Why I Travel Slowly
- Sarah-Jane Lee
- Aug 11
- 3 min read
Confession: it is easier than rushing
Can I confess something?
I travel slowly because it is easier.
There. I said it.
Slow travel can sound very noble, as if every gentle detour is part of a grand philosophy involving linen shirts, handmade maps and meaningful conversations with strangers beside a wind-bent fence.
Sometimes it is.
But sometimes slow travel is simply this:
I do not want to rush.
I do not want every holiday to feel like a logistical challenge involving alarms, queues, bookings, timed entries, car parks, must-see lists and the faint sense that everyone is failing the itinerary.
At some point, I decided the word “lazy” needed to be banished from holidays.
Doing less is not lazy.
Stopping longer is not lazy.
Sitting beside a beach, wandering a main street, looking at old buildings, following a short track, photographing a fence post, reading a sign, waiting for the light to change or wondering what is around a partially hidden corner is not lazy.
It is noticing.
And noticing is the whole point.
Slow travel is not about avoiding experiences. It is about giving them room to happen.
It is less about ticking off a bucket list and more about encouraging curiosity.
When you are not racing from one famous attraction to the next, you have time to ask better questions.
What is down that side road?
Why is that building there?
Who planted those trees?
Where does that track go?
Why does this town feel different from the last one?What is around the corner I almost missed?
That is where travel becomes interesting.
Not always in the headline places.
Sometimes in the spaces between them.
The small-town cemetery with a view.
The bakery with excellent pies.
The old sign beside the road.
The beach access nobody else seemed to notice.
The museum run by volunteers who know everything.
The river path that was meant to be a ten-minute wander and became the best hour of the day.
Slow travel gives those moments a chance.
It also makes room for weather, which is very inconsiderate of most itineraries. Rain, fog, wind and low cloud are often treated like travel failures, but they can change a place completely.
A wet road, a moody coastline, mist in the hills or evening light over a paddock can become more memorable than the perfectly planned lookout stop.
When you travel slowly, the journey stops being empty space between attractions.
The road matters.
The detour matters.
The pause matters.
The ordinary details matter.
Best Bits Travel grew out of that way of seeing.
It is not about rushing through Australia and New Zealand collecting proof that I have been somewhere. It is about regional towns, scenic roads, local stories, quiet beaches, old buildings, wildlife, weather, walks, signs, gardens, rivers, fences and the small details that make a place feel real.
This is also why I love unexpected travel stops: the places that were never on the list often become the ones we remember most. For more on that idea, read The Joy of the Unexpected Travel Stop. If you have ever felt boxed in by must-see lists, continue to The Problem With Travel Bucket Lists. And for the wider Best Bits Travel approach, the Slow Travel Philosophy Guide explains how slowing down, noticing more and leaving room for detours can change the whole journey.
I travel slowly because it is meaningful.
But also because it is calmer, kinder, more interesting and considerably less exhausting.
And if that looks like doing less?
Good.
I am calling it research.
Sarah-Jane Lee writes Best Bits Travel, a slow travel blog about regional Australia and New Zealand, scenic detours, small towns, overlooked places and the joy of noticing what most travellers rush past.
