My first visits were about the “must-sees” like the Arch, but eventually, I found my greatest joy in the simple, quiet views of the volcanoes from my own balcony.
Bumping along the cobblestone streets of Antigua Guatemala should have felt familiar by my third visit, but something had shifted. The volcano still loomed in the distance, motorbikes lined the curbs, and the scent of fresh tortillas drifted through the air. Yet this time, I wasn’t rushing. I wasn’t reaching for my phone. I wasn’t trying to see everything.
I was simply there.
It was my third time in Antigua, and the first time I wasn’t travelling to tick anything off.
In the weeks leading up to it, I had been deciding where to study Spanish in Central America. I could have crossed into Mexico, based myself somewhere new around Lake Atitlán, or continued chasing places I hadn’t yet seen. Instead, I chose to return to Antigua to learn Spanish—and stop chasing somewhere new.
The decision didn’t feel logical. Travel is supposed to be about newness—new countries, new experiences, new stories to tell. Returning felt like doing it wrong.
But something kept pulling me back.
And in choosing to return—again and again—I started deconstructing my own expectations of what travel should look like.
The First Arrival: The Race to See Everything
The first time I arrived in Antigua, it felt almost too picturesque to be real. Cobblestone streets glowed in the late afternoon light, colourful facades lined every corner, and volcanoes rose dramatically in the distance. It was the kind of place that made you want to stop every few steps for a photo. So I did.
At the time, I had a system. Three nights in a place was all I needed to feel like I had “done” it. Day one was for a walking tour – learning the history, marking out the must-sees. Day two was for covering ground, camera in hand. Day three was for slowing down, finding a viewpoint, and convincing myself I had taken it all in.
On paper, it worked.
In reality, I was racing an invisible clock. I walked everywhere with quiet urgency, mentally ticking off churches, viewpoints, cafes – anything that had been recommended or appeared on a “must-do” list. I took hundreds of photos, most of which looked the same. And by the end of it, I left with a full camera roll and the lingering feeling that I might have missed something.
Looking back, I wasn’t really experiencing Antigua. I was consuming it. And without realising it, I was already moving on.
The Second Return: The Beginning of a Shift
Six months later, after finishing teaching in Costa Rica, I found myself asking: where to next?
There were plenty of options – new countries to tick off, new routes to follow, new places I had never seen before. Instead, almost instinctively, I booked a flight back to Guatemala.
Even as I did it, I hesitated. Returning to the same place – especially when there was so much more to see – felt like I was doing travel wrong. But the decision didn’t come from logic. It came from my heart.
“I stopped measuring my days by what I saw. I started noticing how they felt.”
When I arrived back in Antigua, the familiarity settled in instantly. The same cobblestone streets, the same volcano rising in the distance, the same gentle pace of life, I hadn’t fully appreciated the first time.
I checked back into the same hostel I had stayed in before, slipping easily into a space that already felt known. I returned to a cafe I remembered, ordered without overthinking, and wandered the streets I no longer needed to navigate.
There was something deeply calming about it – something I hadn’t realised I’d be craving.
And yet, the guilt lingered.
A voice in my head kept reminding me of all the places I wasn’t seeing. So, after a couple of days, I left again – this time for somewhere new – partly out of curiosity, partly to reassure myself that I was still travelling the “right” way.
Still, something about that return lingered.
For the first time, I had returned not because I had to – but because I wanted to. And that question stayed with me:
What if following my heart mattered more than following the map?
The Third Return: Learning to Stay
When I returned to Antigua for the third time, I did something different: I chose to stay.
I enrolled in the Antigueña Spanish Academy, committing to a week of Spanish classes. For once, I wasn’t asking what I could see in a place, but what it might feel like to live there.
On my first morning, my teacher greeted me warmly and set one simple rule: no English. What followed was a series of halting sentences, long pauses, and a lot of hand gestures. It was uncomfortable—but in a way that felt real. For the first time, I wasn’t just observing a place—I was participating in it.
Antigueña Spanish Academy
1a Calle Poniente #10 Antigua Guatemala, Sacatepequez 03001, Guatemala
That feeling deepened when I moved into a homestay with a local family.
My host Abuela welcomed me with immediate warmth. Within hours, she was calling out “¡Almuerzo!” from the kitchen, and I was sitting at the table, attempting broken Spanish while she nodded encouragingly. There was no rush, no pressure—just patience, laughter, and the kindness that made a foreign place feel familiar.
The house was simple and lived-in, centred around a covered courtyard, with soft light filtering through. My room was lined with woven textiles and came with an unexpected bonus: Simba, the family puppy, who quickly decided I was part of the household.
And slowly, a routine began to form.
Mornings began with breakfast and a walk to class, passing through familiar streets and hearing “buenos días” along the way. Lessons stretched my brain in ways sightseeing never had. Afternoons were spent in cafes with other students, studying or simply sitting in the sun. Evenings were my favourite – returning home to the smell of dinner, small conversations in Spanish, and the comfort of routine.
There were still moments of exploration – a sunrise hike, a spontaneous salsa class, a weekend football match – but they weren’t the focus anymore. They simply happened, woven into the rhythm of everyday life.
And that was the shift.
I stopped measuring my days by what I saw. I started noticing how they felt.
By the end of the week, leaving didn’t feel like finishing something – it felt like stepping away from something I had only just begun.
The Fourth and Fifth Returns: Finding Comfort in Coming Back
By the time I returned to Antigua again—and then again after that—the decision no longer felt like a question. It felt like a pull.
Each time, I found myself back at Somos Hostel—a leafy, tucked-away space that had quietly become home. What began as a place to stay became a place I belonged, where I was greeted with familiar smiles and remembered stories.
Somos Hostel
2 Avenida Sur #26 Antigua, Guatemala 03001, Guatemala
One return coincided with Guatemala’s Independence Day. What started as a quiet afternoon turned into stumbling upon parades, running into friends from past travels, and sitting in a wine bar, surrounded by energy and familiarity.
Another time, my return wasn’t planned. I booked the hostel the same day I once again decided to follow my heart rather than the map. I arrived back after a long day of travel, met with hugs and smiles, some from faces I hadn’t expected to see. That night, I ended up in pyjamas, sipping hot chocolate from the cafe next door with friends, laughing late into the evening.
Over the next few days, Antigua became a slow-motion rhythm. A haircut at Twisted Scissors transformed into hours of laughter, chatting with the lovely staff, and absorbing local stories. Pupusas lunches, siestas, movie nights, and trivia evenings – all ordinary, but entirely grounding.
Twisted Scissors
2 Avenida Sur 33, Antigua Guatemala, Guatemala
And somewhere along the way, I stopped taking photos. Not because there was nothing left to capture – but because I didn’t feel the need to. I wasn’t thinking about how a place looked on a socials. I was thinking about how it felt to be there, in that present moment.
Without even realising it, I had stopped performing my travels.
The Sixth Return: The Final Goodbye
By the sixth return, Antigua felt like home.
I arrived back after leaving Lake Atitlán, emotional from goodbyes, and walked straight into familiar faces at Somos. Within minutes, I was back in conversation, back in place—like I had never really left. The days weren’t remarkable in the way travel stories often are.
“In a world that tells us to keep moving, returning felt like the most radical choice of all.”
One day was spent reorganising my bag and sitting in a cafe. Another ended with me collapsing dramatically onto the hostel floor in front of everyone after hiking Acatenango, then spending the rest of the day recovering in bed.
But it felt real. And it felt like mine.
On my final day, I didn’t seek anything new. I returned to everything I loved – breakfast at Elemental, wandering through the markets, sharing a few final Gallo beers, and being surrounded by people who had become my friends.
Elemental Coffee Shop
2a Avenida Sur casa 20, Antigua Guatemala 03001, Guatemala
The next morning, when I checked out of Somos for the last time, one of the receptionists smiled and said, “It’ll be weird not to see you back here again soon.”
And he was right.
For months, I had returned to Antigua whenever I needed grounding – after goodbyes, after burnout, after too much movement. It became the place my heart chose to run to.
In the past, this would have felt like wasted time.
Instead, it became the most meaningful part of my journey.
Thank you, Antigua – for the streets I came to know by heart, and for the people who welcomed me back each time as if I’d never left.
Returning didn’t add to my journey in the way I once measured it – but it changed it entirely.
It taught me that meaningful travel isn’t always about how far you go, but how deeply you’re willing to stay.
In a world that tells us to keep moving, returning felt like the most radical choice of all.
Sometimes, the place you’re meant to go next is one you’ve already been.
All photos are by and courtesy of the writer, Annabelle Christie.
