when I sought to obtain a visa to visit Russia while living far from the nearest Russian consulate. Outside of contexts in which visa procurement or itinerary development is extremely difficult to arrange without specialized guidance, I can't imagine why I'd ever rely on a travel agent.

In fact, there is less and less of a need for even inexperienced travelers to rely on travel agents. Guidebooks and online research will answer most questions that prospective travelers have, and it's easy to book and make reservations online without ever needing to rely on an intermediary.

I've been polling people over the last few months about travel agents, asking about past or continued reliance. The only people I've come across who use travel agents regularly are traveling with vastly larger budgets than mine, and they're visiting places with poor tourism infrastructures.

It's also not clear to me that it's financially worthwhile to enter the field. On Nevis in February I met a hotel manager who previously ran her own travel agency. She told me that she saw the writing on the wall years ago and fled to hospitality. She suggested that, given the sharp reduction in commissions commanded by travel agents, the only reason to become a travel agent was to obtain reduced airfares and hotel rates. Salaries aren't exactly massive, either. According to a 2006 Travel Institute survey, frontline travel agents in the United States make an average salary of $31,115, while agency managers average $43,130. (These numbers, I assume, are three years old.)

Even the key credentializing organizations within the global travel agent industry, like IATA, are losing their centrality. Mexican travel agencies, to offer one example, are rebelling against IATA. According to this article, written last month, there were 5200 IATA-accredited travel agencies in Mexico in 1994. In Mexico today, there are only 1500 travel agencies with IATA accreditation—and another 1300 operating without it.

Certainly, travel agents have a future in many fields. Adventure travel, business travel, group travel, and other types of specialized travel will continue to benefit from experts who have insider knowledge and can get various arrangements booked quickly. But for most travelers—at the very least, most travelers in countries with relatively few bureaucratic obstacles for tourists—travel agents increasingly seem as if they inhabit a parallel yet quite antiquated universe.