For this often solo traveler, a playlist for every trip

Several years ago, someone I loved was leaving for Europe. She wanted me to go with her, but I couldn’t, so instead I sent her off with five playlists I had carefully put together – two for her takeoffs and landings (“Fasten Your Seatbelt” and “Fasten Your Seatbelt Deux”) and three for the different stops she was making (“Paris Rocks Even When You’re Lonely”, “Opa! And Then Some” and “Waiter, There’s a Duck in My Pizza”). I counted on Fiona Apple, Björk, Eliza Doolittle, Belle and Sebastian and The Cranberries to be there for her when I couldn’t, to provide the same joy and comfort they had given me many times and many trips before.

I have songs attached to cities, cities attached to memories, memories attached to playlists. On an unplanned visit to Anawangin, a tree-covered cove in Zambales facing the South China Sea, a boyfriend and I went camping armed only with sunblock, half a bottle of whiskey and our dying cellphones. We saved what little battery we had left to play music – The Ting Tings, Bob Marley, Coldplay.

While navigating Tokyo, I was absolutely captivated by Lorde, really listening to her lyrics for the first time and remember being hit by line after line (“I’ve never felt more alone / It feels so scary getting old”). London will always be a mix of Amy Winehouse, Adele and Lily Allen – but Amy, mostly. I pounded the pavement in her beloved Camden as her voice filled my head. Meanwhile, Adele and I had already had our moment. She provided much-needed warmth during an unexpectedly snowy road trip along the United States’ West Coast. Her voice, strong and velvety, had the coziness of a thousand blankets. I wanted to curl up in it.

Travel feeds the soul — and so does music. And the combined pleasure of both is a joy that, to me, is almost hedonistic. I have playlists for taking showers in Santa Maria (Drake, Sia, Robyn, Sam Smith), running in Aarhus (DJ Snake, Deap Vally, Pitbull, Little Mix), and surviving the most painful tattoo session ever in Hong Kong (all Frances, all soothing songs). I have a 21-song playlist that played over and over during one of my longest dates ever in Los Angeles (MØ’s “Kamikaze” is my favorite track from that list). I listened to Rebelution’s “Feeling Alright” while chasing macadamia pancakes in Hawaii (you can get them at Boots & Kimo’s – they’re really, really good).

But music is more than just pleasing. In Handbook of Music and Emotion: Theory, Research, Applications, its authors contend that “evidence is slowly accumulating that music has benefits for health”. Furthermore, a study by Montreal’s McGill University discovered that the brain’s dopamine levels can shoot up to 9% higher in response to music. Dopamine, a neurotransmitter that plays a key role in controlling the brain’s reward and pleasure centers, is the same mood-enhancing chemical that is released when you’re in love, eating chocolate or having sex. “Our results help to explain why music is of such high value across all human societies,” wrote the study’s researchers.

One morning, on my way down from my room in New Orleans’ most haunted hotel, I heard a woman crying in the elevator. But there was no one there. I survived that week by blasting songs in my ears every time I walked around the hotel alone. In those moments, my headphones offered protection from ghosts, just like they are my constant shield from chatty seatmates on planes and trains.

Music is my constant companion, a travel buddy with no baggage, the soundtrack to my exploration, filling miles with rhythm and beats, turning unfamiliar streets into my dance floor. Songs aren’t just songs – they are portals that transport me to places I love, allowing me to revisit them again and again and again.