10 Reasons You Should Never Go Abroad (Unless You Like Joy)
(10 minute read)
Oh, international travel. The sweet, sweet thrill of flying across the world only to subject yourself to a parade of inconveniences, discomforts, and—of course—the people who think it’s fun. Some say it’s a chance to broaden your horizons, experience new cultures, and take in the world’s beauty. But let’s be honest: there’s absolutely nothing about it that’s remotely enjoyable. So buckle up while we dissect the “terrible” things you’ll definitely want to avoid.
Spoiler: each one is either manageable, wildly overblown, or secretly delightful.
1) The Airport: Your Worst Nightmare
Welcome to the bustling, overpriced liminal zone of humanity. You’ll queue for security, surrender your toothpaste, and take off your shoes because apparently footwear is a threat to national stability. You’ll navigate a maze of terminals while clutching your passport like it’s a newborn sparrow.
Reality check: It’s annoying, not apocalyptic. Airports are designed for people who are overwhelmed—signage is everywhere, helpful humans wear identifiable vests, and the lines do move. The secret sauce: pack less, arrive with a plan, and behave like someone who has met a calendar.
What actually helps
Arrive early, breathe often. For long-haul, aim for 2–3 hours pre-departure; use check-in kiosks and drop bags first.
Carry-on sanity: Keep meds, a change of clothes, chargers, and one snack you genuinely like within reach.
Security zen: Liquids together, laptop accessible, belt on the day you don’t care to remove.
Terminal skills: If you’re transferring, know your next gate before you go souvenir hunting for a ceramic Eiffel Tower.
Tripologiste tip: Photograph your passport’s ID page and key docs and email them to yourself. It’s not romantic, but neither is rebooking your life at the desk.
2) Jet Lag
Cross two time zones and your body allegedly files for emancipation. Forget about a fun vacation—now, you’ll spend the next several days stumbling through your days in a state of perpetual fatigue, wondering if the sun will ever rise again.
Reality check: Jet lag is real and temporary. Your body is a champion of adaptation. The first 24 hours are the hump; by day two or three you’re basically fine—assuming you treat yourself like a mammal and not a machine.
What actually helps
Anchor with light: Get sunshine in your eyes (safely) right after arrival. Morning light speeds adjustment.
Rule of first night: Stay awake until local bedtime. Yes, it feels like betrayal. It also works.
Hydrate, move, eat light: A walk, water, and a simple meal are superior to heroic espresso binges.
Tripologiste tip: Book something mildly time-bound but enjoyable the first evening—an early dinner, a river walk, a small museum with 6:00 PM last entry. Momentum beats collapse.
3) Foreign Languages: What Could Go Wrong?
Imagine the horror of ordering lunch using… gestures. You’ll point, smile, and hope the universe delivers pasta instead of pickled eel. The locals will, outrageously, have accents.
Reality check: People are generally kind. Many city dwellers have at least a little English; tech fills the gaps. What matters more than vocabulary is vibe: humility and a sense of humor go farther than a flawless subjunctive.
What actually helps
Five words that change everything: hello, please, thank you, sorry, delicious.
Translate savvy: Download offline language packs; use the camera feature to read menus and signs.
Menu judo: Point, ask “What do you recommend?” and accept fate. You’ll usually eat better.
Body language basics: Smile, nod, and use open-hand gestures; the universal sign for “I’m lost but friendly” is undefeated.
Micro-moment: Mispronouncing “tagliatelle” and receiving the exact dish you wanted anyway is a rite of passage, not a failure.
4) Food: The Terrifying Unknown
What if dinner doesn’t come with fries? What if the street food has flavor? What if you try something unpronounceable and like it? Catastrophic.
Reality check: Eating elsewhere is one of travel’s greatest joys. You will meet dishes that change you and one that doesn’t—congratulations, you are alive. If you’re nervous, set a simple rule: one familiar thing, one new thing, every day.
What actually helps
Market reconnaissance: Wander a morning market to learn what’s in season and what people actually eat.
One trusted list: Ask your host, guide, or barista for two nearby favorites—then go.
Street-food safety: Follow lines and turnover; hot and fresh beats photogenic and lukewarm.
Comfort valves: Keep a go-to order in your back pocket (grilled chicken, margherita pizza, omelet, sandwich). You’re not auditioning for a food show.
Tripologiste tip: Allergies or strict diets? Print a wallet card in the local language. Your anxiety will drop and your options will expand.
5) Culture Shock
Dinner at 10:00 PM, transit that people love, wardrobes that shrug at your athleisure, shops closed on Sunday, ironclad quiet hours, a universe of unspoken rules… chaos.
Reality check: You came for difference; this is difference. Culture shock is your brain realizing there are many sensible ways to run a life. The trick is to observe before you judge, then try the local rhythm on for size.
What actually helps
Greet first: Local “hello” > immediate question. Politeness is a master key.
Copy the room: If everyone speaks softly on the tram, so do you. If the plaza comes alive at 9:30 PM, join—or bring earplugs.
Tiny research, huge payoff: Read a two-page etiquette summary (tipping, queueing, sacred sites, dress).
Neighborhood logic: Plan days by district, not by category; fewer cross-town sprints, more serendipity.
Tripologiste tip: When corrected, say thanks and adjust. Being teachable is the most attractive travel trait.
6) Lost Luggage: The Ultimate Disaster
You arrive; your suitcase vacations in the opposite direction. Panic rises. How will you live without your just-in-case hair tools and nine backup outfits?
Reality check: Bags go missing; bags return. Most reappear within 24–48 hours. This is not a moral referendum on your packing skills—though carry-on essentials are your friend.
What actually helps
Essentials in your personal item: meds, toothbrush, underwear, tee, socks, chargers, mini toiletries, and one outfit that makes you feel human.
Tag tech: Use a Bluetooth tracker inside your bag. It’s not official, but it’s soothing.
Polite persistence: File the report, keep receipts for basics, and check status daily without turning feral at the counter.
Perspective reset: Worst case, you buy a shirt that becomes your “lost-bag lucky tee” and tell this story forever.
Tripologiste tip: Pack outfits in large zip bags. If one piece goes astray, the others stay clean/dry/organized—and you can toss a kit into any replacement bag with zero thinking.
7) Other Tourists: The Worst of the Worst?
They block your view, narrate their selfies, and applaud sunsets like it’s a Broadway curtain call. Surely they are the problem.
Reality check: They’re you, just on a different day. The world’s landmarks are popular because they deserve it. You can either clench every muscle in your body at the sight of a tour group or play defense with timing and routes.
What actually helps
Timing wins: Openings and late nights beat midday. Rain beats sunshine. Tuesday beats Saturday.
Micro-routes: If the cathedral is a mosh pit, step into the side chapel, the cloister, or the crypt for five minutes of grace.
One-wing rule: In mega-museums, choose a single wing and let it be enough. Quality beats scavenger hunts.
Choose “B-sides”: Pair the blockbuster with a quieter sibling (the famous market and the neighborhood bakery three streets away).
Tripologiste tip: Pack your patience like sunscreen. You don’t need it until suddenly you really do.
8) Bedbugs
The bedtime villain under every hotel mattress—tiny, meme-famous, deeply unlovable.
Reality check: In reputable lodgings, true infestations are rare and dealt with aggressively. Fear is loud; reality is quieter. A two-minute check buys peace of mind.
What actually helps
Room check, 90 seconds: Lift the top sheet; scan mattress seams and the headboard edge. Look for dark flecks, not monsters.
Bag off bed: Luggage rack or hard surface. If paranoid, a large trash bag as a liner.
If you suspect: Tell the desk calmly, request a new room or property, and photograph what you saw.
Laundry plan: Dryer heat is the boss. If in doubt, high heat for 30 minutes when you get home.
Tripologiste tip: Don’t doomscroll pest forums at midnight. Look once, then sleep like a person who has a life.
9) Getting Mugged or Scammed
Legend says: the instant you admire a cathedral, a phantom steals your wallet, buys a yacht, and registers it in your name. Also: fake petitions, bracelet hustles, taxi shenanigans, and the aggressively friendly photographer who “insists” on a couple’s shot.
Reality check: Petty theft exists, and you can dramatically reduce the odds with basic street smarts. Most scams are annoying interruptions, not life-ruining catastrophes.
What actually helps
Carry right: Crossbody bag that zips. Wallet in front pocket. Phone in hand or zipped.
Distract defense: If chaos erupts (spilled drink, sudden crowding), tap your pockets first, react second.
Money strategy: Keep a tiny “decoy” cash stash and your main cards elsewhere.
Know three local scams: Search or ask a host. Awareness = immunity.
Card safety: Tap to pay, ATM inside banks, daily card limits if you’re anxious.
Tripologiste tip: “No, thank you” with a relaxed face is a magical spell. Repeat and keep walking.
10) The Danger of Flying
Metal tube plus sky equals doom, right? Turbulence is obviously a portal to the afterlife, and every unfamiliar noise is an omen.
Reality check: Commercial flight is among the safest things you’ll do all week. Pilots train hard, planes have redundancies for redundancies, and turbulence is uncomfortable, not dangerous. Your odds are better than your commute’s.
What actually helps
Seat picks: Aisle for movement, window for the illusion of control and a view, over the wing for a slightly smoother ride.
Anxiety rituals: Breathe in for 4, hold for 4, out for 6; repeat. Noise-canceling headphones plus a familiar playlist do wonders.
Move and hydrate: Stretch every couple hours; water beats wine if you want to land functional.
Reframe: Every bump is just weather saying hello to a 200-ton engineering miracle.
Tripologiste tip: Download something comforting, not just exciting. Half the battle is convincing your nervous system it’s allowed to be bored.
Bonus Round: “Trip-Ruiners” That Aren’t
Weather. Rain is a line-breaker and photo charmer. Pack a light jacket and a cheap umbrella; pivot to museums, food halls, or hot springs.
Wrong turns. Half of travel’s magic is five minutes past the plan. If you detour into a neighborhood café that serves the best almond tart of your life, is that failure or plot twist?
The off day. One day will be a mess. Accept it early, cut the schedule in half, and put joy back in the tank with something simple: a park bench, a bakery, a quiet church, a bus ride with a view.
International Travel Isn’t as Bad as It Sounds
There it is—the supposedly fatal flaws of leaving home. Are airports chaotic? Sometimes. Is jet lag rude? Absolutely. Will you meet unfamiliar menus, languages, customs, and crowds? With any luck, yes. But that’s the whole point: to collide gently with other ways of living and emerge with a bigger self.
The “disasters” of travel tend to be solvable puzzles with a story attached. The airport becomes a liminal rite of passage. Jet lag becomes a funny tale about falling asleep at 4:30 PM holding a baguette. Language barriers become the day you learned that kindness fills in where grammar can’t. Food becomes the reason you’ll dream about a soup you can’t pronounce. Culture shock becomes the moment you realize there are a thousand sensible ways to eat dinner, ride a train, parent a toddler, or close up shop on Sunday. Lost luggage becomes a freedom you didn’t ask for. Other tourists become a reminder that wonder is a renewable resource. Bedbugs, scams, turbulence—each becomes a manageable footnote, not a thesis.
Most importantly, the people you meet will complicate whatever story you brought from home. The vendor who insists you try a slice on the house. The stranger who shows you the right platform. The hotel staff who reroute your day because rain decided to monsoon. Travel’s worst myths shrink in the face of these ordinary kindnesses.
So pack your bag. Take the flight. Let the plan be a suggestion, not a cage. Learn five words. Eat the thing. Sit on the steps and watch the city switch on around 9:00 PM. The “horrors” aren’t that horrible—and the upside is enormous.
Which “terrible” part of international travel turned out to be… fine (or secretly amazing)? Drop your myth-busted moment—or your funniest airport fail—in the comments so we can all steal your wisdom (and laugh with you).