Here’s the thing about travel now—it looks incredible. Everyone’s on a mountain at sunrise, holding a perfect coffee somewhere scenic, or “finding themselves” in Bali like it’s part of the entry requirements only to spend the bulk of their time in Dubai.

Funny that, because when I was travelling, I mostly found questionable but cheap backstreet hostels, lived off street food that I still to this day am not 100% sure what was, and the odd situation where I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

I did South America, Russia, Europe and North Africa in the late 90’s through to the early to mid-2000’s. No smartphones, no Google Maps, no quick search for “top 10 things to do.” If you wanted to get somewhere, you took an old fold away map and a battered copy of a Lonely Planet book that had already passed through umpteen pairs of hands or, you asked someone. If you didn’t speak the language, you pointed at things and proceeded to flail your arms around like some second-rate Lee Evens and just hoped for the best. If you got it wrong, you didn’t just reroute—you ended up somewhere completely different, somewhere you didn’t even know about but ended up spending a few days there.

And honestly, that was half the point.

Now everything looks… polished. Too polished. Like travel’s been turned into a glossy checklist. Go here, take that photo, move on. Tick it off. Post it. Then spend the rest of their time anxiously waiting for people to confirm that they are in fact having a great time. I find myself asking, did you even take any of it in?

I can’t even begin to imagine what they may of have brushed passed, local culture, some amazing hidden spot that the locals keep to themselves or more to the point, only share with the traveller’s they think will enjoy, respect and appreciate it. That crazy character trying to get you to come to a party in some local backstreet bar. It just comes across as though now they’re just looking for their next perfect “Look at me” shot.

But that’s not really travel, is it?

Real travel—at least how I remember it—was messy. It was long, uncomfortable journeys where you questioned your life choices. It was getting lost in places you couldn’t pronounce. It was talking to people you’d never normally meet, mostly because you had no other option.

You didn’t “capture content.” You just got on with it.

I remember it taking 3 days to trek and boat deep into the jungle just to get to the base of Angel Falls in Venezuela. We arrived at the camping spot in the dark, I say camping spot but it was more of a small, barely visible clearing on the bank of a river that looked hardy big enough to get our six tents on, all the while being surrounded by jungle that emanated all forms of noises that quite frankly scared the bejeezus out of me. That night we sat around; learnt about each other and the trips we were on and exchanged stories and tips, all the while getting a little wobbly on a bottle of Sake pulled from the bergen of Minato, a businessman from Japan who had given everything up to travel for a year. He was quite possible one of the funniest gents that I have ever encountered.

I woke up early, yes with Sake head, looked at my then girlfriend who was still tucked up and asleep and decided to get myself ready for the morning frolicking in the river before everyone else in the group.

 I wandered off a bit and ended up sat on the opposite side of the river with our local guide. He smiled and said “When I get a group to bring here, I like to just take a bit of time in the morning to appreciate where I am, take it all in, you should do the same”

We just sat there, the two of us, the falls right there in front of us, I couldn’t stop myself from just staring up, trying to see the top through the spray and mist that hung in the early morning air.

We had a quiet coffee, shared a cigarette, didn’t say much.

No photos. No posts. No one back home had a clue where I was or what I was doing.

And it didn’t matter.

It was one of those moments that just sits with you. I didn’t think about capturing it—I was too busy being in it.

The only time I tried to get that glossy magazine shot was when we hung around at the Sun Gate above Machu Picchu waiting for the clouds to clear so I could get that world famous photo looking down. It never cleared for enough time to photograph, it was cold, dark and overcast and it never gave up that photo opportunity for me but that’s ok! That wasn’t why I was there I got the view for a few seconds with my own eyes and it was awesome, I experienced it first hand with a group of people who also didn’t get “That” shot be we did see it, together, in a moment. And it’s something we’ll all remember.

 I’ve got a couple of blurry, out-of-focus photos of these moments that weren’t developed until months later that don’t do it any justice at all. But I remember it perfectly and, that is the point.

I didn’t post anything on Instagram, probably more to do with the fact nothing like that properly existed yet and social media was in it’s infancy. Thinking about it, the jungle didn’t have Wi-Fi or a USB port anyway.

Traveling for me was more of a personal experience, I didn’t need validation or for everyone back home to know exactly where I was and definitely not what I was up to. The last thing I was doing was thinking about my peeps back home selfish or not.

Posting everything polished and in real time lacks for me, would we still of spent one of the first weekends back from big trips holed up in our house making photo books (while seeing off multiple bottles of wine) if we’d posted touched up photos along the way? We included the blurry ones and definitely the ones where they had been photo bombed by randoms who were in the shot, this was how it was, how I want to remember it. I loved it when people came round and we’d spend the evening going through the photos of a trip (again with copious amounts of wine) and then telling stories that went along with them because they didn’t know anything. Do people still do that?

I’m not saying travel now is worse because it most certainly isn’t. It’s easier, definitely. More accessible, yes, you can get anywhere, find anything, and avoid a lot of the stress.

But I do think something’s been lost along the way.

There’s a difference between experiencing something and performing it just in order for people back home to think it’s a travel program and everything went perfectly.

When everything’s filmed, filtered, and shared, you start to wonder—are people actually enjoying it, or just proving they were there?

Some of the best parts of travelling were the bits no one would’ve cared about but you. The quiet moments. The uncomfortable ones. The frankly off the chart weird ones. The random conversations that went nowhere but have still stick with you to this very day.

You can’t really post those. Or maybe you can—but they just don’t hit the same way, or do they?

These days, travel looks better than ever. But I’m not sure it feels better. Then again, might just be me.