If you’ve spent more than five minutes on travel social media, you’ve probably encountered one of the approximately 47 million articles telling you what not to wear on an airplane.

Don’t wear leggings.

Don’t wear shorts.

Don’t wear sandals.

Don’t wear pajamas.

Don’t wear anything tight.

Don’t wear anything loose.

At this point, I’m honestly surprised anyone is allowed to board dressed at all.

But today, I don’t want to talk about what you wear.

I want to talk about what you smell like.

Because while fashion crimes may be offensive to the eye, smell crimes are offensive to everyone within a three-row radius.

And unlike ugly shoes, there is no way to look away from a smell.

You have to sit there and endure it.

At 35,000 feet.

For hours.

So in the interest of public health, passenger comfort, and basic human decency, let’s discuss the smells that should never be allowed anywhere near an airplane.

Share

The Airplane Odor Classification System

Before we begin, I should explain that after decades of travel, I’ve developed my own Airplane Odor Classification System.

Category 1: Annoying

Category 2: Distracting

Category 3: Concerning

Category 4: Potentially Reportable

Category 5: Dear God, What Is That?

Most of the smells on today’s list fall somewhere between Category 3 and Category 5 according to my experienced sniffer, but you can judge for yourself.

Number 1: The Human Bath & Body Works Explosion

Let’s start with perfume and cologne.

Or more accurately, way too much perfume and cologne.

I am not anti-fragrance. A subtle scent can be lovely.

What I am against is being able to identify your location in the terminal using only my sense of smell.

Some people don’t wear perfume. They weaponize it.

Before they walk down the aisle, everyone already knows they’re coming.

Not because they saw them. Because they smelled them.

The scent arrives two minutes before they do.

At some point we crossed the line from “pleasant fragrance” into “active chemical event.”

I don’t need to know what your perfume is called.

But if I can taste it, you’ve used too much.

Special recognition goes to the airport duty-free enthusiast who apparently sampled every fragrance available in the terminal and decided they all worked beautifully together.

They do not. Trust me.

Number 2: The Silent But Deadly Criminals

Let’s talk about the elephant in the cabin.

Flatulence.

There. I said it.

Everyone acts like this doesn’t happen on airplanes.

It does.

Constantly.

But no.

Instead, we’re left to investigate these crimes ourselves.

The worst offenders are the Silent But Deadly crowd.

No sound. No warning. No opportunity to prepare.

One second you’re peacefully reading your book.

The next second you’re questioning what you did wrong in your life that led you to Seat 22A.

What makes this especially cruel is that there is never any way to identify the culprit.

Everyone immediately becomes a suspect.

Including innocent people. Including me. Especially me.

Because as soon as that nasty, rank smell appears, everyone starts casually looking around the cabin like they’re participating in a criminal investigation.

Eyes darting. Nostrils flaring. Silent accusations being exchanged.

Nobody wants to make eye contact because eye contact itself feels like an admission of guilt.

And somehow the person who actually did it always manages to look the most innocent.

I don’t know how. I just know they’re out there.

Among us. Flying in all cabin classes.

Number 3: The Airport Bar Survivor

We’ve all seen them.

The flight is at 8:00 a.m.

They’re already three Bloody Marys deep.

By boarding, they’re marinating in a delightful combination of alcohol, stale cigarettes, and regret.

You know exactly who I’m talking about.

The person who somehow arrived at the airport before the bars opened and still managed to be visibly overserved by sunrise.

By the time boarding begins, they’re everyone’s best friend.

Their very loud best friend.

They’re talking to strangers.

They’re talking to flight attendants.

They’re talking to the gate agent.

They’re talking to the person who is clearly wearing headphones and desperately trying not to make eye contact.

Then takeoff happens.

The excitement wears off.

The alcohol kicks in.

And suddenly they’re out cold.

Head tilted back. Mouth wide open. Facing directly toward you.

Why is it always toward you? Never the aisle. Never the window.

Always you.

And then it begins.

A warm, steady stream of airport-bar breath wafting across the armrest like an invisible chemical cloud.

The aroma is difficult to describe.

• It’s part Bloody Mary.

• Part airport lounge.

• Part stale cigarette from a habit they insist they quit five years ago.

• And part something that can only be described as a potential medical crisis.

You spend the next two hours subtly repositioning the air vent above your seat in a desperate attempt to create some sort of atmospheric barrier.

You can’t ask them to close their mouth. You can’t ask them to stop breathing.

You’re simply forced to sit there while their exhalations slowly erode your will to live.

By landing, you’ve learned more about their digestive system than you ever wanted to know.

And they wake up feeling refreshed.

While you arrive looking (and smelling) like you’ve spent four hours trapped inside a whiskey barrel.

Number 4: The “Laundry Is Just A Suggestion” Traveler

Listen. I totally get it — better than most.

Travel days are stressful.

Early alarms happen. Connections happen.

Long drives to the airport happen.

Flights get delayed. Flights get canceled.

We’ve all arrived at our destination feeling a little less fresh than when we left home.

That’s normal.

What I’m talking about is something else entirely.

I’m talking about the traveler who appears to have entered into a long-term disagreement with both soap and laundry detergent.

You know the one.

• The wrinkled T-shirt with mysterious, crusty stains.

• The sweatshirt that looks like it’s been on every trip since 2019.

• The cargo shorts that have clearly seen things.

• The outfit that appears to have accumulated miles at roughly the same rate as the traveler.

I’m a huge believer in carry-on luggage.

Not because of lost baggage. Not because of delays.

Because sometimes a clean shirt can save a situation.

At some point during a long travel day, the clothes you’ve been wearing stop being clothes and start becoming evidence.

That’s why God invented spare shirts.

And underwear. Definitely underwear.

And travel-size laundry detergent.

Yet some travelers seem determined to discover exactly how long a single outfit can survive before it achieves sentience.

The smell doesn’t hit all at once.

That would almost be easier.

Instead, it slowly develops over time.

By hour six, you’re wondering whether the smell is coming from the passenger or whether something in the aircraft’s ventilation system needs immediate attention.

The absurdity of it is that these people are always completely comfortable.

They’re relaxed. They’re asleep. They’re at peace.

Meanwhile everyone around them is quietly adjusting overhead air vents and wondering why they aren’t wearing an N-95 mask.

Look, I’m not asking for perfection.

I’m not expecting anyone to smell like fresh linen and mountain air.

But I am requesting a basic level of body odor self-awareness.

Number 5: The Barefoot Freedom Movement

I have questions.

Mainly:

Why?

Why do people remove their shoes on airplanes as if they’re entering their own living room?

This is public transportation.

At 35,000 feet.

You are not at home.

You are not at a spa.

You are not auditioning for a foot cream commercial.

And yet every flight contains at least one person who feels compelled to release their feet into the wild.

Sometimes it’s harmless.

Sometimes the smell rolls through the cabin like a weather system.

But here’s the thing.

Taking your shoes off is only Phase One.

The true professionals take it much further.

First, the shoes come off.

Then we’re introduced to the socks.

The socks that have apparently been collecting memories since the beginning of the trip.

The socks that have survived multiple airports, several time zones, and what I can only assume was a complete lack of ventilation.

And then comes the moment that separates the amateurs from the elite offenders.

They put their feet up.

On the seat in front of them.

Between the seats in front of them.

Along the armrest.

Occasionally dangling into someone else’s personal space like a scene from a hostage negotiation.

Nothing says “I was raised by wolves” quite like seeing a stranger’s sock-covered toes suddenly appear beside your tray table.

I paid for a window seat.

I did not pay for an unsolicited foot exhibit.

And let’s be honest. Nobody thinks their feet smell. Nobody.

Every single person who removes their shoes believes they are the exception.

They think we’re all sitting there admiring their confidence.

We’re not.

We’re trying to determine whether the unusual odor is coming from their feet or an electrical fire in the cargo hold.

The worst part is that airplane socks seem to have magical powers.

The moment they’re exposed to cabin air, they immediately transform into something far more potent than they were on the ground.

It’s as if the reduced cabin pressure activates them.

Scientists should study it. Or perhaps not.

Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

Look, if you need to loosen your shoes on a long flight, I get it.

I fly long-haul flights all of the time. I come prepared with slippers in hand.

But there is a significant difference between quietly making yourself comfortable and turning Row 22 into a podiatric crime scene.

If your feet need freedom, that’s between you and your feet.

The rest of us did not volunteer to participate.

And if your sock-covered toes are visible to passengers in front of you, behind you, or in neighboring zip codes, you’ve crossed a line.

Number 6: The Mystery Fast Food Bag

This one is especially dangerous because it begins innocently.

A passenger boards carrying a paper bag.

No big deal.

People have to eat. I understand that.

But then the bag opens.

And suddenly the entire cabin is participating in a smell-based guessing game nobody signed up for.

• Is it a burger?

• Is it fried chicken?

• Is it fish?

• Is it something covered in enough garlic to ward off vampires for the next three generations?

Nobody knows. But everybody smells it.

The aroma spreads through the cabin faster than the speed of light.

Within seconds, rows 18 through 24 have become unwilling participants in your lunch.

Now, I realize some people don’t mind food smells.

I am not one of those people. Food smells nauseate me. No matter where they are.

Truthfully, I don’t even enjoy food smells in my own kitchen.

So the last thing I want to spend the next three hours doing is trying to determine whether you’re eating Shake Shack, Popeyes, or Long John Silver’s.

Especially Long John Silver’s.

There are certain foods that simply do not belong in enclosed spaces.

And fish is near the top of that list.

The problem isn’t even the eating. It’s the lingering.

You finish your meal in fifteen minutes. The smell remains for the next two hours.

Long after the fries are gone. Long after the wrapper is folded up. Long after you’ve forgotten about it.

If the smell can overpower jet fuel, maybe save it for after landing.

Number 7: The Tuna Fish People

There are thousands of foods available on Earth.

Thousands.

And yet, every single day, somewhere in the skies above us, a person boards an airplane carrying tuna fish.

Not by accident.

Not because there were no other options.

Because they chose this.

Let’s think about the sequence of events:

At some point they made the tuna.

Or purchased the tuna.

Or packed the tuna.

Then they placed the tuna into their carry-on.

Then they transported the tuna to the airport.

Then they carried the tuna through security.

Then they carried the tuna to the gate.

Then they boarded the aircraft.

At literally any point in this journey, they could have stopped and asked themselves a simple question:

“Should I open tuna fish inside a sealed metal tube containing 180 other human beings?”

And somehow the answer always seems to be yes.

Every single time.

Now, I don’t have anything against tuna. Tuna has its place.

That place is not Row 23.

The problem with tuna is that it doesn’t politely stay with the person eating it.

Oh no. Tuna is a community event.

The moment that container opens, the smell begins expanding through the cabin like it has its own boarding pass.

The crazy thing is that tuna people never seem concerned. I mean, like they are oblivious.

They’re just happily eating their sandwich while 40 nearby passengers are looking for a barf bag.

Meanwhile the rest of us are literally dying from the smell.

Where is it coming from? Who did this? Can they be stopped?

Listen — if your lunch can be detected from three rows away, it has officially become everyone’s lunch.

And nobody asked to share.

Number 8: The Hard-Boiled Egg Enthusiasts

This deserves its own category because it keeps happening.

Who are these people?

Where do they get so many eggs?

Why are they traveling with them?

Why do they always seem to be sitting directly behind me?

The smell of hard-boiled eggs is the travel equivalent of a group text nobody asked to be included in.

It’s a smell that ignores all known laws of physics.

Suddenly nobody knows what’s causing what.

Was it the eggs? Was it the guy in 14C? Was it both working together in some sort of unholy alliance?

We’ll never know.

The hard-boiled egg has become the perfect accomplice.

Somewhere on every flight, there’s a person who just committed an act of atmospheric terrorism and is silently thanking the woman in Row 11 who opened her egg container ten minutes earlier.

Case closed. Investigation over. The eggs took the fall.

Look, I understand that eggs are high in protein. I understand they’re convenient.

I understand they’re portable.

You know what else is portable?

Literally hundreds of other snacks.

Most of which don’t make an airplane smell like a chemistry experiment gone wrong.

The real problem isn’t the eggs themselves.

It’s that once the smell arrives, it lingers in the air. Long after the eggs are gone. Long after the shells are discarded. Long after the culprit has moved on to their next snack.

So to the hard-boiled egg enthusiasts of the world, I have one simple request:

If your snack requires the entire aircraft to become involved in the experience, perhaps choose a different snack.

Because some of us are still trying to solve the mystery of whether we’re smelling eggs, an SBD, or a complicated combination of both.

Share

Number 9: The Essential Oil Evangelists

These are the cousins of the perfume offender.

But with one critical difference.

The perfume people know they’re wearing perfume.

The essential oil people seriously believe they’re helping.

As soon as someone coughs, they reach for a bottle.

Then another bottle. And another bottle.

Suddenly the cabin smells like peppermint, eucalyptus, lavender, tea tree, citrus, rosemary, frankincense, patchouli, lemongrass, and whatever else was featured in a Facebook post about wellness.

The thing about essential oil enthusiasts is that they are never casual about it.

Nobody ever quietly uses one drop and moves on with their day.

No.

Everything becomes a presentation.

Someone mentions a headache.

They have an oil for that.

Someone mentions stress.

They have an oil for that.

Someone mentions jet lag.

They have an oil for that.

Someone mentions a broken suitcase wheel, delayed baggage, political instability, or a poor stock market performance.

Somehow they have an oil for that too.

Within minutes, they’re explaining the benefits of a small amber bottle they carry in a special padded case that contains enough oils to supply a midsize spa.

And before you know it, they’re waving bottles around like they’re conducting an orchestra.

• A little peppermint under the nose.

• A little lavender on the wrist.

• A little eucalyptus on the neck.

At this point, lady, you’re not treating symptoms.

You’re seasoning yourself.

Look, if essential oils make you happy, that’s wonderful.

Enjoy them. At home. In your hotel room. In a field somewhere with adequate ventilation.

But when you’re trapped inside a sealed metal tube with 180 strangers, maybe don’t transform Row 14 into an aromatherapy convention.

Because despite what your wellness Facebook group may have told you, peppermint is not a substitute for oxygen.

Number 10: The Diaper Situation

Let’s begin with an important clarification.

Babies travel.

Babies are wonderful.

Babies are innocent.

Babies are not the problem.

And while we’re at it, babies aren’t the only people wearing diapers.

Anyone who has traveled with an aging parent, a spouse with medical issues, someone recovering from surgery, or anyone dealing with incontinence knows that sometimes these products are simply a necessity.

No judgment whatsoever.

Life happens. Bodies happen. Travel happens.

The problem is not the diaper.

The problem is when a situation develops.

And everyone on the aircraft knows a situation has developed.

You know the moment. It arrives suddenly. Without warning.

One second you’re reading your book.

The next second every passenger within five rows has paused mid-sentence.

Heads slowly begin lifting. Eyes start scanning the cabin.

Nobody says a word.

But everyone is thinking the exact same thing:

Something happened.

At that point the entire aircraft enters into a silent social contract.

Nobody acknowledges it.

Nobody points fingers.

Nobody makes eye contact.

Everyone simply pretends nothing is wrong while quietly praying for stronger ventilation.

And unlike many of the other smells on this list, this isn’t one that inspires outrage.

It’s more like collective resignation.

A shared understanding that we’re all going to get through this together.

Like turbulence. Or a delayed departure. Or the person in front of you reclining their seat the second the wheels leave the ground.

The real challenge is that there is no escape.

You can’t open a window. You can’t step outside. You can’t ask the pilot to circle until conditions improve.

You simply sit there and wait for time, airflow, and modern engineering to do their thing.

Eventually the moment passes.

The cabin returns to normal.

The crisis is over.

Until somebody opens a container of tuna fish.

And then we’re right back where we started.

Subscribe now

In Closing…

The funny thing about every smell on this list is that somebody, somewhere, is reading this article and thinking:

“Oh my God. People actually do that?”

Meanwhile everyone around them is thinking:

“Ummmm, she’s talking about you, dude.”

Leave a comment

Nobody has ever called me to ask whether I found a hidden café this week.

No one is interested in hearing that I woke up at 3:45 a.m. on a random Tuesday.

And yet, the moment we leave home and set foot in an airport, something changes.

Not in a bad way. Not even in a consciously competitive way.

What’s funny is that I don’t think most of us are trying to one-up anyone. We’re not sitting around plotting how to become the Most Impressive Tourist of 2026.

I think we’re just excited.

We want people to know what we saw, what we experienced, and what happened to us.

But, what I will say is that when everyone is doing this at the same time, it starts to look suspiciously like a competition.

The categories are endless.

And just for the record… I have gold medaled in most of them.

The Step Count Olympics

At home, nobody announces their daily step count.

On vacation, it becomes breaking news.

“We walked 23,000 steps yesterday.”

“That’s nothing. We did 27,000.”

Suddenly we’re all endurance athletes.

I’ve heard people recite step counts with the same pride normally reserved for marathon finishers.

Somewhere along the way, sightseeing became a competitive sport.

The unspoken message seems to be:

“Did you even visit the city if your feet aren’t in agony?”

Now, full disclosure: I don’t count steps.

Never have.

I don’t need a watch to tell me whether I’ve been active.

At my age, my hips handle that job quite efficiently. They know exactly how many steps I’ve taken.

In fact, every morning after a travel day, they provide a detailed report.

Not in numbers, of course. More in the form of me slowly unfolding myself out of bed after sleeping like a professional contortionist.

If I spend the first five minutes of the day feeling like I need the Tin Man’s oil can, I don’t need an app to inform me that yesterday involved a lot of steps.

My body has already sent the memo.

And yet, despite my refusal to track them, I’ve still found myself participating in the Step Count Olympics.

Not because I know the number.

But because I’ve absolutely said things like:

• “We walked everywhere.”

• “My feet are killing me.”

• “I don’t think we sat down for eight hours.”

Which, if we’re being honest, is just the analog version of announcing 27,000 steps.

Share

The Hidden Gem Championship

Every traveler wants to discover the café.

Not just a café. The café.

The tiny place tucked down an alley behind a church, next to a flower shop, that serves the best cappuccino you’ve ever had.

The one that “only the locals know about.”

The irony is that the minute twelve travelers post about it on Instagram, it’s no longer hidden.

But that never stops us from feeling like we’ve personally discovered a lost civilization.

Me? I discover hidden gems all the time.

Not because I’m some travel genius.

And definitely not because I’ve spent hours reading reviews or watching TikTok videos titled “10 Secret Places Tourists Don’t Know About.”

I find them because I have a simple travel goal: put me outside with a diet coke, a delectable desert or a questionable lunch, and let me watch people.

That’s it.

I can lose an entire afternoon observing humanity from a café table.

The funny part is that sometimes the food required to secure that prime people-watching real estate is absolutely abominable.

We’ve all done it.

You order something because you’ve already committed to the seat.

The meal arrives. You take one bite. It’s terrible.

And yet you sit there happily for another hour because the people-watching is five-star entertainment.

Oddly, nobody ever posts that on social media.

No one uploads a photo captioned:

“Found an amazing hidden café. The lasagna tasted like a damp sponge, but the people-watching was phenomenal.”

But every now and then, I stumble upon a place that is genuinely magical.

The kind of place where, twenty minutes after sitting down, I start having completely delusional thoughts like:

• “I could live here.”

• “I should move here.”

• “I could come here every morning.”

Here’s what’s really odd though: when I truly love a place, I rarely remember the name.

I couldn’t tell you the address. I probably will not even remember the cross streets.

Which is particularly ridiculous because one thing people know about me is that I’m exceptionally good with directions.

I can usually find my way around a new city faster than people who have lived there for years. I remember landmarks, side streets, shortcuts, and which alley leads where.

But the café I spent three blissful hours in and mentally designated as my future neighborhood hangout when I inevitably move there?

No clue what it was called or where it’s located.

I suspect that’s not an accident.

Some small part of me doesn’t want everyone else knowing about it.

Because the moment everybody discovers your hidden gem, it stops feeling like a discovery.

It becomes a destination.

And those are two very different things.

The Room Comparison Games

This begins approximately fourteen seconds after everyone checks in.

• “Oh, you got a balcony?”

• “We got a partial ocean view.”

• “Our room is huge with a separate bedroom.”

Usually nobody is upset. Usually nobody is openly jealous.

But… everyone suddenly becomes a hotel room appraiser.

People who haven’t thought about square footage in years somehow develop very strong opinions about room location and window quality.

Personally, I find this especially entertaining in Europe because Americans in particular seem to arrive expecting a hotel room the size of a suburban ranch house.

Then they open the door and discover that the room is approximately the size of a generous walk-in closet.

Suddenly there’s a crisis.

• “Where do I put my luggage?”

• “There isn’t enough storage.”

• “The bathroom is tiny.”

• “I can’t fully open my suitcase.”

And every time I hear these complaints, I think about something my husband used to say.

Hotel rooms are for three things:

“Shit, shower, and shave.”

Maybe four if you’re lucky enough to add a good night’s sleep.

And if you want five… well you know where that’s headed.

That’s it.

You’re in Paris. Or Rome. Or Prague.

The room isn’t the destination -- the city is.

Yet somehow, the moment we travel with friends, everyone becomes deeply interested in room assignments.

• Who got the bigger room?

• Who got the better view?

• Who got the balcony?

• Who got the room where the shower doesn’t require you to climb over a 3-foot bathtub wall?

I’ve participated in these conversations myself, so I’m not judging.

But I do find it amusing that we spend months planning a trip around cathedrals, museums, beaches, and ancient ruins...

...and then devote the first thirty minutes of arrival to comparing hotel rooms we’ll mostly use while we’re unconscious.

Country Collecting

Some travelers collect experiences.

Others collect countries.

You’ll occasionally meet someone who tells you they’ve visited 43 countries before they’ve told you their last name.

Then comes the internal mental debate.

• “Does a layover count?”

• “What if you left the airport?”

• “What if you changed terminals?”

Of all the travel competitions I’ve participated in, this is a big one.

I’ve been to over 100 countries on all seven continents.

See? I just did it again.

The funny thing is, I swear I’m not trying to brag.

Or am I?

Honestly, I think I’m just so proud that I spent years doing exactly what I promised myself I would do.

Travel the world. Keep going. See as much of it as possible.

But somewhere along the way, I became one of those people who keeps a country count.

And once you start counting, you inevitably become a rule maker.

Because deep down, you know some of the numbers are questionable.

For me, layovers don’t count.

• I don’t care if I spent six hours at the airport.

• I don’t care if I bought a sandwich there.

• I don’t care if I briefly admired the duty-free shops.

Those don’t count.

Then I decided I needed to spend at least 24 hours in a country, outside of the airport, for it to count.

Later, I changed that to 48 hours.

Over time, my list of requirements has become increasingly complicated, which I suspect is my conscience trying to intervene.

Because in my heart, I know that landing in an airport isn’t the same as visiting a country.

And yet country counters everywhere continue negotiating with themselves.

“Well, technically...”

Travelers love the phrase technically.

• Technically, I landed there.

• Technically, I crossed the border.

• Technically, I spent three hours there.

• Technically, I left the airport.

At some point, the conversation starts sounding less like travel and more like a tax audit.

The older I get, the less I care about the number itself.

What matters are the memories attached to it.

The conversations. The mistakes. The meals. The people. The moments when I was completely lost and completely happy.

Still...

If I make it to country number 107, there’s a very good chance I’ll mention it.

You know.

Just for record-keeping purposes.

The Authenticity Contest

Travelers don’t just want experiences. They want authentic experiences.

• Someone stayed in a boutique hotel.

• Someone else stayed in a family-run guesthouse.

• Someone else spent three nights in a mountain village accessible only by donkey.

The authenticity bar keeps rising until eventually someone says:

“There wasn’t even electricity.”

And somehow everyone nods respectfully.

I am particularly guilty of this when it comes to safari.

In fact, I’ve become something of a safari snob.

Having experienced everything from luxury lodges in South Africa and Mozambique to tented camps in Tanzania during the Great Migration, I’ve developed very strong opinions about what a safari should be.

I’ve decided I prefer my safaris the way they were meant to be:

“Authentic.”

Now before you start picturing me sleeping on the ground and foraging for berries, let’s define what I mean by authentic.

Authentic means sleeping in a tent.

A tent that happens to contain luxury bedding.

Authentic means taking a bush shower.

A bush shower that somehow always manages to provide hot water, even if it got there by way of a pail.

Authentic means stopping for sundowners in the middle of the wilderness.

Sundowners where our guides thoughtfully set up tables, chairs, snacks, and a selection of imported wines, gin, whiskey, and whatever else we might desire while watching the sunset.

Authentic means dining by candlelight under the stars.

While enjoying a beautifully prepared meal and enthusiastically discussing how wonderful it is that the ingredients came from a nearby village.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that what many of us call authentic travel is often just luxury travel wearing a khaki outfit.

We love authenticity.

As long as authenticity includes a comfortable mattress.

And good food.

And functioning plumbing.

And preferably a decent glass of wine.

The truth is that authentic is a remarkably flexible concept.

When travelers talk about wanting authentic experiences, what we often mean is:

• “I want to feel adventurous but not endangered.”

• “I want to feel connected to local culture but not so connected that I lose access to coffee.”

• “I want a great story when I get home, but I’d also like to sleep well tonight.”

And in my opinion?

There’s nothing wrong with that.

Most of us aren’t actually searching for hardship.

We’re searching for connection.

We’re looking for moments that feel real.

Moments that feel different from home.

Moments that help us understand a place beyond the guidebook.

The truth is that every traveler draws the authenticity line in a different place.

For some people, it’s a luxury safari tent in Tanzania.

For others, it’s a backpack and a hostel.

For someone else, it’s spending a week in a village with no Wi-Fi.

Meanwhile, we’re all quietly competing with one another’s definition.

And secretly wondering whether ours is the correct one.

The Sunset Waiting Game

Every destination has a famous sunset.

And every traveler has another sunset that was supposedly better.

“It was beautiful, but honestly...”

There’s always a “but honestly.”

Apparently, sunsets are being ranked globally, and nobody told the sun.

I find this one particularly hilarious because I grew up on the East Coast.

Our lives revolve around sunrises, not sunsets.

The sun comes up over the water. It doesn’t sink into it.

So for most of my life, sunsets were nice enough, but they weren’t exactly a major event.

Then I went to Hawaii.

• Suddenly everyone was talking about sunset.

• People planned their evenings around sunset.

• Restaurants advertised sunset views.

• Tour boats offered sunset cruises.

• Entire crowds gathered every evening to watch the sun slowly drop into the Pacific Ocean.

Naturally, I figured I was about to witness one of the great life-changing moments of travel.

The anticipation built all day. Finally, the moment arrived.

The sun touched the horizon. It bounced and slipped into the ocean.

Everyone oohed and awwwed.

And the whole thing was over in about sixty seconds.

I remember thinking, “ummm… okidokee then. Is it time for dinner?”

Fast-forward a few decades and now I’ve become one of those people taking sunset photos all over the world.

Europe. Africa. The Caribbean. The Mediterranean.

My phone is now filled with enough sunset photos to convince people that I’m deeply spiritual and spend my evenings contemplating the mysteries of life.

The truth is considerably less poetic.

Most of the time, while everyone is admiring the sunset, I’m thinking:

• “This is beautiful.”

• “I’m also hungry.”

• “How much longer is this going to take?”

• “If the sun could just finish setting, I’d really like to get to dinner.”

And yet I still take the picture - multiple takes. Every single time.

Because some sunsets genuinely are spectacular.

And because apparently, I need photographic evidence that I witnessed the exact same giant ball of fire disappearing below the horizon in multiple countries.

People rarely ever compare sunrise photos. But sunsets? Those are competitive.

We’ve turned a daily astronomical event into an international ranking system.

And despite all my sarcasm, if you show me a spectacular sunset from some remote corner of the world, I’ll probably show you one from somewhere else.

Which means I may be participating in the Sunset Waiting Game more than I’d like to admit.

Just stop asking me to skip dinner for it.

The “I Was There Before It Was Popular” Competition

Travelers love claiming early-adopter status.

• “I went before everyone discovered it.”

• “I visited years ago.”

• “It wasn’t crowded back then.”

There’s a special kind of pride that comes from having liked a destination before it became cool.

It’s the travel equivalent of saying you knew the band before they got famous.

And if there were an Olympic event for this category, I would absolutely win the gold.

My country is Iceland.

If you know me, you’ve heard this story approximately 4,372 times.

My husband and I started traveling to Iceland more than twenty years ago, long before it became the destination it is today.

Back then, when I mentioned Iceland, people looked at me the same way they would if I’d announced plans to vacation on the moon.

• “Why Iceland?”

• “What is there to do?”

• “Isn’t it just ice?”

Now, of course, everybody wants to go.

And I have to admit, a tiny part of me enjoys saying:

“Oh yes, I remember Iceland before it was popular.”

Not because I’m insufferable.

But because I genuinely fell in love with the place long before the rest of the world caught on.

What makes it even more absurd is that I secretly act like I’m the only modern human who ever discovered Iceland.

As if an entire nation of nearly 400,000 people was just sitting there waiting for me to find it.

“You’re welcome, Iceland.”

The reality is that I’ve spent decades returning again and again.

• I’ve watched roads improve.

• Tourism explode.

• Hotels appear where there once weren’t any.

• I’ve watched volcanic eruptions reshape the landscape.

• I’ve seen glaciers change.

• I’ve witnessed a country constantly evolving while somehow remaining unmistakably Iceland.

However — here’s where my hypocrisy becomes obvious.

For someone who likes to claim they loved Iceland before everyone else did...

I’ve also sent hundreds and hundreds of travelers there.

I have enthusiastically encouraged people to visit.

I’ve recommended and planned itineraries for families, couples and groups.

Shared advice. Given directions. Answered endless questions.

In other words, I’ve spent years helping create the very thing I now claim happened after I got there.

Apparently, my version of gatekeeping is standing at the gate waving everyone through.

The truth is, what I really love isn’t that I was there first.

It’s that I was there early enough to watch a place I adore evolve over time.

There’s something special about returning to the same destination for decades.

You stop being a visitor.

You become a witness.

You notice what’s changed.

You notice what hasn’t.

And somehow those changes become part of your own story too.

Still...

If Iceland ever comes up in conversation, there’s a very good chance I’ll casually mention that I was going there before it was cool.

Not because I’m keeping score.

Just because I apparently can’t help myself.

Subscribe now

The Packing Olympics

There are two categories.

The Minimalists:

“I traveled for three weeks with one backpack.”

And the Overpackers:

“I brought six pairs of shoes because you never know.”

Both groups are convinced they’re the smart ones.

Neither can understand the other.

Personally, I’m both.

I never travel without my backpack.

It’s my security blanket. My command center. My mobile office.

If you see me at an airport, that backpack is coming with me. No exceptions.

But then there’s the checked bag.

The checked bag is where all my good intentions go to die.

Every trip begins the same way.

“I’m packing light this time.”

I mean it, too. I genuinely believe it.

Then something happens.

I start adding things:

• An extra T-shirt.

• Another pair of flip-flops because these match that outfit better.

• A sweater “just in case.”

• The flat iron that I know perfectly well I’m not going to use because I barely use it at home.

The pile grows. The suitcase gets heavier.

The internal negotiations begin.

• “It’s only one more item.”

• “This doesn’t really take up any space.”

• “What if I need it?”

That last one is particularly dangerous.

Because obviously I spend a significant portion of pre-trip planning preparing for situations that have never happened before and are highly unlikely to happen now.

• What if I need three bathing suits?

• What if I need dressier sandals?

• What if there’s a formal dinner?

• What if it gets cold, hot, rains, snows, etc.?

By the time I zip the suitcase shut, I’ve somehow managed to pack for several alternate versions of myself.

Which brings me to one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed.

I was leading a Sisterhood Travels safari, and because we were flying on several small bush planes, there were strict baggage weight limits.

Surprisingly, not individual limits. Group limits.

That meant every pound mattered and we were relying on each other’s shall we say… restraint when they packed.

So there we were, fourteen women standing in line while luggage was weighed.

And instead of stressing about it, we somehow turned it into a competition.

Every time someone’s bag came in under the limit, the rest of us erupted into cheers.

Fist bumps were exchanged. High-fives were flying.

Women who had known each other for only a few days were suddenly celebrating a 27-pound suitcase as though someone had just won an Olympic medal.

“Twenty-six pounds!”

“No way!”

“You beat me!”

I remember standing there thinking:

How have we managed to turn luggage into a spectator sport?

Only travelers could create a competitive event out of baggage weight.

And yet for about twenty minutes, that line at the scale was the most exciting competition of the entire trip.

And you know what? That competition made it possible for the Overpackers to get their bags onto the plane.

But there were Minimalist MVPs on the team and they definitely deserve our gratitude.

No matter where I return from, when I unpack at home, I inevitably discover a collection of untouched items that apparently enjoyed their vacation far more than I did.

But alas, I never learn.

Because before my next trip, I’ll once again stand in front of an open suitcase and confidently announce:

“This time I’m packing light.”

Share

The Most Local Experience Contest

Somewhere along the line, tourists have become conditioned to not look like tourists.

• Someone found a restaurant with no English menu.

• Someone else ate somewhere with no menu at all.

• Someone else got invited into a local family’s home.

Every story tries to move one step further from anything that resembles organized tourism.

This one always makes me laugh because years ago, my husband and I were on an organized excursion in Vladivostok, Russia that included visits to local families.

The group was divided into smaller groups of four people, each with a translator, and we were assigned to different homes.

The idea was to experience everyday life through the eyes of local residents.

It sounded wonderful. And it was.

At least for us.

The family we visited couldn’t have been more welcoming.

The dining table looked like they had been preparing for a royal banquet.

Food everywhere. Smiles everywhere.

The daughters proudly took me on a tour of their bedrooms.

One of them had a pet mouse. And yes, she let me hold him.

To this day, I can still remember how excited she was to share every detail of her life with a complete stranger from another part of the world.

It was one of those travel experiences that stays with you.

But the truly entertaining part happened afterward.

When all the groups reunited.

What followed was less a cultural exchange and more a competitive debriefing.

People immediately started comparing notes.

• “Our family made us dinner.”

• “Really? Ours only served snacks.”

• “We got homemade cake.”

• “We got real Russian vodka.”

• “The children showed us their rooms.”

• “We just sat at the table.”

Some people felt they had won the lottery. Others were convinced they had somehow received the budget version.

And before long, there were clearly perceived winners and losers in what was supposed to be an authentic cultural experience.

Even when we’re trying to immerse ourselves in local culture, we somehow find a way to compare experiences.

• Who had the most authentic visit?

• Who had the warmest family?

• Who got the best food?

• Who got the best story?

Travelers can turn almost anything into a contest.

Even hospitality.

The irony, of course, is that every one of those families opened their homes to complete strangers.

Every experience was authentic.

Every experience was real.

But the moment we got back together, authenticity somehow acquired a scoreboard.

And if I’m being completely honest, I still think Mike and I won.

The Travel Disaster Awards

Lost luggage.

Missed trains.

Cancelled flights.

Wrong hotels.

Food poisoning.

Travelers tell these stories with surprising pride.

It’s as though every disaster becomes another stamp proving you’ve truly traveled.

A few years ago, I found myself with what appeared to be an award-winning travel disaster.

At least that’s how I tell it now.

At the time, it felt considerably less charming.

I had just completed a polar expedition cruise in the High Arctic and was in Longyearbyen, Norway—the world’s northernmost town of any significant size.

And when I say town, I mean town.

You could literally walk from one end to the other in less time than it takes most people to cross a football field.

The plan was simple. Fly home.

Except SAS Airlines had other plans.

The very day we were scheduled to leave was the day they decided to begin a pilot strike.

Unfortunately, there is essentially one way in and one way out of Longyearbyen.

And suddenly, nobody was going anywhere.

Fortunately, I managed to snag a room at what was arguably the nicest hotel in town: the Radisson.

Day One? This isn’t so bad.

Day Two? I found exciting things to do. I rode an ATV. I visited the sled dogs. I embraced my unexpected Arctic adventure.

Day Three? I somehow ended up at a local salon where a woman politely informed me that I needed to take better care of my hair.

Day Four? Let’s just say there are only so many times you can wander through the local grocery store looking for snacks before things begin to feel repetitive.

Day Five? I was no longer interested in Arctic exploration or live viewing of the reindeer outside of my room.

• I wanted my couch.

• I wanted my Diet Dr. Pepper.

• I wanted to stop sitting on hard wooden chairs covered with reindeer skins designed to keep my backside warm.

• I was entering the advanced stages of travel fatigue.

Then fate intervened.

I happened to run into the doctor from our expedition ship, who casually mentioned that a German cruise ship was in port and that she’d managed to secure a cabin on board.

The ship was sailing to Reykjavik.

My brain immediately exploded with possibilities.

Now, picture this:

I was wearing warm furry slippers. Not running shoes. Not boots. Big. Furry. Slippers.

And I literally ran to the ship.

I begged. Actually begged.

“Please, please, please, let me aboard.”

To make a long story short, one negative COVID test later, the cruise line’s deluxe motor coach was driving me back to the hotel to collect my luggage.

A few hours later, I was sailing toward Iceland. And from there, with little fanfare, flew home from Reykjavik.

What felt like a travel catastrophe at the time wasn’t really a disaster at all.

It was an inconvenience. A very Arctic inconvenience.

An inconvenience that involved an unexpected cruise to Reykjavik.

An inconvenience that came with a story good enough to tell years later.

Travelers do this all the time.

We survive a situation. Then we promote it.

Every delayed flight becomes an epic ordeal.

Every missed connection becomes a survival story.

Every inconvenience gets upgraded in hindsight.

And maybe that’s because the best travel stories rarely begin with:

“Everything went exactly according to plan.”

They usually begin with:

“You’re never going to believe what happened...”

And if travel disasters were actually judged as a competition, I think my emergency cruise from the Arctic to Iceland would score pretty well.

Although technically, I suspect it was less a disaster and more proof that sometimes the best thing you can do while traveling is stop fighting reality and see where it takes you.

What Is Really Going On Here?

I suppose what really makes me laugh is that I don’t think any of this is really about competition.

Not in the traditional sense.

I think travel temporarily turns us back into children.

Children are constantly saying:

• “Look what I found.”

• “Look what I did.”

• “Look what I saw.”

Travel does the same thing to adults.

We leave behind our jobs, routines, responsibilities, and our jaded identities.

And suddenly we’re excited again.

Curious again.

Delighted by things we don’t normally see.

So we start collecting stories, experiences, sunsets, hidden cafés, animal sightings, and ridiculous step counts.

Then we turn to the people around us and say:

“Look what I found.”

It may look like competition.

But most of the time, it’s really just wonder looking for an audience.

And in my humble opinion, that’s not a bad thing at all.

Every traveler has a category they could win a gold medal in. What's yours? Tell me your event and your best story in the comments. 🏅

Leave a comment

Seriously, I can’t keep up anymore with who’s what.

At my age, we just talk in decades.

Your 20s. Your 30s. Your 40s. Your 50s. And my decade… the Etceteras.

Because trust me—what wellness means at 28 is very different from what it means at 58.

In your 20s, wellness is sleeping in a treehouse in Bali after a full moon ceremony.
In your 50s, wellness is a hotel with orthopedic pillows and nobody needing anything from you.

Both are valid.

Because wellness travel evolves right along with us.
Every decade has its own mission.

• Your 20s are about discovery.

• Your 30s are about balance.

• Your 40s are about survival.

• Your 50s are about peace.

• And your 60s and beyond? Comfort. Sweet, glorious comfort.

And while some of these may overlap from decade to decade, I’m sure you may recognize yourself wherever you’re at — I know I sure do!

So let’s discuss.

In Your 20s: Wellness = Chaos, Crystals, and Questionable Decisions

Your 20s are not really about wellness.

Your 20s are about experimenting with wellness while actively destroying your sleep schedule and digestive system.

This is the decade where you think:
“I should go to Bali to heal.”

Heal from what?
Nobody knows.

You’ve got:
student loans
roommates
dating trauma
anxiety disguised as “being spontaneous”
and a frightening level of confidence in crop tops and overnight buses.

You’re willing to try literally anything.

This is the era of:
moon circles
sound baths
cacao ceremonies
breathwork
astrology retreats
human design workshops
and crying during yoga because somebody played a Coldplay song.

You will absolutely spend $400 to have a woman named Aurora tell you Mercury retrograde is why you texted your ex.

And, for what reason I’ll never know — you believe her.

This is also the decade where wellness gets aggressively weird.

You sign up for:
goat yoga
silent retreats
ice plunges
digital detox camps
and retreats where someone “reads your energy” through cheese.

I’m sorry—CHEESE.

Apparently somewhere in California there’s a woman holding brie up to people’s foreheads telling them to “lean into softness.”

But in your 20s you’re like:
“Oh yeah. That resonates.”

Your body still works at this age, which is why you think sleeping in a treehouse with no air conditioning is “part of the experience.”

You can survive:
three hours of sleep
a sunrise hike
spicy margaritas
and emotionally devastating conversations with strangers named Sky.

Your idea of wellness is:
finding yourself
expanding your horizons
and taking beach photos in thongs while pretending your life is together.

And I say good for you.

This is your chaos era.

Enjoy it before your lower back starts sending warning shots.

In Your 30s: Wellness = Burnout Prevention With Better Hotels

Your 30s are when wellness stops being cute and starts becoming necessary (although I know plenty of 30 year olds who are still all about those wellness routines from their 20s).

Because now life is BUSY.

You’ve got:
careers
relationships
possibly babies
possibly divorces
possibly both at the same time
group texts you can’t keep up with
and approximately 74 tabs open in your brain at all times.

This is the decade where you suddenly understand why women fantasize about checking into hotels alone.

Not for romance.

For silence.

Your idea of wellness now is less:
“I want to awaken spiritually.”

And more:
“I would like one weekend where nobody asks me to make a decision.”

This is the era of:
spa weekends
girls’ trips
wine country getaways
wellness resorts with king-sized beds
and vacations where someone else cooks your meals.

You still like yoga… but not the kind where an instructor says:
“Now engage your core.”

And the wellness industry in your 30s becomes deeply obsessed with “balance.”

Every retreat promises:
restoration
renewal
alignment
grounding
and locally sourced vegetables nobody actually wants to eat.

Meanwhile you’re over here whispering:
“Can we ground ourselves with bread?”

This is also the decade where everyone suddenly develops “stress.”

Not normal stress.

“Nervous system dysregulation.”

Now we’re all:
dry brushing
taking magnesium
tracking cortisol
buying weighted blankets
and attending retreats designed to teach us how to breathe correctly.

Apparently we’ve been breathing wrong for decades.

Who knew.

And let’s talk about group sharing circles.

In your 20s you were like:
“Yes, let’s unpack our emotional wounds under the moonlight.”

In your 30s you’re like:
“I barely unpacked my suitcase.”

Your inner child doesn’t need healing anymore.

She needs:
hydration
a nap
and somebody else to answer emails for 48 hours.

Let’s face it: wellness in your 30s is just trying to prevent complete system failure.

In Your 40s: Wellness = Everyone Needs You and You Need a Minute

Your 40s are not a wellness era.
Your 40s are a hostage situation with a skincare routine.

This is the decade where everyone needs something from you at all times.

You’ve got:

• kids

• teenagers

• college tuition

• aging parents

• work responsibilities

• hormones doing interpretive dance

• and approximately six people asking “what’s for dinner?” while you’re actively losing your mind.

One minute you’re rage-cleaning the kitchen because someone left one spoon in the sink.

The next minute you’re crying in the Costco parking lot because a song from 1997 came on and suddenly life feels very fragile.

Nobody prepares women for this phase.

You spend years taking care of everybody else and then one day you wake up and realize:
“Wait… do I even like anything anymore besides silence?”

This is the era of:

• perimenopause

• brain fog

• anxiety

• hot flashes

• insomnia

• and wondering why your patience now has the lifespan of an avocado.

And somehow during all of this, the wellness industry still expects women in their 40s to:

• wake up at 5 a.m.

• drink celery juice

• meditate

• journal

• do Pilates

• practice gratitude and mindfulness

• dry brush

• and “embrace the transition.”

Ma’am.
Some of us are just trying not to scream at people for breathing too loudly.

You want:

• one uninterrupted night of sleep

• nobody touching you

• meals you didn’t cook

• and three consecutive hours where no one says “Mom?”

The dream retreat in your 40s is just a beautiful hotel room where people deliver snacks quietly and nobody asks you to make a decision.

And if there’s a spa? Even better.

Not because you’re chasing luxury.

But because for 90 glorious minutes, someone else is responsible for YOU.

This is also the decade where wellness gets extremely specific.

You’re suddenly searching for:

• hormone-balancing retreats

• stress recovery programs

• nervous system healing

• women-only wellness escapes

• “adrenal support”

• and vacations where nobody describes anything as a “team-building opportunity.”

You still want meaningful experiences… but now your definition of meaningful has changed.

A meaningful moment is:

• drinking coffee while it’s still hot

• sitting alone in silence

• or checking into a hotel room and realizing nobody needs you for anything.

That’s not selfish.
That’s survival.

Women in their 40s deserve every wellness retreat on earth.

Because this chapter is beautiful—but it’s also heavy.

You’re grieving versions of yourself while still trying to hold everyone else together.

You’re navigating change in your body, your relationships, your identity, your family, your future.

Of course you’re exhausted.

So if your version of wellness now includes:

• naps

• boundaries

• saying no

• booking the massage

• ordering dessert

• leaving the group chat unanswered

• and hiding in the bathroom for five minutes of peace

Congratulations.

You’re healing.

Share

In Your 50s: Wellness = Protecting Your Peace Like It’s a Full-Time Job

Your 50s are where wellness finally becomes less about fixing yourself and more about refusing to be annoyed.

This is your peace era.

And you will protect it aggressively.

By now, you’ve generally survived:
raising kids
career chaos
relationship drama
hormonal warfare
and at least one phase where everyone in your house needed something from you simultaneously.

You’re done.

Not in a sad way.

In a:
“I simply will not be participating in nonsense anymore” kind of way.

This is the decade where your tolerance for inconvenience completely disappears.

You no longer consider the following “wellness experiences”:
shared bathrooms
sunrise hikes
hostels
retreat bunk beds
or anything described as “rustic.”

Rustic is just discomfort with marketing.

Your idea of wellness now is:
good mattresses
quiet hotels
comfortable shoes
direct flights
and dinner reservations before 7:00 p.m.

You travel with:
supplements
magnesium
reading glasses
a backup charger
lip balm in every purse
and one emergency snack at all times because you’re not getting trapped somewhere hungry again.

You still enjoy yoga.

But now yoga is less:
“finding your center.”

And more:
“maintaining mobility so you can sit on the floor and still get back up.”

You don’t need transformation anymore.

You need:
low stress
good sleep
hydration
minimal walking
and people to stop texting “quick question” because it’s never quick.

This is also the decade where saying “no” becomes a spiritual practice.

You skip excursions you don’t want to do.

You leave events early.

You order dessert.

You book the massage.

You stop pretending crowded rooftop bars are fun.

This may be the healthiest you’ve ever been emotionally.

Because wellness in your 50s is realizing peace is more valuable than productivity.

And protecting your energy is not selfish.

It’s wisdom.

In Your 60s & Beyond: Wellness = Joy, Freedom, and Doing Whatever the Hell You Want

By your 60s, wellness becomes less about self-improvement and more about actual enjoyment.

You’re no longer trying to optimize yourself.

You’re finally trying to LIVE.

And that my friends? That may be the healthiest thing yet.

This is the decade where you stop caring about trends completely.

You’re not flying somewhere to:
manifest abundance
heal your inner goddess
or sit in an ice bath with a 27-year-old wellness influencer named Kai.

Absolutely not.

Your idea of wellness now is:
laughing until you cry
dancing like nobody’s watching (forgive the cliche)
sleeping well
eating good food
surrounding yourself with people you actually enjoy
and refusing to participate in anything that feels exhausting.

This is the era of:
women’s trips
long dinners
river cruises
wine tastings
walking tours with plenty of stops
spa afternoons
sunsets with friends
and conversations that somehow become therapy without anyone charging by the hour.

Women who don’t care if you wear makeup to breakfast.

Women who understand why getting uninterrupted sleep at a hotel still feels luxurious.

Women who know that sometimes the best therapy is sitting outside with a glass of wine saying:
“Can you believe the audacity of people?”

This is also the decade where you become beautifully honest about what you enjoy.

You like comfort.
You like ease.
You like direct flights and good lighting in hotel bathrooms.

And you know what?

That’s wisdom.

You’re not trying to prove anything anymore.

Not your fitness level.
Not your productivity.
Not your worth.

You’ve earned the right to travel in ways that nourish you instead of exhaust you.

So yes, wellness now might look like:
morning walks
afternoon naps
music
movement
great conversations
good food
and staying up too late laughing with friends you adore.

The Truth About Wellness Travel

Here’s the thing nobody tells us:

Wellness changes because we change.

In your 20s, it’s discovery.
In your 30s, survival prevention.
In your 40s, recovering yourself.
In your 50s, protecting your peace.
And in your 60s? Comfort, freedom, and zero tolerance for bullshit.

And eventually you realize true wellness has absolutely nothing to do with green juice, celery cleanses, or chanting under a full moon.

Real wellness is:
good friends
good food
soft pants
a supportive bra
a quiet hotel room
an uninterrupted nap
and a checkout time that respects your nervous system.

That’s the real wellness retreat.

Talk to me. Where are you at with your wellness journey?

Leave a comment

If you’ve ever found yourself fumbling through your wallet while wondering what the “right” amount is, you’re not alone. Whether you’re traveling with an aging parent, recovering from surgery, dealing with a temporary injury, or requesting wheelchair assistance for any other reason, tipping airport wheelchair attendants can feel surprisingly confusing.

The answer depends on where you’re traveling, the level of service provided, and whether you’re flying domestically or internationally.

Here’s everything you need to know.

First, Understand Who You’re Tipping

One of the biggest misconceptions travelers have is that wheelchair attendants are airline employees.

In many cases, they are not.

Throughout the United States, wheelchair assistance services are often provided by third-party contractors hired by airlines or airports. Companies such as Prospect Airport Services, ABM Aviation, and other service providers employ attendants who assist passengers with mobility needs.

Compensation structures vary by company and location, but gratuities can represent a meaningful portion of an attendant’s income.

That doesn’t mean tipping is mandatory. Airport wheelchair assistance is provided as an accommodation service and is available at no additional charge to passengers who need it.

However, in the United States, tipping is generally considered customary and appreciated.

Internationally, the expectations can be very different, which we’ll cover below.

Subscribe now

The Golden Rule: Tip Based on Effort, Not Distance

Many travelers assume tipping should be tied to how far they were pushed in a wheelchair.

In reality, distance is only one factor.

Consider the difference between these two scenarios:

Scenario A

An attendant escorts you from security to a nearby gate in a small regional airport.

Time involved: 10 minutes.

Scenario B

An attendant meets you at an international arrival gate, escorts you through a crowded terminal, assists with a restroom stop, helps collect luggage, waits at baggage claim, navigates customs and immigration, and escorts you to ground transportation.

Time involved: 60–90 minutes.

Clearly, these are not the same level of service.

When deciding how much to tip, consider:

• Airport size and complexity

• Time spent assisting you

• Restroom stops

• Dining stops

• Baggage retrieval

• Waiting time

• Flight delays

• Terminal changes

• Customs and immigration assistance

• Language assistance

• Crowded conditions

• Special care for elderly passengers

The more involved the service, the larger the gratuity should generally be.

Domestic U.S. Travel: Tipping Guidelines

Basic Escort Service: $5–$10

This is the most common type of wheelchair assistance.

Examples include:

• Check-in to security

• Security to gate

• Gate to baggage claim

• Short distances

• No additional stops

If the attendant provides a straightforward escort with minimal waiting or extra assistance, a tip of $5–$10 is generally appropriate.

Moderate Assistance: $10–$15

This level of service typically occurs in larger airports where navigation can be more complicated.

Examples include:

• Escort through security

• Long distances between terminals

• Brief restroom stop

• Assistance locating services

• Moderate waiting time

Think about airports such as:

• Atlanta (ATL)

• Dallas/Fort Worth (DFW)

• Denver (DEN)

• Chicago O’Hare (ORD)

• Phoenix (PHX)

Even routine assistance in these airports often requires significantly more time and effort.

Extensive Assistance: $15–$20

This is where the attendant provides much more than transportation.

Examples include:

• Multiple restroom stops

• Food or beverage stops

• Assistance with carry-on bags

• Long waits during delays

• Escort through multiple terminals

• Helping an elderly traveler navigate the airport

Many travelers find this range appropriate when the attendant spends considerable time ensuring everything goes smoothly.

Exceptional Service: $20–$30+

Sometimes attendants truly go above and beyond.

Examples include:

• Assisting during missed connections

• Navigating rebookings

• Helping through severe delays

• Managing complicated airport situations

• Providing extraordinary patience and care

When an attendant turns what could have been a stressful travel experience into a manageable one, many travelers choose to recognize that effort with a larger tip.

Traveling With Aging Parents or Relatives

Many people requesting wheelchair assistance aren’t wheelchair users full-time.

In fact, one of the most common situations involves older adults who can walk short distances but struggle with:

• Long airport corridors

• Tight flight connections

• Standing in security lines

• Extended periods on their feet

• Large, unfamiliar airports

If you’ve ever traveled with a parent or grandparent through a major airport, you know how valuable a good wheelchair attendant can be.

They’re often more than transportation providers.

They become navigators.

Problem-solvers.

Luggage helpers.

Sometimes even emotional support during a stressful travel day.

When attendants provide this level of care, many families choose to tip accordingly.

What About Baggage Assistance?

Baggage retrieval often changes the tipping calculation.

Collecting checked luggage may require:

• Waiting at baggage claim

• Identifying luggage

• Lifting heavy bags from the carousel

• Loading bags onto a cart

• Escorting passengers to transportation

If baggage assistance is provided, consider increasing your tip.

A common approach is:

• Add approximately $5 for basic baggage assistance

• Add more for multiple heavy bags or extensive help

The amount isn’t as important as recognizing the additional effort involved.

Connecting Flights: Don’t Forget This Important Detail

Many travelers don’t realize that wheelchair assistance may involve multiple attendants during a single trip.

For example:

Departure Airport

One attendant escorts you from check-in to the departure gate.

Connecting Airport

A second attendant assists with terminal transfers and navigating a connection.

Arrival Airport

A third attendant escorts you to baggage claim and ground transportation.

In most cases, each attendant should be tipped separately based on the assistance they provide.

Massive Airports Often Require More Assistance

Airport size matters.

A lot.

Some airports are practically cities unto themselves.

Airports Where Higher Tips Are Often Warranted

• Atlanta (ATL)

• Dallas/Fort Worth (DFW)

• Denver (DEN)

• Chicago O’Hare (ORD)

• Los Angeles (LAX)

• JFK (New York)

• Newark (EWR)

• Miami (MIA)

• Orlando (MCO)

• Washington Dulles (IAD)

• Heathrow (LHR)

• Frankfurt (FRA)

• Amsterdam Schiphol (AMS)

In these airports, a “simple” escort can easily become a lengthy journey involving trains, people movers, elevators, terminal changes, and extensive walking distances.

Share

International Travel: Tipping Expectations Around the World

This is where things become more complicated.

Tipping culture varies dramatically from country to country.

What is expected in the United States may be unnecessary—or even awkward—in another destination.

Canada

Canada’s tipping culture closely resembles that of the United States.

Suggested range:

• CAD $5–$10 for basic assistance

• CAD $10–$20 for more extensive service

Mexico and the Caribbean

Tipping is generally appreciated and often expected.

Suggested range:

• Equivalent of USD $5–$10 for basic service

• Equivalent of USD $10–$20 for extensive assistance

Cash is often preferred.

Europe

United Kingdom

Tipping is appreciated but not always expected.

Suggested range:

• £5–£10 for good service

• More for extensive assistance

Western Europe

Countries including:

• France

• Germany

• Netherlands

• Belgium

• Austria

• Switzerland

Tipping is less ingrained than in the United States but generally appreciated.

Suggested range:

• €5–€10 for routine assistance

• €10–€20 for more involved service

Southern Europe

Countries such as:

• Italy

• Spain

• Portugal

• Greece

Small gratuities are generally welcomed.

Suggested range:

• €5–€15 depending on service level

Scandinavia

Countries including:

• Norway

• Sweden

• Denmark

• Finland

Workers generally receive higher wages, and tipping is less common.

Tips are appreciated but not necessarily expected.

Suggested range:

• Optional

• Small gratuity for exceptional assistance

Australia and New Zealand

Tipping culture is relatively limited.

Suggested range:

• Optional

• AUD/NZD $5–$10 for outstanding service

Asia

Asia is not one-size-fits-all when it comes to tipping.

Japan

Tipping is generally not customary and may create discomfort.

A sincere thank-you is often the best expression of appreciation.

Singapore

Tipping is uncommon but may be accepted.

Thailand, Philippines, Indonesia, and Vietnam

Small gratuities are often appreciated.

Suggested range:

• Equivalent of USD $3–$10 depending on the level of service

Hong Kong and South Korea

Tipping is not generally expected but may be accepted.

Middle East

Countries including:

• United Arab Emirates

• Qatar

• Bahrain

Airport assistance personnel often come from international workforces, and gratuities are usually appreciated.

Suggested range:

• Equivalent of USD $5–$15

Africa

Practices vary widely by country and airport.

In many destinations, gratuities are welcomed and appreciated.

Suggested range:

• Equivalent of USD $5–$15 depending on local norms and service level

Can You Tip Too Much?

This is another question travelers frequently ask.

The short answer is: probably not.

If an attendant spends an hour helping you navigate a major airport, waits while you use the restroom, assists with luggage, manages terminal transfers, and escorts you safely to transportation, a $20–$30 tip is rarely viewed as excessive in the United States.

Rather than focusing solely on the amount, think about the time and effort involved.

A few extra dollars may be insignificant in the context of an expensive trip, but it can be meaningful to the person helping you.

Don’t Make This Common Mistake: Carry Cash

One of the biggest travel mistakes is assuming you’ll be able to tip electronically.

Most wheelchair attendants cannot accept (especially internationally):

• Venmo

• PayPal

• Zelle

• Cash App

• Credit card payments

Before every trip, I make sure to carry:

• Several $5 bills

• A few $10 bills

• One or two $20 bills

Having small bills available makes it easy to adjust your tip based on the level of service provided.

What If You Can’t Afford a Large Tip?

It’s important to remember that wheelchair assistance is an accommodation service.

You should never feel pressured to tip beyond your means.

A reasonable gratuity, combined with genuine appreciation, is perfectly acceptable.

The goal isn’t perfection.

It’s simply recognizing good service when you’re able to do so.

Share

Final Thoughts

Airport wheelchair attendants are often the unsung heroes of travel.

They help aging parents navigate sprawling terminals. They assist travelers recovering from injuries. They support passengers with visible and invisible disabilities. And they often do so while managing crowded airports, tight schedules, and long days on their feet.

While tipping customs vary around the world, recognizing exceptional service with an appropriate gratuity is one way to acknowledge the patience, professionalism, and care that can make a challenging travel day much easier.

And if you’re ever unsure, remember this simple rule:

Tip based on the effort, not just the distance.

I’d love to hear from you. Have you used airport wheelchair assistance recently? What airport provided the best—or most challenging—experience? Share your story in the comments so other travelers can learn what to expect.

Leave a comment

People who say:

“Road trips are magical.”

And people like me, who know that a road trip is really just:

sitting in a moving inferno of hell for nine straight hours while slowly losing circulation in your right leg at the same time you’re losing your sanity.

I know road trips are supposed to represent:

• freedom

• adventure

• spontaneity

• bonding and “making memories”

• and “the journey becoming part of the destination”

But you can’t fool me.

I’ve seen what’s actually involved.

I would just like the destination immediately, please.

I am not trying to “experience the open road” or have a two-hour conversation with the friendly guy selling peaches on the side of the road.

I am simply trying to arrive somewhere with functioning hips and minimal emotional damage.

I Loved My Husband Deeply — Which Is Why I Never Wanted to Road Trip With Him

I loved my late husband, Mike, more than life itself.

But if he suggested a six-hour road trip, I immediately began mentally pricing flights because a road trip with him… that would be a big fat no.

The truth is:
I barely wanted to ride with that man to the grocery store.

Not because he was a bad person.
No. It was because frankly, he drove like a complete lunatic who scared the living crap out of me.

This was a man who:

• rode people’s bumpers like he was physically trying to merge souls with their rear bumper

• accelerated during torrential rain for reasons known only to him (meanwhile denying it as I begged him to slow down)

• considered speed limits more of a “creative guideline”

• and treated yellow lights as a personal challenge from God

Meanwhile I’d be sitting in the passenger seat gripping the door handle hard enough to leave fingerprints in the plastic while praying, “mommy make it stop.”

And this is exactly why I do not understand people romanticizing road trips.

You’re asking me to voluntarily spend:

• ten straight hours

• trapped in a moving vehicle

• unable to leave

• while another human controls my survival odds

Absolutely not.

At least on a plane:

• the pilots are professionally trained

• heavily regulated

• continuously monitored

• and statistically much safer than my husband weaving through traffic while aggressively defending his position in the “fast lane” like it was a personal constitutional right.

Everyone Lies About Road Trips

People talk about road trips like they’re trying to recreate some nostalgic version of America where the roads weren’t overcrowded, gas was cheap, and you’d randomly run into another family you knew at a roadside diner halfway across the country.

They picture:

• everyone getting along in the car

• scenic coastlines

• singing along to Fleetwood Mac

• stopping at charming roadside fruit stands

• laughing with friends while the sun sets perfectly over a canyon

And apparently at some point I’m also supposed to become the kind of woman who enjoys:

“a spontaneous little roadside picnic.”

No. Just no.

I am not interested in hauling:

• a cooler

• folding chairs

• paper towels

• melting sandwiches

• and twelve beverages

…out of the trunk so we can sit in an unfamiliar field on rotting picnic benches while ants immediately launch a coordinated attack on our food.

And then when it’s over?
Now we have to pack the entire sticky disaster back into the car.
Including, apparently, the ants.

No thank you.

To me, road trips actually are:

• lower back pain and a numb butt

• snack-related decision fatigue

• passive aggression disguised as travel planning

• and spending way too many hours proving that friendship has limits

Share

Planning a Road Trip Is a Full Psychological Breakdown

Honestly, the planning phase alone is enough to make me open a bottle of wine at 11 AM, which is a lot, since I don’t drink.

Because suddenly you’re responsible for:

• routes

• backup routes

• traffic timing

• weather

• gas stops

• hotel stops

• charging stations

• food planning

• bathroom timing

• playlists

• snacks

• “fun stops”

• and somehow everybody’s emotional needs

Road trip people always say:

“We’ll just be spontaneous!”

No you won’t.

Because the second you don’t plan something properly, everyone ends up:

• starving

• furious

• stuck in traffic

• or searching for a hotel in a town that appears to have been abandoned in 1987

And then there’s always that one person who contributes absolutely nothing to planning but suddenly becomes deeply critical once you’re on the road.

“Oh wow, another gas station stop?”

Hmmm… well, I suppose we could try pushing the car for the next 300 miles if that feels more adventurous.

Subscribe now

The Group Chat Version of the Trip

The most dangerous part of any road trip happens before it even begins.

When everyone is still in the group chat (which I also despise) saying things like:

• “This is going to be SO fun.”

• “OMGGGG! Eeeeek! I can’t wait!”

• “Road trip playlist incoming!”

• “Apparently there's a giant prairie dog people take pictures with.”

This is also the phase where everyone suddenly becomes wildly ambitious.

People start talking about:

• sunrise hikes

• charming local diners

• scenic overlooks

• hidden gems

• antique stores

• and “making the most of the journey”

Meanwhile I’m just hoping to make it to the destination without ending up on Dateline (which by the way, I absolutely love, as long as I’m not the star of the episode).

Nobody knows yet.

Nobody understands that in 36 hours:

• someone will cry

• someone will become impossible over directions

• someone will accuse someone else of “having a tone”

• someone will need an emergency bathroom stop 17 minutes after refusing the last one

• and somebody will snap because another person chewed too loudly while inhaling a bag of Doritos

The same people who were enthusiastically texting:

“Road trip vibes!”

...will eventually be sitting in complete silence staring out separate windows like participants in a failed peace summit.

The Bathroom Situation Alone Should End Road Trips Forever

Road trips are basically one long cycle of:

• “Do you need to stop?”

• “No, I’m good.”

• “Are you sure?”

• “Absolutely.”

• “Okay.”

• 17 minutes later

• “Actually, we need to stop immediately.”

And somehow every bathroom break becomes a group negotiation requiring the same level of planning as a military operation.

One person needs gas.

One person needs coffee.

One person needs a bathroom.

One person insists they’re fine and then somehow emerges from the convenience store 22 minutes later carrying:

• gummy bears

• beef jerky

• a phone charger

• a travel pillow

• and a lottery ticket

And let’s talk about the restrooms themselves.

I don’t care how many people tell me:
“This one is actually really nice.”

It’s still a gas station bathroom.

Nobody has ever returned from one saying:
“That was the highlight of the trip.”

Stop trying to convince me that objectively unpleasant parts of road trips are somehow charming.

Then there are the snacks.

Road trip snacks are their own form of mental illness.

Nobody at home thinks:

“You know what sounds good right now? A hot coffee, a giant bag of barbecue chips, two mozzarella sticks, a king-size candy bar, and a neon-colored slurpee.”

But get behind the wheel for four hours and suddenly you’re eating like you’re like a 5-year old who has no parental supervision.

By mid-afternoon, everyone in the car is running entirely on:

• caffeine

• sodium

• sugar

• and bad decisions

Which may explain why every road trip eventually includes someone saying:

“I don’t know if I’m hungry, tired, carsick, or just angry.”

Trust me.

Neither do the rest of us.

Road Trips Turn Adults Into Feral Creatures

Something happens to human beings after enough uninterrupted highway exposure.

I don’t know if it’s the lack of movement, the gas station diet, the psychological effects of Denny’s, or simply being trapped in a rolling metal box for 11 consecutive hours — but eventually everybody starts deteriorating mentally.

People lose all sense of civilized behavior.

By Hour 7, conversations no longer resemble anything occurring in normal society.

You start hearing things like:

• “Why is everybody breathing so loud?”

• “If we stop again before noon, we’re never making it there.”

• “I told you we should’ve taken the other highway.”

• “I swear this GPS adds time every time I look at it.”

• “Can someone please stop slurping their drink?”

• “If you touch my iced coffee again, this friendship is over.”

• “How are we only in Pennsylvania?”

• “Nobody needs another bathroom stop. You can just wait.”

• “Did we always have this many cups in here?”

• “I need everyone to stop talking to me for at least forty miles.”

• “If that kid kicks my seat one more time, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

And somewhere deep into the trip, one person always becomes emotionally unstable in a way nobody could have predicted before departure.

A perfectly reasonable adult with:

• a mortgage

• a retirement account

• and normal blood pressure

…will suddenly whip around from the passenger seat and scream:

“IF SOMEBODY TOUCHES MY CHARGER ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR TO GOD—”

Meanwhile the driver is white-knuckling the steering wheel, aggressively passing RVs, surviving entirely on sheer will power and determination, while everyone else in the car has gone completely crazy over snack distribution and air conditioning settings.

By this point, nobody even remembers the original destination.

The car has devolved into a rolling hostage situation fueled by caffeine, passive aggression, and the increasingly hostile looks everyone keeps giving each other every time someone says they “just need to stop real quick.”

Share

The Illusion of “Scenic Routes”

I’m sorry but after approximately 11 minutes (and you know I’m right), all scenery becomes:

• tree

• mountain

• field

• another tree

• billboard for fireworks

• mysterious giant cross

• repeat

People always say:

“But the drive is so beautiful.”

Is it?

Or are we all just pretending the scenery is life-changing because admitting you’re bored because you’ve been sitting in the same position for nine hours would be too psychologically devastating?

And Can We Talk About the Safety Statistics?

This is the part that really blows my mind.

People will say:

“I don’t like flying. Planes are dangerous.”

Meanwhile they are perfectly comfortable launching themselves onto Interstate 95 beside:

• a man texting while towing a boat

• a semi truck going 84 mph

• someone eating soup while driving

• and a teenager actively filming a TikTok at the wheel

Statistically speaking, flying is dramatically safer than driving.

Commercial aviation has layers upon layers of:

• training

• maintenance

• regulations

• safety systems

• inspections

• air traffic control

• and crews whose entire job is literally safety

Road trips, meanwhile, are basically:

“Good luck everybody.”

You are sharing the highway with:

• exhausted drivers

• distracted drivers

• aggressive drivers

• confused tourists

• wildlife

• weather

• construction zones

• and at least one person who absolutely should not still have a license

But somehow I’m supposed to fear the plane?

At least the pilot isn’t trying to unwrap a breakfast burrito while merging across four lanes.

Nobody Is Having Fun By Day Two

The first hour of a road trip is built entirely on optimism and delusion.

Everyone’s hydrated.
The playlist feels exciting.
People are cheerfully passing around snacks.
The group dynamic seems emotionally stable.

Nobody has started unraveling yet.

By Day Two, the energy has shifted dramatically.

Someone smells weird and nobody wants to address it directly.

Tensions are escalating over things that would never matter in normal life:

• chewing volume

• thermostat settings

• whether Starbucks was “worth the stop”

• and who keeps leaving half-empty water bottles rolling around on the floor

Nobody agrees on food anymore.

One person wants salads.
One person wants barbecue.
One person says they’re “fine with anything” before rejecting every single option suggested.

Meanwhile, one member of the group (yes, me) becomes deeply committed to an obscure podcast that nobody else enjoys, but somehow everyone is now being held hostage by a six-part investigative series on Scamfluencer.

And every conversation starts developing an edge to it.

Completely innocent questions suddenly sound aggressive.

“Do you want me to switch lanes?”

Now somehow feels loaded with decades of resentment.

At some point, the silence in the car becomes so tense that everyone starts aggressively staring out separate windows pretending to be fascinated by grain silos.

Even friendships with solid foundations begin deteriorating somewhere around rural Oklahoma.

Road Trip Time Is Fake Time

This is the part of road trips that I think we ignore.

Time simply stops functioning normally.

You leave at 8 AM feeling optimistic and reasonably well-rested.

Then somehow you:

• drive for three hours

• stop for gas

• stand in line for coffee

• wait while someone “just runs into Target for one thing”

• sit in construction traffic

• make an emergency bathroom stop

• eat chicken tenders in a parking lot

• and drive another two hours

At this point, your body feels like you’ve survived a minor expedition across the Oregon Trail.

Surely it must be late afternoon.

You check the clock.

It is 11:17 AM.

How?

How have we lived seventeen separate emotional experiences and yet somehow only three hours have passed?

Road trips exist in a parallel time dimension where:

• 20 minutes feels like two hours

• two hours feels like six days

• and entire relationships begin and collapse between rest stops

By the second day, nobody even knows what time zone they’re emotionally operating in anymore.

Hotels on Road Trips Are Never Relaxing

People always imagine the overnight stop is going to feel charming.

Like you’re just going to casually “pull off somewhere cute” after a lovely day on the open road.

No.

What actually happens is that around 8:45 PM everyone becomes progressively more unhinged while searching for a hotel directly off I-95.

And there is always at least one person in the car who suddenly believes they are a combination of:

• travel agent

• coupon strategist

• and real estate developer

This person insists:

“Don’t book anything yet. We’ll get a better deal when we get there.”

A better deal WHERE, exactly?

At the Hampton Inn currently filling up with 400 youth baseball families and a bus tour from Ohio?

Then begins the ritual humiliation of driving from exit to exit while somebody desperately searches for coupons they somehow believe exist exclusively in physical roadside brochures like it’s still 1994.

Meanwhile every hotel within a 40-mile radius now says:

“NO VACANCY.”

• an IHOP

• a vape shop

• and an outlet mall with a permanently closing Dress Barn

Eventually everyone settles for a hotel with:

• suspicious carpeting

• aggressively dry air

• one flickering lamp

• and a vending machine humming with ancient haunted energy down the hallway

Then you lie awake listening to:

• highway traffic

• ice machines

• someone’s unsupervised children running overhead

• and a neighboring guest watching television at maximum volume until 2 AM

And somehow, despite all of this, you still have seven more hours of driving tomorrow.

Flying Is Superior and I’ll Die on This Hill

People love saying:

“Flying is so stressful.”

Okay - if you say so.

However, flying understands one very important thing:

Human beings should not have to cross entire regions manually.

Planes respect my time and my privacy.

Road trips say:

“What if we spent fourteen hours slowly crawling across three climates while sharing one cupholder?”

No thank you.

At least on a plane:

• everyone understands silence

• snacks arrive periodically

• there’s a bathroom I don’t have to negotiate stopping for

• and no one expects me to emotionally participate for 800 consecutive miles

Road trips create a level of forced intimacy I simply do not need in my life.

Suddenly you know:

• how loudly someone chews

• their gas station snack ethics

• their thoughts on alternate routes

• their opinions on truck stop coffee

• and likely their entire life story that is definitely way. too. much. information.

There is no escape.

In a car, every minor annoyance becomes psychologically magnified.

The temperature is wrong.
The music is wrong.
Someone keeps clearing their throat.
Someone else keeps sighing dramatically every time traffic slows down.

Meanwhile on a plane?
I put on headphones, stare out the window for 20 minutes pretending I’m in a movie montage, order a Diet Coke, and mentally disappear until landing.

That is civilized travel.

The Only Good Part of a Road Trip

Arriving.

That’s it.

That’s the magical experience people keep trying to sell me.

Not:

• the traffic

• the construction

• the gas station bathrooms

• the lower back pain

• the emotional support iced coffees

• the passive aggressive playlist negotiations

• or the moment everyone in the car quietly starts hating each other around Hour 9

Just the arrival.

That single glorious moment when you finally climb out of the car feeling:

• dehydrated

• overstimulated

• vaguely swollen

• and deeply aware of every muscle in your body

There’s always a brief silence too.

Nobody speaks because everyone is privately recovering from the same shared psychological event.

And then somebody stretches, looks around, takes a deep breath, and says:

“Wow. That actually wasn’t that bad.”

Meanwhile I’m standing there like a woman who just returned from active combat.

Because the exact second a road trip ends, my brain immediately starts deleting evidence of the experience like it’s protecting me from trauma (kind of like childbirth).

That is the only explanation for why human beings willingly do this more than once.

Because give it six months and someone will inevitably say:

“You know what would be fun this summer…”

And against all logic, some of you nuts start the whole cycle over again.

Share

So what say you? Love ‘em or hate ‘em?

Leave a comment

If you only watch the news, you’d think the world was falling apart.

Dangerous.
Chaotic.
Probably not worth the risk.

Honestly, you’d be forgiven for thinking the safest place to be is your couch.

But that might be the most dangerous place of all.

Let me say this…

I’ve spent time on all seven continents walking through that same world.

Not watching it.
Not reading about it.
Actually in it.

And here’s what I’ve learned:

The world you see on your screen is not the world you experience when you step into it.

Now let’s talk about why that is.

Because it’s not random.

Bad news gets attention.

Fear keeps people watching.
Keeps people clicking.
Keeps people coming back for more.

And the more people watch?

The more money gets made.

So what do we see?

The worst-case scenarios.
The rare incidents.
The “if it bleeds, it leads” version of reality.

Over and over and over again.

Not because it’s the whole story —
but because it’s the part that sells.

Subscribe now

And what happens?

People start to believe that’s what the world actually looks like.

So they stay home.

They play it safe.
They stick to what’s familiar.
They tell themselves:

“I’d love to go… but it just doesn’t feel safe.”

And just like that, fear wins.

And maybe that’s the part that bothers me the most.

What they believe.
Who they trust.
Where they go.
How small they’re willing to make their world.

Every single day we’re being fed the message that people (you know… the “others”) are dangerous and evil. That the world is unsafe. That chaos is everywhere. And after hearing it enough times, people stop questioning it.

They just absorb it.

But I’ve been out there.

Actually out there.

Walking through cities I was told to “be careful” in.
Talking to people I was supposedly supposed to be wary of.
Navigating places that didn’t come with guarantees or perfect plans.

And what I’ve found — over and over again — is this:

Most people, in most places, are just living their lives.

Going to work.
Taking care of their families.
Meeting friends for dinner.
Trying to figure out what’s for lunch — just like you.

Share

Let me tell you what I’m really seeing right this minute while I’m traveling:

If anything, people feel kinder now than ever. More patient and understanding.

There’s this thing I’ve noticed while traveling lately — almost like a quiet collective effort happening everywhere.

People helping more.
Smiling more.
Looking out for each other more.

As if ordinary people around the world are trying to remind one another:

We are not the monsters we’re constantly being told we are.

Because the truth is, most human beings are not the greedy corporations profiting off division. Most people are not political leaders using fear to manipulate emotions and maintain power.

Most people are just… people.

Kind people.
Curious people.
Generous people.

People who will help you when you’re lost.
People who will share a meal with you.
People who will go out of their way to make sure you get home safely.

Not everywhere. Not every time.

But far more often than you’d expect if all you did was watch the news.

Are there places you shouldn’t go? Of course.

Are there situations you should be smart about? Obviously.

This is not about being reckless.

It’s about being realistic.

But here’s the part no one talks about and that I really want you to hear:

Fear doesn’t just protect you.

It quietly builds the walls of a smaller life.

It shapes your decisions.

Where you go.
What you do.
What you’re willing to try.

And before you know it, your world starts getting smaller and smaller.

Not because it has to.

Because you let it.

At some point, you have to ask yourself:

Are you making decisions based on reality… or headlines?

Because those are two very different things.

I’ve stood in places I once thought felt “far away” or “uncertain.”

And more often than not, what I found wasn’t danger.

It was kindness and gentleness.

Helpfulness.
Curiosity.
People going out of their way to make sure I was okay.

And here’s the irony:

The more you travel, the less afraid you become.

Not because nothing ever goes wrong.

But because you start to understand the difference between:

• perceived risk

• and actual experience

You start to trust yourself more.

Your instincts.
Your ability to navigate.
Your ability to handle things when they don’t go perfectly.

And that confidence?

It doesn’t just stay in travel.

It changes how you move through the world.

Harder to scare.
Harder to divide.
Harder to convince that humanity is fundamentally awful.

And once you’ve experienced kindness from strangers all over the world, it becomes impossible to fully buy into the idea that everyone is dangerous.

So yes — be smart.

Pay attention.
Do your research.
Use common sense.

But don’t let fear make your decisions for you.

I’ve always said:

If you want to believe the world is terrible, watch the news.
If you want to believe the world is amazing, buy a plane ticket.

And after being in over 100 countries…

I know which one I trust more.

Because the biggest risk isn’t that something might go wrong.

The biggest risk?

Is building a life so safe… it never actually feels like living.

Share

Subscribe now

I would love to hear your stories of how wonderful the people of the world really are.

Leave a comment

There are certain behaviors we all do so automatically that we never stop to question how completely ridiculous they are.

Take driving in heavy rain.

Not during some dramatic cross-country road trip.
I mean on a random Tuesday five minutes from your own house.

The second the rain starts coming down hard, we all transform into the exact same person.

The music gets turned down immediately.

Because apparently hearing less of a podcast somehow improves visibility.

You lean forward toward the windshield like your body is personally assisting the vehicle through the storm.

Both hands grip the steering wheel with the intensity of someone trying to manually guide the tires through sheer determination.

The conversation in the car stops.

Everyone suddenly respects the seriousness of the moment.

And for reasons no scientist has ever fully explained, we all become deeply convinced that changing our posture is helping the car maintain traction on wet asphalt.

As though the car is thinking:
“Thank God she leaned forward. We’ve got this now.”

It makes absolutely no sense.

And yet every single one of us does it.

Because humans are full of these irrationally rational little behaviors — tiny acts that feel completely logical in the moment despite having no actual connection to reality.

And somehow, these behaviors get even weirder when we travel and they’re really quite hilarious.

Here are ten of my favorites.

Subscribe now

1. The Pool Evacuation During Rain

Everyone is happily floating in the pool.

Cocktails in hand. Sunglasses covering their eyes.

Living their best life.

And then it starts to rain.

Not lightning.

Not a tropical storm.

Not “everyone get inside immediately” weather.

Just a light little drizzle or a sun shower. A casual vacation rain. The kind that lasts four minutes and makes absolutely no difference to anyone already in a body of water.

And yet somehow this triggers a full-scale evacuation.

People start climbing out of the pool with genuine urgency.

Towels over their heads.

Flip-flops slapping against the pavement.

Sprint-waddling toward shelter like the rain has introduced a completely new moisture situation.

Meanwhile, these same people were voluntarily submerged in water literally seconds earlier.

Neck-deep.

Floating.

Wet already.

But apparently pool water is acceptable wet and rainwater is where we draw the line as a society.

And I understand getting out for lightning.

That’s reasonable. That’s survival.

But there is always a very specific category of resort rain where everyone collectively decides:
“Nope. This water from the sky changes everything.”

Does it?

Because from where I’m standing, you are still in a swimsuit holding a piña colada in three feet of water.

The only thing that has actually changed here is the source of the water.

Share

2. We Actually Think Our Beach Towels Are Going to Dry Naturally

People at pools and the beach will use one towel to dry themselves…

then immediately hang it carefully over a chair “to dry.”

Dry.

Interesting theory.

Because I’d love to know where exactly this drying is supposed to occur.

We are currently in:

• 93% humidity

• near an ocean

• surrounded by damp swimsuits and chlorine fumes

• three feet from a pool

• under a sky that feels a few minutes away from another rain shower

Nothing is drying here.

The air itself is wet.

That towel is not drying.
That towel is slowly becoming a biological experiment.

By tomorrow morning, it’s going to smell like a wet golden retriever left in the backseat of a Jeep after soccer practice.

And still, every traveler participates in this little fantasy.

The towel gets one optimistic shake. Maybe an actual squeeze.

Then carefully draped over a balcony railing with the confidence of someone hanging fresh laundry in the Tuscan countryside.

As though overnight ocean breezes and positive thinking are somehow going to return it to hotel-spa-level freshness.

But we all remain committed to the process.

Nobody says:
“You know what? This towel has had a good run.”

No.
We keep reusing it like it’s going to somehow recover overnight and come back stronger.

3. The Airport Suitcase Reorganization Meltdown

Nothing unites strangers quite like watching someone unpack their entire life at the airport check-in counter because their suitcase is overweight.

And what makes me laugh out loud is the element of surprise every single time.

As though the airline just invented baggage limits moments before departure.

You knew.

We all knew.

The limit has been:

• emailed to you

• printed on the website

• displayed during check-in

• mentioned approximately 47 times before arriving at the airport

And yet here we are.

Acting absolutely blindsided that the suitcase weighing roughly the same as a washing machine has exceeded 50 pounds.

This bag fought for its life at home.

You had to sit on it to zip it.

It made sounds luggage should never make.

At one point the zipper separated briefly and gave you a warning.

But now — standing at the scale in front of God and everyone — suddenly this feels unexpected.

And so begins the public redistribution ceremony.

Shoes get transferred.

Toiletries get shuffled.

Someone is panic-stuffing cardigans into a carry-on while holding up the line for 200 people who just wanted to peacefully check a bag and move on to security.

And the rest of us become unwilling participants in an extremely personal viewing experience.

Nothing makes strangers closer faster than unexpectedly seeing:

• industrial-strength shapewear

• seven “just in case” outfits

• tangled phone cords

• loose sandals

• a family-sized bottle of Advil

• enough skincare products to open a Sephora

Seriously, it’s just visual TMI.

But then comes my favorite part.

The negotiation phase.

The suitcase gets placed back on the scale after removing:

• one flip-flop

• two tank tops

• a curling iron

• perhaps a single granola bar

Everyone stares at the screen.

53.9 pounds.

Still overweight.

Because, ma’am, respectfully?

The problem was never the flip-flop.

The problem is you packed like the destination has no stores, no electricity, and possibly no functioning government.

Share

4. The Suitcase Mummification Process

There is a very specific type of traveler who arrives at the airport with their luggage completely shrink-wrapped in plastic.

Not casually wrapped.

I mean professionally mummified.

Like the suitcase is either:

• carrying state secrets

• entering witness protection

• or being transported as evidence in a criminal investigation

And I genuinely want to understand the thought process.

Because the entire purpose of this plastic appears to be:
“protecting the suitcase.”

From what exactly?

The airport?

The very place you are voluntarily handing it over to?

This thing has been wrapped tighter than leftover Thanksgiving dinner.

Layers upon layers of industrial plastic cocooning a perfectly normal Samsonite whose biggest journey before today was a girls trip to Scottsdale.

And people do this with SUCH confidence.

They wheel it up to the counter like:
“There. Now it’s safe.”

Safe from whom?

Because approximately four minutes later, TSA is going to attack that thing with a box cutter like raccoons getting into a trash can.

All that wrapping.

All that preparation.

Gone immediately.

Then the suitcase shows up at baggage claim half-unraveled and traumatized, dragging loose sheets of plastic behind it like it barely escaped a natural disaster.

And somehow the owner always seems shocked.

As though airport security violated some sacred agreement.

Sir.

You wrapped your suitcase like a rotisserie chicken and sent it into the transportation system equivalent of organized chaos.

This outcome was always a possibility.

5. People Who Refuse to Drink the Water but Will Absolutely Eat Gas Station Sushi Abroad

When we travel, we become incredibly selective about risk in ways that make absolutely no sense.

The second people leave the country, everyone suddenly develops the energy of a part-time epidemiologist.

“Don’t drink the tap water.”

“Don’t brush your teeth with it.”

“No ice.”

“Be careful with raw vegetables.”

Very serious.

Very cautious.

Very “I read one travel forum and now I’m basically the CDC.”

And listen — sometimes that advice is valid.

But what gobsmacks me is how quickly those standards completely collapse the minute food enters the conversation.

Because ten minutes later, the exact same person who refused hotel ice is casually buying sushi from a gas station cooler beside a highway in a country where the refrigeration situation feels more aspirational than guaranteed.

“It smelled fresh.”

Fresh from where?

The freeway?

People will reject perfectly safe filtered water at a luxury hotel and then confidently eat mystery meat from a roadside grill sitting six inches from active traffic.

No hesitation.

No concern.

No follow-up questions.

Someone will spend twenty minutes interrogating a waiter about whether the water is purified…
then immediately eat shrimp handed to them by a barefoot man operating a barbecue next to a propane tank and a folding chair.

And somehow, in their mind, the dangerous part of this equation remains:
the ice cube.

Human risk assessment while traveling is truly incredible.

We’ll treat bottled water like a matter of national security while making absolutely fearless seafood decisions that could alter the course of the entire vacation.

6. Hey — Don’t Use Those Hotel Drawers

There seems to be an unspoken agreement among travelers worldwide that hotel drawers cannot be trusted.

Nobody discusses it.

Nobody questions it.

We’ve all just collectively decided:
“Absolutely not.”

People will stay in a hotel room for ten days and refuse to place a single item inside the dresser.

Not one sock.

Not a T-shirt.

Nothing.

Instead, we spend the entire trip peeling back layers of clothing in our suitcase on the floor like archaeologists searching for one black tank top.

And what makes this irrationally hilarious to me is the selective nature of our concern.

The hotel bed?
Fine.

The pillows?
Sure.

The decorative throw blanket that has almost certainly survived multiple human crises?
No problem.

The TV remote with the microbial history of an entire continent?
We’ll hold that directly against our face while falling asleep.

But the drawers?

Too far.

Suddenly everyone becomes deeply suspicious.

“Nope. Don’t like that.”

Why?

What exactly do we think is happening in there?

Because no one ever has a real answer.

Just vague emotional distrust.

The drawers feel too personal.
Too enclosed.
Too capable of containing forgotten undergarments from someone who stayed there in March and definitely overpacked capri pants.

So instead, we choose chaos.

The suitcase stays open on the luggage rack or floor for the entire trip like a crime scene in progress.

And then — THEN — comes my favorite part.

Storage?

My dear, there is an entire untouched dresser six feet away that you have rejected for reasons even you cannot explain.

You created this problem.

The storage was there.

You just decided it was haunted.

7. People Who Ask “Is This Free?” While Already Eating or Drinking It

Hotel lobby cookies.

Welcome drinks.

Tiny chocolates on pillows.

Airport lounge snacks sitting beside signs nobody bothered to read.

There is always someone actively consuming the item before deciding it might be important to understand the financial arrangement.

Halfway through chewing:
“Wait… is this complimentary?”

If it’s in your mouth, I’d say we are well beyond the point of inquiry.

The cookie is gone.

The wrapper has been discarded.

You’ve already committed physically, emotionally, and metabolically.

And it’s never asked casually.

There’s always a sudden flash of panic.

Like the hotel is about to emerge from the shadows carrying a tiny leather billfold.

“Actually, sir, that miniature biscotti was $14 plus resort fees.”

The best version of this happens with welcome drinks.

People accept them immediately — no hesitation whatsoever.

No questions.

No caution.

Just blind vacation trust.

Three aggressive sips later, suddenly the survival instincts kick in.

“Oh my God… do we pay for these?”

Interesting timing.

Because at this point, you are already 80% through the mystery cocktail.

You know this happens constantly while we’re traveling.

We become deeply concerned about tiny unexpected charges only after the decision has fully been made.

Not before.

Never before.

Beforehand, we’re fearless.

Afterward, suddenly we need answers.

Subscribe now

8. I’m Not Hungry… I’ll Just Pick

Listen — this is me in a nutshell. Go ahead and judge. I can take it.

At home:
“I’m not hungry.”

Normal.
Reasonable.
A functioning adult making measured food decisions.

Then I arrive at the airport.

This is the moment that apparently my brain becomes convinced I’m about to spend six days crossing the Atlantic in a covered wagon.

Now I’m buying:

• pretzels

• Godiva dark chocolate mint pearls

• Diet Dr. Peppers (plural)

• some kind of wrap that I’ll never eat

• Dewey’s cookies (and not just one package, but two in case I really like them)

• trail mix (because it looks more interesting than the one I brought with me)

And by the way — it’s not like I didn’t already have snacks in my backpack.

Something about airports convinces people they are entering a foodless dystopian nightmare where sustenance may never appear again.

Even though everyone knows exactly what’s going to happen.

You’re going to sit down.
Ignore your snacks for 40 minutes.
Then aggressively eat all of them at once out of pure boredom. Or, in my case, throw them out at some point several days into the trip when I finally remember I bought them.

And the urgency people feel buying airport snacks needs to be addressed.

Long lines.
Panic purchasing.
Grabbing bottled water like FEMA just issued a warning.

Meanwhile there are restaurants literally every 12 feet.

And suddenly price no longer matters.

At no other point in life would someone calmly spend:
$9 on trail mix
$6 on water
$11 on a sad turkey sandwich refrigerated God knows when

But in the airport?
We hand over our credit card without blinking.

Because once you pass through security, normal financial reasoning leaves your body.

Airport pricing exists in its own economy.

Somewhere between Disney World and hostage negotiation.

9. Refusing to Walk Barefoot in Hotel Rooms But Walking Around Airport Security in Socks is Fine

At the hotel:
“Ew. The floor.”

Suddenly everyone becomes deeply concerned about hygiene.

Shoes stay on.

Slippers come out.

People are tiptoeing around the carpet like something happened there and nobody’s telling us what.

Which, to be fair, is rational. I mean, seriously, hotel floors are questionable.

But then we arrive at airport security.

And all critical thinking immediately leaves the body.

Now we’re just walking around in socks (or nothing).

Raw-socking it through TSA without a care in the world.

Not normal floors either.

Airport security floors.

The exact location where millions of strangers have:

• removed shoes

• shuffled through barefoot

• spilled coffee

• dragged luggage wheels through airport bathrooms

• carried germs from every possible corner of humanity

And somehow THIS feels fine.

Nobody hesitates.

Nobody says:
“You know what? Maybe I shouldn’t place my fabric foot covering directly onto the same surface where thousands of bare feet and leaking carry-ons have traveled today.”

No.

We step onto that floor with confidence.

Then — and this is the part that sends me into orbit — some of these same people will continue wearing those exact socks onto the plane.

Into the seat.

Into the aisle.

And into the lavatory.

The AIRPLANE LAVATORY.

A place so biologically upsetting that every seasoned traveler eventually learns:
if the floor looks wet, for your own emotional well-being, do not ask questions.

And yet there are people casually standing in there in SOCKS.

Socks that have now absorbed:

• TSA floor

• terminal floor

• airplane aisle floor

• whatever is happening in the bathroom floor ecosystem at 36,000 feet

Then five hours later at the hotel?
Suddenly we’re horrified again.

“Don’t walk barefoot on the carpet.”

Interesting timing for the hygiene standards to return.

10. The Airplane Seat Wipe-Down Ritual

The second people sit down on a plane, they transform into infectious disease specialists.

Out come the antibacterial wipes immediately.

Now we’re aggressively sanitizing:

• the tray table

• the armrests

• the seatbelt buckle

• the touchscreen

• the window shade

• possibly the molecules in the surrounding atmosphere

People are wiping down that seat like they’re preparing for surgery instead of flying to Orlando.

And to be fair, I understand the instinct.

Planes are disgusting.

The tray table has absolutely witnessed things no surface should ever witness.

But what fascinates me is how weirdly selective the concern becomes.

Because five minutes later, the exact same person drops a pretzel directly onto their own pants…

pauses briefly…

looks at it…

then eats it anyway.

No hesitation.

No second thought.

Apparently the dangerous germs exist only on “public” surfaces.

But once an item touches your own personal travel ecosystem, it’s suddenly considered safe.

Your leggings — which have already touched:

• airport seats

• taxi seats

• terminal floors

• escalator railings

• probably the bathroom door with your luck

Somehow those are now part of a trusted sterile environment.

The tray table?
Biohazard.

The pretzel that ricocheted off your lap, grazed the seat cushion, and briefly disappeared into the folds of your hoodie?
Still good.

And we all do this.

Every single one of us creates these completely imaginary hygiene boundaries while traveling.

This is dirty.
This is clean.
This floor is unacceptable.
This airport sandwich is somehow fine.

None of it makes any scientific sense whatsoever.

But emotionally?

We’ve decided it works.

My Final Take

Travel has this incredible ability to turn otherwise reasonable adults into deeply confusing little creatures.

People who would never eat a questionable shrimp skewer at home suddenly become fearless international street-food adventurers.

People who disinfect an airplane tray table like it’s contaminated evidence will casually wear TSA-floor socks into an airplane bathroom and continue living their lives.

We refuse to use hotel drawers, complain there’s no storage, flee swimming pools because of rain while already submerged in water, and somehow convince ourselves that leaning forward while driving in a storm is helping the car perform better.

None of it makes sense.

And yet all of it somehow does.

Because I think travel puts us in this weird in-between state where we’re trying to stay comfortable while also being completely out of our normal environment.

So we invent little rituals.

Tiny rules.

Completely irrational systems that make us feel slightly more prepared, slightly more in control, and slightly less like we’re one delayed flight away from eating Pringles for dinner in an airport terminal.

And honestly, that’s probably part of what makes travel so entertaining.

Not just the places.

The people.

Especially us.

Leave a comment

In Part 1, we talked about getting medications into another country legally.

Unfortunately, that’s only half the battle.

Because the real problems often begin after travelers arrive.

This is the side of international travel most people rarely think about:

• medications getting lost

• medications getting stolen

• refrigeration problems

• time zone confusion

• delayed luggage

• counterfeit medications

• realizing your prescription cannot easily be replaced overseas

• discovering your hotel mini-fridge barely qualifies as “cool”

The reality is that these are not rare situations.

These are the kinds of problems experienced international travelers eventually learn to plan for because once you’re in another country, solving a medication issue can become a lot more complicated than people expect.

Especially when you are exhausted, jet lagged, unfamiliar with the healthcare system, and suddenly trying to explain a prescription medication to someone in another language.

What Happens If You Lose Your Medication Abroad?

Everyone focuses on getting their medications into the country.

Very few people think about what happens if those medications are lost, stolen, delayed, damaged, or run out while they are already overseas.

Believe me when I tell you: replacing medication internationally is not always simple.

In some countries, you may be able to walk into a pharmacy and buy medications over the counter that would require a prescription in the United States.

In other countries, replacing even a basic prescription could require:

• a local doctor appointment

• a hospital or clinic visit

• translated medical records

• proof of your original prescription

• passport documentation

• payment upfront in cash

And controlled substances?
That becomes significantly more complicated.

Medications for ADHD, anxiety, pain management, or sleep disorders may be impossible to replace legally in certain destinations, even with documentation from your U.S. physician.

Travelers also need to understand that medications are often sold under completely different brand names internationally.

The medication may exist — but under a name you do not recognize.

Dosages can also vary by country, and packaging may look completely different from what you are used to seeing at home.

And then there is another very real concern travelers often underestimate:

Counterfeit medications.

This is especially important in highly touristed areas where pharmacies may cater heavily to visitors. While many international pharmacies are excellent, counterfeit medications do exist in some parts of the world, particularly involving:

• narcotic pain medications

• erectile dysfunction medications

• antibiotics

• weight loss medications

• GLP-1 medications like Ozempic

• sleep medications

This is why replacing medications through unofficial sources, street vendors, or “a friend who knows someone” is a terrible idea.

Share

What You Should Do If Medication Is Lost or Stolen

If you lose medication abroad, here are the smartest steps to take:

1. Contact Your Travel Insurance Provider

Many travel insurance companies have medical assistance hotlines that can help locate:

• pharmacies

• English-speaking doctors

• urgent care clinics

• replacement prescription services

Some policies may even assist with emergency prescription replacement costs.

This is one of those moments where good travel insurance suddenly becomes very important very quickly.

2. Contact Your Physician at Home

Your doctor may be able to:

• send copies of prescriptions

• provide medical documentation

• coordinate with an international provider

• explain generic medication equivalents

And this is exactly why keeping digital copies of prescriptions and medication lists on your phone is critical.

3. Use Legitimate Pharmacies

Not every pharmacy internationally operates at the same standard.

If possible:

• use established pharmacies

• ask your hotel concierge for recommendations

• ask cruise medical staff for guidance

• avoid buying medications from informal sources

Because “the guy who says he can get it for you” is not a pharmaceutical strategy.

4. Carry a Medication List Before You Leave Home

Not just the brand names.

The generic names.

This matters enormously internationally.

For example, travelers may know “Tylenol,” but the active ingredient acetaminophen may be labeled differently abroad.

Having:

• medication names

• generic names

• dosages

• prescribing physician information

can save enormous time and stress in an emergency.

5. Split Medications Between Bags Carefully

For longer trips, some travelers choose to divide medications between:

• carry-on luggage

• personal item

• travel companion’s bag

But essential daily medications should always remain immediately accessible in your carry-on.

Because if your checked luggage disappears somewhere between New York and Athens, you do not want your blood pressure medication taking an unexpected European vacation without you.

The Temperature Issue Nobody Thinks About

Most travelers worry about whether they packed enough medication.

Very few think about whether their medication can survive the trip itself.

And this matters far more than people realize.

Many medications are sensitive to:

• heat

• freezing temperatures

• humidity

• direct sunlight

Which means your medication can potentially become less effective — or even unsafe — if stored improperly during travel.

And international travel creates a surprising number of situations where medications may be exposed to extreme temperatures.

Think about:

• luggage sitting on a scorching airport tarmac

• safari vehicles in Africa

• Mediterranean summers

• beach bags

• tour buses

• cruise excursions

• hot train compartments

• backpacks left in parked vehicles

• freezing aircraft cargo holds

This becomes especially important for:

• insulin

• GLP-1 medications like Ozempic, Wegovy, and Mounjaro

• biologic medications

• injectable medications

• certain antibiotics

• hormone medications

• eye drops

• nitroglycerin

• some liquid medications

And travelers often make one critical mistake:

They assume hotel mini-fridges are medically reliable refrigeration.

They are not always.

Some barely cool at all.
Some freeze contents.
Some lose power when you leave the room.

And cruise cabin mini-fridges? Many are designed more for beverages than temperature-sensitive medications.

Before traveling with temperature-sensitive medications:

• check manufacturer storage guidelines

• ask your pharmacist about travel stability

• use properly insulated medication travel cases if needed

• understand how long medications can safely remain unrefrigerated

• know what temperature ranges are considered unsafe

This is particularly important for travelers doing:

• safaris

• expedition cruises

• rail journeys

• long overland touring

• beach vacations

• remote destination travel

Because once medication is exposed to damaging temperatures, you usually cannot look at it and tell something is wrong.

Why Checked Luggage Is a Terrible Place for Medication

Not because airlines are careless (yes, I know we can debate that point ad nauseam).
Because luggage systems are imperfect.

Bags get:

• delayed

• rerouted

• left behind

• weather-held

• misloaded

• temporarily lost

And unfortunately, medication emergencies do not care where your suitcase currently is.

There is also the temperature issue.

Cargo holds can experience temperature extremes that may damage medications long before you ever collect your luggage.

If losing access to a medication would create:

• a medical issue

• a dangerous interruption

• significant pain

• a health emergency

• severe anxiety

it belongs in your carry-on.

Always.

Time Zones and Medication Timing Mistakes

This is another issue travelers underestimate - I’ve been guilty of it myself.

Crossing major time zones can absolutely affect medication schedules.

And while some medications are fairly forgiving, others are much more timing-sensitive.

This becomes especially important for:

• insulin

• diabetes medications

• seizure medications

• hormone therapies

• antibiotics

• medications requiring strict intervals

• sleep medications

And then many of us make things worse by:

• trying to “guess” new schedules

• double dosing

• accidentally skipping doses

• combining alcohol with sleep aids on overnight flights

• taking medications too close together during long-haul travel days

Jet lag already makes people feel disoriented.

Adding medication confusion on top of that is not ideal.

If you take medications that require precise timing, talk to your physician or pharmacist before your trip about how to safely adjust schedules across time zones.

Especially for long-haul international travel.

Cruise Travelers Need to Think Differently About Medications

Cruises create their own unique medication complications.

Because unlike a land trip where you stay in one country, cruises may involve multiple countries with completely different laws in a single itinerary.

Travelers often assume:
“I’m on a cruise ship, so normal rules don’t really apply.”

That is a dangerous assumption.

Cruise travelers should think carefully about:

• controlled medications during port calls

• refrigeration limitations in cabins

• motion sickness medications

• emergency replacement limitations onboard

• delayed return to port

• customs rules in foreign ports

• excursion days with long exposure to heat

And while cruise ship medical centers can handle many routine medical issues, they are not floating CVS stores with unlimited prescription replacement capabilities.

Translation Cards Are Smarter Than People Realize

If you have:

• severe allergies

• diabetes

• epilepsy

• cardiac conditions

• medication allergies

• serious medical conditions

consider carrying translated medical information cards.

Especially in countries where English may not be widely spoken.

This can include:

• medication names

• allergies

• emergency contacts

• medical conditions

• translated phrases

• physician information

Even something as simple as a translated allergy card can make a tremendous difference during an emergency.

The Smartest Travelers Prepare Before Anything Goes Wrong

Experienced travelers understand something important:

International travel almost always goes more smoothly when you prepare for problems before they happen.

Not after.

That does not mean traveling with medications should scare you.

It usually goes perfectly fine.

But preparedness matters.

Because replacing a forgotten toothbrush abroad is easy.

Replacing a controlled medication, temperature-sensitive injectable, or critical prescription while navigating another country’s healthcare system?

That is an entirely different situation.

A Few Exclusive Tips for Protecting Yourself

Keep a Photo of Every Prescription Bottle

Before every international trip, take photos of all prescription bottles on your phone. It takes two minutes and can save hours of stress later.

Not just the prescription itself.

The actual bottle.

Why?
Because it includes:

• prescribing doctor

• RX number

• dosage

• pharmacy

• refill information

Bring More Than You Think You Need

Because:

• weather delays happen

• strikes happen

• illness happens

• missed flights happen

• volcanic ash clouds happen

• cruise itinerary changes happen

Don’t Assume Foreign Pharmacies Carry Your Exact Dosage

A medication may exist overseas, but:

• different strengths

• different release formulas

• different ingredient combinations

can complicate replacement.

Especially with:

• thyroid medication

• antidepressants

• ADHD meds

• hormone medications

Keep Medication in Original Packaging During Border Crossings

Once you are inside the destination, pill organizers are less risky.

But during:

• airport transit

• customs

• border crossings

original packaging matters most.

Jet Lag + Sleep Medication + Alcohol

This is a VERY real issue.

Especially on overnight flights.

People:

• don’t sleep

• take Ambien

• drink wine

• get dehydrated

• wake up confused

• accidentally double dose

International travel is not the ideal environment for improvising with sedatives.

Know Which Medications Cannot Be Suddenly Stopped

This is extremely critical.

Because some travelers think:
“I’ll just miss a few days.”

But abruptly stopping certain medications can be dangerous.

Examples:

• antidepressants

• seizure medications

• steroids

• benzodiazepines

• beta blockers

Hotel Safes Are Not Medical Storage

People lock medications away and forget:

• temperature issues

• accessibility

• housekeeping confusion

• accidental lockouts

For the record - that’s my real-world travel experience talking.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Most travelers spend more time researching restaurants than they do researching medication logistics.

Frankly, that’s understandable.

Medications are one of those things people assume will simply work themselves out.

Until suddenly they don’t.

And that’s why experienced travelers think beyond:
“Can I bring this medication?”

They also think about:

• what happens if it gets lost

• what happens if it overheats

• what happens if flights are delayed

• what happens if replacement becomes necessary

• what happens if schedules get disrupted

Because experienced travelers know something newer travelers often learn the hard way:

The goal is not just getting somewhere.

The goal is staying healthy enough to actually enjoy being there.

A Quick Disclaimer

I am not a physician, pharmacist, attorney, or customs official, and nothing in this article should be considered medical or legal advice.

Medication laws and import regulations can change frequently and vary by country. Always verify current requirements directly with official government, embassy, customs, or healthcare sources before traveling internationally with any prescription, over-the-counter medication, CBD, THC, injectable medication, or medical device.

And always consult your physician or pharmacist regarding your specific medical needs, medications, dosing schedules, and travel-related health considerations.

Leave a comment

Travel insurance is not a luxury. It’s not an “extra.” It’s not a scam designed to squeeze a few more dollars out of your vacation budget.

It is the difference between getting home safely… or watching your life implode thousands of miles away.

Subscribe now

Don’t believe me? Watch these two stories in my short video.

Two young people. Two catastrophic situations. Neither thought they needed travel insurance — until the moment everything went horribly wrong.

I’ve seen families drained financially trying to save a loved one in another country. I’ve seen medical emergencies on cruise ships, accidents on excursions, emergency evacuations, missed diagnoses, and deaths far from home.

Share

And every single time, the same sentence echoes afterward:

“We never thought it would happen to us.”

That’s the illusion travel insurance destroys.

Because the truth is simple: the worst moments of your life don’t send a warning text before they arrive.

Leave a comment

In this extraordinary episode, I chatted with the hilarious and inspiring best friends Sandy and Ellie—aka “The Traveling Nanas”—about their unforgettable journey around the world in 80 days at age 81.

What started as a whimsical idea became a viral sensation, leading to TV appearances, a book deal with Penguin Random House, and a platform to share their deep wisdom on friendship, loss, and fearless living.

From run-ins with the KGB on the Trans-Siberian Railway to narrowly escaping Syria during the onset of war, Sandy and Ellie offer a masterclass in embracing adventure at any age. Their stories will make you laugh, cry, and reimagine what’s possible, whether you’re 31 or 81.

What You’ll Learn:

• How to travel the world safely and affordably on a tight budget

• Why second-class train seats and local inns make for the best travel stories

• The magic of spontaneous friendship and universal connection

• How to face grief and loss with courage and curiosity

• The behind-the-scenes story of their book “Here We Go” and unexpected fame

• Why age should never be a barrier to exploring the world

Their book, Here We Go, chronicles their travels and the transformative power of friendship and faith.

Share

Connect with the Nanas:

Instagram

TikTok

Facebook

Book: Here We Go (Penguin Random House)

Book: Here we Go on Kindle

Share this with a friend who’s ready to step into their power—and don’t forget to follow us for more conversations that ignite reinvention and authenticity.

• Learn more about Life Reimagined and past episodes.

• Follow us on social media.

• Subscribe to our Youtube channel for more incredible conversations with those who dare to redefine their lives.

• Book your next Sisterhood Travels Tour.

• Join our Private Facebook Page to keep up with exciting news.

Leave a comment

I swear we have officially cemented the era of professional victimhood and it ain’t pretty.

It all started long ago with that famous hot cup of coffee at McDonalds… remember that?

The latest entries into the “you cannot be serious” hall of fame are almost too ridiculous to believe — except they’re real, they made headlines, and in both cases, courts actually awarded money in the last couple of weeks.

And honestly? I’m not only exhausted by it – I’m pissed.

Listen - I get that there are legitimate cases of negligence. Unsafe conditions. Fraudulent bookings. Dangerous operators. Travelers absolutely deserve protections when companies genuinely fail them.

But we’ve crossed into something else entirely.

There’s a difference between:

• legitimate negligence,

• consumer protection,

• and “I am going to blame everyone else except myself.”

And modern culture increasingly refuses to distinguish between them.

A delayed flight? Lawsuit.
No pool chair? Compensation.
Too drunk? Someone else’s fault.
Bad weather? Refund.
Crowded tourist attraction? Emotional damages.

At some point, people stopped viewing discomfort as part of life and started treating it as evidence they’d been wronged.

Fourteen Tequila Shots and It’s Carnival’s Fault

Let’s start with the cruise story because it perfectly captures this bizarre inability to hold adults responsible for their own decisions.

A California nurse boarded a Carnival cruise with friends and purchased the unlimited “Cheers!” beverage package, which allows up to 15 alcoholic drinks in a 24-hour period.

According to court records, she consumed at least 14 tequila shots between 2:58 p.m. and 11:37 p.m. at multiple bars around the ship. Later, she fell and suffered injuries including a concussion and possible traumatic brain injury.

She sued Carnival for “over-service of alcohol” and a jury awarded her $300,000.

Now before everyone starts hyperventilating, yes, cruise lines aggressively market alcohol. Yes, unlimited drink packages are designed to encourage overconsumption. Yes, bartenders should use judgment when someone is visibly intoxicated.

But let’s stop pretending grown adults are helpless children wandering around accidentally drinking industrial quantities of tequila because Carnival put bars “in every nook and cranny.”

Lady. You bought the package.
You ordered the drinks.
You consumed the drinks.
No one physically forced tequila into your body.

And from my vantage point? Unlimited drink packages are one of the biggest scams ever invented because they turn vacations into drunken endurance competitions disguised as “value.”

But cruise lines have figured out something brilliant about human psychology: people will massively overconsume if they think they’re “beating the system.”

So they bundle these packages with gratuities, WiFi, specialty drinks, and flashy marketing language designed to make passengers think they’ve unlocked some incredible bargain. People stop calculating what they’re actually spending because the whole thing gets framed as “unlimited.” Suddenly a $900 alcohol package feels like a smart financial decision because it includes internet and a few frozen cocktails.

Trust me — it is not.

What it really does is encourage perfectly normal people to start drinking like they’re trying to qualify for the Olympics of poor decision-making.

People who would normally have two glasses of wine at dinner suddenly feel obligated to order shots at the pool, cocktails at lunch, wine at dinner, espresso martinis after dinner, and “one more” at the casino bar because they’re determined to “get their money’s worth.”

That’s not hospitality.
That’s behavioral manipulation wrapped in umbrella drinks and vacation branding.

And the most absurd part? After voluntarily participating in this floating alcohol marathon, people now turn around and claim they’re victims because nobody stopped them from continuing to order drinks they absolutely did not need.

Fourteen tequila shots is not an accident. It is a long sequence of deliberate decisions made over several hours.

Yet somehow the modern instinct is always:
“Who else can we blame?”

Nobody can simply say:
“Yeah, I made a terrible choice and suffered the consequences.”

Everything has to become negligence. Trauma. Litigation. Somebody else’s fault.

And that mindset is dangerous because eventually accountability disappears completely.

Your Kids Had to Lie on Towels by the Pool? Call the Lawyers.

Then there’s the Greek resort story, which honestly feels like satire.

Sigh. It’s not.

A German tourist vacationing with his family at a luxury resort in Kos sued after they struggled to secure pool lounge chairs during their 11-night stay.

According to reports, guests were “reserving” loungers early each morning by placing towels on them, despite hotel rules prohibiting the practice.

The family claimed they only successfully got chairs one day, forcing the children — ages 9 and 12 — to lie on towels on the ground near the pool.

On the ground.

Near a pool.

In Greece.

And yes, the court awarded compensation.

Now look — the chair-saving behavior is annoying. Resorts absolutely should enforce their own policies better. People who reserve loungers at dawn and disappear for four hours are deeply irritating members of society — we’ve already talked about them in a previous discussion.

But the leap from:
“This was frustrating”
to
“This deserves legal damages”
is exactly the kind of insanity that makes me think we’ve completely lost perspective.

Your children sat on towels outdoors during a luxury Mediterranean vacation. They were not stranded in the wilderness. They were not sleeping on concrete under a highway overpass.

They were by a resort pool.

At what point did mild inconvenience become legal injury?

And honestly, what kind of message are we sending people, especially our children, now?

That every unpleasant experience deserves compensation?
That every inconvenience makes you a victim?
That discomfort itself is injustice?

Travel used to require adaptability. Sometimes flights got delayed. Sometimes hotels weren’t perfect. Sometimes the beach chairs were gone because other tourists are selfish weirdos.

You rolled your eyes and moved on.

Now people treat vacations like consumer audits where every tiny annoyance becomes a reimbursement opportunity.

Honorable Mentions in the Victim Olympics

And if you think these stories are isolated incidents, allow me to introduce the growing catalog of absolutely unserious travel complaints and lawsuits that somehow made it into courtrooms and headlines.

Warning – you might have to tie your mouth closed while you’re reading.

The “Too Much Splashing” Disney Lawsuit

A guest sued Disney after allegedly suffering injury and emotional distress from getting splashed too aggressively on a water ride.

A water ride.

Sir, the entire premise was right there in the title.

That’s like suing a steakhouse because your clothes smelled like grilled meat afterward.

The “Palm Trees Blocked My Ocean View” Complaint

Guests at a tropical resort demanded compensation because palm trees partially obstructed the ocean view from their room.

I’m sorry — the tropical resort had too much tropical scenery?

Red Alert: There’s a big difference between “oceanview” and “oceanfront”. Next time, if you don’t want to see those palm trees – splurge for the oceanfront.

The Influencer Who Claimed Construction Ruined Her Content

A travel influencer reportedly pursued compensation because nearby resort construction interfered with the aesthetic of her vacation photos and social media content.

Not her actual vacation experience.
Her Instagram backdrop.

Yeah – I don’t have any words either.

The “It Rained During My Vacation” Refund Seekers

There have been multiple travelers who sought compensation because poor weather limited their enjoyment of beaches, pools, or outdoor activities.

And I genuinely need to know:
Who exactly do these people think controls weather systems?

Apparently, they thought it was the travel agent because that’s who they sued!

The Airline Seat Recline Injury Lawsuits

Passengers have pursued legal claims over reclining airline seats causing discomfort or alleged injury.

Now look — economy class is miserable. We all know this.

But if using the two inches of recline an airline literally designed into the seat becomes a legal offense, you better look out for the lawsuit coming your way because you dared to take up the entire armrest.

The Emotional Support Peacock Incident

A passenger famously tried to board a flight with an emotional support peacock and legal threats followed when the airline refused.

Because apparently airlines are now expected to accommodate emotional-support wildlife in economy class. (Thank God they’ve cracked down on what qualifies as an emotional support animal).

Nothing says “we’re sane and rational people” quite like boarding Group C with a peacock.

The Cruise Passenger Who Missed the Ship After Drinking in Port

One traveler allegedly drank heavily ashore, missed the ship’s departure time, and then blamed the cruise line for emotional distress after being left behind.

Cruise lines practically scream all aboard times into microphones every fifteen minutes.

At some point adults have to set alarms and stop thinking the world is waiting for them to show up.

The Rise of “I Deserve Compensation” Culture

What ties all these stories together is this growing belief that every inconvenience, disappointment, or self-inflicted consequence must be somebody else’s legal responsibility.

And look — I fully support legitimate traveler protections. Companies absolutely should be held accountable when they’re negligent, deceptive, unsafe, or exploitative.

If a hotel is unsanitary, if an airline strands passengers without support, if a cruise operator ignores serious safety risks — yes, travelers deserve recourse.

But there’s a massive difference between:
“We were endangered”
and
“We were mildly annoyed.”

We’ve become so obsessed with eliminating discomfort that we now treat inconvenience as injury.

Maybe Adults Need to Start Acting Like Adults Again

What bothers me most about all of this is the complete erosion of personal accountability… like it’s a dirty word.

Because if every bad decision or frustrating experience automatically becomes grounds for compensation, then nobody ever has to own their choices anymore.

Too drunk? Blame the bartender.
Missed the ship? Blame the cruise line.
Couldn’t get a pool chair? Blame the resort.
Bad weather? Blame the tour operator.
Crowded destination? Emotional trauma.

At some point adults have to regulate themselves.

And honestly, part of being a functional grown-up is understanding that not every unpleasant experience is oppression.

Sometimes life is inconvenient.
Sometimes vacations are imperfect.
Sometimes people behave selfishly.
Sometimes you make bad choices.
Sometimes things go wrong.

That doesn’t automatically mean someone owes you money.

And if you just can’t adult… well, I dare say, you shouldn’t be going on vacation without a grown-up chaperone.

Because if we continue down this path where every discomfort is litigated and every consequence is outsourced, we’re not creating a safer or fairer society.

We’re creating one where accountability disappears entirely.

What say you? Could I be wrong? Or am I spot on?

Leave a comment

There’s a type of travel experience in Europe that has absolutely exploded in popularity over the last few years — and I completely understand why.

It’s called agritourism.

And if you’ve never heard of it before, think:
farm stay… but make it European and significantly more charming.

I grew up in northern New Jersey in a concrete jungle, so the idea of vacationing on a farm was completely foreign to me growing up.

We didn’t romanticize countryside living.

Nobody was talking about olive groves or vineyard stays or waking up to roosters in Tuscany.

Vacation usually meant:

• beaches

• cities

• hotels

• amusement parks

• somewhere busy

A slower one.
A quieter one.
One connected to food, nature, family, and place in a way many people honestly haven’t experienced before.

Why Stay on a Farm?

The concept started in Italy, but now you’ll find versions of it all over Europe.

At its core, agritourism is about staying on a working farm or rural property and experiencing a slower, more connected way of traveling.

And what’s interesting is that these places can look completely different depending on what kind of traveler you are.

• Some are rustic and simple.

• Some are luxury wellness retreats.

• Some are built around food and wine.

• Others are designed for families with kids.

But they all tap into the same thing:

the desire to slow down.

People are craving slower travel right now.

Not:

• racing through ten cities in seven days

• dragging luggage through train stations every other morning

• standing in lines all day trying to “maximize” a vacation

• returning home more exhausted than when they left

People want trips that actually feel restorative now.

And agritourism taps directly into that.

A lot of these stays include meals made almost entirely from the property itself:

• wine produced on-site

• olive oil from the farm

• vegetables grown steps away from the kitchen

• homemade cheeses

• family recipes passed down for generations

And here’s the truth: some of the best meals people have in Europe happen at these places — not in Michelin-starred restaurants.

The Fantasy People Are Really Chasing

I really think part of the reason agritourism has become so popular is because it taps into a very specific fantasy people are craving right now.

Not necessarily luxury in the flashy sense.

But a softer kind of luxury.

The kind that looks like:

• fresh bread in the morning

• drinking wine outside at sunset

• tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes

• linen dresses drying in the breeze

• dinners that last for hours

• waking up to birds instead of notifications

It’s the fantasy of a slower, more grounded life.

And after years of burnout, constant stimulation, overcrowded tourism, and everyone feeling permanently online, people are drawn to experiences that feel simple and human again.

That’s why these places absolutely dominate social media.

Because agritourism photographs beautifully, yes — but it also represents something deeper people feel like they’re missing.

Space.
Quiet.
Connection.
Time.

And honestly? When you experience it in person, the appeal makes even more sense.

I still remember arriving at a small agriturismo in Italy after a long travel day and immediately feeling my nervous system calm down.

No check-in desk.
No giant lobby.
No polished resort energy.

Just gravel roads, olive trees, and someone’s father casually pouring wine before dinner.

That’s the thing about an agriturismo:

it feels less like staying at a hotel and more like temporarily stepping into someone else’s life.

Not All Agriturismos Are the Same

I think a lot of people picture one specific version of an agriturismo — usually a dreamy Tuscan vineyard situation — but there are actually several completely different styles.

Rustic Farm Stays

These are the more traditional, authentic versions.

Think:

• family-owned farms

• simple countryside rooms

• homemade meals

• working agriculture happening around you

• maybe grandma cooking dinner while chickens wander nearby

These places are usually less polished but often feel the most personal.

And, sometimes they end up being the most memorable.

Luxury Agriturismo

This is the version Instagram loves.

• Beautifully restored farmhouses.

• Infinity pools overlooking vineyards.

• Designer interiors.

• Private wine tastings.

• Spa treatments.

• Outdoor bathtubs with mountain views.

These can feel more like boutique countryside hotels than actual farms — but most still produce wine, olive oil, or local products on-site.

Tuscany is filled with these now.

Wine Estate Agriturismos

These are especially popular in:

• Italy

• France

• Portugal

• Spain

The focus here is usually wine production and food experiences.

You stay on the vineyard property itself and spend your days doing tastings, vineyard tours, long dinners, and generally pretending you might someday quit your job and move to Europe permanently.

Wellness & Eco Retreats

These are becoming increasingly popular, especially with women travelers.

You’ll find:

• yoga retreats

• farm-to-table meals

• wellness programs

• hiking

• meditation

• digital detox experiences

• eco-focused stays

A lot of these attract solo travelers because the atmosphere tends to feel peaceful and communal rather than isolating.

Family-Focused Farm Stays

These are huge across parts of Europe, especially for local travelers.

Kids feed animals, collect eggs, ride horses, help in gardens, and experience rural life in a way that feels very different from a traditional resort vacation.

For families with younger kids especially, these can be incredible, fun, and transformative.

The Best Regions for Agritourism in Europe

Italy may have invented agriturismo, but the concept has spread all over Europe — and some regions do it exceptionally well.

Tuscany, Italy

This is the classic fantasy version.

Rolling hills.
Cypress trees.
Vineyards.
Stone farmhouses.
Long wine-soaked dinners.

Tuscany is beautiful for a reason, even if it’s become wildly popular.

It’s especially good for:

• wine lovers

• couples’ trips

• luxury agriturismos

• first-time agriturismo travelers

And who knows? If you go during harvest season, you may even get the chance to participate in the grape harvest yourself just like Lucy stomping grapes in Italy for a day.

Umbria, Italy

Often described as Tuscany’s quieter neighbor.

You get a similar countryside feel but usually:

• fewer crowds

• lower prices

• more local atmosphere

It’s one of the best choices if you want a slower, more authentic experience.

Puglia, Italy

Puglia feels very different from northern Italy.

Think:

• olive groves

• whitewashed towns

• coastal countryside

• masserias (fortified farm estates)

A lot of the agriturismos here blend rustic charm with beach access, which is part of why the region has become so trendy lately.

Provence, France

Lavender fields.
Rosé vineyards.
Cicadas buzzing at night.
Beautiful stone farmhouses.

Provence has a similar romantic countryside energy but with a distinctly French feel.

Summer here is especially magical.

Douro Valley, Portugal

One of the most underrated wine regions in Europe.

The agriturismo-style stays here are often vineyard estates overlooking the river, and compared to Italy or France, prices can still be relatively reasonable.

They’re excellent for:

• wine travel

• slower luxury

• scenic landscapes

Andalusia, Spain

This region has gorgeous countryside estates, olive farms, and converted haciendas.

You’ll find:

• horseback riding

• wine tasting

• olive oil farms

• dramatic mountain scenery

• incredible food

And the pace of life here naturally fits the agriturismo experience perfectly.

The Greek Countryside

Most people associate Greece with islands, but rural Greece has some incredible farm stays and eco-retreats.

Especially in:

• Crete

• Naxos

• the Peloponnese

These tend to focus heavily on food, hospitality, and nature.

What Agritourism Actually Costs

One thing people assume is that agritourism automatically means luxury pricing.

Not always.

There’s actually a huge range depending on:

• the country

• the region

• the season

• how luxury-focused the property is

Budget / Rustic Farm Stays

Generally:
€80–180 per night

Usually includes:

• simple rooms or apartments

• breakfast

• rural setting

• family-run atmosphere

These are often the most authentic experiences.

Mid-Range Agriturismo

Generally:
€180–400 per night

This is probably the sweet spot for most travelers.

You’ll usually get:

• beautiful countryside property

• pool

• breakfast included

• wine or food experiences

• renovated rooms with modern comforts

Luxury Agriturismo

Generally:
€500–1,500+ per night

Especially in places like:

• Tuscany

• Provence

• high-end wine regions

These properties often feel like luxury boutique hotels with farm aesthetics.

Think:

• spa services

• curated experiences

• private chefs

• designer interiors

• vineyard views

• wellness programs

And trust me, some of them are stunning.

The Part Instagram Doesn’t Always Show

Now — important reality check — agritourism is not always luxury in the traditional sense.

Some places are stunning high-end estates with infinity pools and spa treatments.

Others are much more rustic and authentic.

You may absolutely encounter:

• uneven stone floors

• bugs

• questionable WiFi

• narrow dirt roads that test your confidence

• and roosters that truly do not care that you’re on vacation

But seriously?

That’s part of the experience too.

Because the imperfections are often what make these stays memorable.

You remember the homemade wine.
The late dinners.
The quiet mornings.
The smell of rosemary and olive trees in the heat.
The sound of cicadas at night.

Not whether the bathroom looked like a luxury hotel.

Subscribe now

A Few Things I’d Recommend Before Booking One

If you’re thinking about trying an agriturismo stay, there are a few things that make a huge difference.

First:

don’t book one night.

Agritourism is the opposite of fast travel. The whole point is slowing down enough to actually enjoy where you are.

Second:

rent a car if possible.

A lot of the best places are intentionally remote, which is part of the appeal.

Third:

eat dinner on the property at least once.

Seriously.

Those dinners are often the highlight of the entire trip.

Also — and I think this is incredibly important — do a little research on the type of farm experience you actually want before you book.

Because timing matters a lot with agritourism.

If you’re dreaming about:

• grape harvests and wine production

• olive picking

• lavender season

• truffle hunting

• cheese making

• sunflower fields

• baby animals on the farm

…the best time to visit can vary completely depending on the region and what kind of experience you want.

Maybe you want your kids to help milk cows and collect eggs in the morning.

Or maybe you and your bestie are fully committed to your Lucy and Ethel stomping grapes in Tuscany moment.

Either way, a little seasonal research can make the experience dramatically better.

And finally:

don’t over-schedule your days.

This is the kind of travel where the magic is often in doing less.

Share

Why Agritourism Feels So Appealing Right Now

I think what people are really searching for through agritourism isn’t just a prettier vacation.

It’s a different feeling.

One where:

• meals take time

• mornings are quiet

• nature sets the pace of the day

• and nobody is trying to optimize every second

Travel has become so fast lately.
So crowded.
So focused on content and checklists and seeing “everything.”

Agritourism feels like a reaction against that.

It asks people to slow down enough to actually experience where they are.

And maybe that’s why these places stay with people long after the trip ends.

Not because they’re perfect.

But because they remind us how good life can feel when it slows down.

Sometimes it’s just:

a long dinner outside,
a beautiful view,
and nowhere else you need to be.

I dream of going back to an agritourismo… I need it. What say you?

Leave a comment

Normal rules no longer apply.

Perfectly intelligent adults suddenly begin making decisions that would concern their families if they happened at home.

People who refuse to pay $3 extra for guacamole become wildly comfortable spending $28 on a cocktail served inside a pineapple because:
“We’re on vacation.”

Apparently vacation is where financial logic goes to die.

And after decades of traveling, observing people, and fully participating in this nonsense myself, I’ve realized travel is basically one giant oxymoron.

We all become contradictory, confusing, aspirational lunatics the moment our boarding pass gets scanned.

So in the interest of self-awareness, here are eight travel oxymorons we all seem to participate in – and I must raise my hand because I’m “guilty as charged”.

1. Vacation Math is Not Real Math

There is no logic to vacation spending.

For example, Real Me refuses to pay to put air in my tires on principle.

I know it’s fifty cents.
Or a dollar.
Or whatever extortionate amount Big Air is charging now.

And yes, before everyone emails me, I KNOW I’m paying for the machine and not the actual air itself.

I understand this intellectually.

I do not care.

Somewhere deep within me, I remain personally offended that air — AIR — has become a monetized experience.

But now let’s discuss the fact that this same woman, Vacation Me, will happily pay for:

• a privately chauffeured airport transfer

• private hotel transfers

• private drivers overseas

• luxury transportation basically anywhere humanly possible

Because once I’m traveling, I suddenly believe I should no longer have to interact with inconvenience.

At all.

Dragging luggage?
Waiting for shuttles?
Searching for parking?
Absolutely not.

Vacation Me believes I deserve to be transported around the globe like a minor royal.

So let me summarize:
Paying for tire air?
Criminal.

Having someone professionally drive me three hours to the airport because I don’t feel like dealing with traffic?
Perfectly reasonable.

Vacation math is not real math.

Consider the people who spend:

• $8,000 on the trip

• $2,400 on airfare

• $2000 on excursions

• $1000 on “resort wear”

• $47 at the airport Hudson News without blinking

…but refuse to spend an extra $200 for the better flight schedule?

Now suddenly they’re fiscal conservatives.

Now they’re willing to depart at 5:12 a.m., connect twice, sprint through Charlotte, and sit in Seat 38B directly beside the lavatory because:
“The other flight was cheaper.”

Ummmm… okay, if you say so.

They might be the same people who spend $500 for a ten-minute helicopter ride over a fjord because:
“This will be so surreal.”

But two hours later they’re asking the hotel front desk:
“Is there somewhere nearby with coin-operated laundry?”

Consider the irony:
You just flew over Norway like a tech billionaire.
I’m pretty sure you can afford to pay the hotel to do a bag of laundry since we’re talking about vacation math.

Subscribe now

2. The International Fitness Transformation

I am not athletic.

Let’s establish that immediately.

Nobody has ever looked at me and thought:
“There goes a woman training for a triathlon.”

And yet if you opened my travel closet, you would assume I summit mountains recreationally.

I own:

• Columbia Omni-Heat base layers in approximately 47 colors

• hiking leggings and multiple pairs of hiking boots

• moisture-wicking shirts

• performance hoodies

• lightweight packable jackets

• heavy-duty winter jackets

• rain shells

• fleece layers

• enough Arctic Cool HydroFreeze clothing to survive a climate emergency

• and roughly thirty backpacks, daypacks, crossbodies, sling bags, and travel organizers designed for people who appear to enjoy physical activity

It seems that I have become deeply committed to the aesthetic of athleticism.

The lifestyle itself?
Less so.

At home, I drive to my mailbox. Seriously.

Not because I physically need to.
Because I can.

But the second I land somewhere internationally, I become a rugged explorer.

Now suddenly I’m researching:

• glacier hikes

• walking tours

• thermal cave excursions

• volcano viewpoints

• “moderate inclines”

• climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge

• ziplining across Dubai

• kayaking through fjords

• hiking active volcanoes

• “challenging but rewarding” terrain

Vacation Me truly believes she’s one pair of moisture-wicking leggings away from becoming an outdoorswoman named Sierra.

And the craziest part?

Travel somehow convinces all of us this transformation is temporary but believable.

At home:
“Can we park closer?”

Abroad:
“We walked 11 miles today but honestly I could’ve done more.”

Who IS this person???

Share

3. The “I Need A Vacation” Vacation

We all claim we need a vacation because we’re exhausted.

Then we create itineraries requiring the stamina and logistical coordination of a minor military operation.

And before I judge anyone else, let me say this:

As you’re reading this, I am in Iceland with my best friend on our annual girls trip that was specifically supposed to be about relaxation.

Usually we do Aruba.
Beach.
Pool.
Minimal movement.
A highly committed relationship with lounge chairs and snacks hand-delivered to us.

But this year we decided:
“Let’s do a relaxing spa trip to Reykjavik.”

That was the vision.

And initially, we were doing great.

The itinerary started very reasonably:

• two spa days at different geothermal lagoons

• one sightseeing day for the Golden Circle

• and a couple of completely open days where we swore we would do absolutely nothing unless the spirit moved us

That was the plan.

Until we got a couple weeks closer to departure and suddenly started saying things like:
“Well while we’re there…”

Which is the beginning of every vacation scheduling problem.

Now suddenly we’ve added:

• another lagoon day

• another hot springs experience

• extra sightseeing

• reservations

• timing logistics

And at this point we literally do not have one fully free day left on our “relaxing spa vacation.”

We have somehow transformed “rest and rejuvenation” into a geothermal wellness tour with scheduling requirements.

And this is what people always do.

We claim we’re desperate to relax.

Then we panic at the idea of “wasting” time.

So now every vacation becomes:

• sunrise tours

• walking tours

• museums

• winery visits

• cooking classes

• boat rides

• scenic viewpoints

• dinner reservations at 9:30 p.m.

At some point this stopped being leisure and became itinerary anxiety.

And nobody wants to be the first person to admit they’re tired.

Because the second someone says:
“You know what? I might stay back at the hotel…”

…the rest of the group immediately responds like you’ve announced early retirement from society.

“Oh no, you HAVE to come.”
“It’s only a short walk.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“We can rest later.”

Later when exactly?
At customs?

On vacation, apparently I believe I can:

• wake up at o’dark thirty

• walk ten miles

• soak in volcanic water

• sightsee for eight hours

• eat dinner at 10 p.m.

• and still be emotionally available for “one quick stop” on the walk back to the hotel.

The delusion is actually impressive.

4. The Packing Fantasy

Nobody packs for the person they actually are.

We pack for the imaginary vacation version of ourselves.

Vacation You packs:

• matching outfits

• statement jewelry

• dramatic scarves

• “evening sandals”

• wide-brimmed hats

• coordinated swimsuits

Vacation You also apparently believes she may become:

• sporty

• elegant

• mysterious

• effortlessly European

Real Me wears the same black leggings for six straight days and hasn’t changed her earrings in approximately six months.

Real Me wears a ponytail and no makeup basically every day of her life.

But Vacation Me?

Vacation Me packs:

• a curling iron

• a flat iron

• a bag of hair accessories

• clips

• products

• sprays

• and the entire makeup collection from the Estée Lauder.

…all because apparently this is the trip where I finally become a woman who “does her hair and applies transformative makeup.”

This never happens.

Because after a full day of walking, sweating, eating, touring, and pretending I’m more athletic than I actually am, there is absolutely zero chance I’m standing in a European hotel bathroom trying to create soft vacation waves.

And the craziest part?

I’m usually traveling with the exact same people who see me in a ponytail and no makeup every single day anyway.

Nobody is expecting a dramatic hair reveal in Lisbon.

Nobody’s standing around saying:
“Wait a minute… Stacey’s eye makeup is so dramatic tonight.”

No one cares.

And yet every trip, I continue transporting enough hair equipment and cosmetics through international airports to open a small salon franchise abroad.

And let’s discuss the number of shoes people bring.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot stop.

Every trip begins with me confidently saying:
“This time I’m packing light.”

And within forty-five minutes I’m negotiating with myself over whether I really need:

• my OluKai flip flops in multiple colors

• Taos sandals

• Birkenstock hiking boots

• sneakers

• water shoes

• tall leather riding boots

…and we haven’t even gotten to dinner yet.

Because apparently Vacation Me believes there could be:

• hiking

• beach walking

• elegant strolling

• rugged strolling

• wet strolling

• cold strolling

• fashionable strolling

I am a Girl Scout… prepared for strolling in all conditions.

And somehow every single pair of shoes feels absolutely essential in the moment.

“These are my comfortable walking flip flops.”
“These are my nicer walking sandals.”
“These are my cute casual sandals.”
“These are my evening sandals.”
“These are my backup walking sandals.”

Meanwhile, what actually happens?

I wear the same two pairs the entire trip while the rest sit in the hotel closet untouched and are likely to be donated to the housekeeping staff because I have no room for them in my luggage on the way back.

5. “Authentic Culture” Travelers

Everyone says they want authentic local culture.

Until:

• there’s no ice

• dinner starts at 9 p.m.

• the air conditioning is “different”

• the beds are firm

• the shower has seventeen settings for no apparent reason

• nobody automatically refills your water

Suddenly authenticity has limits.

You wanted a charming 400-year-old hotel in Italy.

Then you arrive and immediately describe it as:
“a little dated.”

Well yes.

It was built before electricity.

And despite specifically booking an “authentic boutique property,” people still spend the first twenty minutes in the room trying to figure out:

• where the thermostat is

• why there are no screens on the windows

• how to turn on the lights

• and whether opening the bathroom door will somehow activate the shower spray again

European hotel showers are a category unto themselves.

At home, you turn one handle and water comes out.

In Europe, it somehow becomes a negotiation that begins with a need for a degree in physics.

And nowhere is this contradiction funnier than people like me proudly announcing we want:
“authentic local experiences”…

…while quietly hoping that somewhere nearby you can grab:

• ranch dressing

• Diet Dr Pepper

• chicken tenders

• a giant fountain soda with tons of ice

• and a fast food joint like McDonalds

True story: I learned that it is impossible to get diet soda in Havana. So, what did I do?

I literally bought 15 diet cokes/coke zeroes from the little shop outside of the gate in Miami and lugged those damned things on the plane, through immigration, through security, and to my hotel so I had a supply that I could rely on.

Oh yes I did!

At some point during every international trip, someone says:
“This drink isn’t very cold.”

Correct.

You’re in a tiny medieval town in Tuscany.
There are no ice machines like they have in a Texas gas station.

And let’s be honest:
we all say we want to “live like the locals” right up until the moment we discover the locals aren’t blasting the air conditioning and they’re not carrying around giant-sized Yeti cups that can be registered as lethal weapons nor are they refillable on request.

It doesn’t matter if you’re standing in the middle of Paris after an extraordinary meal with fresh bread, handmade pasta, local wine, and a beautiful view.

Eventually your brain still starts craving:

• mozzarella sticks

• buffalo sauce

• queso

• and something served with ranch dressing

Because apparently authentic cultural immersion only lasts about four days before our internal food programming reboots itself.

Share

6. The Airport Survival Delusion

Airports are where otherwise normal people completely unravel.

The second people arrive at the gate, everybody develops a very specific behavioral pattern.

Some people immediately lie down across three seats like they’re in their own private recovery suite.

People who would never sleep in public at home suddenly become fully unconscious at Gate C17 with:

• one shoe missing

• their mouth hanging open

• AirPods still in

• and one leg extending so far into the walkway that the rest of us are forced to reroute around them like a road closure

Hey, this is not your den!

And of course, there are the OCD people like me.

I have airport seating requirements and I cannot deviate.

I will only sit:

• facing the gate agent

• on an aisle or end seat

• preferably with an empty seat next to me

• and close enough to hear every announcement without actually having to strain

Which honestly feels like information my therapist would probably find useful if I had one.

I need visual confirmation of the gate.
I need strategic positioning.
I need awareness of movement.

Meanwhile other travelers somehow sit with their backs completely facing the gate like they have achieved a level of emotional security I will never know.

And then we arrive at one of the greatest airport phenomena of all:
gate lice.

For those unfamiliar, gate lice are the people who begin hovering around the boarding lane approximately 35 minutes before boarding despite the fact that boarding has not started and may not start for quite some time.

I am gate lice.

I admit it openly.

And what makes this even more ridiculous is that I’m generally flying First or Business Class anyway.

I’m not fighting for overhead bin space in Row 38.

There is absolutely no logical reason for me to behave this way.

And yet the second the gate agent picks up the microphone, I instinctively stand up and drift toward the boarding area like I’m being summoned by nature itself.

Not fully in line.
Just… nearby.

Prepared.
Alert.
Available to make a run for it if we start immediate boarding.

Meanwhile, the true Group 7 passengers are packed tightly around the boarding lane acting absolutely stunned every single time the gate agent says:
“We’re only boarding Group 1 right now.”

As if this information has arrived completely out of nowhere.

And nobody wants to admit they’re gate lice, so everyone pretends they’re standing there for another reason.

Suddenly people become deeply interested in:

• the boarding scanner

• the runway

• their phone

• absolutely nothing

All while inching forward every thirty seconds like proximity somehow improves boarding outcomes.

7. “Disconnecting” On Vacation

People love announcing they’re taking a vacation to:
“disconnect and recharge.”

But then they document the healing journey with 163 Instagram stories.

Apparently inner peace now requires:

• drone footage

• outfit changes

• twelve takes of walking toward the ocean

• someone holding your phone while you pretend not to notice them

And let’s not overlook the people who spend half the trip editing content about “being present” and “in the moment.”

My new personal favorite, though, is the vacation swing photo phenomenon.

You know the ones.

The giant swings hanging over:

• rice terraces

• jungles

• beaches

• cliffs

• waterfalls

And suddenly everyone is renting a dramatic flowy dress while pretending they just spontaneously floated into the air like an elegant mystical creature.

Meanwhile, what you don’t see is:

• the line of people waiting

• the assistant pushing the swing

• the fifteen failed attempts

• the dress caught in the harness

• and someone yelling:
  “Again! Your hair didn’t fly right!”

Then everyone rushes back to the hotel — or honestly just sits down immediately nearby — to edit the photos until:

• the hair

• the dress

• the lighting

• and the level of “effortless joy”
  all align properly for public consumption.

And by the way, did you know there’s literally a selfie museum in Dubai?

An entire indoor attraction made up of different scenes and setups specifically designed for taking photos.

And before anyone gets judgmental:
I absolutely think it sounds hilarious and would 100% go.

Because this is the contradiction of modern travel.

We all claim we want authentic experiences and meaningful connection and time away from screens…

…but we also want flattering photos in good lighting where our ankles look thin.

Both things can apparently coexist.

At this point, vacation memories are no longer enough.

Now we require:

• content

• evidence

• multiple angles

• and full photographic documentation of our disconnection from real life.

  ---

8. The Souvenir Economics Crisis

I recently wrote an entire piece about why I stopped buying souvenirs for other people.

And I meant every word.

Because at some point I realized most souvenirs eventually become:

• clutter

• dust collectors

• refrigerator magnets

• or tiny reminders that someone went somewhere without you

And yet despite this evolved philosophy, let me assure you:
I am still fully capable of becoming emotionally attached to completely unnecessary objects while traveling.

Because vacation shopping does something to the human brain.

People who refuse to pay $9 for hotel bottled water will casually purchase:

• hand-painted ceramics

• alpaca blankets

• olive wood serving trays

• artisanal salts

• decorative lemons

• “locally made” scarves

• and approximately fourteen pounds of something described as “handcrafted”

Suddenly we all become international importers.

And the craziest part is how deeply convinced we become that these items are essential to our future happiness.

You do not need a forty-pound hand-carved wooden bowl from Greece.

You barely have upper body strength to lift your carry-on.

But now you’re standing in a tiny shop saying things like:
“I just feel like it has character.”

What character?
It’s a bowl.

And every traveler most likely has had at least one trip where they’ve crossed the line from:
“I’ll just pick up a few things…”

…to suddenly needing additional luggage.

At some point during the trip, reality sets in.

Now we’re:

• sitting on the hotel floor trying to reorganize suitcases

• wearing our bulkiest shoes onto the plane

• stuffing fragile items into dirty laundry for protection

• and Googling:
  “Cheap luggage near me.”

Because apparently the answer to overbuying abroad is purchasing another suitcase abroad.

Which somehow always feels completely reasonable in the moment.

And the truly irrational part?

Half the stuff barely makes sense once you get home.

Now suddenly you’re unpacking:

• six jars of spices you’ll never use

• decorative serving pieces that don’t match anything in your house

• three scarves

• artisanal soap

• and some aggressively heavy object you bought because the shopkeeper told you it was “traditional.”

Traditional for who exactly remains unclear.

But in the moment?
It felt absolutely necessary.

The Vacation Version of Ourselves

Maybe that’s really what all of this comes down to.

Travel temporarily convinces us we are different people.

Better people.
More interesting people.
More adventurous people.

At home, we:

• wear the same clothes

• eat the same meals

• go to bed early

• complain about traffic

• and avoid stairs whenever possible

But on vacation?

Suddenly we become people who:

• hike volcanoes

• wear linen

• drink wine at lunch

• spend ridiculous amounts of money on experiences

• and casually walk six miles “just exploring”

Vacation You is deeply aspirational.

Vacation You believes you are:

• outdoorsy

• cultured

• relaxed

• spontaneous

• easygoing

Vacation You packs curling irons, hiking gear, dramatic scarves, and “evening sandals” for a woman who normally wears black leggings and a ponytail.

Vacation You thinks:
“We should walk.”
“We should stay out.”
“We should experience everything.”

Meanwhile Real You needs twenty minutes to emotionally prepare to drive to your mailbox and a nap after going to the grocery store.

And maybe that’s why people love travel so much.

Not just because of the places.

But because for a little while, we get to try on different versions of ourselves.

The adventurous version.
The elegant version.
The outdoorsy version.
The version that drinks cappuccinos in tiny cafés and says things like:
“Let’s just wander.”

Even if eventually we all return home, put on sweatpants, order takeout, and need three business days to recover from the vacation we took to relax.

Recognize anyone you know in this commentary?

Leave a comment

There are a lot of things travelers worry about before an international trip.

Lost luggage. Delayed flights. Pickpockets. Missing passports.

But one of the biggest travel mistakes people make often starts long before they ever get to the airport — and most people don’t even realize they’re doing it.

Because once you cross an international border, your medications are no longer governed by U.S. law. They are governed by the laws of the country you are entering.

And yes — that includes prescription medications prescribed by your doctor.

It also includes over-the-counter medications you can buy freely at CVS, Walgreens, Costco, or your local grocery store.

Some medications are heavily restricted abroad.
Some require advance approval.
Some are considered controlled substances.
And some are outright illegal.

Travelers have had medications confiscated, been denied entry, detained at customs, fined, and in rare cases arrested because they unknowingly traveled with medications that violated local laws.

And unfortunately, “I didn’t know” is not a defense customs officials are likely to care about.

The problem is that most travelers never even think to check.

They spend hours researching hotels, restaurants, and what shoes to pack for Europe in the summer — but almost no time researching whether the medications in their carry-on could create problems when crossing a border.

And that is exactly how people get themselves into trouble.

The Biggest Misconception Travelers Have

The most common assumption travelers make is this:

“I have a prescription, so I’m fine.”

Not necessarily.

A prescription from a U.S. doctor does not override another country’s laws.

From the perspective of another country, you are entering with a controlled substance — and they decide what is permitted within their borders.

This becomes especially important with:

• ADHD medications

• sleep medications

• anxiety medications

• narcotic pain medications

• medical marijuana or CBD products

• certain cold and allergy medications

• injectable medications

• medications containing codeine or stimulants

Even medications that seem harmless in the United States may contain ingredients restricted elsewhere.

And some of the medications that cause problems internationally are medications travelers carry every single day without thinking twice about them.

The Top Prescription Medications Travelers Need to Research Carefully

These are among the most commonly flagged medications internationally. This does not mean they are illegal everywhere — it means they frequently require special scrutiny, documentation, limits, or advance approval.

1. ADHD Medications (Adderall, Vyvanse, Ritalin, Concerta)

This is one of the biggest categories travelers get wrong.

Many ADHD medications contain amphetamine or methylphenidate compounds that are classified as controlled stimulants internationally.

Countries including Japan, the UAE, Indonesia, and others have strict regulations surrounding stimulant medications.

In some destinations:

• you may need advance approval

• you may only bring a limited supply

• you may need a physician letter

• you may need import documentation

• some formulations may not be allowed at all

And no — carrying your prescription bottle alone is not always enough.

2. Narcotic Pain Medications (Percocet, Oxycodone, Hydrocodone, Morphine)

Opioid medications are highly regulated globally because they are controlled substances.

Some countries require travelers to apply for permission before arrival if carrying narcotic medications.

Others limit the amount you may bring.

And some countries treat unauthorized possession extremely seriously.

This includes medications prescribed after surgery or for chronic pain.

3. Anxiety and Sleep Medications (Xanax, Ativan, Valium, Ambien)

Benzodiazepines and sedative medications are another major category travelers overlook.

Even medications commonly prescribed in the U.S. for anxiety or sleep can trigger customs scrutiny internationally.

These medications are often regulated as psychotropic substances under international narcotics agreements.

4. Medical Marijuana and CBD Products

This is where travelers get themselves into enormous trouble.

Many Americans assume CBD is harmless because it is widely sold in the U.S.

But internationally?
That is a completely different story.

Some countries treat CBD products the same as cannabis possession — even if THC content is minimal.

And medical marijuana authorization in the United States means absolutely nothing in countries where cannabis remains illegal.

This includes:

• CBD gummies

• CBD oils

• THC edibles

• vape cartridges

• topicals

• sleep gummies

Do not assume these are safe to travel with internationally.

5. Injectable Medications (Insulin, GLP-1 medications, EpiPens, biologics)

These are usually permitted, but they often require additional planning.

Travelers should carry:

• original prescription labels

• a physician letter

• documentation for syringes or needles

• proper cooling/storage methods when necessary

This is particularly important for:

• insulin

• Ozempic

• Mounjaro

• Wegovy

• injectable migraine medications

• biologics

• fertility medications

The OTC Medications That Surprise Travelers Most

This is where many travelers are truly shocked.

Because these are medications people throw into their bags without even thinking about it.

Sudafed (Pseudoephedrine)

Pseudoephedrine is restricted or banned in several countries because it can be used in the illegal production of methamphetamine.

Japan is one of the countries travelers most commonly hear about regarding restrictions.

Codeine-Based Cold Medicines

Some cough syrups and pain relievers containing codeine may be heavily restricted or illegal in certain countries.

Travelers often do not even realize codeine is an ingredient in what they packed.

Benadryl (Diphenhydramine)

Certain countries restrict medications containing sedating antihistamines.

This surprises people because Benadryl is so commonplace in the U.S.

Strong Sleep Aids

Even over-the-counter sleep products can create problems depending on ingredients and destination regulations.

Large Quantities of Any OTC Medication

Even perfectly legal medications can attract attention if you appear to be carrying unusually large amounts.

A six-month supply stuffed into ziplock bags looks very different to customs than a clearly labeled personal-use quantity.

The Four Things Every International Traveler Should Do

I call them the Four Ps.

Because honestly, if travelers simply followed these four rules, most medication-related travel problems could probably be avoided.

1. Packaging

Keep medications in their original labeled containers.

I know people love pill organizers.

I use them domestically too.

But internationally? Original packaging matters.

Customs officials need to be able to quickly identify:

• what the medication is

• who it belongs to

• the prescribing provider

• dosage information

Loose pills in unlabeled containers can create unnecessary scrutiny.

2. Prescription

Carry copies of your prescriptions.

Digital copies on your phone are smart.
Printed copies are even better.

Especially for:

• controlled substances

• injectables

• specialty medications

• medications with syringes or needles

3. Provider Note

For anything that could raise questions, ask your physician for a signed letter.

This should include:

• your name

• medical condition

• medication names

• dosage information

• why the medication is medically necessary

Simple. Professional. Clear.

4. Plan Ahead

This is the one that matters most.

Research your destination before you travel.

Not Reddit.
Not Facebook groups.
Not “my cousin went there last year.”

Official sources.

Because there is no single universal list of banned medications for every country.

And unfortunately, this is one of those areas where bad advice on the internet spreads constantly.

Where Travelers Should Actually Check Medication Rules

Here’s the smartest order to research:

1. The U.S. Embassy Website for Your Destination

This is often the most practical place to start.

Embassy websites frequently highlight:

• prohibited medications

• controlled substances

• import restrictions

• approval requirements

2. The CDC Travelers’ Health Website

CDC Travelers’ Health

This is excellent for:

• general travel medication guidance

• vaccination requirements

• country-specific health considerations

3. The International Narcotics Control Board (INCB)

International Narcotics Control Board

This is more technical, but extremely useful for controlled medications.

4. The Country’s Health Ministry or Customs Website

This is often the definitive source for import regulations.

Yes, it takes more time.

No, this is not the place to cut corners.

Share

A Few Things Travelers Rarely Think About

Never Pack Essential Medications in Checked Luggage

Ever.

Lost luggage happens every single day.

Essential medications should always remain in your carry-on.

Always.

Bring Extra Medication

Flights get delayed.
Trips get extended.
Weather happens.
Illness happens.

Bringing a few extra days’ supply is smart travel planning.

Time Zone Changes Can Affect Medication Schedules

This is especially important for:

• insulin

• diabetes medications

• seizure medications

• antibiotics

• hormone therapies

• medications requiring precise timing

Talk to your physician before crossing major time zones.

Don’t Share Medications Internationally

Even casually offering someone prescription medication abroad can create legal problems depending on the country.

The Countries Travelers Most Commonly Encounter Medication Issues In

While regulations can change, travelers frequently encounter stricter medication rules in destinations such as:

• Japan

• United Arab Emirates

• Singapore

• Indonesia

• Saudi Arabia

• Thailand

• Qatar

That does not mean travel is difficult there.

It simply means travelers need to do their homework before arrival.

My Personal Rule for Traveling Internationally With Medications

If there is even the slightest question in my mind about a medication, I verify it before I travel.

Every single time.

And honestly? The research usually takes less than 15 minutes.

Fifteen minutes of preparation is a whole lot easier than trying to explain an unfamiliar medication to a customs officer in another country after a 10-hour flight.

Coming in Part 2 - Next Week

Because there is an entirely separate side of this conversation travelers almost never think about:

• what happens if you lose your medication overseas

• replacing prescriptions internationally

• counterfeit medications abroad

• heat and refrigeration issues while traveling

• why hotel mini-fridges are not always reliable

• cruise and long-haul travel medication mistakes

• emergency planning for travelers with chronic conditions

And trust me — that’s where things can get really complicated really fast.

Because getting medications into a country is only half the story.

Knowing what to do when something goes wrong after you arrive?
That’s the part experienced international travelers learn the hard way.

And separately, I’ll also be doing a deep dive into one of the most misunderstood topics in international travel right now: traveling with marijuana, CBD, THC gummies, vape cartridges, and cannabis-related products abroad.

Because that is an entirely different legal minefield all by itself.

A Quick Disclaimer

I am not a physician, pharmacist, attorney, or customs official, and nothing in this article should be considered medical or legal advice.

Medication laws and import regulations can change frequently and vary by country. Always verify current requirements directly with official government, embassy, customs, or healthcare sources before traveling internationally with any prescription, over-the-counter medication, CBD, THC, injectable medication, or medical device.

And always consult your physician or pharmacist regarding your specific medical needs, medications, dosing schedules, and travel-related health considerations.

Leave a comment

It’s time for a much-needed rant (Stacey style) about airplane seat entitlement, seat swaps, and the growing culture of passenger guilt on flights because some of you have absolutely lost your minds.

I am getting so sick and tired of seeing the same stories, viral videos, Reddit posts, TikToks, and public airplane meltdowns over and over again.

Every week it’s:

“Am I The Asshole for refusing to switch seats?”

“Was I Wrong for asking someone to move so I could sit with my boyfriend?”

“A family asked me to switch and now the whole plane hates me…”

followed immediately by a seven-part TikTok breakdown filmed from Gate B12 while someone cries into a Starbucks cup about “what meanies” the rest of us are.

Enough.

Let me save everyone the suspense right now:

If you tried to guilt, pressure, manipulate, or publicly shame a stranger into giving up the seat they intentionally selected and likely paid extra for?

Then yes.
You were the asshole.

And if you politely said “no” and kept the seat you booked?

No.
You were not wrong.

There.
I just eliminated approximately 600 comments and three podcast debates.

Somewhere along the way, flying turned into a bizarre social experiment where the people who planned ahead, paid extra, and selected their seats in advance are now expected to surrender them to whoever asks the saddest question at boarding.

And if you say no?

Suddenly you’re the villain.

Not the person who created the situation.
Not the airline that monetized every square inch of the cabin.
Not the fully grown adult who booked the cheapest ticket possible and hoped social pressure would solve the problem later.

No. The problem is apparently you, sitting peacefully in 14A minding your business.

I reject this entirely. Period. Non-negotiable.

Share

The Basic Economy Delusion

Let’s start with the families who knowingly book Basic Economy and then act stunned — stunned — when they aren’t seated together.

You knew the rules when you booked.
You saw the warning.
You clicked “accept.”

So why are you now wandering the aisles like Victorian street orphans asking strangers to surrender the seats they specifically selected and paid for?

I’m talking about people who knowingly chose the cheapest fare category on earth, understood seat assignments were random, and then arrived at the gate expecting the rest of the aircraft to reorganize itself around their life choices.

That’s not a crisis.
That’s outsourcing your planning to the public.

The Couples Who Cannot Be Apart for 90 Minutes

Then there’s the couple where one person gets upgraded and the other doesn’t.

The emotional devastation this causes needs to be studied professionally.

“You mean we have to sit separately??”

Yes.
I do.

Unless one of you would like to voluntarily leave first class and join the rest of us in economy like a patriot, then yes — you will endure this temporary hardship.

You’ll reunite in Atlanta.

I promise your relationship can survive a few hours on a flight without continuous eye contact.

And if it can’t… I dare say you have more serious issues than where your seat is on the plane.

The “I Just Like Your Seat Better” Crowd

And then we arrive at my personal favorite category:

The people who don’t need your seat.
They simply prefer it.

You carefully selected your aisle seat three months ago because you have the bladder capacity of a hummingbird and mild flight anxiety…

…and now someone who booked yesterday would like you to trade for a middle seat near a lavatory that sounds like a jet engine because they’d “prefer the aisle.”

Oh, you’d prefer it?

That’s incredible.

So would literally every other person on this aircraft.

That is why we booked it.

People act like seats are random little blessings bestowed by fate.

They’re not.

Many travelers spend hours researching aircraft layouts, avoiding bad rows, paying extra for legroom, selecting window seats to sleep, aisle seats for mobility, or seats near the front because they have tight connections.

People pay for comfort because flying already feels like being shipped through the sky in a dehydrated stress tube.

So when someone asks you to downgrade your seat for their convenience, they’re not asking for “kindness.”

They’re asking you to absorb a cost they didn’t want to pay.

And expecting a complete stranger to inconvenience themselves because you failed to plan ahead isn’t “human decency.”

It’s selfish.
Self-centered.
Entitled.
And frankly? Delusional.

You are not owed someone else’s better seat simply because you want it more.

That’s just toddler logic in an adult boarding group.

The Public Performance of It All

What I find to be one of the most outlandish parts of these interactions is the social theater.

Because these requests are almost never private.

Oh no.

They’re always loud enough for everyone in the surrounding rows to hear.

Now suddenly you’re not just making a seating decision — you’re participating in a live moral performance for Rows 12 through 18.

Everyone nearby immediately becomes a jury.

You can practically feel people waiting to see whether you’ll sacrifice your comfort so someone else can feel accommodated.

And the second you hesitate?
The tension begins.

The Seat Swap Meltdowns Are Out of Control

Listen — this whole sick culture around seat entitlement is creating genuinely unhinged behavior on flights.

Because people are no longer asking for favors.

They’re demanding accommodations from strangers and treating “no” like a personal attack.

That’s why we keep seeing:

• screaming matches

• public confrontations

• fist fights and hair pulling

• passengers filming each other

• people refusing to sit down

• flight attendants getting dragged into grown-adult tantrums

• flights delayed at the gate

• passengers removed by security

• viral videos ruining people’s lives forever

All because somebody couldn’t handle hearing the word “no” about Seat 14C.

Think about how insane that is for a second.

You are willing to:

• hold up an entire aircraft

• inconvenience hundreds of people

• endanger everyone else on the plane

• risk getting banned from an airline

• potentially end up on the internet forever looking like the asshole you really are

…all because you didn’t get the seat you wanted.

And let me say this plainly:

If you are screaming at strangers, arguing with flight attendants, or creating a scene because another passenger refused to give you their seat, you are not the victim in that story.

You are the problem.

Nobody owes you their aisle seat.
Nobody owes your spouse proximity.
Nobody owes your child the window.
Nobody owes you an upgrade because you asked nicely and added a guilt trip.

And if sitting together or having a specific seat mattered THAT much?

You should have paid for it. Just like the rest of us.

That’s the part people keep avoiding.

Because underneath all these dramatic in-flight confrontations is usually one very simple truth:

Someone didn’t want to spend the money.

And now they want strangers to subsidize their decision with discomfort, guilt, and social pressure.

Absolutely not. Hell no.

Share

Women Especially Get Pressured Into This

I feel compelled to bring up something uncomfortable about most of these incidents: women get pressured into these exchanges constantly.

Women are socially conditioned to be accommodating.
Flexible.
Pleasant.
Helpful.
Self-sacrificing.

So when a woman says no to a seat swap, people react like she personally disrupted the spirit of humanity.

Meanwhile men decline requests every day and everyone just goes, “Okay.”

But let a woman keep the seat she researched, selected, and paid extra for and suddenly there’s a morality hearing happening in Row 22.

You’re expected to smile.
Apologize.
Feel guilty.
Explain yourself.

No. Don’t you dare.

“Because I don’t want to” is actually a complete sentence and it should be used guilt-free.

And Can We Stop With the Fake “Equal Trade” Offers?

Some of these seat swap proposals are absolutely delusional.

People always describe terrible trades like they’re equivalent.

“Would you mind switching seats?”

Maybe. What’s the seat?

“Oh, it’s just a middle seat.”

JUST a middle seat?

Fantastic.

Let me abandon my aisle seat in Premium Economy so I can spend six hours folded into Seat 38B between two strangers aggressively eating tuna fish sandwiches while an endless parade of people lines up next to me for the bathroom and the scent of industrial-strength airplane lavatory slowly seeps into my soul.

Sounds amazing.

Please be serious.

There’s a Difference Between Emergencies and Preferences

This is really the distinction people keep missing.

Neither is:

• “My daughter wanted the window.”

• “I prefer aisle seats.”

• “We booked late.”

• “We didn’t want to pay extra.”

Okay.
Well… I did want to pay extra.
Which is why I have this seat.

See how that works? Easy peasy.

Saying No Isn’t Rude

This idea that declining a bad seat swap is somehow cruel has gotten completely out of hand.

Saying no is not rude.

What’s rude is expecting strangers to absorb the consequences of your poor planning while you position yourself as the victim.

What’s rude is creating social pressure so someone feels publicly shamed and obligated to inconvenience themselves for you.

What’s rude is acting like the person who prepared ahead of time owes you access to something they intentionally purchased.

Kindness is voluntary.
Guilt is not a boarding policy.

The people who planned ahead should not be socially punished for it.

Other passengers are not unpaid customer service representatives for your travel decisions.

Plan accordingly. Book appropriately. Pay what you owe for the seat that you want.

So go ahead — I dare you to justify why you think someone should swap seats with you. Please — give it your best shot.

Leave a comment

Apparently, I’m the Problem

“The Most Magical Place on Earth.”
“The Happiest Place on Earth.”
“Where Dreams Come True.”

Interesting branding.

Because I do not think Disney is the most magical place on earth.

It is absolutely not my happiest place on earth.

And unless one of my childhood dreams involved heat stroke, financial instability, and rage-walking through Florida behind a stroller the size of a Honda Civic…

I don’t recall my dreams coming true there either.

Okay, I know this is going to deeply offend a very specific group of people, but I have to speak my truth.

I would rather schedule daily root canals than voluntarily spend a week at Disney.

And what genuinely bewilders me isn’t even Disney itself.

It’s the adults. Especially the ones who aren’t traveling with children.

The fully grown adults who are willing to spend their very last dime to stand in 104-degree heat surrounded by strollers the size of compact SUVs and a level of overstimulation that feels medically concerning.

Like I need someone to explain the psychology to me.

Because people talk about Disney the way medieval pilgrims talked about reaching Jerusalem.

“We’re going back this year.”

BACK??

You just returned emotionally, physically, and financially compromised six months ago.

And somehow, despite the heat, the exhaustion, and the financial damage, you’re already talking about going back before you’ve even unpacked.

Share

The Mouse Ear Population Is Out of Control

THE MOUSE EARS.

Can somebody explain to me why there are fully grown adults voluntarily walking around wearing sequined cartoon rodent headbands like this is completely normal behavior?

Because once you notice it, you cannot unsee it.

Thousands of adults.
Sweating profusely.
Standing in line for ninety minutes.
Sunburned in places the human body should not burn.

And perched proudly atop their heads?

Bedazzled mouse ears.

Some with bridesmaid veils.
Some with birthday glitter.
Some costing roughly the same amount as a moderate car payment.

And look, I support self-expression.
I support artistic creations.
I support people leaning fully into a theme.

Heck, I’m one of the idiots who goes to Sound of Music sing-a-longs dressed like Maria Von Trapp every few years.

And I have absolutely been known to wear my very best fascinator to the premiere of a new Downton Abbey movie.

So I’m not pretending I’m above theatrical behavior.

But at some point we have to acknowledge that this is basically socially accepted cosplay in extreme humidity.

And seriously, the level of commitment is impressive.

Some of these adults have fully coordinated outfits, themed backpacks, custom shirts, commemorative pins, matching sneakers, and mouse ears with interchangeable accessories.

At this point, Disney should probably just hand you an application and ask what time your shift starts.

Somewhere Near Adventureland My Mother Saw God

Maybe part of my Disney aversion is childhood trauma.

Because I distinctly remember going as a kid and watching my otherwise militant, highly competent mother slowly unravel somewhere near Adventureland from what I can only assume was heat stroke and complete emotional exhaustion.

One minute she was functioning normally.

The next?

This woman was wandering around Disney in 104-degree heat desperately searching for air conditioning while staring at the three of us like we had personally ruined her life.

At one point I genuinely don’t think she knew her own name.

Nothing says “magical family memories” quite like watching your mother sitting motionless on a bench in Tomorrowland refusing to speak to anyone.

That was probably the most authentic Disney experience of the entire trip.

Because beneath all the fireworks and castle projections, Disney is really just thousands of families slowly unraveling in humidity while aggressively trying to convince themselves they’re having fun before returning home to refinance something.

The Financial Decisions Being Made Here Concern Me

The money part absolutely gob smacks me.

Because somehow people will look at a gorgeous trip across Europe with luxury hotels, incredible food, wine, history, culture, and actual adult experiences—and say:

“Oh my God, that’s SO expensive.”

Meanwhile those same people will refinance their emotional stability to spend $11,000 eating breakfast with Elsa (and of course, taking the obligatory selfie).

Please explain the math to me.

Because somehow everyone collectively agrees that paying:

• $14 for bottled water

• $27 for chicken tenders

• and approximately $900 to skip a line you already paid to stand in

…is completely reasonable because a giant cartoon mouse is nearby.

And the food.

Dear God, the food.

People act like Disney dining is some kind of culinary achievement.

Not because the food is extraordinary.

But because successfully GETTING a reservation apparently now qualifies you for a medal of valor.

These people talk about Disney dining reservations the way normal people discuss getting Taylor Swift tickets.

“Oh my God, we GOT IT.”
“WE GOT BE OUR GUEST.”
“WE GOT SPACE 220.”

Hey, calm down.
You secured a themed meatloaf in Florida.

And the planning required is honestly terrifying.

People wake up before sunrise six months in advance to battle strangers online for the opportunity to eat pasta near a cartoon mouse.

Families hold strategy meetings.
Adults assign booking responsibilities.
There are spreadsheets.
Countdown clocks.
Backup restaurants.

At this point are we planning dinner or invading a small country?

And then after all of that emotional warfare…

you arrive to eat what is essentially an aggressively average hamburger served beside a child having a complete meltdown over chicken nuggets.

And jeez…everyone keeps talking about “the churros.”

THE CHURROS.

You would think these people were discussing handmade pastries prepared by monks in a remote village in the south of France.

Meanwhile it’s essentially carnival food with intellectual property attached to it.

If you ask me, some of this food tastes like it was catered by an aggressively optimistic middle school cafeteria.

Club 33 Sounds Like a Secret Society for Rich Mouse People

And please… someone explain Club 33 to me.

I’m sorry…

there’s a SECRET PRIVATE CLUB inside Disney for people rich enough to avoid the regular Disney people?

THIS is where we are as a society?

That is the most psychologically fascinating business model I have ever heard in my life.

And apparently getting into Club 33 is harder than joining the CIA.

There’s a waiting list.
A massive initiation fee.
Annual dues.
Exclusive restaurants.
Private lounges.
Secret entrances.

At this point are we vacationing or attempting to infiltrate the Illuminati?

And the thing that absolutely destroys me is that people speak about Club 33 in the same tone normally reserved for offshore banking accounts.

“Oh, they’re Club 33 members.”

The existence of Club 33 accidentally proves my entire point.

Because even Disney adults eventually need:

• silence

• air conditioning

• strong cocktails

• and separation from the general public

Which, Hellloooo, is exactly what I’ve been saying this whole time!

This Is Not a Vacation. This Is a Tactical Operation.

The planning and logistics involved?

Oh my God.

These people do not “book a vacation.”

They launch a military operation.

Spreadsheets.
Color-coded itineraries.
Strategic dining windows.
Restaurant reservations secured during the Obama administration.

Apparently you now need:

• three apps

• two backup batteries

• a Lightning Lane strategy

• a Virtual Queue strategy

• a Rope Drop strategy

• and the cardiovascular endurance of an Olympic triathlete

…just to meet Goofy.

At some point are we vacationing or infiltrating a government facility?

And let’s discuss the Disney terminology for a second because it genuinely sounds like phrases used during a hostage negotiation.

“Did you secure the Genie+?”
“What time is your Lightning Lane window?”
“We need to Rope Drop Tomorrowland.”

Listen, I can barely operate Siri and half the time Alexa ignores me completely.

And you expect me to know what the hell any of this means?

Subscribe now

Disney Has Quietly Become an Endurance Sport

And the exhaustion these people normalize?

Disney adults always come home looking completely depleted.

Sunburned.
Dehydrated.
Financially unstable.
Walking like their joints have entered early retirement.

And can we please discuss the matching shirts for a second?

Because most family vacations involve maybe one nice coordinated photo.

Disney families arrive looking like a regional softball tournament sponsored by emotional exhaustion.

And somewhere around Hour Six, the magic really starts to fade.

Because these parks are not casual little strolls anymore.

Disney has quietly transformed itself into a multi-day athletic event requiring:

• hydration strategies

• orthopedic footwear

• electrolyte replacement

• and occasionally a scooter rental.

And listen…

I fully understand why the scooters exist. There are people who really need them.

Disney is basically a multi-day endurance event conducted on concrete in swamp humidity.

But I refuse to believe every single perfectly healthy, able-bodied adult renting a scooter immediately after entering the park is doing it purely for mobility support.

Some of y’all realized you could:

• sit down all day

• carry everybody’s backpacks

• beep-beep your way through crowded walkways

• and potentially shave some time off a line

…and suddenly decided this was the transportation choice that best aligned with your needs.

But here’s some real talk about that:

The minute I see somebody flying through Tomorrowland with a turkey leg in one hand, three shopping bags hanging off the handlebars, and absolutely no visible physical distress…

and then jumping off the scooter to speed-walk into a gift shop the second somebody announces new merchandise has dropped…

questions arise.

But somehow this is considered a relaxing vacation.

A RELAXING vacation.

People return from Disney needing:

• compression socks

• hydration therapy

• anti-inflammatory medication

• and three business days to recover emotionally.

But despite all of this…

they immediately start planning the next trip.

Apparently Disney operates on the same psychological principles as childbirth: eventually you forget enough of the suffering to voluntarily do it again.

Disney Doesn’t Want You Happy. Disney Wants You Returning.

And at the risk of sounding like a character in one of my favorite movies, “Forrest Gump”, explaining the many varieties of shrimp…

Disney has now created approximately 47 different ways for you to continue financially participating in Disney long after common sense should have intervened.

There are:

• Disney theme parks

• Disney water parks

• Disney cruises

• Disney luxury resorts

• Disney beach resorts

• Disney guided adventure tours

• Disney annual passes

• Disney park hopper passes

• Disney after-2-p.m. passes

• Disney dining plans

• Disney vacation clubs

• Disney destination experiences on six continents

• and enough ticket combinations to require the analytical skills of a CPA.

At this point Disney is no longer a vacation destination.

It’s a fully operational lifestyle subscription service run by a cartoon rodent.

Share

And the thing that really shocks me is that Disney has mastered the art of making people feel like they’re always one trip away from finally “completing” Disney.

Except Disney can never actually be completed.

Because every time you go, there’s:

• another park

• another cruise ship

• another festival

• another ride

• another resort

• another exclusive experience

• another popcorn bucket causing nationwide emotional instability

And now they’re building even MORE ships.
MORE destinations.
MORE experiences.

And just when you think you’ve finally graduated and aged out of all things Disney…

guess what?

You can now move into a Disney-designed residential community.

Because apparently some people looked at Disney vacations and thought:
“You know what this needs? Property taxes.”

I’m pretty sure that I’m two years away from hearing certain friends tell me:
“We moved into our Disney retirement cottage near Goofy Lake and honestly the HOA meetings are magical.”

At this point, Disney is no longer just a vacation company.

It’s a fully immersive lifestyle commitment with annual dues.

Because Disney does not want you to take a vacation.

Disney wants you emotionally enrolled in a lifetime subscription model with fireworks.

The Hotels Are Just Different Levels of Financial Injury

And then there are the hotels.

Sweet merciful Lord, the hotels.

Disney has created approximately 74,000 different resort properties designed to give people the illusion of choice when the only real decision is:

“How aggressively are you willing to financially injure yourself?”

That’s it.

That’s the system.

Because whether you stay at:

• the Value Resort

• the Moderate Resort

• the Deluxe Resort

• or the Ultra-Deluxe “your child now thinks this is normal” Resort

…you are still sleeping inside a highly sophisticated upsell funnel.

The themes are what really get me.

People genuinely convince themselves they’ve made a deeply personal lifestyle choice because one hotel has oversized bowling pins and another has a chandelier shaped like Beauty and the Beast had a tax accountant.

“This one feels more us.”

Does it?

Or did Disney simply convince you that paying an additional $640 per night to hear distant Polynesian music was somehow spiritually important?

Because the entire property system feels like a luxury casino designed by people with psychology degrees and unlimited access to animatronics.

I almost respect it.

Because Disney figured out how to make adults voluntarily spend the cost of a luxury European vacation…
to stand in humidity…
eating mediocre smoked turkey legs…
while emotionally defending a corporation with the intensity of unpaid brand ambassadors.

That level of marketing power should honestly be studied at Harvard.

Disney Cruises Are Maritime Psychological Warfare

And don’t even get me started on the cruises.

Why—WHY—would I willingly trap myself on a floating vessel with:

• thousands of overstimulated children

• exhausted parents hanging on by a thread

• and a seven-foot duck in a sailor outfit roaming the hallway at midnight like some kind of nautical sleep paralysis demon?

Absolutely not.

That’s not a vacation.

That’s maritime psychological warfare.

And can we talk about the fact that Disney cruises are apparently overflowing with ADULTS-ONLY sections?

Now hold on.

I thought this was where dreams come true.
I thought this was the magical kingdom.
I thought everyone wanted to spend every waking second surrounded by tiny humans wearing pirate bibs and screaming directly into a chicken nugget.

But suddenly—even Disney knows adults eventually need:

• silence

• cocktails

• and a child-free pool deck where nobody is singing “Let It Go” for the 700th consecutive time.

Interesting.

Seriously, I have questions.

Like did your parents never let you watch cartoons as a child?
Did somebody confiscate your toys in 1987?
Did adulthood become so emotionally exhausting that you now require round-the-clock stimulation from Minnie Mouse just to feel alive?

Because some of these adults are one pair of sequined mouse ears away from legally changing their last name to Disney.

Disney Adventure Tours: Because Apparently the Cruise Wasn’t Punishing Enough

Years ago when I found out that Disney also offers guided land tours, I experienced the kind of whiplash normally associated with minor car accidents.

I’m sorry…

WHAT???

So after willingly surviving:

• the theme parks

• the cruises

• the humidity

• the emotional-support churros

• and the psychological warfare of Lightning Lane scheduling…

…some adults then choose to board a Disney motor coach and travel through Europe in coordinated mouse apparel?

Of course they do.

Because if there is one thing I personally dream about while standing in Florence, it’s hearing “Hakuna Matata” softly playing while thirty-seven exhausted children fight over snacks in the aisle behind me.

And listen, I actually understand the appeal of guided travel.
I understand wanting things handled for you.
I understand family travel can be stressful.

But this?
This feels less like a vacation and more like an international hostage exchange involving matching backpacks.

Because now you’ve got:

• overtired children

• overstimulated parents

• siblings turning on each other by Day Three (if it takes that long)

• one family passive-aggressively competing with another family

• and at least one exhausted adult realizing they paid thousands of dollars to referee sibling warfare internationally.

For days.

Inside a motor coach.

At that point you are no longer sightseeing.

You are participating in a highly themed family endurance experiment across multiple countries.

And can we discuss the concept of “Disney Adventure” for a moment?

Because nothing says “authentic immersion in European culture” quite like arriving in a medieval village behind a tour guide holding a tiny Mickey Mouse paddle.

I’m just imagining some poor local café owner in Italy watching forty kids and their chaperones in matching Disney shirts spill off a motor coach carrying refillable souvenir tumblers the size of propane tanks.

To be honest, this is where the Disney commitment level really reveals itself to me.

Because even internationally…
even surrounded by history, architecture, art, wine, and actual real-life magic…

…some people still want a cartoon mouse attached to the experience.

But, let me tell you this.

If I ever find myself peacefully wandering through a medieval village in France and somebody wearing sequined mouse ears starts a singalong of “It’s a Small World” behind me…

I’m pretending I don’t speak English.

Now Listen… All Kidding Aside

I genuinely love seeing people excited about the things they love.

I love enthusiasm, laughter, and whimsy.
I love people fully committing to whatever brings them joy.
And I firmly believe life gets a whole lot better the minute people stop apologizing for being their authentic selves.

So if Disney genuinely makes you happy?

Go all in.

But I genuinely believe Disney adults and people like me are operating on completely different vacation frequencies.

Because some people hear:
“seven straight days in Florida heat navigating mobile apps, crowd strategy, dining reservations, matching shirts, fireworks schedules, and emotionally charged interactions with cartoon characters…”

…and think:
“That sounds magical.”

I hear that sentence and immediately want to lie down in a dark, quiet room.

And I fully understand some of you are reading this right now while preparing a detailed rebuttal explaining why Disney is actually a deeply meaningful emotional experience. (Actually, I can’t wait to hear what you have to say!)

Which only strengthens my argument.

Because I think Disney, for some adults, becomes less about vacationing and more about returning to a version of happiness that feels uncomplicated, familiar, and comforting memories.

That’s the part I truly do understand.

Life is exhausting.
The world is stressful.
Adulthood is relentless.

So if standing in front of Cinderella’s castle wearing sequined mouse ears while eating an overpriced churro genuinely brings you joy?

God bless.
Live your truth.

That said…

I personally don’t want to spend my vacation speed-walking through humidity behind a family of six arguing over Genie+ reservations while somebody’s bubble wand repeatedly hits me in the butt.

I want:

• a quiet morning somewhere beautiful

• food that doesn’t come shaped like a cartoon character

• a slow dinner

• conversations with locals

• and enough peace and quiet to hear myself think.

I don’t need fireworks every night.
I don’t need a themed resort.
And I definitely do not need a popcorn bucket that requires its own carrying strap.

So while some of you are happily rope-dropping Tomorrowland at 7:15 a.m. in matching family shirts…

I’ll be somewhere else in the world sitting at a tiny café, drinking my Diet Coke, and feeling absolutely no urgency whatsoever.

And that sounds pretty magical to me.

So come and get me all of you Disney-loving adults - we’ve got lots to talk about!

Leave a comment

You’re standing in a café in Paris.

Or maybe:

• buying street food in Bangkok

• checking into a hotel in Rome

• paying for a taxi in London

• grabbing a train ticket in Amsterdam

• or ordering sushi at a tiny counter in Tokyo

You tap your credit card and suddenly the screen asks:

“Would you like to pay in U.S. dollars or local currency?”

And because you’re tired, jet lagged, overstimulated, and just trying to finish the transaction quickly, you think:

“Oh good. U.S. dollars. That’s easier.”

No.

That one little button is quietly costing travelers a shocking amount of money abroad.

And most people have absolutely no idea it’s happening.

I’m seeing this more and more across Europe lately — and honestly, they’re getting sneaky with it. Really, really sneaky.

Sometimes the machine asks the question in confusing ways.

Sometimes the waiter phrases it casually:
“Dollar or euro?”

Sometimes they press the button for you automatically the second they hear an American accent.

And if you’re distracted for two seconds, you may accidentally agree to one of the worst exchange rates available.

What’s happening is something called Dynamic Currency Conversion.

And despite sounding convenient…

…it’s usually terrible for travelers.

In fact, it just happened to me.

ME.

And I am obsessive about this stuff.

I’m the person who:

• checks every screen

• always chooses local currency

• knows how foreign transaction fees work

• uses the right travel credit cards

• pays attention constantly