Why Taking the Long Way Around Can Transform the Way You See a Place
When people talk about travel, they often focus on efficiency: finding the shortest route between two points, making sure every hour is accounted for, checking off as many highlights as possible in a limited amount of time. But sometimes, the richest experiences come not from taking the most direct path, but from letting the road curve, wander, and lead you somewhere unexpected.
This isn’t just about travel—it’s about the way we move through life itself.
The Pull of the Indirect Route
I’ve always been fascinated by detours. Even as a child, when my family would drive to visit relatives, I would press my face to the window and hope my parents would take “the long way.” The long way meant we might pass an unfamiliar park, a strange little diner, or a row of old houses that looked like they belonged in another century.
As adults, we often stop indulging that instinct. We choose speed over curiosity, predictability over surprise. But the indirect route has a way of revealing what the direct route hides.
A Street That Wasn’t on the Plan
In Barcelona, I once decided to walk from the Gothic Quarter to the Sagrada Família without using a map. I knew the general direction but allowed myself to zigzag through whatever streets caught my attention.
Halfway through, I came across a small plaza filled with elderly men playing chess. Their boards were carved from wood, worn smooth by years of use. I stood at the edge, watching as they gestured, argued, and laughed over each move.
It wasn’t in my itinerary. It wasn’t in any guidebook. But it is the image I remember most vividly from that day—more than the soaring spires of the famous basilica itself.
The Science of Meandering
Psychologists talk about “serendipity potential”—the likelihood of encountering something unexpected and meaningful when you leave space for chance. In structured environments, this potential is low. On a rigid schedule, we limit the opportunities for surprise.
But when we take the long way around, when we follow an alley instead of the main road, we increase our exposure to novelty. And novelty, research suggests, is one of the things our brains are wired to find most rewarding.
The Day the Bus Broke Down
On a trip through Southeast Asia, I was traveling between two cities by bus when it broke down halfway. Most passengers groaned, frustrated at the delay. But I stepped outside, stretched my legs, and noticed a small roadside stall selling fruit.
The woman running it offered me a mango she had just sliced, still warm from the sun. I ate it while sitting on the edge of a rice field, watching water buffalo graze in the distance.
If the bus had been on time, I never would have seen that field, never tasted that mango, never spoken to that woman. The delay was the gift.
Learning from the Locals
The long way is often the local way. In Marrakech, a shopkeeper once showed me how to reach my hotel through a maze of back streets instead of the busy main road. It took twice as long, but it was shaded, quiet, and filled with scenes of daily life—children playing, neighbors chatting, laundry flapping in the breeze.
Tourists stuck to the main road missed all of this. By trusting the advice of someone who actually lived there, I experienced a completely different side of the city.
How One Walk Changed My Idea of Time
I used to think of travel days in terms of checklists. “See this. Photograph that. Eat here.” But one walk in Buenos Aires changed that. I left my apartment in the late morning, intending to head straight to a museum. But the air was soft, the streets lined with jacaranda trees in bloom, so I let myself drift.
I ended up in a neighborhood market where a man was selling secondhand books for the equivalent of a few dollars. I bought one without even checking the title, simply because it had someone’s handwriting inside the cover. Later, on the museum steps, I realized the day’s real treasure wasn’t the art I came to see—it was the unexpected book I carried home.
When Travel Philosophy Becomes Life Philosophy
Choosing the long way around changes more than just your itinerary—it changes your mindset. You start to see detours not as obstacles, but as opportunities. You notice more, because you’re not racing toward a finish line.
This perspective translates easily into everyday life. Taking a different route home from work. Trying a new coffee shop instead of the one you always visit. Letting a conversation go in an unplanned direction. Small acts of meandering can have outsized effects on our sense of connection to the world.
The Quiet Places Between
One of the most overlooked aspects of travel is the “in-between.” The train rides, the walks, the bus stops—these are often seen as wasted time between the “real” experiences. But what if the in-between is the real experience?
While crossing northern Vietnam by train, I found myself mesmerized by the endless green fields outside the window, dotted with farmers in wide-brimmed hats. It was repetitive, unchanging—and yet deeply calming. I arrived at my destination feeling like the journey itself had been the highlight.
Sometimes, the long way isn’t about finding more to see. It’s about seeing the same thing more deeply.
A Philosophy of Slowness
In a culture obsessed with speed, slowing down feels radical. Taking the long way forces us to release the illusion of control. We can’t predict exactly what we’ll encounter, and that’s the point.
There’s a concept in Japanese aesthetics called ma, which refers to the space between things—the pause that gives meaning to what surrounds it. The long way is full of ma moments: the quiet space between major events, where the smaller, more personal memories live.
Where the Road Decides for You
In Croatia, I rented a car to explore the Dalmatian coast. My plan was to drive straight from Split to Dubrovnik, but a small hand-painted sign for “beach” caught my eye. I turned off the highway, followed a winding road through olive groves, and ended up at a nearly empty cove where the water was so clear I could see fish darting between the rocks.
I spent hours there, swimming and reading under the shade of a single pine tree. That detour never would have happened if I’d stuck to my direct route. It reminded me of something I later read on We Just Feel Good: sometimes the most valuable part of a trip is the part you didn’t plan at all.
Bringing the Long Way Home
You don’t have to be in a foreign country to practice this way of moving. You can take the scenic route to the grocery store. You can wander your own neighborhood as if you’ve never been there before. You can say yes to the slower option when the faster one is available.
The long way is about curiosity, not distance. It’s about seeing what happens when you stop rushing toward the end and start paying attention to the middle.
What Stays with Us
Years later, when the names of the streets fade and the details of the schedules blur, what remains are the moments that happened because we weren’t in a hurry. The chess game in Barcelona. The mango in the rice field. The shaded alley in Marrakech. The hidden cove in Croatia.
These are the stories we tell not because they were planned, but because they were discovered. And discovery, in the end, is what makes travel unforgettable.
So the next time you’re tempted to take the quickest route, pause. Ask yourself what you might miss by arriving too soon. Then, if you can, take the long way around.