Don’t be an “Ant”

[February 20, 2026]  There are travelers, and there are tourists. Tourists see the sights but miss the country. Travelers see the country—and the sights, too. In Cornwall, in the United Kingdom, locals have an old pejorative term for tourists: “emmet,” which literally means “ant.” It paints a vivid picture of those annoying out-of-towners who clog the roads and beaches, swarming around like so many ants. Travelers are welcomed with genuine hospitality because they arrive with real interest in the place and its people. Tourists, by contrast, are often met with condescension and disdain, for they come armed only with idle curiosity. Don’t be an “ant.”

One of the wisest travelers I know is a dedicated tea drinker. He roams the world sipping the globe’s greatest teas—tasting, comparing, collecting rare leaves, and uncovering authentic recipes. Because he travels with purpose, his wanderings carry him far off the beaten path.

Love the history of ancient civilizations? Passionate amateur historians will take you to centuries-old buildings, forgotten roads, weathered stone fences, and the exact places our ancestors once walked. You won’t miss a single one. But if you venture out only to see the sights, you’ll miss the ancient civilizations entirely—and the warm, delightful people who still live among their echoes.

Are you a collector? I have a friend who travels the globe in search of rare books by the world’s great philosophers—slim volumes, weighty tomes, treasured leather-bound editions, and fragile pages of tiny print. In every major city, you’ll find fellow collectors: of books, coins, antique bottles, exquisite vases, or heirloom jewelry. Even if the shopkeeper speaks no English, he has friends who do. And through them, you’ll discover sights, stories, and secrets far richer than anything the most fastidious tourist could ever uncover.

A Catholic friend of mine collects monks. “They’re always delighted to see me,” he says. “I bring news from the outside world, and they offer me a deep, authentic insight into the country. Then they pass me along to the next monastery with warm letters of introduction that guarantee gracious hospitality.” Venturing to remote places, speaking the local language, and befriending the monks who run schools and religious orders, he discovers rich local lore and hidden stories that would thrill any true traveler—yet tourists never even know they exist.

People often say to me, “It’s easy for you to talk—the Army shipped you all over the world.” But in every town on earth, there are locals eager to take you to the most fascinating corners and share the most captivating stories—if you bring something to exchange. You don’t have to drift like a tourist, wandering aimlessly, following the crowds, or letting yourself be herded from one sight to the next. A retired friend of mine visits museums and swaps stories of his own hometown. In return, he is quietly taken to places his fellow tourists never even hear about.

Don’t be a tourist.  Throw away your guidebook and follow your interests.  Whether your passion is bridge construction or flowers, farming or gardens, fishing or horseback riding, butterflies or temples, you’ll find devotees everywhere.

The most knowledgeable person I met in Munich runs a small business restoring historic buildings. Because she sources materials from suppliers across central Germany, she has formed warm friendships with kindred spirits who invite her to lively family feasts and intimate religious ceremonies. They even send their loveliest dancers to perform at her workshop, charming potential clients and turning business into celebration. Through her purposeful work, she steps into the living heart of the culture—experiences no tourist ever sees.

I was fortunate to live for years in many countries—mostly across Europe, Central and South America, and parts of Asia. In the most remote, most breathtaking corners of those lands, what I discovered left me speechless with wonder. I owe every one of those experiences to a single, simple choice: I arrived with a genuine interest in the culture, learned even a little of the language, and treated every person I met with sincere respect and quiet humility. That is the traveler’s open door—no special rank, no big budget, just curiosity and kindness.

Don’t travel just to “get away from it all.” Do you have an interest? A hobby? A profession? A skill? Take it with you. The British have the perfect old word for those who swarm the beaten paths in lockstep blindness: “emmet”—literally “ant.” Tourists trail one another in circles, chatting only to themselves, blissfully checking off the same prearranged sights. They have seen nothing, really.

Travel with design and broaden your knowledge.  Tour with ideal curiosity.  Don’t be an “ant.”

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NOTE: Special thanks to J.P. McEvoy for his inspiration from his short article titled “Don’t be a Duck,” in Getting the Most Out of Life, 1946.

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Please read my books:

1. “55 Rules for a Good Life,” on Amazon (link here).
2. “Our Longest Year in Iraq,” on Amazon (link here).