More than the sights, a place is defined by who you share it with. Sometimes that's a friend, a partner, a stranger you met along the road. Sometimes it's just you—being present with the place, letting it land on its own terms.

Either way, the experience of traveling is never really about the destination. It's about how you relate to it.

the subjective traveler

Our culture pushes hard for objectivity. Rate the restaurant. Score the hotel. Rank the cities. But one thing remains stubbornly true: we are subjective beings. Our experience of a place is filtered through who we are, who we're with, and what we're going through. That filter isn't a flaw—it's the whole thing.

When I travel alone, the same city feels completely different than when I'm with someone I love. Or when I meet someone new along the way. It's those moments of relating to another person in an unfamiliar environment that transform a place from scenery into memory.

people transform places

Think about it: when you see a friend you're used to seeing in one context—your hometown, your routine—and suddenly you're together in a foreign country, experiencing the world side by side, something shifts. It's exciting. It's new. You deepen your bond with that person, sometimes even in uncomfortable ways. You might find out you don't travel well together. But you learn things about each other regardless.

That's why the canonical advice exists: travel with someone before you decide to marry them. You'll learn more in a week abroad than in months at home.

It works the other way too. You could go to the most beautiful place in the world, but if it's a work trip and you only see the office, that's your experience. The place didn't fail you—the context did. A paradise with bad framing is just another conference room with a view.

you need the right keys

London is a perfect case study. People go expecting to eat British food and come out thinking the city has nothing to offer. But London's food scene is incredible—you just need to know where to look. A connection with a local. A friend who visited before. Someone who hands you the keys to the city instead of letting you fumble at the front door.

This is true everywhere. The difference between loving a place and writing it off often comes down to one thing: did someone show you the way?

solo doesn't mean alone

Here's what I find beautiful: even when you can't be in a place with someone, their recommendations make them part of your experience.

On a recent trip to London, several friends shared their favorite spots—restaurants, neighborhoods, walks. They weren't with me physically, but I felt them as I traveled. I'd visit a place they recommended and send them a picture. They'd respond with their own memory of it. We were sharing the same experience, just separated by time.

Walking through a friend's favorite spot, sending them a photo, getting a voice note back about their night there three years ago.

There's a beauty in that kind of travel. Your friends become invisible guides. Their taste, their memories, their personality—all woven into your trip. You're never really solo when people who know you have helped shape the path.

every trip is an act of connection

The point I keep coming back to is this: travel, in every form, is relational. Even when you're alone, you're in relationship—with the place, with the people who shaped your route, with yourself in a new context.

Newness does a lot of the heavy lifting when you travel, but connection is what makes it stick. The places I remember most aren't the ones with the best views. They're the ones where something clicked between me and another person—or between me and myself.

You set yourself up for the best experiences when you connect. With friends. With locals. With whoever crosses your path. That's what makes travel deeper than tourism. It's not about collecting places. It's about what happens between people when the backdrop changes.