When I first started traveling the world and embraced the backpacking lifestyle, I believed every traveler was on a journey of self-discovery, just like me. But after years of hostel-hopping and deep conversations in tucked-away cafés, I came to understand that this isn’t always true. Some people cannot be called a traveler—they are more like a fugitive, escaping rather than seeking.
While many hit the road to grow and evolve, others use travel as a way to flee from a past that still haunts them. Their journey isn’t about mindfulness or exploration, but about silencing their inner noise. These fugitives aren’t truly exploring the world—they’re trapped in a loop of consuming experiences and people without ever pausing to reflect.
Despite months or years on the road, nothing seems to satisfy them. There’s a thirst that no drink, drug, or night out can quench. You’ll find the fugitive wandering through nightclubs in places like Bangkok—lost, disconnected, not knowing where they’re going. They’ll talk to everyone, but no one really knows them.
They smile, ask how you’re doing, but they’re not present. They’re just trying to keep running. Like suffering from permanent amnesia, the fugitive moves from hostel to hostel, starting over every day in a desperate race to escape themselves.
The Inner Conflict of the Fugitive
Over time, I began to notice a deep contrast among travelers. Some are clearly on a quest for self-knowledge, diving into culture, solitude, or spirituality. Others—the fugitives—use motion as a shield from pain. What looks like freedom is often a form of avoidance.
This made me think of Arthur Rimbaud’s A Season in Hell, where the journey is symbolic—a metaphysical descent. Much like the fugitive, the poet embarks on a path of anguish, suffering, alienation, and self-destruction. The journey becomes a mirror of internal chaos.
Rimbaud’s raw, surrealist language captures the spiritual crisis of someone unraveling. And just like the fugitive, he walks toward the abyss, each step further into confusion and detachment.
When the Road Leads to Hell: The Fugitive and the Traveler in the Modern World
Rimbaud’s hell wasn’t just literary—it was deeply personal. And today, that same hell exists in the chaotic nightlife of Southeast Asia, in places like Ho Chi Minh City or Bangkok. Flashing lights, loud music, and a crowd of strangers offer the perfect backdrop for the fugitive looking to escape themselves.
Their journey is not spiritual—it’s numbing. A desperate attempt to drown out their own thoughts in excess. This is the path of the fugitive—one of disconnection, avoidance, and compulsive consumption. It’s not about adventure; it’s about anesthetizing pain.
What Rimbaud described—demons and despair—can now be found in overstimulated spaces where the modern traveler hides: clubs, hostels, and alleyways filled with cheap thrills and hollow conversations.
A Modern Samsara: The Eternal Loop of the Fugitive
This hellish repetition—the sleepless nights, substance use, the emotional hangover—isn’t accidental. It’s the pattern of the fugitive who repeats the same cycle endlessly. A new city, a new bed, a new escape—but the same internal suffering.
I started to wonder: are these fugitives unconsciously searching for truth through destruction? Is their chaos a form of spiritual seeking? Maybe the same desire that drives some of us toward clarity drives them into oblivion.
We may be walking different paths, but maybe we share the same destination. The fugitive and the spiritual seeker are both confronting the self—just from opposite directions.
The Fugitive vs. The Traveler: Two Sides of the Same Journey
What feels like heaven for one may be hell for another. Traveling, for me, has been a process of shedding layers, finding myself, and learning to be present. For the fugitive, it’s a race to stay distracted. But both paths involve destruction. Both require confronting the self.
Perhaps backpacking and self-destruction are two faces of the same coin. Both lead to chaos. Both end in identity loss. Some of us try to make the journey more peaceful, more meaningful. But whether you’re a mindful traveler or a fugitive, the process of personal fragmentation is the same.
Rimbaud knew this when he wrote about the breaking of the self in hell—and modern nomads are still living it, one way or another.
Conclusion: Are We All Fugitives?
The road can be liberation or damnation. For some, it’s a sacred path. For others, it’s a way to disappear. But whether we like it or not, as a traveler or a fugitive, many of us are walking the same line between awareness and escapism.
So, whether you’re a soul-seeker or a fugitive, remember that the journey strips us all down to the core. And maybe, just maybe, we’re all looking for the same thing: to be reborn from our own ruin.
Want more?
Check out my posts on Bangkok and Buddhism in Thailand to dive deeper into the contrasts of travel in Southeast Asia
Would you like to dive deeper into the concept of inner journey and self-destruction in literature?
Explore a detailed analysis of A Season in Hell by Arthur Rimbaud in this literary article.
Additionally, discover how Dante Alighieri addresses the spiritual journey in The Divine Comedy in this academic study.
For a broader cultural perspective, read about the concept of the journey to the underworld in Greek mythology in this National Geographic article.
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