My Paralyzing Fear of Birds Is Ruining My Ability to Travel

Pigeons are arrogant. Not as arrogant as seagulls and not as aggressive either, but still. They just do whatever they want, especially in Europe.

Say a person is trying to eat oysters with all the French people at Les Halles in the south of France on a sunny Sunday afternoon. And that person has a serious problem with pigeons but really wants to also be the kind of person who eats outside on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the south of France. The pigeons will not have to pay for such an experience but will insist on inviting themselves anyhow, cooing and pecking underneath the tables.

I will be too embarrassed to tell people, “Hey, can you not ever stand up from your table or drop any food lest a pigeon invasion happen?” like I might at home. So instead I’ll sit there with my heart pounding in my throat as I pretend to enjoy this meal like everyone else. At least until the woman sitting close to me in a chic sweater lazily tosses the last of her frites onto the ground beside her. That’s when I’ll nearly upend my table as I flee.

This is not who I wanted to be when I first started traveling, but my fear of birds is somewhat of a curse.

I was five years old when I watched two seagulls tear a baby duck apart.

And as you might imagine, I’ve struggled with ornithophobia, or an extreme fear of birds, ever since. These days, I’m mostly afraid of birds who are not afraid of approaching people, like seagulls, pigeons, Canadian geese, and crows. Apparently I’m not alone, either. On a recent call, clinical hypnotherapist Racheal Eccles told me about a client she had a few years back who was so terrified of a bird entering his house that he would keep doors and windows shut during the hottest months of summer. He was also afraid of encountering a dead bird, so he avoided countryside locations where he felt it was more likely.

I panic if I’m in a crowded space with birds that look like they might take flight—even a seagull inside an outdoor pavilion is enough to have me looking for corners to hide in. Medication doesn’t work, though therapy has taught me that my phobia is really a fear of the unknown. I can somewhat control my environment at home, but things get more dicey once I venture outside. To adapt, I’ve had to develop an elaborate set of rules that all my friends and family members must follow in order for us to hang out. For instance, no one is allowed to eat on the beach near me. Outdoor picnics involve establishing a perimeter around our area and eating under a tent to avoid pigeons. There are no exceptions to these parameters, either. My relationships have suffered as a result; I once broke up with a very nice boyfriend when I found out he had a pet parakeet who flew freely about his apartment.

Things get even dicier when I travel and can’t carefully curate my environment. I’ve accepted that I’ll probably never visit Saint Mark’s Square in Venice, which has been described as “a scene straight out of Alfred Hitchcock’s spine-tingler The Birds.” And because I can’t tell strangers not to eat, I simply stay away from crowded tourist areas at meal times. Instead, I eat inside or I check out little shops while everyone else is dining. I find boulangeries to buy my bread where they don’t allow pigeons to walk around inside. But even when I’m there, I’m eagle-eyeing the automatic doors to make sure no birds are sneaking in.

Some scenarios aren’t so black-and-white. Birds dance down the sidewalk in front of the Colosseum in Rome like they own the place. They take flight mere inches from my face as I walk through the Christmas markets of Vienna, where I startle and scream and grab at the two closest pedestrians. (In this case both men, both horrified, both strangers.) I explain myself, of course I do, but generally speaking it’s too late. I’ve startled these people like the birds always startle me; I’ve become what I hate.

No one really gets it. Even when I explain “I’m scared of birds” in Italian or French or German, the first sentence I learn wherever I visit, I’m met with skepticism. “These birds don’t want to kill you,” I’m told as though I’m an imbecile. “These birds are very gentle.” Whoever is out in these streets doing pigeon PR needs a raise because honestly, no one will hear a word against

Except, of course, my fellow ornithophobes. Like my friend Ellen, who asked to use a pseudonym for fear that she won’t get any future dinner invitations. The first night we got to know each other, at a neighborhood bonfire, her husband casually mentioned there was a turkey vulture in the vicinity. We both screamed, locked eyes, and understood that we were fellow travelers—or at least travelers who both rate cities based on bird population.

After exchanging notes, I was heartened to learn that Ellen only saw six pigeons on a recent visit to Barcelona. And I was happy to give Copenhagen a stamp of approval and pass along that Marrakech was a real surprise except for a singular sneaky peacock. We agreed that Rome, Paris, and London are all best meant to be enjoyed indoors. Ellen even told me that she and her now-husband went on a romantic trip to Paris but never once ate outside during the day because of the pigeons. Thankfully, Paris is very beautiful at night with the Eiffel Tower all lit up, and her husband is an understanding guy.

My own partner has become my safe space in a world of unpredictable winged creatures. He is the reason why I was able to cycle along the quiet backroads to Châteauneuf-du-Pape, riding “side-saddle,” as he calls it. He protects my flank by riding between myself and the birds as he gently nudges them out of my path so we can continue our meandering path through the vineyards. He gamely crosses the street to avoid groups of pigeons without even thinking about it.

Best of all, he sat with me at a sidewalk cafe in the seaside town of Cassis. In the middle of the day, no less. Eating seafood with one eye on me and one trained on the ground for wayward pigeons or seagulls. I ate in the sunshine, among the locals. A woman at the next table wearing a chic sweater leaned over and asked me how I liked my calamari. In French!

This was who I wanted to be abroad. The kind of person who could deep breathe my way around the pigeon fear. I will never give up traveling for the birds just as they’ll never give up existing for me. I’ll just keep choosing my travel partners based on their bird-awareness, eating al fresco at night when I’m solo traveling, and doing my best to work around my paralyzing fear of birds.

Take that, pigeons.

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