Theth Waterfall

"Faccie di cazzo!" I think as six Italians noisily fall out of a 4x4 that just tore down the road to my campsite. The scantily clad men (and one woman) take their bluetooth boombox and head to the water, screaming to the bass like six lobotomized monkeys at an impromptu outdoor rave.

Their car has a rooftop tent, not large enough for that many people, but I fear more tents will be pitched later in the afternoon. I can't take this. I am never okay with shit like this, but in a national park? "Faccie di cazzo!" Being an asshole is kind of like being dead. It's okay for you, but it sucks for everyone else.

I move my planned hike forward and set out to Theth Waterfall. I had been warned to go early in the morning or in the late afternoon, thinking now would be fine. Still, I'm surprised when I round the last corner and see the sight that has become so typical with the popularity of Instagram.

People are lining up at "that one spot" to take "that one photo". At this point, I'm thinking I should avoid any natural wonder that makes it into a travel guide, maybe even one that's marked on Google Maps. Definitely one that's an Instagram Hotspot. I climb up and away from the crowd, finding a spot overlooking the mayhem and reading a book until the majority has left.

The waterfall *is* beautiful. I catch myself wishing I had it for myself, the arrogance of a tourist feeling better than "all those tourists". What if the same amount of people came here, but they were quiet, reverent even, in awe of the wonders of this planet? I think I'd be okay with that.

What do they think? Am I the asshole to them? I remember something I noticed during Covid. There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who just want to be left alone and those who can't leave other people alone.Читать далее