Happily (eventually) lost in a digital desert
Asmall, barely noticed rhythm of modern life is the dependable text message you receive upon touching down at a new destination. ‘‘Welcome to Spain/South Africa/Singapore. SMS messages will be charged at $one-arm to send and $one-leg to receive, 1GB of data can be freely enjoyed in return for your first-born child. Calls? Don’t even think about it. Enjoy your stay.’’
And so I was in Cairo, resolving to keep flight mode on throughout my trip, relying only on barely functioning hotel wi-fi for essential communications (such as submitting copy to the editor, late). But hey, that’s travel.
I could have walked into my telco provider and negotiated a holiday deal. I could have sleepwalked, like a lemming off a cliff, to one of the many mobile provider kiosks awaiting at the arrivals hall. I did neither.
I thought I had my screen and social media addiction in check. I did not.
Ultimately, work commitments and shocking prices for roaming data meant that I racked up quite a hefty bill, but outside of those heart-rate heightening minutes screwing my face up at my screen, a forced digital detox was (eventually) blissful.
I can already see your eyes rolling as another millennial writes about the wonders witnessed when switching off a phone for a week, ‘‘Yes, we know, we survived the 1990s and all those decades before Apple, Facebook and ‘what’s the wi-fi password?’ ’’
Travelling with a tour group-dictated itinerary meant there was little need for a quick Google of the best place to grab lunch or the correct fare to the train station.
Had we been travelling independently, I’d be running for a local SIM card after day one. But on a cookie-cutter tour, my Samsung Galaxy was mainly limited to being a weirdly shaped camera.
On overland journeys I stared out at desert landscapes and locals running errands, rather than the life updates of people I hadn’t talked to in nearly a decade.
I could not partake in the annual social media competition of who’s having the most fun with the most people over the festive holiday break. I told myself I would have won.
The strange thing was, being unplugged and socially un-networked, I was in the minority of our group of 30-odd tourists – even on the edge of the Sahara they had 3G coverage and were posting, calling and sharing.
A Facebook group was made for the tour, so plans were made and pictures were shared online first and offline later, eventually . . . maybe.
At times I got pangs of envy, such as on Christmas Day when I managed only a short, crackly phone call home (using, get this, a phone card), and then days later when – following a terrorist attack in Cairo – my fellow travellers could easily let people know they were OK.
To be connected and online lets you participate and communicate fully with global society.
But to be left behind, disengaged, and on a forced digital detox, relaxes you more than you’d think. To ‘‘switch off’’ is a travel cliche from before the days of smartphones, but one I should keep taking literally.
To be left behind, disengaged, and on a forced digital detox, relaxes you more than you’d think.