The Unexpected Lens: Traveling with a YouTuber
If you told me two years ago I’d be traveling alongside a YouTuber, I’d have chuckled. Not judgingly, but because it seemed so unlike me. I envisioned someone perpetually filming, editing on temple steps, showcasing a polished Bali lifestyle. Me? I get uneasy just taking a selfie. So no, it wasn’t on my radar.
Yet, here I am, journeying with Bernardo.
And, surprisingly, I’m loving it.
Bernardo shattered my YouTuber stereotype. Of course, cameras are a constant. And my camera awkwardness, paired with his perfectionism, often creates less-than-smooth behind-the-scenes moments. When we met, Instagram was foreign to me; I thought “reels” were for fishing. He occasionally calls me ‘grandma.’ Hard to argue.
This story is about traveling with a YouTuber. I want to share our imperfectly perfect adventures and how they’ve reshaped my view of travel, him, and myself.
Note: Bernardo read this. As my trusted co-reader, he endorsed every word. Let’s begin.
Every creator is unique. Yet, I think YouTubers share a common thread: a drive to tell stories, share, and broadcast a piece of themselves. I’ve learned this demands patience, grit, and vulnerability. Me, talking to a camera on the street? Bernardo wouldn’t call it my highlight.
Over time, I’ve seen that “YouTubing” (verb now?) is more than vlogging and chasing perfect light. It’s a creative, sometimes odd, often inspiring rhythm of life. Traveling with one inevitably places you center-stage, camera in face.
Cue my freeze-frame moments.
My camera discomfort is real. You won’t see it in the final edit, but mountains of footage end up on the cutting room floor.
For months, I was practically mute on camera – sheer discomfort, amplified by imagining thousands watching. His questions would trigger nervous laughter and deepening blushes. I felt utterly lost.
Then, Bernardo suggested gently:
“Try looking at me, not the camera.”
Magical.
Looking at him feels natural, conversational. I’m not hosting; he is. I’ve shifted from a background shadow to genuinely enjoying the frame.
Strangely, this travel style transformed how I see the world. I realized how often I drifted through places unnoticed. Now, I notice light, color, and detail, camera or not. Frequent stops can frustrate, but often make the journey more purposeful.
Mostly, I believe in Bernardo’s craft. Contributing to something meaningful to him feels rewarding.
…Usually.
Okay, not always. Sometimes I’m tired or can’t muster a smile. So, yes, you get thumbnail poses with sleepy eyes and fake grins. We don’t always speak the same language.
Take cycling. Bernardo vanishes. I look back, stop, wait… and wait… Minutes crawl as worry grows. I know he’s likely filming, but I ride back anxiously. There he is, meticulously capturing a coconut from ten angles.
Travel walkie-talkie tips? Please share! They’d save headaches (hehe).
Another challenge: public filming.
I’m patient, truly – except with an audience of strangers watching me talk to a lens. Strangers’ stares burn, even knowing most people are self-absorbed. I lack Bernardo’s thick skin, forged by years of public filming. Where he shrugs, I shrink.
So, again, different languages.
And that’s perfectly fine.
It’s actually why I see him and our travels differently now. Sometimes his filming focus means he’s less present, prioritizing capture. I once wondered if documenting might eclipse the experience. Looking back, it never did; instead, it brought us closer to places.
I also began to see the artistry. His editing hours aren’t just polishing; they’re acts of care. This deepened my appreciation for him – not less authentic, but layered, composed.
Perhaps our different languages keep us learning from each other, and about ourselves.
I thought I wasn’t “internet material” – unperformative, unpolished, spotlight-averse. Yet, living alongside constant creation made me rethink limits. I still freeze on camera sometimes, but I’m also writing this. I’m putting myself out there. Not becoming a YouTuber, but becoming more visible – to others, and crucially, to myself.
It turns out, the unfamiliar holds a mirror to who we are.
This unexpected journey? Deeply grateful for it.