This is an important book because it brings together the interpretive and management aspects of geotourism on a global scale. It reveals geotourism’s potential to popularize the fundamentals of geoscience and open up new pathways of sustainable economic development. Through his own chapters and those of the authors he has invited, Dr. Sadry has conveyed his global knowledge of the geopark movement and the art of geoscience interpretation.
For me as an American geologist, geoscience educator, Roadside Geology coauthor, and chapter author in this book, it is my first introduction to the terms geopark, geosite, or geomorphosite. This may be an example of the cross-fertilization a work of this scope can achieve, for example, inspiring its US readers to advocate for our country joining UNESCO’s geopark system.
People know some aspects of nature in their bones. Scanning the night sky, they know that the Moon is Earth’s neighbor and the stars are far, far away. In contrast, awareness is rare that shapes of hills area snapshot result of continuing Earth processes, while the bedrock is a legible record of many moments in the unimaginably distant past. This book offers the hope that in a well-interpreted geopark, visitors will get “deep time” and Earth processes into their bones, the way we geologists experience them.
I first heard the word geotourism in the late 1970s from my PhD advisor, Professor Dietrich Roeder. He is credited with, in 1969, introducing the word “subduction” from the Alpine literature into its present plate-tectonic sense. Though German was his native language, you only knew that because his English was “too good.” He was playful in his use of it. Geotourism for him described the pleasure of blending geologic insights along the roadside with awareness of the geology’s connections to local nature and culture.
The geotourism concept inspired me in 2001 to take some Georgia teachers to the Grand Canyon. I wanted my group to internalize the canyon’s lessons on Earth processes and deep time. Was it possible to build the story up piece by piece on the drive from Phoenix Airport to our destination? Though I did not know the word “geosites” until I read this book, such sites were my answer. In Roadside Geology of Arizona by Halka Chronic, I learned that nearly the whole sequence of layers seen in the Grand Canyon is exposed in road cuts heading north from Payson, a town about 90 miles northeast of Phoenix. Four miles from Payson, in a county park and nearby road cut, you can lay a hand on the Great Unconformity, with your thumb on a 1.6-billion-year-old rock that represents the roots of a mountain chain planed flat by erosion. Your fingers touch sandstone layers from the Cambrian Period, when life with shells first appeared, more than a billion years later. A perfect geosite to create a memorable experience, but with neither sign nor park brochure to mention it.
In the 21st century, the need for bone-deep awareness of Earth processes is greater every day. Without it, people are prone to imagining that scientists are only guessing when they say that burning coal is raising global temperatures, or that mostly gradual changes to landscapes and climate enabled the evolution of whales, tree frogs, and people. Admittedly, much progress could be made if politicians would finally yield to expert advice that geoscience in school needs equal emphasis with chemistry, physics, and biology. But this book offers an additional vision. Imagine putting the “Great Unconformity” in a starring role in a geopark promoted as a tourist attraction. Imagine, too, the local economic benefits of opening this new front of popular attention.
In 2012, I wanted to help teachers and others internalize plate boundary processes in a trip to California to be called “Geology on the Edge.” I thought to promote it using Professor Roeder’s word “geotourism.” Having the internet by then, I searched for the term. To my surprise, Wikipedia informed me that a team with the blessing of the National Geographic Society had lassoed it as a synonym for sustainable tourism, with only incidental Earth science significance. Fortunately, I persisted to find a blog by Dr. Sadry that identified geotourism as a parallel concept to ecotourism, distinguished as “abiotic nature-based tourism.”
The phrase “abiotic nature” seems strange at first. From the outer edges of Earth’s atmosphere to the deepest mines and drill-holes, it is now clear that some form of life is ever present. Even the first tourist in space, Dennis Tito, whom Dr. Sadry mentions in his intriguing “Space and Celestial Geotourism” chapter, brought biota with him. But ecologists use “abiotic” abstractly for the nonliving components of the larger Earth system. Without them, life could not exist. If we fail to preserve Earth’s favorable abiotic features, its special atmosphere, hydrosphere, and geosphere, we fail to preserve ourselves.
Having found his blog, I emailed Dr. Sadry to ask how I could help support his meaning of geotourism. One eventual answer was his invitation to write a chapter (which became two) for this book. Being further asked to write this Foreword gave me the opportunity to review his entire labor of love, this book, filling in numerous gaps in my knowledge of geotourism.
In these chapters, you will read about successes and challenges in several countries with setting aside localities for geotourism. Whether carved out by glaciers and rivers, or miners’ dynamite and pickaxes, rock outcroppings attract visitors, and tourism can help local economies.
Reading on, you will learn of the tradeoffs between signage, leaflets, and digital media in conveying geoscience concepts. You will experience the tension between the often-lucrative enterprise of selling access to nature’s joyrides, and the challenging and sometimes costly work of imparting wisdom in the ways of the planet. And you will see that like its sister activity, ecotourism, geotourism includes both keeping local people invested as volunteers and beneficiaries, and managing resources, so that we visitors do not love a place to death.
Regarding education by firsthand experience, in the 19th century, American geologist James McFarlane summed up geotourism’s potential (his italics):
to teach persons not versed in geology … not as in a textbook, but by pointing to the things themselves … There are some kinds of knowledge too that cannot be obtained from books, but must be gathered by actual observation.
This book will help geopark managers, geoscience educators, and all researchers and students of geotourism to use those “things themselves” to instill bone-deep awareness of how the planet works. It will also help them use geotourism to create economic value for alleviating poverty while protecting resources for future generations. Thank you, Dr. Sadry, for having the knowledge, vision, and energy to bring it all together.