Cultural travel….Okay, so let’s just get one thing out of the way: I used to be a total checklist traveler.

Like, the kind who lands in a new country, hits up the “Top 10 Must-See” spots, and then bounces. I had the Google Docs. The pinned maps. The folders labeled “TRAVEL STUFF OMG.” You get it.

But something changed—somewhere between trying not to offend a grandma in Kyoto by sticking my chopsticks straight into a bowl of rice (don’t do that, btw), and being blessed by a monk in Luang Prabang while wearing elephant pants I bought for $3.

And that something is what people call cultural travel.

Wait, What Even Is Cultural Travel?

You know when you end up in a tiny village and there’s like… no English, no Starbucks, no familiar WiFi network to cling to, and you’re kinda forced to just exist with people who live entirely differently from you?

That’s cultural travel.

It’s not about fancy resorts or group bus tours with those headset things. It’s about being part of another culture, even just for a short time. Eating what they eat. Trying (and failing) to speak the language. Sitting in on ceremonies you don’t understand but somehow feel deeply. It’s awkward. Beautiful. Sometimes uncomfortable.

And 100% worth it.

The Time I Thought I Ordered Noodles, But Got… Goat Intestines

Quick story time.

So I’m in this backstreet restaurant in Hanoi. Like, plastic chairs-on-the-sidewalk kind of place. There’s no menu, just a lady pointing at bubbling pots. I nod enthusiastically, because sure, I’m adventurous and also… hungry.

What shows up is definitely not noodles. It’s some kind of soup with floating, twisty… somethings.

Spoiler: it was goat intestines.

Did I eat it? Oh absolutely not. But did I learn something? Yes. I learned that being polite, curious, and open-minded will get you way further than just knowing how to say “Where’s the bathroom?”

And that sometimes, cultural experiences come in the form of chewy, tubular meat. 🤷‍♂️

Why It Matters (Besides the Obvious Bragging Rights)

I mean sure, cultural travel makes for great stories at parties. But there’s more to it than just “that one time in Bali.”

1. You Start to Question Your Own “Normal”

Like why do we eat cereal with cold milk and call it breakfast? Why do Americans tip 20% but in Japan it’s actually considered rude?

Experiencing another culture pulls the curtain back on your own habits, assumptions, even values. It’s like holding a mirror up to your own weird little bubble.

And sometimes that mirror says, “Girl, you don’t know squat.”

2. You Build Real Empathy (Not Just Hashtag Awareness)

I met a kid in Guatemala who walked two miles each morning just to get to school—and still showed up with a grin like he just won the lottery. Meanwhile, I used to whine about my Keurig taking too long.

Cultural travel slaps you in the face in the best way. It shows you resilience. Joy in simplicity. Struggles you didn’t know existed. And suddenly… the stuff you complain about feels kinda, well, dumb.

3. It’s Low-Key Therapy

Okay this one sounds dramatic, but hear me out.

When you’re somewhere totally foreign—no language, no comfort zone, no idea what’s happening—you’re kinda forced to meet yourself. Like, the stripped-down version. The “I just cried in a train station because I couldn’t find my hostel” version.

And that’s when the real transformation happens.

The Weird, Wonderful Side Effects of Cultural Travel

Here’s some unexpected stuff I noticed after my third or fourth cultural deep-dive trip:

  • I started enjoying people-watching… a lot. Like, creepily so.
  • I became weirdly good at charades.
  • My spice tolerance skyrocketed.
  • I stopped caring if I looked dumb trying new things. (Still looked dumb, just didn’t care.)
  • I began reading labels in grocery stores just for fun.

Also, I now own a collection of woven baskets from five countries and I’m not sorry.

But Isn’t It Kinda… Awkward?

YES. That’s the point.

Like that time in Morocco when I mispronounced “shukran” (thank you) so badly, the vendor thought I said something dirty and gave me the look.

Or when I tried to dance at a wedding in Kerala and basically invented a new form of cardio-based humiliation.

But every awkward moment? It’s part of the story. Part of your story.

And honestly? Those are the bits you’ll remember more than the museum tours.

How to Do Cultural Travel (Without Being That Tourist)

You don’t need to be Anthony Bourdain (RIP, legend) or fluent in five languages. Here’s how I started:

1. Ditch the itinerary (at least sometimes)

Leave room for serendipity. Some of my best memories started with “Let’s just walk around and see what happens.”

2. Learn 5 words in the local language

Even if it’s just hello, thank you, bathroom, spicy, and help (lol). People notice. And appreciate it.

3. Say YES—even when you’re nervous

Dance. Eat the weird thing. Sit through the ceremony. Trust that you’ll survive. (Probably.)

4. Stay in homestays or with locals

Hotels are fine. But living with a family—even just for a night—changes everything.

5. Ask questions. Then shut up and listen.

Locals aren’t props for your Instagram. They’re people with stories. Be curious. Be kind. Don’t make it weird.

Final Thoughts (if you can call this rambling a conclusion)

Cultural travel isn’t always glamorous. It’s not always “Instagrammable” (whatever that means anymore). Sometimes it’s messy, unpredictable, and full of goat intestines.

But it’s also the kind of travel that stays with you long after the tan fades and the postcards get bent in your drawer.

It’s how you stop being just a tourist—and start being a human in the world.

And maybe—if you’re lucky—it’s how you finally meet the version of yourself who’s brave enough to be awkward, hungry enough to be curious, and humble enough to admit you really don’t know everything.

Which, let’s be honest, none of us do.

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