Lunar New Year Travel is a Weird Experiment to See How Much Humans Will Endure for Love

Hi guys! How are you doing?

Just a few days until Tet now. I have gone back to my hometown. I have been doing it for probably 7 years now? And it's never stopped being a pain in my ass (despite I always enjoy not going to school).

If you have ever gone home for Tet, you'll know how an absolute nightmare it is to juggle between carrying the professional studio heavy duty dumbell called your suitcase and professional caving in your tiny little seat sieged by one other million people doing the same thing.

So to entertain my mind, if this is how bad mine get, how worse could it be for other countries that experience the same thing, but much more populated, especially china. And what's going on in our minds that we constantly, without fail, do this?

So this post is just my little research into what's going on with the phenomenon.

Humans, as you’ve probably noticed, are always on the move. Whether it's to work, school, or—if you’re anything like me—to the couch for an ambitious three-hour TikTok scroll, movement is basically our first nature.

But sometimes, we take this “moving” thing so far that it feels like humanity has collectively decided to do a group dare no one can back out of.

Enter the Lunar New Year.

Picture this: 1.4 billion people all looking at each other and going, “You know what? I’m going home.” And not just home, but everyone decided to do it at the exact same time. So suddenly, every plane, train, car, and motorbike is basically drafted into a chaotic relay race. And the result? The largest annual migration in the history of forever.

China has a name for it—chunyun (春运). It’s a 40-day travel madness where people cram themselves into trains like sardines or sit in traffic jams so massive they could actually have their own postal codes. But here's the catch—it’s not just China. Vietnam’s got Tết Nguyên Đán, South Korea’s in on it with Seollal, and Malaysia’s not missing out either.

It’s not just travel. It’s more like a cultural orchestra—except when you listen, it’s just a cacophony of people yelling at each other in bus stations, trying not to lose their luggage.

Still, you’ve got to wonder: how did this become the World Cup of going home? Why does half the world hit pause on their lives to squeeze into overcrowded trains or sit in traffic that’s more “stuck” than “on the move”?

The whole thing blows my mind, and I’m not even the one trapped in a 13-hour traffic jam. To really understand it, though, we need to dig deeper.

Because this isn’t just about logistics—it’s about people. It’s about this ancient, deep-rooted need to return to the people who actually matter.

CONTENTS

1. the numbers
2. how do you move a billion people?
3. the annual pain olympics
4. the emotional core
5. the changing tides

1. the numbers

friendly for those who don’t really ace statistics (me)

When I think about mass migration during events like China’s Chunyun or Tết in Vietnam, it genuinely makes me question if I’m dreaming or just extremely hungover. I mean, we’re not talking about popping to the shop for some milk or casually driving across town. Oh no, we’re talking about a human migration that sounds like someone came up with it after a few too many pints.

THREE BILLION TRIPS.

Have you ever tried to book a flight during the holidays? It’s like entering the world’s most soul-crushing lottery, where the grand prize is a seat on a flight that isn’t delayed, overbooked, or rerouted through someplace you didn’t even know existed.

In Vietnam, during Tết, airports like Tan Son Nhat (HCMC) handle 900 flights a day. That’s not just a busy day at the office, that’s like cramming an entire city into a suitcase and hoping it doesn’t explode. Somehow, though, it all goes down without the airport spontaneously combusting.

Now, imagine scaling that chaos up to 3 billion trips in 40 days. I can’t even plan a dinner party without turning into a stress puddle, so the fact that anyone pulls this off is honestly magical. It’s like watching a bunch of people juggle chainsaws while riding unicycles—and they’re all doing it at the same time.

Airlines run at 95%-100% capacity, and if you’re one of those last-minute ticket buyers, good luck. You’ve got two options: either you’re handing over your life savings for a ticket or you’re staying home, eating instant noodles and wondering what went wrong in life.

During Chunyun, China adds over 1,000 extra high-speed trains to its rail network. Which, yeah, seems like a lot. But only enough for you to get lost finding your own trains, not nearly enough to transport all of those people.

Picture trying to navigate one of these train stations during the Lunar New Year. There are people hauling bags, shouting over loudspeakers in three languages, and generally looking like they’ve been awake since 1987.

But somehow, it works. People get where they’re going—mostly on time, mostly not dismembered. It’s like humanity just shrugs and says, “Yeah, this is insane, but let’s keep going anyway.”

It’s chaos, sure, but also sort of mesmerizing.

I found this tool Baidu Maps made to track real-time travel flows during Chunyun, and it’s both beautiful and terrifying. Major cities like Beijing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou turn into these glowing, pulsing blobs of movement, like a giant ant colony that’s got somewhere very important to be.

When you zoom out, it’s like looking at a giant, hyper-organized swarm of humans, each one with a single mission: get home. No time for sightseeing, just straight-up getting home.

And here’s the thing that blows my mind every single time. Despite all the madness—the missed flights, the overstuffed suitcases, the never-ending lines—somehow, it all works. People get home. Not always smoothly, not everyone, but enough to make you think,

"How the fuck did they pull that off?"

2. how the fuck do you move a billion people?

moving a billion grains of rice is problematic enough, imagine if the grains also weigh around 60kg each, plus 10kg luggage minimum

Seriously, transportation during these days is a full-contact sport. You’ve got elbows flying, people tripping over each other, and the occasional acrobatic leap over bags just to claim their spot in line. And in the middle of all this? There I am—the poor suitcase, getting kicked, dragged, and—no joke—left behind for a solid ten minutes. But no matter how bad it gets, I always find my human again.

And don’t even get me started on the online ticketing disaster. If you think the train stations are chaotic, just imagine millions of people staring at their phones, desperately clicking apps like 12306.cn, all trying to grab the same precious seats. It's like a digital Hunger Games, but with worse Wi-Fi.

It’s like watching a nationwide version of The Hunger Games, except instead of bow-wielding teenagers, it’s panicked parents who just want a standing-room ticket while their kid screams bloody murder in the background.

a. planes, trains, and tears

It’s not just trains, though. Airports join the chaos, cranking up 15–20% more flights to handle the madness. And guess where all those flights are going? Tiny, nowhere towns that people spend the whole year pretending don’t exist—until now, when everyone’s suddenly desperate to get back there and eat homemade dumplings while avoiding questions about their love life and monthly earnings.

As for high-speed trains? China has a whopping 40,000 kilometers of them, zipping along at 300 km/h. That’s fast enough to make your ears feel like they're doing their own thing, but apparently not fast enough for people who think a two-minute delay is the apocalypse.

High-speed rail has cut travel times by 70%, but do humans say "thank you"? Nah. They’re too busy moaning that the seat backs don’t recline enough for their very important nap.

b. when technology tries to help us

Here’s the thing: technology is really trying its best to turn this colossal mess into a slightly smaller mess. Even when it’s only to improve nooks and crannies, take mobile apps like WeChat and Alipay, for example.

They let people buy tickets, scan QR codes, and even have one-sided arguments with customer service bots that don’t care about your problems—all from the comfort of their own couches. It’s like having a personal travel assistant, except the assistant is invisible, emotionless, and completely useless at fixing your actual problems.

Mega-stations now use AI-based crowd management systems, which is basically just computers telling humans where to stand so they don’t accidentally form a human traffic jam. It’s like a really advanced game of musical chairs, but with less music and more stress. Honestly, it’s the closest thing to sorcery since the time Harry Potter defeated Voldemort by thinking really hard about love.

And the luggage scanners? They’re automated now, which is great because nothing says “I love efficiency” like having a robot judge whether your suitcase is full of clothes or contraband mooncakes. They even have drones flying around highways, keeping an eye on traffic. Drones! The things we used to think were just for nerds and people filming extreme sports are now the traffic cops of the sky.

c. the environmental impact

So, nothing is without a price, and so is building a giant system of transportation infrastructures. Not only financially, which is made up, but also environmentally, which is very real.

The Lunar New Year travel chaos isn’t just about people trying to get home. Oh no, it’s also about causing mayhem for the environment and stretching infrastructure like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.

First, when 3 billion people decide to travel at the same time, you're going to need a lot of trains, planes, and automobiles. And those things need energy. Lots of it. Which means tons of carbon emissions. Trains are a bit better than planes, but it’s still like saying, “Well, I ate a salad for lunch, so it’s fine if I have a pizza for dinner.” The energy demand goes through the roof, and the planet has to put up with it.

Then there’s the air pollution. More cars on the road? Check. More planes in the sky? Check. Are more trains rattling around? Double check. Basically, if you’re somewhere near the action, you’re breathing in enough fumes that an industrial factory breathes out. The only good thing is that the pollution isn’t just for you; everyone gets a taste of it. We all suffer together.

Right now, Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi are competing in a grim marathon to see who can have the worst air quality, and, spoiler alert, they’re both winning. The smog is so bad it looks like someone applied a sepia filter to real life.

Experts blame vehicle emissions, construction dust, and the occasional bonfire of old motorbikes, but honestly, it feels like the air itself has decided to retire. People are walking around in masks so thick they look like they’re prepping for a lunar mission, which might actually be a better idea given the current state of Earth’s atmosphere.

And then, because the whole thing is a logistical nightmare, they add more temporary stuff—extra trains, buses, terminals—to try and deal with the mess. It's like they’ve realized, "Oh, we’ve got a major issue here," and then just shoved a few more things into the mix to make sure it doesn’t all collapse into a giant pile of commuters.

So, yeah, it’s an absolute circus, but somehow, it all works. Kind of. Not perfectly, but enough to make you wonder how we manage to not completely wreck everything every year. Chunyun—it’s chaos, it’s madness, and it’s the sort of thing that makes you rethink your life choices while you’re stuck in a 13-hour traffic jam.

But here’s the thing: no matter how fancy the technology gets, chunyun still ends up being a glorious, ridiculous disaster. Tickets get overbooked, delays happen, and sometimes a freak accident turns the entire system into an episode of “What Could Possibly Go Wrong?”

Trying to coordinate chunyun is like trying to organize 100 massive music festivals at once, but instead of lightsticks every attendee is dragging three suitcases, the stages are moving in opposite directions, and the organizers are nowhere to be found.

It’s pure mayhem. It’s exhausting. And somehow, humans line up for it every single year, like moths to a very inconvenient flame.

3. the annual pain olympics

If chunyun is the ultimate test of humanity’s will to reunite, then it’s also a masterclass in suffering. It’s not just about traveling from Point A to Point B; it’s more like Point A is trying to kill you and Point B is laughing in the distance. Every step of the journey feels like life itself is pranking you—only it’s not funny, and you can’t quit.

And yet, millions of people willingly do this every single year. Why? Because at the end of it all—or maybe just at the end of the train aisle—there’s something waiting for them. Something magical. Something worth all the chaos. Home. Which is mostly like where you keep your Wi-Fi router but with added emotional baggage.

Let’s talk about the costs, though, because wow. Ever think Christmas airfare is expensive? Cute. That’s like baby’s first overpriced ticket compared to chunyun. These prices don’t just go up—they ascend majestically, like they’re trying to join the International Space Station. If ticket prices had a personality, they’d probably wear a monocle and sip champagne, looking down on us from their lofty financial pedestal.

This chart here—it’s got lines on it. The blue line is the “True Price,” and the red one is the “Average Daily Price.” Sounds boring, doesn’t it? But wait, because in February, something happens. The red line suddenly shoots up, like it’s trying to reach the moon.

Why? Lunar New Year, obviously. Everyone’s desperate to get home, and airlines respond by thinking, “Let’s charge them as much as we possibly can. They’ll pay it anyway.” And they’re absolutely fucking right.

But this chart? It doesn’t tell the whole story. Sure, it shows prices going up and down, but it doesn’t show what those prices mean. Because behind every spike in the graph is a person thinking, I will sell my kidney if it means I can get a ticket.

When seats are gone, people don’t just give up; they adapt. They buy standing-only tickets. Yes, that’s a thing—standing-only tickets, but on a train, or a bus. You can ride, but only if you suffer.

And suffer you will. Imagine being crammed into a sweaty train car with zero personal space. Personal space doesn’t exist here—it’s been replaced by someone’s armpit. There’s nowhere to sit, nowhere to lean, and occasionally, a smell wafts in that makes you wonder if the train is transporting livestock. You try to stay calm, but the train is shaking, you’re shaking, and by the end of it, your belief in humanity is shaken too.

Then there are the delays. Oh, the delays. If you’re lucky, your transportation of choice will only be late. If you’re unlucky, you’ll feel like you’ve aged a decade waiting for it. Picture hundreds of people standing on a freezing platform, silently questioning their life choices. It’s like a therapy session, except no one’s talking because they’ve lost the will to speak.

For most people, this isn’t optional. It’s not a fun holiday adventure; it’s a lifeline. For rural families, it’s often the one time of year when everyone gets together. Parents, kids, grandparents—this is their reunion.

So they endure the ticket prices, the discomfort, the delays, all for the chance to be with the people they love. If that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is.

It’s like the Walking Dead, but instead of brains, everyone’s after train tickets. Add a few crying babies, take away Norman Reedus, and that’s chunyun.

Scientists have even studied this madness. Apparently, peak-season travel is a “stress buffet.”3 Welcome to our restaurant, get a load of these overcrowded terminals, endless delays, and the joy of sleeping upright, crammed between uncles and grannies.

And if that doesn’t sound bad enough, disruptions during peak travel leave you emotionally fried. So basically, you start the journey stressed, and by the end, you’re a shell of a person.

So why do people do it? Why willingly throw themselves into this chaos? I think about this every time I’m squished into a corner, wondering if my legs will ever work again. And then I see it—the moment someone finally gets home. The hugs, the laughter, the food. It’s like none of the suffering even happened. For that brief moment, it’s all worth it.

It’s almost like Lunar New Year travel is a weird experiment to see how much humans will endure for love. And every year, people pass the test. Just barely. But they pass. Because at the end of it all, there’s family. And that, apparently, is worth everything—even standing in someone’s armpit for eight hours.

4. the emotional core

the underlying psychology of why we’re still doing this

Behind every train ticket and traffic jam is a human story. Research supports this human-driven phenomenon, especially when it comes to travel motivated by connection, duty, and love.

A 2013 study in the International Journal of Sociology4 highlights that over 300 million migrant workers in China undertake arduous journeys to reunite with their families during this festive period.

Despite the logistical challenges and physical toll, these workers are motivated by a deep sense of cultural obligation and emotional connection. This research underscores how the human drive to maintain familial bonds often outweighs practical considerations, demonstrating that travel is not merely a physical act but an emotional endeavor rooted in cultural obligations.

But what cultural obligations, specifically?

a. Confucian values

Traditions and cultural rituals are a big deal.

Confucian values. Filial piety, they call it, which is just a posh way of saying "family first, whether you’re into it or not." Yang and Lin talked about it in the Asian Journal of Social Psychology in 2015, proving that this isn’t just made up. It’s a thing.

Basically, Confucianism is all about respecting your parents and ancestors because, apparently, it’s not just a suggestion—it’s mandatory. So, you’re not just making Grandma happy; you’re fulfilling a moral obligation. No pressure, though.

Filial piety—also known as xiào, which sounds like a sneeze—is basically about honoring your family, especially your parents. It’s not just saying "thanks" or calling them once a week; it’s the whole "put them first" thing, even if it means taking long, miserable trips just to sit in their living room and hear about how you’re still not as successful as your cousin.

But it’s more than just that. Confucianism, which is like a really old self-help book but for entire societies, also goes on about social harmony. That means knowing where you stand in the family pecking order—like a chicken, but less fun—and doing what’s good for the whole group, even if it’s a pain in the bum for you.

So when people trek across countries for holidays or family dinners, they’re not just being nice—they’re following a rulebook that says, "Do it, because it’s expected, and also because your mum will guilt-trip you forever if you don’t."

This whole "family duty" thing is so deep-rooted in East and Southeast Asian cultures that people will spend loads of money and hours in traffic just to turn up for Lunar New Year or Tết. It’s all about respecting your elders and ancestors, which, when you think about it, is just a really elaborate way of saying, "We’re doing this because Grandma would haunt us otherwise."

b. mom’s guilt

Of course, no great pilgrimage is complete without the ancient and unstoppable force that is maternal guilt.

A 2018 study in the Journal of Family Psychology—because apparently, that’s where people go to learn about mums—found that maternal guilt is supercharged in cultures where family obligations are a big deal.5 Basically, in some parts of the world, guilt isn't just a feeling; it’s a lifestyle.

Take Tết, for example. That’s when kids suddenly remember their mothers exist and feel this crushing urge to endure hours of travel chaos just to show up.

Why? Because the alternative is being haunted by the ghost of "Why didn’t you come home?" for the rest of their lives. Forget inconvenient schedules or packed buses—nothing is scarier than the disappointed sigh of a mother who had been cooking all day.

Guilt—not love, not respect, but pure, uncut guilt—is one of the strongest motivators for people to suffer through overcrowded trains and traffic jams that make Dante’s Inferno look like a day spa. You could arrive looking like you’ve just crawled out of the ninth circle of hell after a 14-hour journey, and your mum will still open the door and say, “Why so late? Did you forget how to wake up early?”

But this isn’t just about tradition or identity or even showing up so Grandma doesn’t put a curse on you. No, this is about the ultimate truth of humanity: there is no force in the universe—neither gravity nor the Large Hadron Collider—that can overpower mum guilt.

Now, before you start blaming your mum for the endless cycle of guilt and long-distance bus rides, don’t. She’s not just guilt-tripping you for fun. She’s part of a larger system, a cultural framework, where everyone—mums, dads, kids, even that one weird uncle—has a role to play. It’s like a really complicated board game where no one reads the instructions but everyone still knows their moves.

In the end, it’s not just her expectations—don’t blame the mum because first, she doesn’t deserve to, and second, it’s everyone’s unspoken agreement to keep the tradition alive, and third, the feminists are gonna eat you alive.

And sure, it’s exhausting, but it’s what keeps the family, and society, from completely falling apart. So next time you’re stuck in traffic thinking about your mum’s disappointed face, remember: you’re not just enduring chaos; you’re preserving the cultural order. Sort of.

5. a changing tide

how everything is changing, but slowly

But does it have to be this way? Like, does this yearly stampede of humans really need to feel like a live-action reenactment of sardines cramming into a tin can? What if we made the whole thing less... well, miserable?

a. reverse travel

So, first, here’s a twist no one saw coming—during Chunyun, old people in China have started this thing called "reverse travel." According to China Daily, instead of waiting for their kids to come home, these elderly masterminds pack their bags and go to the cities where their children work.

It’s like they’ve collectively decided, “Why should we stay home cooking dumplings when we can crash on your futon and complain about city air instead?”

It’s brilliant, really. They avoid the rural travel chaos and get a front-row seat to their kids’ stressful urban lives. Plus, they bring homemade snacks, which is basically the best thing in the world. Reverse travel: it’s like regular travel, but with a side of parental guilt and a suitcase full of fermented tofu.

b. infrastructure

Also, infrastructure, because apparently, everything’s infrastructure these days. High-speed rail in places like China, Vietnam, and South Korea is already seen as the ultimate flex of modern engineering.

And yet, during the Lunar New Year, even these gleaming technological wonders are reduced to the equivalent of a clown car. The solution? More trains. More tracks. More clever engineering that can handle the “entire population of the country, all at once” situation. Imagine a world where trains come so often that you don’t even need to check the schedule. You just show up, board in peace, and don’t have to elbow someone out of your personal space. Revolutionary.

But trains alone won’t save us. Oh no. We’ll need an upgrade to the whole system—planes, buses, highways. The works. Like some kind of Marvel-style transportation team-up. The goal? To turn this migration from an annual Hunger Games audition into something that might, dare I say it, be enjoyable. You know, where you arrive at your destination looking like a person and not like you’ve just fought a bear in a suitcase.

Still, even if we somehow built a magical teleportation network tomorrow, you’d have the “induced demand phenomenon.” That’s the fancy way of saying: “If you build it, they will come... and they’ll still overcrowd it.” Humans, eh?

c. timing

So maybe we also need to rethink the when part of this chaos. What if people didn’t all travel at the exact same time? Like, imagine staggering holidays. Schools and workplaces could take turns, like a polite queue. It’d be like Lunar New Year, but spread out—less chaos, fewer train fights, and maybe even a chance to sit down. Radical.

And then there’s technology. Sure, we’ve got fancy apps now for booking tickets and tracking delays, but they’re not perfect. What if algorithms got so good they could predict who’s going where and when? Like some kind of psychic railway planner. You’d know exactly what train to get on, and it wouldn’t feel like playing Tetris with your luggage.

But let’s get existential for a second: what’s this migration really about? Is it the miles? The cramped trains? The questionable snacks? No. It’s about family. Tradition. Connection. It’s about sitting with your loved ones while your mum makes passive-aggressive comments about your life choices.

d. Zoom, Facetime, or Facebook calls

Still, younger generations are asking the big question: does family bonding really need to involve soul-crushing travel? Couldn’t we just, you know, adapt? Like, meet halfway? Or pick a new holiday destination?

And for those who can’t make the journey, there’s always tech. During the pandemic, we proved that virtual gatherings work—sort of. Platforms like Zoom and WeChat were like putting tradition in a blender and drinking it with a straw. Not ideal, but it did the job.

So, here’s the big picture: transforming the Lunar New Year migration isn’t just about making it easier. It’s about keeping its heart intact while cutting out the misery. Better trains, smarter schedules, and new traditions could turn this yearly circus into something that’s not just tolerable, but actually enjoyable. Crazy, right? But worth a shot.

Here’s the thing: no matter how fancy life gets with all its gadgets and apps, there’s one thing that technology just can’t beat—the strange, unavoidable gravitational pull of home. It’s like a black hole but with fewer stars and more awkward small talk.

Many, dare I say the majority of people still prioritize in-person reunions. Why? Because some things just can’t be done over Zoom.

Like hearing your mum tell you you’ve gained weight live and in HD. Or making dumplings with your cousins while gossiping about which relative’s marriage is on the rocks. Or walking into your childhood bedroom only to discover it’s been repurposed into a storage facility for broken exercise equipment. What is it with mums and turning your room into a cupboard the second you move out?

No matter how much the world modernizes, people still feel the need to go home. It’s like some sort of ancient homing beacon stuck in our DNA. No wonder every Vietnamese Lunar New Year song ever always contains the word: Về nhà (Come home).6

That’s the beacon that starts pinging: Go back. Sit in traffic. Eat too much. Repeat next year.

It’s a ritual. A stubborn, unshakable ritual. No matter how far you wander or how much you think you’ve moved on, home will always find a way to reel you back in. Sort of like a very clingy magnet, but one that nags you about when you’ll settle down.

conclusion

So here’s the thing about the Lunar New Year migration: it’s a total disaster. It’s hot, it’s sweaty, it’s overcrowded, and yet, somehow, it’s also weirdly beautiful—like a Jackson Pollock painting made out of train tickets and crushed dreams. It’s this bizarre mix of ancient tradition, modern chaos, and the sheer human determination to suffer through it all.

Every year, billions of people willingly sign up for this madness. They endure the price hikes, the exhaustion, and the kind of physical discomfort that really makes you question why seats on buses are so small. And why? Just to get home. This is impressive, considering most people don’t even want to walk to the kitchen half the time.

Think about it: the most overcrowded train stations in the world, and we just throw ourselves into them like we’re auditioning for some dystopian survival show. And somehow, all that pushing and sweating and standing for hours makes finally getting home feel like winning an Olympic medal—except instead of gold, your reward is your mum asking why you didn’t call more often.

If aliens were watching, they’d be baffled. They’d be like, “Why is this species cramming itself into tin cans on wheels just to be yelled at by their elders?” And honestly, they’d have a point. It’s like one of nature’s great migrations but without the elegance of geese flying in formation. Instead, it’s humans elbowing each other for space in an overheated train car.

So, here’s the real question: how’s your Tết journey shaping up? Was it a breezy ride, or more like a heroic quest involving delays, overpriced snacks, and maybe a fight over the last seat? Drop your stories in the comments—let’s share some war tales from the front lines of the chunyun chaos. Who needs a blockbuster movie when we’ve got this?

Read the original post, "billions travel home for new year, hoping to be asked why they’re single" for more detailed footnotes and direct interaction with the author.