IN THE AGE OF THE INTERNET, THE CONCEPT OF TRAVEL HAS UNDERGONE SO many labels that it’s hard to keep count. But what’s common to every wave is that this most ancient of human instincts has become inextricably lodged in conformity. Consigned to lists and recommendations. Must-sees. Must-dos. Must-eats. Why, we ask. Why must someone else tell us what to do?
Let’s make travel no-frills again. So—here’s another list. A bragging-rights f**k-it list. Mind you—the places, even the experiences, are mostly indicative. But the idea is to indulge your most unhinged self in a way that convention really hasn’t allowed you. (Allowed you—what’s that?) Don’t do the same old. You’ll come away changed, even if slightly. If you don’t—rinse, repeat. Whatever you do, don’t post about it. Or do—you do you. But remember to f**k it.
Forge your own zellige tile in Fez, Morocco. If you’ve always reached out within yourself and chanced upon the groping claws of a despairing artist waiting to be let out, diving into zellige tile-making in Morocco might be up your alley. You’ll know the drudgery, focus and patience that go into the crafting of real, tactile aesthetics.
Play ice hockey in Leh, Ladakh. You’ll need to know how to skate. You’ll need lungs that don’t collapse at 11,000 feet. But if you’re fit enough, stubborn enough, and willing to surrender your urban flaccidity to the raw and the relentless, the cold will baptise you.
Participate in a traditional reindeer migration in Norway. You’re not watching from a lodge. For eight days, you’re moving with Sámi herders across harsh, wild landscapes, on their time, in their rhythm. It’s not about domination, but surrender. You’re not chasing “authenticity” but letting it quietly absorb you.
Explore the caves of Hungary’s Buda Hills. Underground, muddy, slow, and oddly intimate. Be forewarned: this will not be spelunking for Instagram—it’s about choosing something strange and unshiny. A soppy metaphor, too: going deep instead of going wide.
Watch baseball in Japan. Yes, Japan. Yes, Baseball. And in so doing, you choose obsession over obviousness. Japanese baseball is full of ritual, history and fierce devotion. You aren’t going for sushi, shrines, sake or cherry blossoms. Well—those, too, but mostly to feel the tension in a stadium seat. With a beer and a cheering section you don’t understand and somehow still feel at home in.
Chase Agatha Christie in South Africa. Or follow in Ian Fleming’s footsteps in London. Where did he go drinking? The ‘fuck-it’ move here is to fanboy without worrying about the nerd label. What shaped the inner life and peregrinations of those whose stories form your personal Roman empire? For more inspiration, turn to Siddharth Dhanvant Shanghvi’s piece in this issue, where he writes about seeking inspiration from author Karen Blixen in Kenya.
Go looking for family. It isn’t as plastic as it sounds. We’re not even asking you to go visit your ancestral haveli in a hostile bordering country. But if there’s a cousin you haven’t seen in twenty years, or a great-aunt who sends sweets every Diwali without a return address—do the schlep. Make the awkward call.
Stargaze with the SO. But not in a glamped-up desert with champagne and fairy lights. Try a flat roof with mosquitoes, or a freezing campsite. Nothing carnal, all primal. You’ll see Saturn’s rings through a `700 monocular and argue over constellations. There’s plenty of toxic relationship advice out there, and the only way to beat it and know the value of what you have is by looking at the universe—scary and freaking vast.
Backpack across Italy with your children. There’s something about not booking a fancy family vacay to a First World destination. And ask for one with just the kids to show them why Rome wasn’t built in a day. The museums, the train rides, the gelaterias, tutta la faccenda. Encourage complaints, embrace whining. Be a parent, for heaven’s sake.
Sign up for a running retreat in the Dolomites. Running from things isn’t always a bad idea and if you’re the kind that finds liberation in it, it’s time to retire marathons and take a running vacation. No matter what sort of a runner you are, adventure groups and group travel aggregators will offer one for you across the world, be it in Italy, through the Dolomites, California in the US, New Zealand or Scotland. Road trips are so 2011. Take off on your feet instead.
Catch trout in Tirthan. Not to be a fishing fetishist but imagine standing thigh-deep in a Himalayan stream, road trembling and breath still. You will learn to wait and to listen (lots of metaphors here). The river isn’t performing for you. Trust us, you’ll savour every bite back at the homestay.
Go to Rishikesh. Well, it’s just a stand-in but now that the rage bait has worked—it’s just about eating your words and going to that overrated and tacky tourist magnet that you said you’d never go to. Just f**k it. Sit on the Ganga ghat before sunrise, get jostled in an overcrowded aarti, and let the spiritual kitsch wash over you. Does your hate still hold? Good if it doesn’t, great if it does.
Shave your head at a roadside barbershop in a new city. Surrender. Just the clickety-clack of clippers and the collective gaze of local men sipping teh tarik while your sense of self peels away in patches.
Spend a week learning to butcher meat in rural France. If you eat meat but can’t stomach the blood, it’s time you stood in front of the carcass. This isn’t about brutality—it’s about honesty. You’ll learn respect, sharpness and how to sharpen a knife that will outlast your ideas about where food comes from.
Volunteer as backstage crew member for a local film festival. You’ll paste schedules to damp noticeboards and help film crew locate their USB drives while your fingers go numb. If you’re the kind who goes pontificating about community and art, now’s the time to apply. (Check out the Dharamshala International Film Festival?)
Keep quiet—like Pablo Neruda said—but on a 10-day silent retreat. Not for healing. Not even for bragging rights. Do it because you’re curious about what your mind does when it has nothing to perform for. No affirmations, no phones, no food shots, no smug post about “transformation.” You might meet yourself. Or you might go stir-crazy.
Take an overnight train across the country, hard class only. No recliner, no clean sheets, just you and your limbs folded like origami, trying not to lose your bottle of water or your sense of humour. You’ll eavesdrop on five dialects, be coughed or barfed upon, eat something off a leaf and arrive with a crooked spine.
Track wolves in Abruzzo on up-and-coming adventures crafted by rewilding outfits specifically for wildlife and conservation enthusiasts. F**k the safari and earn your bragging rights another way.
Walk the breadth of Bhutan. Skip Tiger’s Nest and choose the Trans-Bhutan Trail. On the way lie extremely gorgeous temples, apple orchards, bubbling brooks (and a village dedicated to phalluses). And if it’s any incentive, you’ll also get a passport that you’ll have stamped at the end of each section.
Watch a storm off Canada’s west coast. Aurora is such a borealis. Coastal fishing villages in Canada’s Vancouver Island are witnessing a steady rise in wild-weather enthusiasts taking up blustery hikes and windswept beach walks—and if you can be careful enough, it’ll land you the gold medal of bragging rights. Enough of just watching internal storms unfold.
To read more stories from Esquire India's May-June 2025 issue, pick up a copy of the magazine from your nearest newspaper stand or bookstore. Or click here to subscribe to the magazine.