#SlowTravel: The Fullness of Time When You Aren’t Aware of the Minutes

If only for a few hours it was as if we’d lost our very modern, unrelenting awareness of the hours, minutes, and seconds of the day. I finally understood the hype around #slowtravel.

On a recent short vacation that I tacked on to the end of a business trip to Europe, my wife and I went on a relaxing and wonderful hike on the Greenway Trail, a beautiful and not-too-challenging six-and-a-half-mile trail across the foothills of Alps above glorious Lake Como, Italy. It is one of the most relaxing places in Europe; the kind of place where it’s easy to lose track of time. And, for the most part we did.

As we walked, we noticed now and then how the bells from the 500-to 900-year-old Romanesque churches in the villages below would sound out the hours. That’s when it struck me: I hadn’t looked at my watch or my phone to see the time in several hours. And it was wonderful. It wasn’t that time had stood still for me, but that my experience of it had grown fuller, and more appreciative. Instead of being keenly aware of the passage of every minute as I am at work, I was experiencing time very differently; more leisurely; more aware of its volume and less aware of its compacting and constricting minutia. We lingered at points to appreciate the beautiful lake and mountain scenery, admiring the mixture of neo-classical architecture of the Lake Como villas, the more modern vacation homes high in the hills, and the cream-colored, red tile-roofed homes of the locals in between.

Alas, at the end of our walk I nearly blew it.

We were on line at the shore of the Lake, waiting to board the 3 p.m. ferry back to where we’d started our day. I began to fret because it was obvious that we were too far back in line to make the 3 p.m. ferry. I started to calculate whether we’d even make the next ferry ride, what time that ferry would depart, how long it would take us, and how much time that would leave us for other things we wanted to do that day.

Just then another ferry appeared and pulled into the dock. Even as its passengers filed off, those who, like us, clearly were not going to make the 3 p.m. departure rushed over to the newly-arrived ferry in hopes of getting on board quickly. The 75-year-old Italian ferryman tried with arm gestures, a shaking head and a few words to calm us all down and ask us to be patient. It was at that moment that I’d realized that instead of continuing to experience time as incidental to the more important and fulfilling pursuit of walking, viewing, contemplating and recharging, I’d fallen back into my well-practiced habit of thinking in terms of minutes and seconds; in terms of “what’s next.” 

I get it. We all live busy, demanding lives. Minutes can mean money, and seconds matter to our success. If you’re like me, when you’re at work you can probably see three to five time displays in one glance – on your watch, on your computer screen (or screens), or your cell phone, on your tablet, a nearby wall or desk clock, or on the displays of other nearby devices. It all reinforces the high value we place on very small portions of time. In our hyper-consciousness of time we can easily overlook the details of life around us, failing to notice them and to appreciate their unique value. I’m pretty sure that’s not the best, or ultimately the most rewarding way to experience either time or life.

Now that I’m back at work, I’m naturally once again living by the clock; aware of every 10-minute, five-minute or even 1-minute block of time as I move from meeting to meeting, task to task, email to email. My day is packed full, just like yours probably is, too.

Still, several times a day I find myself thinking longingly back to our hike in the hills above Lake Como, experiencing the quietly full hours instead of the noisy, jam-packed minutes. In my mind, I hear the church bells in the distance and count along with them to know what time it is. Maybe we should all try living by the hour more often, rather than the minute or second. Here’s to the #slowtravel movement. I’m now a fan. 

See you on board.