Travelling at Walking Pace
Walking hundreds of miles across Europe taught me that some of my most memorable moments didn’t happen at famous landmarks. They happened on the walk between them.
By late afternoon, I had already walked for nearly 9 hours. Waves crashed against rugged cliffs, distant voices drifted from fishing villages a little inland, and the Atlantic Ocean extended endlessly to my right. Each new stretch of coastline blended seamlessly into the last. Of course, the physical endurance alongside the sun relentlessly beating down on me since dawn was harsh enough, but there was nothing to compare with the mental game I forced myself to compete in. The physical exhaustion was demanding, but the determination to keep putting one foot in front of the other, following faded trail markers and carrying everything I needed on my back, became the greatest mental challenge I had ever faced.
Walking from Lisbon, Portugal to Málaga, Spain wasn’t something you woke up one day and decided to do the next; it’s something I had planned for almost a year before I built up enough courage to attempt. The rush back home was intense; busy streets, work overflowing into the next week, stress and financial issues seemed to be the only topic of conversation everywhere. I needed the freedom, the time, and the break away to really reflect on myself. Between these countries, I had nowhere to be, except wherever my feet carried me next.
Walking Portugal’s coastline changed my way of travelling. Like many people, I used to arrive in a city and rush to see as many attractions as possible in a short space of time. That pressure allowed me to gain so much knowledge from multiple museums, libraries, and tours across the continent. However, it also held me back from experiencing the true feeling of freedom and what it felt like to slow down, using my feet as my primary mode of transport to wander off the beaten track, to places not many have heard of, and to see coastal traditions a lot of cultures don’t have. I learned how to exchange packed itineraries for deeper experiences, talking to locals without worrying about time, and stopping whenever something caught my attention - whether that would be a quiet beach, a small family-run café, or simply a viewpoint on my route worth taking some time to fully immerse myself in the moment.
Simply slowing down changed what I noticed.
When I think back to Edinburgh, I remember very little about the exact route I walked. I have hardly any recollection of street names, cafés I visited, or even which part of the city I began and finished in. I didn’t feel the need to note all of the well known, must-do attractions on a piece of paper just for me to tick off once I had reached them. What I do remember is the atmosphere. The medieval buildings, combined with overcast weather, created a strong gothic aesthetic. For the week I spent exploring Edinburgh, the weather was dark, almost ominous. A recent downpour had left every street damp and glistening with rain, while thick clouds blocked out the sunlight. Together, they created an eerie mood that seemed to bring the city’s true character to life.
Admittedly, this isn’t everyone’s idea of the perfect trip away - unpredictable weather is certainly not what most people look for when choosing a city break, especially when Spain’s sunshine is only a short flight away.
Wandering around Edinburgh Castle in February seemed less like a tourist attraction, and more like a fortress emerging from history, the richness and astonishing minor details in every angle you faced gave you a hint of how old the castle has been standing strong for.
Climbing Arthur’s Seat offered a reminder that cities like this do not have to be rushed in order to be appreciated. The steepness of the hike was intense, but incredibly worth it for the magnificent stretch of horizon I saw when I reached the top and soaked in the landscape from the viewpoint. No transportation to the top of Arthur’s Seat meant if you wanted to achieve the goal of climbing it, you had to walk. That is exactly what I did - I could not feel the same sense of accomplishment in any other way other than on foot. I thoroughly enjoyed testing my body’s capabilities and taught myself that walking and slowing down meant I could take my time and feel in the moment everything around me.
The same pattern continued elsewhere.
Hiking in Poland’s mountains wasn’t memorable because of the views from the summit; it was the gradual climb that was most unforgettable. The meaningful conversations with fellow walkers meant I could stop to catch my breath and have a small break, whilst listening to advice and stories about their experience. Instead of trying to fit the hike into a packed plan, I took much longer than needed to hike to the top of Kasprowy Wierch. That is exactly what I wanted - a relaxed pace with a clear mind, taking each metre as it comes, feeling the strength in me in every inclined step, and considering all my senses and thoughts while taking myself on this extremely challenging goal.
The achievement wasn’t necessarily reaching the top. For me, it was more about the journey than the destination. The wildlife, other hikers, and body fatigue all had a part to play in making the experience special.
That hike gave me the reminder that walking isn’t simply a way of getting somewhere. In fact, it becomes part of the destination itself.
I still visit castles, famous landmarks and museums, but they are no longer what I remember most about a place. Instead, I remember quiet trails, panoramic views, conversations with strangers who became friends, and the feeling of reaching a summit under my own strength. Those are the moments I take home with me long after a trip has ended. Travelling at walking pace hasn’t shown me more of Europe; it has taught me how to experience it differently.