Republic of Tourism
I write today from behind a barricade of empty wine bottles and emotional fatigue to sound the alarm: The tourism invasion is no longer coming. It is here, sipping a lavender oat milk cortado and TikToking themselves into bit-rated oblivion.
Our quaint small towns in Sonoma County and Marin County—once havens of modest weirdness, manageable parking and citizens who knew how to parallel park without consulting astrology—are being overrun by roving battalions of leisure seekers with their filtered social media faces and purported appetite for “authenticity.”
Napa County is already a goner. Marin is slipping. But Sonoma County is the darling du jour. Let us speak plainly. The lines are too long, the parking is nonexistent, the prices are skyrocketing, and the “local color” that once made small towns special is draining out into a soul-sucking sepia of future nostalgia for the way things were.
I recently attempted to buy a loaf of bread in a neighboring town and found myself eighth in line behind six bachelorette parties and a dude photographing a croissant from three angles. The cashier wore the thousand-yard stare of someone who has explained compostable cutlery policies too many times.
We must ask ourselves, what happens when every diner becomes “elevated comfort cuisine”?
I do not oppose visitors. Let them come. Let them spend freely. Let them marvel at our preserved architecture and artisanal condiments. But let there be limits. Let there be permits. Let there be a seasonal cap on beardos. Let there be one parking space reserved in every town for actual residents who simply need to pick up some paper towels and another bottle of wine.
If we don’t act fast, we’ll just be in the way.
Cassady Caution
Petaluma
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