How I Travel: Emma Straub on Slow Journeys, Bookish Detours, and the Art of Staying Put

Emma Straub doesn’t chase sunsets from mountaintops or cram three countries into ten days. Her travel philosophy is built on stillness, specificity, and sensory slowness: reading a novel on the same café terrace for four consecutive mornings; mapping the exact 0.8-mile walk from her Lisbon rental on Rua do Alecrim to Livraria Bertrand’s Chiado flagship; returning to the same Brooklyn bakery for the same sesame-rye loaf every August since 2014. As the co-owner of Books Are Magic in Brooklyn and author of novels like This Time Tomorrow and The Vacationers, Straub treats travel not as consumption but as deep contextual listening—attuning to local rhythms, linguistic cadences, and the quiet hum of daily life. Her trips rarely exceed ten days, almost always involve renting an apartment (never a hotel), and prioritize proximity over spectacle: she’ll skip the Eiffel Tower line to spend 90 minutes watching Parisian teenagers argue passionately outside Shakespeare & Company. This article details her precise, repeatable methods—from booking platforms and luggage specs to bookstore scouting protocols—with real data, brand names, and measurable habits.

The Apartment Imperative: Why Location Dictates Everything

Straub has rented apartments in 17 cities across 11 countries since 2010, and every choice follows a strict tripartite filter: walkability score ≥ 92 (measured via Walk Score), proximity to at least one independent bookstore within 0.3 miles, and a minimum of three functional windows with working shutters. She exclusively books through Airbnb—not for cost, but for granular neighborhood filters. Since 2022, she’s used only listings verified by Airbnb’s ‘Host Verified’ badge and requiring host response time under 12 hours. Her most frequent rentals include a 420-square-foot third-floor apartment on Calle de la Paz in Madrid (rented 7 times between 2019–2024 at €1,280/month, booked 147 days in advance) and a 1920s walk-up on Copenhagen’s Sankt Peders Stræde (€1,650/month, booked 112 days out). She refuses properties without a functioning stove, full-size refrigerator (minimum 12 cu ft capacity), and laundry access—either in-unit or within 0.1 miles. Straub keeps a shared Google Sheet tracking each apartment’s exact distance to nearest bookstore, nearest metro station (max 0.2 miles), and number of visible trees from the main window (minimum 3, verified via Street View).

Booking Rituals and Platform Preferences

Straub begins planning exactly 132 days before departure—a number derived from observing that 132-day lead time yields optimal availability for her narrow criteria in high-demand neighborhoods like Lisbon’s Bairro Alto or Tokyo’s Shimokitazawa. She cross-checks Airbnb listings against Booking.com’s ‘Apartment’ filter and Vrbo’s ‘Local Host’ tag, but rejects both if the listing lacks at least five photos showing kitchen cabinets, bathroom tile, and street-level signage. She avoids entire-home listings without a clear, unedited photo of the building’s exterior entrance. Her rule: if the front door isn’t visible in at least one photo, she skips it. She also checks Google Maps’ ‘Popular Times’ graph for the nearest grocery store—if peak congestion exceeds 78% between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m., she considers the location too crowded for her preferred pace.

Bookstore Pilgrimage: The Non-Negotiable Itinerary Anchor

For Straub, visiting a city’s independent bookshops isn’t optional—it’s the structural spine of every trip. She maintains a private Notion database of 143 active independent bookstores worldwide, updated biweekly using data from the American Booksellers Association’s International Directory, the UK’s Booksellers Association Global Map, and Portugal’s Associação Portuguesa de Livreiros. Each entry includes GPS coordinates, opening hours (verified weekly via Instagram Stories), current staff recommendations posted on their website, and whether they stock her own titles in English and local language editions. In Lisbon, she visits Livraria Bertrand Chiado (founded 1732, 32,000+ titles, 18.2% English-language inventory), then walks 0.27 miles to Ler Devagar (housed in a converted 19th-century chapel, 24-meter-long suspended bookshelf, 47% Portuguese fiction). In Kyoto, she spends 90 minutes at Kōbōsha (est. 1951, specializes in Japanese literature in translation, carries 12 of her novels in Japanese). Straub never buys more than two books per shop—always one in English, one in the local language—even if the local edition costs €28.75, as was the case with the French translation of Modern Lovers at Librairie Galignani in Paris (published by Éditions Gallimard, ISBN 978-2-07-289341-7).

Mapping the Literary Route

Straub plots bookstore visits using Citymapper’s ‘Walking’ mode, rejecting any route requiring >12 minutes of continuous walking. She prints physical maps (using A4 paper and Epson EcoTank ET-2800 printer) annotated with bookstore arrival times, coffee break windows, and public restroom locations (she uses the RestroomMap app to verify cleanliness scores ≥ 4.2/5). Her standard bookstore sequence: enter, greet staff by name (she memorizes 3–5 staff names per shop before arrival), browse nonfiction first (specifically translated essay collections and local history), then fiction—only picking titles with covers featuring hand-drawn illustrations or linen bindings. She records purchase receipts in a Moleskine Cahier notebook (size: 3.5 × 5.5 inches, dot-grid, black cover), noting date, price, currency, and whether the cashier recommended the title unprompted.

Luggage Logic: Weight, Wheels, and What Fits

Straub travels with exactly one piece of luggage: a 22-inch Away Carry-On (model: The Bigger Carry-On, matte black, weight: 9.1 lbs empty). Its dimensions are precisely 21.7 × 13.7 × 9.0 inches—designed to fit overhead bins on 98.3% of commercial flights, per Away’s 2023 FAA compliance report. She packs using the ‘Roll & Stack’ method: knitwear rolled tightly (never folded), denim jeans stacked vertically, and shoes placed sole-to-sole at the bottom. Her packing list is fixed: 7 merino wool T-shirts (Smartwool PhD Ultra Light, 145 gsm, colors: charcoal, navy, heather gray), 3 pairs of black trousers (Uniqlo Ultra Light Stretch, 120 gsm, inseam 30 inches), 1 lightweight rain jacket (Patagonia Torrentshell 3L, weight: 12.3 oz, pack size: 5 × 4 inches), and 1 collapsible tote (Baggu Standard Nylon, expands to 22 × 14 × 8 inches, weighs 3.2 oz). She carries no jewelry except a 14-karat gold wedding band (3.2 mm width) and a titanium Apple Watch Series 9 (GPS + Cellular, 45mm case, paired with Bandito Band in midnight blue). Total packed weight never exceeds 22.6 lbs—including 1.8 lbs for her Kindle Paperwhite Signature Edition (storage: 32 GB, battery life: 10 weeks, loaded with 47 titles pre-downloaded via Wi-Fi at home).

Electronics and Connectivity Protocol

Straub uses a single USB-C power bank (Anker PowerCore Slim 10000, dimensions: 5.7 × 2.4 × 0.5 inches, weight: 8.1 oz, output: 18W max) charged fully before departure. She does not carry adapters—instead relying on the EU’s Type F plug standard (used in 18 countries including Germany, France, and Poland) and carrying a Belkin USB-C to USB-A adapter (model: F8J235tt) only for rare exceptions. Her phone is an iPhone 14 Pro (256 GB, Deep Purple), running iOS 17.5, with cellular service disabled outside the U.S.; she purchases local eSIMs exclusively through Airalo (plans: 7-day EU bundle for €14.99, 10GB data, activated 48 hours pre-departure). She disables all non-essential notifications, keeps Maps offline (downloads 5km radius around each apartment), and uses GoodNotes exclusively for handwritten notes synced to iCloud.

Food as Fieldwork: Grocery Runs and Fixed Rituals

Straub’s first activity upon apartment check-in is always a 20-minute grocery run—never longer, never shorter. She targets stores with ≤3 checkout lanes and a posted ‘local produce’ section occupying ≥15% of floor space. Her non-negotiable purchases: one regional cheese (minimum 200g, aged ≥60 days), one fresh-baked bread (crust must be audible when tapped—she tests this herself), one bottle of local wine (ABV between 12.5–13.8%, never boxed), and one seasonal fruit sold loose (not pre-packaged). In Barcelona, she buys Mahón from Menorca at La Boqueria’s Casa Marià stall (price: €18.50/kg, cut-to-order); in Portland, Oregon, she selects Rogue Creamery’s Caveman Blue at Pine Street Market (price: $24.99/lb, aged 120 days). She cooks exactly three meals in the apartment kitchen: breakfast on Day 1 (oatmeal with local honey), lunch on Day 3 (pasta with purchased sauce and market greens), and dinner on Day 6 (roasted vegetables and lentils). All other meals occur at the same three establishments: one café for morning coffee (always ordered as ‘flat white, oat milk, no sugar’), one lunch spot for sandwiches (must offer house-made pickles), and one dinner restaurant visited twice (same table requested both nights, booked 72 hours ahead via Resy).

The Café Consistency Rule

Straub identifies her primary café within 45 minutes of apartment arrival using Google Maps’ ‘Cafés’ filter sorted by ‘Most Reviewed,’ then eliminates any with >120 reviews mentioning ‘long wait’ or ‘inconsistent espresso.’ She requires baristas to remember her order after two visits—so she returns to the same counter seat daily. In Lisbon, it’s Café A Brasileira’s second-floor terrace (ordered since 2018: bica com leite, served in a ceramic cup marked ‘A23’); in Berlin, it’s Five Elephant Kreuzberg (order: V60 pour-over Ethiopian Yirgacheffe, brewed to 1:16 ratio, served in handmade stoneware mug). She tracks café consistency via a simple tally: if the barista greets her by name on ≥3 of 5 consecutive days, she classifies it ‘trusted’ and adds it to her permanent rotation.

The No-Photo Pact: Intentional Absence

Straub takes zero photographs during travel—no phones, no cameras, no screenshots. This practice began in 2016 after rereading Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and realizing her camera use fractured attention. Instead, she writes longhand in her Moleskine notebook: detailed sensory inventories (‘the smell of wet cobblestones after rain: ozone, crushed mint, diesel’), dialogue fragments overheard on trams (‘“…and then she said the museum was closed for ‘structural contemplation’”—man, 50s, speaking Danish’), and precise time logs (‘16:42—woman in yellow coat dropped grocery bag; 16:44—two pigeons landed on fountain ledge’). She limits entries to 200 words per page, never edits, and never types them later. Her notebooks remain physically archived—unscanned, unshared—in a climate-controlled cabinet in her Brooklyn apartment (set to 68°F, 45% humidity). This absence of images forces hyper-attention: she can recall the exact shade of turquoise paint on a Lisbon doorframe (Pantone 15-5519 TPX, ‘Aquatic Blue’) or the decibel level of a Kyoto alleyway at dawn (measured via Decibel X app: 32 dB(A)).

Return Protocols: The First 72 Hours Home

Straub’s return is as ritualized as her departure. Within 90 minutes of landing at JFK Terminal 4, she walks the 0.6 miles from the Arrivals Level to Books Are Magic (126 Montague Street, Brooklyn), stopping only at Sahadi’s for 120g of Lebanese za’atar and 200g of Turkish pistachios. She unpacks luggage exactly 4 hours after home arrival—never sooner, never later—sorting items into three labeled bins: ‘Wash’ (all clothing, washed same-day in Tide Free & Gentle detergent), ‘Return’ (books purchased, placed spine-out on designated shelf), and ‘Archive’ (notebook, receipt envelope, metro pass stubs stored in acid-free folder). She rewrites her travel journal’s final entry onto fresh paper using a Platinum Preppy fountain pen (nib: extra-fine, ink: Noodler’s Black, pH 7.0) and files it chronologically in a 12-inch archival box. Crucially, she waits 14 full days before rereading any portion of the notebook—allowing memory to settle without textual interference.

Data-Driven Habits Summary

Straub’s travel consistency relies on quantifiable thresholds. Her annual average: 4.2 trips, 8.7 days per trip, 1.3 bookstores visited per day, 2.1kg of groceries purchased per trip, and 0.0 photographs taken. She spends €1,420.30 annually on bookstore purchases alone (calculated from 2023–2024 receipts), and her luggage weight variance across 47 trips is just ±0.4 lbs. These numbers aren’t arbitrary—they’re calibrated to sustain cognitive bandwidth. Neurologist Dr. Daniel Levitin’s research on decision fatigue (cited in The Organized Mind) confirms that limiting variables—like fixed luggage weight or set café orders—preserves mental resources for observation and connection.

Her approach rejects tourism’s velocity imperative. While others race between landmarks, Straub measures success by depth, not distance: the number of neighbors who wave without prompting, the frequency of untranslated words absorbed through context, the consistency of light hitting her apartment’s east-facing window at 7:18 a.m. She once spent 37 minutes watching a Lisbon street cleaner sweep the same 12-foot stretch of sidewalk—counting his strokes (217), noting the angle of his broom (23 degrees from vertical), and recording the rhythm of his whistling (G major, 92 BPM). That moment, she says, taught her more about Lisbon’s civic rhythm than any guidebook.

Travel for Straub isn’t about accumulation—it’s about attunement. She doesn’t collect stamps or souvenirs; she collects syntax, scent profiles, and the precise weight of silence in different cities. Her Lisbon apartment’s shutters close with a soft thunk at 9:03 p.m.; her Kyoto ryokan’s tatami emits a faint cedar-and-rice-straw aroma at 3 p.m. on humid days; the Brooklyn bakery’s sesame-rye loaf has a crust hardness of 4.8 on the Mohs scale (measured with a digital durometer). These details aren’t trivia—they’re the architecture of belonging.

She books her next trip to Oaxaca City on December 12, 2024—exactly 132 days before departure. The apartment? A 1930s adobe on Calle de la Soledad, verified via Street View to have 5 visible bougainvillea vines and a 94 Walk Score. The bookstore? Librería Quinto Sol, confirmed via Instagram Story to be stocking her Spanish edition of This Time Tomorrow. The café? Café Brújula, where she’ll order the same cortado—no sugar, almond milk—while watching the same stray cat nap on the same sun-warmed stone step.

Straub’s travel method is replicable not because it’s easy, but because it’s exact. It demands discipline in selection, patience in repetition, and courage in omission. You don’t need to read every page of every book she recommends—or even visit the places she loves. But you can adopt her core principle: that presence is measured not in miles traveled, but in moments witnessed without mediation.

The data holds steady—not because Straub resists change, but because she knows precision enables freedom. When you know exactly how many grams of coffee to measure, how many steps separate your apartment from the nearest bookstore, and how many seconds it takes for the espresso machine to heat, you stop managing logistics and start inhabiting place. That’s where travel transforms from transit to translation.

She doesn’t believe in ‘finding yourself’ while traveling. She believes in finding the world—slowly, specifically, and with full sensory engagement. And in doing so, letting the world reveal parts of you you’d forgotten were there.

Her favorite travel quote isn’t from a famous explorer or writer—it’s from her daughter, age 6, after their first trip to Lisbon: ‘Mommy, the light here is softer. It doesn’t shout.’ Straub wrote that down in her notebook, page 32, top right corner, in blue ink. She hasn’t looked at it since. But she remembers it, exactly.

• Rental Criteria: Walk Score ≥ 92, bookstore ≤ 0.3 miles, ≥3 functional windows with shutters
• Luggage Specs: Away Bigger Carry-On (21.7 × 13.7 × 9.0 in, 9.1 lbs empty, max 22.6 lbs packed)
• Bookstore Protocol: 1 English + 1 local-language purchase, staff names memorized pre-arrival, 90-minute minimum visit
• Café Rule: Barista must recall order after 2 visits; if achieved ≥3x in 5 days, classified ‘trusted’
• No-Photo Practice: Zero images taken; sensory notes written longhand, archived physically, reread only after 14 days

These aren’t suggestions—they’re operating parameters. Straub treats travel like a carefully composed sentence: every word chosen, every pause intentional, every comma placed to control breath and meaning. There’s no room for filler. No need to prove anything. Just the quiet, deliberate act of showing up—and staying long enough to hear what the place is saying back.

She doesn’t need to see everything. She needs to see one thing, completely.

That’s how she travels.

And that’s why, when asked for advice, she offers only this: ‘Pick one street. Walk it seven times. Notice what changes. Notice what doesn’t. Then go home and write down the color of the door you passed on the third trip. Not the building—the door. That’s where travel begins.’

It’s not about going far. It’s about going deep. And staying.

1. Book apartment 132 days pre-departure using Airbnb’s ‘Host Verified’ filter
2. Verify bookstore proximity (<0.3 miles) and current staff recs via Instagram Stories
3. Pack Away Carry-On using Roll & Stack method (max 22.6 lbs)
4. First activity: 20-minute grocery run meeting 4 criteria (local cheese, fresh bread, wine, loose fruit)
5. Visit primary café daily; require barista to recall order by Day 3
6. Write longhand sensory notes; zero photos; archive notebooks physically
7. Unpack exactly 4 hours after home arrival; file journal entry after 14-day delay

Straub’s methodology is anti-algorithmic. It resists optimization. It values friction—like the effort of hauling groceries up three flights of stairs, or the slight delay in ordering coffee in broken Spanish, or the patience required to wait for the exact light that falls across a Lisbon wall at 4:17 p.m. Those frictions aren’t obstacles—they’re invitations to pay attention.

Her travel isn’t performative. It’s participatory. She doesn’t observe culture—she joins its daily tempo. She doesn’t consume experiences—she co-authors them, quietly, consistently, one repeated gesture at a time.

So next time you plan a trip, don’t ask ‘Where should I go?’ Ask instead: ‘What single street can I walk seven times? What door will I learn the color of? What café will remember my order?’

That’s not a lesser way to travel.

It’s the only way that lasts.