Conscious Travel: 10 Lessons That Changed the Way I See the World

Not all travel memories are beautiful. Some teach humility.

I’m not writing this to shame anyone. I’m writing because I once did these things myself – out of curiosity, ignorance, and a desire to explore the world.

Today I know that conscious travel begins with asking questions.

With the courage to examine our own choices and understand how they affect the places, people, and animals we encounter along the way.

If you’re also seeking travel with soul – the kind where you return not just with beautiful photos, but with peace in your heart – perhaps you’ll find something here for yourself.

When travel stops being just an adventure

When I started traveling, I wanted to see as much as possible, feel “authentic culture,” experience something I’d remember for life. I had a list of places to check off, photos to take, experiences to collect.

I didn’t always ask myself: What’s behind this? Who gains from this, and who loses? Are these really my choices, or just well-worn paths of travel expectations?

Over time, I started noticing more. Seeing what I’d previously overlooked. Hearing what enthusiasm had previously drowned out. Feeling the weight of choices I’d previously made lightly.

Today I know that travel can be not only beautiful, but also mindful. That you can go somewhere and leave behind something more than footprints in the sand.

That the most important memories aren’t the ones on Instagram, but the ones that let us look in the mirror and say: “I did that right.”

This isn’t a text about a perfect traveler who does everything flawlessly. It’s a story about a journey. About learning. About how every mistake can be the beginning of something better.

1. Elephant riding in Thailand – beautiful picture, cruel truth

I was in my twenties. It was my first time in Chiang Mai and everywhere I saw ads: “Elephant trekking – authentic Thai experience!”

With colorful posters showing smiling tourists sitting high on an elephant’s back.

I went. I paid. I climbed on.

I sat on a wooden saddle tied to the back of a huge animal, looked down at the jungle, felt the power and majesty of this creature. For a moment, it seemed like a magical experience.

But something inside me grated. The elephant walked slowly, mechanically, as if doing this for the hundredth time that day.

The mahout sat on its neck, holding a hooked metal object. The animal didn’t look happy. It looked tired.

I didn’t know then what phajaan was – the brutal ritual of breaking elephants’ spirits that begins when they’re still young.

I didn’t know that “training” involves pain, fear, and complete submission. That these elephants would never choose to carry people on their backs if they had a choice.

Today I know. And I wouldn’t ride again. Neither would my conscience.

If you want to see elephants in Thailand, choose a sanctuary where you can observe, feed, and bathe them – but not ride them. A place where elephants live in herds, not in chains.

That experience will be far more memorable because it won’t be burdened with suffering.

2. Visiting a “traditional” hill tribe village – a living museum without life

“Long Neck Village” – that’s what the tour I bought in Thailand was called. It was supposed to be a cultural encounter, with Karen tribes, with tradition lasting centuries.

In practice – it resembled a living museum.

Women in decorative neck rings sitting in rows by souvenir stalls.

Tourists with cameras mechanically moving from one to another, taking photos and moving on. Zero conversation, zero reciprocity, zero authenticity.

I felt uncomfortable. I looked at these women and saw weariness in their eyes. They weren’t sitting there because they wanted to. They sat because it was their “job.” Because tourists paid for the right to photograph their “exotic” appearance.

Was it really about learning about their lives? Or rather about a photo for the album, a story to tell friends?

Today I choose relationship – not decoration.

If you want to experience local culture, look for places where you can talk, not just look.

Craft workshops, small family restaurants, walks with local guides who come from the community themselves and can tell their own story.

These are encounters that leave something behind. And that don’t turn people into attractions.

3. Dolphin boat tour at sunrise in Bali – chase instead of observation

It was beautiful. Magical. Sunrise painted the sky orange and pink, the sea was calm, the boat rocked gently on the waves.

And suddenly – dolphins.

The boat captain shouted: “There! There!” and we sped full throttle toward them. Along with dozens of other boats. Like a fleet of hunters chasing prey.

The dolphins fled. Diving deeper, changing direction, trying to find peace. And we – chased. Because we paid. Because we wanted to see them. Because a photo with dolphins is something amazing, right?

I didn’t know then that this wasn’t “wildlife observation,” but a chase. That for these animals, it’s not fun.

That engine noise disrupts their echolocation, that stress affects their feeding and reproductive behaviors. That these “magical” sunrises for us are daily harassment for them.

I won’t go a second time. Because dolphins deserve silence, not applause.

If you want to see dolphins, look for responsible operators who follow ethical observation rules – maintain distance, don’t chase animals, limit the number of boats.

Or better yet – see them from shore if you’re lucky.

4. Flying instead of taking the train – faster doesn’t mean better

From Bangkok to Chiang Mai, I flew because it was “cheaper and faster.” One hour in the air instead of twelve on a train. Logical choice, right?

But nothing happens on a plane. You sit in a cramped seat, stare at the seat back in front of you, wait for it to end. I saved time – but what did I do with it? Probably scrolled on my phone at the hotel.

Only later, when I chose an overnight train on another trip, did I understand what I’d lost.

A train isn’t just transportation. It’s ritual, encounter, atmosphere. It’s conversations with local passengers who share food and stories.

It’s the view outside the window changing from urban to rural, from palms to mountains, from day to night. It’s falling asleep to rhythmic rocking and waking up in a new place.

Today, if I can – I choose slower. Because travel isn’t just the destination. It’s everything along the way.

5. Photos at “Instagram spots” – I was there, but didn’t experience it

I was in Santorini. I stood in line for the blue dome. I watched others push, position themselves, adjust their dresses, waiting their turn for the perfect frame.

I took a photo. Checked if it was sharp. Added a filter. And… left.

I don’t remember the smell of the air – that mix of sea breeze and bougainvillea flowers. I don’t remember Greek children’s laughter playing on a nearby street.

I don’t remember the conversation with the small café owner who talked about how the island changed since the tourism boom.

I only remember whether the photo “turned out.” How many likes it got. Whether I looked good.

I’m ashamed to admit this today. But the truth is: I was in Santorini, but didn’t fully experience Santorini.

Now, when I go somewhere, I have a rule: first be. Stand. Look. Feel. Let the place enter you. And only then – capture.

Sometimes I don’t take a photo at all. And that’s OK. Because the best memories I carry inside, not in the cloud.

6. Haggling “for sport” – when a few dollars difference isn’t a game

In Morocco, I haggled down the price of a handmade bag by half. The seller initially didn’t want to agree. I stubbornly insisted on my price. Finally, he gave in.

I felt proud. I won! I negotiated a great price!

Today I’m ashamed.

Because for me it was a difference of a dozen, maybe a few dozen dollars. For him – maybe a whole day’s work. Maybe the only sale that week. Maybe money for his family’s food.

Haggling is part of the culture in many countries. But there’s a difference between fair negotiation and exploiting a position of power.

Between finding a compromise and forcing someone to sell below the value of their work.

Today I don’t ask “how low will you go?” I ask: “Is this fair?”

And if something is beautiful, handmade, unique – I’m willing to pay a price that reflects the value of someone’s work and skills.

7. Photographing people without permission – when people become objects

In India, I took a photo of an elderly woman in a sari. She sat on temple steps, had a beautiful, wrinkled face, eyes full of history.

I raised my camera. She noticed. Smiled slightly.

But did she really want to be my “souvenir”? Did the smile mean consent, or just politeness toward a foreign tourist?

I didn’t ask. I took the photo. And left.

Today I know that a lens is a responsibility. That people aren’t decoration, not elements of “colorful local folklore.”

That everyone has the right to privacy, to deciding whether they want to be photographed.

Now I always ask. With a gesture, word, smile. And if someone refuses – I respect that. Because respect is more important than a photo, even the most beautiful one.

In Dharavi, one of the world’s most densely populated neighborhoods, I was with a local foundation that supports children and small entrepreneurs.

Not to photograph, but to listen, see, understand.

That experience taught me that real encounters in travel don’t happen through a lens, but through conversation, attention, and respect.

I met people there who, despite difficult conditions, create something beautiful – community, work, daily life.

One man gave me handmade soap. I still have it – it smells like humility and gratitude.

Sometimes the greatest gesture is not taking a photo. Just remembering the smell, voice, smile.

8. Buying things “for the moment” – souvenirs that remember nothing

Bracelets, hats, shells, incense, plastic magnets, wooden elephants, fans from shop windows…

So many times I bought something “as a souvenir,” only to not want it a week later. Or forget where I even got it. Or throw it away during the next move, feeling guilty because “it was from a trip.”

Today I ask: is this something that will stay with me?

Is it something I’ll actually use? Does it remind me of a specific moment, person, experience? Does it mean something to me – or is it just an empty symbol of “I was there”?

The best souvenirs are those I carry inside. Memories, conversations, smells, tastes. Lessons that changed how I see the world.

And if I do buy something – I try to make it something small, handmade, from a local artist. Something with a story. And something I’ll actually wear, use, love.

9. Too tight schedule – seeing everything means seeing nothing

My first USA road trip: 4,500 miles in 3 weeks.

Sounds impressive, right? Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Bryce Canyon, Zion, Antelope Canyon… Everything on the checklist.

In practice? I mainly remember the steering wheel and exhaustion.

I’d arrive at parks at night to “save time.” Wake at dawn, spend half a day there – in Yosemite I was maybe 6 hours.

Photo at Half Dome, quick walk to the waterfall, and onward. To the next park. To the next point on the map.

I didn’t see sunrise over El Capitan. Didn’t sit peacefully by Mirror Lake. Didn’t feel the silence that fills the valley at dawn. Didn’t talk to rangers.

Everything “checked off.” I could say: “Yes, I saw it.”

But did I really see? Or just pass through?

After that trip I was exhausted. I remember gas stations more than parks. I remember the map and odometer. I don’t remember the magic.

Today I prefer to see less, but truly.

I’d rather spend three days in one park than five parks in three days. I’d rather wake before dawn and see light paint the rocks than drive through a park midday. I’d rather sit by my tent in the evening and just listen to silence.

Travel isn’t a checklist. It’s an experience to live.

10. Silence when something bothered me – fear of “ruining the atmosphere”

The driver who picked me up from the airport in Yogyakarta was very kind. Along the way he suggested: “Maybe you want to see how kopi luwak is made? It’s very close, just a moment!”

I was tired after the flight. I wanted to get to the hotel. But he tried so hard, spoke so enthusiastically about this “world’s most expensive coffee”… I felt bad refusing.

We arrived. The guide spoke enthusiastically. Tourists took photos, tasted coffee, bought souvenirs.

And I watched those civets.

They sat in small wire cages. Barely moved. Looked… apathetic.

Something didn’t feel right. Instinct said: this isn’t OK.

But I didn’t ask. Didn’t say anything. The driver brought me here with such pride. The guide was nice. I didn’t want to be “that rude tourist.”

I sipped the coffee. Smiled. We left.

Later I learned that most commercial kopi luwak farms keep civets in cages their entire lives, force-fed only coffee beans. That this “exotic” coffee is a product of suffering.

Today I know that silence is also a choice. And that you can speak with respect – but it’s worth speaking.

Even if someone is kind to you. You can say: “Thank you, but I prefer not to participate.” You can simply leave.

Politeness doesn’t obligate you to support something that troubles you.

Your voice – even quiet – matters.

Every mistake is a lesson that can change everything

I’m not perfect. I’m still learning. I still make mistakes. I still sometimes choose convenience over values.

But every trip teaches me something new – not just about the world, but about myself. About who I want to be, what traces I want to leave, what truly matters.

Travel isn’t just moving across a map. It’s also a journey inward.

Conscious travel is precisely that journey – a process of learning who we are, what we believe in, and what choices we want to make.

It’s a chance to be better – not just for ourselves, but for the places we visit and the people we meet.

It’s not about not making mistakes. It’s about learning from them.

Every trip can be a lesson. Every decision – a choice. Every place – an opportunity to ask: what good can I leave here? What can I take besides photos?

If you’re here – it means you’re asking too. And that’s already a lot. It means your travels will be different. Conscious. With soul.

Your turn – share your journey

Are there things you once did while traveling that you wouldn’t choose today?

Maybe it was elephant riding, maybe a photo without asking, or maybe just rushing that didn’t let you feel anything?

Write me in the comments. I’m very curious about your journey, your discoveries, your learning.

Because the fact that you’re here reading these words already means you want to travel differently. And that’s beautiful.

Share this article with friends who also dream of traveling with head and heart. Sometimes one word can change how someone sees the world.