fact or fiction
Is it a fact or merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores travel myths to help you avoid making that wrong turn.
The Dos and Don'ts of Travelling In A Group
This is not (just) a call-out to deeply inconsiderate people who I am currently on tour with, but a general guide to travelling as part of a group, especially when that group doesn't just consist of family who are obligated to not attempt to murder you until you get home and can be sent to opposite sides of the house.
By Natasja Roseabout a year ago in Wander
Getting Lost in Lisbon: The Magic of Wandering Without a Map
M Mehran The first rule of traveling, they say, is to always know where you’re going. Book your tickets early, plan your itinerary, mark every must-see on the map. But the best memories I’ve made while traveling didn’t come from careful planning. They came from getting lost. I learned that lesson in Lisbon. --- It was my second morning in the city, and I was supposed to meet a group tour near Rossio Square. I had every intention of being punctual, but a wrong turn led me down a narrow street, one of those cobblestoned lanes where laundry hung between pastel-colored buildings and the smell of bread drifted out from hidden bakeries. For a moment, I panicked. My phone battery was low, my Portuguese was nonexistent, and my tour group was probably already gathering without me. But then something shifted. I looked around and realized: this is why I travel. Not to check boxes on a list, but to stumble into streets that make me feel like I’ve stepped into someone else’s story. So I kept walking. --- Lisbon is a city that rewards wanderers. The sidewalks are mosaics of black and white stone, designed centuries ago by artisans who turned even ordinary pavements into works of art. The streets curve and climb unpredictably, each corner revealing something unexpected: a splash of street art, a hidden chapel, a doorway painted the color of saffron. I climbed one hill and found myself at a viewpoint I hadn’t read about in any guidebook. Below me, red-tiled rooftops spilled down toward the Tagus River, and in the distance, the Ponte 25 de Abril bridge arched across the water like a crimson ribbon. An old man stood nearby, strumming a guitar. A small group of locals had gathered to listen. No tour bus could have delivered me here at that exact moment. I felt like the city was letting me in on a secret. --- That day, I wandered for hours. I ducked into a bakery where the woman behind the counter insisted I try a pastel de nata still warm from the oven. I walked through an antique shop cluttered with forgotten treasures: maps with edges frayed, porcelain teacups that once belonged to someone’s grandmother, letters written in looping cursive. I even stumbled upon a tiny bookstore where the owner pressed a translated book of Portuguese poetry into my hands, saying, “For your journey.” By the time I finally checked my phone, the tour had long since ended. But I didn’t feel like I had missed out. Quite the opposite. I felt like I had traveled in the purest sense—immersed in a place, not just moving through it. --- There’s a freedom in traveling without a script. Of course, there are risks: you might get lost, you might waste time, you might never make it to the “must-see” attractions. But sometimes the risk is the reward. When you don’t know what’s coming next, you’re more open to noticing small details: the way sunlight spills across a tiled wall, the laughter of children chasing pigeons in a square, the quiet rhythm of a city going about its ordinary day. Wandering reminds us that travel isn’t only about places. It’s about presence. --- A few days later, I did make it to Rossio Square, this time on purpose. The group tour was fine—informative, organized, filled with postcard-perfect stops. But when the guide paused to give us free time, I slipped away again, choosing instead to follow the echo of fado music down a side street. I ended up in a small bar where a woman sang with such raw emotion that the entire room went silent. I didn’t understand the lyrics, but I understood the feeling—longing, joy, heartbreak, all tangled together. I ordered a glass of vinho verde, let the music wash over me, and thought: this is the Lisbon I will remember. --- Since that trip, I’ve carried the lesson of Lisbon with me wherever I go: leave room for wandering. In Tokyo, it led me to a family-owned noodle shop tucked beneath the train tracks, where the owner treated me like a regular. In Marrakech, it took me through a maze of alleys until I found a rooftop café overlooking the medina, where mint tea tasted sweeter because I hadn’t been looking for it. In Mexico City, it guided me into a courtyard filled with paper lanterns, where strangers invited me to dance. These moments never make it into the travel brochures. But they are the soul of travel. --- Wandering doesn’t mean being careless. It means being open. Open to wrong turns, to unexpected conversations, to the possibility that the best stories begin where the guidebook ends. When I think back on Lisbon now, I don’t remember the names of all the monuments. I remember the guitar music, the taste of that pastry, the kindness of a bookseller, the sound of fado on a quiet evening. I remember how it felt to be lost, and yet completely at home. And maybe that’s the real magic of travel: not just finding new places, but finding new versions of ourselves—ones that are braver, freer, and a little more willing to get lost.
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Wander
The Compass of No Direction
M Mehran The first time I left home without a destination, my friends thought I was reckless. “What if you get lost?” they asked. I smiled, because that was exactly the point. I carried only a small backpack: a notebook, a pen, a water bottle, and enough clothes to last a few days. No GPS, no guidebook, no reservations. The world had become too planned, too predictable. I wanted to know what it felt like to let the road itself decide. The bus dropped me off in a town I couldn’t even pronounce. The station was crowded with people rushing toward somewhere. I, on the other hand, stepped out with no direction. It felt like floating in a river without trying to swim upstream. I wandered through markets where vendors shouted in a language I didn’t understand. The colors overwhelmed me—spices in pyramids of red, gold, and green; fabrics glowing like captured sunsets. A woman offered me fruit I had never seen before. Its skin was rough, its taste sweet with a hint of something wild. She laughed when I made a face, and in that moment we were friends. Later that day, I found myself at the edge of the town where hills rolled out like waves frozen in time. I started climbing. The path was uneven, but each step revealed more of the valley: rivers curling like silver threads, villages like toy models in the distance. When I reached the top, the wind roared against my face, as if congratulating me for daring to stand there. That night I stayed in a guesthouse run by an old couple. Their home smelled of wood smoke and fresh bread. They didn’t speak my language, but kindness doesn’t need translation. We ate together in silence, breaking bread and laughing at gestures. I scribbled in my notebook: The world is full of strangers who feel like family, if only we wander far enough to meet them. The days blurred after that. Each one became an improvisation. I hitchhiked with farmers on tractors, slept under skies heavy with stars, and followed dirt paths that ended at waterfalls hidden from maps. Sometimes, I walked for hours without meeting a soul. At first, that loneliness stung. But soon, it became a strange sort of companionship. When there’s no one else around, you begin to hear your own thoughts more clearly. One evening, as I wandered along a coastal road, the ocean spread out before me like a mirror cracked by waves. I met a fisherman repairing his nets. He spoke softly, his words broken by the sea breeze. “The fish don’t always come,” he said, “but the waiting teaches patience.” I thought about that long after I left. Maybe wandering was like fishing—uncertain, but always teaching. But wandering is not always romantic. There were mornings when my feet ached, when rain soaked through my clothes, when I longed for the comfort of knowing where I would sleep. I missed home-cooked meals. I missed warm showers. Yet, even in discomfort, I felt alive. Because every challenge was proof that I was still moving. One of the most memorable moments came in a forest where trees arched overhead like cathedral ceilings. Sunlight filtered through leaves, painting the ground in shifting mosaics. I walked until I stumbled on a clearing where a group of travelers had built a fire. They invited me to join. We shared stories that night—tales of love, heartbreak, and dreams. None of us knew if we’d ever meet again, but for those hours, we belonged to the same tribe: the tribe of wanderers. Eventually, I returned home. My friends asked, “What did you find?” I laughed, because the answer wasn’t something I could pack in a bag or show in a photo. I found that wandering is not about reaching places—it’s about stretching yourself. About learning that the world is bigger than your worries, wider than your fears, and kinder than the news will ever tell you. Now, I wander even in small ways. I take a different street on my walk home. I try food I can’t pronounce. I let conversations with strangers unfold. Because wandering doesn’t always mean leaving your country; sometimes it just means leaving your comfort zone. What I’ve learned is this: maps will tell you where to go, but wandering will tell you who you are. And every step into the unknown is a reminder that life is not meant to be traced like a blueprint—it is meant to be lived like an adventure. So pack light. Leave the itinerary behind. Let curiosity be your compass, and wonder be your guide. The world is waiting for your footprints in places you’ve never dreamed of.
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Wander
The Road to Nowhere
M Mehran Aarav had always been restless. Even as a child, he hated staying in one place for too long. Every corner of his small hometown felt too familiar, every routine too predictable. While other kids dreamt of stability—a steady job, a house, a family—Aarav dreamt of wandering. He wanted to explore, to lose himself in new places, to let the world rewrite the boundaries of his life. It wasn’t rebellion, exactly. It was a calling he couldn’t ignore. Every morning he woke with a quiet itch, a pull toward roads he hadn’t traveled and cities he hadn’t yet seen. --- The First Step The day he finally left, Aarav’s parents tried to convince him to stay. “You can travel later,” his mother said, her voice tinged with worry. “Settle first, then explore.” “I can’t wait,” he replied, though his own heart thumped nervously. He packed only essentials: a small backpack, a notebook, a camera, and the clothes on his back. No detailed plan, no return ticket. Just the promise of the road ahead. The first bus took him to a city three hundred kilometers away. He had no destination, no agenda. He simply wandered, letting the streets guide him, the alleys whisper secrets, and the markets reveal colors and smells he had never imagined. --- Lessons in Wandering Wandering, Aarav quickly realized, was not just about movement—it was about perception. He noticed things others overlooked: the way sunlight danced on a crumbling wall, the quiet rhythm of a street musician’s drum, the laughter of children chasing a stray dog. He wrote in his notebook: “The more I wander, the more I see. And the more I see, the more I understand myself.” At night, he slept under open skies or in small guesthouses, talking to strangers who shared their stories. Each conversation felt like a window into another life, another perspective. Aarav began to understand that wandering was more than physical travel—it was a journey into empathy, curiosity, and awareness. --- Challenges Along the Way Of course, wandering wasn’t always idyllic. Aarav faced hunger on long stretches without food, heavy rainstorms that soaked him to the bone, and nights when he doubted the wisdom of leaving home. There were moments when the loneliness pressed in, when he wondered if the comfort of familiarity was worth abandoning. But every time he contemplated giving up, something small reminded him why he started. A hidden temple in a quiet village, an elderly couple who offered him tea and a story, a hilltop sunrise that painted the world in gold. Each moment was a reward for daring to wander. --- Finding Connection Months passed, and Aarav realized that wandering didn’t mean being disconnected. In fact, it brought him closer to people. He learned local customs, shared meals, and participated in festivals. He discovered that humans everywhere longed for connection, stories, and understanding. One evening, in a village by the river, Aarav met Meera, a painter who wandered her own way through life, capturing moments on canvas. They shared a small hut, tea, and conversation that stretched into the night. She taught him that wandering could also mean building relationships in transient places, leaving marks without possessions, and carrying memories instead of things. --- Reflection After a year on the road, Aarav returned home briefly. His parents barely recognized him—not because his appearance had changed drastically, but because his energy, his presence, had transformed. He carried stories, photographs, sketches, and lessons from a world beyond their small town. He wrote in his journal: “I left to escape, but I found. I wandered to lose myself, but I discovered who I am. The world is infinite, and so is the heart when it allows itself to wander.” The streets of his hometown felt smaller now, but not confining. He realized that wandering didn’t end when he returned. It was a mindset, a willingness to explore, to question, to move, and to feel deeply. --- The Endless Journey Even now, Aarav packs lightly, plans loosely, and leaves doors open for the unknown. He knows that the road will call again, that new cities, strangers, and experiences will continue to teach him. For him, wandering is not a pastime—it is a life philosophy. He also understands this: wandering can be lonely, tiring, and uncertain. Yet, it brings clarity, humility, and growth. The courage to step out, to leave comfort behind, to trust the road—that is where freedom lies. --- Closing Thoughts Wandering is not just a journey across landscapes; it is a journey within. It is the art of noticing, listening, and learning. Aarav’s story reminds us that to wander is to live fully—not just in the places we see, but in the way we engage with the world and ourselves. For those who feel restless, uncertain, or constrained, the path is simple: step out, even if the destination is unknown. Wander with intention, curiosity, and openness, and the world will teach you more than you ever imagined
By Muhammad Mehranabout a year ago in Wander
What No One Tells You About Moving Abroad
I used to think moving abroad was just about changing an address. Pack the boxes, board the plane, start over. Social media painted it like a dream—Instagram feeds full of rooftop brunches, new apartments, and glamorous cityscapes.
By Shehzad Anjumabout a year ago in Wander
Trapped by a Monster of the Wild
2013, a story emerged from the rugged wilderness of Australia that sounded almost like a scene out of a survival thriller. Yet it was real, a chilling reminder of how unpredictable and merciless nature can be. A lone adventurer, seeking the peace and thrill of the open water in his kayak, found himself imprisoned on a remote island by one of nature’s most fearsome predators: a giant saltwater crocodile. This was not a brief encounter, not just a single moment of danger. Instead, it became a horrifying standoff that lasted nearly two full weeks—fourteen endless days and nights of fear, hunger, and the constant presence of death lurking just beyond the water’s edge. What started as a routine kayaking trip turned into a test of endurance, intelligence, and sheer willpower to survive. --- The Unexpected Encounter The kayaker, whose adventurous spirit had brought him into the wild waters, was navigating near a remote island when his peaceful journey was shattered. Out of nowhere, a massive saltwater crocodile appeared. These creatures, native to northern Australia, are the largest reptiles on Earth, capable of growing well over 20 feet long and weighing more than a ton. The crocodile that confronted him was enormous—so large that it dwarfed his eight-foot-long kayak. Twice the size of his vessel and armed with a terrifying power, the predator immediately asserted its dominance. Whenever the man attempted to push off from the island and paddle back into open water, the crocodile would surge forward, blocking his way, forcing him back onto shore. What may have seemed at first like a temporary inconvenience quickly became a nightmare. The crocodile wasn’t just passing through; it had decided to make the man its focus. Whether out of territorial instinct or predatory interest, the animal began a relentless vigil, waiting, watching, and ensuring that its human opponent remained stranded. --- A Prisoner on the Island For the kayaker, escape seemed impossible. Each attempt to slip past the crocodile was met with the same terrifying result: the beast would shadow his every move, using its immense size and strength to intimidate him into retreat. He knew that one wrong move, one miscalculation of distance or timing, could end in tragedy. The crocodile could overturn his kayak in an instant, dragging him into the water where survival would be unthinkable. And so, he became a prisoner. The small, desolate island, which at first had been a random stopping point, turned into his cage. For two long weeks, he lived in constant fear. Every sound in the brush, every ripple in the water, carried the possibility of an attack. His struggle was not just against the crocodile but also against the elements. Food was scarce, fresh water was limited, and the sun beat down mercilessly during the day while the nights brought chilling winds. The psychological torment was perhaps even worse than the physical hardship. To know that a predator was always nearby, watching, waiting, reduced every attempt at rest into an uneasy sleep filled with dread. --- Endurance, Patience, and Ingenuity In order to survive, the kayaker had to summon every ounce of resilience he had. Panic would have been fatal; rash decisions would have played directly into the crocodile’s advantage. Instead, he relied on patience, endurance, and ingenuity. He rationed whatever supplies he had carried in his kayak, supplemented with what little the island could provide. He used his knowledge of survival to collect rainwater and keep himself hydrated. Each day was a battle to maintain both his body and his spirit. Mentally, the challenge was immense. The awareness that the crocodile could strike at any moment kept him on constant alert. The thought of dying alone on a barren island haunted him. Yet he did not give up. Despite the fear gnawing at him, he held onto the hope that someone, someday, might notice his plight. --- The Rescue After nearly two harrowing weeks, when hope was wearing thin, a stroke of luck arrived. A local man, navigating nearby, noticed a flicker of light coming from the island. Curious, he approached. What he discovered was shocking: a weary, desperate kayaker stranded in isolation, with the shadow of a giant crocodile haunting the waters. The local immediately understood the severity of the situation. Without hesitation, he intervened. His presence and assistance broke the crocodile’s deadly grip over the island. Carefully and cautiously, he helped the stranded man to escape, guiding him away from the predator and back toward safety. For the kayaker, this moment was nothing short of miraculous. After enduring endless days of fear and uncertainty, after battling hunger, exhaustion, and despair, he was finally free. --- Reflections on a Close Call The story of this ordeal spread quickly, capturing attention around the world. It was more than just a tale of man versus beast—it was a testament to the fragile balance between humans and nature. Saltwater crocodiles have survived for millions of years as apex predators, perfectly adapted to their environment. To them, a lone human in a small kayak is no match. For the kayaker, the experience became a lesson in humility and respect. He had faced one of nature’s most formidable hunters and lived to tell the tale, not because he overpowered it, but because he endured long enough to be saved. His two-week struggle highlighted not only the dangers of venturing into wild and remote places but also the incredible resilience of the human spirit. To remain calm under such dire circumstances, to resist panic, and to survive with limited resources is no small feat. --- Conclusion The Australian kayaker’s terrifying encounter with a giant crocodile remains one of the most remarkable survival stories of recent years. For two long weeks, he was trapped on a lonely island, his life constantly threatened by a predator twice the size of his boat. Yet through patience, courage, and determination, he endured until rescue arrived. This story stands as a stark reminder: the wilderness, beautiful and alluring as it may be, is also home to dangers beyond imagination. And sometimes, the greatest triumph is not in conquering nature, but in surviving it.
By Ikram Ullahabout a year ago in Wander
The Festival That Only Happens
The invitation came in the form of a photograph. No words. No sender. Just a faded image of an unlit street lit only by rows of oil lamps, stretching into blackness. At the far end, I could just make out a figure—barefoot, carrying something on their head that looked like a crown of flames.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Wander
14 Rides at Disneyland That Are Not Worth Riding
One of the biggest parts of planning a trip to the Disney Parks is figuring out how to get the best bang for your buck. The parks aren't cheap and especially as prices rise throughout the world, Disney is just going to keep getting more expensive. This will no doubt lead to guests spending fewer days in the park and being more strategic about their time inside of the park.
By Jenika Enochabout a year ago in Wander
Islamabad: The World’s 2nd Most Beautiful Capital
Nestled gracefully at the foothills of the majestic Margalla Hills, Islamabad stands not just as the political capital of Pakistan, but as a symbol of peace, modernity, and breathtaking natural beauty. Ranked as the 2nd most beautiful capital in the world, Islamabad is more than just a city—it is an experience that captures the soul with every sunrise and soothes the spirit with every breeze.
By Leah Brookeabout a year ago in Wander
10 Weekend Getaway Ideas to Refresh Your Soul and Rekindle Your Spirit
Let’s face it – we’re all running on fumes. Between endless work emails, family responsibilities, and digital distractions, it’s no wonder we dream of just packing a bag and disappearing… at least for the weekend.
By Echoes of Lifeabout a year ago in Wander
