Are we trading real memories for digital ones?

I’ve been watching the Tour de France, not because I’m a fan of cycling; I’m not really. Rather, I’m a fan of the French landscape — soaring mountain ranges still capped in snow in July, quaint villages surrounded by vineyards, ancient churches, even ruins of castles and manor houses.

I’ve never been to Europe and doubt now that I’ll ever make it; the financial state of the news industry tempers one’s expectations for international travel on vacation or in retirement. But I find Europe appealing because it’s just so darn old. A historic building in America can be 200 or 300 years old. The oldest, a stone house in Connecticut apparently, has been standing an impressive 385 years.

But that house is middle age at best compared to the oldest buildings in Europe. The Basilica of Saint Sabina, a church on a hill in Rome, was built between 422 and 432 A.D., some 1,200 years before that house in Connecticut. Windsor Castle in England was completed in 1086. The Faroe Islands in Denmark even have a wooden house that dates to the 11th century. You just can’t get that here.

But because I watch the Tour de France, I do see cycling and cycling fans, and in that regard, America and France aren’t that far apart. Which is to say that cycling fans in France can be just as excitable as fans of professional and college football in this country.

One difference is that Tour de France fans can get much closer to the action than sports fans in the States. Some of the mountain roads on the Tour route aren’t much wider than a single vehicle, and fans will line both sides of those roads, literally getting in the faces of the riders before stepping back at the last second. Or not stepping back. One fan with a camera was looking at riders who had just passed when he swiveled around, striking a rider and causing him to crash.

Speaking of cameras, they are as ubiquitous in France as they are in the United States, which brings me to this: I earn part of my living taking photographs, so at the risk of the pot calling the kettle black, we take way too many photos in this digital day and age.

I once heard a wise person say that the only thing we can truly take with us in the end is our memories. But it seems to me if we’re photographing or videotaping a special moment, say a day spent roadside watching the Tour de France, we’re not really experiencing the moment.

I watch a lot of golf on TV; some of the players are great and the courses are stunning. But here’s what else I see: Especially when a highly regarded player is on the tee or green, the fans pull out their cellphone cameras and start filming.

But when they do, they aren’t watching the player; they’re watching an image of him on a screen. They could have done that at home and saved themselves the price of admission.

Here’s what I wonder: Days or years later, will those golf fans actually remember watching the putt that won a major championship? Or will they remember only that they have a photo or video clip of that somewhere on their phone?

I particularly rolled my eyes at the cycling fan who stood by the roadside waiting for that day’s leader to pass pay. When the moment arrived, he didn’t photograph or video the rider. He took a selfie with the rider passing by in the background.

Technology is doing wonderful things in our lives; I’m writing this column on an app that will translate my handwriting to text. But in the case of the ever-present cellphone camera, I fear we’re recording bits and bytes at the expense of experiences that become lasting memories.

Scott Bolejack is the editor of the Johnstonian News. Reach him at sbolejack@johnstoniannews.com .

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