At 36, travel looks a little different. Here's what I've learned from two weeks on the road in Eastern Canada.

I finally remember to check the weather. That’s a daily task I’m usually religious about but I’ve been trying to stay present with my family and focus on the stunning scenery instead of on my phone screen. It’s sad I even had to declare less phone time as an aspiration for this trip, but as most of us know, the pervasive addiction is real. My focus and overall mental health have been absolutely vibing, and I’m pretty sure I can credit that improvement, at least in part, to limiting my screen time over the past two weeks.

The Weather Network shows the tropical storm caused by Hurricane Debby is about to hit southern Quebec—a forecast that’s hard to believe while the blazing early-August sun’s still high above us. “Shit,” I say to Val. “They’re calling for over sixty millimetres of rain tonight. And fifty-kilometre winds.” We exchange a worried grimace. Uh oh.

We’re booked to stay at a campsite just outside of Trois-Rivières. Alas, the storm forces us to hastily change our plans, spend a little more money, and go with the literal flow, something that I’m more emotionally equipped to deal with at 36 after investing in the development of my coping skills. (This isn’t an official endorsement for therapy but I do think it’s worth a try.) Going over my travel budget is something I wouldn’t dare do in my penny-pinching twenties, but this sudden pivot opens my eyes to how much my priorities—and my perspective—have shifted as I’ve gotten older.

With the majority of the driving behind us, I’m at peace with how the trip has gone because I (mostly) stuck to my goals and honoured my needs. Which look pretty different now than they did while travelling in my twenties. No more hungover convenience store breakfasts, racing between destinations, or showing up without a plan. All of which would only cause stress, and I have enough of that in my day-to-day life.

Now, my holidays are shaped around one main goal: to take a damn break. In doing so, I have to consider the needs of my long-term partner too, which means compromising. But it also means collaborating. He did the lion’s share of the driving while I took care of planning, organizing, and researching. We’ve learned that playing to our strengths creates a path of least resistance—especially pertinent on a road trip.

So I do what I do best and find a cute BBQ place on the St. Lawrence River for an early dinner before the storm hits. We’re all desperate to escape the over-packed Subaru Crosstrek, still grimed with the rusty soil of P.E.I.’s Red Sands Shore. After ordering a pulled pork sandwich and spicy brisket poutine to share, we settled at a picnic table with beach views and classic rock tunes crackling through the food truck’s outdoor speakers.

I feel cup-half-full in this moment. At 36, I’ve learned to appreciate the little things, especially while travelling at a slower pace. Travel these days is all about enjoying quality meals, bonding with family, singing along to nostalgic playlists, and experiencing nature's jaw-dropping wonders.

In the past, I brushed Canada aside to explore what I saw as more exciting parts of the world: Thailand, India, New Zealand, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru. As awesome as those places are, I was taking the beauty in my own backyard for granted. Canada is an actual masterpiece.

Last summer, Val and I roamed Vancouver Island with his sister and her partner. We were floored by the crystal-clear rivers and lakes, delicious food, and old-growth forests. It made us realize we needed to prioritize travelling more of Canada.

But this year we wanted to include Laika, who at three is finally grown up enough to handle a long trip. When we had the unexpected opportunity to purchase our first vehicle, the East Coast Chowder Tour was born. As seafood enthusiasts who hadn't been to Eastern Canada as adults, our journey was clear: spend two weeks driving through Southern Quebec, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, and Nova Scotia, including Cape Breton Island, now one of my favourite places on the planet.

We had originally planned to sleep in the car the entire trip thanks to a wooden platform Val spent many frustrated hours building, an attempt to convert our small SUV into a camper van. We had fantasies of roughing it on the open road just like our favourite #VanLife accounts. But after our first sleepless night we realized it just didn’t work with two full-sized humans, a medium-sized mutt, and two weeks’ worth of stuff. Or maybe I just couldn’t hack it.

There are certain aspects of travel I’m no longer willing to compromise on, and my physical comfort (and that of my dog) is high on that list. Not to mention preserving the sanctity of my mental health.

With that in mind, we forged ahead with a mix of camping and accommodations, a more comfortable arrangement for all. It turns out that getting a solid sleep is crucial to functioning well—another thing I value more as I get older. That helped us to appreciate every incredible experience we had on the road. From wandering the hilly stone labyrinth of Vieux-Québec and a soggy, but atmospheric, morning stroll through Lunenburg, Nova Scotia’s UNESCO-designated historic streets, to seeing Laika’s surprise as she joyfully frolicked on an ocean beach for the first time in P.E.I. Her bewildered face as she lapped up the salty seawater will stay with me forever.

After an early morning of exploring Hopewell Rocks Provincial Park in the Bay of Fundy, we have some regret over making the nine-hour journey to Trois-Rivières on the same day. But our vacation time is swiftly coming to an end. Our jobs are beckoning us back to real life whether we’re ready or not. (I think Laika, on the other hand, is more than ready to return to her cushy routine in our West Toronto home.)

Travel as a thirty-something looks different. Our adult responsibilities require us to create balance with more restful trips that give us a chance to recharge. It’s a huge privilege to be able to travel, and raising the bar higher for your own comfort will probably require more planning and money, but for me, that investment means properly enjoying the experience. My travel style has changed and I’m okay with that if it means returning from a trip with renewed energy and an even deeper appreciation for our awe-inspiring planet.