Is travel about expanding boundaries and seeking out new experiences? Or is it about recognizing the familiar in new places and deepening an appreciation for the commonalities that bind us all together as one people? There’s no prescription, and those approaches need not be mutually exclusive.[1]
My most rewarding travels have been those that didn’t follow a strict playbook. A guide can be a useful stepping stone when visiting somewhere for the first time, but to only populate an itinerary with the latest five star trends leaves out so much of the bounty of life. And often leads to wading through crowds, jostling and shoving just to get that photo. The popular guidebook locations are popular for a reason (usually), but it’s all too easy to turn a trip into little more than a checklist.
Sometimes having an itinerary at all feels too restrictive. My last visit to Mongolia intentionally left space on the calendar as wide and open as the nation’s eastern steppes. Each day was come what may. Naturally there was an afternoon walking through Ulaanbaatar, past the Bökhiin Örgöö wrestling stadium, to the Emart in order to stock up on gifts for friends back home[2] and snacks for the road. But while the days spent walking through neighborhoods in the capital city were ideal for addressing physical hunger, the days out on Mongolia’s few intercity roads were best for sating metaphysical cravings.
Finding those open and uninhabited places that provide enough room physically and mentally to feel both apart from the stresses and pressures of daily life in a world run by the mad, but truly appreciate the connections that exist and know that looking up I see the same stars and galaxies, that each inhalation brings in the same atmosphere that wraps our world, as friends and loved ones at home and abroad. And that whenever we reunite, I know I’ll have something to bring back for them, whether souvenir or story. That awareness prevents any solo travels even in the most far flung locales from being lonely travels.