Practice English Reading Exercises for B2 – Travel Writing & Approaches 7

Exercises:   123456

Reading 1

You are going to read an article about four travel journalists reflecting on the danger of romanticizing poverty in developing nations.

For questions 1-10, choose from the people/sections (A-D). The people/sections may be chosen more than once.

Which person/section

1   admits to having once perpetuated the false idea that a lack of wealth equates to contentment?

2   highlights how describing hardship as picturesque obscures the lack of basic utilities?

3   warns that idealized portrayals of poverty can discourage international development efforts?

4   felt uncomfortable when evaluating a high-end tourist facility situated close to a deprived area?

5  mentions being challenged by a local person regarding their inaccurate writing?

6   believes that travel writing often turns the daily struggles of locals into a form of escapism for the rich?

7   argues that travel features must include direct quotes from the community to be genuinely accurate?

8   was urged by someone in charge to produce visuals that matched a stereotyped view of destitution?

9   notes the hypocrisy of affluent readers who idealize a basic existence without wanting to experience its realities?

10   found it difficult to satisfy both their conscience and the requirements of the luxury publication they worked for?

The Illusion of the Simple Life: Travel Writing and Poverty

A Mark

Early in my career, I was sent to document a remote village in South Asia. My editor specifically instructed me to avoid modern buildings and instead capture the ‘rustic charm’ of the old, crumbling neighbourhoods. He wanted imagery that fitted a romanticised, stereotypical vision of hardship. At the time, I didn’t question it. However, I soon realised that by focusing so heavily on the aesthetic appeal of peeling paint and dilapidated roofs, my photographs were completely masking the reality of the situation: these families were surviving without running water or reliable electricity. We were effectively turning their daily battle for survival into an exotic form of escapism for our privileged readers. It’s highly problematic when travel journalists frame decay as something beautiful to be admired. I finally came to terms with the fact that my lens was lying. From then on, I refused to photograph poverty as if it were simply an atmospheric backdrop for wealthy tourists on holiday.

B Sarah

For years, I fell into the classic trap of the travel writing industry. I regularly wrote glowing articles claiming that the impoverished communities I visited were somehow much more joyful and spiritually fulfilled than those of us in the developed world. It is a comforting narrative for affluent travellers, as it essentially removes any guilt about global inequality. My wake-up call happened in a rural town in Central America. A local schoolteacher who had read one of my translated blogs confronted me directly. She rightly pointed out that her community wasn’t smiling because they enjoyed struggling to feed their children; they were simply demonstrating hospitality. Her words hit me hard, and I felt deeply ashamed of my ignorance. If she hadn’t spoken up, I would probably have continued writing those harmful clichés. It made me realise how dangerous it is to equate a lack of material wealth with inner peace. Nowadays, I ensure I never gloss over the harsh realities of poverty.

C David

Working for a high-end glossy travel magazine puts you in a tricky position. I am frequently assigned to review five-star eco-resorts in developing nations. During a recent trip, I experienced a severe crisis of conscience. I was sipping champagne on a private balcony, looking out over a valley where the local residents were struggling with severe food shortages. Reconciling my personal ethics with the demands of an employer who wanted a flawless, upbeat feature was incredibly tough. There is a profound hypocrisy in our industry. My readers eagerly consume articles about the ‘simple, uncluttered lives’ of locals, dreaming of unplugging from their stressful corporate jobs. Yet, they would never actually trade places with them, because that ‘simple’ life involves gruelling manual labour and inadequate healthcare. We sell them an illusion. If we ignore the extreme wealth gap between the gated resorts and the surrounding villages, we are failing in our journalistic duty and deeply disrespecting the host country.

D Elena

The tendency to romanticise poverty doesn’t just produce inaccurate journalism; it has tangible, negative real-world consequences. When we publish articles describing a struggling neighbourhood as a ‘quaint, untouched paradise’, we unintentionally send a message that these places don’t need any help. I have spoken to several NGO workers who argue that painting deprivation as charming actually discourages international investment and charitable aid. Why would anyone donate to improve infrastructure if tourists are told the locals prefer things exactly as they are? To combat this, I strongly believe travel writers need to step back and hand the microphone over to the residents. An article can only be considered truly accurate if it directly features the voices and unfiltered opinions of the community itself. Instead of projecting our own romantic fantasies onto them, we must allow them to articulate their own challenges and aspirations. It’s time we stopped treating these destinations as historical theme parks and started treating their inhabitants as equals.

Reading 2

You are going to read an article about four individuals describing how they actively seek out the worst-rated restaurants or obscure local festivals just to have a unique, uncurated experience.

For questions 1-10, choose from the people/sections (A-D). The people/sections may be chosen more than once.

Which person/section

1   mentions participating in a highly unusual and messy regional tradition?

2   believes that a hostile reception from staff is an indicator of authenticity?

3   admits that their unconventional strategy occasionally results in a genuinely awful experience?

4   argues that making strict itineraries destroys the magic of discovering a destination?

5   expresses frustration that the tourism industry has become excessively polished and uniform?

6   explains how ignoring digital recommendations led to a remarkably welcoming meal?

7   highlights the physical discomfort endured in order to witness a rare event?

8   successfully located a celebration by relying entirely on their senses?

9   takes pride in the fact that their chosen activities are completely ignored by travel literature?

10   feels that the thrill of unpredictability is the most appealing part of an expedition?

Embracing the Chaos: The Art of Uncurated Travel

A Tom

I have a rather bizarre habit when visiting a new city: I actively seek out the worst-rated eateries on the internet. While most holidaymakers painstakingly scroll through reviews to find the perfect five-star dining experience, I filter the results starting from the bottom. It seems we have outsourced our sense of adventure to algorithms, and I prefer to take it back. Honestly, the thrill of unpredictability is what makes a trip genuinely exciting for me. Granted, this rebellious approach occasionally backfires spectacularly, and I’ve certainly stomached my fair share of truly inedible, overcooked disasters. However, it regularly pays off. Last month in Naples, I tracked down a tiny trattoria with scathing online feedback complaining about the decor. Stepping inside, I was greeted not by a commercialised tourist trap, but by an incredibly affectionate local family who treated me like long-lost royalty. They served up the most exquisite, authentic pasta I’ve ever tasted. If I had simply followed the digital herd, I would have missed out on that heartwarming encounter entirely.

B Sara

My ultimate travel goal is to track down the most obscure, chaotic regional festivals imaginable. I have absolutely no interest in watching a heavily rehearsed, ticketed parade from behind a metal barrier. I am firmly of the opinion that sanitised events lack any real soul. Instead, I want to be right in the thick of the action. A few years ago, I somehow ended up at a bizarre winter celebration in a remote Spanish village, which involved locals hurling turnips at one another in the freezing rain. I was completely caked in mud, shivering, and ended up with several nasty bruises by the end of the afternoon. Despite the undeniable physical suffering, it was an incredibly exhilarating experience. The sheer absurdity of the tradition was a breath of fresh air. There were no souvenir stands or English menus in sight—just a community coming together to keep an ancient, messy custom alive. For me, acquiring a few scrapes is a small price to pay for such an unforgettable adventure.

C Javier

Nowadays, I find the global travel industry incredibly exasperating. Everywhere you go, from Bangkok to Berlin, cafes and restaurants have been smoothed over to cater to international tastes, offering the exact same polished aesthetics and avocado on toast. I am utterly exhausted by the endless sea of identical, photo-friendly venues. To escape this dreadful uniformity, I actively hunt for establishments that look slightly run-down and intimidating. In fact, if a cafe has peeling paint and a notoriously grumpy owner, I’m instantly sold. In my experience, a hostile glare from a waiter who refuses to speak English is a foolproof guarantee that you’re about to experience uncompromised, traditional cuisine. These places aren’t trying to win over the masses or accumulate online followers; they are just serving their community the way they have for decades. While some travelers might be put off by the lack of customer service, I view it as a reassuring sign of absolute authenticity.

D Mia

The moment I arrive at a new destination, the first thing I do is toss the guidebook into the bin. Sticking rigidly to a pre-planned timetable completely extinguishes the spark of exploration. If you insist on micromanaging every single hour, you leave absolutely no room for serendipity. Instead of ticking off museums, my preferred tactic is to wander aimlessly into residential neighbourhoods and see what unfolds. Last year in Kyoto, I avoided the famous temples and instead let my ears guide me. Following the faint, rhythmic beating of drums down a series of narrow, winding alleys, I stumbled upon a tiny, neighborhood lantern festival. It was entirely absent from any tourist website or published literature, which made the discovery feel incredibly special. The locals were astonished to see a foreigner, but quickly ushered me in to join the dancing. Experiencing a celebration that exists purely for the residents, without a single tourist bus in sight, is the ultimate reward for throwing away the map.

Exercises:   123456