S2, E4: The Healing Power of Travel

In this week’s episode of Unpacked by Dinogo, Erin Hynes—host of the podcast Curious Tourism—explores the profound ways travel can facilitate our healing process.

Transcript

Aislyn Greene, host: We seek out travel for countless reasons: connection, adventure, relaxation, education, family time—the list is extensive. However, one aspect we rarely discuss is grief. Today, we’ll delve into that topic.

I’m Aislyn Greene, the associate director of podcasts at Dinogo, and this is Unpacked, the show dedicated to exploring complex themes in travel each week.

This week, we're passing the mic to Erin Hynes, host of Curious Tourism, a podcast dedicated to responsible travel. Erin tackles tough topics on her show, and during a recent conversation, she shared a personal experience that intertwines travel and grief—one she hasn’t revealed until now.

At some point in our lives, each of us will face grief over something or someone. I know I have, and I’m sure you have too. It wasn’t until Erin mentioned it that I realized how travel could serve as a means to cope with life’s more challenging moments. Today, she’ll share her story along with insights from two individuals with contrasting experiences of grief.

I found comfort, solace, and inspiration in her story, and I hope you will too. Here’s Erin.

Erin Hynes: For most of my life, flying has filled me with excitement.

As I strolled through the airport with my headphones on, I felt like the star of my own film. Buckling into my seat, I would eagerly text my parents to let them know I was about to take off.

I was always one of those people who couldn’t fall asleep on planes. After all, how could you snooze when you’re buzzing with excitement for the adventures ahead?

But that all changed in 2016. For the first time, I found myself dreading a flight. It was February 11, my birthday, and I was about to board a flight from Toronto to Varadero, Cuba.

As I stepped onto the plane, I fought back tears because just 13 days earlier, my friend Jordan had passed away.

Jordan and I had connected while working at an Italian pizzeria. We quickly became friends, bonded by our mutual love for trashy reality TV and travel.

Jordan was a genuinely sweet and kind person. He had a knack for making anyone laugh and gave the best hugs. He loved a good book and enjoyed a well-crafted negroni.

We could spend hours chatting at Clinton’s on Bloor Street in Toronto, trading stories about our travels and dreaming together about future destinations.

Flying to Cuba should have filled me with excitement. I had always loved traveling on my birthday—what better way to celebrate? Yet this time, all I felt was sorrow.

That sorrow hit me like a freight train. Jordan’s death was abrupt and shocking, throwing me into a deep state of disbelief. In the two weeks before my flight, I struggled to get out of bed, eat, or even speak. I was plagued by panic attacks and hardly slept.

I contemplated canceling my trip to Cuba. It had been planned months earlier with another friend. But as the departure day drew near, I finally told them I couldn’t go.

But they pushed back, saying, “I believe that traveling will be good for you. It could aid in your healing.”

The notion that travel can aid in healing from grief isn’t a new concept. In my circle of travel influencers and bloggers, it’s something I observe frequently. Many travelers I know confess to using travel as a means of escape.

When you think about it, travel is the ultimate escape. You physically transport yourself to a new place, leaving your troubles behind.

However, grief can’t simply be left behind. Our emotional and mental states are not something we can evade, regardless of how far we travel. As I boarded that flight to Varadero, I realized I couldn't escape the fact that Jordan was gone. Yet, I held onto the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, travel would allow me to rediscover happiness and joy. Maybe it would help me reconcile my loss with the life I still had.

Grief is an inherent aspect of being human. But what exactly is grief? Can travel serve as a coping mechanism? And is it healthy to seek solace in travel during these times?

To delve into these questions, we’ll speak with psychotherapist Zac Schraeder and podcaster Andrew Steven. We’ll examine the interplay between grief and travel and discover grieving traditions from around the globe.

I reached out to my friend Zac Schraeder, a registered psychotherapist based in Toronto, Canada. I wanted to discuss how he defines grief and learn about his personal encounters with it.

Zac Schraeder: Many people perceive grief solely as a response to death, which is accurate, but I prefer to frame it as a highly subjective reaction to any form of loss, often accompanied by deep anguish. This can lead to various symptoms, including distress and separation anxiety, especially in situations involving death or divorce.

Grief can manifest as an intense longing or a fixation on the past, hindering one’s ability to engage with the present. It can show up in concerning ways, like self-neglect; we often hear about individuals failing to care for themselves during their grieving process.

Physical symptoms can also arise, such as heart issues, trouble breathing, or even panic attacks. One of my greatest concerns is the risk of suicidal thoughts. When someone experiences a loss, how do they move forward with their life?

As I mentioned, grief is quite subjective and varies based on individual circumstances and life stages. Many experts view grief as a protective mechanism that has evolved with humanity. It helps us navigate life, even amid profound pain, uncertainty, and a perceived lack of a joyful future. I often liken it to a traumatic life event, exploring how therapists can support individuals as they process trauma and find their way through it.

Erin: Based on your experience, how does grief feel?

Zac: For me, grief became most evident during my divorce. It was particularly tough because it wasn't just about losing a partner; I was also letting go of the vision I had built in my mind and heart about my future, including how I would navigate that future and with whom.

So, it’s not just the loss of a person; it’s also the loss of an identity and the way I envisioned living my life. That was incredibly difficult for me, leaving a significant void that took a long time to address. I would say travel played a significant role in that process. The key question became: how do I now envision a future for myself and find hope within it?

Erin: Have you ever sought solace in travel?

Zac: Absolutely. You and I have shared many conversations about the significance of travel in our lives. While there are plenty of blogs and articles on this topic, I’ve found that rigorous research is somewhat lacking. However, many people seem to intuitively grasp its importance.

During the upheaval of my divorce, I found that travel helped me focus on a purpose. With the entire structure I had built for myself crumbling, I realized I needed something to hold onto, and travel became deeply significant for me in that period.

In many ways, it served as a helpful Band-Aid. It provided immediate relief when I felt particularly fragile and overwhelmed. Additionally, it calmed much of the anxiety and sadness I was grappling with. For me, immersing myself in the vast, beautiful, and complex world made me realize that my struggles weren't as monumental as I had thought. While this realization might dishearten some, it empowered me. It reassured me that my grief, though important and demanding, was not insurmountable.

I could shift my focus to the world around me, fostering a sense of connection. Travel, for me, creates a bond with the world, and in light of my loss, that connection felt incredibly liberating. My former partner and I shared many travel experiences, and it was something I cherished.

I worried that I wouldn’t be able to travel in the same way again. This journey taught me that life could continue in a way that felt fulfilling, and it was alright to embrace that change. It opened my eyes to many new possibilities.

Erin: Zac’s experience of traveling after his divorce resonates with me. Even though the specific losses we faced were different, the positive impact travel had on both our lives is quite similar.

After Jordan's passing, it felt as though time had frozen. Like Zac, I found purpose in travel. Dancing salsa with our Cuban hosts in Vinales was a vivid reminder that life—and joy—could still flourish.

In the grand tapestry of our beautiful world, my grief felt incredibly small.

It might sound odd, but while at home in Toronto, why couldn’t I see that life would persist even as I faced my grief? The reality was that at home, I was constantly reminded of my sorrow. It surrounded me in every corner of my apartment, where Jordan and I had shared so many moments.

I saw it in my favorite café where we often enjoyed breakfast together, in the restaurant where we always ordered negronis, and in the faces of friends who were also mourning Jordan.

In a sense, travel became a distraction for me.

Zac: Many people tend to see distraction in a negative light. Remember how teachers would scold us for being distracted? Yet, distraction is a common strategy used in coping with depression and, of course, with grief too.

It's perfectly fine to divert your attention from pain. You don’t need to confront it head-on all the time. Allowing yourself some distraction can facilitate that natural healing process. Absolutely.

Erin: Traveling around Cuba after Jordan's passing was certainly a distraction, especially when compared to my time in Toronto. Yet, there were moments during my travels when the distraction fell short.

I often found myself sharing my experiences with fellow travelers I had just met. Though I didn’t know them, they were always willing to listen, sometimes offering a comforting hug or sharing their own stories of loss.

Zac: This highlights the universal experience of loss that we all share as human beings. An important aspect of traveling while grieving is that no matter where you are or what language is spoken, everyone understands the feeling of losing something significant. Receiving that comfort from strangers can be incredibly healing.

I believe this is also part of the grieving process—when we discuss our feelings, we often revisit those moments. However, it's crucial to recognize, Erin, that you allowed your natural healing process to unfold, guiding you to where you are now. Embracing the sadness is perfectly okay; it's part of the journey, and travel contributed to that, which is truly beautiful. So, acknowledge your sorrow—it's not permanent—and understand that this is all part of the healing process.

Erin: A few months after my time in Cuba, I embarked on a nine-month adventure through Asia. I vividly recall my first New Year’s Eve, nearly a year after Jordan's passing.

I celebrated in the streets of Tokyo with my partner, sharing sake and champagne with locals we had met in a cozy microbar. I felt immense joy, yet a deep sadness lingered. I could be on the other side of the world, but the memories of the previous New Year’s Eve haunted me; it was one of the last times I had seen Jordan before he died.

As I traveled through Asia, my own grief heightened my sensitivity to the grief of others. I began to notice the rituals and customs surrounding death that I encountered in different cultures.

Varanasi is among the oldest and most sacred cities globally, known as a destination for people from all walks of life to pray, bathe in the sacred River Ganges, and even to find peace in death.

Hindus believe that placing a person's ashes in the Ganges at Varanasi allows their soul to ascend to heaven, freeing it from the cycle of rebirth. In this city, bodies are carried through the streets adorned in vibrant colors before being cremated at the ghats lining the sacred river.

My partner and I spent several days in Varanasi, making our way to the ghats to witness the cremations. What captivated me was not the flames, but the families gathered to bid farewell to their loved ones. The sounds of grief as they mourned their deceased were profoundly moving; I felt their sorrow deeply.

Years later, I found myself in Mexico City during the Day of the Dead, celebrated annually on November 1st and 2nd. This holiday merges ancient Aztec traditions honoring the deceased with the All Souls’ Day, introduced by Spanish colonizers in the 1500s.

Among the many customs of this holiday, one of my favorites is the practice where families visit their local cemeteries on the night of the Day of the Dead. It resembles a grand family reunion, as people from all ages gather around tombstones, lighting candles, decorating graves, and sharing food and drinks.

On that occasion, I wandered through a cemetery on the night of the Day of the Dead. The entire area was illuminated by thousands of flickering candles, creating a vibrant atmosphere filled with the joyful energy of families celebrating together.

The Day of the Dead in Mexico offers a yearly chance to honor, discuss, and celebrate those who have passed away. I believe this not only diminishes the fear associated with death but also normalizes the experience of long-term grief.

Throughout my travels in India, Mexico, and other countries, exploring death traditions has been a significant part of processing my own grief.

Witnessing cremations in Varanasi helped validate my pain, reminding me that it's acceptable to feel and express grief openly. Similarly, the cemetery festivities in Mexico City showed me that grief doesn't always have to be somber; it can also manifest as joyful stories or cherished memories of loved ones.

While my travels have played a vital role in my healing journey, the insights I've gained from observing global perspectives on death have transformed my mindset. I've come to understand that although we have various customs surrounding grief, there's no definitive right or wrong way to grieve.

Death rituals can be influenced by our culture, beliefs, or spirituality. Despite our different traditions, one truth remains: each of us has the liberty to establish our own rituals. For many, travel can become a meaningful practice that fosters healing after experiencing loss.

Travel can take many forms. For some, it means boarding a plane to explore bustling cities around the globe. For others, it might involve driving into nature or embarking on a backpacking adventure through forests and mountains.

This was the path that Andrew Steven, host of the podcast Trail Weight, chose as he navigated his grief.

Andrew Steven: Many people have faced tough times in the past few years, and I’m no exception. In 2019, my mother passed away, and two years later, my brother also died. I was going to say it was interesting, but that sounds dull. What intrigued me was how closely their deaths occurred, leading me to compare my experiences with each. My mom had been fighting cancer, so while her passing felt expected, my brother's death came suddenly and unexpectedly due to a rapidly worsening medical situation. It was like experiencing two sides of the same coin, each evoking very different emotions in me.

While my brother's situation escalated quickly, it made for a stark contrast. It felt like two sides of the same coin, each affecting me very differently as I processed them.

Erin: I’d like to discuss how you’ve coped with your grief. I know a bit from your podcast, but for those who haven’t heard, what have you turned to that has been helpful?

Andrew: So, after my mom passed away, I didn’t set out to grieve, but I happened to embark on a month-long backpacking trip through the Sierra Nevada mountains in California. Being out in nature forces you to stay present. When you’re hiking over dirt and loose gravel, you have to pay attention to how your feet move—being aware of each step is essential to avoid accidents like tripping or falling. This experience naturally pulls you into the moment. Plus, during my trip, I was miles away from any town or road, which made it even more intense.

Being out there gives you plenty of time to reflect and be alone with your thoughts. While you don’t need to go on a month-long trek to benefit, there's something significant about simply being outside and moving your body. I learned a lot from conversations with people studying the effects of nature. They explained how cleaner air and sunlight positively impact us. It’s been said a million times, but the way light filters through trees can genuinely affect our mood. Even the color green has an impact. I didn’t realize it at the time, but all these natural elements were subconsciously helping me along with my heightened focus.

Erin: I wonder if part of your experience is about escapism. I’ve noticed that I turn to travel not only during periods of grief over a loved one but also when dealing with lost relationships or other difficult life phases. Travel has become my primary coping strategy.

I think a lot of this is about escaping the monotony of daily life, which allows me to reset. Do you feel that way about getting out into nature as well?

Andrew: Absolutely. I’m definitely the type who believes that the next thing will solve all my problems. I recently bought a new microwave and genuinely think it will change my life. I dream of having a cabin in the woods, although I'm nowhere near making that a reality. I often find myself online, scrolling through listings for places I can’t even afford. So, yes, I think there’s a strong escapism element in play for me. Even the act of planning these trips serves as a distraction, which circles back to our earlier discussion—some distraction can actually be beneficial.

It’s important to process grief gradually; it’s too overwhelming to handle everything at once. It’s a heavy burden, and you can't carry it all in one go. By spreading it out over time and allowing yourself moments of distraction, you strike a balance that resonates in many aspects of life. You need to find moments to engage with your feelings, to escape, to process, to forget, and to remember. There are still times when I think, Oh, I should ask my mom that; she’ll know the answer. It’s a bittersweet realization. I can’t express it any other way—it’s a mix of sadness and sweetness when I remember, Oh, I can’t ask her those questions anymore.

Yet, there’s a comforting aspect to knowing she’s still on my mind as if she were here.

Erin: It’s interesting that you mention this because travel was such a big part of my relationships, especially with my friend who passed away and my Oma [grandmother]. During the last few years of my Oma’s life, she was in long-term care, and I was traveling extensively—almost every year, I’d visit many countries. I made sure to send her a postcard from every location I explored. When I returned from one of those trips, I found a stack of nearly 100 postcards piled up on her bedside table, all from me.

Now, whenever I travel, I often think of her more than when I’m at home. I’ll be in a new place and think, Oh, I wish I could send Oma a postcard. Even though I can’t, the act of remembering her and holding on to those memories feels meaningful and special, just as you mentioned.

Andrew: Absolutely, and in that sense, you are keeping her memory alive.

Erin: As I wrapped up my conversation with Andrew, I was curious about how hiking has played a role in his healing process after the loss of his mother and brother, as well as other moments of grief.

Andrew: Grief brings with it a whirlwind of confusion—questions of why, what, and how. When I’m out in nature, I feel a sense of control, a boost of serotonin or something similar. I also learn to embrace the unknown chaos because it’s unavoidable in the natural world.

Don’t let the challenges of travel—the cost, the planning, or the time off—prevent you from getting outside. Honestly, I believe that simply stepping outside, even just walking around the block or visiting a local city park, can make a difference. There’s usually a state or national park within a couple of hours' drive for most people.

And even if it’s just the park down the street, that’s still a significant step. Don’t let the pursuit of an idealized, Instagram-worthy experience hinder you from enjoying what you can actually do and achieve today.

That said, if you do have the means and opportunity to travel, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone while still feeling safe can lead to remarkable experiences. You’ll find yourself shifting between feelings of control and surrender.

Erin: A few years after Jordan's passing, I found myself in the courtyard of a riad in Fes, Morocco, sitting with my large blue backpack. A few other travelers came in and took seats across from me.

One of them complimented my backpack. I smiled and shared that it belonged to a dear friend who also had a passion for travel. Now that he’s no longer with us, I take it along sometimes to keep his spirit on the road, too.

Since Jordan passed, his backpack has continued to journey far and wide. Thanks to an online community, friends and family have shared his backpack, taking it along on their global adventures. It has traveled to Vietnam, Nicaragua, The Netherlands, Ireland, and all over Canada and the U.S.

As we've heard from Zac and Andrew, travel can serve many purposes in processing grief. For some, it offers an escape or a distraction; for others, it’s a path to rediscover joy. For me, it has encompassed all of those experiences and more.

When Jordan first passed away, backpacking through Cuba marked the beginning of my healing. Over time, travel transformed into a way to honor his memory. Now, whenever I explore new places, I often think of him and make it a point to find a spot to order a negroni in his memory.

Aislyn: That's wonderful! Here’s to Jordan. Thank you for sharing your story, Erin. If you'd like to hear more from Erin, make sure to follow Curious Tourism on your preferred podcast platform. You can also check out her website, pinatravels.org, and join her adventures on Instagram, TikTok, and Twitter under the handle @pinatravels.

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This has been Unpacked, a production of Dinogo Media. The podcast is produced by Aislyn Greene and Nikki Galteland, with music composed by Chris Colin.

And remember: The world is complex. We’re here to help you navigate it.