By Kessler Lite.
I was in Scotland on a content creator trip, traveling with three strangers I had met just two days before. We were there to document the Highlands, capture the landscape’s drama, and turn it into shareable stories. But that day ended differently than expected.
We had stopped at Lealt Falls, that raw and remote stretch of Skye where cliffs drop into the sea and silence stretches wide. The kind of place that begs for a photo. As we debated camera angles, a car pulled into the otherwise empty lot. Its tires crunched over the wet gravel. Inside, a woman gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. Two children peered out from the backseat, their faces pressed to the glass.
I watched her step out, looked at her flat tire, then at her kids, panic in her eyes. No cell signal, and no one in sight. When I first offered help, she politely declined. We often try to handle our struggles alone. But as we prepared to leave, she approached our car, tears mingling with the rain, finally asking for the help she needed.
So we stayed.
In that moment, I faced a choice. I could have taken the perfect Instagram shot of a stranded family against a stormy Highland backdrop. It would have made a compelling image, the kind that touches hearts and earns likes. But instead, I put my camera away. No photos. No behind the scenes content. Just people helping people in the rain.
The Unwritten Responsibility of Travel Journalism.
That moment stayed with me. Not because it was extraordinary, but because it was ordinary, the kind of thing that happens daily when no one’s watching. Yet, it felt more real than any postcard perfect scenery I’ve captured.
As the new Editor in Chief of this magazine, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to tell travel stories in 2025. We’re flooded with content but crave connection. We’ve mastered the highlight reel but lost the texture of the unscripted. So, where does that leave us?
I believe true travel journalism isn’t just about where you go; it’s about how you pay attention. It’s about recognising that the most important stories often happen along the border. They don’t fit neatly into an Instagram grid. They don’t go viral. But they remind us why we travel.
A New Chapter.
This magazine has always celebrated the world’s beauty. But under my leadership, we’ll also celebrate its honesty, the messy, the unplanned, the quietly profound. We’ll still bring you breathtaking destinations and expert guides, but we’ll also make space for stories without tidy endings. The ones that linger. The ones that change you.
At its core, travel isn’t about collecting stamps or likes. It’s about gathering moments that remind you what it means to be human. Sometimes, the best way to honour those moments is to put the camera down and simply be there. So here’s to the stories we don’t post. May they stay with us the longest.
This article is part of the practical work carried out by the students of the Master’s in Travel Journalism.
