There is a way of travelling that treats a place as a list to complete — five landmarks, three museums, the viewpoint everyone photographs — and it leaves you exhausted and strangely empty, with a camera roll full of proof you were there and very little sense of having been anywhere.
The alternative is not laziness; it is depth over breadth. Pick one neighbourhood and walk it until it feels familiar. Return to the same café until they know your order. Take the long way, get slightly lost, follow the smell of something cooking. The trips people describe years later almost never centre on the famous sight — they centre on the accidental afternoon that could only have happened by going slower.
This is partly why we organise Eli the Papillon around where you stay rather than what you see. A stay you love becomes the anchor for the good, unhurried kind of trip — a place to come back to each evening, in a corner of somewhere you have actually got to know.
