The art of disconnected travel: Is it possible to travel without a smartphone?

I always travel without a smartphone. For the simple reason that I don’t own one, never have and I have no intention to buy one in the near future.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against technology.

I don’t use a horse and carriage to get to places. (Instead, I cycle, walk or use public transportation.)

I don’t live in a mud hut in the mountains of New Zealand, disconnected from electricity and running water. (At least not yet.)

I definitely don’t carry around a portable typewriter, like the bohemian writers and beatniks of the old days. (Although I admit that the idea sounds kind of cool.)

No, on the contrary. As of late, I’ve evolved in quite the flashpacker. I almost invariably carry a laptop (for writing), a camera and an iPod (remember those?) around. I am fond of my toys. But a smartphone? Nope, I’d rather have my balls slowly removed with a rusted spoon.

Was I always so radical about smartphones?

No. In 2014, when I was already one of those impossible, hopeless laggards who didn’t own one, I was on the verge of caving in and buying my first ever smartphone. I lived in Indonesia at the time and reckoned it could be really useful to have an Indonesian dictionary with me at all time. And to use maps when travelling to a new place in that vast country. I was so convinced that I would buy a smartphone that I was already negotiating prices in the shop.

Then I had a dramatic change of heart.

I liked getting lost, I realised. And I had sudden visions of times in bars or restaurants during travels when I was the only backpacker not being sucked into a screen. I didn’t want to kill my soul, didn’t want to yield to too much technology. And I’ve remained smartphone-free ever since.

I still believe you don’t need a smartphone to travel the world. On the contrary, I think that many travellers let that fucking piece of technology come in the way of truly experiencing life and travel. For the following reasons:

A smartphone makes you stupid

Two summers ago, I reported on the Polish Bialowieza National Park, and the havoc goddamn politicians wreaked on the last proper stretch of primaeval lowland forest in Europe. As I cycled through the forest, visiting the scenes of the most intense logging, I decided to make a detour on the way back to the village. Cycling through that forest is meditating and only after quite a while did I see signs of life again.

A fancy BMW approached me on the dirt road. A well-preserved middle-aged blonde lady stopped me in my tracks, tossing up her hair. No, this was not the start of a cheap porno. She asked for directions to the village because her GPS was “acting crazy”. I was navigating with a paper map and pointed her in the right direction. I was proud, venturing into the deep dark forest just with a map but without any problems whatsoever.

Later that day, I sat down in the bicycle café, enjoying a local craft beer, when I overheard some tourists in their twenties exclaiming that they, too, had gotten lost because they’d relied too much on their GPS. Two days later, I joined a group tour that ventured into the restricted area of the forest, the actual national park. Here, Bialowieza is at its glorious peak, one of the most wonderful pieces of nature in Europe. Still, one Italian tourist couldn’t stop himself from compulsively checking his emails. I wondered what was so important.

What have we become as people? Technologically advanced, but with no thinking of our own. Even just assuming that your GPS will guide you over those small trails in one of the biggest and most isolated forests of Europe – or in the maze of alleys in a Moroccan medina – is a travesty, something so idiotic that I can’t grasp it.

I sometimes feel like I’m surrounded by idiots, that there will be a day when all technology will fail and I, the disconnected, will be the only one to come out alive. The only one who can read a map or a timetable, the only one who doesn’t have to look through a screen to appreciate a wonder of the world. A technological nitwit, yes, but at least with my own brain intact.

Travel without a smartphone increases your self-reliance, and it allows you to get lost

I do concur that in most situations, i.e. when you’re not treading over dirt roads in the middle of Polish nowhere, your smartphone is most likely to know the way. And yes, when you’re using paper maps, either bought, self-drawn or picked up from a tourist office, you’re still quite likely to lose your bearings at some point. Let alone when you don’t have a map at all.

But that’s not the point. Relying on your own intuition, mapping a place in your head, strengthens your mind. It creates connections in your brain and makes you more self-reliant. Which is what I strive to be in most aspects of life. Travel is also about making decisions, going with your gut, not plotting out absolutely everything until the heart and soul are taken out of every single step you take.

Nobody gets lost anymore, and that makes me sad. Yes, I know it sounds like I’m contradicting my previous point, but bear with me. In Berlin, we walked for hours, with just a map and only a vague idea of what those streets would bring, not with the complete layout of the city and every single falafel place on it on our screen.

When a friend of mine and I drove a beat-up Ford Escort around the Black Sea, we did so entirely navigating on local maps. Sometimes, we took dirt roads that lead us nowhere, but the view was always the best. And when we got truly lost, we could always ask a local to point us the way.

Which brings me to:

A smartphone removes you from local life…

Think about being in your home town and seeing two tourists. One has a confused look on his face and stares at a digital map on his smartphone. The other one, equally confused, looks at a paper map. Who are you most likely to approach and ask if they need help? When you use your phone, you swap the local knowledge, perhaps unintentionally, for the knowledge that your device offers.

This might be my biggest gripe with the smartphone, and especially using one while travelling, that it removes you from local life. If, like me, you’re not a social butterfly, asking directions or recommendations is a perfect way to strike up a conversation with a local. The ideal incentive to overcome your shyness and test the few words of Spanish or Indonesian you’ve picked up.

I’ve done it so often, and have always been helped. These little moments you create, these fleeting connections, are usually the memories that last the longest. The Georgian man who jumped in his car, guided us to a barbecue restaurant and made sure we found the best outdoors seats. The Armenian family who invited us to their birthday picnic. The Burmese shopkeeper who, upon seeing my exhaustion during a long solo hike, brought me a shot of rice wine, free of charge. All the Indonesians who invited us into their homes and into their lives when all we asked was directions.

Just thinking about these experiences makes me relive them and gives me goosebumps. These are the true marvels of the road, and it’s so easy to miss out of on them when you’re using a smartphone.

…as well as from other travellers

A few years ago I stayed in a hostel in Chicago. I hadn’t been in a hostel for years, so I was excited, remembering my first ever trip with friends and sleeping in hostels in northern England. We fraternised with other guests, drank together and listened to recommendations from a cool South African dude in York, who told us to go to Whitby if we wanted to hook up with a gothic chick. (Stupidly, we went to Manchester instead, where we found neither hook-ups nor gothic chicks.)

At the risk of sounding like an old man yelling at the kids to get off my yard, this time was, well, different. Everybody seemed glued to their screens, nobody talked. Maybe I was in the wrong hostel, true. Different places have different vibes. But it doesn’t change the fact that the zombie army, as I like to call them, is often around. So often I look around and see only people staring at their phones. It makes me want to stab my eye with a fork. (Yes, I realise I’m using an awful lot of cutlery-inflicted self-harm metaphors.)

It curates travel

But, I hear you ask, don’t you need a smartphone to find the best place to eat in a town?

To quote the great Michael Scott: “No, God! No, God, please, no! No! Nooooooooooo!”

Where you eat is not a matter of life and death. If you need to read every single review of every single restaurant in town, you’re most likely overthinking the matter. You’re doing it wrong. Where’s your sense of agency, your gut? Just go and taste the food.

The TripAdvisors and Yelps of this world create the false illusion that you can find every single restaurant or bar online. That’s not even the case in Belgium. Let alone in the developing countries we often find ourselves in.

In Yogyakarta, our favourite food shack was called Angsa, Indonesian for goose. The cook, a rock ‘n roll kid with ragged jeans, created delicious versions of the Indonesian classics. His fuyung hai, elsewhere a pretty uninspired omelette dish, was legendary. How did we find Angsa? Not on the internet, but because local students took us there.

We usually just walk around and follow our nose. Sometimes we’ll walk into a roadside shack where lots of locals are eating, usually the best way to determine whether the food is any good, or we’ll ask recommendations from the owner of our hotel. Real people, not the ones on the internet.

The same applies to hotels. The thought of having to find a place to stay on the ground fills many travellers with anxiety. There’s no reason for that. I’m not saying we never book ahead, but I find it seldom necessary. Walking around and enquiring, just like in the old days, surely leads to better deals.

Why? You’re in an excellent position to play hard to get, and thus get a discount, when you face an owner who hasn’t filled all his rooms yet. In Bali, we slept in the most gorgeous rooms for 100.000 IDR (6,5 EUR), simply because that was our intended budget for a night. We turned our backs on every owner who asked more and we were often called back. Not being desperate is the best way to get a good deal.

But my main point is that modern travel is too curated. Not enough is left to coincidence. Whilst the best things in travel are exactly the ones that happen by chance.

So, should you ditch your smartphone when you travel?

Well, yes, if you ask me.

Technology certainly has its advantages, but when it comes to travel… less is more. If you’re not willing to part with your smartphone, you could at least try to find the right balance between using technology and ignoring it. Maybe don’t opt for a local data pack and treat your phone like a laptop instead.

Technology hijacks your mind, in many ways. “The group falls for the illusion that Yelp’s menu – or Google, or TripAdvisor, or whichever tools you’re using – represents a complete set of choices for where to go. While looking down at their phones, they don’t see the park across the street with a band playing live music. They miss the pop-up gallery on the other side of the street serving crepes and coffee. Neither of those shows up on Yelp’s menu.”

Don’t take your smartphone out every time you feel bored. Or lost. Allow yourself to experience these feelings. They will enrich your travels. Don’t look at pictures before visiting a place. Let yourself be surprised instead. Don’t miss the pop-up gallery, don’t miss the crepes and coffee. Be in awe. Because, at the risk of sounding sanctimonious, that’s what travel should make you feel.