As much as I have always been utterly resistant to the notion that people should declare their love for others on one particular day, Valentine’s Day refuses to go away. Don’t get me wrong: I am not a cynic to the point of spoiling it for other people, but I just don’t understand how people can be brainwashed on such a massive scale over something obviously capitalistic and contrived. On days such as this, I admit to becoming a total recluse or a complete escapist. 

Yet the absurdity began this morning when I woke up to find some letters in my mailbox and some presents from my relatives. I am not silly enough to refuse such niceties, but now I am thrown into this vicious guilty cycle of refusing to participate. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I just don’t see the point. Why must I buy someone a gift today because someone, somewhere, decided that love comes in the form of pink jellybeans?  My mother has not so subtly hinted that I should write people some cards - perhaps buy some chocolates. And so it begins.

So what does this have to do with travel, you ask? One special and refreshing thing about travel is that it releases one from the obligation of going through the ritual motions of a holiday one doesn’t particularly care about. A few years ago while living in Morocco, I missed Easter completely. Only after two weeks, a chocolate egg incident and some spamming from my mother, did it finally occur to me. In Madagascar, I confess to missing hundreds of birthdays, countless anniversaries, Mother’s Days, Father’s Days, Independence Days and a few Thanksgivings. I jumped in the ocean on Christmas without dropping a dime. And it was brilliant. 

In Britain, Thanksgiving is of course a non-entity, and the Halloween hysteria is passed over. Their biggest gala seems to be Guy Fawkes Night on November 5th, also known as Bonfire Night, where people light fireworks, burn effigies and generally set fire to things in remembrance of an arsonist who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament some 400 years ago. He was eventually caught, tortured and executed. A morbid holiday, but hey, at least I don’t need to buy a Hallmark card for it.

On a cultural level, holidays can be fascinating, but on a logical level they can feel a bit absurd.  Admittedly, I can reason why holidays can be an important time for families and communities, but travel has made me see some of their arbitrariness and mutable qualities too. Travel has made me value even more those I care about, without feeling the nagging guilt of neglecting to buy a present. It has taught me that if you love someone, tell them today, because you never know how that Air Madagascar flight is going to play out. It has taught me not to wait for an agreed societal date to celebrate life.

I don’t think there is any danger of me becoming a card-carrying member anytime soon, but perhaps the one redeeming quality about holidays is that they give you cause for pause – or for one great party.

Happy Valentine’s Day.