Nomadic Notebooks

 

                             "Journals from a Life in Transit"

I’ve always carried a notebook while traveling — not because I’m a writer by profession, but because I believe every journey deserves to be remembered. That’s the heart of Nomadic Notebooks: collecting pieces of the world, one scribbled page at a time.

Some people take photos. I take notes.
A dog sleeping under a tuk-tuk in Colombo.
The smell of cardamom tea in a Cairo alley.
A stranger who offered me fruit in a crowded Delhi metro.
A train ticket with the date I first saw the Alps.
They all live in my notebook — real, raw, untamed.

In Prague, I filled an entire page just describing the way Charles Bridge looked at sunrise. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to freeze that feeling: cobblestones glistening, street musicians warming up, the world still quiet.

Journaling while traveling doesn’t mean writing full essays. Sometimes it’s just a word, a smell, or a funny miscommunication with a waiter. Over time, those tiny notes become treasure.

I once found a scribbled line in my old notebook: “Athens, 2 a.m. — dog followed me for 3 blocks. Named him ‘Souvlaki.’” I had forgotten about Souvlaki the stray, but rereading that line brought it all back — the laughter, the loneliness, the magic of being alone but never really alone.

These notebooks remind me that travel is not always glamorous. Sometimes it's exhausting, confusing, even disappointing. But even then, there’s beauty in documenting the honest truth.

If you want to start your own nomadic notebook, here’s what I’ve learned:

• Write in the moment. Don’t wait until you’re back at the hotel — capture things as they happen.

• Collect scraps. Stick in tickets, receipts, pressed flowers — anything physical that holds memory.

• Be honest. Don’t just write what sounds poetic. Write what you really feel.

• Don’t worry about grammar. These are memories, not assignments.

Whether you travel once a year or all the time, your notebook becomes a mirror of who you were in each place. It grows with you, reflecting not just the places you visit, but the person you become through them.

So here’s to ink-stained fingers, half-filled pages, and the stories we carry with us — long after we’ve left the road behind.