This past summer I spent an expensive month studying abroad in London (and to quote Ferris, if you have the means, I recommend visiting; it is so choice!). And while I’d like to say that studying occupied 100 percent of my time?we all know that’s a lie.
The truth is, I spent a disturbing amount of time fretting over the quantity and quality of my picture taking. I had this nervous, nagging feeling that I was somehow missing London if I wasn’t squinting through the camera’s peep-hole the entire time. Thoughts like, “Should I have taken more pictures of Her Majesty’s rose garden?” morphed into “Average people eating an average lunch?why didn’t I get that?” It’s a sickness, and many of us suffer from it.
I blame the picture albums with shots of Minnie and Mickey and every family member-all “ooohing” and “awwwing” and someone inevitably yelling, “That’s a great one, Tom; you’ll have to make me a copy.” And then to be in Europe with all its photographable history?
I panicked: How did I know I had captured whatever I was supposed to be capturing? I’d say, “Wait, one more?you weren’t smiling,” to the Tower of London. My plan was to amass hundreds of pictures and hopefully the perfect one was somewhere in there, and no one would know I didn’t know what I was doing.
However, during one of the weekends during which I really should have been studying, Jon, a fellow abroader, and I went to Paris, where we were fortunate enough to visit the Cathedral of Notre Dame during a midday mass.
Angelic voices filled the cavernous rooms; a man draped in white, silky robes with gold and red sashes hanging from his shoulders led the prayer. Common sense said, be quiet, no photography. There were even signs up with a red line through the images of a camera and a mouth, just in case common sense was not one’s strong suit.
But apparently it doesn’t apply to tourists because as the chorus sang and the word “Amen” floated around our ears, so did the sound of camera buttons being clicked. That’s not to say that the tourists weren’t moved. Their mouths were opened in “awe,” eyebrows furrowed and bent, eyes moist with tears, and then?click.
But my point is thus: Do the rights of the tourists-which definitely exist-outweigh the rights of the historical place-which also definitely exist?
Seeing all these renowned places of significance descended upon like ants on a gummy bear made me realize that they are, in essence, nothing more than tourist attractions. But when did wanting to see a major piece of history require you to snap a picture inches away from an original Van Gogh? It’s a fine line, my friends. And in the end, is your photo worth potentially damaging the invaluable painting? It seems to me that there is something about being in the same space as something that a camera simply cannot capture.
So the next time you visit London, tell the Tower and the Abby to take five. After all-you’ve been there, and that’s much better than seeing a picture of it.