This is the story of one travel journal — and of finding it again almost 30 years after it was made.
I’ve moved a lot in my life. Country to country, house to house. But somehow this journal stayed safe the whole time, tucked away in a box in my dad’s attic.
Finding it felt strange and emotional. Like stepping back into an older version of myself.
Inside were all the priorities and worries of being young: wondering whether my bum looked odd when I was doing yoga, or writing page after page about being in love with someone back home while I was travelling. We wrote each other heartfelt letters constantly, and even the reminder of that kind of letter-writing — the anticipation, the waiting, the excitement of finding an envelope — was a delight to rediscover.
I was travelling with my friend Dana at the time. Years later, she ended up marrying the person she was in love with during that trip, so it felt especially sweet to share this rediscovery with her and relive those moments together.
My travel diary is also not all sunshine and light.
We were broke and far from home when my gran died, and her mum was unwell. Under pressure, we argued territorially.
In a strange way, I was glad to relive those pressures too. They are part of my story. (I was glad that what shone through was a friendship stronger than bickering).
There is a lot of sketching in my journal because I found it quite expressive — almost as expressive as writing. My handwriting is terrible and my spelling is terrible here in this journal. It can take quite a long time to write a description of something, but if you’re a rapid sketcher, you can capture the impression with ease.
Learning how to add sketches into your travel journal can be one of the best ways of upgrading it into something you’ll genuinely want to rediscover in the future. Even I can’t be bothered reading all my terrible handwriting, but the sketches give me great joy.
“Time travel” is probably an overused phrase, but honestly, that’s what this felt like. A genuine chance to step back into another version of yourself. Travel journals might be one of the only ways I know of doing that.
I also found photographs tucked inside.
At the time, I was an art student. I was obsessed with photographing leaves, trees, landscapes, mountain shapes, reflections in windows — visual textures everywhere around me. We were travelling through Canada, surrounded by enormous landscapes and dramatic cities.
What I rarely photographed, though, were people.
I always felt awkward pointing a camera at someone’s face. My friend Dana constantly wanted photographs standing in front of mountains or beside lakes, and I would always say, “No, no — just the mountain. Just the landscape.”
I really regret that now.
Thirty years later, I’ve got countless photographs of mountains I barely remember taking — but very few photographs of myself, or of Dana, or of the tiny human moments that actually made up the trip.
One photograph I found was of a gondola suspended high above a forest, climbing up the side of a mountain. I had completely forgotten I’d even taken it. Which seems impossible really, because surely hanging hundreds of feet in the air, swaying in the breeze above a forest, should be unforgettable.
But the strange thing was: the second I saw the photograph, the entire memory came flooding back.
That’s part of the power of a travel journal too. Not just recording memories, but reactivating them.
My journal is also full of the kindness of strangers.
Looking back, I can already see traces of the work I do now with travellers through Blue Noun.
I didn’t know it at the time, but this Canada trip was going to become quite life-changing. During the plane journey, I became truly fascinated by flying over the vast expanse of Greenland — a place I’d never really paid much attention to before, but which suddenly felt full of wonder when I saw it from the plane window.
Years later, I went on to win a grant to travel back there as a research artist, and it became a pivotal moment in my career.
→ Why I Slept on My Art School Portfolio in Greenland
Even as a slightly insecure 20-year-old worrying about her bum in yoga poses, I was also aware enough to notice that the world wasn’t simply “giving” us wonderful experiences because we deserved them.
We were being held by people who wanted two young Scottish girls to have a meaningful experience in their country.
People shared things they loved themselves.
Favourite walks. Landscapes. Local traditions. A church community. (Strange clam-based cocktails we found so sinister at the time). Recommendations scribbled onto bits of paper.
We were gifted experiences over and over again through the generosity of other people.
Looking back now, I think that shaped me profoundly.
Because when I think about what I try to create for travellers now, it’s not really “tourism” in the traditional sense. It’s that feeling of being welcomed into the texture of somebody else’s world. The feeling that local people are helping hold your experience with care.
And perhaps that’s another reason travel journals matter.
Not because they preserve perfect memories.
But because they quietly remind us how much of our lives was made possible through connection, kindness, attention, and shared moments we didn’t fully understand the importance of at the time.
Mid-Journey | Travel Journal Workshops in Scotland – for Travellers
Finding this old journal is part of the inspiration behind Mid-Journey —the small travel journal gatherings I now host through Blue Noun in Scotland.
They’re designed as relaxed, creative spaces where travellers can use English naturally while reflecting on their journey, sharing stories, sketching, writing, and connecting with other people passing through.
Language growth lasts when there is something real to respond to: a landscape, a memory, a photograph, a connection.
It fades when it’s all academic – but not felt.
Mid-Journey isn’t about “studying” English in the traditional sense, but an invitation to use your English meaningfully inside a real experience — while building the kinds of human connections and memories that tend to stay with you long after the trip itself has ended.
You can find upcoming Mid-Journey travel journal workshops here: