Astray is a storytelling project about the world and the Earth.
As a publication, we seek to contemplate the breadth of human experience and engage in conversation about travel, place, culture and identity.
As workshop holders and field trippers, we aim to learn collectively, foster connection and build sustainable relationships with host communities.
Born in “Australia” and now based in Lenapehoking/NYC, we welcome story pitches from writers of all stripes.
The trouble with travel writing
A bunch of commentators 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 this nonsense, which is aimed at the popular I-found-myself-overseas narratives written by 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 today’s most celebrated travel writing explores themes of discovery, conquest and saviourhood, from Rudyard Kipling to Paul Theroux, Mary Kingsley to Elizabeth Gilbert.
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 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.
The impact of recreational travel
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.
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 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 to hear from everyone. We need to listen more. We need to act as stewards of the places we visit, and we need to balance our observations and experiences with humility.
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
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.
Astray exists to build a borderless community around storytelling and provide a space for writers to share thoughtful, critical views.
Our ethos is a collage of conscious travel, meaningful connection and care. We aim to open people’s minds to fresh perspectives and show them other thinking, other ways of living, other ways of being. We 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 about the world and the Earth.
As a publication, we seek to contemplate the breadth of human experience and engage in conversation about travel, place, culture and identity.
As workshop holders and field trippers, we aim to learn collectively, foster connection and build sustainable relationships with host communities.
Born in “Australia” and now based in Lenapehoking/NYC, we welcome story pitches from writers of all stripes.
The trouble with travel writing
A bunch of white male commentators 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 this misogyny, which is aimed at 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.
People have been writing tales of their travel and movement for centuries – unsurprising when you think about the global population’s experiences with itinerancy, mobility and displacement.
But access barriers have always existed: to education, to writing materials, to freedom of movement, to financial resources, to time, to safety, to publishing.
Still today, much of today’s most celebrated travel writing explores themes of discovery, conquest and saviourhood, from Rudyard Kipling to Paul Theroux, Mary Kingsley to Elizabeth Gilbert.
It’s not just the literary stuff: it’s in commercial travel writing too, which frames the world as an exotic playground whilst erasing histories and glossing over 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.
The impact of recreational travel
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.
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 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 to hear from everyone. We need to listen more. We need to act as stewards of the places we visit, and we need to balance our observations and experiences with humility.
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
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.
Astray exists to build a borderless community around storytelling and provide a space for writers to share thoughtful, critical views.
Our ethos is a collage of conscious travel, meaningful connection and care. We aim to open people’s minds to fresh perspectives and show them other thinking, other ways of living, other ways of being. We 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).