I am officially done with the one-bag travel obsession. You know the people I’m talking about—the ones on YouTube who claim they spent three weeks in the Balkans with nothing but a 20-liter daypack and a sense of moral superiority. It’s a lie. Or, at the very least, they spent half their trip washing their only pair of underwear in a hostel sink with a bar of hotel soap. That sounds miserable. I don’t want to do laundry on my vacation. I want to have a clean shirt for dinner without it smelling like a damp basement.
The packing light myth is a trap
Everyone tells you to pack light so you can skip the checked bag fee. Sure, saving $40 is great until you’re in the middle of a cobblestone street in Rome and you realize you only brought one pair of ‘versatile’ sneakers that are currently giving you a blister the size of a grape. I used to think being a ‘pro’ traveler meant fitting everything into a carry-on. I was completely wrong. Now? I check the bag. I bring the extra boots. I bring the heavy denim jacket. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. The stress of trying to fit your life into a tiny overhead bin isn’t worth the $40. It’s just not.
I know people will disagree with this, and they’ll point to their color-coordinated packing cubes as proof that I’m just disorganized. But packing cubes are a scam. They don’t actually save space; they just organize the space you already have while adding 300 grams of unnecessary nylon and zippers to your load. Trying to close an overstuffed suitcase full of cubes is like wrestling a greasy pig that doesn’t want to go to market. It’s a struggle that yields zero rewards. Just roll your clothes and move on with your life.
The Berlin disaster of 2017
If you want to know why I’m so bitter about cheap gear, look no further than October 14, 2017. I was at the Berlin Hauptbahnhof, trying to catch a train to Prague. I had this hardshell suitcase from a brand called Voyager—I think they sell them at discount department stores for like $60. It looked sleek. It felt ‘premium.’ As I was sprinting toward Platform 14, one of the plastic wheels hit a gap in the pavement and just… disintegrated. Not just stuck. It shattered into four pieces.
I spent the next forty-five minutes dragging a 50-pound box through the freezing rain because the handle wouldn’t retract properly either. I ended up standing at a Currywurst stall near the station, crying into a paper plate of sausage while my luggage sat in a puddle like a dead body. I felt like a complete amateur. I had spent all my money on the flights and zero on the thing actually holding my life together. Buy a bag with replaceable wheels. If the wheels are riveted into the plastic, don’t buy it. That’s the only rule that matters.
Investing in one high-quality piece of luggage is cheaper than buying three pieces of garbage over five years. I’ve used the same Briggs & Riley bag for 120,000 miles now. It’s ugly, but it works.
Why I’ve officially quit Airbnb for good
I might be wrong about this, but I think the ‘authentic’ travel experience Airbnb promised died in 2016. Now, it’s just a way to pay a $150 cleaning fee so you can be told to take out the trash, strip the beds, and start a load of laundry before you leave at 10:00 AM. It’s exhausting. I’m tired of ‘industrial chic’ apartments that have the cheapest IKEA mattresses known to man and a host who doesn’t respond when the Wi-Fi cuts out. I’ve gone back to hotels. I want a front desk. I want a gym I won’t use. I want someone to take my trash away without charging me a ‘service fee’ that costs more than the room itself. Airbnb has ruined the rental market in cities like Lisbon and Mexico City, and honestly, the guilt of staying in them has finally outweighed the convenience. I refuse to use them anymore. Total garbage.
Anyway, I went on a bit of a rant there. But I digress. Let’s talk about things that actually make the trip better instead of just complaining about the tech bros who ruined housing.
The stuff that actually works
- Physical maps are better than Google: I tested this in Tokyo. I tracked my phone battery and found that using offline Google Maps saves about 22% of your daily charge, but a paper map saves 100%. Plus, you don’t look like a zombie staring at a screen.
- The 12mm rule for shoes: I’ve measured the midsole of every walking shoe I’ve owned. 12mm of EVA foam is the sweet spot. Anything less and your arches will scream after 15,000 steps; anything more and you’ll probably trip on a sidewalk crack.
- Download your movies at home: Airport Wi-Fi is a lie. The air in a budget terminal feels like a Tuesday at a DMV that also sells lukewarm hot dogs, and the internet is usually worse.
- Carry a universal sink stopper: It costs $4 and weighs nothing. You can wash socks in any sink in the world. This is the only ‘minimalist’ tip I actually believe in.
I have this weirdly specific habit where I always buy a bottle of local mustard in every country I visit. It started in Dijon, obviously, but now I have a shelf in my kitchen dedicated to mustards from Poland, Estonia, and even a weirdly spicy one from a grocery store in Queens. It’s the best souvenir because it’s cheap, it lasts forever, and it actually reminds you of the place every time you make a sandwich. Most people buy magnets or t-shirts made in a factory three thousand miles away. I buy mustard. It’s better.
I think people who spend more than 10 minutes taking photos of their food in Italy should have their passports revoked for six months. I’m serious. I saw a couple in Florence let a perfectly good plate of carbonara get cold because they were trying to get the lighting right for a Reel. It’s offensive to the chef and the eggs. Just eat the food. The memory of how it tasted is going to last longer than the engagement on your post anyway.
The truth is, travel is mostly just being tired in a different time zone. You’re going to be sweaty. You’re going to get lost. You’re going to realize you forgot your favorite toothbrush. But if you stop trying to make it look perfect for a blog or an Instagram feed, it actually becomes fun. I don’t know why we feel the need to turn every vacation into a performance of ‘the best version of ourselves.’ I’m the worst version of myself when I’ve been awake for 20 hours and I can’t find my hotel. And that’s okay.
Stop overthinking the gear. Just go.