🏞️ Why the Hell Am I Doing This?
Why I voluntarily choose discomfort and embrace chaos while traveling—and why it’s totally worth it.
What the heck am I doing here? And why?
These are questions I ask myself quite often on my travels.
In the middle of the mountains, dragging myself uphill, drenched in sweat, with an obnoxiously heavy backpack on my shoulders—all of this by my own choice, of course.
Curled up in an impossible yoga pose on the tiny piece of space I’ve been left in the cheapest sleeper class of an Indian train. Is the family on the bags below me silently wondering the same thing?
Or when I nervously dart through the chaotic traffic of an Asian city. In places where traffic rules haven't been invented yet, crossing the road is a matter of trust. I believe the frantically honking drivers won't hit me. They trust me not to mess up their bumper.
I spend a large part of my time abroad simply doubting my own sanity. But then that little rocky path leads me to a summit of the mountain. Or I step off a train at a station I’ve never heard of. And suddenly, there’s no room for doubts anymore. The hardest roads regularly lead to the most amazing places—places I couldn’t have dreamed of as a five-year-old, hiking with my grandma in the hills near my home.
Maybe I could spare myself such escapades in an era when a quick Google search offers countless pictures from around the world. Want to see the blue ridges of distant mountains or temples glowing in the sunlight? Just click. It’s all there—enjoy it from your sofa. For the enthusiasts, we even have a collection of digital images featuring grannies and kids in rice fields. We squeeze out tears of emotion on demand.
What makes me voluntarily suffer just to experience all of this firsthand, in real life? After all, reality, unlike a carefully edited photo, doesn't have an HDR effect, and you can't retouch what you don't like. Besides, it often stinks, is terribly noisy, and horribly uncomfortable.
But nothing compares to it for one simple reason: it's all around me.
A photo has clear edges. Beyond those edges, there’s nothing left to explore—just a wall or the clutter on your desk. But standing in the real world, I can see mountains, towns, and villages stretching far into the distance, full of new experiences, mysteries, and people whose stories I can hear.
Okay, you might say, but why take it to extremes? You can travel comfortably and safely in many places.
I’m just too curious. The famous “must-see” places and perfectly planned routes with no surprises don’t excite me. I’d rather ask myself: What’s around that corner?
There are so many new things to discover—and so many of them can be tasted!
In unfamiliar places, I feel like a kid let out of the playpen for the first time. Sure, sometimes I wander into very suspicious alleys or try a local specialty I’ll regret later. Other times, I find myself running through canyons, chased by an angry dog who’s decided I’m a problem to be solved. But without taking a little risk, there are no great discoveries—whether they’re cultural, natural, personal, or culinary.
When I think about it, it wouldn't be the same for me without all the exhaustion and discomfort. Besides building fitness and mental resilience, I get the sense that I’ve truly earned my experiences. After all, we all recharge our batteries in our own way.
Just to be clear, my trips aren’t about collecting extreme stories for social media under the motto: farther, freakier, and make sure it gets tons of likes. Instead, they’re my way to piece together a real picture of distant places. Sometimes it seems bizarre to me, sometimes it’s hard to understand... But it’s all part of the same world we share, and I feel I should learn about it.
And only by occasionally getting into trouble can I learn how to avoid it next time—or help someone else avoid it too.
Beyond that, traveling gives me something truly precious: memories. In the end, they are all I’ll have left when my life journey approaches the finish line. And I suspect that when I’m older, I'll be glad to recall my memories of beautiful distant places and the crazy stories I was part of. And if Mr. Alzheimer comes knocking, at least we’ll have plenty to talk about.
Why I'm starting this newsletter
I believe there’s an adventurer inside many of us, but it sometimes needs a little push to wake up. A spark of inspiration to step off the beaten path and discover our own little piece of the unknown. And take away memories that will always bring a smile to our faces—even on the toughest days.
At the same time, I know many people feel uncertain. Maybe they’re not sure how to pack for the wild, what food to bring, or how to stay warm and dry at night.
Maybe they don’t have much experience and can’t tell which way is completely safe and which could lead to trouble. And most importantly, they don't know how to gain such experience.
Or maybe they’re just scared of the unknown and wouldn’t even think about visiting a strange country they couldn’t find on a map a month ago.
I want to show you how all of this can be overcome, so a big part of my writing will involve sharing the unique travel and hiking experiences I’ve gathered over many years.
Hopefully, I'll succeed, and maybe we'll meet somewhere on the road. But I must warn you in advance, though. It's very likely that if you really let yourself be inspired, you'll hate me at the same time. Life on the road, as I see it, follows an old Czech saying: It's 90% hard work and a tiny bit of romance. But that small, hard-earned part is really worth it!
Do you have the desire and courage to embark on this journey with me?
