The debate about whether journalists and bloggers should accept freebies is so old and hoary that I’m reluctant to bring it up again. But my recent experience in Germany shed a bit of new light on it for me, so tough, back to the well-chewed territory…

For those not in the know, often travel journalists – and increasingly, bloggers – will get hosted free of charge by tourist boards, hotels etc in the hope/ expectation that coverage in certain publications and online outlets will result. Some publications and writers get high and mighty about this, saying they won’t take freebies as it leads to biased coverage. Other writers do take them, and insist that even though they’re accepting the hospitality, it doesn’t influence what they eventually write.

My stance

I stand somewhere in the middle. I no longer go on group press trips (which are usually about herding x number of journalists around on a bus, all covering exactly the same things and with very little if any time to explore independently) but I do accept – and often actively seek – free hotel rooms, tours, attraction tickets etc. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a necessary evil, more about keeping costs down than anything else.

Where I will go against the grain is the issue of bias. Is what I write likely to be biased as a result of accepting hospitality? Yes it is. And any writer that says otherwise is lying to themselves. The key question – and the one that no-one seems to elaborate on as they’re all too busy saying bias is full stop bad and that it doesn’t happen anyway – is “What sort of bias?”

Types of bias

For me, the bias is that if I’ve stayed somewhere for free or done a tour for free, I’m more likely to write about it in some way. This is pretty obvious. I’m less likely to write about something I’ve not experienced. So, yes, I’m more likely to seek to write stories about places and topics where I know I can keep my costs down through hosting. Is that unethical? I’m not sure, but it’s an uncomfortable admission that any writer who does accept freebies should make.

For me, the crucial question is whether not whether something does get coverage but the tone of that coverage. The companies and tourism authorities giving away the freebies aren’t stupid. They know that coverage is far more likely to be positive than negative. The problem comes when this becomes a tacit understanding between host and guest. There are many writers (and I’m sure, bloggers) out there who are quite happy to enter this unspoken pact in order to keep the good life coming. And this is why the whole question of whether to accept comps, FOCS, press trips and famils has come up.

The freebie test

Last week, I found myself put to the test on this front. I was researching a guide to Frankfurt for a newspaper travel section. The tourist board had put me up in what is rated as one of the best hotels in the city. Quite what the deal between the tourist board and the hotel was, I don’t know and I didn’t ask, but it would be fair to assume that all parties would be expecting me to include said hotel in the accommodation section of the guide.

Alas, there was a problem. Or, rather, numerous little problems. The carpets were stained, the maid was knocking on my door expecting to clean my room at 8.20am and then didn’t return by the time I’d got back at 4.30pm, internet access cost EUR22 a day and was excruciatingly slow, breakfast cost EUR32, little bottles of water from the minibar cost EUR7, the towels were thin and paltry rather than big and fluffy… and so on. Nothing in itself was truly awful, but the succession of small things added up to a hotel that is trading on past reputation, is blatantly profiteering at the customer’s expense and has become lazy in catering for its guests. When the (slightly dated and mundane) rooms regularly cost EUR200 a night, this is not good enough. Particularly when I had also inspected other hotels in roughly the same price bracket and they, frankly, were doing a better job.

Best course of action?

There was no way I could honestly recommend the hotel I was being hosted in as one of the best three top end hotels in Frankfurt. So, what does a writer do in this situation? If the answer is to just slip it in anyway as all the other guides do, no-one will pull you up on it and it’ll keep everyone happy, then there is a problem. This, for me, is where the ethical line is crossed.

As far as I was concerned, there was only one thing I could do: leave it out. If I was actually commissioned to review the place rather than pick out three top choices in town, I’d have written a not-exactly-flattering review.

But what about the fact that I was being hosted? How should I deal with the (probably expectant) PR people at the tourist board and, if necessary, the hotel. My solution probably isn’t perfect, but I e-mailed the woman from the tourist board explaining why the hotel would be left out. Unfortunately, I was then collared by one of the management team at check out, who asked how my stay was. I could have just muttered “fine” and sauntered off, but I felt the right thing to do was explain how I felt about the hotel and why I’d not be including it in the story. It was an excruciating couple of minutes, but I still feel it was the right thing to do. To his credit, the chap took it on the chin rather well, admitted to a few of the faults and explained that a substantial refurbishment is on the cards. Good on him – at least he’s aware of the problems and is prepared to deal with them.

The pact

This to me is the pact that you really should be making if, as a writer, you accept free stuff. It’s not the unspoken agreement to provide fluffy, glowing coverage that matters; it’s the responsibility to stand up and explain yourself in situations where your integrity would be compromised by fulfilling that unspoken agreement. And if you’re not prepared to do that, you should think long and hard about whether you’re doing the right job.

This morning, I had what I thought was an extraordinarily encounter. Guide book writers may be more acquainted with it than I am. But, to me, it just didn’t make sense.

I am currently in Bath, researching a city guide for a major Australian newspaper. As part of that, I need to recommend hotels to stay at, and to be able to recommend hotels, I need to at least have a look at them.

Dukes Hotel in Bath

One hotel that has had generally favourable write-ups in guidebooks and web sources is the Dukes Hotel. And as I was going past it, I thought I should pop in and have a quick peek if possible. At the reception desk, I was met by a middle-aged chap who was on the phone. As soon as he finished his call, I explained what I was doing and politely asked if it was possible to have a brief look at one of the rooms.

His response was: “I’m afraid I’m the only one here, and I can’t leave reception.”

Fine, I replied. Would it be possible to get a key and go up for a quick look myself so that I don’t have to trouble the busy man on reception?

I expected him to either acquiesce, ask if I could come back at a less busy time or say there weren’t currently any rooms unoccupied. What I got was a stern face, arms crossed and a firm “No” with a shake of the head. There wasn’t even an attempt to accommodate what was frankly a fairly reasonable request.

The costs of not being in guides

So I left the Dukes without seeing any rooms. It’ll not be going in my guide. This may not be such a big deal to the management at the hotel, but what if I was writing for the Lonely Planet (it is included in the current edition of Lonely Planet’s England) or another major guide that clearly drives an awful lot of business their way? One intransigent bulwark on the front desk could cost them an awful lot of money in the long run.

Customer requests

This may seem like a journalist moaning away with no relevance to the actual customers of the hotel, but think about it. What does this say about the standards of service at the hotel? If someone called down about a problem in their room, would he go up and deal with it or state that he can’t do anything about it because he can’t leave reception? If I was a potential customer walking in and asking to see a room as they needed somewhere to stay for the night, would that request be turned down?

No can do

As it happens, the only thing I can accurately say about the hotel based on experience is that a no-can-do attitude permeates and that I’d not recommend it to anyone on this basis. This may be ridiculously unrepresentative, but you have to go with what you know, don’t you? I may have arrived unannounced at what may have been an inconvenient time, but the fact that there was not even an attempt to assist speaks volumes about service standards at this particular hotel. And at between £139 and £219 a night, I suspect most guests would expect more than a defiant “no” when asking for something.

Many websites – be they for hotel, airlines or generic travel companies trying to build their own brand – go down the travel guide route. All seem to do much the same thing; the sort of material that you’d find in a guidebook, only in a more condensed form. In essence, they’re trying to satisfy a web audience with a scarcely altered print format.

In print, the sameness doesn’t matter too much. You generally just buy one guidebook – and you go with the one that’s most up to date or that you trust the brand of. On the web, your site has to stand out. And thus the content has to be distinctive – but how to make it so?

A few good suggestions are gathering under the comments on Jeremy’s post, but I think two things are key…

Stop trying to appeal to everyone

Most guides try to offer something for everyone; they try to cover the range of options and tastes as best as they possibly can. And this is what leads to them becoming generic – they’re not written from the perspective of a particular segment of the target audience.

To make something distinctive, I think you need to identify what that target market is – be it businessmen, foodies, golfers, art buffs or parents with kids. I’d argue that there is one target market that is scandalously undercatered for – the traveller with a reasonable budget that just wants somewhere decent to stay whilst enjoying their break. These people are often made to feel left out by guides, which insist on calling rooms for under £100 a night “budget”, concentrating on ‘hip’ cocktail bars where a drink costs a day’s wages and only really going into detail about the town’s high end restaurants. These travellers – who don’t want to stay in a hostel, but want a decent place to stay for between approximately £40 and £80 a night – make up a significant percentage of the market, but are often made to feel like tight-fisted freaks.

A guide concentrating on that sector of the market, that focuses on the good rather than the cool and the value for money rather the cheapest or most lavish, would be distinctive. It could list and review scores of hotels in the £40 to £100 bracket rather than a token one or two, and it could include those pleasant terrace restaurants where the food is reasonable and the views are nice – the ones that are often left out because they’re not cool enough.

That’s one way of doing it. The other is to have numerous pages of the guide concentrating on particular niches. What are the best places for those businessmen, foodies, golfers, art buffs or parents with kids?

Stop trying to avoid offence

When I read a guide, I want to know the bad things. They put the good things in perspective. Objectivity is the last thing I want – opinion is a vital component of a guide.

You can usually tell when a guidebook writer hasn’t stayed at a hotel or eaten at a restaurant. If they have, they usually mention something specific or one of the negatives about the place. No-one ever writes anything negative about something they haven’t experienced themselves – a feisty opinion is more likely to draw attention and see the writer/ researcher caught out in the long run. Thus, a smattering of brutally frank one-liners helps build trust.

It also, on a more cynical level, builds page views. I know when Ninemsn commissioned a series of Insider Guides, it was always the Where Not To Go pages (such as this one for Darwin) that were in the most viewed list.

Alas, it’s an easy option to paint everywhere and everything on the OK-to-wonderful scale. Highlighting negatives gets peoples backs up. Hotels and restaurants complain and cause hassle, tourist boards are less inclined to give support when coverage isn’t likely to be glowing and local people start getting overdefensive.

But to be distinctive, you need to piss a few people off. Trying to stand out on the web is like trying to be a stand up comic – you can’t rely on jokes that nobody is offended by, because no-one will come to see you. Be brave; break a few eggs to make the omelette.

Part of this comes back to identifying the audience you’re writing for. When you’re writing for everyone, there’s always that nagging doubt that your opinion of a place won’t match that of people with completely different mindset and budget. You can’t say that the ‘hip’ cocktail bar is full of tossers because a number of such tossers will be reading your guide. Once you’ve decided who you are aiming at, you can tailor the criticism. A £30 shabby two star might seem like a palace to backpackers, but it’s a poor option for that unheralded group I was speaking about earlier – they’d be better off in the reasonable chain four star that you can get for £15 more. Whether the two star is a bargain upgrade from a dorm or a down-at-heel slum depends entirely on your perspective. A guide publisher needs to decide what that perspective is first – and then tell writers to adopt it and be warts-and-all in their coverage.

As any writer who has written something for an online publication will probably know, feedback isn’t always that much of a blessing.

In the not so brave old world, you would write a piece for your newspaper, and unless it was controversial enough to spark hundreds of letters to the editor, you’d never know what the great unwashed thought of it.

Online comments sections

Nowadays, you write it, it goes online, and people can tell you exactly what they think within seconds via the comments section. In theory, this is amazing. But as many an online columnist would tell you, the people who like leaving online comments can often be a bit ‘special’.

Safety in South Africa

I bring the subject up, as recently I wrote a piece on how to stay safe in South Africa. I spent three weeks on the ground, speaking to everyone I could about the issue, and occasionally walking through areas on my own that many would consider ‘no go’. My conclusion was that, yes, there is a lot of crime in South Africa and, yes, some places are dangerous. But, on balance, the media hysteria about such problems is somewhat overplayed and the majority of visitors will encounter no crime if they keep their wits about them, use common sense and take a series of sensible precautions.

The response

It was, I think, a fair, balanced assessment, and one that I put an unusual amount of time and effort into coming to. But it started a firestorm.

“You’ll be responsible for the tourists who get murdered and raped in that country,” said one commenter. “This article is the most irresponsible, idiotic and totally false that I have had the great misfortune to have ever read,” chimed in another. Others accused me of being a racist or merely parroting ANC propaganda.

The problems of online feedback

Charming, huh? I’ll leave you to judge whether such comments are reasonable. But it does illustrate the problems of online feedback – those who have really strong opinions are far more likely to voice them. And when you’ve got an entire stream of comments from people who take the extreme position on something, it doesn’t exactly help readers form a balanced view.

Hotels and Tripadvisor

In such instances, a writer feels like a hotel that just had to deal with a group of guests from hell who, because management refused to give them everything they wanted for free, then decide to leave a series of bitterly stinging reviews on Tripadvisor out of spite

The need for moderation

The balance between free speech and distortion in favour of he who shouts loudest is a tricky one to manage. Online comments sections should be an amazing forum for debate – and occasionally they are. Alas, they’re often the equivalent of handing a megaphone to anyone with a very specific axe to grind. A debate without a moderator tends to be no more than a lot of people shouting.

For someone who does most of his work for websites and is almost surgically attached to his laptop, I can be something of a technophobe at times.

I don’t have an iPhone, and neither do I understand why I need one. I have a long-standing mistrust of Apple products (anyone bandying about the myth that they’re more reliable than PCs should try and use the succession of Macs that I have tried to lay out magazines and newspapers on) – and I don’t feel the need to have information on tap at every second of every day.

As for the iPad, erm, isn’t it just a less useful laptop?

In defence of guidebooks

And despite all the apps, online guides and mobile phone travel wizardry available, I still find a guidebook incredibly useful. And there are three reasons that I suspect a printed guidebook will take a long time to die out.

I’m discounting the usual ones here – it’s nice to have something you can hold and turn the pages of, it’s useful for when you’re on a plane and you can’t switch electronic devices on etc. These are romantic, but they’re not what’s going to keep the printed guidebook alive. The following points are.

1.       The sun

I am told that iPads have special screen resolutions and ‘ink’ that allows you to see the screen properly in bright sunlight. Of this, I am immensely sceptical. One of the ironies of working from home as I do is that I hardly ever sit in the garden to work – simply because I can’t see the screen. The best, most lovingly information in the world is useless if you can’t see it due to sun-glare.

For the same reason, I like to have an old-fashioned physical viewfinder on a digital camera. If it’s ruddy impossible to see what you’re taking a picture of on the digital screen, the digital screen is a liability.

2.       Loseability

It is fantastic that you can have the digital equivalent of 1,000 guidebooks on a smartphone, iPad or netbook computer. But it’s precisely this ability to store everything that makes these things too valuable for many travellers.

Personally, if everything was stored on one item, I’d be so terrified of losing it that I’d be constantly paranoid about it. I’d be simultaneously insistent on carrying it around absolutely everywhere with me and too scared to go anywhere with it.

If I misplace my guidebook, it’s annoying, but no great drama – I go to the shop and buy another copy. To have to do that with an iPad, then redownload everything, would be a serious problem.

That value also counts when it comes to theft as well as loss. If I’m in what looks like a seedy area of town, I’m usually a little reluctant to get a guidebook out of my bag. It makes me look like a tourist, and thus a potential target. But at least any potential mugger won’t want my guidebook. Whipping out an iPad is practically an invitation to knife-wielding ne’er-do-wells.

3.       Battery life

In 1800, one of the great unsung heroes of science came up with something that – try as we might – has not been significantly improved upon since. His name was Alessandro Volta, and his invention was the electric cell. To all intents and purposes, this was the modern day battery.

Improvements have been made to Volta’s design since, to the point where immensely powerful machines can run for a good few hours on one battery. But the fact remains that batteries still have a limited life – and once the battery goes, so does your precious information.

Frankly, I don’t want to be looking for power points every few hours. And having a book allows me the freedom to access the information whenever I want without being a slave to the socket.

For me, this is the key reason why printed books have got a lot of life in them yet – until there is a revolution on Volta’s 210-year-old design rather than a steady evolution, any electronic device is going to be hamstrung by its need for electricity.

As some of my regular readers may be aware, I recently spent two months travelling around Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and Singapore. I was on a somewhat whistlestop round-the-world trip, and I primarily did it because I had a number of commissions for various clients in the UK and Australia.

Blogging gig

But I also managed to find myself with a regular blogging gig. Which, for someone who still sees himself as an old school print journalist with an online arm, was veering into uncharted territory.

This was particularly the case as I wasn’t writing for a traditional publication – be it paper, magazine or online travel site. I was writing for the website of a company that specialises in selling round the world flight tickets.

I’ll not go into the full financial arrangements or Roundtheworldflights.com’s reasons for wanting the blog content. Suffice to say, we both came to a deal that we were happy with and thought was beneficial to both parties.

Ethical grey line

However, this meant that my feet were rather close to an ethical grey line. Essentially, this was corporate work. Would I be veering too close to PR and compromising my independence and integrity? It was something I was a little uncomfortable with.

Compromise?

It was, therefore, a surprise to feel less compromised than I normally do. When I’m pitching and writing articles for my usual clients there are a number of hidden pressures. Negative stories are nigh on impossible to sell, so I am always looking for the positive spin. I’m rarely able to write freely about what I found most interesting, as there needs to be a strong focus on a certain angle or storyline. I write with the readers – many of whom won’t share my mindset or tastes – in mind.

In short, the level of constraint in writing a normal commissioned travel article is surprisingly high. This is not necessarily a bad thing – editors need to focus their content on their readership and give a reason to pick up rather than just letting writers blather on.

Corporate constraints

But surely writing blog posts for a company like I’ve just done is likely to have even more restrictions and limitations? Surprisingly, for me, this wasn’t the case. This is partly because Roundtheworldflights.com wanted me because my style and mindset fitted the company, rather than me having to adapt to fit the company tone.

We came to the arrangement because they liked my writing and voice; it wasn’t a case of me adapting it to the needs of their company. The guidance was also remarkably hands off – too. I was trusted to find the most interesting things to write about, and then write about them.

Freedom

To me, this was a thoroughly enjoyable, almost unprecedented level of freedom. Some posts were hardly about travel at all – one on Singapore veered into social comment, whilst others were slices of whimsy about sheep love and ridiculous fibreglass animals.

Other posts were on topics I could never get away with writing about for my usual clients. Which newspaper travel section is going to take a piece on running a gauntlet of heroin addicts in Vancouver, for example? Which web portal will eschew the usual top ten list for a rambling account of doing joyous nothing?

It was odd. I actually had more freedom and independence to write about what I liked, and arguably more integrity as I wasn’t leaving out the bits I’d usually have to discard. And from all the feedback I’ve had, most people reading the blog have enjoyed this factor.

Utilising content

In coming years, I can see more companies following this avenue of promotion. It makes sense in many ways – bringing in traffic, inspiring potential customers, unique identity, humanising a company and matching products to audience – to enhance a website with plenty of well-written content. The key is making sure that writer and company are a good match. And, from a writer’s perspective, feeling that you’re able to take the gig without compromising your integrity and reputation elsewhere.

Do you think writing for a corporate site compromises a journalist’s independence and integrity? Share your thoughts below.

I am acutely aware that there is more to doing travel PR than forever leaping every time a journalist clicks their fingers. In fact, some PRs may argue that dealing with journalists only forms a small part of their job.

But it is a part of the job nonetheless, and the whole process can be made a lot easier by for all concerned by doing one simple thing: making it obvious who you represent.

Who are the clients?

I hold up, as a classic example, Euro RSCG Biss Lancaster. Their website is, alas, something of a monstrosity and appears to be written in an unknown language that closely resembles corporate-ese. But the main problem is that I have no idea who their clients are. Sure, there are three case studies presented there, but are they past or present clients? What else is in the portfolio? Why is it worth bearing Euro RSCG Biss Lancaster in mind as a potentially useful contact?

Faust PR does exactly the same thing. A couple of testimonials is the only hint of clientele.

Big vs small

Even big multinational PR agencies fall into the same trap. Fleishman-Hillard proudly lists contacts to all of its offices around the globe, but doesn’t name a single client that it represents.

When you’re big, you’re probably going to get away with it. But if you’re small, it can make you look even smaller. Take Cartwright Communications – seemingly a one woman operation – the lack of a client list makes it simply look as though she hasn’t got any clients.

There’s nothing wrong with being a one woman operation, of course. In fact many of the best, most helpful PRs I have come across work like this. But they also make it quite clear who they work for.

Why you should have a client list on your website

But why is it useful to have a client list on your website? Let’s use the example of Saltmarsh PR – a company I deal with on a regular basis. In May 2008, I went to Iceland. I discovered that Saltmarsh handled the Iceland Tourism account, dropped them a line and found them very helpful.

At the same time, I had a peek at their website to see who else they deal with. Dominica and Montserrat piqued my interest, and I ended up building both into my Caribbean trip in February 2009, generating a whole host of stories on both islands as a result. Would this have happened if I didn’t know which agency represented the islands? Unlikely.

How journalists work

It’s ever so simple: journalists are rarely working on just one story at any one time. And if they can spot someone that can help with story B or C whilst researching story A, then they might well use them. If I’m researching a piece on Xville, and can say “I see you also represent Hotel Y in place Z – that fits another piece I’m doing” then it’s helpful for all concerned.

Who works on which account?

From my perspective, the people working on the account should be listed on the website too. BGB half gets this right – under their client section there is a link to an email form that will contact the whole team working on that particular account (such as the Visit Sweden page, for example). Ideally, a list of staff working on the account would be on the client detail page, however.

Helping journalists and prospective clients

In terms of dealing with journalists, simply listing clients and the account managers that work with them on your website makes perfect sense. It helps all concerned, should in theory prevent enquiries going to the wrong person and gives a little boost to your other clients. Keeping the site updated and accurate isn’t too arduous a task either.

And surely it makes sense in terms of attracting other business too? After all, prospective clients checking your firm over will almost certainly look at your website to see who else you handle…

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Grumpy Traveller Recommended Read

Whilst travelling up the middle of Australia, I read The Dog Fence by James Woodford. It’s a simple tale of the author’s trip across the country, following the longest structure ever built by mankind. Wisely, Woodford shuns the Tony Hawks ‘look at me and my wacky fridge full of Moldovan tennis players’ approach, and plays it straight.

The book isn’t about him, or really his journey, but the people who live alongside the giant fence keeping dingos out of south-eastern Australia, and the incredible characters who keep it maintained.

It’s an atmospheric, eye-opening read that lets great stories tell themselves.

If you buy from Amazon UK or Amazon US using these links, I earn a small commission, but I recommend The Dog Fence irrespective of where you purchase it.

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This morning, I flicked over to the Guardian website to be met with a headline that is becoming all too common. Above a picture of black South Africans comes a cry of “The World Cup won’t help us”. The story then goes on to talk to lots of poor South Africans who fear that the World Cup won’t have a positive impact on their lives.

Attitude towards World Cup

This is really starting to piss me off. There seems to be an increasingly sneering attitude towards the first World Cup ever to be held in Africa, and a bizarre expectation that it should ensure the country suddenly turns into a utopia where no-one goes hungry and everyone has a nice suburban house.

Catch-all panacea

In the eyes of some commentators, the World Cup should be a catch-all panacea for deep-rooted social problems. Unless it gets everyone out of township shacks, reduces crime to zero, puts every victim of the old Apartheid system in a nice job with a private parking space and cures AIDS, the World Cup is a scandalous failure.

What is the World Cup?

For God’s sake, chaps – enough with the shrieking, pious hysterics. IT’S A FOOTBALL TOURNAMENT. It can’t fix everything, and it’s not supposed to. Isn’t it enough that it’s undoubtedly doing some good for some of South Africa’s most underprivileged citizens?

South Africa visit

I went out to South Africa in January, and can assure you that there are numerous football-related projects that are bringing hope, education, money and even tourism into some of the country’s most deprived communities. I wrote about one such scheme for Vtravelled, but there are many more. And FIFA sponsors numerous projects throughout the country.

Cape Town Tourism press release

Interestingly, it’s not just me that is riled by this witch hunt. In May, Cape Town Tourism released a very unusual press release. Sick of the numerous stories about how footballers and visitors will be living it up while the poor people in the townships struggle, Cape Town Tourism lashed out. The headline on the release? 2010 FIFA World Cup was never pledged as a solution to all social-economic problems.

Doing some good

Good on them. It needed saying. It’s a sad state of affairs when a genuinely historic sports tournament is lambasted before it has even started, simply because some people won’t see a direct, immediate benefit from it. You know what, the London Olympics probably won’t turn a council estate in Croydon into an idyllic paradise either. And I sincerely doubt that the Rugby World Cup in New Zealand next year will allow everyone in South Auckland to go out and buy Armani suits. To the sniping critics, I ask this: is just doing some good not enough?

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Grumpy Traveller recommended read

For an excellent backgrounder on South Africa’s early history – and how the seeds for the country’s current problems were first sown – get hold of Martin Meredith’s Diamonds, Gold and War. I read it whilst in South Africa, and found it to be an absorbing, thoroughly eye-opening insight into the personalities, greed and disgusting crimes of South Africa’s colonial era.

If you buy through these Amazon UK or Amazon US links, I earn a small commission. As always, however, I recommend the book irrespective of how you buy it.

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Photo obsessives

For the last three weeks or so, I have been on the road. And from Vancouver to Viti Levu, I have been constantly staggered by the number of people I’ve encountered who will happily take photos of absolutely everything for their entire holiday.

I’ve blogged about the need to stop living behind the lens before but, given that I’ve also been taking hundreds of pics for professional reasons, it’s a little hypocritical to harp on about that again.

Compatible crafts?

However, the experience has made me think about one thing that is often left unsaid – namely that travel journalism and travel photography aren’t particularly compatible crafts.

There are a few genuinely brilliant travel photojournalists out there; the rare breed that can produce both top quality writing and top quality photography. But I don’t understand how they manage to do it. I certainly can’t – my photography works on the ‘If you give enough monkeys enough typewriters, they’ll eventually produce the Complete Works of Shakespeare’ theory.

Words and pictures

A second tier is brilliant at one of the two crafts, but just about passable in the other. One is clearly what they do; the other is what they bluff their way through because they increasingly have to.

It is rare to find a publication that will pay for both good writing and good pictures these days. Most will be happy enough to take one of the two and source the other on the cheap. Usually, it’s pictures that suffer – writers will be expected to provide them as part of the fee, or they will be sourced gratis from tourist boards and travel companies.

Best person for the job?

In some ways this is logical. Surely the writer is the best person to take pictures of what they’re covering? After all – they’re there at the time, aren’t they?

Well I’d argue that trying to do both detracts from your ability to do one well. The main reason harks back to my South Africa safari tale – if you’re too busy trying to get the right shot, you’re not observing properly.

Writer needs vs photographer needs

But there’s a whole lot more to it than that. A writer/ researcher needs speed – to cover as much ground as quickly and efficiently as possible. A photographer needs time and patience to get the shot and the lighting right.

A writer is better off travelling light – the less packing and faffing about, the more time to spent doing the research. A photographer needs to carry cumbersome equipment around.

Then there’s the timing of when you visit something. The writer wants to go to, say, St Paul’s Cathedral when it’s open so that they can have a proper look around. The photographer wants to be there just after dawn or just before dusk when the light is best.

For reviews, the writer is better off discrete and anonymous – the photographer needs permission to take the shots and move things if necessary.

The writer needs to do; the photographer needs to stand back. The writer needs the dialogue; the photographer needs the expression. I could go on.

Multi-skilling?

The two crafts are not always compatible. In fact, at times, they’re utterly antagonistic. It’s no wonder that is so hard to be genuinely good at both. And whilst getting writers to take snaps and photographers to bang out a few words may seem to make economic sense, chances are that it’s not multi-skilling – it’s dilution.

Over the next couple of months, I may be a little quieter on this blog and Twitter than usual. That will be because I’m travelling around the world (Canada, Fiji, New Zealand, Australia and Singapore) and won’t get back until the beginning of June.

I’ll still pop up the odd post when something gets on my nerves, whilst I shall probably make sporadic appearances on Twitter when I’m bored, lonely and possibly drunk in a darkened hotel room.

Blogging on the road

But frankly, I’ve got better things to be doing – I’ve been looking forward to this trip for some time, and want to make the most of it. If you really want to hear from me, then I shall be blogging for Roundtheworldflights.com at various stops along the way.

You can read my musings right here. I’ll also be threading in a few articles that I’ve written from previous round the world adventures, such as this missive on playing the uniquely Samoan version of cricket.

Something to read

In the meantime, imagine this post is one of those rubbish episodes of the Simpsons where they lazily string together clips from old shows. Below I’ve linked to a few of my favourite Grumpy Traveller posts – some of which you may have missed the first time round.

1. How tour operators should deal with journalists.
2. How to bring tourists back after a disaster.
3. PRs: 12 reasons why I deleted your press release without reading it.
4. Character hotels vs chain hotels: Why travel writers will rarely recommend the best accommodation.
5. Cliché alert: The ‘hidden gem’ map of Europe.
6. Luxury travel, and why I’ll always find it awkward.
7. Cultural differences: Why not liking them doesn’t make you a racist.
8. Reclining seats on planes: An etiquette guide.
9. Climbing Uluru: Why it shouldn’t be banned, and why you shouldn’t climb it anyway
10. Frequent flyer points: How to get the best value for your Air Miles.