The other day, as I was planning my next trip with my go-to travel partner, we fell down a rather innocuous rabbit hole. It started with a seemingly throwaway question — before the days of Instagram, podcasts, audiobooks and the ‘watch offline’ feature on streaming services, what did people do during the less eventful moments of travel? Post reaching for the low-hanging jokes, my friend told me that she took to crocheting during one of her trips. “I couldn’t handle the long waiting times for buses in South America. There 
was no book or conversation that could calm me down and distract me from looking at the clock. It was there that I discovered crochet. I decided to check out few simple stitches from YouTube and immediately started a “little blanket” project, made up of tiny squares. It worked like a charm — I could wait for buses for hours without any stress. I even met a lot of people that came up to me because they were intrigued by my new found hobby.” This got me thinking more actively about what I do when I don’t have my trusty Podcast app or my favourite audiobook on deck? More importantly, did people have more time to document their travels as well as I aspire to?
Journaling has always been my favourite way to process a trip. I try to capture not only what I did, but how I felt, snippets of overheard conversations, names and contact information of people I meet along the way, and ideas for articles and future projects. I use short breaks, like waiting for a meal, to jot down the basics so I don’t forget. Then I use longer periods — flights or train rides, moments in cafés, or before I fall asleep — to fill in the details. Sometimes these words end up tucked away in a notebook, unseen by everyone but me, while other times, they end up on blogs or in articles for others to read.
The time I spent at summer school in Italy, my professor gave me a simple, yet highly valuable tip, in regards to journaling — when taking the time to put your day onto paper, be sure to write about every single sense. To put it plainly, pinpoint your location, list each sense and make a note beside each. It’s incredible what stories this form of journaling will trigger. I sat in restaurants and bars and in parks, honing this practice. Rather than noting the mundane activities, which were often captured in pictures already, I made it a point to take a moment wherever I was, and let the immediate surroundings envelop me completely.
A grocery run to the tiny shop a few blocks from my hostel, an act mostly forgotten or given a single line of journal space, now left a clear picture. A thick, pungent wall of fragrances while walking through the doors, the sound of the owner conversing with someone I can only assume was his dearest friend, coins jangling in the hands of customers, the neutral tones of their clothing, the shelves brimming with the freshest produce and the feeling of money being exchanged once I had gathered everything on my list. I most definitely don’t have a picture of this exact moment, yet I can recall it as if it is playing on a cinema screen.
This one might be a bit of a cheat, because I’ve only just taken to this hobby. A while back, a friend of mine was going through a personal crisis and in the thick of it, she discovered art — sketching, water colour, acrylics — you name the medium, she was experimenting with the medium. Not one to be left behind, I stocked up on similar art supplies. It wasn’t long before crusty paint brushes and massive art books took precedence over my diary.
Not one to be left behind, I stocked up on similar art supplies. It wasn’t long before crusty paint brushes and massive art books took precedence over my diary. I realised that sketching and painting forced me to slow down and linger on the details. I began to experience things a cursory glance would have missed. There were even moments when writing in my journal felt like homework. Art was refreshing since it used a different part of my brain. Another massive benefit was, this was the first time I was happy to let people see what I was creating, and for a person that is as self-critical as I am, that’s a big win.
One final disclaimer: though it may seem to be a solitary pursuit, art is not for wallflowers. You will attract a crowd or at least sporadic passersby. They will look. They will comment. And often, you’ll engage in wonderful conversations. Not a bad way to fill in the “less eventful moments”.
Written By Rhea Baweja
Week 40, October ’19
