The other type of travel

Immigrants visiting back home: it may be exotic, but it's not glamorous

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“Final destination?” the employee on the other side of the check-in counter asks me as I hand her my passport.

“Kathmandu.”

“Ooh, Kathmandu! Are you going trekking? Annapurna? Everest base camp?”

“Uh, no,” I respond with that slight sense of awkwardness I’ve become so accustomed to every time this conversation comes up. “I’m going to visit my dad.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” she responds flatly, seeming disappointed that aging men with health conditions that prevent them from hiking up even a staircase would dare be from the country that shares ground with the world’s tallest mountain. “Anyway, you’re all checked in. Safe flight!”

I thank her as I take back my passport and head towards security, wondering how many other times I’ll have to have this conversation before I get to my dad’s apartment.

{Spoiler alert: I lost count, but I think it was somewhere between 5 and 10}

The view of the Shivapuri hills — the highest point of elevation I personally reached in Nepal — from the window in my dad’s spare bedroom

We’re often told there are two types of travel: business and pleasure.

Business is self-explanatory. Pleasure more or less is too, but there’s another category that gets wrongly lumped in with it: what I like to call immigrant travel.

I’m not talking about the travel that takes place during the move itself, but all the trips an immigrant inevitably takes back to their country of origin to visit family and friends.

Sometimes it’s pleasure. Sometimes it’s pain. Depending on what immigrant generation you are, sometimes it’s amazement as you realize exactly why your parents or grandparents decided to uproot their lives.

Regardless, it’s definitely a far cry from the adventure pleasure travelling of backpackers or the luxurious pleasure travelling of influencers who make you question your entire life’s work with their dreamy snaps of pristine beaches and 5 star resorts.

It’s often a quiet type of travel. Sure, you’ll probably see some sights. But they come second to seeing relatives and family friends that possibly haven’t seen you for years, and are dying to make blunt comments about your body, career, and family (or lack thereof) back home. You want to curl up and die in the moment, but once you get back to your country of residence you know you’ll smile and laugh about it.

Your home base isn’t a chic boutique hotel or a quirky Airbnb. It’s, well, home. Maybe not the home you’ve created elsewhere, but a home that will always welcome you, even if your mattress firmness preference is actually the complete opposite of your family’s.

And you maybe spend a surprising amount of time at that home for someone who is technically on vacation. I felt like I was disappointing my loved ones back in Canada when I was sending them my dispatches from Kathmandu:

Today we went to the dialysis ward and then the cashmere shop, where my dad argued with the vendors a little too much and I wanted to hide. Today I got my teeth cleaned for the equivalent of $15 and then went for a little walk around the neighbourhood; I saw more baby goats, so that was nice. Today the maid fed me two lunches before my dad and I met his friend for yet another lunch and I felt so physically and mentally uncomfortable.

It may sound boring, but perhaps it’s the ultimate form of slow travel — something everyone seems to be advocating for these days.

While nearby tourists are waking up at the crack of dawn to see as many sights and get in as many activities as possible, we’re lying low in residential neighbourhoods. Browsing the local shops and getting to know the vendors and service providers — who else goes to the dentist while they’re travelling? We’re eating home-cooked meals, chatting with neighbours and family friends … truly immersing ourselves the mundane everyday rituals that make up the culture. Because as grand and magnificent as the palaces, churches, and city squares are, they don’t show the whole story of a country.

Neighbourhood walk views in Chunikhel, Kathmandu

I suppose I’ve travelled quite a bit in my adult life. Not as much as the jet-set travel influencers who have ‘50+ countries and counting’ in their Instagram bios and are away every other month, but I usually go on 1-2 trips a year. And for the most part, they’re trips to see family members and friends. I haven’t been on a purely pleasure trip since 2022 — immigrant child duty calls.

Not that I’m complaining.

As much as I’d love to see Machu Picchu and the rainbow mountains of Peru, the lush bays and turquoise waters of Vietnam and Thailand, the distinctive architecture and rugged coastline of the Greek isles (among many, many other destinations), going back to a home away from home is a lovely feeling. Even if you have to sleep on a firm mattress surrounded by an explosion of kids’ toys or listen to your dad causing a scene at a trendy café he’s too old school to understand (apparently leaving a peel on an otherwise sliced mango is negligence).

There’s something so wonderful about that first long, tight hug you receive. My in-laws in the UK are especially great at them. About having long catch-ups where you try to cram in as many details as you can about the past few years, or however long it’s been, while being reminded that the best relationships can withstand time and distance. About wandering around old, familiar places, seeing what’s changed and what hasn’t. About eating the foods you can’t easily get in your new country, whether it’s a specific ingredient or product that’s hard to find or a meal that no one cooks quite like your friend or relative. I find myself missing the dal, vegetables, and rice my dad’s maid would make for me, even if we had daily miscommunication regarding portion sizes and I pretty much always felt full to the point of being uncomfortable.

No, it’s not as relaxing as a lazy beach vacation at a resort, or as exciting as a multi-city exploration trip. But it’s a wholesome kind of travel that will always be unique to you, and that many people will never be able to understand. That’s what makes it so special.

I won’t lie, sometimes I resent the luxury travellers that get to go anywhere, stay in the nicest types of accommodation, and spend their days completely on their own terms. But the next time I feel a twang of envy, I’ll remember the hugs I get from my nan and auntie in law. The fruit platters my dad makes me. The grins on the faces of my long distance friends when we finally see each other. The beautiful nostalgia I feel when I revisit my old haunts. I’m not necessarily ticking off bucket list items on these trips, but I’m feeding my soul in other ways. And isn’t that what travel is all about?

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Thank you, as always, for reading! Let me know if you can relate in the comments.

For more words and thoughts on travel, fashion, culture, and other lifestyle elements from a colourful minimalist lens, you know what to do.