For writer Heather Greenwood Davis, travel is not about tallying up the places visited, but about the moments collected along the way.
My husband’s grin mirrors mine as our Zodiac closes in on Damoy Point, Antarctica. Twelve years after an around-the-world adventure took us to six continents, this cruise on the Viking Polaris has brought us to our seventh.
Another passenger had a flag made to commemorate their own continental achievement and, desperate to mark our arrival, we borrow it, unfurl it between us and smile even more broadly for two dozen photos. We share them everywhere, certain our excitment will be felt by the friends, families and followers who see it. It is only later that I realize ” Antarctica'” is misspelled, an ironic reminder of a moment when we focused on the wrong thing.
I’m not usually a country counter. It has always felt strange to me to consider an entire place as “done” after spending a few hours, days or weeks there.
That’s not to say that I don’t keep track. A map in our family room records our travels, with and without our two sons, with a rainbow of color-coded pins. Most were earned in 2011 and 2012 when we sold everything of value, packed up our then eight- and six-year-olds, and set out to explore the world. For 12 months we followed our interests without obligations or schedules, flying from Canada to Argentina and then on to Colombia, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Egypt, India and Jordan, among others. But when this trip comes up in conversation, the first question is often “How many countries?”
I get it. The number quickly conveys how far we traveled and how fast we moved. But until I tell you that my kids saw animals in the wild – such as elephants in Namibia, and pandas in China – and later led classroom discussions about the differences between zoos and sanctuaries, you don’t understand the ripple effect our journey had on people around us.
Until you know that our visit to China forced us to rethink everything (from how to board a bus to what a raised voice means), you won’t get how our understanding of “normal” and “other” shifted.
The numbers don’t tell you who we met, or what we learned. Because numbers never do. What matters is far more granular: The invitation to pick up a ping-pong paddle as you pass a midnight game in a Cairo alley, or the photos snapped with fast friends after a hotel water-polo match in Mombasa, Kenya.
Trips, near or far, are made up of countless moments: When things go right and wrong. When someone surprises you, and when you surprises yourself. Just checking destinations off a list discounts these.
Not everyone shares my opinion. For many people, travel is like a Pokémon quest, with a goal to “catch them all”. And while I’m genuinely thrilled to learn that someone was the first of their race, ethnicity, gender or sexual orientation to visit every country, it’s becaue I understand that for people who are often excluded from travel or left out of the narrative, those moments can be incredibly powerful. But we lose something when places and people get reduced to a number – or, in a flurry of excitment, a misspelled sign.
In case you’re wondering, my family and I hit 29 countries in our year of travel. But if we meet, I’d rather tell you the myriad moments that count for so much more.