9 Ways I Escaped The Revenge Tourism Chaos And Found Real Travel Again!

How I Ditched the Crowds and Found Real Travel Again.

Tired of crowds, inflated prices, and Instagram-fueled mobs? Here’s how I dodged the madness, and found peace where no one was looking.

Have you ever stepped off a plane expecting peace, and instead landed in the middle of a travel influencer summit you never signed up for?

Last July, I arrived in one of my favorite towns in the Balkans, a place I’d written about before, praised for its quiet charm and unpretentious cafés.

The kind of place where the barista remembers your order and your existential crisis.

But this time? I barely recognized it.

The café where I used to sit for hours scribbling into a notebook was now cluttered with ring lights, camera gear and wannabee influencers.

I later saw one of them piloting a drone around the courtyard like it was just another Wednesday.

YouTube channel couples rehearsed ice cream shots with the focus of a wedding photographer, while their boyfriends wilted behind the camera.

• Every alley had a tripod.
• Every viewpoint had a waiting list.
• Buses unloaded with the coordination of synchronized swimmers.

I didn’t just feel out of place… I felt evicted.

It was like the whole town had been rented out by hashtags and high-season Instagram hysteria.

And that’s when it clicked!

We’re not just traveling wrong.

We’re all chasing the same “hidden gems” at the same time, following the same lists, fighting the same crowds, and wondering why it feels fake, exhausting, or worse…forgettable.

I needed out. Not just out of that town, but out of the whole revenge tourism echo chamber.

Here’s how I did it, and how you can too.

1. I Ditched “Hidden Gems” the Moment I Heard the Term

I once stumbled across a quiet Albanian town where the loudest thing was the wind and the most exciting attraction was an old man feeding pigeons in a wool vest.

No Google reviews, no craft beer.

It was heaven.

Naturally, I wrote about it. 

Thought I was being clever.

A few months later, some big-name blogger called it a “hidden gem.”

This summer, my prediction? It’ll have more selfie sticks than trash bins.

What I Do Now: I steer clear of anything screaming “hidden” these days.

(Though full disclosure, I’ve shamelessly used “hidden gems” in my own writing. Let’s keep that between us, ok? Wink, wink.)

If it’s nicknamed “The Venice of X” or pops up on a Top 10 list with recycled stock photos, I’m already halfway to the exit.

If it sounds mildly depressing or totally unappealing… jackpot.

If it sounds unappealing or mildly depressing… perfect.

2. I Stopped Relying on “Best Time to Visit” Lists

“Go in shoulder season,” they said. “You’ll beat the crowds,” they said.

So I went to Mestia in what every guide described as the “sweet spot”.

It was me, a dozen groups of backpackers dressed like sherpas, and an Australian guy who’d drone-shot every inch of the Caucasus before breakfast.

Shoulder season, it turns out, just means everyone had the same idea.

What I Do Now: I go when no one wants to.

I’ve embraced damp November’s and weird late January’s.

No one’s taking sunrise shots at 6am when it’s sleeting sideways… and that’s exactly when the city’s yours.

3. I Traded Trendy Towns for Cities That Just… Work

Saranda was the final straw.

Half the year it turns into a construction site, which lucky me, is when I live here.

The other half it morphs into a budget Ibiza on three Red Bulls, which is when I run for the hills.

The views are still here, but so is the guy DJing on the beach at 10am like he’s getting paid by the decibel.

So I started looking for cities to escape to that locals actually live in, Passau, Gyor, Skopje, Blagoevgrad.

Places with pension offices and shoe repair shops. Places that weren’t trying to impress me.

What I Do Now: If a town has more dentists than digital nomads, I stay long

4. I Started Booking Like I Was Broke… Even When I Wasn’t

The best sleep I ever had abroad was in a $9 guesthouse in Kutaisi run by a retired music teacher who made wine in recycled Sprite bottles.

The worst? A boutique hotel with a Scandinavian toilet and a front desk staff who looked personally offended by my presence.

Expensive doesn’t equal good. Instagrammable definitely doesn’t.

What I Do Now: I filter low to high, not high to sad disappointment.

If reviewers say, “The host treated me like family,” I book it.

If they say, “Stunning rooftop infinity pool,” I know it’ll be $120 a night to feel completely alone.

5. I Took the Long Way On Purpose

In Ukraine, I once caught a train that left a few hours late, stopped for no explained reason, and turned the aisle into a full-blown stock exchange for pickled food at every pit-stop.

One guy hustled cucumbers any pickled form of food you could imagine, hot or cold.

It wasn’t public transport, it was Wall Street for pickles.

The entire ride smelled like hot cabbage and existential dread.

I loved it!

The journey became the memory, not the destination.

And certainly not the Instagram post.

What I Do Now: I take the bus, the train, or anything with no schedule and a “what-the-hell-you-only-live-once” vibe to it.

If it’s a hassle and might involve multiple stops, with hawkers selling everything but their shoes, odds are it’ll be the most human moment I’ll have all month.

6. I Left the City Before I Was Done With It

I left Ioannina too soon. Not because I was ready to go, but because I wanted to miss it.

That sounds dramatic, until you’ve stayed too long somewhere and watched the charm fade into repetition.

There’s a fine line between memory and fatigue.

What I Do Now: I leave while I still want one more coffee. One more walk.

One more awkward attempt at speaking the language.

That way, the city sticks with me, without the burnout.

7. I Learned to Love the Boring Days

There was a day in Tbilisi where all I did was drink coffee, buy bread, and have a stilted five-minute chat with a neighbor who offered me a bag of apples and unsolicited political opinions.

Nothing happened, and it was perfect.

No attractions. No pressure.

Just life, at its own pace.

What I Do Now: I “kinda” schedule “non-days.” No to-do list, no expectations. Just spur of the moment stuff.

Sometimes I just walk.

Sometimes I stare out a window and think about cheese.

Whatever happens, happens.

And that’s the point.

8. I Talk to Locals Like They’re People, Not Props

I once watched a tourist ask a Georgian shopkeeper to “pose more authentically” while he took a photo of her selling herbs.

She gave him a look that could level a grown man.

Connection isn’t something you extract, it’s something you earn.

And no, you don’t need to record it.

What I Do Now: I show up with questions and curiosity, not a script.

If someone shares their story, I listen.

Not everything has to be content.

Sometimes it’s just a conversation.

9. I Stopped Trying to Escape Tourists… And Just Stopped Following Them

You can’t avoid tourists completely, unless you plan on spending your trip in a basement.

But you can stop letting their path dictate yours.

I stopped following the influencer circuit, unsubscribed from travel trend emails, and started planning based on feel.

The weirder the name, the better.

The fewer blog posts and YouTube videos, the more intrigued I am.

What I Do Now: I travel the way I write, going with my instincts first and ignoring all the FOMO hype.

No itinerary. No validation needed.

The Reset You Didn’t Know You Needed

What if the problem isn’t the crowds or the influencers or the cost, but the idea that travel has to mean something?

That it has to be justified, documented, or posted with a caption about “living your best life”?

What if travel was allowed to be quiet? 

Simple? 

A little boring?

The best places I’ve been didn’t give me a sense of achievement.

They gave me stillness and space.

A reminder that the world doesn’t need to perform for me, and I don’t need to perform for it.

You don’t need to escape travel.

You just need to escape the noise.

So, tell me, what kind of traveler do you want to be this year? 

• Chaser?
• Escape artist?
• Lingerer? 

Let’s rethink what travel actually means in the 21st century.