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The Art of Slow Travel
C1 📝 Blog · 481 words · about 3 min
A travel blogger explains why she stopped rushing between sights and what she gained from staying longer in fewer places.
Three years ago I returned from a two-week trip through six countries with nearly nine hundred photographs and almost no memories. I could recall the inside of airports, the cost of overpriced coffee, and a vague feeling of being permanently late. What I could not recall was a single conversation. That was the moment I decided to change how I travel.
Three years ago I returned from a two-week trip through six countries with nearly nine hundred photographs and almost no memories. I could recall the inside of airports, the cost of overpriced coffee, and a vague feeling of being permanently late. What I could not recall was a single conversation. That was the moment I decided to change how I travel.
Slow travel, as the name suggests, is not about moving less quickly for its own sake. It is a way of thinking that values depth over quantity. Instead of ticking off famous landmarks, you choose one region, stay for a longer period, and allow yourself to get to know it. The difference is hard to appreciate until you have tried it.
Slow travel, as the name suggests, is not about moving less quickly for its own sake. It is a way of thinking that values depth over quantity. Instead of ticking off famous landmarks, you choose one region, stay for a longer period, and allow yourself to get to know it. The difference is hard to appreciate until you have tried it.
Last spring I spent a month in a small town in northern Portugal. On the first day I did what everyone does: I walked around with a map, searching for something impressive. By the end of the first week I had stopped looking. I discovered the bakery that sells warm custard tarts at seven in the morning, the old man who plays chess in the square every afternoon, and the shortcut through the olive groves that no guidebook mentions. None of these things is spectacular, yet together they made me feel like a temporary resident rather than a visitor.
Last spring I spent a month in a small town in northern Portugal. On the first day I did what everyone does: I walked around with a map, searching for something impressive. By the end of the first week I had stopped looking. I discovered the bakery that sells warm custard tarts at seven in the morning, the old man who plays chess in the square every afternoon, and the shortcut through the olive groves that no guidebook mentions. None of these things is spectacular, yet together they made me feel like a temporary resident rather than a visitor.
There are practical advantages too. Staying longer is often cheaper, since monthly rents are far lower than nightly hotel prices, and you spend less on transport. You also become more flexible. If it rains for three days, nothing is ruined, because you have time to wait. Moreover, it is considerably better for the environment, as fewer flights and train changes mean a smaller footprint.
There are practical advantages too. Staying longer is often cheaper, since monthly rents are far lower than nightly hotel prices, and you spend less on transport. You also become more flexible. If it rains for three days, nothing is ruined, because you have time to wait. Moreover, it is considerably better for the environment, as fewer flights and train changes mean a smaller footprint.
Of course, this approach is not for everybody, and I do not wish to sound superior. Some people have only a week of holiday, and a busy itinerary may be the only way to see what they have always dreamed of. My advice for them is simple: choose fewer places than you think you need. Even a week in one city, without a rigid plan, can feel generous.
Of course, this approach is not for everybody, and I do not wish to sound superior. Some people have only a week of holiday, and a busy itinerary may be the only way to see what they have always dreamed of. My advice for them is simple: choose fewer places than you think you need. Even a week in one city, without a rigid plan, can feel generous.
If you would like to experiment, here are the habits that have helped me most. Learn twenty phrases in the local language, however badly you pronounce them. Shop at the same market several times so that the sellers begin to recognise you. Leave one day completely empty, and resist the urge to fill it. Finally, put your phone away at mealtimes. It is astonishing how much you notice when your attention is not divided.
If you would like to experiment, here are the habits that have helped me most. Learn twenty phrases in the local language, however badly you pronounce them. Shop at the same market several times so that the sellers begin to recognise you. Leave one day completely empty, and resist the urge to fill it. Finally, put your phone away at mealtimes. It is astonishing how much you notice when your attention is not divided.
I still take photographs, but far fewer, and I remember every one of them. These days, when people ask me how many countries I have visited, I find the question slightly beside the point. I would rather be asked which place changed me, and why. That, in the end, is what travel is for.
I still take photographs, but far fewer, and I remember every one of them. These days, when people ask me how many countries I have visited, I find the question slightly beside the point. I would rather be asked which place changed me, and why. That, in the end, is what travel is for.