What Immersive Travel Can Teach Us About Culture and Ourselves
What Immersive Travel Can Teach Us About Culture and Ourselves
My trip to Norway had been a spontaneous affair. I had decided to uproot my life and spend the next three months travelling, perpetually restless and on the lookout for new adventures. The original plan was to stay with a host in Bergen, working on their horse farm in exchange for lodgement and food. The choice to stray away from traditional travel in favour of living with a local family was fueled by my want to fully immerse myself in a new culture. To experience the daily life of others first hand. And what better way to do that than actively participating in it?
And then corona happened. Whispers of a dangerous virus filtered hesitantly through news outlets. There was yet no way to judge the scope of the spread or the consequences it would impose. But people were already starting to take precautions. With less than a week to go to my departure, I got devastating news. The family I had been planning on staying with could no longer host me. They were very sorry about cancelling, but it was to protect the health of vulnerable family members. Of course, I told them, that’s no problem. Take care.
But while I understood and respected their reasons for cancelling, I had lied. It was rather a big problem. I remember the panic that followed, I had already quit my job and booked non-refundable tickets. All my safety nets had come unravelled, and with my plans coming undone I was free-falling in a haze of uncertainty. There seemed to be no way forward and definitely no way back. I was stuck.
Then I made the decision that I would still go. Through the site that connects travellers with host families, I messaged over a dozen people, seeing if anyone had room for a wayward explorer. Some were full, others not looking for anyone at the moment - and then finally a yes. We’d love to host you in Oslo, you’re welcome to stay with us. Things fell into place, I repacked the contents of my bag, cramming everything I would need for a three-month adventure into one suitcase. My dad got me face masks from his work, just in case. My mom filled my carry on backpack with my favourite chocolate and made me swear that I would text her daily. And then off I went, breezing through the security gates towards the great unknown.
My journey to Oslo was chaotic. I first landed in Bergen, boarding a ten-hour train ride to Oslo. We cruised through Narnian like terrain, meandering past breathtaking fjords and imposing mountains. The countryside was a glimmering stretch of white, with red-roofed cabins bursting like berries through the pale snow.
It was dark by the time we pulled into the capital. Oslo central station was chaotic, people rushed between terminals, wheels of suitcases thundering as they rolled by. With the help of a new friend that I had made on the trip, I located my tram stop, patiently waiting for number 18 as instructed. It was dark and late. I was tired, eagerly looking forward to meeting the people that I would be staying with and longing to collapse on a bed.
Yet this part of my adventure wasn’t over. I missed my bus stop, not realizing that you have to press a button to open the tram doors, then having to hop off at the following one to catch a tram back. Then I couldn’t find the house, my exhausted arms pulling the suitcase behind me, wandering around an unfamiliar neighbourhood. The roar of the luggage wheels on tarmac seemed deafening in the dead quiet of the evening, the empty streets only serving to further underpin how alone I really was. Alone in a city yet unexplored, far away from home, from everything I knew. Thankfully, my host came out to meet me, putting an end to my fruitless ambling. She led me to the door of a towering yellow house, its windows peering down at me with glowing warmth, illuminating the dark. Finally, I had arrived.
That yellow house by the sea became my home for the next three months. I met the rest of the family and quickly adapted to new routines, helping pack school lunches, puzzling out homework and feeding hungry cats. When quarantine hit, I took on the role of a teacher, working through assignments and looking for fun ways to release the pent up energy of the children. We shared in lovely meals and movie evenings, I was introduced to the world of Star Wars and James Bond, and started learning some Norwegian words along the way.
When restrictions started to ease off, I became familiar with the streets of Oslo. It became easy to orientate myself, I no longer needed Google maps to guide me, but walked sure-footed to new destinations. I learned how to say thank you and ask for a receipt at grocery stores. I discovered the best places to get ice cream and the cheapest places to shop. My host flooded me with suggestions of places to visit, places that weren’t always written into tour guide manuals.
My host family took me hiking in ancient forests and pointed out national celebrities on the tram. I learned about traditional Norwegian dress wear and the nuances of the Norsk and Nynorsk languages over dinner conversations. They would print off song lyrics for me, and the whole family would sing after dinner, Grandad accompanying us at the piano. I sang along with them, wholeheartedly and loudly, butchering the pronunciation. I got to join in the 17th of May celebrations, watched as girls dressed in beautiful traditional attire rushed through the streets, their skirts billowing behind them.
Through my host, I got to meet a lot of incredible people that expanded my perspective: I learned about universal basic income from a video game designer, heard about the adventures of a kind-hearted nursery teacher and met with singers, actors and stand up comedians. I asked them questions about Norway, we bonded over cultural similarities and held space for our differences.
It was through that experience that I learned the value of immersive travel. Allowing myself the time and circumstances to fully engage with Norwegian culture sparked a new way of thinking. I saw how well society functions when everyone is willing to do their part and found a deeper appreciation for family and friends. I was introduced to new foods, different styles of music and encouraged to foster a deeper appreciation for nature and art. It allowed me to interact with people I might not have otherwise, exposed me to new topics and mindsets.
I grew from the experience, I gained a new understanding of the world and discovered what role I wanted to play on this planet. I unveiled new qualities of mine - resilience, tolerance, empathy- that I hadn’t previously explored. My new situation and surroundings allowed me to see myself in a different light. It curated a deeper appreciation of my good traits that allowed me to adapt to changes and a gentle acceptance of my shortcomings.
Immersive travel looks different for everybody. Not everyone can choose to move to a different country and spend an extended period exploring that culture. Immersive travel can simply be making an effort to interact with locals, hear their stories and learn about their traditions.
When we shift the focus of travelling from simply consuming- information, views, tours- to mindfully participating in the lessons it can teach us, we learn incredible things, not only about the world around us, but about ourselves too. So next time, when going on a journey, choose wonder. Choose to be an active explorer and reflect on the things you learn along the way. It just might lead you to some awe-inspiring revelations.