In a highly competitive field, who is the most annoying traveller?

Hell is other people. So said Jean-Paul Sartre in his 1944 play, No Exit (Huis Clos). "Hell is other people" ("L'enfer, c'est les autres") is the play's most famous line, and readily translates into the world of travel.

Sartre was a clever bugger, so he was probably pointing to an aspect of the human condition that goes beyond wanting to kill the bloke crowding the luggage carousel after a 15-hour flight. Still, we have all used the phrase - or something more colourful - to describe the infuriating people who order an "expresso" in Cagliari, haggle over 15 cents in Kolkata or stick a selfie stick in a geisha's face in Kyoto.

Vexatious voyagers, trying tourists, supercilious sightseers and haughty holidaymakers can be encountered anywhere. Most of them look just like us, and before you know it, you're engaged in an inextricable conversation about how jet lag can be cured with Taoist meditation, a potion containing pulverised Bolivian megaloblatta cockroaches, or working harder and paying for business class.

The following are some of my favourite species of annoying travellers. For best effect, imagine a documentary narrated by David Attenborough.

The Pompous Poser (highus mightius) believes he (it's always a "he") is the natural alpha of any group. He asserts his dominance with loud vocalisations about where he has been, often ending his long-winded stories with "You see, I'm not a tourist. I'm an explorer." The Pompous Poser pretends to know several (always obscure) languages, has built a yurt in Uzbekistan and rapped with gorillas in Rwanda, all of which were, along with everything else he has done, life-changing. He is also a placename dropper and overpronounces them all. He begins dinner conversations with sentences such as "Has anyone else dined on cockles and cawl and tatws pum munud in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch?"

The Sunlounge Monopoliser (hogus selfimportantii) rises at dawn, spreads her magic towel and goes back to bed until lunchtime. Defying the laws of both physics and manchester, she can stretch a simple beach towel across four resort sunlounges. She will make occasional appearances throughout the day to rearrange her book and sunscreen, and to ensure no one has tampered with her towel. It is only after the sun has gone down that you discover she is travelling alone.

The Gate Louse (verminus terminus) is a subspecies of the phylum aviatori boganus, a broad classification that includes premature seat recliners, incessant talkers, armrest hogs, aisle blockers, seat bumpers and shoe removers. Highly territorial, Gate Lice swarm around airport boarding areas and will elbow business class ticket holders, babies and the disabled to hold their positions. Researchers believe they may be motivated by the lure of storage space and an inexplicable desire to spend an extra half-hour on a long-haul flight. Upon landing, the Gate Louse leaps to its feet and hauls five carry-on bags out of the overhead locker, ready to pounce when the door opens.

Small Children ('nuff said).