I Travel to Learn
I travel alone to countries I have never been to.
I immerse myself in cultures unfamiliar to me and languages I am always trying to learn, not perfectly, but sincerely.
I don’t travel to be entertained. I don’t travel to consume a place. I travel to learn.
If you want to travel solo and actually immerse yourself, not skim just the surface; this is how I do it:
Be aware of your surroundings.
When I travel solo, I’m not out late. I don’t hit clubs or parties. This isn’t the early 2000s.
Yes—when I backpacked solo through Southeast Asia around 2002, I went to full moon parties, ate off the “happy menu,” drank, and stayed out until the wee hours of the morning.
I see the world differently now. And I also know that if I did today what I did then, I’d likely be dead. Awareness isn’t fear, it’s wisdom.
Bring a book and a journal.
Take pictures. Stay in touch. But other than that, put your phone away. Presence is the point.
Take notes. Write down what you see, hear, and smell. This is your story. This is your memory.
Write it as if you might forget it—because you will. Write it like it matters. Write it like it’s your legacy. To me, it is.
Research before you go.
Know what you want to see, but more importantly, know where you are going. History, customs, social norms; this is part of respectful travel.
Know how to dress, and dress accordingly.
Do you need to cover your shoulders? Your knees? Your hair?
If you are traveling to far-off lands and immersing yourself in cultures not your own, it is your responsibility to know how to respect them.
And as a woman: always travel with a scarf. It works as a shoulder covering, a hair covering, extra warmth when it gets chilly, wraps glass bottles (yes—bringing home mezcal), and adds a bit of padding if you’re carrying a shoulder bag. Practical. Respectful. Essential.
Remember: you are a guest.
I lived in Saudi Arabia for four years. I wore an abaya and covered my hair.
I followed their cultural rules because I lived there. Because I was a guest. Because respect matters.
Know there is no rush.
You will not get your bill quickly. Meals take time. Conversations unfold slowly.
Don’t rush yourself, and don’t rush them. Adapt to the rhythm of the place.
And if this is hard for you, I’m comfortable saying this: stick to resorts.
Because when you wave your bill in the air, snap your fingers, or sigh with distaste, you don’t look worldly or important, you look like an asshole.
Eat to immerse yourself.
Taste the food. Truly taste it. Sit with it. Food is language. Food is culture.
Stay out of tourist bubbles.
Walk neighborhoods. Eat where menus aren’t translated. Sit longer. Watch how people live.
Learn the language, even a little.
You don’t need fluency. You need effort. A few words open doors.
Don’t confuse freedom with disregard.
Travel isn’t about doing whatever you want wherever you are. It’s about adapting, observing, and honoring the place that is hosting you.
I travel to learn. Not to change them, but to change me.
Before you book the ticket, before you plan the itinerary, ask yourself: Why?
Because how you travel matters just as much as where you go.
My First Days in Oaxaca City
And this brings me to my first days in Oaxaca City.
I am biased, this girl loves Mexico. I love the people. I love the history. I love the language. I love the food.
I have dreamt about traveling to Oaxaca City for a long time, and after five days of solo travel, I can say this honestly: I may be even more in love than I imagined.
I chose not to leave the city. No day trips. No racing outward.
Instead, I meandered down every cobblestone road, through each barrio, letting the city reveal itself slowly. My goal was to leave knowing it, as much as a traveler can know a place. Because there is a difference between being a traveler and being a tourist.
I walked neighborhoods. I wandered into shops. I drank coffee slowly at cafés, cocktails at tucked-away bars, and tasted mezcal whenever the opportunity presented itself.
One night, I ate at a Michelin-starred restaurant and ordered far too many things from the menu. I didn’t finish everything, but I tasted as much as my belly could hold. Because food is language.
Food is how we communicate. Food is how culture is passed, preserved, and shared.
Oaxaca city does not ask to be rushed. It invites you to slow down, to wander, to taste, to listen.
Four days in, I wasn’t checking boxes. I was learning the city by walking it, sitting in it, eating it—allowing it to change me.
I will soon take a short flight to Puerto Escondido, where I meet up with people I do not know all that well, but who I have met traveling. People that have fed my soul, my heart, inspired me, and empowered me; people I want more of.
Because I know humanity exists with those who are willing to step outside the comfort of the daily grind’ when they can.
And yes, family, finances, jobs, and responsibilities matter. They shape what is possible and when, yet there is something shared among those who do go: a willingness to take a deep breath in the discomfort, in the unknown.
What is known is simple. The ticket is booked. The lodging is secured.
The rest?
That’s the story that unfolds.
Don’t miss out, my friends. It doesn’t have to be a two-month trek or even two weeks. It can be a long weekend; a small yes.
As I often say to my coworkers: What if we just dipped our toe into the unknown before saying no?
