The Stories We Walk Past
Itineraries are overrated. Don’t get me wrong, I always have a day-by-day plan, but I don't think I've ever followed it.
I try. I really do.
I meticulously research the destination, bookmark places months in advance, spend hours understanding the local transit systems, and map out the routes to maximise my time—the whole shebang that makes me feel incredibly organised. Everything is planned to the T.
Then I land. And plan? What plan?
Somewhere between making out alive from the horde of tourists at the first landmark and trying to figure out which direction Google Maps expects me to face before it starts behaving, the plan quietly falls apart. And I'm always grateful that it does, because the places that leave the most lasting impressions on me are almost always the ones I stumbled upon by accident.
Like the time I wandered into a hole in the wall shop in Icheriseher, Baku because they were selling Baku baklava—very different from the regular one you find everywhere else, 10/10 recommend!
Or when I ended up spending four hours in the Museum of Islamic Arts in Doha, because I wanted to capture the skyline at sundown.
The medina in Fez has nearly 9,500 streets and it's easy to get lost, but thanks to my lucky stars, I came across a narrow side street filled with bright and cheerful paintings instead (had to have a photoshoot there!).
And sometimes you leave too early for a destination, which is what happened on my way to the Dantewada Cafe in Chiang Mai. A quick Google search took me to the Art Village to kill time. We don’t discuss how I ended up emptying my wallet there buying handmade souvenirs.
Picture this…you’re out looking for food in a new city and it’s scorching, so you enter the first empty restaurant you find and enjoy a delicious desi vegetarian meal that checks all the boxes. Happy spontaneity!
These moments are never included in the itinerary. Yet they're the ones I cherish the most, because for me the best stories rarely announce themselves. They happen when you ditch the plans, take a detour, escape a crowd or just wander around the streets with nowhere else to be.
These moments hide in plain sight, waiting for someone just curious enough to notice them. And what a treat that is.
Life moves fast, and it's surprisingly easy to get swept away with it. We rush between plans, meetings, directions, top attractions, and convince ourselves we're making the most of our time. But while we’re tumbling between plans and purpose, we stop noticing and enjoying where we already are.
The men quietly fishing in the Bosporus, while Istanbul bustles around them. The couple who saved you a hike to Ibn Battuta’s tomb, because they could read Arabic. The toddler seated with his parents in the booth behind you at a random restaurant, bending sideways to make you notice him. The street performer, his puppet and his dog—yes the dog!—putting up a spectacular show in the middle of Nizami Street for nobody in particular.
None of these moments are extraordinary on their own. What makes them memorable is that someone stopped long enough to see them. That's one of the reasons I enjoy travelling so much. It gives me permission to pause and pay attention again.
This doesn’t mean everyday life is any less interesting, it’s just that travelling reminds me to be more mindful and look more carefully.
Luckily for me, this instinct doesn't disappear when I come home—well, not entirely. It follows me into almost everything I do, unless I am mentally checked out.
Whether I'm researching a story, speaking to someone about their work, or trying to understand why an idea resonates with one audience but not another, I find myself asking the same question I ask when I'm wandering through an unfamiliar city:
What am I missing out on?
More often than not, that's where the real story begins. Perhaps that's why I believe every place—and every person—has a story worth telling. You think I would've stumbled upon South Asia's largest 24-hour bookstore if I'd made it to the Petronas Towers before the entry slots ran out?