01/07/2026
😂 I BOOKED MY OWN HOLIDAY ONCE. ONCE. 😂
It started so well.
“How hard can it be?” I said.
“I’ll save a fortune,” I said.
“Travel agents are unnecessary,” I said.
At 11pm, surrounded by 31 browser tabs, three conflicting TripAdvisor reviews, a spreadsheet I made at 9pm that no longer made sense, and a cold cup of tea I didn’t remember making —
I began to question my life choices.
The hotel had a “partial sea view.”
Partial. 🌊
What they meant was: if you opened the bathroom window, stood on the edge of the bath, ignored the smell, and looked left past the air conditioning unit — you could see what might have been the sea.
Or a car park puddle on a good day.
The transfer was listed as “approximately 40 minutes.”
The driver had a different philosophy about time. 🚐
And roads.
And speed limits, apparently.
Two hours and forty-five minutes later, I arrived at a hotel that looked nothing like the website. The website had clearly been photographed from a helicopter. In 2009. Before the building next door was built.
“Free breakfast included!” the listing had promised. 🍳
One yoghurt.
Warm.
A single, warm yoghurt.
Flavour: disappointment.
Meanwhile my friend Sara — who used a travel agent — was sending me photos from her actual sea view, on an actual beach, having been met at the airport by an actual human being holding an actual sign with her actual name on it.
Sara and I don’t talk about that holiday.
Here’s the truth nobody tells you:
A travel agent doesn’t just book things.
They’ve been there. They know the room on the third floor with the view. The transfer company that actually shows up. The “hidden gem” restaurant the internet hasn’t ruined yet.
And if something goes wrong at midnight in a foreign airport? ✈️
They answer. Sara’s travel agent answered.
Mine was a website. Websites don’t answer.
Don’t be me. Be more Sara 😎
👇 Drop me a message. Tell me where you want to go and I’ll handle everything — and I promise, your eggs will be warm and your yoghurt cold 😄
😂 ✈️ 🙌