Sometimes certain moments from travel remain the most vivid, even if they were not the most enjoyable. And these moments, while difficult and not easy to discuss, are sometimes the most important to recount because of how real they are for you and possibly for other people.

As I have said before, traveling, especially solo, is not always the carefree ideal adventure so many long it to be. You are on the road, surrounded by strangers, in charge of your own well-being, all while attempting to enjoy and soak up worldly knowledge. You are constantly on guard. And because of this, it is exhausting, drains you and allows your sometimes “irrational” fears to bubble right to the surface. (“” only because I believe no ones’ fears to ever be irrational, but some people do.)

I had just survived my first ever tuk-tuk ride that careened its way from Quinta da Regaleira (Sintra, Portugal) up to the visitor center for Castle of the Moors. This was the one site I had planned to visit on my day-trip from Lisbon to Sintra and I was thrilled to have made it with just enough time left in the day. I was there with three others from my hostel.

We began to approach the back area of the walls and entrance to where the spectacular views were about to begin. I started to climb the ruinous steps that were each uniquely decayed and brought me just a bit higher. As I continued, I felt my distance from my eyes to feet and the signal of my brain to my body to move become fuzzy, as if it was all about to malfunction. My field of vision narrowed and mimicked the crushing pressure I felt on my temples, as if bookends were being forcible pushed in. I was in the midst my first full-blown panic attack at the height of 420m along the ruins of the Moors Castle.

Catching my breath now had nothing to do with the speeding tuk-tuk; it had everything to do with fear and the realization that I could not even trust my next step. Looking up and out over the sprawling landscape splattered with trees and sites I had been to only made it worse. Too much in my line of sight made my head feel heavier and as if I was to topple over if I did not grip the stone wall.

My mortal vulnerability had not only bubbled to the surface, but had boiled over.  All the repressed fears of traveling alone to a place I’d never been with people I had only met hit me harder then than it ever had before.

Fear. Debilitating fear. The type that entraps and burns you instantly with all the other stresses you had so successfully suppressed boiling over.

For as long as I can remember, I have had a fear of heights, more specifically when out in the open, i.e. hiking mountains. The higher up I go the more I feel my body becoming heavier and immobile. It knows I will need to descend at some point- and that is the worst part for me. Coming back down. The slow assent heightens the fear of the return.

So how do you figure out what to do next? For me, I found my voice- no matter how shaky or inaudible it was. I spoke up. I told those I was with that I could not go any higher. Thank goodness one of them understood me because we had had a conversation at lunch about my fear of heights.

It is never easy to mutter the words “I can’t.” But sometimes you need to return to your comfort zone, and THAT’S OKAY! Never let anyone make you feel bad for realizing your limitations.

So, I watched the other three continue their climb to the highest parts of the castle walls. I found a little nook with a window arch still intact and gazed out over the horizon. I got my camera back out- I felt safer in this little area because it was a bit more sheltered. Taking some shots started to settle me down. I was taking back my control through photography. I got to choose what to frame. I got to use the landscape as I wanted to. I got to capture what I wanted to remember from this experience- show to others what I was able to see.

I had finally calmed down enough to plan my slow descent- one not hurried by other visitors and plotted so that I could hang onto the most secured areas. Once I made it back down to a comfortable level I looked for a good spot to wait for the others. I had figured they would come down from a different direction. I was also prepared that we may get separated and would not rejoin until back in Lisbon (cell/data services were not so good).

But, no! They had come back down the same way they had gone up because they knew the last location I was and wanted to find me. There are times such as these while traveling that you are very lucky to meet fellow travelers who, even still pretty much strangers, treat you as someone they’ve known and cared about for a while.

We all agreed to take a tuk-tuk back to the center of town (and I thought the ride up was harrowing…) and find a nice spot for a much deserved beer. We found a little location to sit outside that was perfect for people watching. While beginning to relax, I stared up toward the Moors Castle as dusk began to give way to a foggy, night. I was left with a much different view of the castle than I had had all day. How could something, now barely visible, be so terrifying for me? I pondered this as some memories of the day washed back over me just as easily as the beer flowed down my throat.

As impactful as my panic attack was that day, it did not overshadow how much I enjoyed Sintra and seeing the sights at the Moors Castle. Fear did not keep me from morphing the experience into an unforgettably pleasurable day.

Reflecting on travel experiences such as these is an important part of the journey. As difficult as they are to live and relive, they are just as important as the joyful experiences and the reasons to keep doing it. I am still processing this day, and will continue to for a long time. Travel is a wonderfully gifting challenge that I will continue to take on for as long as possible.

Have you ever had an anxiety attack while traveling? If so, how did you overcome it? What is your drive that makes you want to keep traveling despite your fears?