The Hazards of Returning to a Place You Once Loved

Why return trips can lead to disappointment

For those of us prone to nostalgia, places can hold profound meaning.

I’ve felt this nostalgia walking down the streets of Paris years after I studied there. I’ve felt it at subway stops I used to frequent in Brooklyn, or even on the front steps of the library in my hometown.

And for those of us who love to travel, returning to a place you’ve been can be a beautiful way to reconnect with past memories.

In my life I have made several return trips to places I have loved, but this practice is not without its risks.

A return trip to Ecuador in my adult life was a difficult reminder of these risks.

In 2008, I was a young teacher in New York City. I took advantage of every vacation to travel as much as humanly possible.

For my spring break that year, I traveled to Ecuador to visit a friend who was teaching in Loja, a city in the south of the country.

Traveling on my own through Ecuador at this age was exhilarating.

After a few days with my friend in Loja, I booked a 10-hour bus to Latacunga, where I would sleep before continuing on to visit an ecolodge in Chugchilán.

During that bus ride through the mountains, I watched immense mountains whizz by the bus window. The green layered landscapes of the Andes were breathtaking.

The next morning’s journey required a nauseating 4-hour bus ride from Latacunga through narrow mountain roads.

When I finally arrived at the Black Sheep Inn in Chugchilán, I began what would become four of the best days of my life.

I would recommend this tiny corner of the world to anyone willing to venture there. An American couple built this modest lodge in the side of a mountain after serving in the Peace Corps, and now local Ecuadorians manage it.

The Black Sheep Inn is a sustainably-built ecolodge with compost toilets and rainwater collection. Visitors stay in private rooms or group bunks, and the lodge serves family-style vegetarian meals each night.

What is most spectacular about this place is its view. It seems impossible not to feel a little freer here.

My stay at this lodge was life-changing.

I met a group of other young travelers who became my family for four days. We practiced yoga on the porch each morning and hiked the Quilotoa Loop together.

We told stories around the dinner table and stayed up late drinking boxed red wine.

Somehow in this tiny sliver of a place on the side of a mountain in Ecuador, four hours from the nearest city, I felt an intense sense of belonging to people I had just met.

The highlight of my trip was a horse ride through the mountains.

A quirky high school student named Jonah had become part of this tribe. The two of us spent the day on horseback with a local guide.

As a young girl, I had taken riding lessons for years. But I had never ridden a horse that wasn’t outfitted with rigid English-style riding gear.

At first, galloping through the mountains was terrifying.

I felt out of control with the loose reins and old saddle. But I reached a moment on that ride where the fear gave way to full-body elation. With my butt banging hard against that leather saddle and my hair flying wildly around me, my body felt completely free.

I couldn’t stop smiling, and a few times I even yelped with glee.

I never applied enough sunscreen that day, and I returned to the lodge hours later with a terrible sunburn. But I couldn’t even feel it because I was so happy.

Today, nearly 15 years later, I don’t think I’ve ever come close to feeling as much immediate joy as I did on the back of that horse in the Andes mountains.

I fell in love with Ecuador on that trip, and I would return several more times in my life.

About 6 years later, my husband and I booked our first trip together to Ecuador. I wanted to show him this place that I loved so much.

I should have predicted that my return trip to the Black Sheep Inn might not match my expectations.

We were older and had steady incomes at this point. So we booked a private pick-up from Quito instead of using public transportation. It was nothing like the public bus from Latacunga I had taken in my 20's.

It was far too comfortable.

When we arrived, I gave my husband a tour and took in the view. The views were still just as stunning.

But something fell flat this time.

The wooden buildings, magically beautiful in my memory, seemed more run down. The compost toilets were still a novelty, but they smelled worse than I remembered.

Our private room was cozy, but I missed going to bed and hearing the murmurs of other people in nearby bunks.

We hiked the Quilotoa Loop together, but the wind blew fiercely that day and we were cold. We bickered on the hike about the proper route back.

Finally, on the last full day there, I booked a horseback ride through the mountains. I was desperate to recreate that day from 2008.

This time, our horses were slower and more ornery, and we could barely get them to canter. Our ride was pleasant but nothing like the one I had taken with Jonah.

And this time, I had no sunburn at all. I remembered to apply enough sunscreen.

The thing about returning to a place you love is that you can’t recreate the past. The place is just a setting, a container for our memories.

My time at the Black Sheep Inn was profound because I was 25 and discovering my place in the world.

I should have known when I planned my trip with my husband that my efforts to recreate those feelings would only lead to disappointment.

I’m not opposed to returning to places I love, but I am wiser now.

I’m more realistic about what it means to make return visits. I try to make new memories now, and I keep my expectations at bay.

When I return to the Black Sheep Inn one day, and I hope I do, I don’t think I’ll go horseback riding this time. But I will breathe in that beautiful view and take stock of the person I’ve become since my last visit.

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