Going Back, Going Forward?
I arrived in Belgrade ten days ago, despite feeling unready to leave Sofia. I had already booked an Airbnb in Belgrade while I was in Istanbul, planning to spend equal time in Sofia, Belgrade, and Budapest before reaching Vienna on August 19th. Knowing that I rarely feel ready to leave a place, I reassured myself it was normal and that I'd soon adjust.
I also reasoned that Belgrade could give me a chance to catch up on administrative tasks and slow down a bit. In Istanbul and Sofia, I often found myself in the next meeting or event without time to process and digest my previous experiences. At one point, I even joked about being tired of saying the word "vegan."
The Airbnb apartment I booked for Belgrade had a stellar 9.49/10 rating with rave reviews: clean and well-equipped, with a hospitable host family upstairs, a supermarket just a three-minute walk away, a forest park on the hills behind the house, and a direct bus line to the city center in 15-20 minutes. All this convinced me that I could have a pleasant stay in a basement apartment, which I’d normally avoid.
But when I walked in, I was greeted—or rather, shocked—by a cowhide rug.
I considered hiding it in the closet to avoid stepping on it daily, but that would mean dealing with it again before checkout. I wouldn’t have to put it back, but I felt it would be polite to leave the place as I found it. Not wanting to touch the rug or waste the money I had paid and spend more on accommodation elsewhere, I decided to ignore the discomfort and stay as planned.
Maybe the rug was a bad omen. The next thing I noticed was that the rubber door seal of the washing machine was covered in mold. And the bedroom smelled like a thrift store full of old clothes. On my first night, a musty odor kept drifting into my nostrils as I tried to sleep. My instinct told me there was mold in the room, but my bias wanted me to focus on a simpler problem that would be easier to solve, so I suspected the culprit was the second blanket I needed since the basement got cool in the evenings. The blanket was old and rough, with an earthy, dusty smell. The next day, I asked the host for another blanket.
Problem solved? I wished.
The smell lingered, but only around the bed. The kitchen and bathroom were fine, so I avoided the sleeping area until bedtime. I couldn't see any mold on the bedsheets and the pillows or on the bed frame. My skin was unaffected too. Whenever I caught a whiff of the musty odor, I’d sniff harder, hoping to convince myself it was gone, maybe that I was just being too sensitive. The Airbnb host’s mother was such a sweet lady. You see, I started looking for reasons to justify staying there, because I really didn't want to waste money and move. I thought I could just get through it. After all, it was only nine days.
Big mistake—as my partner would jokingly say.
Indeed, my willingness to suffer unnecessarily proved again to be detrimental to my well-being. My sleep suffered, and the lack of natural light in the apartment, despite those above-ground windows, didn’t help. It would have been better for me to spend most of the day outside, but exhaustion from poor sleep and a troubled mind kept me from staying out for long. I felt like laying down every few hours.
Still, I gave Belgrade a shot. I explored the city, hung out with a fellow vegan traveler I met in Sofia, and reached out to potential project contacts—though they never responded. But I couldn’t vibe with the city, and that feeling hit me the moment I arrived. As the fatigue and headaches exacerbated, I felt increasingly worried and stuck.
In that depleted mental and physical state, I couldn't muster any excitement for Budapest—another new destination where I had yet to book accommodation or plan activities. I started questioning why I even wanted to go there and why I came to Belgrade in the first place. Soon my worries extended beyond my situation there then to doubts about the entire Watson year and traveling in general.
It struck me that I might be merely moving from place to place—locomoting, as described in “The Case Against Travel”—rather than truly immersing myself in each one. My stubbornness about traveling by land from Istanbul to Vienna had turned into a kind of halfhearted locomotion. If I were just getting from A to B, that would be fine, but I was trying to do more. I had the intention of spending time in each place and taking it easy, but deep inside there has always been a desire to feel productive, which is sometimes exciting, sometimes overwhelming. I secretly hoped that productivity would happen by chance, that I could accomplish project-related work even during short stays and with little planning. Somehow such a kind of productivity would feel even more gratifying. What a strange mindset, one I only recognized clearly once I put it into words.
Hadn't I already given myself the tried-and-true advice that more time in fewer places was better than a whirlwind of short stays? My gut was telling me to come back to Sofia, yet a restless monkey in my head framed it as a cowardly move—choosing the familiar over embracing the challenges and discomfort of new territories.
All this time, I knew I wasn't practicing good self-care. Sometimes I was totally lost in my mental tug-of-war and letting those thoughts steer me. Other times, I was able to step back and observe them. (Not that I believe "I" and "my mind" are separate, but that’s a topic for another day...)
After binging on several podcasts about psychosomatic health, rereading words of wisdom from various authors, finding resonance in blogs from former Watson Fellows, and chatting with my partner, I found the courage to accept the truth for me at that moment: I was getting tired of traveling—or , more accurately, locomotion. I decided it was perfectly okay to head back to Sofia. Luckily, the best Airbnb room I had stayed in was available for me to book again, which was a great relief.
I left Belgrade a day earlier than planned, and only on the last day did I discover that the moldy odor came largely from the carpet in the room. Invisible mold had been the culprit all along… just as my instinct told me on day one.
A few days ago on the bus from Belgrade to Sofia, I reflected on a few life rules that had been on my mind as I gradually became unstuck over the past few days. None of this is groundbreaking new insight, but the clarity I felt after struggling alone in that dark, musty basement, with the sight of the cowhide rug reminding me daily of why I committed to the Watson, was far more convincing than simply hearing these teachings from others:
- If I'm not saying "hell yeah!" about something, it’s a no.
- Quality over quantity.
- Be willing to change course.
I've heard other fellows say that the insights they gained from the Watson were more personal than project-related. So far, this has been true for me. But if I understand it correctly, the personal is the project, at least a big part of it.
My return to Sofia isn’t just about retracing my steps. It also symbolizes a return to exploring my longstanding interest in the connection between a whole-food, plant-based (WFPB) diet and health. Sofia was where I first discovered an oil-free, WFPB restaurant, an offshoot project of a holistic health center. Right before I left last time, I had the opportunity to interview their chef consultant, which has been the most exciting interview I’ve done on my Watson so far.
Coming back to Sofia, therefore, gives me time and space to re-center myself, to listen to what truly resonates with me, and to find clarity in the familiar so that I can better navigate the path ahead. As I continue this journey, I’ll carry these insights with me, knowing that sometimes the road back can lead to greater alignment and purpose.