When I was younger, I was obsessed with ticking off countries from my travel map. Less so continents, mainly because of that big white one at the bottom.

I would get to Antarctica eventually, I thought, but there was no rush. There was never really a plan, but after Africa had given me the travel bug when I was 16, by 22 I found I was five continents down.

With Oceania and Antarctica left, along came work and then the pandemic. Then came a mountain of grief – my wife Emma passed away from cancer in late 2022.

Though I was lost, Emma’s death drove me back to the airport. It fuelled my desire to see more of the world, to travel for two, and to fulfil our dream of setting foot on Antarctica.

Add to that Emma’s brother being in Sydney – as well as the Aussie bonuses of koalas and the Great Barrier Reef – and by 33 I found I’ve completed the set, with lessons learned along the way.

Africa

After visiting Tanzania with my parents, aged 16 – they had met there while working in the 1980s – I wanted to explore more of Sub-Saharan Africa on my gap year.

Camping for 32 days (the thought alone now makes my back ache) across South Africa, Zimbabwe, Botswana and Namibia, I learned how enriching a group tour can be – taking away any fear of going solo, especially when aged 18.

The tour removed the stress of organising transport and made it easy to meet like-minded individuals. For anyone tentative about travelling alone, these groups will result in the opposite. Shared memories for life.

Europe

Michael Interrailing in Europe (Phoho: Michael Hincks)

Gelato trumps ice cream, and pistachio reigns supreme – the important lessons learned while interrailing with friends in 2012.

Also: the borders. Slipping from country to country in the Schengen area with a shrug as opposed to a stamp was a cherished marvel in this increasingly divided world.

Europe is my great escape, and algorithms know I’m waiting for potential Eurostar rivals to make fares cheaper.

Asia

Michael and Emma at Mt Fuji (Photo: Michael Hincks)

I succumbed to south-east Asia with friends during university in 2013, visiting Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, and later embarked on a three-month trip to Bali, Borneo, Malaysia and Japan with Emma in early February 2020. Yes, you can do the maths – we were home six weeks later, having cut our Malaysia leg short before leaving Japan after just a week.

A year after she died, I completed our unfulfilled trip in Japan. I learned grief can fit in my backpack, right next to Emma’s cherished toy dog (and now my mascot), as well as my Goshuin stamp book, a beautiful selection of hand-signed stamps collected from temples and shrines along the way – a travel side-quest I would recommend to children and adults alike.

This return wasn’t the same, but Japan’s tranquil beauty outside the cities was the tonic I needed. You’ll be transfixed by Mount Fuji – or trying to catch glimpses of it through the clouds (or crowds, if in a popular photo spot) – but try and find time for the Japanese Alps, which are further west if starting in Tokyo.

A day trip to Kamikochi was the outdoor therapy I was after, given I was feeling the heaviness of loss, the brilliant autumn colours a lifting tonic, also proving that cherry blossom season is not the only time worth visiting Japan.

South America

Michael in Torres del Paine (Photo: Michael Hincks)

Give me a backpack and three months off work, and this is where I’d go. Across two trips a decade apart (2014 and 2024), the continent has taught me the value of travelling slowly to savour the subtle differences – and pastries – along each leg.

That includes three 24-hour-plus bus journeys. The cama (bed) and even semi-cama experience leaves UK coaches in the dust, adding surprising levels of comfort as you drift between salt flats, deserts, forests, waterfalls, beaches and mountains.

Walking the boardwalks of the magnificent Iguazu Falls was up there with a sub-Saharan safari for cathartic travel experiences. The studies that suggest waterfalls make people happier certainly rang true.

North America

I was born in Canada and could trap you in a pub corner to bore you for hours about the beauty of the country, but instead, an important discovery en route from the UK to Costa Rica, via Canada and the US.

At some stage in your 20s, you learn to pay more for direct flights and reasonable departure times. For Emma and I, that moment arrived in 2017, when our three-leg journey became four due to delays and a baffling call from Unnamed Awful Airline to fly us from Houston back to Newark. The lesson here? I now carry spare underwear, socks and a t-shirt in my hand luggage.

At least Costa Rica made up for it. Only twice the size of Wales, it packs a punch, and spending five weeks delving into the country’s mountains, national parks, rainforests and coastlines felt far more gratifying than ticking off places for the sake of it.

Antarctica

Antarctica was a bucket list trip for Michael (Photo: Michael Hincks)

“I’ve cracked the code to grief,” I told my new American and Swiss friends at the end of a 14-day voyage to Antarctica in early 2024. “All I need to do is go on a once-in-a-lifetime trip… every year.”

From camping in Antarctica (not too cold) to jumping into the Antarctic Ocean (cold), G Adventures made a difficult trip manageable, mostly, and undeniably memorable.

Few experiences have topped stepping foot onto the continent for the first time, but I found a nagging doubt was also playing on my mind: was visiting this delicate continent via carbon-heavy travel ethical?

Our team expedition leader, who looked and sounded as if David Attenborough had been swallowed by James Bond, offered an intriguing perspective. “You’re now all ambassadors of Antarctica,” he said, urging us to speak to ensure its protection.

He was right. I found that I cared more for Antarctica after watching penguins steal pebbles.

Oceania

Continent number seven, therefore, arrived with a heavier conscience at the start of 2025. I flew halfway across the world to scuba dive the Great Barrier Reef, which is under threat from rising global temperatures.

Was I feeling guilty while diving with sharks at night, or trailing a sea turtle? Not exactly. But just like Antarctica, that conflict returned.

I found though that I care more now. Not because I read up on the reef, but because I felt its pulse. It was reassuring to see some backpackers spending some of their gap year time volunteering on reef conservation programs.