Let's Get Real: 'Travel Mode' Phenomenon

Some people change when they travel; I just become even more who I have always been. When I’m at home I feel like I need to put on a face, be who others want or expect me to be; but when I am on the road surrounded by strangers I have the freedom to be whoever I want. No one has any expectations of me because no one knows me.

I met a guy the other night at a bar in Kathmandu. We were both traveling solo and meandered into the bar at about the same time. When our beers arrived simultaneously it seemed only natural to say “Cheers!” to him because he was seated just next to me. The “Cheers!” was enough to break the ice and we got talking for a couple hours. We even met up the next two nights. We chatted a bit about how life is different when we travel; so different, in fact, that we tend to refer to our lives back home as “real life.” James said that in New Zealand he wouldn’t just “Cheers” the random person next to him. He said he would feel strange, like he was breaking some social cue or committing a faux pas. I said, “Not me. I’d say ‘cheers’ to the stranger next to me. Only I know they would feel uncomfortable.”

Cheers!

Why is it that when we travel—whether it’s long-term or a short holiday—we change how we act? Is it because there’s a sense of security in the anonymity of strangers? Is it because we know we are likely to never see these people again, so why not let loose a bit? I definitely had one of those moments when I went to San Francisco last spring with my mom. We were enjoying some clam chowder bread bowls on Fisherman’s Wharf when I got down to just the bowl. Well sourdough bread that delicious can’t just go to waste, but there was no clean, dainty way to eat the chowder covered dish. I looked around and thought, Aside from Mom I am never going to see any of these people again, so I don’t care what they think of me… and Mom is my mother and she has to forgive me. Then I said aloud, “Mom, it’s gonna get real,” and I picked up the chowder soaked bread bowl and devoured it. By the time I was finished I had soup dripping down my chin and my hands were covered in the creamy white goodness, but the sourdough was worth it. I gave my mom a good show as well. Why wouldn’t I do that a restaurant in my hometown? For starters my mom probably would not allow it. I  certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed if it meant I got to eat that scrumptious sourdough again, but maybe her friends would wander by and the next day be inquiring about my head injury (because surely only a concussed person would act like such a savage in public).

Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand and appreciate the importance of a first impression just as much as the next guy—maybe even more because I’ve experienced so many. First impressions are significant because you only get one of them. And let me tell you, I’ve botched my fair share of them. Take this British fellow Sam for example. We were getting ready for bed in a hostel in Malaysia. As I tried to untangle my headphones I said to Sam, “Yeah, I plan on waking up at seven to go to the bus station and buy a ticket to Penang, but really I’ll probably just faff about for a while—that’s my favorite British phrase, by the way, ‘faffing ab—mother fucker! Aaaaand that’s my favorite American phrase.” I cursed because my headphones proceeded to just get more and more tangled. I knew there was no way I could reign in or redo that first impression so I just plowed straight ahead and climbed up to the top bunk… where I proceeded to worry aloud that I would fall off of the bed because there was no guard rail and then I dropped my clothes and needed to enlist Sam’s help to retrieve them. Sam and I went on to travel together through Malaysia and Thailand for the next two weeks. Later I mentioned the incident to him and being the English gentleman that he is, Sam just chuckled politely and said it was no big deal. But I can’t help to wonder if it was “no big deal” because he was in ‘travel mode’ or because it really wasn’t a big deal after all. I know plenty of people back home who would have written me off as a complete whack job the minute I broke into a fit of cursing over some headphones, but not Sam—well, not Traveling Sam anyway.

Sam, ever the English gentleman

This really is a phenomenon I’d like to study further. When I am home I have a very difficult time making friends, but when I travel it comes so easily to me! Is it because the friends I meet abroad never stick around for more than a few weeks to a month, so they don’t have a chance to grow bored with me? Or is it because the people I meet when traveling share my passion for traveling? Or could it be because the other people are in ‘travel mode’ and are more open meeting people and furthermore, more willing to let small things like a botched first impression slide by as “no big deal”? Whatever the reason, I’m glad for it.