"Slow travel": Stay longer, learn more
When you're tired of trying to see everything in a week, pull over and drill down
“Where’s the interstate?” my dad used to ask impatiently when we were crawling along some congested U.S. highway through suburban sprawl or twisting along an endless two-lane road through cornfields that had become monotonous. For the most part, he did the driving and Mom did the navigating on family road trips. He liked to get somewhere he could relax with a cold beer. Mom and I were more open to scenery and local color.
There will always be the person who wants to climb down to the beach or stop at the farm market and the person who wants to get to the hotel as quickly as possible and maybe have a soak in the pool. And let’s face it, each of us has likely been both those people at different times in our lives or on different journeys. At some point, many of us have done the kind of trip where you move rapidly from one city or famous attraction to another so that the whole week is a highlight reel. If it’s Tuesday, this must be Belgium. I didn’t get good pictures of the Forbidden City because it rained that day.
You’re most likely to do that style of travel when you’re new to it and/or on a budget, but at some point, you begin to wonder: Do you really need to see all the museums, all the beaches, or all the ruins? Will anyone want to see the photos? Will you even remember where the hell you were?
The hot new trend in travel is Slow Travel, and about time, too. The idea is to stop trying to see everything, everywhere, all in a few days and, instead, pick a really interesting spot and just drop anchor. That doesn’t mean total immobility in a beach chair, but it means focusing—maybe exploring one city, pedaling up a stretch of coastline or throughout a wine region, or renting a picturesque little cottage in a place full of history or stunning views or ruins and having a different adventure locally every day.
I am a huge fan of this concept. But not for every trip, and I’ll tell you why.
Sometimes, you actually want the whirlwind overview—especially if there’s a country or a region that you think you might want to return to again and again. I find that the go-go grand tour is like going down a buffet table and taking just a spoonful of everything. It’s not nearly enough of some things, and it’s too much of others—but now you know. You can enjoy that exhausting dash if you think of it as a reconnaissance mission, educating you so that, the next time you shell out for that airfare or spend all day in the car or whatever to get there, you’ll go right to the good stuff—fill up a bowl with that amazing bouillabaisse without wasting any time on the soggy french fries.
The photo at top is from a glorious farmstay I enjoyed as part of a group wine-and-food tour of Portugal, and yes, the dog is a cheerful tripod. That trip was kind of the best of both travel speeds; we covered a fair amount of ground, but we lingered long enough in each place to experience local culture, explore on our own, and meet and speak with inhabitants. We traveled partly by chartered bus but also partly by train and public transit, which I always find fascinating and rewarding, as long as you keep your valuables secure.
I did a cycling tour of the Outer Banks many years ago, and although I didn’t enjoy it much, I can see why some people would love it. And walking—say, the Camino de Santiago in Spain—or biking the Great Allegheny Passage or similar is classic slow travel that puts you right at ground level, with plenty of time to engage with natives, wildlife, weather, sounds and smells of all kinds.
Speaking of smells, I have long been a fan of using public transit in cities. When you get around the way the people who live there do, you get a taste of what it would be like to be one of them. I love staying in one place for several days and finding a place to get my coffee in the morning, walking to a bus stop or subway station and passing my neighbors with their dogs and coffees, and getting off at my stop as though I do this every day and didn’t spend 10 minutes figuring out where to change and exactly how to pronounce my destination. I like to blend instead of being whisked from one tourist trap to another in a “coach” that might as well have CONTAINS TOURISTS written on the side.
For example, I read that it is customary in Wales, when getting off a city bus, to murmur “Thanks, drive.” (Drive being a nickname for driver.) I thought that was absolutely charming, but you can’t believe everything you read, of course, so when I got my ticket to ride a city bus from Cardiff center to Cardiff Bay, I sat near the front and listened carefully when people got off. It was true! And so, when I got to my stop, I did it, just as I’d heard others do it. As you can tell, it gave me a ridiculous amount of pleasure—pleasure I never would have gotten if I’d rented a car, which would have been terrifying.
The photo above is of the dining area in an utterly amazing hotel in Valladolid, Mexico, the Zenti’k boutique hotel, spa, and art gallery. I went to the Yucatán with a companion just before the pandemic, and I was the only one with time to plan and make the reservations—so we did it my way. We started in the beautiful city of Mérida, spent some beach time in Tulum, and then, because I wanted to sample the inland jungle vibe—it was my first trip to Mexico as an adult, so I did want to cover some ground and not just sit on a beach in Cancún—I poked around until I found this very intriguing hotel in the small city of Valladolid.
It was spectacular. We never actually explored the town (our ride in convinced my companion that it wasn’t worth our time, but I’m not at all sure about that) because the hotel was such a wonderland. It was jungle-themed (think Gilligan’s Island with jaw-dropping paintings scattered about), luxurious, and perched atop a large natural cave filled with hot mineral water. So, like Iceland’s Blue Lagoon, except underground and with no blond lifeguards.
I had read that driving could be dangerous, so we got around on that trip via the intercity buses that locals use. They were convenient, comfortable, easy to navigate, and inexpensive. Vendors came on at the stops and sold refreshments, the buses were air-conditioned and had restrooms, and where else could I have seen a French romantic farce with Spanish subtitles? (I kid you not: From Mérida to Tulum, there was a movie.)
When you’re young and broke, you have to travel slow because you can’t afford to do it any other way. You take trains and buses and ferryboats, you bike or hike or walk, you lose your wallet or your girlfriend or your bed at the hostel, you sleep outside or on a floor or in a car. And you remember it forever. Age and means bring with them the temptation to do so much more, so much faster, and anyway you have to be back at work on Monday. The pandemic changed a lot of that. Maybe you can be a digital nomad. Maybe you can live somewhere else for a year and work remotely. Or maybe you can just book yourself a whole week someplace wonderful and listen to unfamiliar birds. Be. Here. Now.
Did I mention the giant subterranean hot tub? I’m so going back for more.