After a grueling two hours (okay, I’ll admit I’m rounding down) of the steepest and most rigorous hiking I have ever done, I climbed/crawled the remaining few feet up and found myself on top of Table Mountain, one of the seven natural wonders of the world. After regaining a bit of my strength (I realize I’m sounding dramatic but if you’ve never hiked Table Mountain with cramps you’ve never experienced true pain, ok?), I was able to take in my surroundings. Don’t get me wrong, the view itself was nothing short of breathtaking: with rocky cliffs to my left, the shoreline in front of me, and the vastness of Cape Town spread out like a tiny plastic model city below me. But it wasn’t what I expected. Because we reached the top at around noon on a clear day, there were mobs of tourists already gathered around all the edges, busy taking obnoxious amounts of selfies and perfecting artsy “look I’m adventurous” shots which, in all honesty, I took quite a few of myself. Not to mention there were quite a few people who had taken the gondola up, who were wearing dresses and heels (I only judged a little) and the top was complete with restrooms, a classy restaurant and bar, and an extensive gift shop. Even as a tourist myself, I was a little overwhelmed with how artificialit all seemed. Where was the Table Mountain I had spent so much drooling over in all the travel articles I had read online or in the pictures I had admired on Instagram? Why weren’t we the only people on this mountain and why didn’t I feel the exact sense of awe I expected to feel on top of a renowned wonder of this world?

That’s the problem with travel as the media sees it today. Scrolling through articles and creating Pinterest boards and flipping through magazines about travel can sometimes contribute to a feeling of missing out, even if you’re already traveling. When you have everything lined up for you – hikes to do, restaurants to eat at, and museums to visit – there’s a sort of underlying pressure to enjoy everything to it’s fullest, the way it’s portrayed. And if you’re not, are you even doing it right? I think that being inspired to explore new places and cultures is a wonderful thing, but I think sometimes we fall into the trap of limiting places to what we have seen or heard about them, even when we are already there. I think this is one of the reasons studying abroad is so unique and important. Sure, I’ve done plenty of touristy things during my three-month stay in South Africa, but I’ve also had the opportunity to engage with people in places that you don’t hear about back home. Most of my most cherished memories from this trip have revolved around people I’ve met rather than the more touristy things I’ve done. Making samosas and roti with a Muslim lady who welcomed us into her home in Bo-Kaap as well as spending time with my gracious homestay family are things I would have never thought to do if I had come to South Africa and checked every box on the “Top Ten Things to Do in South Africa” list.

I’m definitely guilty of mostly broadcasting the more adventurous side of my travels, and it’s not that I didn’t enjoy those parts of my experience, and for the most part they were unforgettable. However, there will always be more than the glimpses a camera can catch, and I think that by limiting a country to just the “adventure” aspect of it all, we can truly hinder our own experience. My hope for my return home is that I won’t tone down my experience to just what (I think) people are excited to hear about. It's not that I wouldn't speak highly of or recommend hiking Table Mountain (and rant about how I almost died on the way up), but there is growth that occurs in both the extraordinary and the every day, and I intend to share both.