For years, I travelled the way many of us still do – quickly, brilliantly, and a little breathlessly. Three cities in five days. A suitcase packed for every possible invitation. A list of addresses I simply had to see, taste and photograph before the car came for the airport.

I loved it. I still love the thrill of arrival. But somewhere along the way I noticed that I was collecting places the way one collects objects – and remembering them about as well.

Why I Stopped Rushing

The turning point was not dramatic. It was a morning when I realised I could not say, with any certainty, what the light had looked like in a city I had visited only weeks before. I had the receipts, the pictures, the table I had booked months in advance. What I did not have was the feeling of having truly been there.

So I began to do something that, at first, felt almost indulgent. I stayed longer. One place instead of three. A week where I would once have allowed a weekend.

Time Over Things

I have spent much of my life celebrating beautiful objects – their craftsmanship, their history, the hands that made them. I have not stopped. But I now understand that the finest objects share one secret ingredient: time. The patience of the atelier. The years of savoir-faire behind a single stitch.

Slow travel applies that same philosophy to how we live. Instead of buying more, I bring back less – and remember more. A scent of fig leaves at dusk. The sound of shutters opening onto a square. A conversation with a stranger that began over the weather and ended, two hours later, over life itself. These are souvenirs that never go out of style, and never need to be packed.