Why I don't visit churches

I don't do cathedrals. 

For sure, they can be full of fantastic art and give us meaningful insight into the beliefs and ways of life of the past. That's all great. I might peek in one if I happen to stumble upon one and feel like some solemnity might be in order. But seriously, when you enter your fifth cathedral, do you still remember the first? When you've read the plate about the painter of the frescos, taken a picture of the altar and stepped back out into the sunshine, has any of it stuck with you?

I'm wary of museums, too. If I live in a place for a year, then, of course: I'll probably visit most of them. I'm profoundly interested in history, politics, art, design – all that stuff that museums are usually good at. But a museum run in the sense of a pub crawl is beyond the point. On this trip, as I've been constantly moving from place to place, I still haven't been inside one single museum.

You know, there are these guide books, "Lonely Planet" they are called, and they are awfully popular. You'll find them in the backpacks of almost every traveller in almost any hostel. At the tables of the hostel bar, the backpackers compare notes with each other and discuss which Lonely Planet recommended experience they have or haven't done yet.

One series of books the Lonely Planet Corporation has is called X on a Shoestring. It's for people for whom seeing a country or two isn't enough; they want to travel at least half a continent. Europe on a Shoestring. Southeast Asia on a Shoestring. The World on a Shoestring (coming up). The word shoestring is supposed to refer to cheap travel, but in my mind, it evokes an image of someone drawing a line from the main attraction to another onto a map with the help of a string and then sticking to it.

I used to own one of those books too, years back, and I know what great writers they have. All you have to do is to open one of them, any of them, and you'll feel like you're missing out on some great fun somewhere in the world. "Be sure not to miss the amazing experience of...", they'll write. "Ideally, you'll get to X the night before, do Y and Z, and then get up early the next morning to..."

And the readers do! They dash from rafting to horseback riding, from canopy tour to hot springs, from mountain biking to temple ruins, from bird-watching to swimming with the dolphins. And inside cities, from cathedrals to museums. Tick-tick-tick, they tick off to-do lists in their guidebooks, click-click-click, they snap the selfies with the temple ruin or the friendly dolphin, tap-tap-tap they post them for the world to see. At the end, they'll feel like they've seen everything there was in the country to see.

What I like to do is watch. I watch people, how they go about their life, what kind of work they do, where they go. I listen to the people on the streets and buses, see how they talk to their friends, partners, or strangers. I observe how mothers and fathers behave with their children, what children are allowed to do and what not, how the children play and how they talk to their parents. I look at what people eat and what they buy, what happens in situations of buying and selling, what kind of shops there are. 

I look at how people have decorated their houses or their yards. I watch celebrations of birthdays or other parties in the streets or in parks. I try to find places where I can hear people sing or see them dance. I go to places where local people go: bus stations, cinemas, educational institutions, vegetable markets. I visit parks and squares and observe how people spend their free time, and what kind of people seem to have free time. I look at how people laugh.

Whenever I get the chance, I talk with the locals and ask them questions, but I rarely approach complete strangers – as an intruding outsider, I feel I don't have the right. I like to remind myself that whenever I set my foot in some city, I'm stepping into other people's home, and none of that was made just so that I could have a great experience.

Before I arrive, or during the first days, I try to read or hear and understand as much of the local history as possible. After that, I just breathe in the way of life. There's so much of it, you don't have to worry about it running out anytime soon.