There is something strangely addictive about travelling as a young adult. It could be the temporary freedom and excitement of escaping routine, or the adrenaline of being somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere different from what we are used to. When the change is sudden it becomes even more thrilling: going from being stressed about flat chores, grocery shopping, and work, to wandering through foreign streets, sleep-deprived and randomly dressed, laughing at jokes and speaking a different language to those around us.

A recent spontaneous getaway to Copenhagen with two girlfriends of mine led me to reflect on this – that intense hunger for thrill that people our constantly age seek. Most of us lived at home with our families until only a couple of years ago, with other people’s schedules and rules determining our routines and lifestyles. Now we can impulsively book flights, navigating airports half-awake while carrying that exhilarating responsibility of dictating our own experiences. This new ability to go abroad as  independent adults feels oddly empowering. Travelling feels more tangibly independent, and makes us bolder, more daring and adventurous.

Undeniably, there is something about our age that makes us more likely to crave intensity. We constantly aim for experiences that feel enriching, ridiculous, unique, and that are worth talking about afterwards. Daniel Barbarisi’s Chasing the Thrill explores this specific obsession through the dangerous pursuit of Forrest Fenn’s hidden treasure, describing the addictive excitement people derive from the act of the chase itself, rather than the reward waiting at the end. The first phase of adulthood leads people in their late teens and twenties to operate with a similarly intense desire to feel more. We chase moments, stories, cities, relationships, and impulsive decisions – not because they are rational, but because they make us feel incredibly alive.

Travelling amplifies this, as every experience becomes special and cinematic. We romanticise trains, foreign dinners, and getting lost in unfamiliar neighbourhoods because movement goes hand in hand with emotional intensity. With this perception of thrill, even discomfort becomes surprisingly appealing. For instance, during our trip my friends and I impulsively jumped into the freezing Danish sea, despite signs and common sense warning us against it. Once submerged, we laughed at how badly we underestimated the coldness of the water, struggling awkwardly to get ourselves back out, and even having to ask other travellers for a hand. Still, even while frozen, breathless, and mildly panicked, we could not stop laughing; the shock of the cold water, the chaos of the moment, and the craziness of the decision itself made us feel intensely present.

Travelling in your 20s is all about this: trying out things that force you out of your comfort zone and out of autopilot. With routinised habits like those we have at university, life can quickly become repetitive, with weeks blurring together through classes, assignments, nights out, and endless social commitments. Travels definitely interrupt that rhythm, reminding us just how surprising and provocative our decisions can be.

Of course, thrill-seeking also comes with its downsides. Our age group tends to glamorize impulsivity, chaotic nights out, recklessness, and the idea that being “young and free” means being wild and untouchable. There is nothing inherently wrong with partying, exploring sexuality, or making spontaneous decisions; many of these things actually help people discover themselves. The problem here is romanticising risk under the disguise of freedom, blurring the line between thrill and recklessness until safety begins to feel boring, and impulsive behaviour is aestheticised as the main proof of truly living.

Nevertheless, in good proportion, the best parts of travelling become the “wild” moments that we look back on happily as surprising evidence of our ability to make new choices. These crazy moments become even more important when shared with people that we care about: travelling with close friends transforms ordinary moments into memories simply because of the people experiencing them alongside you. Singing the same three songs while walking around, silly dance moves, skipping through streets, or speaking too loudly in public while not many understand you, are all soft details that linger and change everything.

The older I get, the more I realise that locations are just a part of what ultimately renders a trip truly unforgettable. A city can be beautiful, historic, and exciting, and solo travelling can be extremely fulfilling, but living these moments with your dear ones is an unmatched satisfaction. Memory also works in a surprising way, attaching itself to conversations and emotions regardless of where they were shared, and a single moment of laughter can be remembered years later.

Perhaps this is why travelling is so connected to emotionality during this stage of our lives. Our twenties are suspended between instability and possibility; relationships continue to evolve, people move, and friendships change, with everyone pursuing newer and future versions of themselves. Travelling is able to remind us that uncertainty can be beautiful and light; for a few days, nothing matters except immediate plans and subsequent moments. In this excitement for the unknown, we become freer, sillier, louder, and definitely more present.

Maybe that is the real “thrill” we are all chasing. Not danger for the sake of danger, but intensity, connection, and proof that life can expand beyond simple or busy routines. Travelling can feel euphoric and an escape, as it offers a rush of adrenaline intense enough to momentarily distance us from the limits we grow unconsciously accustomed to.

Ironically, the more I travel, the more I realise that thrill itself won’t always be enough. The places and choices matter, yes, but the people matter infinitely more. The freezing sea, the sleepless airport mornings, the chaotic public transport, and the impulsive decisions only become meaningful because they are shared. Even a regrettable choice made in the craziness of the moment is softened by the shared laughter that later shapes the way we retell and reminisce about it. Travelling in your twenties is not all about escaping. It is about discovering that home can begin to exist anywhere— in unfamiliar streets, spontaneous adventures, and the people who make remembering every reckless and beautiful moment feel like a passion of its own.