Of late, travelling has become a necessity. When I was little, it was a luxury. Holidays were taken a couple of years apart, usually involved uncomfortable train or bus journeys and were planned after we had grown enough to save memories. Back then, the window between childhood and adulthood was narrow, hence we took only a few family holidays. This contemporary trend where people go on holidays with adult children and their families somewhat baffles me. In my experience, the relationship with my father was contained in the four walls of our home or then on outings related strictly to festivals or events in the family. Therefore, having pancakes at a buffet breakfast in a five-star hotel with my father dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts (after I crossed the age of sixteen) is not a concept I can wrap my head around. My mother, like most mothers is more willing to adapt. Yet, the point I’m making is that people didn’t feel the constant need to take breaks back then. Today, either due to double incomes, the influence of social media, fiercely competitive work environments or peer pressure, everyone has been told that they must take holidays, at least a few a year.

While everyone talks about the highs of visiting exotic destinations, no one mentions the lows. In my experience, people can live comfortably in a home together or be close friends, yet, they don’t necessarily make the best travel companions. Besides, travel can involve an incredible amount of expenditure and inconvenience. Every now and then we hear about missed flight connections, delayed baggage and nerve-wracking turbulence. Airlines treat you like an invisible entity, expecting you to check in hours before the flight even though they may delay the flight without warning. It’s almost as though you’re dependent on superior beings because your seating arrangement can be upgraded or downgraded at their whim. Usually, there’s no one to complain to aside from an app. Over and above the problems of the journey itself, there’s always the fear of picking up a viral bug, of thieves in crowded markets and of losing your own belongings due to fatigue. Besides, all these risks are taken only to stand in serpentine queues at tourist sites.

Whereas I value the experience I gain while travelling, I understand that the experience is superficial. Everything feels unreal on trips that are smooth. You hop from an airport to a comfortable hotel or luxury resort, eat at famous restaurants and shop at opulent fashion districts. While on holiday you forget that you don’t need to have two basins in a bathroom, a five- course lunch and a red handbag because you saw it in a shop window. Somehow, you become an ideal holiday maker, posing in various locations in appealing clothes with a plastered smile. Relaxing though it may seem, if you’re looking to run from a vacuum that forms inside you as you deal with real life then the vacuum is sure to magnify when you escape briefly only to return home.

Somewhere on a faraway horizon we are chasing versions of our selves. Every single time I travel, I find myself far removed from reality. The exquisite landscapes of most European towns and cities with their orderly surroundings tempt me to sell everything I own and move. The feeling is not limited to foreign places. I’m charmed by small towns nestled in the lap of the Himalayas where one can hear the chirping of birds in the day and the buzzing of cicadas at night. My future avatar (the one who has moved permanently) wears a hat and loose white or beige clothes and cycles to the local bazaar. I must admit here that I was raised by over protective parents in the middle of a bustling city and never learned to cycle. But, never mind, I’m chasing an image so I suppose I could learn cycling. The day dream leaves no room for a learner’s scrapes and cuts as it is sun-speckled and full of promise. Invariably, in a week or so, I find myself bored or disillusioned with the new location and realize that I would rather go home and live with the disillusions I am accustomed to than make fresh ones.

If you’re travelling to tell people you’re travelling then that is a good enough reason to keep going. But if you’re going to see a monument, you must take into account that it’s going to be over a dozen (or hundreds depending on its fame) heads and shoulders. If it is to imbibe culture, then books offer a finer perspective than one that is gained by traipsing through a list of museums and cafés provided by bloggers. There are other ways to open your mind to the world which don’t involve money, time, energy or forced camaraderie with fellow travellers. The power of great advertising has never fooled us more than when we see a statue of Christ the Redeemer in Rio or a beach in Bali form backdrops for group photos. Is everyone having fun or is everyone showing everyone else that they’re having fun? I’m afraid the lines have blurred and no one knows what really makes them happy any more. The only way to have a really good time is to be aware of what sort of down-time makes you happy. If you enjoy travel with all its possible pitfalls, then it’s fine but would you rather go somewhere near home to swim, surf, ski or then just sit in your room and binge tv shows? It may seem like a privilege to hop from place to place looking for excitement, but it’s an equal if not greater pleasure to be content at home. I think it’s okay to say “Nowhere,” when someone asks where you’re going for Christmas this year or where you’re going next summer. The real blessing lies in discovering that you’d be bored of beige and white clothes in a few days, that you’d likely get a sore behind from cycling without practice and that perhaps it is possible to be happy where you are and as you are.