For some people, long-term travel is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. For others it's a lifelong passion. I fall into the latter camp, and have bookended my Ten years approximately of adventures so far with two epic trips.
Before the second stint of globetrotting I had my doubts: would I ever recreate the joy of that first trip? Could I still handle life on the highway? Here's what I learned spending four months backpacking in my 20s and again in my 30s.
Technology has transformed the way we travel for good
I knew something was awry this past year after i rocked up to and including hostel common room in Flores, Guatemala, plonked down my bags and was met with… no eye contact, no hellos, nada. All of my fellow travellers was glued to a laptop, phone or tablet. Smartphone zombies in commuter-clogged London are a common sight, but I wasn't prepared for this.
On my first round-the-world trip this year, backpackers rarely travelled with expensive tech and were free from digital distraction, besides the occasional hour spent video calling home and uploading photos at overpriced internet cafes. Serendipitous encounters happened on the regular and, with no shackles of Facebook, Twitter and Snapchat, everyone was – ironically – more social.
It's not every doom and gloom, obviously. What we should might lose in organic conversation today, we grow in practical tools. Having the ability to book hostels, transport and experiences on the go made my recent Central America trip feel seamless, and mapping apps made it almost impossible to obtain lost. I'm now determined by Google for my navigational needs, even with once traversed Kuala Lumpur quite happily, without a penny but a hand-drawn map.
This evolution won' doubt continue – the following life-changing travel app might be coming – but I'll look back fondly with that period in my 20s, pre-ubiquitous free wifi, when sparking conversation with strangers was that bit easier.
Your is the best travel tool – use it
At 22 I'd a summary of body hang-ups so long as an unravelled hammock, but solo travel soon changed that. Countless hikes – up O'ahu's Diamond Head, through Queensland's ancient rainforests and around Thailand's hilltop temples – helped me see my sturdy thighs as strong, rather than something I needed to contract; my broad shoulders still looked wider than I'd have liked inside a bikini, however they bore the load of my backpack like nobody's business.
Female solo travel: what it's like to travel solo inside your 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s and 60s
I put my body through a lot and it served me well, so with every extra passport stamp came more confidence, gratitude and perspective. With time I realised that without these limbs, lungs and tops . of mine I'd not have managed to get all over the world alone. Travel has educated me in that our body is for celebrating, not berating.
At 30-something, these days I'm more worried about the perils of ageing than aesthetics, such as sun damage and dodgy knees. Hotel beds wreak havoc on my crick-prone neck and being hungover in the heat is not bearable, yet I actually do it all anyway, because every day life is short and – I really hope I'm still young enough to say this – YOLO.
Travel is really a privilege – proceed with care
Overtourism existed well before the word started hitting the headlines in 2022. I first viewed it personally in Maya Bay, the idyllic Thai setting for The Beach, which closed indefinitely to tourists this past year. Seven years prior to the closure, my heart sank as our speed boat jostled for space within the overcrowded cove – the shoreline was cluttered with people. I joined the throng, waiting patiently to take an image that would provide the illusion of a secluded paradise, all while harbouring an increasing feeling of guilt. It's easy to resent others to get inside your way when abroad, until you realise you're exactly the same.
Thankfully, responsible travel is rising. Reusable water bottles are actually a typical sight on the highway, elephant rides have fallen from favour as their negative effect on the animal's health continues to be exposed, and sustainable hotels are increasingly desired. For my latest big trip I chose lesser-visited destinations, took fewer flights and made sure money I spent was going back to local communities. But I realize that next time I'll need to do even more to counterbalance the impact of my travels. As the climate change movement progresses, the way you see the world will change dramatically.
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A bigger budget doesn't always mean better experiences
I'm lucky enough to get count staying in an overwater villa within the Maldives, enjoying a private plunge pool within the Caribbean and eating lobster in Mauritius amongst my travel experiences. I've also slept in grimy 20-bed dorms, eaten tuna out of a can for supper for several days on end and washed my pants in hostel sinks (sorry roomies) all in the name of saving precious pennies – and I wouldn't change that for anything.
These days I'm still budget-conscious, but with a better financial back-up than 22-year-old me ever endured. The choice to splash out every now and then is liberating, but experiencing each side from the coin has taught me that a tight budget does not mean you need to miss out, and luxury won't always lead to the best memories.
Escaping your comfort zone ought to be an ongoing ambition
The prospect of solo travel in my early 20s was daunting, however i made it happen anyway. Sky-diving was emphatically not on my to-do list, but after a (drunken) pact, I still threw myself from a plane. With that first trip, I put rely upon strangers and flung myself into unpredictable situations with a gusto and naivety that just carefree youngsters can; I leaned into the thrill of claiming yes more and reaped the advantages. The older you receive, the harder it can be to ignore the “what ifs” in the back of your mind. It's simpler to settle into routine and cling to little luxuries, which is why, even after countless travel experiences, taking risks only gets harder for me.
I let fear get the better of me while understanding how to surf in Nicaragua. I'm no water baby, and also the strong Pacific waves were alarmingly large. As I entered the ocean an enormous wave loomed up ahead and, inside a panic, I couldn't decide whether or not to lift the board or push it underneath the surface to pay off it- past too far. My board rushed as much as my face and – smack! I flipped backwards, the tide dragging me to the shore in a tangle of safety cord and bloody foam. My mistake? Not embracing the challenge using the enthusiasm of my younger self. I learned that hesitation can hurt – a great deal – and also the only way to improve confidence in the face of the unknown is to square up to what scares you more often.
