A couple of months ago I wrote a post called On Being Happy With Being Content. In it, I discussed how since moving to London I’ve embraced the idea of settling somewhere and the feeling of happiness I get from routine in my life. To be completely honest, I wrote that post to try to make sense of what I was feeling at the time, the restlessness mixed with the feelings of withdrawal from a life of almost constant travelling.

I am never going to deny that some of the happiest days of my life have been while I was on the road. So today, in honour of International Day of Happiness (don’t roll your eyes), I thought I’d post some of the reasons I personally feel happy when I travel. Travelling makes me happy because…

It’s been a while since I’ve done one of my Around the World posts, and what better day to post about beer around the world than St. Patrick’s Day? I’ve never shied away from the fact that I love a good pint, and I make it a goal to try at least one of the local or popular beers whenever I visit a country.

For many, spending days aboard a cramped train with minimal electricity and plumbing would be extremely unappealing. But for as long as I could remember, I had dreamed of taking the Trans-Siberian through Russia, one of those grand, Theroux-inspired adventures. Within a few days of boarding the train that would take me over 6000 kilometres and eight time zones across Eurasia, I realised that this journey would be much more arduous than I could have ever imagined, and yet much more rewarding than I could have ever hoped.

There’s really no beating around the bush here, as the title gives it all away. I’ve alluded to this in the past and openly talk about it with friends and family, but I rarely mention it on this blog or any of my social media. I’m not quite sure why, but I thought it was high time to do it, purely to put it out there. Once it’s out there, I can’t take it away. I’m writing a book.

I am starting a new series on the blog, which, if you haven’t already figured out, is called “Why I Love ______”. And today, because it’s cold in London and I’m craving pasta (both of those things can be said for nearly every day of the year, to be fair), I’m writing about Basilicata.

I had never heard of Basilicata before I was invited by their tourism board to visit. Not many others I’ve talked to have heard of it, either. But from the moment I arrived in Bari (which is in southern Italy, and only a short and cheap flight away from London) and then drove an hour to Matera, I knew I was going to like it.

I’ve been through a lot of customs and immigration experiences. For the past year and a half living in London, for example, I go through customs and immigration about two or three times a month, depending on where I travel. As I travel on a Canadian passport, every single country – including my own – checks my passport and usually asks me a few questions (as opposed to anyone with an EU or UK passport, for example).

I’ve written about how to cope with customs and immigration before; I wrote that article a few weeks before I returned to Canada from nine months in Central and South America, and I was worried what kind of questions they’d ask. I always remember my dad telling my sister not to let Colombian officials stamp her passport… uh, it doesn’t work like that, dad. Anyway, in all the travelling I’ve done, and I’m sure, that you’ve done, there have been some harrowing, stressful, hilarious, and just downright weird experiences when crossing borders. Here are just a few I’ve had.