The Absurdities of Travel - Why Going Somewhere Else Rarely Fixes Anything - But We Keep Doing It Anyway ebook

INTRO

Travel begins long before you leave home.

It starts the moment you tell someone you’re going somewhere.

Their face changes.Their voice lifts.They say things like “Oh wow” and “That’s amazing” and “You’re so lucky,” as if you personally discovered geography.

From that moment on, you are no longer a person.You are a future anecdote.

Travel is supposed to be freedom.That is the story.That is the brochure.That is the aggressively cheerful Instagram caption written three weeks before the emotional collapse.

In reality, travel is a long sequence of small humiliations connected by overpriced coffee.

You prepare for weeks.You make lists.You forget the one thing you will actually need.You bring seven things you won’t touch.You pack like someone who expects to be both freezing and on fire at the same time.

At home, travel feels romantic.At the airport, it feels procedural.At the security check, it feels personal.

You suddenly forget how pockets work.You are shocked by liquids.You realize your belt has chosen this exact moment to become a problem.

• You have passed through security dozens of times.• You still behave like this is a surprise quiz.• You fail it every time.

Airports are not designed for humans.They are designed for movement without dignity.

Everything is either too far away or directly behind you.Time behaves strangely.You are both late and early in ways that feel morally wrong.

The gate changes.It always changes.It changes just enough to make you walk fast but not fast enough to justify running.

• You arrive early to avoid stress.• You experience stress anyway.• You sit near the gate as if proximity equals control.

Travel promises escape.Instead, it introduces you to a new version of yourself.A worse one.

This version is impatient.This version is strangely territorial about armrests.This version believes rules are important only when they benefit them personally.

You observe other travelers.You judge them silently.You do not notice that you look exactly the same.

• You hate people who stand too close.• You stand too close without realizing it.• You feel offended when someone else notices.

Travel is sold as an experience.What you actually get is logistics.

Tickets.Passports.Confirmation emails that matter deeply and then disappear forever.

You refresh apps.You screenshot things “just in case.”You lose the screenshots.

Every journey includes at least one moment where you think,“This shouldn’t be this complicated.”

And yet, you keep going.

Because travel is not about movement.It is about hope.

Hope that this time will be different.Hope that the hotel photos were honest.Hope that the city will somehow fix something in you without knowing what that thing is.

• You expect transformation.• You accept inconvenience.• You pretend these two are related.

Travel is a performance.You perform excitement.You perform patience.You perform cultural curiosity while secretly looking for a familiar brand of water.

You return with stories.You edit them.You remove the waiting, the confusion, the mild despair.You keep the highlights.You keep the illusion.

And then you say it to someone else.

“You should really go.”

Not because it changed your life.But because it made a good sentence.

This book is not about destinations.It is about everything that happens around them.The rituals.The contradictions.The quiet agreements we all make to pretend this is enjoyable in exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

You already know how travel works.You just don’t usually say it out loud.

Now someone finally will.

Chapter 1 – Packing Like You’re Escaping Forever

Packing is the first lie of travel.

It pretends to be practical.It pretends to be about needs.It pretends you know who you’re going to be in another place.

You don’t.

You stand in front of an open suitcase like it’s a psychological test.Everything you own is suddenly important.Nothing feels sufficient.

Packing is not about preparing for a trip.It is about negotiating with imaginary futures.

There is the version of you who dresses well.There is the version of you who hikes.There is the version of you who relaxes effortlessly on terraces with linen shirts and emotional clarity.

None of them have shown up before.You pack for them anyway.

• You pack for weather forecasts you don’t trust.• You pack for activities you haven’t planned.• You pack for a personality you briefly believe you might become.

Clothes multiply when removed from closets.A single T-shirt occupies the space of a small regret.Shoes immediately demand political negotiations.

You need walking shoes.You need “nice” shoes.You need emergency shoes for a scenario you cannot clearly describe.

• You do not know what this scenario is.• You are certain it will involve shoes.• You pack them just in case.

Packing lists are supposed to help.They don’t.

They create the illusion of control.They make you confident enough to forget something essential.

Chargers are the classic example.You remember them late.You remember them emotionally.You remember them only after sitting down somewhere very far from home.

• You can replace clothes.• You can replace toiletries.• You cannot replace the specific charger that only works at a precise angle.

Liquids become philosophical.How much shampoo is enough shampoo?How much toothpaste is too much toothpaste?

The bottles are always wrong.Either too big or suspiciously small.

• You bring too little and feel betrayed.• You bring too much and feel judged by airport security.• You never bring the correct amount.

Then there is the “maybe” pile.

The jacket you might need.The book you might read.The item that says, “I am a person who plans for quiet moments.”

You are not that person.But packing allows you to pretend.

• You pack a book.• You open it once.• You carry it across borders without reading a single sentence.

Electronics enter the scene.This is where packing becomes spiritual.

Adapters.Converters.Cables whose purpose you have forgotten but whose absence feels dangerous.

You don’t know what they do.You just know they belong together.

• You pack them as a group.• You trust the group.• The group fails you.

The suitcase starts to resist.It communicates through zippers.It suggests compromises.

You sit on it.You apply pressure.You negotiate with physics.

• You close it successfully.• You feel proud.• You immediately open it again to add one more thing.

That one more thing matters.It always matters more than it should.

Packing is driven by fear.Fear of discomfort.Fear of inconvenience.Fear of being unprepared in a way that feels personal.

At home, forgetting something is annoying.Away, it feels like a character flaw.

• You forget socks and question your maturity.• You forget medication and question your survival.• You forget one item and assume the trip is cursed.

You repack.You remove items with guilt.You justify decisions aloud, even when alone.

“This is versatile.”“This can be layered.”“This doesn’t wrinkle.”

These are not reasons.These are coping mechanisms.

The suitcase gains weight.So does your confidence.These two things are directly related.

You believe that a heavier bag equals a smoother journey.This is incorrect.But very comforting.

• You overpack to feel safe.• You feel safe briefly.• You regret it immediately after arrival.

The final stage of packing is denial.

You zip the suitcase.You tell yourself it’s fine.You ignore the quiet voice saying something is missing.

That voice is always right.But listening to it would require reopening the suitcase.And emotionally, you’re done.

• You choose peace over accuracy.• You choose closure over preparation.• You choose to deal with consequences later.

Later arrives quickly.

Usually in a hotel room.Usually late.Usually when you need the exact thing you confidently left behind.

You stand there.You open the suitcase.You scan the contents.

Everything is there.Except what you need.

Packing promised readiness.What it delivered was optimism wrapped in fabric.

And somehow, you will do it again.Exactly the same way.With the same confidence.With the same outcome.

Because packing is not about learning.

It’s about hope.And hope fits in any suitcase.

Chapter 2 – The Airport Personality You Didn’t Know You Had

You arrive at the airport as yourself.

Within minutes, you are someone else.

Airports do not simply process travelers.They transform them.

The moment the sliding doors open, your personality shifts.You become alert.Suspicious.Mildly offended by everything.

You clutch documents you have already checked six times.You walk faster than necessary.You scan departure boards like they might lie to you personally.

• You know your flight number.• You check it again.• You still feel uncertain.

The airport version of you believes in rules.Strongly.Until they become inconvenient.

You stand in lines with quiet resentment.You study other people’s behavior.You assign them moral value based on speed and spatial awareness.

• Slow walkers are disrespectful.• People stopping suddenly are dangerous.• Anyone confused is doing it on purpose.

Security is where the transformation completes.

Here, dignity ends.

You undress strategically.You misjudge the situation.You remove too much or too little, never the correct amount.

Your body forgets how to cooperate.Your pockets betray you.

• You forgot a coin.• You forgot a receipt.• You forgot that belts exist.

The plastic bins feel judgmental.They watch you.They know.

You place your items inside with care.You immediately realize you’ve done it wrong.

• Your bag needs to be separate.• Your laptop needs its own bin.• Your confidence needs to leave the area.

You step through the scanner.You stand exactly as instructed.It beeps anyway.

This is not explained.It is implied that you should feel ashamed.

You are waved aside.You are searched gently but thoroughly.You apologize even though nothing happened.

• You say “sorry” to a person whose job is to inconvenience you.• You say it sincerely.• You mean it.

On the other side, chaos waits.

People reassemble themselves like confused furniture.Shoes go on wrong.Belts resist cooperation.Backpacks fight back.

You rush.You panic.You forget which items belong to you.

• You pick up someone else’s bag.• You realize immediately.• You panic anyway.

Now you are free.In theory.

You walk into the terminal with a sense of victory.It lasts seconds.

The terminal is large.Your gate is far.Time becomes abstract.

• Boarding starts soon.• You have time.• You do not feel like you have time.

Airports are designed to sell you things you don’t want using urgency you don’t need.

Everything is duty-free.Nothing feels optional.

You browse without intention.You touch items you will not buy.You consider purchases you would judge yourself for at home.

• You do not need perfume.• You smell it anyway.• You briefly consider a new identity.

Food becomes confusing.

You are not hungry.You are not not hungry.You eat because it feels required.

The prices are aggressive.The portions are emotional.

• You pay too much.• You complain quietly.• You do it again next time.

At the gate, time slows down.

People gather in loose formations.No one knows where to stand.Everyone pretends they do.

Boarding groups are announced.They are ignored.

• Group 4 boards with Group 1.• Group 7 follows confidently.• You question the concept of numbers.

You line up early.You line up late.You line up just to feel involved.

This is not efficient.It is social.

Your airport personality believes proximity equals progress.

• You stand closer.• You gain nothing.• You stand closer anyway.

Then the announcement comes.Delayed.Indefinite.Apologetic without responsibility.

You nod as if this is reasonable.

Because the airport version of you accepts things.Endures things.Adjusts expectations quietly.

You check your phone.You refresh apps.