The Best Parts Weren’t on the Itinerary

How travel taught me to let go of control and step into uncertainty.

We took a Go-bus in Egypt, from Hurghada to Luxor. You see, In this really globalized world, you’d think traveling today is easy. You book things online, follow Google Maps, take public transportation, or just call an Uber. It almost feels like the world is designed to be navigated. And then we got off the bus in Luxor.

Suddenly, none of that applied.

Ten drivers surrounded us. No Uber. No cards. No fixed prices. Just people talking over each other, negotiating, pulling us in different directions. Everything had to be decided on the spot—fast, and in cash.

We had to communicate with fractured words and somehow decide who to trust enough to get into their car… after knowing them for maybe three minutes.

That was the moment it hit me:

Travel isn’t convenient. And it’s not supposed to be. 

Sometimes, it strips everything back to uncertainty. And forces you to deal with it.

---

As a Gen Z student who grew up in Shanghai, I didn’t realize how much I depended on structure.

I went to an international school. I spoke both Chinese and English. I learned to navigate different systems, different perspectives. Most of the time, things just… worked.

Even traveling in Europe reinforced that idea.

Until it didn’t.

---

During winter break, instead of going home, I went to France with my two best friends. We decided we wanted to stay in the 1st arrondissement of Paris—without paying hotel prices.

So at midnight, on December 20, 2024, three girls were dragging 25kg suitcases up eight flights of narrow stairs in an old Parisian building.

No elevator.

And yes—we only realized that after we booked it.

Growing up in Shanghai, where almost every tall building has an elevator, I had just assumed that eight floors meant an elevator. It felt like common sense.

But the building was built in the 1850s—when elevators had just been invented. Back then, the higher the floor, the cheaper the rent. Because it meant more stairs.

Suddenly, our “good deal” made perfect sense.

What felt like inconvenience became context.

And that was one of the first times I realized—travel quietly challenges the assumptions you didn’t even know you had.

The airbnb ⬇️

---

Reading week me and my friend went to Spain, On our last day in Madrid, we had a 5:30 PM flight back to school.

So naturally, we did what every overconfident traveler does—we planned a full itinerary for the morning.

The Museo del Prado.The Royal Palace.Lunch.Check-out.Uber to the airport.

On paper, everything was perfect. Tight, but efficient. We were very proud of ourselves

Until we actually started living it.

At the Royal Palace, we weren’t just visiting anymore—I was timing the experience.

“Bro it’s been 2 minutes, we have to go”                                                                       “just take a picture and look at it later”“I will give you 20 seconds to stare at this royal pool table”

We were contestants in some kind of time-management survival game.

Lunch wasn’t really lunch either. We just gobbled everything and left.

By the time we got back to the hotel, we had one hour and thirty minutes left before boarding. And we hadn’t even gotten into a car yet. We called an Uber.

13 minutes away.

Which, in that moment, felt like the worst possible number.

That was when the panic set in. Not the dramatic kind—but the quiet, creeping realization that things are slipping out of control. Flights don’t wait. Traffic isn’t predictable. And suddenly, your “perfect plan” doesn’t mean anything.

Then, like some kind of last-minute miracle,we saw a taxi stopped outside the hotel. We ran out and waved it .

No thinking. No comparing prices. No checking apps.

Just: this is our only chance.

We got in the taxi. The driver said it would take 18 minutes to get to the airport. Eighteen. We were cheering! After all that stress—we were going to make it. Very easily too. For the first time that day, we relaxed.

And then, at the airport check-in counter, everything fell apart again.

The staff looked at my passport, paused for a second longer than I expected, and said, “You don’t have an e-visa for the UK.” Just like that, all the relief we had felt in the taxi disappeared. This wasn’t something we could fix by moving faster or making a quick decision—this was a real problem.

While I stood there trying to apply for the visa on the spot—refreshing pages, checking requirements, watching the time slip away again—I turned to my friend and told her to just go, to board the flight without me. It sounds dramatic, but in that moment, it felt like the most practical decision. If one of us could make it back, at least something would go right.

Standing there alone, trying to fix something I should have done days earlier, I realized how quickly travel can shift—from exciting and controlled to completely uncertain. And yet, somehow, I figured it out. The visa went through, I made the flight, and everything that had felt like it was falling apart slowly came back together.

Looking back, that entire day wasn’t about the museums or the places we visited—I barely remember what was inside the Prado Museum What stayed with me was something else entirely: how quickly control can disappear, how easily plans can fail, and how, in the end, you’re still forced to keep going anyway.

---

During our second break of the semester, we went to Italy.

By then, we had gotten comfortable with planning trips. Everything felt more natural, more under control. For the first time, we had space to slow down and enjoy the journey.

Our first stop was Milan.

But something felt… off.

The thing about big, global cities is that they start to feel the same. Shanghai, Paris, Milan, Barcelona—different places, but somehow the same core: the same brands, the same stores, the same version of a “global” experience.

Growing up, my mom used to tell me how different each place felt when she traveled—how people dressed differently, behaved differently, carried themselves differently.

But standing there, I wasn’t seeing that.

And honestly, I felt a little disappointed.

So we changed the way we experienced the city.

Instead of just moving through it, we slowed down. We spent more time in museums, looked longer, paid more attention. And then, without planning it at all, something shifted.

We walked into a church, just out of curiosity. Inside, a group of high school students was preparing for an event. The choir was rehearsing, their voices echoing through the space, while others quietly sat nearby. Some of them ended up sitting behind us.

We were on our phones, looking for somewhere to eat, and found this place called Crazy Pizza—one of those restaurants where they perform while you eat, tossing pizza dough into the air with music playing in the background. It was the kind of place that felt impossible to book. We were debating whether it was even worth trying.

And then the boy sitting behind us leaned forward, glanced at our screen, and casually said, “My dad owns that place.”

We looked at each other—slightly confused, slightly skeptical.

To me, it sounded like one of those things that’s either completely true or completely random. But we went anyway. The pizza was actually really good.

As we were looking around the restaurant, we noticed a wall filled with photos—celebrities, singers, actors, people we recognized.

And then, right there on the wall—was a picture of the same little boy we had just met!

At first, we weren’t even sure if we were seeing it correctly.

So I couldn’t stop myself from asking one of the waiters. He hesitated for a second, then said quietly, “I’m not really supposed to say… but yes—that’s the owner’s son.”

For a moment, it felt unreal.

Not because it was unbelievable, but because of how unlikely it was.

And that’s when it fully clicked for me.

You can walk through the most famous streets in the world and feel nothing new.

But a random moment—sitting in a church, overhearing a choir, talking to someone you were never supposed to meet—can suddenly make a place feel completely different.

the boy on the top right is the boy we met!

Our copy of the great art piece

So when a friend asked if I wanted to go to Egypt, I didn’t hesitate.

At 19, you’re kind of irrationally confident.A little fearless.A little unaware of what could go wrong.

And honestly—that’s what made it unforgettable.

Because looking back, it was never really about the places. It was about the moments where things didn’t go as planned— where I felt uncertain, unprepared, even a little lost—and still had to keep going.

And maybe that’s not just about travel.

Maybe it’s about how we choose to live.

We spend so much time trying to make things predictable—planning everything out, avoiding mistakes, waiting until we feel ready.

But some of the most meaningful experiences don’t come from control.

They come from uncertainty.

So instead of asking whether everything is perfectly planned,maybe the better question is: Are you willing to step into something you don’t fully understand yet?

Because whether it’s travel, opportunities, or decisions you’ve been putting off— the point isn’t to get everything right.

It’s to be willing to begin, even when you don’t know exactly how it will turn out.