Travel doesn’t just show you the world — it shows you what kind of visitor you want to be?
I came home from my recent Europe trip with thousands of photos and one uncomfortable realisation: I’d spent most of my holiday on a bus.
From Croatia to Spain, we rolled from one “must-see” destination to the next. It was efficient, impressive, and utterly exhausting. But somewhere between the photo stops and hotel check-ins, I began to feel that I’d been short-changed, not by the tour company, but by the very idea of what travel has become.
I had become part of the problem: one more person in an endless stream of buses emptying out into beautiful, fragile places already straining under the weight of tourism. We arrived, admired, spent (or didn’t), and moved on. It was fast. It was convenient. And when I got home, it was all a blur.
I could hardly remember which cathedral was in which city, or when exactly we passed over the bridge where the vista took your breath away. Thank goodness for the photos, they’re the only thing that separate one destination from another.
On our tour of Portugal and Spain, our tour director spoke almost continuously on the microphone while we travelled, following the company’s expectation that we were all there to learn. It’s a demanding job, keeping a busload of weary travellers informed and engaged. Sadly, most of what’s said probably goes in one ear and out the other, not through any fault of theirs, but because it’s hard to absorb so much on the move.
It can be done differently. On the first night of our Balkans tour, for example, we met a local history professor who gave a short, engaging talk about the forces that have shaped the region. What made it special was that he stayed for dinner, moving from table to table so everyone could talk with him. It turned a lecture into a conversation, something thoughtful and human. I found myself missing that kind of connection later in the trip.
In Spain, each day seemed to unfold with glowing accounts of Ferdinand and Isabella, the “Catholic Monarchs” who united the country and sponsored Columbus. But history, told from a tour bus, often wears rose-coloured glasses. The same monarchs also expelled Jews and Muslims, set up the Inquisition, and oversaw immense suffering. Yet that part of the story was neatly left out.
And then there were the moments I wish I could forget. One morning on our way to Ronda, our tour director gave an extended talk on bullfighting, explaining its origins, the pageantry, and the way matadors are admired as national heroes. What began as cultural context soon became a step-by-step description of how the bull is killed. It was told in the same calm, educational tone as everything else, and I remember sitting there thinking how much I wished I didn’t have to hear it.
It did more than make my stomach turn. It made me think about cruelty, about how violence can be normalised and even celebrated when it’s wrapped in tradition. I couldn’t help but draw a line between the reverence for bullfighting and the history of Ferdinand and Isabella, whose own rule was marked by persecution and suffering. Cruelty to humans and cruelty to animals have always shared the same roots, and I did not need to hear that detailed account to be reminded of it.
My own research of Ronda told me that whilst Ronda is often called the birthplace of modern bullfighting, its more symbolic than literal. The town’s historic bullring, one of the oldest in Spain, is now mainly a museum. Few fights are held there anymore, and visitors go more to admire the architecture than the blood sport it once housed. Still, knowing that this practice is so deeply woven into Spain’s story made me reflect on how culture and cruelty can sometimes sit uncomfortably side by side.
Some of the best moments came elsewhere, over shared meals and at the bar in the evenings. That’s when I got to know my travelling companions, when stories came out, laughter flowed, and I stopped feeling like a solo traveller. Those small acts of inclusion reminded me that connection, not consumption, is what makes travel meaningful.
I went for the scenery and came home thinking about the conversations.
Perhaps it’s time for tour companies to think more carefully about the stories they choose to celebrate. The world is changing, and travellers are changing with it. We can no longer look away from what makes us uneasy simply because it doesn’t touch us directly. Travel can open our eyes to beauty, but it can also remind us of our shared responsibility. We can all be part of the change we want to see in the world, and travel can help us decide how to begin.
Travel taught me that connection outlasts any postcard.
And then there were the moments that humbled me. Madrid Airport was one of them. It was my first stop on the flight home, and I was tired and fragile, counting the hours until I reached Singapore and the comfort of friends.
If you’ve never flown out of Madrid, there’s one thing you should know: after you check in, you still have to catch a train to reach the departure lounges. It’s not a short walk, it’s another leg of the journey. By the time I found my way through the maze of signs ( as far as I could see there were NO signs to the train) and corridors, I was close to tears. When I finally reached the train station, I was so relieved that I jumped straight onto the first train that arrived.
It was only then that I realised I had no idea where it was going. I called out, “Is there anyone on this train who speaks English?” A man standing beside me turned and said, in a very proper voice, “Of course there is.”
I showed him my ticket, fumbling to find the right line, feeling my face go red. He assured me I was on the right train, then added, loud enough for half the carriage to hear,
“Well, it’s a wonder a dumb blonde like you could even manage to buy a ticket.”
It was mortifying at the time, but now it makes me laugh. It was one of those perfectly human moments that remind you that travel isn’t about control, it’s about surrender.
That’s the paradox of modern travel. The more we try to see, the less we often feel. We risk turning other people’s homes, cultures, and histories into a backdrop for our own itineraries.
After weeks in Europe, it was Singapore that left the deepest impression. It’s a city that quite literally stands out from the crowd, brilliantly designed, proudly green, and astonishingly well-run. Even the airport feels like an act of civic pride. You can’t help but wonder why every country doesn’t strive for that same level of thoughtfulness and care.
Coming home, I thought about my own little town, a place that also welcomes visitors, and one that I love too much to see overwhelmed.
Travel made me realise how delicate that balance is, and how important it is to get it right.
Because tourism done well brings life and beauty to a place. Done carelessly, it can take both away.
Travel should not only fill our cameras. It should open our hearts.
#MindfulTravel #ResponsibleTourism #TravelReflections #CulturalAwareness #OverTourism #TravelStories #SlowTravel #LearningThroughTravel #SeeTheWorldDifferently #TravelWithHeart