One of my favorite parts of this summer has been picking our kids up from camp.

Some days when we pick them up they’re exhausted. Sometimes they’re dirty, sweaty, or sunburned. Sometimes they immediately start talking and don’t stop for the entire ride home. Other days we have to drag the details out of them one question at a time.

And not every day has been amazing. There have been camps they loved, activities they didn’t, kids they clicked with, and days when they weren’t particularly excited to go back the next morning.

But every afternoon, I’m excited to see them. And I love hearing about a day that happened completely without us.

For a family that spends as much time together as ours does, that’s actually pretty unusual.

We Know Our Kids Miss Some Things

We love worldschooling. We love the freedom it gives our family, the time we spend together, and the ability to use the world around us as part of our kids’ education. We wouldn’t have chosen this path if we didn’t believe deeply in what it gives them.

But that doesn’t mean we think it gives them everything.

There are things our kids miss by not attending a traditional school, and I think it’s important to be honest about that. They don’t spend six or seven hours every day surrounded by a large group of kids their own age. They don’t regularly have teachers telling them exactly what they’re supposed to do and when they’re supposed to do it. They aren’t constantly navigating classrooms, schedules, group projects, recess politics, and all the other social dynamics that come with being one kid among many.

We don’t particularly want all of that every day. In fact, avoiding some of that structure is one of the reasons we love the life we’ve chosen.

But that doesn’t mean there’s no value in it.

Summer Camp Fills Some of Those Gaps

This summer, our boys have done sailing camp, mountain biking camp, rock climbing camp, backpacking camp, and theater camp.

On the surface, those camps have been about learning skills. They’ve learned to sail boats, ride trails, climb rocks, carry everything they need on their backs, and get on a stage in front of other people.

But I’ve realized that the activities themselves are only part of what I value about camp.

For a few hours each day, our kids become part of somebody else’s world.

Someone else sets the schedule. Someone else is in charge. If the counselor says it’s time to put the bikes away, then it’s time to put the bikes away. If the group is moving on to the next activity, they’re moving too. Our kids don’t get to negotiate everything with Mom and Dad.

That kind of structure is probably good for them sometimes.

They Don’t Have to Love Everything

Some camps were huge hits this summer. Others weren’t.

There were days when the kids couldn’t wait to tell us what they’d done. There were other days when they weren’t particularly excited about going back.

And I’m increasingly convinced that both kinds of experiences have value.

One of the wonderful things about having a lot of freedom in childhood is that kids can spend time discovering what genuinely interests them. But I don’t think that means every experience needs to be perfectly tailored to what they already know they like.

Sometimes you try something and discover a new passion.

Sometimes you try something and discover that you’d rather never do it again.

Sometimes you have a mediocre Tuesday and still go back on Wednesday because that’s what you signed up to do.

There’s something useful in all of those outcomes.

Being One Kid in a Big Group

The social piece may have been the biggest surprise for us this summer.

Our kids aren’t isolated. Far from it. They meet kids while we travel, participate in worldschooling communities, spend time with friends and family, and have plenty of opportunities to interact with people of different ages and backgrounds.

But it’s different from being dropped into a big group of kids and having to figure out where you fit.

Camp gives them that experience.

They meet kids they immediately like and kids they don’t. They have to introduce themselves. They join games already in progress. They navigate disagreements. They figure out group dynamics without us hovering nearby to help.

This summer, we’ve watched them make more friends and be more social than in summers past. That’s been wonderful to see, especially because so much of it has happened independently of us.

They don’t need us to arrange every interaction anymore. Sometimes we just drop them off and let them figure it out.

Other Adults Matter Too

There’s another piece of traditional school that our kids don’t experience very often: having unrelated adults in positions of authority.

When you spend a lot of your life learning as a family, Mom and Dad can become teacher, parent, travel planner, coach, rule enforcer, and just about everything else.

Camp changes that.

Suddenly there’s a sailing instructor, mountain biking coach, climbing instructor, backpacking leader, or theater director telling them what to do. Our kids have to listen to someone else’s instructions. They have to learn that adult’s expectations. They have to ask that person for help when they need it.

And we aren’t there to intervene.

I think kids need other adults in their lives. They need opportunities to build relationships with people who aren’t their parents and to discover that they can navigate those relationships independently.

Camp Gives Parents Something Too

There is also a considerably less philosophical reason that I love summer camp:

We get some time without our kids.

I don’t feel particularly guilty admitting that.

One of the greatest gifts of worldschooling is the enormous amount of time we spend together. It’s also one of its challenges. When you’re traveling together, learning together, eating together, exploring together, and often living in relatively small spaces together, uninterrupted work time can be hard to find.

Camp gives us a few glorious hours when we know the kids are somewhere safe, learning something interesting, and surrounded by other kids.

We can work.

We can get things done.

Sometimes we can just enjoy the quiet.

And then, at the end of the day, we’re genuinely excited to see each other again.

They Get to Have Stories That Aren’t Ours

I think this might be my favorite part.

When we travel as a family, most of our experiences are shared. If we snorkel with a sea turtle, we were probably all there. If something funny happens on a train, we all know the story. If we hike a volcano, we experience it together.

Camp gives our kids experiences that belong to them.

They get into the car and tell us about something funny another kid said. They explain what happened on the trail. They tell us about a game they played or something their counselor did. They know people we don’t know and have inside jokes we don’t understand.

For a few hours, they have a life completely separate from ours.

I love that.

We Don’t Need Worldschooling to Provide Everything

I think one of the traps of choosing an unconventional path is feeling like you need to prove that your choice is better in every possible way.

We don’t feel that way about worldschooling.

There are things traditional school does really well. There are experiences kids have there that ours don’t. Rather than pretending those things don’t matter, we’d rather recognize the gaps and find other ways to fill the ones we think are important.

Summer camp happens to fill a lot of them.

Our kids get structure without having their entire lives structured. They spend time in large groups without spending every weekday in one. They learn to listen to adults who aren’t their parents. They make friends without us facilitating the friendships. They try things they wouldn’t necessarily choose for themselves.

And then they come home.

We still get the freedom and family time that drew us to worldschooling in the first place. We just borrow a little bit from a more traditional childhood along the way.

Maybe that’s what I like most about the way we’re raising our kids. We don’t have to choose one model and accept every part of it. We can take pieces from different worlds and try to build the childhood that makes sense for our family.

This summer, some of those pieces involved sailboats, mountain bikes, climbing ropes, backpacks, and a theater stage.

They didn’t love every minute of it.

Neither did we expect them to.

But watching them walk away from us in the morning and then listening to their stories when they came back at the end of the day, I kept thinking the same thing:

This is good for them.

And, as it turns out, it’s pretty good for us too.

When we planned our time in Antigua, Guatemala, we weren’t thinking much about Semana Santa.

In fact, our arrival during Holy Week was almost an accident.

What should have been a relatively straightforward drive into Antigua turned into a 5½-hour adventure as roads closed, crowds filled the streets, and processions wound their way through the city. At first, it felt like terrible timing.

By the time we left, it felt like incredible luck.

We’re not Catholic. In fact, we’re not particularly religious at all. We arrived knowing very little about Semana Santa beyond a vague understanding that it was an important holiday.

What we experienced over the next several days was something far deeper than we expected.

A City Transformed

Antigua was beautiful before Semana Santa.

During Semana Santa, it felt completely transformed.

Everywhere we went, people were preparing for processions. Streets were lined with spectators. Entire families worked together to create elaborate alfombras—temporary carpets made from colored sawdust, flowers, fruits, vegetables, and other materials.

The amount of work was staggering.

Hours of effort went into creating something beautiful that would exist for only a short period of time before being walked over by the processions.

As outsiders, that fascinated us.

In a world that often feels obsessed with permanence, efficiency, and measurable outcomes, there was something beautiful about creating art simply because it mattered.

Witnessing Devotion

The processions themselves were unlike anything we had ever seen.

Massive floats depicting scenes from the life of Jesus were carried through the streets by groups of volunteers.

The floats were enormous.

And they were heavy.

As we watched, it became clear that carrying them was far more than a physical task.

Many of the people carrying the floats looked exhausted. Some appeared to be in genuine pain. Yet they continued, step after step, moving through the streets with remarkable focus and determination.

What struck me most were their faces.

There was an intensity there that was impossible to miss.

Even without sharing their beliefs, it was clear that many of them were thinking about something much larger than themselves. We learned that some participants intentionally reflect on the suffering of Jesus while carrying the floats, and watching them, it felt obvious that this wasn’t simply a parade or a performance.

This meant something deeply personal to them.

That level of devotion was difficult not to respect.

More Than a Tourist Attraction

One of the things I appreciated most about Semana Santa was that it never felt designed for tourists.

Tourists were certainly there, including us.

But the event wasn’t happening for our benefit.

This was a tradition that existed because it mattered to the people participating in it.

Sometimes when we travel, cultural experiences can feel packaged and presented for visitors.

Semana Santa felt different.

We weren’t watching a show.

We were witnessing a community express something that had meaning for them.

There was an authenticity to that which made the experience far more powerful.

The Value of Understanding Without Agreeing

One of the lessons travel teaches again and again is that understanding and agreement are not the same thing.

You don’t have to share someone’s beliefs to appreciate why those beliefs matter to them.

You don’t have to practice the same traditions to recognize their significance.

And you don’t have to see the world exactly the same way to find value in another person’s perspective.

In many ways, I think that’s one of the greatest gifts travel offers.

It reminds us that the world is filled with people whose experiences, beliefs, and traditions are different from our own.

And sometimes simply witnessing those differences with curiosity and respect can be incredibly meaningful.

Why This Experience Stayed With Us

Long after leaving Antigua, I found myself thinking about the people carrying those floats.

I thought about the effort.

I thought about the dedication.

I thought about the alfombras that took hours to create and minutes to disappear.

Mostly, though, I thought about how powerful it is to care deeply about something.

Whether it’s a faith, a tradition, a community, or a set of values, there is something inspiring about seeing people fully invested in something larger than themselves.

We arrived in Antigua expecting to see a beautiful colonial city.

Instead, we witnessed one of the most meaningful cultural experiences of our trip.

And it reminded us that sometimes the most memorable parts of travel aren’t the things we planned at all.

A few weeks after we got home from the Galápagos, our boys were talking with Grammy and Papa about the trip. The conversation eventually turned to the animals we had seen, and before long they were rattling off adaptation after adaptation.

They explained how saddleback tortoises evolved longer necks and differently shaped shells that allowed them to reach vegetation higher off the ground when food was scarce. They talked about marine iguanas evolving to feed in the ocean and then sneezing out excess salt after consuming so much seawater. They explained that Galápagos sea lions evolved from California sea lions and developed thinner blubber because of the warmer climate. They talked about the bright blue feet of blue-footed boobies and the red throat pouches of frigatebirds.

The conversation went on long enough that I eventually realized they remembered more than I did.

What struck me wasn’t just how much they remembered. It was that they genuinely understood it. Somewhere between snorkeling with sea turtles, hiking volcanoes, watching sea lions nap on benches, and seeing marine iguanas everywhere, concepts that might have felt abstract in a textbook had become real.

That’s one of the reasons the Galápagos made such an impression on our family.

Some Places Deserve the Hype

The Galápagos is one of those destinations that shows up on a lot of bucket lists. Before we visited, I wondered whether it could possibly live up to its reputation.

The answer, at least for us, was yes. Completely.

The wildlife is extraordinary, but not simply because of the number of animals you see. It’s the way those animals exist alongside daily life.

One of our favorite examples was a sea lion sleeping directly in front of the entrance to a grocery store. Nobody seemed particularly surprised by it. That’s just life in the Galápagos.

Marine iguanas sprawled across sidewalks and beaches. Sea lions occupied benches, docks, and boat ramps. Sea turtles swam beneath us while we snorkeled. Blue-footed boobies, frigatebirds, penguins, flamingos, sharks, giant tortoises, spotted eagle rays, and countless other animals seemed to appear around every corner.

The wildlife isn’t confined to a zoo or a reserve. It’s woven into everyday life.

Adaptation Everywhere You Look

One of the things that makes the Galápagos so fascinating is that adaptation isn’t an abstract concept there. It’s impossible to ignore.

Every island, every trail, and every snorkeling trip seemed to offer another example of how plants and animals evolved to survive in a very specific environment.

The saddleback tortoises adapted to reach food that other tortoises couldn’t. Marine iguanas solved the problem of limited food on land by feeding in the ocean. Blue-footed boobies use the color of their feet to attract mates. Frigatebirds inflate their brilliant red throat pouches during courtship displays. Even the differences between Galápagos sea lions and their California relatives tell a story about how species adapt to the environments where they live.

These weren’t facts our kids were memorizing for a test. They were observations connected to animals they had actually seen, watched, and experienced.

A Classroom Without Walls

One of the reasons travel is so central to our family’s learning is that some lessons become much more powerful when they can be experienced firsthand.

We can read about evolution. We can study adaptation. We can watch documentaries about ecosystems. Those things all have value.

But there’s something different about swimming alongside a sea turtle and then learning why it survives in that environment. There’s something different about standing in front of a giant tortoise and talking about how its body changed over generations to help it find food.

The concepts become attached to memories, and memories tend to stick.

The Galápagos became a classroom without ever feeling like school.

More Than Just Biology

The learning wasn’t limited to wildlife.

We hiked across the Sierra Negra volcano and saw how dramatically the environment changed with elevation. We learned about volcanic islands and how they form. We visited interpretive centers that explained the history of the islands and Darwin’s observations there. We talked about geology, ecology, conservation, and the delicate balance required to protect a place that is unlike almost anywhere else on Earth.

The islands offered lesson after lesson, but none of them felt forced. Curiosity came naturally because there was always something incredible right in front of us.

Why We Chose a Land-Based Trip

When we first started planning the Galápagos, we assumed we would need to take one of the famous liveaboard cruises. The problem was the cost. The boats were extraordinarily expensive, and we struggled with the idea of spending that much money on a single week.

Eventually we decided to do the trip differently.

Instead of living on a boat, we stayed on three different islands and used ferries and day trips to explore. Before we arrived, I worried we might feel like we were missing out.

We never did.

We saw giant tortoises, sea lions, marine iguanas, sharks, sea turtles, penguins, blue-footed boobies, frigatebirds, flamingos, and more. We snorkeled incredible waters, hiked volcanoes, explored multiple islands, and experienced the same remarkable wildlife that draws people from around the world.

It never felt like we were settling for a lesser experience.

What Actually Stuck

When I think back on the Galápagos now, I don’t immediately think about a specific tour or a specific island.

I think about that conversation with Grammy and Papa.

The boys weren’t reciting facts they had memorized. They were explaining ideas they understood. They had seen adaptation with their own eyes and watched it play out in real animals living in real environments.

That kind of learning is hard to replicate.

It’s one thing to read about evolution. It’s another thing to spend a week surrounded by evidence of it.

That’s what the Galápagos gave our family. Not just an amazing trip, but a deeper understanding of the natural world and memories that continue to spark curiosity long after we came home.

We’ve visited a lot of beautiful places over the years.

We’ve walked through famous cities, stood at incredible viewpoints, visited museums, explored national parks, and checked plenty of boxes that travel guides tell you not to miss.

Those experiences have value. We love seeing new places.

But over time, we’ve realized that seeing a place and knowing a place aren’t the same thing.

Sometimes you can spend a week somewhere and leave with a beautiful collection of photos but very little understanding of what life there is actually like. Other times, a place finds a way to get under your skin. You leave feeling connected to the people, the culture, and the rhythms of daily life.

Our time at Lake Atitlán in Guatemala was one of those experiences.

More Than Just a Beautiful Lake

Lake Atitlán is stunning.

Volcanoes surround the lake. Small villages dot the shoreline. Sunrises light up the water in spectacular fashion.

If all we had done was take photos and admire the scenery, it still would have been worth visiting.

But what made the experience special wasn’t the lake itself.

It was the people.

We joined a worldschooling hub that paired visiting families with local families from the community. Instead of simply observing the culture from the outside, we were invited into it.

That changed everything.

From Tourist to Participant

One morning we went to the local market with our host family.

We weren’t there to take pictures.

We were there to buy ingredients for lunch.

We wandered through the stalls together, talked about unfamiliar fruits and vegetables, and watched our host family interact with vendors they knew personally. It wasn’t a tourist activity. It was simply part of everyday life.

Later, we cooked alongside local abuelas and learned how traditional meals were prepared. We learned techniques that had been passed down through generations and heard stories that would never appear in a guidebook.

Another day we learned about traditional weaving practices. What might have looked like beautiful textiles in a market suddenly became something much deeper when we understood the skill, time, and cultural significance behind them.

The more we participated, the more the place came alive.

The Things We Never Would Have Learned On Our Own

Over those nine days, we learned about Mayan culture in ways that would have been difficult to replicate on our own.

We learned about traditional dress and the meaning behind different patterns and colors.

We learned about Mayan calendars, language, and cultural traditions that have survived for centuries.

Local musicians played traditional music for us and introduced us to instruments we had never seen before. The kids had opportunities to try some of them and experience a musical tradition that was entirely new to us.

We visited a local school. We rode tuk-tuks through town. We squeezed into the back of pickup trucks. We watched daily life unfold around us rather than simply passing through it.

None of these experiences were individually spectacular.

Together, they created something powerful.

Knowing a Place Takes Relationships

One of the things we took away from Lake Atitlán is that understanding a place almost always comes through relationships.

You can read about a culture.

You can watch videos.

You can visit museums.

And all of those things can be valuable.

But sitting around a table sharing a meal with local families creates a different kind of understanding.

It’s messier. More personal. More memorable.

The details stop feeling like facts and start feeling like part of someone’s life.

It Felt Like We Were There Much Longer

The funny thing is that we were only there for nine days.

If you look at the calendar, it wasn’t a particularly long stay.

But in some ways it felt like we had been there for a month.

The connections we made compressed time in a way that surprised us.

By the time we left, we felt a familiarity with the community that would have been impossible to develop through sightseeing alone.

We didn’t feel like experts on the region. We certainly weren’t pretending to fully understand a culture that has developed over centuries.

But we felt connected.

And that’s different.

Why This Matters for Our Family

Experiences like this are one of the reasons travel is so central to our family’s learning.

It’s one thing to learn that Guatemala has a large Indigenous population.

It’s another thing entirely to spend time with families whose traditions, language, clothing, music, and daily lives reflect that history.

One approach teaches information.

The other creates understanding.

Both have value, but the second tends to stay with us much longer.

We Know We’ll Be Back

When we left Lake Atitlán, we didn’t feel finished.

If anything, we felt like we had just scratched the surface.

The experience reminded us that some of the most meaningful travel doesn’t come from seeing more places. It comes from building deeper connections with the places you’re already in.

That’s the difference between seeing a place and knowing a place.

And Lake Atitlán is a place we’ll return to someday because of it.