I never thought I’d be the type to wander off into the remote countryside just to “find myself.” But here I was, three days into rural Madagascar. I finally understood what my grandfather meant when he said cities are for body and the countryside are for the soul.
The thing about Madagascar’s highlands is they don’t try to impress you. There are no dramatic waterfalls or Instagram-worthy viewpoints that demand your attention in the countryside. There are just rolling hills and red earth paths. This incredible quiet makes you realize how much noise you’ve been carrying around in your head.
What Happened When I Actually Stopped Moving
On my second morning, I got lost. It wasn’t dramatic. I just took a wrong turn on one of those paths. They all look the same when you’re focused on where you’re going instead of where you are.
I sat down on a rock. I pulled out my phone (no signal, obviously). I had that moment we all dread: nothing to do but sit with myself.
But something weird happened. After about ten minutes of mental fidgeting, my brain just… settled. Like muddy water clearing. I started noticing things I’d walked past without seeing. There were tiny birds I couldn’t name. The way morning light hit the grass was different here than anywhere I’d been.
That’s when it clicked. I’d been treating mindfulness like another task to master instead of just paying attention to what was right there.
The Three Things That Actually Changed My Perspective
1. Morning Walks Became Different
Back home, my morning walks were podcasts and planning my day. Here, without the option of distraction, I started listening to actual sounds. I heard the wind through trees. I noticed my own footsteps. I caught distant voices from villages waking up.
Sounds obvious, but when did I stop noticing the world was making noise?
2. Time Moved Differently
Malagasy people I met didn’t seem stressed about schedules the way I’m used to. This is not due to their laziness—they work hard—but rather to their ability to adapt to natural rhythms rather than resisting them.
I watched an older man tend his rice terraces for three hours. He never once glanced at his watch. He simply continued to work until he felt the task was completed. It prompted me to think about the energy I waste. I squander it when I rush through tasks that need their own time.
3. Silence Wasn’t Empty
This sounds cheesy, but I always thought quiet meant boring. Turns out there’s a difference between empty silence and full silence. Empty silence is waiting for something to happen. Full silence means everything is happening at once, just quietly.
Sitting in those highlands, I could feel the whole ecosystem breathing around me. Not mystical—just present.
What I Brought Back (That Actually Stuck)
Most travel insights fade when you get home and life kicks back in. But some things from Madagascar wedged themselves into my daily routine:
I stopped filling every quiet moment. Walking to the store without podcasts. Eating lunch without scrolling. Although these actions may seem trivial, they are more challenging than one might expect.re more challenging than one might expect.
I started noticing weather. Really noticing. How humidity feels different than heat. How wind sounds change throughout the day. Made me realize I’d been living in climate-controlled bubbles, missing free entertainment happening outside all the time.
I got better at doing one thing at a time. Madagascar taught me that rushing makes everything take longer because you miss details that matter.
The Reality Check About “Finding Yourself”
Let’s be honest—Madagascar didn’t transform me into some zen master. I sometimes still feel annoyed in traffic. I still check my phone too much. I still sometimes stress about deadlines.
But something shifted. Maybe it’s having a reference point for what stillness actually feels like. Or knowing that the noise in my head isn’t permanent—it’s just louder than the quiet underneath.
For People Thinking About Their Own Version
You don’t need to go to Madagascar. That’s not the point. The point is finding spaces where you can’t avoid being present. This could be a local park at the break of dawn. Could be your backyard after everyone’s asleep. It could also be a relaxing soak in the bathtub without the presence of your phone.
The magic isn’t the location. It’s the willingness to sit with whatever comes up when you stop running from it.
What This Means for How I Travel Now
I used to plan trips like military operations—every day scheduled, every sight researched, every photo opportunity mapped. Now I build in empty space. Time to get lost. Time to sit still. Time to let places reveal themselves instead of conquering them.
Madagascar taught me that the best discoveries happen in the spaces between destinations.
The Thing Nobody Talks About
Reflecting on experiences like this is weird. People ask how it was. You want to explain that you learned something important about presence and stillness. It sounds pretentious when you say it out loud.
So you just say “amazing” and show some photos. But inside, you’re carrying this knowledge that most of the stuff we stress about isn’t actually urgent. We underestimate the peace our minds can achieve.
My reflections
I still recall those highlands when city life becomes overwhelming. I remember those highlands not with romantic nostalgia, but as evidence that a different pace is achievable. I have the ability to choose to navigate my days with greater purpose.
The walk in nature in Madagascar didn’t solve my problems. But it reminded me that I have more control over my internal weather than I usually remember.
The countryside is still there, in me somewhere. I just have to stop long enough to find it.
Have you had a travel experience that changed how you move through daily life? I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
L J Padayachy 
Leave a comment