Charleston isn’t even in the top 10 oldest cities in the U.S., which surprised me. But after exploring the town late on a Thursday night and again early Friday morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about the concept of tourism. I knew Charleston was a popular destination, but as Danielle and I wrapped up our haunted walking tour with our guide, Dustin, I realized there were 17 other people doing the exact same thing, on a random Thursday night in April. Walking back to the overpriced parking lot to find the rental car, I noticed the bars were packed. Not weekend-in-a-small-town packed, more like Vegas-on-a-Saturday packed. That would make sense in Miami or NYC or even Nashville. But Charleston?
And that’s not a diss to Charleston at all! I just can’t stop thinking about the concept of tourism.
Albany, NY was settled 56 years before Charleston. That blew my mind. I’ve been to Albany. It’s a cool city. (Go Firebirds!) But I can’t imagine the 518 being high on the list for bachelorette parties. So what is it? Why Charleston? Why anywhere, really?
There’s no way all these girls in matching t-shirts are in Chucktown because of the colonial architecture.
It got me thinking, do places attract tourists because there’s a lot to do, or is there a lot to do because tourists keep coming? It’s a weird loop. Cities entertain because people visit, and people visit because cities entertain.
When I was a kid, Atlantic City seemed like a magical place. I’d hear stories about legendary boxing matches at Boardwalk Hall, the casinos, the nightlife. Eleven-year-old me wanted to pop bottles of Ace of Spades at Jay-Z’s 40/40 Club so bad! Now if a friend invites me to Atlantic City, I ask ChatGPT to help me craft a polite excuse.
Growing up in New Jersey used to mean you were never far from a weekend getaway. The Playboy Club in Vernon. The endless resorts in the Pocono Mountains. Back then, honeymooners and celebrities flocked to these places.
Now? The Playboy Club sits abandoned. The Poconos are littered with rotting, empty resorts. The idea that a place can lose its status as a tourist destination is just as fascinating to me as how it became one in the first place.
And while I’m here in Charleston, doing what tourists do, I still catch myself feeling oddly embarrassed. Why is it awkward to look like a tourist? Why do I feel self-conscious taking photos or stopping to read a historical marker? When Dustin asked where everyone was from, why was I so hesitant to answer? I’ll never see these people again in my life. I came here to explore a place I’ve never been. That’s the whole point, right? To get lost in it, take the photo, ask the dumb question, and not overthink it?
Tourism is full of contradictions. We travel to experience something real, something new, but we often engage with a version of a place that’s been polished, packaged, and priced out for us. We want to feel like we’ve discovered something even though it’s right there on the map, in the brochure, or recommended by our Uber driver.
And yet, here I am, walking, eating, admiring, and shopping. Taking it all in. Thinking about how strange it is to be a tourist, while being one.