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Technology is so changing the way we travel—just look at our Future of Travel package as evidence—that it’s easy to feel left behind. Some people embrace the latest updates, downloading new trip-planning apps and letting artificial intelligence plan their next vacation; others stick with tried-and-true travel agents and guidebooks that never lose their charge. We’re even divided at Traveler, enough so that we thought it was time for an Amazing Race–style challenge: One editor (Katherine LaGrave) would take an entirely tech-free trip, getting from home to her flight without checking in—or checking anything—on the internet. Another editor (Laura Dannen Redman) would take the same route but go gratuitously tech-forward, complete with luggage that charges her devices.
Who gets to her destination quicker, and with fewer headaches? The race is on...
Tech-Junkie Trip
I’m so going to win. I have my iPhone 6 in my pocket and Uber at the ready—plus, I’m testing Away’s carry-on luggage that has a built-in battery for charging multiple USB devices at the same time. Even if I forget my universal charger on my trip from New York City to Dublin (highly possible, it's happened before), I have enough power in my suitcase to get me to Ireland. Little did I know that all that immediate assistance would take a lot of prep work…
The night before: I plug in my luggage. (Never said that before.) It needs about eight hours to fully charge.
Day of, 1:30 p.m. I make three separate calls to AT&T (with three different password attempts) to set up my international data and texting plan for $40. The Passport plan includes an AT&T Global Wi-Fi app that tells you where to find hotspots around the world; it also comes with about 18 minutes of hold time.
2:07–2:23 p.m. My phone starts to get a little warm as I download all the apps I’ll need for my trip: It takes 15 minutes to set up an Aer Lingus account, only to discover that I don’t have mobile check-in for this international flight (damn). Then there’s the Conrad Concierge hotel app, Hailo to hail taxis in the U.K., Rome2Rio to look for public transit options abroad, Gate Guru to find decent food at the airport. Short of an app that tells me when to sleep (though the iOS update does include a Bedtime function), my every move has a little helper.
3:05 p.m. I schedule an Uber pick-up for a 5:45–6 p.m. window. It’s my first time using Uber’s pre-book function, and I’m a little nervous that my ride won’t actually show up. (I blame AT&T for riling me up.)
3:49 p.m. Then I start to wonder if I’ll have to check my bag, even though it’s an approved carry-on. I try to unscrew the battery in my suitcase because—fun fact—external battery packs aren't allowed in checked luggage.
3:49 p.m. and 10 seconds later I’m banging on my luggage like a monkey on a computer to get the battery to slide out. I immediately decide I’m overreacting and put the battery back in.
3:50 p.m. Time to charge all my devices before takeoff: phone, laptop, Kindle Paperweight, Apple Watch. Starting to feel like I need to charge my sweaters and socks.
5:42 p.m. Can’t find my universal charger (I told you!).
5:47 p.m. Uber arrives right on time, and I’m on the road in a Toyota Camry by 5:50. It’s my driver’s first ride of the night, so even he’s in a good mood.
6:20 p.m. I’ve barely gone 10 blocks because of Manhattan traffic. I’ve called my parents and my husband in that time.
6:29 p.m. Not trusting my friendly Uber driver, I check Google Maps and Waze to see how bad the traffic is. Both apps say it will take another 29 minutes and that we’re on the fastest route—despite lots of cranky little Wazers warning of standstill traffic on the highway. Angry kitten emojis and such.
6:38 p.m. Traffiiiiiic.
6:49 p.m. Traffiiiiiic.
6:53 p.m. Welcome to JFK airport! Well done, Google Maps and Waze—you were pretty darn accurate.
7:15 p.m. There’s no line at check-in or security (TSA PreCheck always helps), so I’m already through both. It was easier to get through the airport than it was to leave Manhattan.
7:30 p.m. It’s been almost two hours since I left, and I have an hour and a half until I fly. I pull up GateGuru, which has crowd-sourced reviews of food options in airport terminals, to find a better dinner than the overpriced steak sit-downs and the Boars Head/Starbucks/Jamba Juice trifecta at the entrance of Terminal 5. It sent me down to Gate 17, where Mexican restaurant Revolucion was waiting—not too crowded, and with a carne asada taco dish that makes the alternatives a distant memory.
7:35 p.m. I can charge my phone with my suitcase! This is so cool. But I'm struggling to get the airport Wi-Fi to connect, so rather than actually enjoying my meal, or reading something, or even people watching, I'm focused on those little Wi-Fi bars on my laptop in between bites of rice and beans.
8:54 p.m. Finally boarding my red-eye to Dublin on Aer Lingus. Once I've settled into my seat, I try to figure out what to do next—and I can't settle on one thing for more than five minutes. Should I watch a movie on my laptop? Read my Kindle? Check for Wi-Fi? I feel like a robot on the fritz, with too many programs running. My only course of action: power everything down—myself included—and get a fitful night's sleep.
Time spent in transit: From leaving my house to takeoff at 9 p.m., I spent three hours and 13 minutes on the go, but more than seven and a half hours downloading and plugged in.
Final verdict: Armed with familiar apps like Google Maps, Waze, Uber, and TripIt (not even mentioned here, though fundamental to keeping track of all of my travel), I got from A to B without much hassle—and great new downloads like Gate Guru made it easier to make a good decision. But being plugged in constantly zapped all the spontaneity from my trip—and all my energy. I didn't get to enjoy the rush from an unscripted moment; in fact, I barely picked my head up to look around. And what's the point of traveling if I don't see a thing?
No-Tech Trip
Faced with the prospect of a digital detox (well, to the airport, anyway), I got into the spirit well beforehand, and did research the old-fashioned way—by calling Scotland experts from a landline, and by thumbing through guidebooks pilfered from Traveler’s library. I put sticky tabs on important pages, and later wrote down things I wanted to remember on a notepad. An actual notepad. (Later, at times, I couldn’t read my own handwriting.) My trip to the airport was filled with a similar mix of highs and lows.
5:46 p.m. The journey begins. I close my front door and lug my bags down four flights of stairs. (A New York City perk if there ever was one.) Four more steps down to the sidewalk, and then a short hike north to my first stop—the subway station—and down a few more flights of stairs.
5:50 p.m. After a careful negotiation of bags through the subway turnstile, which is sort of like trying to shove a grocery cart into a taxi, it’s time to wait on the platform. (And, as is usually the case with the MTA, wait some more.)
5:58 p.m. I step on an A train, and immediately back off. Though this train was unmarked, I was hoping it was heading to the airport. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.
6:03 p.m. An A train to Far Rockaway arrives. Now we’re moving…
6:05 p.m. …except we aren’t. Instead, the conductor has made two announcements in two minutes about how we are delayed because of train traffic. Unbelievable, mutters the woman across from me, as she files her nails. Unbelievable.
7:23 p.m. I’ve arrived at JFK—almost. Before I reach the airport, before I go through security, before I buy an Auntie Anne’s pretzel, before I board the plane, I have to complete part two of the public transportation process: ride the AirTrain to my terminal. Isn't this delightful.
7:38 p.m. Finally reach Terminal 4, where my Delta flight to Edinburgh will depart, and I join the queue of people checking-in the old-fashioned way: at the Delta counter, passport in hand.
7:45 p.m. I reach the front of the line, and a Delta employee flaps her hand to wave me over. She is incredibly cheerful, and when I ask her about the layout of my plane and any potential seats I could switch to, she takes her time to muse the pros and cons of each seat with me—think two neighbors chatting on a stoop, except that we’re not neighbors, and the stoop is a packed terminal way the hell out in Queens. As we decide that I’ll keep my current seat and Marlene—we’re on a first-name basis by now—attaches a luggage tag to my bag, I notice that she’s wearing a silver ring in the shape of a commercial jet. I compliment her on the ring, and she pulls a necklace from under her shirt—on a silver chain is a silver key, with a serial number printed on it. The story? Marlene has worked for Delta for more than three decades, and when the company bought its first 777, they had a ceremony to mark the occasion—for her exemplary customer service, Marlene was given the key to that first plane.
7:53 p.m. As much as I don’t want to leave Marlene’s good company, I have a plane to catch. The security line is surprisingly light for almost 8 p.m. on a Monday, and there’s a minimal amount of confusion (yes, still) over what has to come off, out, and be put through.
8:01 p.m. I make it through and pad over to sit down, put on my shoes, and slip my laptop back in its case. Funny to think that I haven't even touched my phone or laptop until now. I wish I could say that this unplugged game I'm playing has been rewarding, filled with conversations with multiple Marlene, it's actually taken away a useful distraction.
8:02 p.m. It's been two and a half hours since I left home. I'm hungry.
8:03 p.m. Though I fly out of New York often, I know embarrassingly little about airport food offerings. Without an app to help me navigate, I relied on what information I’d committed to memory and reinforced meal after meal in this terminal—which means I beeline for the less-crowded Shake Shack by gate B37.
8:30 p.m. A Shackburger, strawberry shake, and French fries later, I’m ready to lie down. I don’t board for another two hours—because I'm a fervent believer in getting to the airport with time to spare—so instead of plopping down at the gate and tapping away on my phone, I walk. I wander Hudson News. I buy a lemonade. I reach my gate some 30 minutes later, ready to zone out. No such luck: Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton are debating on screen, and crowds gather. I watch, and people-watch, and read a book—an actual book, 63 pages of Heidi Julavits's The Folded Clock—I’ve brought. It's all soothing, in a strange way.
Time spent in transit: From leaving my house to takeoff at 11:35 p.m., I spent five hours and 49 minutes tech-free and tuned out.
Final verdict: I don't consider myself terribly dependent on devices, but quitting cold turkey revealed just how often I do tend to turn to them instead of problem-solving on my own. Though going no- or low-tech has its disadvantages (see: A train to JFK), I was surprisingly happy with how the trip turned out, and think that there's something to be said for unplugging while traveling: I was more in tune, and interacted more, than I probably normally would. With nothing in the palm of my hand, I was forced to be in the world around me—until I boarded the plane, that is, where I stretched out as best I could and slept like a baby.