I stood atop a mountain looking down at a magnificent rock-carved structure called ed-Deir (the Monastery), in the ancient city of Petra, Jordan. I had no guide other than a trail map ripped from a brochure that a stranger had discarded at my hostel. My shoes were scuffed with rosy-hued dirt. My feet were blistered. But the view? Incredible. And I felt as though I’d earned it.
I had reached the summit using what’s known as the “back door,” a lesser-known trail that meanders through the mountains on natural rock terraces. Doing so meant that I had avoided the other, more popular path, the one with the souvenir-hawkers, donkeys-for-hire, and chatty, gum-cracking tourists.
These are the kind of moments that make me feel most alive.
Over the years, I’ve often thought that traveling to far-flung places makes me the best version of myself. I become bolder, more outgoing, and more curious. I seek out the “back door.” My brain fires on all cylinders when I’m suddenly faced with calculating an exchange rate, trying to express myself in a foreign language, or orienting to a new geography.
To each ed-Deir, for example, I had to negotiate with a local taxi driver for a one-way fare, direct him (using a mix of English and broken Arabic) to the trailhead between the villages of Al Beidha and Uum Sayhoun, and then navigate the trail on my own. I could practically feel my brain synapses crackling as I challenged myself in new and different ways.
I’ve sought out experiences like that ever since my mom died from Alzheimer’s disease in 2011. In the wake of my loss—and with the knowledge that Alzheimer’s has a genetic component, meaning that I could be at risk for a similar fate—I’ve been proactive about dementia prevention, so I do all the things doctors typically recommend: daily crossword puzzles, a diet rich in omega-3 foods, a varied exercise regimen. But I’m also a proponent of something else: travel as a means to boost brain health.
The solo journey that started it all
My love affair with traveling began while my mother was in the twilight of her illness. She was a dreamer who set aside her own aspirations to raise a family, believing there would be time someday to go on safari, gaze upon the pyramids of Giza, or dance the tango in Buenos Aires. But someday is never guaranteed, as my family learned. My mom was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s (the kind that develops before age 65) before getting even one passport stamp closer to her dreams.
When my mom’s dementia had progressed to the point that she was a danger to herself and others, she moved into a memory care center. We had no idea how much longer she had to live, but she wasn’t the kind of person who would want me to sit by her bedside while she dwindled. So I embarked on a yearlong solo journey around the world, ticking off items from my mom’s unofficial bucket list as I went. It was my way of honoring her, but it was also a fervent attempt to create my own memories before they could possibly be claimed by Alzheimer’s.
Along the way, my life expanded to something bigger and bolder than I’d ever imagined it could be. I trekked with endangered mountain gorillas in Rwanda, volunteered at an elephant sanctuary in Thailand, and swam through a bioluminescent bay in Cambodia—every kick making the water shimmer neon blue under the inky night sky.
I surprised myself by how capable I was in handling difficult situations: Finding routes around road blockades in Bolivia, learning how to take the local bus to a seemingly unreachable site in Egypt, securing the medication I needed in Uganda. And whenever I felt loneliest, missing my mom and wishing she still knew me, I made deep, meaningful connections with the incredible people I met on my globe-trotting journey.
I’m under no illusion that traveling will eliminate my chances of developing Alzheimer’s disease. But I firmly believe it’s a tool for a sharper mind and a richer life.
The budding research behind travel for brain health
In the time since that solo backpacking trip, my passport has become more than a ticket to distant lands; it’s a lifeline for my cognitive well-being, so much so that I pivoted my career in journalism to specialize in travel writing. To travel anywhere is a privilege, but I also actively work to make it a priority in my life, because it’s an essential part of my mental health self-care.
What’s more, there’s some emerging evidence that exploring new places is good for brain health. Promising studies indicate that travel and tourism can reduce the risk of dementia. Several factors may contribute to these benefits, according to the authors: travel often involves physical activity, which is known to support brain health. It also tends to evoke positive emotions and facilitate social interactions, both of which are beneficial for mental well-being. Additionally, traveling to beautiful, natural landscapes provides a therapeutic environment that can enhance overall brain function.
While the study did not differentiate between different types of tourism or the duration of travel experiences, it did find a correlation between leisure travel and lower rates of cognitive impairment. The researchers suggest that tourism “should be considered as a non-pharmacological intervention to prevent cognitive impairment and dementia.”
Another exploratory study investigated the potential of travel as a treatment to alleviate mild dementia, with the researchers highlighting that “tourism experiences can provide dementia patients with relaxing and memorable experiences that stimulate neurological functioning.”
Delving into the positive psychology of travel, the study found that various aspects of the travel experience—such as planning a trip, anticipating the journey, learning about the destination, and savoring the experience—can significantly enhance one’s quality of life.
What travel does for me
A handful of years ago, I confessed to my primary care doctor that I was anxious about getting Alzheimer’s disease and dying in the same manner as my mom. He didn’t diminish my fear or sugarcoat my risk of developing the disease. Instead, he suggested that I support my cognitive function by learning a new instrument.
That was a great recommendation, because there is some evidence that suggests musicians who play frequently have better cognition later in life, and a 2024 study found that practicing an instrument is associated with better working memory in older adults. (The latter is part of a larger study that examines how brains age and why some people develop dementia.)
So I tried to follow the doctor’s orders. I borrowed a guitar from a friend and strummed awkward chords along to YouTube videos. I plinked “Chopsticks” and “Let It Be” on an electronic keyboard. While visiting Kauai, I took every free ukulele lesson offered by my hotel, and even returned home with a ukulele of my own (that hasn’t been played since).
I finally had to admit to myself that becoming a musician probably wasn’t for me. However, I believe traveling is my version of learning a new instrument. Because while the ukulele lesson was like a warm-up stretch for my brain, exploring Kauai was as exhilarating as running a marathon.
My mind felt sharpest when I borrowed a bike from the hotel, studied pamphlets, plotted a route, and pedaled along the roads of a previously unknown place. I chatted with strangers, who taught me beautiful words and phrases that, when I spoke them, felt like flowers blooming in my mouth. As I saw trees or plants I didn’t know (which was most of them), I learned more about them, and I memorized their names. I studied every darting gecko that crossed my path.
Now, whenever I need a brain boost, I start researching and planning my next excursion, whether it’s an adventurous road trip or cashing in points to bring my family to a new-to-us destination. Every part of the process energizes me and helps me feel more engaged with the world.
I’m under no illusion that traveling will eliminate my chances of developing Alzheimer’s disease. But I also don’t dismiss travel as a luxury or an act of frivolity either. I firmly believe it’s a tool for a sharper mind and a richer life.
There’s also a part of me that believes even though my mom is no longer in this world, she is still of this world. She’s hitched to every place we ever discussed, and she exists in all the locales of our dreams. Someday, if I keep going, I just might reach her.
—reviewed by Smita Holden, MD
