Redrawing the Map: How Getting Sick in Spain Taught Us to Travel Differently

There’s a quiet kind of magic in the way life unfolds – not always as we plan, but often as we need.

I had imagined our trip to Alicante – just the four of us: my husband, our daughter, our son, and me – as a radiant escape from the gray Lithuanian winter. It was meant to be our soul-nourishing journey. We pictured sun-drenched mornings, winding coastal roads, and the thrill of discovering new corners of the world. I was brimming with excitement and anticipation as I carefully mapped out our route, stretching from the vibrant streets of Alicante to the rugged cliffs of Gibraltar, then back through the breathtaking views of Ronda and the dramatic Caminito del Rey. It was an itinerary crafted to capture the best of southern Spain.

But life, as it often does, had its own itinerary.

As I zipped up our suitcases, a familiar whisper of worry crept in: I just hope we don’t get sick. And if we do, please, not a stomach bug. It was February – prime season for all kinds of viruses – and that quiet fear lingered like a skeleton stowed away in my luggage.

And then, our fears came true.

One by one, we fell ill. The world shrank to the four walls of our rented apartment. I remember gazing out the window at the lively street below – people laughing and moving – and feeling a sharp pang of loss as I realized we were missing it all. The ambitious plans, the carefully curated list of must-sees, the imagined photographs and perfect moments – they all slipped quietly out of reach.

There’s a subtle pressure that clings to travel. It’s the voice of travel maximalism, an inner urge to see it all, do it all, make it count, or risk ‘wasting’ the trip. But at what cost do we chase these perfect itineraries?

Psychologists note that the pressure to make every moment count can actually increase travel stress and reduce our enjoyment. It’s a paradox: the more we chase perfect experiences, the harder it becomes to truly savor any of them.

This time, life invited us to experience a different rhythm. Acceptance didn't arrive as a sudden wave of peace. It began as a desperate need for an anchor – something to steady myself and make some peace with our situation. I found myself clinging to a phrase I once heard, repeating it like a lifeline:

These words became our internal compass. It wasn’t an act of giving up; it was a gentle act of trusting the process. And enjoying the process, not the end result (complete check-list) was rewarding.

In the Wonderlight section of my blog (dedicated to slow, soul-nourishing travel), I share how this new mindset transformed the rest of our journey through southern Spain – and how slowing down revealed a beauty we would have otherwise missed. We found ourselves quietly living the very values of The Enso Way – presence, gratitude, and the beauty of imperfection.

Faced with our derailed plans, I realized I had a choice: despair or acceptance. And that’s when a new understanding began to form within me.

“This situation is neither good nor bad. It simply is. And I allow myself to be in it."

"This too shall pass, and it will unfold as it may."

At first, it was just a string of words – a tool to quiet the noise in my head. But as the days passed, the mantra began to take root. We weren’t so sick that we couldn’t move. We simply moved at a slower pace with less rushing and fewer things on our to-do list. I noticed my shoulders relax, and the tension in me unwinding, little by little.

As we continued to travel – imperfectly, gently – the mantra settled into my mind and body, bringing a sense of calm. We stopped judging the day by miles covered and started observing it for what it was. The frustration softened. The detours no longer felt like disruptions, but part of the unfolding. We began to see the beauty in our actual experience, not just in what we had planned.

We also gave more attention to one another, to our feelings, to our collective well-being. And even if that was far from perfect, it was still enough.