I wrote a travel journal just for me. A year later, it revealed more than I expected.

A smaller side goal was to keep a travel journal for the first time writing a recap on each day as well as my thoughts and feelings about my trip as the adventures unfolded. Some entries were just a brief paragraph or two. Others filled pages. I did it just for the sake of recording memories, committing to writing each day, and purely for the enjoyment of writing about travel and not for others’ eyes necessarily. As a travel writer and editor, I rarely write just for myself so this was different for me.

A year later, I read it back for the first time and I was pleasantly surprised to learn what it revealed. Now, I’m all for creative projects and time for reflection abroad! Below, I’ve pulled out nine interesting revelations I had along with the applicable passages.

Travellers often say that you meet the best people while travelling. That’s true and my travel journal revealed why I admire certain travellers and what that might mean for my future self.

“We meet John, a British man in his fifties and the only other guest at this little hostel. We chat on the patio with breakfast and coffee. He’s a marine biologist with that classic English sense of humour who loves to travel and surf. We talk about Brexit and how he wants to leave his country. I admire older travellers like him who do their own thing: He’s in his fifties, staying in a simple hostel, and surfing in Costa Rica.”

As much as I love foodie joints and well-reviewed restaurants, sometimes the simplest hostel meals are the best. What counts is the memory.

“At the hostel in Dominicalito, we throw together the most backpacker meal I think I’ve ever eaten: cheap instant noodles, orange juice, tuna, and crackers. Honestly it’s great and the evening is perfect.”

A travel journal can sometimes capture a place better than any photo I’d post on Instagram.

“It’s named La Ballena (the whale), because the sandbar on the peninsula divides into two little branches like a whale tale. We’ve come at high tide though and Angie is disappointed that we can’t walk out onto the sandbar. Oh well — it can’t always be perfect. I’m just amazed by the scenery. We’re sitting at the edge of a jungley palm tree forest. Families are spread out finding shade at the base of the palm trees. When I swim, I’m looking at cloud forest mountains that rise up from the coastline. Lush, tree-covered, hazy. As I float there, I make a mental note not to forget this scene because it’s so incredible. Angie comments that I look like I’m lost in paradise. She’s totally right.”

When I read back my writing a year later, I can see what excited me most. That’s a good indicator of what I might enjoy during future travels.

“Motorcycles are so fun! I have no fear, I just enjoy the turns, the wind, the speed, and the way the trees open up and I can peer at the valleys below before the moment is over. I see everything in a flash as we speed by. There’s so much to look at: country fincas, the fog blowing in over the mountains, a well-lit chicharronera, so many city lights, a dog by the gate. We climb to the Santa Ana viewpoint and park the motorcycle at the side of the dirt road. It’s a view of the whole region, stars, and airport lights below. He asks if this was what I was expecting or if I thought there would be a restaurant. This is exactly what I was expecting; as if a Canadian girl isn’t used to wide open spaces.”

I’m also so thankful for the memories I get to relive so vividly. Had I not written them down, ones like this might otherwise be lost:

“We find our hostel down a small laneway and right away I get my first crazy experience in Puerto Viejo. Howler monkeys are roaring from the trees. It’s so surreal and the sound is so strange: a deep, growling howl that sounds almost mechanical. Angie busts out the binoculars and after some searching, I see where the treetops are shaking. Then, I spot a big lump hanging from the branches. One starts swinging in the trees with its long arm outstretched. Incredible. We check in and ditch our stuff before hitting the beach.”

Time hits differently while travelling. Last year’s journal contained an important reminder of making the most of my days, not just when on vacation, but always.

“Because I’m here for just a month and change, every day counts and the bad ones feel like a major loss. But how many days do I let go to waste at home? Because I feel like I have endless amounts of time, those bad days don’t seem to matter. When you travel, all of a sudden, you understand the value of a day of your own life.”

It also reminded me that there will always be low-key, or even mundane, moments and that’s totally fine. Oftentimes, this is necessary.

“I’m missing my own space and alone time. When I arrive, the power is out and I’m also kind of exhausted. Plus, my stomach isn’t well. I go to the grocery store and pharmacy to buy a few essentials. Then I go back, make some pasta and a cup of tea and watch Queer Eye. It’s one of those understated nights of travel but I needed that time to unwind.”

What I wrote gave me an appreciation for how far I’ve come as a traveller too.

“I was told not to travel at night but it’s only 8:00 p.m. and it already feels a bit seedy. I’ve learned that you always find a wi-fi connection, another woman, and a secure place. I call an Uber to take me to the terminal then get on the bus to Puriscal. I’m a traveller with a suitcase and stand out like a sore thumb on this bus full of locals that winds through mountain roads in the country. At one point, I let go of my suitcase and it flies to the front of the bus. Oops! I get to my stop in the town and pull my suitcase with me along the dirt road lit by the moon. A few short years ago, I’d never have dreamt to travel this way.”

Sometimes memory gets it wrong but I have a record of what I thought of a place at that exact time.

“I’m going to miss this place a lot. I like farm life. I like the company of the dogs, the wide open space to wander or relax, the green parrots that glide through the sky and the toucans that perch on the balcony. I like the clothes on the line that blow in the wind and the crickets that are always singing. The cows, the sun-parched landscape, the dusty pink sunsets, hummingbirds on the flowers, and the dirt road up to the house which I’ve walked along nearly a hundred times. We plant a little tree I got the other day. I’m leaving my mark and a piece of myself here.”