I have friends who routinely ask where I’ve traveled of late and where I plan to go next. The answer is that, except for a recent trip to New York, I haven’t gone anywhere. As for my plans for future travel, plans, yes, I have them. I plan to not travel.

An insanity has gripped Americans. It often does under the unfortunate name of “revenge travel” — the notion that we must travel aggressively now to make up for the time lost in COVID closures. Add to that those silly bucket lists of places you “must” see before your demise. Who sez? The mighty god Instagram, flashing dreams of idyllic villages overlooking the blue Ionian Sea with only you there.

The reality of today’s tourism is long waits in Saharan heat to get into the Rome Colosseum. Hikers at Yellowstone National Park inch along in DMV-like lines. It got so bad in Italy’s Cinque Terre region that hiking trails are made one-way at busy times. So much for being in nature.

Then there’s cost. The high demand for hotels and air travel has raised the price of even off-season trips to in-season levels. Americans are now dishing out thousands for a week in an oppressively crowded London or Paris, money that could go to a new kitchen.

In Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” Rosalind responds to the melancholy Jacques bragging about his many trips abroad. “A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad,” she says. “I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men’s.”

Did we mention the weather? The Mediterranean is a virtual heat dome covering a multiyear drought. And beachgoers in Southern California are being attacked by sea lions driven onshore by a nasty algae bloom, courtesy of warming temperatures.

The economies in many hotspots live off the tourist dollar, but even their residents are frustrated by having to wend their way through the selfie-taking mobs to buy groceries. Quaint Bar Harbor, Maine, recently had to put limits on cruise ship visits. Some ships were so big, they would disgorge 4,000 passengers into this town of only 5,200 people.

Dubrovnik in Croatia has been named the most “over-touristed” city in Europe by an online vacation home rental company. Barcelona and Athens are close behind.

Sicily has always attracted its share of tourists, but thanks to the fantasy spread by “The White Lotus” series, it is confronting kind of tourist onslaught more typical of Capri. Even the less-crowded “shoulder seasons” of spring and fall no longer allow for peaceful contemplation.

Local culture gets lost among vendors hawking bubble tea and sweatshirts. Amsterdam has seen its openness to drugs and prostitution turned into an international orgy of rampaging partygoers. Japanese shopkeepers are now wishing that foreign visitors would take their shoes off, as is custom, before traipsing through their stores. Good luck to them.

I was in Paris last summer. Even though Notre Dame Cathedral was closed for repairs from a devastating fire, the crowds in front were such that we passersby were forced off the wide plaza and onto the streets.

Machu Picchu, high in the Andes Mountains and surrounded by steep cliffs, was storied for its remote location. Nowadays, getting into Peru’s ancient Inca citadel requires long waits in long lines. Cultural authorities there have limited entrance to 2,500 visitors a day.

I have my garden. I have my kitchen. I have AC for the hot days. Where have so many of my neighbors gone? And why are they leaving at the loveliest time of year?
Instagram and Facebook can be stern masters. And they should know this: Bucket lists are strictly in their heads.

Froma Harrop is a syndicated columnist. Follow her on Twitter @FromaHarrop.