"There is something in travelling that makes one vain.
The feeling of the traveller is like that of a love affair
when one has to part from an agreeable companion."
Mary Wollstonecraft
Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot
Hygge for me is a quiet train or plane with a good book.
So, when my wife and I boarded the train to Edinburgh from Queen Street on Boxing day, we had a mutual understanding: find a quiet section. As we stepped onto the train, my heart sank—my worst fears were realized. The carriage was filled with young people.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m fond of young people. But in today’s fractured society, the evidence of its brokenness seemed laid bare on this train. Some talked loudly—several at once—and no one was really listening to the others. A few seats away, one lad had his feet sprawled across the seats. And scattered throughout were the usual suspects—kids glued to their screens, watching videos without headphones, as if the rest of us didn’t exist. It felt, frankly, dystopian.
We resigned ourselves to the fact that our quiet, idyllic reading time wouldn’t happen. Instead, we found seats near a respectable-looking couple who seemed to be tourists, though the man, as we soon learned, was back home in Scotland for a visit.
What followed was something unexpected—a conversation so engaging that the hour flew by. We uncovered shared interests, exchanged ideas, and found a surprising connection that made the journey feel much too short. I was genuinely disappointed when we had to part ways.
It recalled a thought expressed by Mary Wollstonecraft:
"There is something in travelling that makes one vain. The feeling of
the traveller is like that of a love affair when one has to part from an
agreeable companion." Or companions.
Her words capture it perfectly. In those fleeting moments, you forge attachments that linger in the heart even as you move on.