Tag: writing

Boris Kester

“Follow Your Heart, Just Go“

Follow Boris Here on his website : https://boriskester.com/

Read the Preface of his book here : https://boriskester.com/preface/

See his stunning images here : https://www.traveladventures.org/

Follow him on instagram here : https://www.instagram.com/boris_traveladventures/

The first thing you notice when speaking to someone who has travelled to every country in the world is not the number itself. It’s calm. The clarity. The sense that they have seen enough of humanity — its beauty, its contradictions, its patterns — to understand something the rest of us spend years trying to grasp. 

My conversation with Boris Kester carried exactly that feeling. There was no grand introduction, no dramatic claim about having completed all 193 nations. Instead, there was a quiet confidence shaped by decades of movement, thousands of encounters, and a lot of curiosity. 

Boris told me he wasn’t born with the dream of visiting every country; no one is. But his life began in motion. At just five months old, his parents placed him in a travel cart and took him on a two-day train ride to Greece, followed by a boat to Crete. Even before he could “walk or talk,” he was absorbing foreign sounds, foods, people, and rhythms. He didn’t consciously remember any of it, “but this is what basically started to make me a traveler,” he said. Before turning ten, he was keeping diaries and excitedly counting countries.

Much later, after passing the halfway mark without ever intending to, a major life event pushed him to reevaluate everything. “That’s when I decided: this will be my life goal.” He committed to the remaining 75 countries with purpose, discipline, and curiosity.

As he spoke, I felt echoes from my own childhood — being pushed through Hong Kong in a pram, scratching countries off my gifted map, widening my world one tiny patch at a time. Some people stumble into travel while are quietly shaped by it long before they realise. As we called it, we caught the travel bug. What we both shared was curiosity. “We share a very genuine curiosity,” he said. “You look at a map and imagine every place — and you want to know what it actually looks like when you go there.”

But as we discussed, many people today avoid the unknown. They chase the familiar: Paris, Italy, Santorini, the places everyone posts. Others avoid entire regions because of misconceptions, stereotypes, or fear. I told him how people ask me where Tunisia is when I mention I’m going — as if the unfamiliar is automatically unsafe or unworthy.

Boris nodded, and his perspective was sharp: “People should travel where they want — but they miss out on so much. Famous places are crowded every day of the year now. And unknown places hold the real magic.” He emphasised that most negative assumptions are just that — assumptions. “The reality on the ground is almost always very different from the image you have before going.”

That led us to the essence of travel: people. For him, travel is far less about scenery than human connection. “In the end, travel is about connecting — understanding how people live and why they do things the way they do.” And this connection goes both ways. Locals ask where he’s from, what his life is like. Stories are exchanged, worlds grow larger, and stereotypes dissolve.

His encounters illustrated this beautifully. When he was 18, two Moroccan boys befriended him, eager to practise English — until they suddenly tried to recruit him into a drug-smuggling deal. A harsh early lesson: some people have agendas. But the very next year, in Finland, when he lost his wallet, a poor elderly couple took him into their home, fed him, sheltered him, and even paid for his return journey. 

But the story that reshaped him most came from a remote island in Kiribati. When asked where he was from, he explained the Netherlands — near Germany and France. The man looked confused and asked, “So how many hours by boat between Netherlands and Germany?” When Boris explained there was no boat — you could drive, take a train, even walk — the man was stunned. “Why would you have borders if there is no sea?” he asked. And suddenly it clicked for Boris: for people whose entire lives revolve around islands, land borders make no sense. “It made me question why borders exist at all. Countries are invented by humans — arbitrary lines. Yet we treat them like absolute truths.”

He also told me about a moment in Sudan that stayed with him forever: a mother and her young son, clearly poor and wearing worn-out clothes, whom he had spent a long bus journey wondering how he might help, only to discover at the end that they had quietly paid for his ticket without even telling him — an act of generosity that left him humbled and emotional.

That revelation fed into a lesson travel taught him. “When you speak to people one-on-one, you realise we are so similar. But at the same time, people fear others who look or sound different. That is the tragedy of humankind.” He added, “99.9% percent of people are good. They’ll help you, welcome you, feed you. But we still generalise and say ‘those people are bad.’ It makes no sense.”

Eventually, we reached his final country. Strangely, it was not a remote Pacific island or a war zone, but Ireland. Most travellers save the hardest nation for last — Yemen, Somalia, Nauru. But Boris planned differently. “I wanted to celebrate with family and friends. If I finished in the Pacific, no one would come.” So he held Ireland for the end. He walked over the border from Northern Ireland, knowing that the moment he took one more step, the quest of almost 20 years would be complete. It felt surreal. The real emotion came later, standing before the UN Headquarters in New York, walking past each flag from Afghanistan to Zimbabwe in alphabetical order, remembering — really remembering — every story, every struggle, every kindness.

Those memories became his book, The long road to Cullaville. It isn’t a guidebook. It isn’t about attractions. It is about reality — the unseen, unheard, unfiltered truth of places we misunderstand. He wrote it because people constantly asked if travel was dangerous. “I wanted to show the reality, not confirm the bias,” he said. He is soon publishing his second book Wonderheart, whose message is clear: “Follow your heart, don’t be afraid.”

I asked what still excites him now that he has been everywhere. His answer was simple and beautiful. “Curiosity. This naive, pure curiosity. Even a small waterfall can make me emotional. Just knowing I’m going to see something new already excites me.” I understood instantly. I had once stood before a simple wadi in Oman and felt unexpectedly emotional — not because it was the largest or most famous, but because something inside me shifted. Some places touch a part of you you didn’t know was waiting.

When I asked him to name places that truly fascinated him, he immediately mentioned the Pacific, admitting he had once assumed it would be dull because he imagined nothing more than beaches and small islands, but after spending three months travelling through the region, he realised how wrong he had been: “The Pacific surprised me more than anything,” he said, describing volcanoes, ancient ruins, wildly different cultures and how “every island has its own identity.” He added that when you travel with an open mind, almost every country surprises you — not always in big ways, but in the small, intimate moments that stay with you long after you leave. So I asked him a question I pose to every traveller: if he were dropped into a completely new place, how would he explore it? He didn’t hesitate: “I’d try to meet someone,” he said, explaining that his first instinct is always to talk to a local, find a common language if possible, and understand the place through the people who live there, because that, to him, is where the real soul of a destination lies.

When I asked what advice he would give to a 19-year-old traveler like me, he smiled. “Just go. Don’t rush. Take your time. Don’t be afraid. Travel slowly, and you’ll learn more than any school or college can teach you.” We also spoke about privilege — and how we admire travelers from Malawi, Togo, or countries with weaker passports, especially women who navigate far greater challenges yet still chase their dreams. “It proves anyone can travel if they truly want to. It may be harder, but not impossible.”

The world is vast, complicated, gentle, chaotic, heartbreaking, beautiful — and overwhelmingly human. And if there is one lesson we can carry from someone who has seen every corner of it, it is this: Follow your heart, not the map. The world will meet you halfway.

Gunnar Garfors

“Start Small, Stay Curious“

Speaking to Gunnar Garfors felt less like interviewing a record-holding traveller and more like sitting down with someone who has allowed the world to shape him with an unusual openness. Gunnar is the first person to visit every country in the world twice, he’s written books that have redefined how people think about travel, and he holds several world records that sound outrageous even when said out loud. Yet, when our conversation began, what struck me most was his simplicity. He didn’t decide to become a world traveler. There was no dramatic moment where he declared, “This is my life.” He said it almost casually: he just loved travel from an early age — out of curiosity, out of the joy of seeing new places, and out of the thrill of discovering that Norway wasn’t the center of the universe. “Everywhere else is completely different,” he told me, and realizing that was powerful enough to keep him going.

Gunnar spoke about travel not as something that changed him, but something that revealed him. And the first thing it revealed, he said, was privilege. Coming from Norway — a stable democracy with strong passports, high living standards, and the luxury of long holidays — he understood early on how fortunate he was. Recognising that shaped the way he travels. When you move through the world knowing you’re privileged, you naturally approach people with more humility, more patience, more willingness to learn. “Everyone grows up believing they’re from the center of the universe,” he said, “but then you travel and see others believe the same — and they’re also right in their own way.”

A theme that kept resurfacing was his belief that travel is not observation — it is participation. Too many travellers today, he said, move through places with the objective of taking the perfect photograph, recreating the same scene they saw on Instagram. “Copycat tourism,” he calls it. Stunning photos show people alone in breathtaking locations, but in reality, those spots are overflowing with crowds. And rather than discovering the world, travellers are simply repeating each other. Gunnar isn’t against photography — far from it. He believes you get better photographs when you talk to locals, when you are guided to the most meaningful corners of a place. Travelers rely on Google Maps and TripAdvisor reviews written by other travellers, but the true experts are always the people who live there, the locals.

He talked about language barriers, shyness, cultural differences, religion — all the things that stop people from interacting with locals. Those are just merely excuses. “Just smile. It’s free”.And he’s right. A smile opens doors. A simple hello opens conversations. Even without language, there are drawings, gestures, and body language. He told me a funny story of ordering food in Iran by drawing cows, sheep, and bread in his notebook because no one spoke English. The restaurant understood immediately. I related this deeply — in Tokyo, a local friend took me into a hidden lane to eat authentic soba noodles I would never have discovered on my own. Experiences like that don’t come from maps; they come from people.

Naturally, I had to ask him about going to every country twice. Most people dream of visiting all countries once, but doing them twice sounds impossible. When you like something, you revisit it as his response. You don’t go to your favorite restaurant once; you return. Countries evolve, cultures shift, atmospheres change. If you revisit after ten or fifteen years, you notice transformations in people, cities, energy. And sometimes, you simply go back to meet people again, because travel is made of relationships. But the challenge, he said, is always choosing between going back to a place you love or seeing something new. 

We spoke about why travellers should go beyond hotspots and explore lesser-visited countries — something he knows well, having written a book about the twenty least visited nations called “Elsewhere: A Journey to the World’s Least-visited Countries”. He sees mass tourism becoming a real problem, driven by the influencer mindset where people chase the same experiences. That’s why he believes travellers should intentionally explore offbeat regions. Not only do you get richer experiences, but you help distribute tourism money to villages, towns, and families who genuinely benefit from it — instead of pouring money into global hotel chains where profits leave the country. He also highlighted how staying in local hotels and eating local food makes travel more rewarding and helpful for local and the global economy. My own stay at a lady’s riad in Meknes (Morocco) came to mind where I had the most authentic local experience — no Marriott could replicate that.

When I asked him which regions he feels especially connected to, he spoke fondly of Kerala in India which is a state in the southwest — exploring the backwaters, eating local food, and even accidentally stealing coconuts with his brother before paying the farmer. Hardly anyone outside India truly understands how magical Kerala is, he said. He described Central Asia with admiration — vast landscapes, sincere hospitality, and the warmth of being treated like a guest, not a walking bag of cash. Africa, too, holds a special place for him. His wife is from Sudan, a country with some of the kindest people he has ever met, despite its current conflict. Madagascar, with its terrible roads but unmatched natural wonders, left a deep impression. And then there’s Norway — his own home — which many tourists misunderstand by sticking to Oslo alone. “The real Norway,” he said, “is in the fjords, in northern villages, in the midnight sun and the northern lights.”

We also spoke about his world records — visiting six continents in one calendar day, nineteen countries in twenty-four hours, and 23 US states in 24 hours. But he refuses to call these achievements “travel.” They are logistical challenges, fun to do with friends, but lacking cultural experience. “You don’t speak to anyone, you don’t eat local food, you don’t learn anything,” he said. They’re accomplishments, yes, but not travel. And he finds it amusing when people count airport transits as country visits. “If you don’t meet the people or taste the food, what’s the point?” I agreed completely as it is my philosophy as well.

Later in our conversation, I asked what he would do if dropped into a completely unknown country with no plan. He would simply walk. Walking is how he maps a place — by absorbing its smells, sounds, and rhythms. It’s how he figures out which neighborhoods feel alive, which ones feel peaceful, where markets are, where local life happens. 

Hardships are natural in a journey as extensive as Gunnar’s, so I asked him how he overcame difficult moments. “By being humble,” he said. “By remembering how privileged I am to travel at all.” He believes attitude influences outcomes. When I asked what came after visiting every country twice, he said there doesn’t need to be a next big goal. “There’s always something new to see, even in my own village,” he said. I found that beautiful — the idea that wonder is not tied to grand achievements but to everyday curiosity.

Before ending, I asked the one question I always ask world travelers: What advice would you give to young travelers like me? His answer was simple and one I’ll remember for sure: “Start small. Don’t travel far at first. Try it. See if you really like it. Not everyone does. Be humble. Talk to locals. Build friendships. That’s what travel is about.”

As we said goodbye, he told me to visit Norway soon. I smiled because my lock screen is literally a picture of Norway’s fjords — and because, like him, I believe the world is too big, too beautiful, and too full of stories to ever stop exploring. Talking to Gunnar didn’t just inspire me. It reshaped the way I want to travel next — with more curiosity, more patience and more humility.