Overseas trips are empty without strangers

A weird and wonderful cast of characters remains an essential ingredient of travel, says Anna Hart

Sometimes we travel to hide from other people: bosses, commuters, noisy neighbours, our own children. But for the most part, I travel to hurl myself into the throng. And until I can meet new people without worrying that I’ll accidentally kill them or their grandmother, I’m not planning any major international excursions.

Am I really the only one who is a bit bored of my bubble? Don’t get me wrong: I love my bubble, a mix of 30-something friends in Margate, where I live. We swim in the sea, have barbecues, help each other with illadvised DIY jobs and eat each other’s banana bread. It’s all been a very pleasant latter-stage lockdown. But when I travel, I do so to step out of my bubble, not to remain in it.

Some strangers we meet when we travel are destined to become friends, others serve as travel angels heralding the way to the best local market or tapas bar. Many are simply destined to join the cast of weird and wonderful characters in our memory, where even an unpleasant exchange can be converted into dinner party gold. The most awful people make the best anecdotes; their presence is the price we pay for strong conversation fodder.

When I travel, I am ruthless in my quest for new friends. If I don’t return from Aarhus or Detroit with a few new scalps, it hasn’t been a satisfactory safari. My travel tastes are thus: I love group adventures, getting to know new travellers on a Swedish kayaking trip, or by struggling up Mount Kinabalu together, bonding over shared snacks and altitude sickness.

Two years ago, I struck up a friendship with a fashion stylist turned shaman (yes, they’re a thing) on a hiking trip in California.

We have travelled together several times since, to a crystal showcase (yes, they’re a thing) in Tucson and to a spa in San Diego. Thanks to Colleen, I now have an exciting circle of urban shaman, energy healer (yes, you get the idea…) and white witch chums. Why settle for a souvenir calendar when you can travel home from a trip with a real-life Californian coven?

I love festivals, each one a feast of new faces, new experiences and new (terrible) fashion influences. At Glastonbury, only the most hardcore lovers of humanity, the most merciless minglers, dare to brave Sam’s Magic Hat Sauna in the mornings. I am among them. Sure, this 10-person shack smells like potent pine and mild genitalia, and there is almost always someone there who is on ketamine. But hey, it’s all sort of Swedish, and wholesome and healthy. This fix of steam, cold plunges and characters sets me up for the day.

I also love solo city breaks, where I’m forced to make new friends; some crowdsourced through friends on Facebook, others kindled in bars, restaurants or coffee shops. As a 23-yearold backpacker in Malaysia, I met my friend Lionel as we were being shown around a hostel by a bored receptionist. The single rooms were miserable, and as we walked back to the reception desk, we agreed to chip in for a fancy double-bedroom suite, which cost less.

This is the sort of youthful gamble I’d probably not take today, but it paid off. Lio and I have backpacked and dived the world together, and I still visit his family in Stockholm.

Of course, I’m single, and as a travel writer it’s my job to experience new things, so I appreciate that my thirst for fresh blood is an acquired taste.

And I should be clear: I’m looking forward to my parents visiting from Belfast in a few weeks, and I’m wildly excited about camping trips with friends in Scotland and Wales, and am currently booking a fancy stay at a country house with my best friend for her birthday. I have thoroughly embraced the concept of a staycation summer, and I’m thinking hard about where to spend my tourist pound in the UK this year – because every pound spent is a vote for the travel industry we want to see in five years’ time.

But the only souvenirs I am interested in taking home from an international holiday are new friends, eccentric new associates, memories of the people that really made my trip, or tall tales about the weirdos I met along the way. International travel is opening up, and my Facebook and Instagram feeds are full of people waiting at airports, standing in queues for the Channel Tunnel and boarding ferries. But until international travel becomes sociable again, I’ll stay close to home.