On movement, borders, and the illusion of completion
There is a moment — somewhere between passport stamp 37 and 73 — when travel stops being accumulation and becomes something quieter.
I crossed that threshold again recently.
Ninety-two UN member states.
Not as a trophy. Not as a checklist. But as a map of conversations.
The Countries That Rearranged Me
Some destinations rearrange you.
Standing in the old city of Damascus, where time folds instead of flows.
Watching the skyline of Baghdad from the banks of the Tigris.
Crossing into Yemen — not as a headline, but as a place of hospitality and poetry.
And then there was North Korea — surreal, curated, orchestrated — a country experienced in layers of permission.
Travel is often described as freedom.
But some of the most meaningful places I’ve visited were defined by restriction.
And that contradiction stays with me.
Europe: The Familiar That Isn’t
I have now visited almost every European microstate.
From the polished calm of Liechtenstein
to the cliff-hugging elegance of Monaco
to the quiet resilience of Malta
Only San Marino remains.
“The Last Microstate.”
But Europe stopped being “easy” long ago.
Familiarity hides depth. Borders that no longer feel like borders still carry history in their soil.
Central Asia: The Horizontal Sublime
If there is a region that feels most like a Quixotic chapter, it is Central Asia.
The tiled madrasas of Samarkand in Uzbekistan.
The high mountain roads of Tajikistan.
The vast, open geometry of Kazakhstan.
These are landscapes that stretch not only outward — but inward.
Horizons force reflection.
The Middle East: My Compass
If I’m honest, this region has become my internal compass.
Oman at dawn.
Iran with its infinite courtyards.
Iraq, layered with pain and pride.
Jordan, where desert feels philosophical.
This is not the Middle East of headlines.
It is the Middle East of tea, long conversations, and doors that open when you least expect them to.
Africa: The Expansion Frontier
My African footprint is still modest —
Egypt, Morocco, South Africa, Tanzania, Zambia, Zimbabwe.
But Africa does not reward rushing.
It asks for time.
The Illusion of Completion
Ninety-two sounds substantial.
But travel does not move toward completion.
It moves toward complexity.
The more borders you cross, the more artificial they begin to feel.
The more “countries” dissolve into neighborhoods, dialects, kitchens, landscapes.
I’ve walked megacities and remote valleys.
I’ve taken A380s and overnight buses.
I’ve crossed official borders and invisible ones.
And yet — the list remains unfinished.
It always will be.
What 92 Really Means
It means:
- Tea shared in places that media misunderstands.
- Night walks in cities that surprised me.
- Airports that became thresholds rather than transit points.
- Microstates that proved size is irrelevant.
- Conversations that linger longer than stamps.
Travel is not about collecting nations.
It’s about allowing them to collect you.
San Marino waits.
But so do Lagos.
Kinshasa.
Jakarta.
Lima.
And perhaps that’s the point.
Not the number.
The direction.
—
Maarten
Founder, QuixoticGuide 🌍
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