Lonely Planet at 30

Travel Stories: Jim Benning celebrates three decades of groundbreaking independent travel guides

12.29.03 | 9:46 PM ET

lonely planet bookPhoto courtesy Lonely Planet.

I was exploring the Malaysian port city of Melaka a couple of years ago with the help of a Lonely Planet guidebook when I spotted the Loony Planet café.

It was a modest restaurant on a busy street, and its sign featured the same globe-shaped logo and bubbly lower-case letters as my guidebook cover. The café was clearly the work of local entrepreneurs hoping to capitalize on, and have a little fun with, the popular guidebook brand. I was amused.

I never would have expected to see a Malaysian cafe named after a guidebook publisher based thousands of miles away whose mission was to recommend hotels and restaurants in far-flung places just like this. It was, I thought, a bizarre travel-publishing spin on life imitating art. Loony planet, indeed.

I found myself recalling the café recently because the year drawing to a close marks the 30th anniversary of Lonely Planet, the Australia-based publisher whose densely packed guidebooks have accompanied millions of travelers to the far corners of the earth, dispensing advice, offering historical perspective and even providing basic literary companionship in moments of need.

Before arriving in Malaysia, I had understood that Lonely Planet was making a unique impact on world travel. But the Loony Planet café helped put that impact in perspective.

I can’t imagine a café named after another guidebook company. Few other guidebook publishers—few other publishers, period—have inspired the loyal following and sense of community that Lonely Planet has cultivated in so many parts of the world in its three decades. Countless die-hard travelers swear by the company’s guidance. Over the years, in fact, Lonely Planet has sold more than 50 million books.

Many of those same travelers frequent LonelyPlanet.com, the publisher’s encyclopedic Web site, which features the most vibrant travel-related bulletin board on the Internet. Visitors post more than 35,000 messages a month in The Thorn Tree, debating politics and culture and seeking travel companions with messages like this one, which appeared recently:

“Anyone planning some serious trekking in Kyrchistan, Mongolia, Northern Pakistan???? Period: June-August 2004.”

The note specified a couple of high peaks and an urge to keep costs down. It concluded with, “Drop me a line if seriously interested.” On LonelyPlanet.com, that request just might get some serious responses.

These travelers are drawn to Lonely Planet for the same reason I was when I packed my first Lonely Planet guidebook to Europe a decade ago. Beyond the books’ well-researched information, travelers are seduced by the simple but powerful message that inspired the first guide and continues to inspire many recent titles, too.

That message is this: The world is a big, fascinating place, and if you’re so inclined, you can see it on your own. What’s more, you don’t have to spend a fortune to do it. Often, if you travel on local buses and trains, stay in pensions and eat in mom-and-pop restaurants, you will learn more about the world and its people than if you traveled on tourist coaches, stayed in familiar Western chains and ate in hotel restaurants. And if, before you go, you read a bit about the country, its history and people, you will probably come to respect and appreciate the unique qualities they bring to the world. You just might return home a changed person.

It’s a message that has launched a million journeys.

I don’t mean to suggest that Lonely Planet invented thoughtful budget travel. In recent decades, many other guidebooks have promoted the joys of frugal journeys. Arthur Frommer’s “Europe on $5 a Day,” published in 1957, became a classic. But Lonely Planet combined that sensible approach with a wildly adventurous spirit and an appreciation for foreign cultures in a way that was, and still is, perfectly suited to the times.

In the early 1970s, a generation of Westerners was awakening to a world beyond its borders. Young men and women had seen the Beatles go to India and hang with the Maharishi. They read ‘50s Beat novels celebrating Zen-loving, train-hopping dharma bums. On television every night, they watched the war unfold in Vietnam, feeling a range of emotions, but also developing simple curiosity about parts of the globe that suddenly didn’t seem so far away.

Other forces were at work, too: In 1969, the first jumbo jet took flight, connecting more travelers to more distant lands than ever before.

The planet, in a way, was shrinking.

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