Over time, people have managed to transform almost everything into the opposite of what was natural. Food has become more of a pleasure than sustenance. Work has transformed into a goal in itself. Movement – into a competitive sport, either with others or with oneself. Language – into a tool through which some discredit others, even though they understand each other perfectly.

Travel has not escaped this transformation either

Often, tourism has become an artificial experience, where the authenticity of the place is masked by a setting designed to sell. A curtain of shows, souvenirs, and “traditions” that have been beautified, all with one simple goal: to take money from the visitor’s pocket.

An example that comes to mind

When I arrived at the Eiffel Tower. I remember dreaming of it when I was a child. But as soon as I got there, I realized that what I had imagined was no longer anything but an illusion: a place invaded by street vendors trying to get a few coins from your pocket with cheap souvenirs.

Tourism – a simulacrum of culture?

Tourists were quickly taking pictures and leaving, and I couldn’t help but think of the times when I was walking through forests or discovering a new beach, in the tranquility of an unknown place. There, in nature, there were no hurried tourists or street vendors. Everything was authentic, full of life. Every time I returned to such a place, I felt that every moment was unique, that nature always gives you something new, and you don’t rush to check off a place from a list.

But what does it really mean to travel?

Maybe it means being curious. Wanting to know a place as it is, in its daily rhythm. Talking to the locals, not the hotel staff. Living for a few days like them, among them, not as a consumer of “exotic” sensations.

Often, tourists spend an entire year working for a few days of “relaxation.” But what really happens? They come back more tired, more frustrated, emptier. Just so they can say, “I was there.” But where? In a touristy setting? In a simulacrum of culture?

Modern tourism

Modern tourism seems like a collective race toward a destination where everyone arrives, but few are truly there. You don’t have to walk too far to notice: people arrive at beautiful places, but they don’t look around. They look at screens. Their steps are not guided by curiosity, but by algorithms. “What you must see,” “the best places to photograph,” “the 5 things to check off in 3 days.”

In the end, we are no longer exploring places. We are exploring content. And, in the meantime, the places remain empty of meaning but full of tourists.

True travel isn’t about the photos

True travel isn’t about the photos you take, but about how you feel when you sit on a bench at the edge of a village. When you eat what the locals eat, at their prices. When you exchange a simple word with an old man on the street or with a fish vendor at the harbor. When you listen to the silence of a morning with no schedule.

When you return from such a journey

When you return from such a journey – not from a “touristy” one, but from a sincere wandering through quiet, unrefined places – something changes within you. It’s not easy to explain. It’s a stillness that remains. Sometimes, you feel it as heavy, dense water settling in your chest, and it doesn’t leave. Other times, it’s just a vague memory of an authentic presence. Yours.

But in the city, the noise begins to gnaw. Not necessarily the traffic or the crowds, but the subtle, constant noise: obligations, expectations, notifications, conventions, the many faces you have to wear. There, in the wild, you don’t need a mask. No one applauds you. No one judges you. And, strangely enough, you don’t care.

That’s the big difference

It’s not just that you see the world differently, but that you see yourself differently. And this, if you’re attentive, becomes a turning point. You no longer want vacations – you want freedom. You no longer seek fun – but truth. You no longer ask, “What are we doing today?” – but “How do I feel right now?”

And the hardest part isn’t leaving, but staying awake after you return. Not letting yourself be pulled back into the orbit of automatism. Not forgetting who you were there. Because maybe, there, you were closest to who you really are.

It’s a simple question, but it scratches: What do you really want a journey to bring you?

The honest answer has nothing to do with the number of places ticked off, the photos posted, or the invisible trophies of the adventure. It’s about how you feel when you’re alone with yourself, far from the familiar setting. It’s about what you choose to carry with you and, more importantly, what you choose to leave behind.

Those who have truly felt the joy of walking, the quiet cycling, or the frugal living know that sometimes, what you discover isn’t in front of you, but inside of you. Places become mirrors. The people you meet – echoes. And each step on an unknown path can actually be a step back to what you’ve forgotten.

We live in a world that sells you everything

We live in a world that sells you everything, including the idea of adventure. But real adventure can’t be bought. It’s not comfortable. It’s not planned by days and hours. Sometimes it’s chaotic, other times painfully simple. But it’s alive. And you’re alive in it.

That’s what I want to promote. Not consumer tourism, but the journey of rediscovery. Not fleeing reality, but returning to it. With slower steps. With eyes wider open. With your heart closer to the earth.

It might sound idealistic what I’m saying. It might even be hard to put into practice for someone used to the pace of classic tourism. But I’ve come here not from theory, but from my own attempts. Years of exploration in which I’ve discovered, step by step, how much it matters how you travel, not where. And that, sometimes, the most revealing journeys are made in places nearby – if you look at them with fresh eyes and a different kind of presence.