'Modern travel is rotting our brains but I have found a solution'

Daily Mirror

9 hours ago

Do you ever ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"
Like the Talking Heads, I'm sometimes confronted by that question. Most often, after a long drive. Something about being plugged into a satnav—watching the time-to-arrival tick by and the purple line wiggle through the digital landscape—removes me from the real world.
Half the country can pass by, and I've barely noticed.
It turns out I'm not alone in this feeling. Over the past decade, multiple studies have shown satnavs chip away at our sense of direction. Scientists at the University College London concluded that plugging in stops drivers from making memories of the world around them—perhaps explaining why TomTom-assisted travel can be so hard to recall.
An increasing number of people are concerned about this. Over four in five motorists aged 35+ say using a satnav or map app has made their navigation skills worse, while three out of five young drivers would never go anywhere without some form of technological guidance.
The worry is that, as the tech gets better, the negative long-term impact on our brains will only grow. A small but alarming MIT study published this month suggests ChatGPT users quickly became lazy, prone to shortcuts, and very forgetful when given essay-writing tasks—compared to those who weren't using a large language model.
In broader societal terms, it's a problem for the deep-thinking future of our species. When it comes to travel specifically, each time tech takes on a bit more of the organisational burden, are we also losing some of the joy of adventure?
I decided to find out (albeit in a very unempirical, non-scientifically rigorous way) by heading out on a tech-free, analogue road trip.
The rules were simple: no satnav, no phone maps, no looking up anything online before or during the trip. Just me, my partner, a car, a guidebook, and an OS map.
After picking up a beautiful BMW 3 Series from Sixt—which has 2,200 rental outlets worldwide, including a newly opened branch at London Liverpool Street—the first challenge was figuring out how to switch off its massive dashboard console. It immediately sprang to life, eager to offer me a spot of digital assistance.
Once effectively shut down, the next task was getting out of London. As a relatively inexperienced driver with four failed tests (and one pass!) checkering my record, I hate driving around the English capital perhaps more than most. It's a blood-pressure-raising nightmare of indicating buses, swerving Lime Bikes, and three-point-turning cabbies—something I'd trade for an expensive train ticket any day.
But years of cycling London's streets and hopping on tubes to its outer reaches in the cause of local journalism have left me with a decent understanding of how it all hangs together. My wife and I made it to Epping and then smoothly onto the M11 with just our bare wits, some road signs, and no arguments.
Conveniently, much of the UK's motorway network is built atop Roman roads—meaning they're very straight and very long. Reach the A1, and before you know it, you're in Northumberland, no turns required.
After heading west to Hexham, I realised I didn't have the address for the beautiful YHA Ninebanks where we were staying, and I'd yet to invest in a proper map (that was a Day 2 purchase).
My top tip for analogue travellers in this situation? Head to your nearest Waitrose and ask the cashier for directions. Without fail, they're friendly locals with the time and inclination to help. Half an hour later, we'd settled into the YHA—a stone-brick building filled with geologists attracted to an area known for its excellent rocks and whooping curlew population.
Had we searched online for accommodation instead of taking a recommendation, we may never have met the lovely owners, Pauline Elliott and her partner Ian Baker. They cook, clean, and welcome guests to this incredibly remote hillside refuge. (If you're interested, they're currently looking to sell the hostel.)
The next two days unfolded as relaxed and stress-free as possible. Without anywhere we had to be—and without a satnav feeding us a false sense of urgency—we stopped off wherever and whenever we fancied. A tour around Hexham Abbey was followed by a druid-filled midsummer morning at Dilston Physic Garden, before stops at the iconic Ovingham Goose Fair, a cricket pitch in the shadows of Warkworth Castle, the chart-toppingly pretty Bamburgh, and then Holy Island.
There is a small but growing movement of people embracing analogue travel, realising that tech doesn't switch itself off when the holiday begins—and that it can get in the way of a truly relaxing, restorative break.
Katie King, who owns a hospitality company, 'absolutely loves switching off.' The 38-year-old works remotely and suffers from 'digital exhaustion sometimes,' which is why she chooses holiday destinations without phone signal or WiFi.
The East Midlander loves to ditch Google reviews in favour of testing out restaurants herself; she saves up her holiday snaps to post once she's home; and she switches off from work completely.
'Addicted to checking emails? Perfect time to detox and reset that habit. Enjoy the surroundings—if it's urgent, they'll text you. I work in hospitality, not hospitals. I deal with ads, not A&E,' Katie told The Mirror.
'Want to navigate from one part of an unknown country to another, on the other side of the road? Map out your route and factor in 'getting lost' time. When we 'got lost,' we found some of the most incredible spots for lunch, shopping, swimming and more. When you accidentally wander off the beaten tourist track, the real adventure begins.'
Hector Hughes and his company Unplugged have been at the forefront of digital detox travel for years. They welcome guests into charming cabins across the UK and invite them to truly switch off.
'We include everything people need to be offline for three days: a phone lockbox, physical map and compass, cassette radio player, instant camera, and analogue entertainment like books and board games. Our cabins are completely analogue, with the only tech being an old-school Nokia to call local eateries or contact friends and family if needed. This helps people relax, with no outside noise or distractions—so they can feel human again,' Hector explained.
After burning out while working at a fast-paced tech start-up, Hector sought a 'hard reset' in a silent retreat in the Himalayas. He left relaxed, and with a new goal: to help others unwind amidst what he calls the 'screen epidemic.'
'A three-day digital detox has a magnitude of mental and physical benefits. Spending 72 hours offline and in nature dramatically reduces stress levels, improves sleep quality, boosts creativity and original thought, and brings you back to the present moment. Recent studies show that three days offline can start to curb phone addiction and even rewire your brain,' Hector said.
'Without Google or ChatGPT, you don't have an instant answer for everything. You can't just Google a question—you discuss it or think deeply about it. You also see everything through your own eyes, not through a lens. We strip all of this back and remind you what it feels like to feel and be present.'
At the end of my mini-analogue trip, I completely agree. It was the calmest, most engaging adventure I've had in a long time—and I'm already planning another.
The old adage is that travel broadens the mind, but I'd argue that too much satnav, Google Translate, and Instagram recommendations, and we risk shrinking it.