The other day, a fellow travel enthusiast and I were talking about how difficult it is to answer when someone asks, “What’s so fun about traveling? What’s the purpose?”
Of course, travel is enjoyable. But when pressed to explain exactly what makes it so, I find myself at a loss for words.
For me, the purpose is almost incidental. I go simply because I haven’t been there before. Or because I enjoyed it once and want to return. That’s reason enough. What I do once I arrive depends on how I feel in the moment.
I take solo trips more than once a month. That frequency is unusual, I suspect. Most people seem to travel only once a year, often with family or friends.
Few people around me treat solo travel as a hobby. On social media, posts about traveling alone appear often enough, but that’s only because the algorithm shows me what matches my interests.
In well-known tourist destinations, no one asks, “What’s the point?” The information is abundant, and anyone can see the appeal. I visit such places too, but usually outside the peak season. Off-season travel is quieter, more relaxed.
For the past few years, I’ve gone to Miyako and Ishigaki in winter. Tourists are scarce, yet the sea is still beautiful. It feels like spring on the mainland—a brief reprieve from the cold. The weather is a little unstable, but the emptiness makes it comfortable.
Some may wonder what sense there is in going to Okinawa in winter. Yet precisely because most people think that way, I get to enjoy a quieter South. I have no interest in marine sports, but the scenery, the air, the food, and the drink are more than enough.
Writing this out, I realize that what I seek in travel is the chance to find pleasures of my own.
I have no interest in short-form videos that say “If you go here, eat at this place” or in chasing guidebook-starred restaurants. That feels more like checking items off a list than traveling.
I enjoy food and drink, but I see no point in visiting famous restaurants just for the name. The unexpected encounter is far more interesting.
That said, I don’t set out completely unprepared. In a new town, I browse map apps, check photos of dishes and drinks, and judge whether they suit my taste. Even then, I sometimes misjudge, but a failed choice still becomes part of the trip. If I find a good place, I ask the staff where else they recommend. Such introductions often lead to unheralded spots that turn out to be deeply satisfying.
When I like a town, I return. Not just once, but again and again. A familiar bar, a view I stop by each time—places like these, however obscure, enrich the journey with each revisit.
The more I travel, the more attuned I become to regional differences—climate, scenery, food culture. These discoveries may be useless in a practical sense, yet noticing them makes the journey richer. To observe and take in such differences is, for me, a form of mindfulness.
Building my own sources of enjoyment in different places—that is the essence of solo travel. Alone, I need adjust to no one, moving only by the measure of what I find enjoyable.
Still, this “free and easy” kind of travel may be harder than it seems. Without meaning or utility as a guide, what do you rely on? Is it not just a waste of time and money? Many people must think so.
Of course, some preparation is necessary. But in an age of information, travel has grown more planned, and people are pressed to weigh only cost-effectiveness. In that mindset, there is no room to discover your own pleasures.
Trips staged merely to capture attention are no different. Better, in fact, to leave social media behind while traveling, and spend time that may appear useless.
Solo travel is a mass of inefficiency and waste. A detour taken on a whim, an afternoon spent doing nothing—these become memories that belong only to me. Few know how rich that can be.
At least while traveling, I want to be free from meaning and utility.
