The reality of traveling with a YouTuber

Everything I didn't expect

If you had told me two years ago that I’d be traveling with a YouTuber, I would’ve laughed. Not out of judgement, it just didn’t feel like me. I pictured someone always filming, editing on temple steps, vlogging a perfectly curated lifestyle in Bali. Meanwhile, I’m someone who gets camera shy just taking a selfie. So no, I didn’t see that coming.

But here I am, traveling with Bernardo.

And I love it.

Bernardo turned out to be nothing like the YouTuber I imagined. However, there are still plenty of cameras involved. And my awkwardness on camera, combined with Bernardo’s perfectionism, doesn’t always make for a smooth behind the scenes. When we first met, I didn’t even have Instagram. I thought reels were something you used for fishing. He calls me ‘grandma’ sometimes. I’m afraid I can’t blame him.

Anyway, this story is about my experience of traveling with a YouTuber. I want to show you our picture-imperfect but amazing lifestyle and how this has changed the way I see traveling, him, and myself.

For the record: Bernardo read this too. As my trusted co-reader, he approved every line. So, let’s dive in.

Of course, every YouTuber is different. Every creator is a person, with their own personality, their own life, their own kind of videos. Still, I think YouTubers share something in common: a need to tell stories, to share, to send something of themselves out into the world. And I’ve learned that this requires patience, determination and a willingness to be vulnerable in public. Talking to a camera in the middle of the street? Bernardo wouldn’t call that my finest moment.

But over time, I’ve come to see that ‘youtubing’ (is that a verb now?) is more than just vlogging and waiting for the perfect light. It’s a creative, sometimes strange, often inspiring rhythm of life. And if you happen to be traveling with a YouTuber, chances are you’ll find yourself right in the middle of the story, with a camera in your face.

And that’s where I would freeze.

I’m not exaggerating when I say I’m painfully awkward on camera. You won’t notice it in the final video, but you have no idea how much footage doesn’t make the final cut.

In the first few months, I barely said a word on camera. Not out of protest, just pure discomfort. The idea that thousands of people might see it, didn’t help either. Whenever he asked me a question, I’d burst out laughing, my face turning a deeper shade of red with every take. I simply didn’t know what to do with myself.

Until one day, Bernardo gently said:
“Try to look at me, not at the camera.”

Magic words.

When I look at him it feels more natural. More like a conversation. Sure, it’s not how you host a travel show. But I’m not trying to be the host. Bernardo is. I’ve just gone from a shadow in the frame to someone who genuinely enjoys being part of it.

And strangely enough, this way of traveling changed how I see the world. It has made me realise how often I used to move through places without really looking. Now, I pay more attention to light, color and detail, even without a camera. Sure, the frequent stops can be frustrating. But more often, they make the journey feel more deliberate.

Above all, I believe in what Bernardo is doing, so it feels good to contribute to something that matters to him.

Can’t you tell?

Okay, maybe not always.

Sometimes I’m tired or just not in the mood to smile at the camera. So yeah, that’s when you get me posing for a thumbnail with a sleepy face and a forced grin. Nope, we don’t always speak the same language.

Like the following struggle.

When we’re cycling, Bernardo can suddenly disappear out of sight. I look back, he’s gone, I get off my bike, and wait. And wait. And wait…

Those few minutes feel like hours because I start to worry. By now, I usually know he has probably stopped to film something, but I can’t be sure. So I end up worrying and ride back. And there he is: carefully filming a coconut from ten different angles.

If anyone has tips for walkie-talkies to travel with: hit me up. I honestly think they could save us a few headaches (hihi).

Another struggle: filming in public.

I’m a patient person, really. But not when there’s an audience of strangers watching me talking to the camera. I try to not care about the stares, but I can feel them burning. I know, I know: most people are caught up in their own lives and hardly paying attention. But I don’t have the thick skin Bernardo has built up over years of filming in public. Where he shrugs it off, I shrink a little.

So once again, we don’t always speak the same language.

And that’s totally fine.

In fact, it’s part of why I’ve started to see him, and the way we travel, in a new light. There are moments when his focus on filming means he’s not always fully present, when capturing something seems to take priority. At times, I wondered if documenting might risk overshadowing the experience itself. But looking back, that never happened. In stead, it brought us closer to the places we visited.

And over time, I started to see the craft in it. The hours he spends editing aren’t just about polishing content, but they’re acts of care. And that made me appreciate his presence in a new way. Not less real, but layered. Composed.

Not always speaking the same language might just be what keeps us learning from each other. And what keeps me learning about myself, too.

I used to think I wasn’t “the type” for the internet. Not performative, not polished, not made for the spotlight. But being around someone who creates constantly has made me reconsider what I thought I couldn’t do. I still freeze on camera sometimes, but I’m also writing this. Putting myself out there. I’m not becoming a YouTuber, but I am becoming more visible. To others. And maybe most of all, to myself.

Turns out, the unfamiliar has a way of showing us who we are.
I didn’t expect this journey, but I’m grateful for it.

Thanks for coming along :)

Jule Noah