It's dusk, late summer in the early 1990s. I am crammed in a tiny phone booth, searching through my pockets for a gettone, the special coin used to operate the pay phones in Italy at the time. As my shoulders feel the relief of unburdening, I drop my backpack to the floor and begin the familiar dance I have followed in every new city—arrive, change money, find lodging, discover, rinse, and repeat.
Balanced precariously under my arm is a thick, bright yellow, dog-eared copy of "Let's Go Europe" that has become my travel bible. I shuffle through it and start calling through the suggested list of youth hostels until I find one with availability.
If you were in your teens or twenties and wandered the cobblestone streets of Europe with a backpack and a heart full of wanderlust, chances are you found yourself in a youth hostel at one point.
Youth hostels were unique places; they had varied levels of charm and amenities, so you never quite knew what to expect. Some standard norms, however, were washing your socks out in the sink, a room filled with bunk beds, and someone cooking pasta in the communal kitchen.
What hostels lacked in comfort and conveniences they made up for in community. Young travelers from all parts of the world converged, and the result was inspiring. Books and stories were traded, late-night talks went on until dawn, friendships were made, and the thread of collective consciousness connected us. Bound by shared experience and what I like to call the magic of travel, we created a tapestry, a temporary family that we could return to as the sun set on our day of adventure.
These places were more than just a place to rest, though. They were a canvas for our shared creativity.
Our plans became less solid as we learned of off-the-beaten-path places to visit from our new friends, and our minds became less rigid as we shared new ideas. Travel became less about visiting places and more about co-creating.
It's a few decades later, and I have aged out of the "Youth Hostel" demographic, while also becoming accustomed to more comfortable accommodations (I was never a fan of washing my socks in a sink).
What I haven't, and I hope to never age out of, is community. Travel in your 30s and beyond can fall into specific buckets. There are vacations, family trips, and various other sorts of planned and organized ways to visit the world, but it is becoming more rare to find ourselves walking into a place where we are coming together with strangers intentionally, and allowing for the alchemy of chance to unite us. Technology has allowed us to know all the details of our travel, leaving much at our access to be experienced but little to be created as we go.
Something was missing for me in this new travel norm. I traded in bunk beds for high thread count
sheets and overcooked pasta for expertly prepared meals, but what had I given up?
A question that haunted me until...
I hosted my first retreat shortly after COVID. Some people mastered sourdough bread; I created Rom Soul Escapes, a retreat company that merged years of travel wisdom with mindfulness and local culture to create unique adventures. Our first retreat was in a beautiful small family-run villa in Tuscany that had a special place in my heart. Our attendees were a small group of women from different walks of life. As our guests began to arrive and we settled into the beautiful eclectic villa, we also all settled into the unknown. The open space of new friendships, new adventures, and co-creation.
There it was again. That familiar feeling from so long ago.
That collective consciousness. The mosaic more beautiful for everyone's unique part in it.
The common definition of community is: a group of people with diverse characteristics linked by social ties, shared common perspectives, and engaged in joint action in a geographical location or setting.
But I think community at its best is when we believe in the magic of our connections and know that the openness of our minds and hearts can create family anywhere.
Our small group of strangers went on to become friends who, despite distance, age, and other differentiating factors, found their way into each other's lives.
I continue to host retreats and marvel at the magic of community travel. Each new group creating a beautiful family that co-creates with me as we spend the week in Italy or Greece immersed in the wonder of life.
The gettone—that coin that I used in Italian payphones so long ago—stopped circulating in the 2000s. Payphones and travel books have been replaced by cell phones and apps.
Today I wear a gettone as a charm on a necklace, a gift from someone dear to me. It reminds me of my early days of travel. Though these coins are more rare as time goes on, community is perennial and timeless. It will continue to thrive as long as we remain open to the beauty and wonder of our collective connections.
It's with a bit of nostalgia that I look back on those early travel days, thumbing the gettone around my neck as I sigh a bit about the newness of youth, until I remember that the best part of it all is still there waiting to be discovered. Every new trip is a window into the magic that has stood with me all along.
Want to be part of the magic? Join us on one of our upcoming retreats.
