James Trumm

A Traveler’s View of Climate Change and the 2024 Election As our nation cleans up in the wake of the latest destructive storm, I’d like to share some thoughts that I know many of you, as fellow travelers, can relate to. Ignoring global warming (or softening it by calling it something less direct) puts us on a one-way road to a place no one wants to go. Extreme weather fills our national news. It impoverishes and destabilizes the Global South, stoking refugee problems. And we witness it everywhere in our travels. But it’s rarely discussed candidly during election season because politicians find it's a buzzkill when it comes to winning votes. As a new “storm of the century” hits every year or two, we complain about insurance becoming unaffordable and duck as debris from one storm becomes projectiles during the next. But when it comes to taking action, we have other priorities. Even people who live in states repeatedly ravaged by heartbreaking climate disasters choose to continue living in states of denial. For the time being, it's "cheaper" to clean up after short-term crises than to invest in long-term solutions that address the root cause of the problem. Communities build storm-surge barriers, fortify waterfront building codes, and endure the cost of rebuilding again and again. But long-term, the problem is both ignored and getting worse. I see no solution without government action… and that requires political action. Watching the tragic scenes of this latest round of epic storms, I've been thinking back on all the ways I've become aware of climate change through my travels in Europe and beyond. These examples are trivial compared to the climate-caused famines in Central America, pestilence in Africa, or storm surges inundating great cities on the Atlantic seaboard. But they are thought-provoking signs of the time — which all of us travelers are increasingly encountering on the road: In the Netherlands, the famously frugal Dutch are spending billions of euros moving mud and sand to reinforce their 10,000 miles of dikes and other flood defenses in anticipation of ever-higher sea levels and more violent storms. To compound the problem, summers — hotter and drier than ever — make Dutch dikes dry out and become unstable. (Helping fix this will take not a Dutch boy’s finger but an American’s vote.) Europe’s river cruise industry is becoming a victim of climate change. With heat waves and drought, river levels can be extremely low. This forces captains to tie up far from long-dreamed-of attractions, and their passengers find themselves on more of a bus tour than a cruise. Newer boats are built to manage better in shallower water, and draining the onboard swimming pools can gain even a few more inches in a pinch. But if you're dreaming of a nice river cruise... you'd better do it soon. On a barging vacation in Burgundy, I experienced first-hand how climate change is impacting that industry as the canal ecosystem itself is changing. More and hungrier insects are vexing tourists like never before, and parts of the Burgundy Canal have been closed when invasive weeds clog that beautiful waterway. On one occasion, our captain requested all on board to stand on the bow of our barge so the stern would raise a few inches, allowing us to muscle through waters made shallow by drought. Of the many ways I’m privileged, one I’m particularly appreciative of is the blessing of living in an environment where I have no problem with insects. But, with climate change, that is changing. Insects are being driven out of zones now too hot for their comfort and into places once free from pesty bugs. There are now cases of bedbugs on the Eurostar, dengue in France, and malaria in Greece. So far, the impact is minimal... but as temperatures rise, that will change. (When the day comes that insects infest your once-bug-free world — or kindle the next global pandemic — it’s too late to do something about climate change...) Across Europe, vintners have told me that they're dealing with unprecedented climate challenges that threaten their industry. While lots of sunshine is fundamental to the finest wines in the world, there is such a thing as "too much" — and in Burgundy, rising temperatures are causing problems ranging from earlier harvest dates and higher levels of alcohol to new diseases and pests and even sunburned grapes. A vintner pointed to the forested top of a hill above his Côte-d’Or ("Golden Slopes") vineyards, where for generations his family has lovingly planted their grapes, and told me, “Soon, we may be migrating to higher ground.” Fairbourne, on the west coast of Wales, has declared it will not defend itself against rising sea levels, thus creating the UK’s first climate refugees. While residents declare this policy “crass and cruel,” the government predicts the town will be decommissioned and unlivable by 2054 — and they are simply not willing to throw good money after bad. In coming generations, more and more communities will face the same stark choice: Stay and spend vast sums fighting the ever-higher seas (or melting tundra, or destructive winds, or encroaching desert, or new diseases, or desperate climate refugees)... or abandon your ancestral home. The massive port of Rotterdam is protected by the biggest manmade moveable structure on earth: the Maeslant Storm Surge Barrier. Imagine two gates roughly the size of Eiffel Towers on their side, rolling together when high water threatens. They save the harbor — but they also close down shipping, which is very costly. (This is just one more climate-related expense one country bears when the family of nations collectively ignores the reality of a warming planet. If inflation is your number one election concern, logically, you’ll vote against climate change deniers.) Venerable waterfront promenades around the world are embattled. In Egypt, Alexandria’s delightful Corniche is the pride of five million locals, as are similar promenades in cities from Tampa to Havana to Rio. Think of a great city “on the water” — and think of the expense (tangible and intangible) of trading the elegance, charm, and tradition of a romantic harborfront for mighty, city-saving-for-awhile storm barriers. Standing on the rooftop of the cathedral in Lyon, France, I asked my guide about the tape on broken slate tiles. She explained that slate expands in the heat. The tiles are centuries old, but only in the last few years have they been cracking in under the August sun. And earlier on that same trip, otherwise reliable trains were delayed as heat caused the rails to expand and buckle, making it unsafe to go at their regular "bullet train" speeds. (If you see rails painted white, it’s because white absorbs less heat and, therefore, expands less.) In Hamburg, where "once-a-century" floods have become annual clean-ups, 60 miles of dikes and seawalls (a massive investment in infrastructure) now protect Germany’s biggest port from the Elbe River. Italian villages like Vernazza, the jewel of the Cinque Terre, were built centuries ago in ravines with idyllic waterwheels powered by streams. Later, these ravines were paved over to make a main drag for the “passeggiata.” Today, when a violent modern storm hits, the hills funnel everything into the ravine, overwhelming drainpipes... and towns are buried. While Vernazza and its neighboring towns have cleaned up since its gentle streams of water became violent rivers of mud, locals fear when the next flood might bury them again. For generations, a flooded St Mark’s Square created pretty reflections for a romantic photo in Venice. But in spite of a herculean effort to wall off its lagoon with flood gates (called the "Moses Project"), floods are becoming more common and deeper — and future generations may find Venice not over-crowded…but empty and unlivable. While Mediterranean hotels have long been air-conditioned, until recently, British, German, or Scandinavian hotels were not designed for hot weather. But now, 20 days in a row of high humidity and temperatures in the 90s is becoming the summer norm in Germany. And while heatwaves are driving many hotels north of the Alps to invest in air-con, many still just loan out fans on hot days. A generation ago, summer skiing was popular in Europe, and healthy glaciers were a focus of fun and wonder. Today, as glaciers recede (and tourists--who flew for hours from lands made rich by the sale of oil to make their first snowball--frolic), local guides have become activists for climate change action. And hiking through ski resorts in the summer, you see the modern reliance on making snow: plumbing designed into ski lifts and massive sprinkler systems supplied by manmade reservoirs. Today, the ski industry in Europe has to literally create snow to survive. But far more important than our travel dreams are the broken dreams of the 700 million people on our planet living in extreme poverty ($2 a day). Extreme poverty was cut by more than half over the last generation (going from 36% of humanity in 1990 to 10% in 2015) — and until recently, hunger was on a trajectory to be defeated. But with climate change impacting agriculture in the Global South, extreme poverty has ticked up again. For every heartache we endure in the US — every fire, flood, or disease caused by global warming — it’s only honest to remember that, for people in the Global South, violent and unpredictable weather makes climate-caused desperation a daily reality that is much, much worse than ours. Are we tourists guilty of making things worse? Yes. Every traveler we take to Europe on a Rick Steves tour or inspire to travel with a Rick Steves guidebook or TV show adds carbon to our atmosphere, which further heats up our planet. But rather than being "flight shamed" out of traveling, I — and many of you — choose to address the problem constructively: by paying our fair share to help mitigate the carbon we generate, traveling in a way that minimizes negative impacts on the environment, and taking home a global perspective so we can vote for the world and not just our own short-term well-being. I dream of a day when, as a nation, America can become a leader in this existential fight. But the responsibility lies in our electorate…that’s you and me. And there’s no alternative to “getting political.” In this election season, if you understand how critical American leadership is on the world stage, it’s clear that the most powerful thing you can do as a citizen of our country — and of our fragile world — is vote. Support candidates who believe that climate change is human-caused and that the only way to effectively tackle it is with direct government intervention. (By the way, this doesn't have to be a net loss, financially: Economists understand that practical green policies, smartly designed and implemented, can both deal effectively with the problem and contribute to a strong economy — not only for the next four years but far into a sustainable future.) And yet... this year's elections are incredibly close. So many among us vote against our own future. It's hard for me to imagine evacuating as a violent storm approaches, coming home to a soggy catastrophe... and then voting for a climate change denier as you await the next storm. But millions do. Repeatedly. The science of climate change should not be a partisan issue. Climate change is a reality. It’s here, and it can only get worse. It’s an existential crisis, and it should not be politicized. But unfortunately, in 2024 America, it is a political choice… and you are the voter. If you care about taking real action, the choice is clear. Vote to acknowledge and combat climate change. Vote for a safer, more stable world… for our future…and for your grandkids’ happy travels!