WHEN AI PLANS YOUR TRIP, HERE IS YOUR COMEDY OF ERRORS

 

 

Trip planning used to be stressful in a fun, slightly obsessive way. You’d scroll through hotel reviews, argue with yourself about whether a five-star resort really deserved its stars, maybe even feel smug when you found a deal on biz class flights. Then AI showed up, smug, shiny, and way too confident, promising to plan your entire trip better than you ever could. So smart. And suddenly, “vacation slash travel planning” means giving a robot control of your life—and laughing maniacally as it drags you, screaming, across the globe.

 

Seriously, read the stories online. They’re all basically cautionary tales of humans vs. AI: humans come with hopes and sunscreen; AI comes with chaos, jet lag, and the kind of abstract cruelty only a soulless algorithm can provide. Enter maniacal laughter and that Peter Thiel face. 

 

Take the classic “romantic weekend in Paris.” Vomit. A friend of a friend let AI handle it. Sweet for them, right? A cute hotel, a glass of wine, a stroll along the Seine…maybe a cheeky baguette thrown into the romance mix. Instead, AI decided “romantic” meant a three-day trek through the Amazon rainforest, a sushi-making class in Tokyo, and a twelve-hour layover in Reykjavik. Jet lag, extreme sports, and mild existential terror—apparently, that’s the modern love language.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then there’s the “authentic local experience.” Another friend shared their tale: AI insisted they hit a hidden gem in Rome. Expecting charming alleyways, perfect pasta, maybe a small café where locals whispered secrets in Italian, they arrived to…a neon-lit fast-food nightmare that could’ve been teleported from Las Vegas. The only authentic thing? Their slow, painful death of expectations. Si. 

 

 

 

 

Cultural immersion? Forget museums. Forget guided tours. One blogger’s AI-planned Egypt trip included a midnight camel ride across the Sahara. In winter. Alone. Frostbite optional, trauma guaranteed. And it doesn’t stop there: someone online was told to attend a cheese-rolling festival in England at noon, then zip-line through Costa Rica by sunset, all while missing the third sushi class in Tokyo that the AI had “prioritized.” Another friend’s “budget-friendly” Venice stay turned out to be a floating gondola, Wi-Fi nonexistent, room service provided by a lone seagull with questionable bread preferences. In Prague, a “hidden gem” hotel was actually a storage facility converted into rooms, with forklifts roaming the hallways in the morning like confused, metallic ghosts. And in Iceland, a “cozy” budget option involved sleeping in a shipping container, heated only by panic and the aurora borealis. I laugh, but these are all stories I am reading online. 

 

 

 

 

Flights are another masterpiece of chaos. HuffPost reports that AI can book “direct” routes that somehow loop through multiple countries you can’t pronounce, with connections technically on another continent. Efficiency, apparently, is defined as: “You will see every airport in Europe, Asia, and possibly one in Antarctica, but landmarks? Who needs sleep, dignity, or human decency?” 

 

And food—don’t get me started on food. 

 

People online have been sent to eat sushi in the Swiss Alps, pasta in the middle of Nevada, and Michelin-starred burgers in rural Mongolia. The BBC calls it a “context problem.” I call it a cruel joke designed to test both your patience and your taste buds.

 

Here’s the pattern: AI is fantastic if you need inspiration. Terrible if you want to survive. It’s like letting a very ambitious, slightly deranged friend plan your life. Oh god, I know just the type. You arrive at the airport, stare at your itinerary, and whisper, “I did this to myself.” And somewhere in the cloud, an algorithm laughs, probably drinking digital champagne. The dark joy is in watching it all unfold. Romantic Paris weekends turn into global obstacle courses. Venetian hotels double as floating prisons. Hidden gems are neon-lit, judgmental, and occasionally airborne. It’s spectacular, if you’re into that sort of sadistic entertainment. 

 

I do know some folks who love that kind of thing. 

 

At the end of the day, humans win. Wandering a city without GPS, discovering a café you didn’t know existed, figuring out medieval alleyways—these are the moments that make travel magical. AI can suggest, inspire, and amuse. Sure sure, I know it. But it can’t replicate the sublime terror and satisfaction of a misadventure you actually lived through. And the thing I live for, my husband less so, but certainly me. 

 

So, before you hand your next vacation to a soulless algorithm, read the news, read WONDERLUST, and maybe a few dark corners of Reddit. Ask friends for stories. Pack a sense of humor, a flask of patience, and maybe a faint cutesy prayer. You’ll need all three. 

 

Because some things are best left to human error and our exquisite taste for chaos. Shalom!