why i travel

On my last afternoon in Prague, I walked up Petrin Hill to look out over the red roofs and gold-topped spires of the city aglow in the light of waning sun. As I made my way to the top, I found the views I was searching for and so much more:

It’s amazing how easily you can find calm spaces in crowded summertime Prague. Aside from the Charles Bridge area, it was much quieter on the other side of River Vltava. Just a little way up Petrin Hill I found even more serenity.

Pears and view.

The path less traveled.

Down below, the crowded Charles Bridge.

Broken ornaments decorated the outside of the fantastical Reon Argondian Gallery.

Through some iron gates I came across this garden where a woman was painting the scene.

This garden was pure joy.

 As if the first garden wasn’t amazing enough, around the corner I found another garden full of vibrant roses.

More fantastic views of Prague.

A nice spot for music making.

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A couple weeks ago, a Facebook friend posed a question about whether she should do a multiple day hike to get to Machu Picchu or take the train to save time. Before I expanded the list of comments, I already knew what to expect based on my own experience with making that decision. My thoughts were correct. The majority of the responses could be summarized like this: “Do the trek so you can leave Peru with no regrets!”

I chimed in as the only person who overtly spoke positively about taking the train, which is how I got to Machu Picchu. It was a great experience for me. I had a fantastic travel buddy for the train ride and exploring Machu Picchu, I got back to Cusco in time to celebrate Peruvian Independence Day, and I followed through on my overall goal which was to spend the larger portion of the trip in Bolivia exploring remote corners of a remote country. I never look back and say, “Man, I wish I’d done the trek to Machu Picchu!” It simply was never important to me. It may be many people’s dream, but it’s not mine.

I think real honest enthusiasm from travelers who hiked the Inca trail sparked the trek-to-Machu Picchu fervor. But the “must do!” hype around it speaks to a larger theme of urgent, consumption-oriented travel. In the end, is it really worth it to obsessively tick off boxes and fixate on one particular popular experience when there are many equally fulfilling alternatives to that?

I certainly have succumbed to this kind of travel. I’ve rushed through places, trying to see as much as was humanly possible in a short period of time, driven by a well-intentioned mentality that life is short and I may never return to those places again. I still value the idea of making the most of your time in a place, but the numbers game doesn’t seem as important as it used to. While I love the experience of seeing so many different things, I’ve found that rushing through the world and ticking off boxes can limit what you truly see in the long run.

Of course, there are exceptions. Sometimes I am in some exceptionally unique far away place for a specific reason (for example, visiting my mom in Namibia over the holidays or going to India for a wedding) and squeeze more into a limited time than I’d like.  But for trips that I come up with, I’ve begun to plan for longer amounts of time in fewer places.

I didn’t expect to encounter so many people who think that is a terrible idea. I often feel like I have to justify my decisions to spend a long time in one spot, return to place I’ve already visited, or to not do a “must-do” experience.

I met a group of guys from Ensenada when I first returned to Oaxaca last summer. They’d stayed in the city for a couple days and then left for more adventures around the state. They came back to Oaxaca city the day before I left to go back to Mexico City. When I saw them again, the first thing one of them said to me was, “Wow, you’re still  here?!”

“Yes,” I replied. “But I’m leaving tomorrow!” As soon as I added that second part, I knew it wasn’t necessary. Sure, I’d missed out on plenty of potential opportunities in Mexico and elsewhere by revisiting the small city of Oaxaca for the second summer in a row. But I left knowing the city even better, having seen nearby places I hadn’t been to on my first visit, and knowing that my passion for it wasn’t a fluke — it’s one of my favorite places in the world.

Sure, I missed a great challenge and amazing scenery by not trekking to Machu Picchu. But in Bolivia, I encountered unexpected challenges in stunning places over and over. I trekked through a swamp in the Amazon, through an ancient fern forest to the top of a mountain, across an island in one of the highest lakes in the world and hardly encountered foreigners other than the ones I was with. I wouldn’t trade any of these experiences for the trek to Machu Picchu.

Life is short and the world can seem overwhelmingly huge for an adventurous spirit. But one of travel’s greatest lessons to embrace is how small you are in comparison to the world. You may not be able to see everything, but you can make the most of what you do see — and making the most of a place is subject to the traveler’s own ideas, not some list created by someone else.

In this world of limitless potential experiences, find out what you really want to explore and do that as much as you can. And remember that regretting what you could not do or didn’t have the time for on your travels is a choice. There is always another option: gratitude for what you did experience.

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That night, the air was thick with celebration and imminent rain. It was clear that the festive atmosphere would stand its ground despite the upcoming storm.

Earlier that evening, Mexico had won the Under 17 World Cup Games that the country had been hosting that summer. In the final moments of the last match, the classy Coyoacan restaurant bar we were watching it at momentarily transformed into a rowdy sports bar. Some of the men climbed onto the bar counter, tore off their shirts, and swung them around in joy. It certainly could not compare to an official World Cup win, but it was kind of like a celebration of the future’s potential.

And our little group, most of us Mexico-philes, were keen to participate. When the game crowd died down, we moved toward the Coyoacan neighborhood center, where streets that were lined with vendors and full of residents led to the central plazas. There, you could find practically any unhealthy night time snack you were looking for, and we went for the churros.

When the rain came, we followed the sounds of cumbia to a tent where a live band was performing. Under the tent was a gathering of all ages and genres, unified by the love of a country’s timeless songs.

When the band played this song, everyone got up to dance. The teenage hippie couple with poorly made dreadlocks danced. A drunk guy with bare feet, a shirt with the sleeves cut off, and dirty cut off jeans danced. Other people danced in a circle around him, clapping to the rhythm. The group of twenty-something hipsters dance. A family of three danced in a trio, the father taking turns spinning his wife and then his daughter.

And then the band moved on to a ballad. The pace slowed down, but the liveliness remained.  A small old man near the stage wearing a shiny gold shirt and a white cowboy hat pulled off his flashy outfit as he moved gracefully to the song with his partner. As another older couple danced, the husband reinforced the romantic lyrics by singing them emphatically to his wife. The two adults in the family of three decided to dance to this song as a duet. The little girl didn’t seem to mind being on her own for a bit. She twirled around the dance floor like a ballerina.

That rainy night, that tent housed a supreme kind of beauty. You could see it in the passion for the music and the dances that go with them. You could find it in the tolerance of the quirkiness and self-expression of members of the community and beyond. And most of all, there was beauty in the love, the palpable and all-encompassing love.

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