There’s something deeply human about the way we see the world when we’re traveling. It’s not just curiosity—it’s a kind of mental filter that turns the mundane into magic. I’ve seen it happen to me countless times: walking into a tiny village in Italy and suddenly feeling like I’ve stumbled into a scene from a movie, or watching a group of elderly men play cards in a dusty café and imagining they’re the heart of some ancient, noble tradition. But here’s the twist: when someone from another country does the same thing to our towns, it feels like a mirror held up to our own blind spots. Take the viral video of a Korean traveler exploring Woy Woy, Australia—a place most Australians would describe as 'quaint' if they’re being polite and 'boring' if they’re not. The traveler’s charm and enthusiasm for the town’s second-hand bookstore, local library, and fishing wharf struck a nerve, not because Woy Woy is suddenly remarkable, but because it exposed how we all do this to every place we visit.
Personally, I think this phenomenon is both beautiful and dangerous. On one hand, it’s what makes travel transformative. When you’re in a new place, you’re more likely to notice the small details—the smell of a bakery, the way sunlight filters through a market, the rhythm of a street musician’s song. These moments become sacred because they’re foreign. But here’s the catch: we often strip these places of their complexity. We reduce them to Instagram aesthetics, turning a struggling town into a 'hidden gem' or a group of elderly locals into symbols of 'authenticity.' What makes this particularly fascinating is how it reveals our own biases. We romanticize the 'other' while ignoring the same qualities in our own backyards. Why is a crumbling European village a 'charming secret' but a similar one in our own country just 'boring'? It’s a form of cultural myopia, and it’s something I’ve noticed in my own travels.
Let’s talk about Japan for a second. I’ve been there enough times to know that the convenience store isn’t just a convenience store—it’s a microcosm of Japanese culture, with its precise organization, endless snack options, and the quiet efficiency of the staff. But when I first arrived, I saw it as a portal to some kind of hyper-modern utopia. I posted photos of my favorite bento box and marveled at the way the vending machines worked. It wasn’t until I returned home and saw my local grocery store that I realized how I’d been projecting my own fantasies onto a place that was simply doing what it always does. This isn’t just about travel; it’s about how we consume culture. Social media has amplified this tendency, turning every trip into a curated performance of discovery. And when someone else does it to our towns, it feels like a punch to the gut. Suddenly, we’re the ones being observed, and the lens is unflattering.
What many people don’t realize is that this behavior isn’t just about ignorance—it’s about survival. Traveling forces us to simplify the world into digestible chunks. We need to create narratives to make sense of the unfamiliar, and sometimes those narratives are just plain wrong. For example, the idea that people in 'developing countries' are 'happier' despite having less is a myth that ignores systemic issues and cultural context. Smiling in Asia isn’t always a sign of joy—it’s often a social obligation. Yet, we keep sharing photos of smiling locals as if we’ve uncovered some profound truth. It’s a kind of cultural voyeurism, and it’s not harmless. When we reduce entire communities to stereotypes, we lose the chance to understand their real stories.
If you take a step back and think about it, this behavior also says something about how we view ourselves. We’re all guilty of it, whether we’re in Woy Woy or Kyoto. We romanticize the 'other' because it gives us a sense of superiority, or at least a sense of being part of something bigger. But what this really suggests is that we need to be more self-aware. The next time you find yourself gushing about a 'charming' village in a faraway land, ask yourself: would I say the same thing about a similar place in my own country? And if not, why not? Because the truth is, the world is full of Woy Woys. Some are just more photogenic than others.
In my opinion, the real value of travel isn’t in finding the 'authentic' or the 'hidden,' but in learning to see with more nuance. It’s about recognizing that every place, no matter how run-down or 'unremarkable,' has its own story. And maybe, just maybe, if we stop treating the world like a series of Instagram captions, we’ll start seeing it for what it truly is: complicated, messy, and endlessly fascinating.
