Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.

Paul Theroux, the tireless wanderer and chronicler of distant lands, once spoke with piercing honesty: “Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” These words strike at the heart of illusion, for they unveil the truth that while journeys often seem radiant in memory, in the living moment they are filled with hardship, fatigue, and trial. To those who have never wandered far, travel appears as a dream woven with gold threads. But to those who have truly walked its roads, it is often hunger, dust, delay, and uncertainty—transformed into beauty only when the hardships are softened by the distance of memory.

The glamour of travel is a garment woven not on the road, but afterward, when the mind retells its own story. The missed trains, the sleepless nights, the rain-soaked streets, the aching body—all of these, at the time, seem bitter. Yet later, when remembered, they are painted with nostalgia. The very discomfort becomes part of the tale, and the heart transforms ordeal into adventure. Thus, Theroux’s wisdom reminds us that what seems glamorous is often nothing more than suffering retold with affection once it has safely passed.

The ancients understood this paradox. Odysseus, wandering ten years from Troy to Ithaca, endured storms, monsters, and despair. In the midst of these trials, his heart longed only for home. Yet when bards sang his story later, his suffering became legend, his perilous voyage remembered as a glorious epic. What was agony in the moment became glamour in retrospect. The same is true for all who undertake the road: what feels unbearable becomes the marrow of memory, treasured long after the pain has gone.

History, too, offers countless witnesses. Marco Polo’s long march to the East was filled with peril, doubt, and deprivation. Yet his tale, told upon his return, was adorned with the shine of wonder, and for centuries men remembered only the exotic marvels, not the exhaustion of the caravan. Shackleton and his crew, trapped in the Antarctic ice, endured near-death for endless months. Yet in the retelling, their suffering became a saga of courage, admired and revered. Their travel, harsh and unrelenting, was not glamorous in the moment—it was survival. Only later did memory clothe it in glory.

Theroux’s words are also a warning. Do not expect that the path will feel noble while you tread it. Know that travel—and by extension, all great journeys in life—is often uncomfortable, confusing, and humbling. If you chase glamour in the moment, you will be disappointed. But if you accept the road for what it is—a teacher of resilience, patience, and humility—then later you will look back and see its radiance in retrospect. The glamour is not in the present comfort but in the story your soul will one day tell.

The meaning, then, is profound: we glorify not the ease of journeys, but their endurance. The glamour of travel is memory’s alchemy, turning dust into gold, turning sweat into song. This applies not only to physical voyages but to the journeys of life itself: careers, relationships, struggles. In the moment, they feel heavy, filled with trial. Yet later, when remembered, they shine with meaning. The glamour lies not in what you endured, but in the story you can now tell with wisdom.

The lesson is luminous: do not be deceived by the false dream of perfect travel, free of hardship. Embrace the difficulty, for it is the very substance of the tale. Take each delay, each discomfort, each unexpected turn as material for the memory that will later seem radiant. And when you hear others speak of their journeys with glamour, remember that they, too, once sat weary and doubting. The glamour is born in the heart after the road has ended.

Thus Paul Theroux’s words become a torch for all wanderers: “Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.” Accept the truth of the moment, embrace the hardship of the path, and know that one day, in looking back, the struggles you now endure will be remembered as the shining jewels of your story.