Ideal vacation: Explore nearby areas and reconnect with your senses.

"Ideal holidays," which today sound like a spell. We pronounce them, and images of distant beaches, unknown streets, and new stamps in our passports appear in our minds. As if crossing a national border truly allows the body to escape the cage of ordinariness. But when we actually board a plane, spend dozens of hours traveling, and arrive at our dreamed destination, we are often greeted by something quite different from the sought-after peace. Instead of rest, more bustle arrives: chasing landmarks, queues, taking photos, editing pictures, and posting on social media. Suddenly, the holiday becomes another form of work.

Did we perhaps make a mistake somewhere?

The Chinese say: "Steal half a day of freedom from your hurried life." The Czechs say: "Slowly, slowly, you will get far." Two languages, one wisdom: A true holiday does not necessarily mean a change of place, but a reset of time. It is not about how far we have traveled, but whether we have been able to take back control of our time – from work, from social media, even if just for a few days.

Citywalk as a new way of traveling

Citywalk, which has spread among young Chinese people in recent years, is essentially a quiet declaration of this "temporal sovereignty." No destination, no itinerary, no mandatory points on the map. Just put on comfortable shoes, leave home, and walk down a street you have never walked before. Perhaps a narrow alley in an old town, perhaps an avenue along a river, perhaps a market hidden deep within a residential quarter. When you get tired of walking, stop, sit on a bench, watch an elderly person playing chess, a cat basking in the sun, plane leaves dancing in the wind.

This walk, seemingly aimless, carries a deep stance within itself: I am no longer driven by efficiency, no longer sustained by algorithms, no longer bound by the judgments of others. My step is, at this moment, my only will. It reminds one of a character from the pen of Czech writer Bohumil Hrabal. The main character of his novel Too Loud Solitude works for thirty-five years at a scrap paper collection center. His daily joy?

After work, have a beer, read a book, and look out the window at the flowing Vltava. From the outside, a monotonous life – and yet he lives fully and peacefully. Because he has the ability that many of us have long lost – finding lasting satisfaction in simple things. This ability may be the true key to "ideal holidays." It does not require a high budget, nor a long journey. It is enough if, for a moment, we set aside the anxiety that "we must do something" and allow ourselves to be "useless."

So what does an ideal holiday look like?

It can begin with a morning without an alarm clock. The sun penetrates through the gaps in the curtain; you do not rush to open your eyes, do not rush to get up. You simply lie with your eyes closed and listen to the birdsong outside the window. Then you slowly brew coffee, take it to the balcony, and sit down. Below, someone is walking a dog; from afar, the indistinct hum of the city reaches you. You think of nothing, just let the steam from the coffee rise to your face. It could be an aimless walk. You walk down a street you have never walked before and discover a bakery that has stood there for twenty years. The owner knows the taste of every regular customer. You buy a fresh croissant, take a bite, and the crumbs fall into your palm. You eat it standing on the edge of the sidewalk and feel that it is the best croissant in the world.

It can be a long afternoon. You sit on a bench in the park, watching a child chasing pigeons around, an elderly couple sitting side by side in silence, clouds drifting from east to west, changing shape from a whale to a sailboat. You pull out your phone, check the time – and then put it away. Because no one is waiting for you, and there is nothing you need to do. Such a vacation will not appear in any travel guide, will not pass any filter, will not gain likes on social media. But it will leave a special echo in you – like a stone thrown into a deep well. After the waves dissipate, the surface calms, but something in the depths of the water has changed forever. Peace gives us a certain ineffable strength.

Everywhere and Nowhere

Someone found the weight of words in the Greek sea. Someone found the courage to stop on Charles Bridge in Prague. Someone discovered the beauty of the mundane in Beijing's hutongs, which they had long overlooked. These places are different, but they share the same essence: They were not carefully planned. They were discovered by chance, during aimless wandering. The most beautiful memories arise unexpectedly – in conversation with locals, in the accidental discovery of a forgotten village, in a moment that no guide can recommend. The ideal vacation, when we think about it, is not a consumer act. It is a state of being. It does not depend on how much you spend, how far you travel, how many photos you take. It depends on whether you truly, with your whole being, experienced those moments.

Czechs say: "Life is not just work."

The other side of this sentence might sound like: Vacation is not just rest. It is exercise – exercise in slowing down, perceiving the surroundings, coexisting with oneself. And then, when we return to the ordinary routine, we carry a piece of quiet, personal time within us. The length of that time may be short, but its density is enough to carry us far. So why not start this weekend? Turn off the navigation, leave the house, and let yourself be led down a street you don't know yet. You will discover that the most beautiful landscape is not necessarily in the distance.

Marie Liu