Why most ‘best travel destination’ lists are lying to you (and where I’d actually go)

I am so tired of reading travel lists written by people who clearly haven’t left their zip code in three years. You know the ones. They use stock photos of the Eiffel Tower and tell you that Bali is a “spiritual awakening” when really it’s just a bunch of influencers in flowy dresses clogging up the traffic on scooters they don’t know how to drive. It’s all fake. Most travel writing is just a giant circle-jerk of people trying to justify how much they spent on a flight.

I work a regular job. I save up my PTO. When I go somewhere, I want it to actually be worth the $1,400 I spent on the flight and the three days of jet lag that make me feel like my brain is made of wet sand. I’ve been to 22 countries now—which isn’t a ton, but it’s enough to know when a place is a total scam. Here is the truth about where you should actually go, and where you should avoid like the plague.

The Tokyo Meltdown

Everyone tells you Tokyo is the peak of civilization. And look, it’s cool. It’s clean. But nobody talks about the crushing loneliness of that city if you’re there for more than four days. In 2019, I spent $4,200 on a two-week solo trip across Japan. I thought I was going to have some profound, Lost in Translation moment. Instead, I had a full-blown mental breakdown in a 7-Eleven in Shinjuku at 11:45 PM on a Tuesday.

I couldn’t get the ATM to work, I was starving, and I couldn’t figure out which of the eighteen different types of rice balls didn’t have pickled plum in it (I hate pickled plum). I just sat on the floor by the magazines and cried. The staff was incredibly polite, which somehow made it worse. They just bowed slightly and cleaned around me.

Tokyo is amazing for the first 72 hours. The lights, the food, the fact that the trains actually run on time unlike the garbage fire that is the MTA. But after that, the city starts to feel like a giant, neon-lit vending machine that doesn’t have a coin slot for your personality. It’s exhausting. Go for three days, then get the hell out and go to Kyoto or literally anywhere else. Tokyo is a sprint, not a marathon.

The egg salad sandwiches at Lawson are legitimately the best thing I’ve ever eaten, but they aren’t a substitute for human connection.

Paris is a dumpster fire

I know people will disagree, and honestly, I don’t care. I hate Paris. I’ve been twice—once because I thought I did it wrong the first time, and the second time just confirmed I was right. It smells like old cigarettes and unwashed ambition. The “vibe” everyone talks about is just being ignored by a waiter for forty-two minutes while a pigeon eyes your $12 croissant.

I refuse to recommend Paris to anyone. It’s the architectural equivalent of a heavy wool coat that looks great in photos but makes you itch the entire time you’re wearing it. People say, “Oh, you just didn’t go to the right arrondissements.” No. I went to the right places. I stayed in Le Marais. I ate the steak frites. It’s just a city that peaked in 1920 and has been coasting on its reputation ever since. If you want a romantic European city, go to Prague or even Montreal. Paris is a trap.

Mexico City is the actual GOAT

If you haven’t been to CDMX, stop reading this and go book a flight. I’m serious. I’ve been three times in the last four years. I even tracked my data on the last trip because I’m a nerd like that. I spent an average of $64 a day, including a very nice Airbnb in Roma Norte and eating like a literal king.

Street tacos: $0.80 each (and they will change your life).
Uber across the entire city: $6.00.
World-class museums: Usually under $10.
The feeling of actually being alive: Free.

The energy there is infectious. It’s loud and messy and the sidewalks are all broken, but it feels real. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. Mexico City doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is. It’s not putting on a show for tourists. It’s just living. I ate 42 tacos in 4 days during my last trip and I didn’t regret a single one. Even the one that gave me a mild case of “the situation” on the flight home. Worth every penny.

The part about Slovenia

Ljubljana. Can’t spell it, but I love it.

It’s basically Switzerland but at a 60% discount. It’s tiny. You can walk across the capital city in about twenty minutes. It feels like the architectural equivalent of a deep breath. I spent four days there just sitting by the river drinking Laško beer and watching people. No one was in a rush. No one was screaming into a cell phone about a “paradigm shift” or whatever corporate buzzword is popular this week.

I might be wrong about this, but I think Slovenia is the only place left in Europe that hasn’t been completely ruined by Instagram yet. There are mountains, there’s a lake (Bled) that looks like a Disney movie, and the people are actually nice to you even if you don’t speak the language. Go there now before the cruise ships find a way to land in a landlocked country. Total hidden gem.

A brief tangent on packing cubes

Wait, I need to say this: if you don’t use packing cubes, what are you doing with your life? I used to think they were for people who color-code their spice racks, but then I bought a set of Eagle Creek cubes (the Specter ones, they’re 28 grams each) and it changed everything. I can fit two weeks of clothes into a carry-on now. Anyway, back to the destinations. But seriously, get the cubes.

The uncertainty of Georgia

I haven’t been to Georgia (the country, not the state) yet, but everyone I trust says it’s the next big thing. I’m hesitant though. I used to think Lisbon was the “next big thing” and now it’s just a playground for tech bros who want to pay $2,000 for a studio apartment while the locals get pushed out. I worry Georgia will be the same. I’ve heard the wine is incredible and the mountains are taller than the Alps, but I’m scared to go and find a Starbucks in the middle of a medieval village. I’ll probably go next year anyway. I’m a hypocrite like that.

Travel isn’t about checking boxes or getting the perfect photo for a blog post (even though I’m writing this on a blog). It’s about that weird, uncomfortable feeling of being completely out of your element and realizing that the world is much bigger than your office cubicle. Sometimes that feeling comes from a sunset in the Himalayas, and sometimes it comes from crying in a Japanese convenience store.

Why do we keep going back to the same five places? Is it just because we’re afraid of being disappointed, or are we just lazy? I don’t know the answer. I just know that the next time I see a “Top 10” list featuring London and Rome, I’m going to throw my laptop out the window.

Go to Mexico City. Avoid Paris. Buy the packing cubes.