Why I Built The Unbeaten Path

Travel has never been easier. And it has never been more predictable.

The same ten cities dominate the feeds. The same beaches fill the rankings. The same “hidden gems” appear on every list — until they aren’t hidden at all.

Somewhere along the way, discovery became optimization.

This site exists as a quiet rejection of that trend.

To explain why, I need to tell you a story.

About fifteen years ago, five friends and I found ourselves driving into Cetona, a small hill town in Tuscany’s Siena province, at half past nine at night. We were exhausted, hungry, and road-weary after five hours behind the wheel. Read the Cetona dossier.

Cetona isn’t on most tourist itineraries. It’s the kind of place where English rarely extends beyond the main square and where the streets empty early. That night, the town had already settled in.

We spotted a restaurant with dim light coming through the door and we caught some movement of shadow on the wall behind the glass. We knocked.

The owner appeared behind the glass door, shaking his head back and forth, arms crossed in an emphatic X. Chiuso. Closed. He spoke no English. Our Italian was barely functional. So we did what desperate travelers do — mimed fork to mouth and clasped hands in prayer.

He sighed. Shook his head. Rolled his eyes.

And let us in.

He led us to a small raised platform at the back of the empty dining room. A single picnic table. No room to stand — only to sit. We were grateful.

The food was extraordinary. My wife still talks about a polenta with ragù that bordered on transcendent.

Then two women walked in. They stared up at us. Called out to the owner. A rapid exchange followed. It ended in shrugs. Soon decorations appeared: Happy 15th Birthday, Juliana.

By 10:30, the restaurant was full.

We had not stumbled into a quiet late dinner.

We had stumbled into a family celebration.

We sat there mortified, certain we had ruined something sacred.

But that’s not how they saw it.

They welcomed us. We sang in Italian and English. We watched Juliana open her gifts. We met her family and friends. If anyone wondered why six Americans were perched above the party, they never showed it.

They made room.

It was one of the most meaningful moments of our trip.

And I don’t believe it would have happened in Florence.

When destinations become overwhelmed, something subtle changes. Life becomes performance. Interaction becomes transaction. Locals grow tired. Visitors move through curated versions of culture rather than the real thing.

But step away from the obvious choices — into places that haven’t been optimized for mass tourism — and the texture shifts.

You’re no longer consuming a destination.

You’re encountering it.

That is what The Unbeaten Path is about.

“Unbeaten” does not mean inaccessible. It does not require hardship, danger, or conflict (though some definitely fit squarely into some or all of these). Some places here may be remote. Others may be surprisingly easy to reach.

But no matter where they are or how hard they are to get to, the common denominator is this:

The reward for going is high.

And the place cannot be obvious.

If it’s one of the first destinations that appears on a search results page...

If it’s featured on every “Top 10” list...

If the infrastructure has reshaped the culture to serve visitors first...

It probably doesn’t belong here.

This site is a curated collection of places where the ratio still favors discovery over convenience. Where the rhythms of daily life have not yet been displaced. Where authentic connection is still possible — not guaranteed, but possible.

Not because you paid for it.

But because you showed up.

Travel at its best is not about checking landmarks off a list. It’s about proximity — to people, to place, to moments you couldn’t have engineered if you tried.

Sometimes that means a remote island.

Sometimes it means a hill town most travelers drive past.

But it always means choosing the road that fewer people are choosing.

That’s the Unbeaten Path.

And you’re invited to walk it.