Types of Travellers

There are three types of “travellers” roaming this great planet of ours:


Holidayers, Backpackers and Travellers.


Holidayers are those jumping between resorts and hotels, with enough sense to spend their time abroad in comfort. You do find these people in hostels, but when you do, you avoid them at all costs because they make you feel poor and have the personality of a foot. Sorry, what’s that? You have a stable relationship and career prospects? These things mean nothing to someone who’s going to be dead by 30.


Backpackers are a dime a dozen. They’re all your hippies, drunks, Live Love Laughs, surfers, running away from life types, me, and anyone who’s ever told you they "loooove travelling." They jump from hostel to hostel with any one of four objectives:

1- Feed their self-righteousness. These people are often running away from home, where they’ve been shunned out by the people in their lives, and travel as a coping mechanism for their s**t personality. They find each other, create their own biodegradable, virtue signalling bubbles to live in, and come to the conclusion that their ongoing social problems have nothing to do with being born an evolutionary cycle late; but it's the rest of the world that is terrible.

2- Feed their Instagram feed. And by this, I mean, have the exact same photo of their ass taken in different locations around the world. And nobody cares what you had for dinner. You’re not an influencer; your absent father just married good genes.

3- Get drunk. These people suck. These people are me.

4- See the sights. These people are rare, but are good people to meet when abroad. They’re open-minded, often have something interesting to say, and are just happy to be along for the ride... usually because they’re not hungover.

(And then you have the 'avoid at all costs' types: your ‘Crankies’ (Gingers, Fatties, Irish etc.), who you’re not even sure why they’re travelling in the first place; your ‘Couples,’ who are as much fun as Herpes; and then of course, the beret-wearing blights on society known as the ‘French.’)


Travellers, however, are like 10’s. They’re exotic, rare, and every deluded flog thinks they are one. But when you do meet one, your erection will confirm you're in the presence of someone above the pack.


On my travels through Cuba, I met one of these golden tigers; a German lad named Janik. Fluent in four languages, Janik had just finished a trip where he rode his bike from Germany all the way to South Africa. His travel stories were insane: cycling through the Saharan Desert, living with locals in India, being arrested for hitchhiking into a War Zone, sleeping with junkies on the streets, camping out with Moroccan nomads—the list went on. And he was only 21!


Bing “Why the hell would you even think of cycling from Germany to South Africa?” Janik “Because I could. And I got a bike real cheap!” Bing “Was it a good bike?” Janik “No. But over the course of the trip, I became a really good bike mechanic!” Dillon “That’s awesome. But surely, say, at the ten-hour mark, you realised it was a s**t idea and turned back?” Janik “Yeah, there were some testing moments. I got the s**ts in the south of Spain and took my anger out on the bike. I threw it against a wall, then put my foot through it. I looked up flights to South America, they were too expensive, so I picked up my bike, did my best to fix it, then rode my broken bike all the way to South Africa.”


Looking at some of the countries he would’ve had to travel through, I honestly don’t know how he didn’t die. I probably should have asked more questions but I was too caught up in his anecdotes and dreamy locks.


This, ladies and gentlemen, is a traveller. Someone who’s willing to go out into the unknown and put themselves through hell for the sake of the journey. All of you who claim to be travellers, jumping from comfort to comfort thanks to the National Bank of Daddy, just know- you’re not. You’re f**king not one, okay?


“But I do loooove travelling”—who doesn’t like roaming the world, eating exotic foods, getting pissed, and meeting new people without a care in the world? Now p**s all that off, take $1000 and a backpack, and bugger off to Africa for four months. Then let me know if the Malaria was justified by your loooove of travelling.


Come on, it's time to check out Unprotected Treks. Everything: this book has it!