Astray is a storytelling project centred on travel, community, identity and liberation.
As a publication, we seek to take readers on journeys, contemplate the breadth of human experience, and engage in conversation about systems of oppression.
As workshop hosts and field trippers, we aim to foster connection, embody sustainable travel practices, and delegitimise imperial and (neo)colonial media.
Self-funded and independent, we welcome story pitches from writers of all stripes.
The trouble with travel writing
A bunch of white male writers have bemoaned what they consider to be the death of travel literature. Often citing ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ as the nail in the coffin of the genre, they decry the indulgence of the idea that even conventional travel can somehow “heal the soul” and turn what they call a “suburban ninny” into a philosopher.
Of course, we roll our eyes at those misogynists, who are referring to the popular I-found-myself-overseas narratives written by white women – but let’s not kid ourselves: lots of travel writing has been deeply harmful.
Though the practice has been around for centuries (which makes sense when you think about the global population’s experiences with itinerancy, mobility and displacement), much of the most celebrated travel writing was authored by privileged writers from the Global North.
Exploring themes of discovery, conquest and saviourhood, these works – from Rudyard Kipling to Paul Theroux, Mary Kingsley to Elizabeth Gilbert – serve as propaganda for the empires they represent, perpetuating binaries and reinforcing colonial and imperial dominance.
It’s not just the literary stuff: it’s in commercial travel writing too, which frames the world as an exotic playground to be consumed whilst erasing histories and glossing over the exploitative structures that make modern travel possible.
We see it in the travel section of newspapers, we see it in novels, we see it in in-flight magazines. We see it in yoga retreat brochures, we see it in Instagram captions, we see it in guidebooks and tiktok videos.
We’ve also seen it in the stuff we’ve written and published in the past (Astray has been online since 2013 – more about that below).
Recreational travel, too, can be wildly harmful
Recreational travel is an enormous privilege that the vast majority of the world does not have access to. 80% of us will never board a flight, and the number of people who’ve been forcibly displaced from their homes and made to travel for necessity is in the hundreds of millions. Conflict, climate change and issues created by colonialism and imperialism continue to make things worse with every passing day.
Additionally, though recreational travel may bring money to communities, it’s a double-edged sword, with carbon emissions from flying barely the tip of the melting iceberg.
In many places, tourism has grown beyond the bounds of sustainability to the detriment of local people, heritage and ecosystems. Our holidays can cause strains on resources, the commodification of cultural and spiritual practices, a decrease in the quality of life experienced by residents, the forcing of already-marginalised groups closer to the margins, the exploitation of animals, the destruction of local habitats and increases in pollution.
So where does this leave travel writing?
Humans have been moving about and telling stories for milennia. Story has the power to connect us, to soothe, to teach, to spur action, to effect change. Journey is all around us – both the physical and the metaphysical: we are cobbled together from it.
But we need diverse voices. We need multiple narratives. We need to act as stewards of the places we visit, and we need to balance our observations and experiences with humility and deep listening.
We need to talk about the histories that have shaped present-day places. We need to explore uncomfortable truths. We need to be aware that with the great privilege of being able to travel for pleasure comes great responsibility.
About our name
In a previous life, we were known as Global Hobo – the late-night-taxiride-in-Hanoi idea of a young backpacker and dumpster diver with a journal full of stories from people she’d met on the road.
We were a collective of writers who travelled together, partied together and wrote together – but for the first few years, many of us had a limited understanding of the problematic genre we were grappling with.
Since our inception in 2013, hundreds of writers have been kind enough to share their stories with us – and for some, their family’s stories also. Though most of these tales have lasted the test of time, some have not.
Our old website no longer exists, but we shudder to think what made it through our inexperienced editorial lens in the early days: reinforcing rather than challenging racist, imperialist, misogynistic and whorephobic tropes.
The more we move through the world, the more we realise there is a hell of a lot to learn and unlearn, and it will continue to be a journey for us.
As for the name change, the “hobo” in our old moniker was intended to reference an itinerant worker, one who travels from place to place and lives a life on the road. But the more we realised our own privilege and understood the power of language, the more uncomfy we grew with our brand.
One misty afternoon in the alpine moorlands of lutruwita / Tasmania, armed with a bag of Easter eggs, we stepped out from our hut and were happily and unknowingly strolling in the wrong direction. All of sudden, one of us stopped in their tracks.
“You’ve led us astray!” she scolded the other, laughing.
“Astray!!!”
It was instantly decided.
“Ashtray?” some people ask when we tell them what we’re called. Whatever. We like it.
So here we are, Astray: a journal that strives to build a community around storytelling and provide a space for writers to share original, thoughtful views on journeys and all that they encompass.
Our ethos is a collage of conscious travel, thriftiness, connection, and liberation. Seeking to work from an intersectional feminist framework (and very willing to have conversations about problems within feminist movements), we aim to open people’s minds to fresh perspectives and show them parts of the world they never knew existed – whilst also having a good laugh at ourselves.
In a world of grotesque media bias (we wouldn’t even wipe our asses with most of the publications we used to strive to write for as baby journalists – whose one-sided coverage of Palestinian struggle continues to enable genocide and colonial violence) and branded content, we are fiercely independent: self-funding as best we can and paying all our contributors. (If you were ever at one of our kissing booths in the early days, please know that the funding model has changed over time.)
We also host workshops and field trips in all sorts of places, working closely with local communities, educators and businesses. Astray’s current programming can be found here.
Our month-long writing workshops have been accredited by many universities in Australia, Aotearoa/New Zealand, Canada, the US and the UK (but are not just for students, and not just for people from those countries either).
We strive to work as ethically as possible in all that we do, and are always interested in learning how we can be better, so don’t hesitate to drop us a line if you’d like to chat about it via our contact page.
Astray’s logos were designed by K~SUT STUDIO; and our collages were crafted by Jada De Luca (they’re both witches).
Astray is a storytelling project centred on travel, community, identity and liberation.
As a publication, we seek to take readers on journeys, contemplate the breadth of human experience, and engage in conversation about systems of oppression.
As workshop hosts and field trippers, we aim to foster connection, embody sustainable travel practices, and delegitimise imperial and (neo)colonial media.
Self-funded and independent, we welcome story pitches from writers of all stripes.
The trouble with travel writing
A bunch of white male writers have bemoaned what they consider to be the death of travel literature. Often citing ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ as the nail in the coffin of the genre, they decry the indulgence of the idea that even conventional travel can somehow “heal the soul” and turn what they call a “suburban ninny” into a philosopher.
Of course, we roll our eyes at those misogynists, who are referring to the popular I-found-myself-overseas narratives written by white women – but let’s not kid ourselves: lots of travel writing has been deeply harmful.
Though the practice has been around for centuries (which makes sense when you think about the global population’s experiences with itinerancy, mobility and displacement), much of the most celebrated travel writing was authored by privileged writers from the Global North.
Exploring themes of discovery, conquest and saviourhood, these works – from Rudyard Kipling to Paul Theroux, Mary Kingsley to Elizabeth Gilbert – serve as propaganda for the empires they represent, perpetuating binaries and reinforcing colonial and imperial dominance.
It’s not just the literary stuff: it’s in commercial travel writing too, which frames the world as an exotic playground to be consumed whilst erasing histories and glossing over the exploitative structures that make modern travel possible.
We see it in the travel section of newspapers, we see it in novels, we see it in in-flight magazines. We see it in yoga retreat brochures, we see it in Instagram captions, we see it in guidebooks and tiktok videos.
We’ve also seen it in the stuff we’ve written and published in the past (Astray has been online since 2013 – more about that below).
Recreational travel, too, can be wildly harmful
Recreational travel is an enormous privilege that the vast majority of the world does not have access to. 80% of us will never board a flight, and the number of people who’ve been forcibly displaced from their homes and made to travel for necessity is in the hundreds of millions. Conflict, climate change and issues created by colonialism and imperialism continue to make things worse with every passing day.
Additionally, though recreational travel may bring money to communities, it’s a double-edged sword, with carbon emissions from flying barely the tip of the melting iceberg.
In many places, tourism has grown beyond the bounds of sustainability to the detriment of local people, heritage and ecosystems. Our holidays can cause strains on resources, the commodification of cultural and spiritual practices, a decrease in the quality of life experienced by residents, the forcing of already-marginalised groups closer to the margins, the exploitation of animals, the destruction of local habitats and increases in pollution.
So where does this leave travel writing?
Humans have been moving about and telling stories for milennia. Story has the power to connect us, to soothe, to teach, to spur action, to effect change. Journey is all around us – both the physical and the metaphysical: we are cobbled together from it.
But we need diverse voices. We need multiple narratives. We need to act as stewards of the places we visit, and we need to balance our observations and experiences with humility and deep listening.
We need to talk about the histories that have shaped present-day places. We need to explore uncomfortable truths. We need to be aware that with the great privilege of being able to travel for pleasure comes great responsibility.
About our name
In a previous life, we were known as Global Hobo – the late-night-taxiride-in-Hanoi idea of a young backpacker and dumpster diver with a journal full of stories from people she’d met on the road. We were a collective of writers who travelled together, partied together and wrote together – but for the first few years, many of us had a limited understanding of the problematic genre we were grappling with.
Since our inception in 2013, hundreds of writers have been kind enough to share their stories with us – and for some, their family’s stories also. Though most of these tales have lasted the test of time, some have not. Our old website no longer exists, but we shudder to think what made it through our inexperienced editorial lens in the early days: reinforcing rather than challenging racist, imperialist, misogynistic and whorephobic tropes. The more we move through the world, the more we realise there is a hell of a lot to learn and unlearn, and it will continue to be a journey for us.
As for the name change, the “hobo” in our old moniker was intended to reference an itinerant worker, one who travels from place to place and lives a life on the road. But the more we realised our own privilege and understood the power of language, the more uncomfy we grew with our brand.
One misty afternoon in the alpine moorlands of lutruwita / Tasmania, armed with a bag of Easter eggs, we stepped out from our hut and were happily and unknowingly strolling in the wrong direction. All of sudden, one of us stopped in their tracks.
“You’ve led us astray!” she scolded the other, laughing.
“Astray!!!”
It was instantly decided.
“Ashtray?” some people ask when we tell them what we’re called. Whatever. We like it.
So here we are, Astray: a journal that strives to build a community around storytelling and provide a space for writers to share original, thoughtful views on journeys and all that they encompass.
Our ethos is a collage of conscious travel, thriftiness, connection, and liberation. Seeking to work from an intersectional feminist framework (and very willing to have conversations about problems within feminist movements), we aim to open people’s minds to fresh perspectives and show them parts of the world they never knew existed – whilst also having a good laugh at ourselves.
In a world of grotesque media bias (we wouldn’t even wipe our asses with most of the publications we used to strive to write for as baby journalists – whose one-sided coverage of Palestinian struggle continues to enable genocide and colonial violence) and branded content, we are fiercely independent: self-funding as best we can and paying all our contributors. (If you were ever at one of our kissing booths in the early days, please know that the funding model has changed over time.)
We also host workshops and field trips in all sorts of places, working closely with local communities, educators and businesses. Astray’s current programming can be found here.
Our month-long writing workshops have been accredited by many universities in Australia, Aotearoa/New Zealand, Canada, the US and the UK (but are not just for students, and not just for people from those countries either).
We strive to work as ethically as possible in all that we do, and are always interested in learning how we can be better, so don’t hesitate to drop us a line if you’d like to chat about it via our contact page.
Astray’s logos were designed by K~SUT STUDIO; and our collages were crafted by Jada De Luca (they’re both witches).