The Summer of Everyone Being Everywhere
Summer travel is no longer for the faint of heart. It’s for the patient, the mildly delusional, and anyone who enjoys standing in a TSA line so long it qualifies as a pilgrimage. Remember when summer vacations used to feel like freedom? Yeah, me neither. Now it feels like we’re all in a Hunger Games tribute band, fighting to the death for the last reasonably priced Airbnb in a town we can’t even pronounce.
Let me paint you a picture: It’s August. The entire Western Hemisphere has collectively decided that this is the summer they’re “really going to travel.” Families with matching T-shirts that say things like “Summer Vibes Only!” are clogging the departure gates. Instagram influencers are trying to do yoga poses next to a place called Cinnabon. There’s a man shouting into his AirPods like he’s performing Shakespeare in the Newark airport food court. Welcome to summer travel 2025.
Flying in summer should come with hazard pay. Everyone is angry. The boarding process is basically a social experiment in which we all pretend to be calm while silently judging who gets to stand on the “red carpet priority line” (hint: it’s never who you think it will be). And don’t get me started on the people who still act shocked when security tells them to take their laptop out of their bag. It’s 2025. I just say to myself - FIRST TIMERS FIRST TIMERS.
Then there’s the airplane itself, which now feels like an airborne co-working space. There’s always some guy next to you trying to finish a PowerPoint, elbows out, while a baby behind you discovers the joy of kicking. And, of course, someone up front is drinking gin like it’s the apocalypse.
The problem isn’t just the travel. It’s the destinations. Every place you want to visit in the summer is now teeming with approximately 17,000 other people who also saw that “hidden gem” on TikTok. Want to go to the Italian Coast? Good luck. There’s a 12-hour wait to take that one photo of you fake-laughing on a cliffside with an Aperol spritz.
Or maybe you thought you’d be clever and stay local. Cute. You’re still going to be sharing your favorite beach with half the population of New Jersey, plus a guy who brought a Bluetooth speaker the size of a small car. Nothing says “relaxing summer getaway” like being serenaded by someone else’s playlist of early-2000s Pitbull tracks.
Speaking of summer chaos, let’s talk about renting a house. Remember when a beach rental was just… a house? Now it’s a competitive sport. The listing photos are always lies: “Charming coastal retreat with ocean views!” Translation: one window where, if you stand on a chair and squint, you can see a sliver of water behind a parking lot.
Every summer, I hear people asking me these same questions: Why do we willingly pay a small fortune to sit in traffic for four hours just to reach a beach that’s covered in other people? Why do we wrestle with overbooked flights, overpriced ice cream, and rental car companies that somehow “lose” every reservation you’ve ever made?
The answer is simple: because summer is still magic, even when it’s ridiculous. Because there’s something addictive about that mix of heat, salt air, and the faint smell of sunscreen and fried dough. Because even with all the chaos, there’s that one moment—just one—where the sun sets, the world slows down, and you remember why you fought for this in the first place.
Let’s be real: summer travel is absurd. It’s a sitcom waiting to happen. There’s always at least one person in your group who forgets sunscreen and ends up looking like a cooked shrimp. There’s always an argument over which overpriced restaurant is “worth it.” And there’s always, always, that moment when you swear you’ll never do this again—right before you start planning next summer’s trip.
But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the chaos is part of the story. Maybe the ridiculousness—the traffic, the crowds, the baby crying on the plane—is just the seasoning on the summer stew. Without it, would we really appreciate that first bite of boardwalk pizza or that first dip into a freezing ocean? Probably not.
My Summer Travel Advice (That You Didn’t Ask For)
Lower your expectations. That “secret beach” you found on Instagram? It’s not a secret. Bring snacks.
Lean into the chaos. Missed your train? Congratulations, you just earned an extra glass of wine (that’s for you Sue).
Stop trying to be cute on planes. No one cares about your travel outfit. Wear VERY NICE sweatpants. It’s war out there.
Eat all food. It’s summer. Your body will forgive you by October (I say this, but fuckit it’s hard to do this as I am just picky).
Summer travel isn’t glamorous. It’s messy and loud and sometimes makes you question your life choices. But it’s also the season where we collect the stories we’ll tell for years—the night you got caught in a thunderstorm with your best friend, the morning you drank bad coffee on a rental deck while the world was still quiet, the moment you forgot all the chaos and just… felt the season.
So yes, this summer will be busy. It will be crowded. You’ll probably yell at least once. But you’ll also laugh, a lot. And at the end of it, when you’re sitting in traffic on the way home, sunburnt and sticky, you’ll think: “Damn. That was worth it.” I think……..
