Some people say they like traveling, but their idea of traveling is hopping in an Uber straight from the airport, lugging an overweight luggage to the bellboy, heading upstairs to an air-conditioned room with bright white sheets and folded towels and breathing in that consistent hotel smell that smells almost like a spa.
They plant themselves down in a chair by the pool and get served for seven days straight, protected by a colorful silicone wrist band with the two words all-inclusive etched into it. The sun shines, their brain can finally stop moving and their vacation starts.
There is no shame in these vacations, but we have to ask: Is that really traveling? No matter how exotic the destination, if you’re tucked behind a fence and a grassy hill, are your eyes actually open? Not to be mistaken, leisure travels of any capacity are luxuries, and if you have access to the luxury, you should spend it how you please.
But, I’ve seen both sides of the itinerary and can confidently say those all-inclusive, unlimited red 40 daiquiris and being treated like royalty for a week isn’t quite traveling. For me, traveling is about personal growth, escaping routine, understanding other parts of the world and different cultures, meeting new people and truly seeing the world.
Reporter and writer Eric Weiner, in a National Geographic article, states how “It is not natural for us to be this sedentary. Travel is in our genes.” At 21-years-old, I’ve been fortunate enough to visit over ten countries—most of them during a six-month study abroad program that forced me to see the world without a safety net.
In Barcelona, I found something that can be elusive back home: professors, neighbors and strangers shared meaningful words, stories, music, food and took me in as their own, things that can be rare in America. Sometimes I just thought of myself as lucky to have run into such incredible people over and over again throughout my travels; some may have been by chance, but eventually I realized it was a pattern: finding a world that is genuinely curious to meet you.
One night, after a day that felt too heavy to carry, I went looking for a taste of home. I plugged “best tacos near me” into my GPS and ended up at a spot called Tacos Altos. I stood there inconspicuously, rehearsing my order like a script: “Dos cerdo adobados y un pescado…” I slipped up.
The exhaustion of the day made my Spanish fail me. But instead of the impatience I might have expected, the worker just chuckled. “You had me convinced the whole time,” he said. “That was great.”
That small moment of grace opened the door. I sat down to eat alone, an act that used to terrify me but eventually became the catalyst for my greatest growth.
A woman from Nepal sat next to me, and our conversation shifted from Spanish to English to a deep, intellectual dive into maturity, relationships and the psychology of why people act the way they do. We turned our chairs toward each other, two strangers from opposite sides of the globe, sharing laughs over street food.
The night didn’t end there. I felt a pull to speak to two boys helping the clerk clean up. In broken Spanish, we bridged the gap between our lives. One worked with boats, the other with skateboards. We left the shop and walked until midnight, through hidden alleys and spots the guidebooks don’t mention.
What started as a “one-night extravaganza” turned into a brotherhood. I met their families, shared English-for-Spanish lessons and saw a version of Spain that no “all-inclusive” wristband could ever grant access to. On my final day in Barcelona, that same friend helped me pack my entire life into suitcases and stood at the airport until I became a blur behind TSA.
Without the willingness to get lost, to eat alone and to fail at a second language, I would have missed the most important lesson travel has to offer: We are the same, just in different regions.