How My Relationship With Travel Has Changed

Someone asked me recently how my perception of travel has changed over the years. What makes it special now. And what I do differently to make trips feel unique.

It stopped me for a minute. Not because I didn’t have answers, but because I hadn’t ever really pulled them all together. So this is me thinking out loud, probably the same way I answered them.

When I first started traveling internationally, I was in my early 20s and often traveling solo. Early on, I gravitated toward what I’d call easier travel. Same language. Similar culture. Places where I could focus on learning how to travel instead of figuring out everything at once. England was a big one, and I went back multiple times. Australia and New Zealand came soon after.

Looking back, those trips weren’t about playing it safe. They were about confidence. I was learning how to navigate cities, get around on my own, read people, find food, and trust that I could figure things out as I went. That mattered, especially since I grew up on an island and didn’t exactly have a lifetime of big-city navigation under my belt.

Somewhere around 2001 to 2003, something shifted. I didn’t suddenly start thinking in terms of easy versus hard destinations. It was more about realizing how much more of the world there was to see. Greece was one of the early steps outside my comfort zone. Different alphabet. Different language. A lot more sensory overload. I spent my first couple of days there on my own before meeting up with a group, and while it was a shock, it wasn’t scary. Just busy, unfamiliar, and intense in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

Thailand a few years later felt similar. I spent a few days alone in Bangkok before heading north to Chiang Mai for a group hiking trip. It was challenging at times, but also fascinating. I was uncomfortable in small ways, and that was okay. I was learning that discomfort and curiosity could exist at the same time.

As the years went on, I noticed another shift. Big sights and landscapes didn’t hit me the same way anymore. That sounds terrible when written down, but it’s not meant negatively. France in 2017 is a good example. It was beautiful. We had a great time driving around the country. The towns were charming and the food was incredible. But the landscapes themselves weren’t new to me.

I don’t feel sad about that change. It’s more of a recognition. I’ve seen a lot, and because of that, I have to be more intentional about finding what will feel different. I actually enjoy that challenge. And honestly, how lucky am I to even be able to say that?

What’s changed more than anything is pacing. When something feels familiar, I still appreciate it, but I don’t linger as long or take as many photos as I might have years ago. It’s more “wow, that’s beautiful” and then moving on. When scenery doesn’t surprise me, people and food often take center stage. France didn’t surprise me visually, but the meals alone were reason enough to keep exploring.

Over time, standout moments have become more important than trying to see everything. Indonesia in 2016 is a perfect example. We spent several days on a klotok, a small wooden boat, traveling up and down a river in a national park. It was just the two of us and a four-person crew: a captain, a cook, a guide, and an assistant. At night, we would pull up to a tree and tether the boat. The crew slept outside on the top deck while we listened to the sounds of the jungle.

During the day, we visited orangutan feeding stations. The orangutans were incredible. So many personalities. So many expressions. Everything about that experience felt immersive. I know my 25-year-old self would have loved it, but probably only for a day or two. Back then, I would have wanted to move on quickly to the next big thing. Now, I can’t imagine wanting to rush through something like that.

Peru offered a very different kind of standout moment. We spent an afternoon in a small village of about 200 people, just hanging out. It was Sunday, so they played music over the village speaker system, something they only did once a week. Kids played soccer. We visited a couple of homes and bought some crafts. They only had electricity via a generator on Sundays, yet those were some of the happiest kids I’ve ever seen.

That afternoon really stayed with me. It challenged my very American assumptions about success and happiness. Big houses, fancy cars, constant convenience. None of that was present, and yet the joy was obvious. It was a perspective shift I didn’t expect and didn’t forget.

Some standout moments are pure awe. Seeing rhinos in South Africa in 2019 was one of them. We saw so many, and it never got old. The Falklands, the Drake Passage, and the Beagle Channel fall into that category too. I went in with very high expectations, and somehow they still exceeded them.

Other moments surprise you in quieter ways. Valparaíso and its street art. Small conversations. Little scenes you don’t realize are special until much later.

One of the biggest changes in how we travel now is our focus on local guides. Morocco in 2015 completely changed how I think about what’s possible. We had the same guide for multiple days, and the experience felt deeply personal. At one point, while driving, he casually asked if we wanted to see a real Berber camp. We turned off the road and visited a family. It was spontaneous and unforgettable.

Having the same guide over several days means deeper stories and better context. You’re not hearing the same background information over and over. In Panama, we used the same guide for multiple day tours, and he turned out to be a biologist working on evaluating the impact of the Panama Canal expansion on local wildlife. That kind of insight just doesn’t happen on large group tours.

At its core, travel is still about discovery for me. I love new places, new cultures, and learning how other people live. Curiosity is a huge driver, and so is memory-making. I still do a lot of research ahead of trips because that’s part of the fun. A successful trip hasn’t really changed in definition. It’s about whether I enjoyed it, whether I can share memories from it, and whether I’d want to go back. In most cases, the answer is yes, even though I usually resist because there’s still so much I haven’t seen.

What “special” means now is simple. Different. Something new to me. Sometimes that’s a remote place. Sometimes it’s something small, like chatting briefly with a seven-year-old riding a quad bike in the Falklands.

Travel hasn’t changed how I see home, but it has deepened my appreciation for it. I know how lucky I am to live where I do, to have a home, and to have the freedom to keep exploring.

My travel style will keep evolving. It already has. In my 20s, I was doing multi-day hikes and bungy jumping. Now I’m more about comfort, a slower pace, and the occasional afternoon nap, especially if someone else is cooking. Ask me again in 20 years and I’m sure it will look different again. And that’s okay.

If I had one piece of advice for someone starting out, it would be to get creative. Don’t stop at the standard tour options. Think about what will make a place meaningful to you. For me, that’s what keeps travel exciting. Not chasing novelty for its own sake, but staying open to moments that surprise me and remind me why I keep going.

And hopefully, I get to keep doing just that for a long time.