I love travel gadgets. The right tool can make a long journey feel easy, a long layover productive, and a remote campsite almost civilized. But convenience is seductive in ways that can slow you down—the faster you think you’ve solved a problem, the more likely you are to be stranded by a design choice that assumed the world would always be as nice as your home Wifi.

Over the years I’ve learned to treat convenience like a feature you should test, not a promise you should accept blindly. Below is a practical, simple checklist I use when deciding whether a piece of travel technology is truly helpful—or a trap that will cost me time, money, or calm in an unfamiliar place.

Start with needs, not wants

The first step is embarrassingly simple: ask what problem this actually solves for this trip. Too often I buy a gadget because it would be nice, then discover it’s unnecessary weight in a city where plug sockets are plentiful and my phone lasts all day.

Before you buy or pack, answer these aloud:

  • What problem am I solving? (Navigation offline? Battery backup? Photo backup?)
  • How often will I use it? (Daily, once, only in emergencies?)
  • Is there a lower-tech alternative? (Paper map, shared charger, local SIM?)

    • If the answer to “how often” leans toward “rarely,” favor simpler options. Convenience that you rarely need is dead weight.

    Checklist: will this device slow me down?

    Use this checklist when evaluating any travel-tech—phones, chargers, power banks, adapters, wearables, cameras, translation devices, and so on. Treat a “no” on any of these as a prompt to rethink, not a final veto. The point is to surface trade-offs you can accept deliberately.

  • Battery life and charging flexibility
    • Can it last a full day or two under heavy use?
    • Does it charge from common sources (USB-A, USB-C, solar, car)?
    • Can I top it up quickly on a short stop?
  • Interoperability
    • Does it use common cables/standards (USB-C vs proprietary)?
    • Will it work with the other gear I bring (camera batteries, laptop)?
  • Repairability and redundancy
    • Can I fix or jury-rig it if something breaks? (replaceable battery, simple cable)
    • Do I have a backup plan if it fails? (spare cable, local alternatives)
  • Offline functionality
    • Does it rely on constant internet access?
    • Can it perform essential tasks offline (maps, translation, media)?
  • Privacy and data portability
    • Is my data locked into an app or cloud I can’t access abroad?
    • How easy is it to export or locally store my information?
  • Durability and exposure
    • Is it water- or dust-resistant enough for your itinerary?
    • Does it tolerate knocks, drops, and long transport?
  • Weight and bulk
    • Does the convenience justify the grams?
    • Will this push me into checked luggage or slow me through security?
  • Learning curve and friction
    • Does it require an app setup or account you can’t create on the road?
    • Will it take time to learn that you don’t have during a short trip?

    • Concrete examples I’ve lived through

    I once bought a niche travel router because the marketing promised “seamless secure connections.” It was heavy, required a laptop to configure, and the hotel Wifi blocked the ports it needed. Instead of seamless connections, I spent an evening wrestling with firmware updates. Lesson: convenience that demands time today is not convenient tomorrow.

    Conversely, a humble USB-C power bank with passthrough charging (I like Anker’s 20,000 mAh models) has saved me multiple times. It charges my phone and earbuds while plugged into the wall; it charges quickly, uses standard cables, and I can top it at airport kiosks. Low maintenance convenience wins.

    I also used a dedicated offline translation device (the Pocketalk-type gadgets) for a week in rural Japan. The accuracy for simple phrases was helpful, but the device’s keyboard and interface were slow compared to using a phone app offline. The dedicated gadget’s advantage—simplicity—wasn’t enough to beat the flexibility of software I already knew.

    When to accept convenience

    Not all convenience is a trap. I choose it intentionally in a few situations:

  • When it removes recurring friction — examples: noise-cancelling headphones for frequent flights, a fast SSD if you edit photos nightly.
  • When it reduces risk — examples: a weatherproof camera bag in monsoon seasons, a rugged power bank for multi-day hikes.
  • When it clearly beats the low-tech alternative — examples: a compact travel router if you need to tether multiple devices in a hotel with captive portals.

    • Practical shopping rules

    Here are rules I try to follow when buying travel tech:

  • Prefer standards over novelty. Devices that use USB-C, common plug types, and open file formats are less likely to strand you.
  • Buy multi-use items. A watch that’s a fitness tracker and a watch replaces two gadgets. A charger that fast-charges a laptop and phone replaces two chargers.
  • Carry minimal spares. A single high-quality cable instead of four cheaper ones, one universal plug adapter that covers multiple regions.
  • Test before you travel. Use the device for a week in your daily life. If it feels fussy at home, it will be worse abroad.

    • A tiny decision flow you can bookmark

    Step Question Action
    1 Is this solving a repeat, likely problem? If no, skip it. If yes, continue.
    2 Does it use common standards and cables? Prefer it. If proprietary, ensure you can travel with spares.
    3 Can it work offline/without special accounts? Prefer offline-capable tools for remote travel.
    4 Is there a durable, repairable backup? Bring redundancy for mission-critical gear.

    Saying “no” to convenience is rarely about being ascetic. It’s about choosing reliability and predictability over flashy solves that only work under perfect conditions. When you test convenience with a checklist, you’re not rejecting comfort—you’re making sure the comfort will still be there when you need it, halfway around the world, under a different power grid, or at 2 a.m. in a hotel that doesn’t take returns.