The five thieves scattered in a flash. Parting in all different directions, I watched the one toting the gun (and now my phone) hang a sharp right down a dark alley before disappearing into the muggy Salvador night. His four other cronies were gone by the time I broke my gaze.

I looked up at my guardian angels and meekly uttered an obrigado. The two old ladies above me had been enjoying a Wednesday night conversation from inside their gated balcony when the gunman rolled out of the shadows of the questionably lit street. They witnessed my friends and I stop in our tracks as he trained the muzzle inches from my chest. Simultaneously, the gunman’s four scrappy partners rushed in from behind and systematically picked the rest of my crew clean while the gunman reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

It was about then that my guardian angels finally cried three times for the "polícia!” and spooked away the nervous gang. Certainly shaken, but otherwise unscathed, I glumly returned to my hostel thankful to still have my wallet and bank cards.

Over the days following my mugging, I sorted out the admin work for an insurance claim on my stolen phone. There are various documents to gather in these cases, and the Brazilian bureaucracy is infamous for making that difficult and fruitless. Official police reports are more formalities here than genuine search requests.

Determined not to let that evening sour my love for Brazil, I continued exploring the Northeastern city and surroundings without my phone. As was expected, my attention to my surroundings strengthened immediately. I was speaking with more locals to kill free time in cafes, people watching became a consistent habit between bus stops, and navigating the city sans map was a thrill again.

It was also over those few days untethered from the world and communication that I learned how hard it is to remain without a smartphone in the modern era. 

Solo travel in the 21st century leans heavily on contemporary technology. For so long, I dreamed of wandering using the methods of old (maps, compasses, bribes, etc.) but didn’t account for a key variable: even if I ditch my phone, everyone else is still using theirs. 

While I was enjoying life more vividly without a phone, few others in my circle were willing to deal with my lack of communication and general tardiness. I was underread on events happening in the city. I couldn’t buy certain bus tickets or look at restaurant menus without a QR code. I even couldn’t order a 99 or Uber after nightfall (as is necessary in these sorts of places). I was reaping the benefits but my friends were bearing the repercussions of it. 

That is the inherent issue with over-romanticizing travel. I couldn’t continue city life in the 2020s if I was going to reject using technology as if I was in the 1920s. Instant communication is as essential to the globe’s social fabric as transportation or food now; I was struggling without messenger apps like iMessage and WhatsApp.

Even more than these messenger apps, Instagram has become an integral social tool on the road. At least among solo travelers, it is the most ubiquitous means of communication. Instagram is the first medium exchanged among internationals and is generally preferred as the primary messaging app over WhatsApp. 

Profiles have become a form of social backing—proof that you’re a real person and have a life. Somehow this still applies when the first impression happened in person rather than over Instagram. 

Stories provide a surface-level satisfaction of being up to date with others’ lives although genuine interaction ceases to be. When parting ways on the road, stories become the go-to method of “keeping up” if not disciplined enough to shoot a message over once in a while.

On the road, you meet a select few that don’t carry Instagram handles. I admired them all immensely. I consequently also don’t remember them or know what they’re up to either.

I eventually caved and bought a burner phone after a few days from the son of an elderly couple that owned a second-hand vinyl record shop. Not only did I succumb to the social pressure of connectedness again, but I also missed my music and camera immensely. As a compromise, I resolved to maintain a greater consciousness over my phone usage if I were to return to life with it. 

Luckily, that wasn’t all too difficult as my replacement pre-owned smartphone was… limited. It breathed hard when running two apps. Instagram could drain its battery in about 30 minutes. Playing music for too long would overheat it. Unable to use my phone as I did before, I had inadvertently achieved a refreshing level of autonomy from its shackles of convenience.

The world may have evolved too far around smartphones to allow us to mimic travel before they existed, yet there are still plenty of ways to reduce the impact our instantaneous technology has on our travels. 

Instead of the latest smartphone, take a simpler one with limited access to nonessential apps. Ditch the SIM card and commit to only being connected when with WiFi. Send a postcard home once in a while. Buy that paper map.

While being without all the modern capabilities of a smartphone might feel alien, I can assure you the benefits of being more presently engaged with where you’re visiting will outweigh it ten times over.