Nobody hands you a rulebook for slow travel in your 50s. And when we started planning our trip, we quickly discovered that nobody had written one either (well not one that suited us). There are hints, tips, itineraries and plenty of “must see” places — but nothing that helped us imagine a plan that would suit us, because we didn’t want, or need, a plan that sat neatly in one of the standard boxes. So if you are trying to find a plan that isn’t a plan, this blog might just help you.
When you picture somebody who travels, like me, you possibly picture those twenty-somethings who’ve saved up their money, they rent a locker in a hostel, and are moving from country to country with their friends, combining a tick list with never ending energy and enthusiasm. Lots of elements keep us out of this box.
Or you picture the digital nomads — the ones with a laptop job and no fixed abode, for whom home is wherever they’ve unpacked their bag this month. This is a phenomenal way to travel and all the digital nomads we met were wonderful human beings. But that is their entire life. They don’t have a home base. They don’t want to come back. There isn’t a home to come back to. So we were definitely not in this box.
More type or travellers – still not us
Then there’s the solo female travellers — often closer to our age than the previous two categories. I’ve followed lots of these women, read lots of those blogs, and made friends with some incredible solo female travellers. I have so much admiration, respect and love for these women — they are the height of inspiration. Alas I don’t fit in their box either, because I have Ren at my side.
Then there are the researchers — oh how I wish I could be in this group, but I simply don’t have the concentration span — which is ironic given that my job before travel involved planning everything to the last detail. The researchers never miss a thing. They go to all the best places, find all the great restaurants, they have efficient routes, build in down time, and never waste a day. We needed flexibility and flow. I needed to feel, live and be random, so this didn’t fit me either (although if truth be told, Ren would have quite liked this box).
Then you have the sun searchers — a very specific group of travellers who spend their life slowly and leisurely moving around the world, living in places for a month at a time, soaking up the culture, history, atmosphere and enjoyment in a constant 20–23 degrees. This group often have savings and investments that fund this way of travel. This is a box that I can one day see myself aiming for, but for our first trip, this too wasn’t our box.
And because we didn’t fit any of those boxes, researching what to do and how to travel was rather hard.
The Boxes That Didn’t Fit
When we started looking into what slow travel in South America might look like for us, we found that almost everything was written for someone else. The blogs and the guides and the advice online — it was always geared to: if you like adrenaline, if you like parties, if you’re chasing this, if you’re chasing that, if you fit in the boxes.
The result of our research — stop researching.
But here’s the thing — and I think this is really important — that was actually the point. We didn’t want to fit the box. I’d spent thirty-odd years of my life fitting in the box, following the routine, doing what you’ve got to do. This was about breaking the mould, changing habits and expectations of ourselves. This was about doing something completely different. So you move on, and you find another way. You find your own way.
Knowing yourself is one of the great benefits of doing this kind of trip later in life. In your late teens and early twenties, you’re still figuring out who you are. At fifty-one, I already knew who I was, what I wanted and needed. I knew I wanted one-day treks, not days in a tent on a mountain side. Also, I knew I wanted plenty of time in small towns and villages, not weeks in big cities.
I knew that two or three days in the major cities would be enough for me. I knew the ocean had always been my happy place, and the mountains had never really blown me away. Really I knew that I needed to be around people, to connect and feel grounded even when constantly on the move. We knew we wanted to do all of our travel by land or sea — we did not want to fly.
By the way, when I actually saw real mountains — proper, full-on, in-your-face mountains, filled with blue lagoons and snow-capped peaks and rugged ridgelines that took your breath away — I thought: maybe I am a mountain girl after all. So go with what you know, but also leave room to be surprised by what you don’t.
Why Volunteering Was Non-Negotiable
Right at the very start — even before we’d properly made the decision to go — I said to Ren: I have to have volunteering built into this trip.
Not simply moving from place to place, ticking off the next volcano and the next waterfall and the next UNESCO site. I needed to feel connected to the places I was in, not just passing through them. I needed purpose.
Volunteering gives you time. Time to understand the people. To understand the culture, the food. To feel the heartbeat and the blood that runs through the veins of a place. You really feel it, because you’re living in those spaces with the people, not transitioning around the edges.
Practically, the way most volunteering works is around five hours a day, five days a week — twenty-five hours a week in exchange for your board and lodgings. No money changes hands. Think about that for a moment. In the UK, most people work at least thirty-seven hours a week and commute on top. If you’re doing twenty-five hours a week and you live where you work, you’ve still got plenty of time, a base, and a community around you.
What We Actually Did
We volunteered in some extraordinary places. A cacao farm, cleaning the trees with toothbrushes — not quite what I’d have said yes to if you’d described it to me at home, if I’m honest. In reality though, we were staying somewhere that felt like a five-star hotel with our own en-suite and a veranda looking over the edge of the Amazon rainforest. High-quality food. Beautiful surroundings. Kind, welcoming and gracious hosts. The experience of cleaning those trees went way beyond the physical act of cleaning. It was a time to be exceptionally slow and purposeful with our physical actions, which in turn reflected in our thoughts, feelings and connection to each other and the trip.
We worked at a horse ranch in the mountains of Colombia. We turned rooms in Bolivia and Argentina. And we built mud houses and picked apples. We cleared debris after a forest fire destroyed over 200 homes. But we turned down a three-month placement looking after spectacled bears — Paddington bears — it was just too long for this trip, but maybe one day we will go back to them. We worked at a wellness resort that I’ll tell you more about in a later blog because it deserves its own space entirely — in essence I found it incredible, but Ren really struggled, so we made the decision to leave. Because that’s what you do when you’re travelling as a couple. You find the way that works for both of you.
The Truth About Slow Travel in Your 50s — And the Stories We Tell Ourselves
I have to be honest about something. Before we went, I was convinced nobody was going to want us.
I thought they’d want the gap-year kids, the twenty-five-year-olds with muscles, enthusiasm and bags of energy. We were a middle-aged couple, with aches, pains and an inability to do anything fast. We insisted on having our own room and needed access to a kitchen. I know who I would choose to help build a house.
The opposite couldn’t have been more true. We were turning down opportunities left, right and centre. We had more offers than we could accept.
Because with maturity, comes maturity. You don’t worry that there’s a bit of sand in the water because the filtration system’s not worked properly. You can turn on a gas oven without a step-by-step instruction. Also you don’t get tearful about missing home in quite the same way. You can be told to make a bed with hospital corners and just do it. You can be relied upon to use initiative to get things done and do not need instructions for every little thing. And those things turn out to matter quite a lot.
The Thing I Didn’t Know About Myself
Somewhere along the way I realised something. People liked me. For me. Not for what I could do for them.
A parent, a partner, a daughter, a sibling, a friend, an employee — all come with their own unwritten code of conduct and expectations.
Out there, stripped of all those roles, I had nothing to offer my fellow volunteers except me. My time, my conversation, my willingness, my desire to listen and be present. And they came back for more. They called me Travel Mum. They came and found me with their problems and their bashed elbows and their relationship worries. And they gave their hugs freely and warmly.
To be fifty-one years old and to realise, properly, in my soul, that I was liked — just for being me, without obligation — was huge. And I would not have known that if I hadn’t volunteered.
Now that, dear reader, is the true meaning of purpose.
Slow Travel in Your 50s – What This Means for You
I’m not telling you to quit your job and buy a backpack. I’m telling you that slow travel in your 50s doesn’t come with a template, and you don’t have to fit in the boxes.
You don’t have to be the adventurous type. You don’t have to love adrenaline or hostels or party cities. And you don’t have to be young, or solo, or unburdened. You don’t have to plan every detail. You don’t have to have a fully remote job. And you don’t have to sell all your worldly possessions. You can be fifty-one, with family and a home to return to, with emergency crackers in your bag for when you get hungry on the bus, navigating what it means to be in the same person’s company for twenty-four hours a day, four hundred and eighteen days in a row, and finding out — to both your relief and delight — that you still quite like each other.
Slow Travel in Your 50s Most Important Tips
Work out what you need. Make sure you do plenty of what you like. And then leave space for what might surprise you.
Because the random surprises were the best bits.
Doing it your way is the best way to slow travel in your 50s
Next in the series: the practical stuff — how we actually planned it, what we packed, and everything we wish we’d known before we left.
I’m Ruth — contributor to Love Life More and voice behind the Slow Across South America series. You can follow along on my Facebook page here.
Remember, loving life more isn’t about perfection or having all the answers. It’s about remaining open to growth and finding joy in the journey, wherever it leads you.
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Have you ever surprised yourself by something you thought wasn’t for you? Or is there a box you’ve been trying to fit into that simply doesn’t suit the shape of you? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
More from the Slow Across South America series
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