Father's Day 2025: Our Writers Share Their Favourite Travel Memories With Their Dads

My father is not a fan of travelling for leisure. He will go along for the ride if his children pester him to, but he is quite happy staying in one place and spending quality time with his loved ones, thank you very much. Despite this reluctance, which I seem to have inherited despite being a travel reporter (the small ironies of life), Papa is keen to sightsee and wander once he’s in a new place. As a civil engineer, he is interested in the mechanics and aesthetics of the cityscape he’s in, but what particularly grabs his attention is the language(s) of the destination.

He recounts how, on a work trip to Belarus before the COVID-19 pandemic, he was fascinated by the Cyrillic script that was plastered on the road signage, shop fronts and newspapers of Minsk. He even learnt how to pronounce basic words and phrases, teaching me the sound of a consonant or vowel upon his return. What I love most about this passion of his is the joy that emanates from his voice as he learns, corrects and practices Punjabi, Russian, Arabic… you name it. This unbound curiosity doesn’t mean Papa is fluent in every language he has tried to study, but it shows his willingness to study other cultures and understand their histories through the written and spoken word—something we can all do no matter where we go and who we meet.

For Father’s Day 2025, here is a selection of the most heartwarming, funny and moving accounts of travelling with the fathers and father figures in our lives, courtesy of the Outlook Traveller team. We hope it inspires you to think about your father’s idiosyncrasies while on holiday, and get started on planning a holiday with him.

‘No One Can Beat My Dad’s Penchant For Trying Quirky Foods On Holiday’

To my surprise, I have recently realised that my fascination with travel started because of my father. Growing up, I remember watching him trail off with his overnight suitcase every fortnight for a work assignment within India or abroad. He was always on the go, and as a kid, that looked super cool to me. Therefore, I was always adamant that no matter what I did as a job, it needed to involve a lot of travelling—just like his! 

Although my memories of us travelling together are few and far between, I do remember us always being a team, and him ensuring that I always got to do what I wanted—even if that meant lazing around the whole day or just taking a casual stroll to a café nearby and calling it a day. While my Mom is more of a curious cat who wants to see it all, my Dad and I were more laid-back. So it was comforting to know that I always had a partner in crime for doing things. I remember how in Hong Kong Disneyland, my Dad and I skipped all the rides to just eat around and take pictures, while my Mom went on for the crazy rollercoasters and what not!

Another memory that stands out is him introducing us to all the wacky foods of the destination. He may not be up for adventurous activities, but when it comes to trying quirky foods that one would usually skip, try beating him! On our family holidays, it was common for him to get distracted by a hawker selling something unusual, before finally catching catch up to us and giving us a bite of whatever he got. Now that I think of it, I do the same when travelling with my friends, and maybe it's his curiosity that has rubbed off on me. 

Shreya Cheema is an assistant editor at Outlook Traveller who also works on Outlook Eats

‘Getting My Driver’s License Made Me Understand The Love My Father Has For Me’

I find solace in travel, no matter whether it’s the beach or the chill winds of the mountains. The fondest memory I cherish of my Dad and me is him asking me to “Enjoy the winds, the water while you are close to nature.” He has always been asking me to chill out since I was a child.

Over the years, travelling with Dad became a memory, and somewhere over time, we grew apart. Until, on a recent trip to McLeodganj, I rediscovered our bond. I had just gotten my driving license and planned to drive my parents to the hill station. When he heard the news, my Dad’s eyes shined because he had now found a driving partner for this trip. We packed our bags, eager for a vacation that, for me, felt like a step toward independence. Sleeping with an excited heart, I was happy, less about the driving, but more for sharing the responsibility and giving my Dad the pleasure of being a passenger prince.

The most cherished memory of that drive was my Dad trusting me with the steering, quite literally, and then clicking candid pictures of me while driving. It gave me the vibe of a big girl taking my Mum and Dad on a trip. With every 100 kmph I touched, he would tell me to be careful while secretly being ecstatic that I had touched the 100 kmph speed mark. He was there for everything, from cleaning my shades for the perfect pictures to helping me munch in between. He proudly told the resort manager that I had driven the three of us there, but I immediately corrected him as I had driven just half the distance. In response, he said, “That's more than enough.”

I have had my share of fights and fun with him, sometimes over the excessive trip planning and other times over what to eat next. But this mountain trip made me uncover a thought I had never explored: Dad cares for me more than I can imagine, but most importantly, he is so proud of the little things. The license gave me more than just the right to drive a hill; it gave me the maturity to understand the love my father has for me.

Nishtha Kawrani is a features writer for Outlook Eats

‘Fatherhood Isn't Confined To Biological Ties; It's Warmth, Protection And Unconditional Care’

There comes a time in life when, as an adult, you sit back and try to relive the hues of nostalgia. Even if just for a moment, you long to feel one of those happy memories from the past that were so vivid and so pure that you'd trade the world to live them again. That's the power of memories—they rush emotions back each time with a new layer of fondness.

Looking into the bucket of my happiest memories, I see my childhood floating gently, filled with serenity, smiles, giggles and many Cadbury Eclairs. Peek into the bucket and you will find tiny fingers wrapped around a soft, wrinkled hand. You will see a seven-year-old me teaching my grandfather how to recite a poem. You will witness the excitement on my face as I wait every evening for him to return from work with Phantom, Ravelgon and Poppins sweets wrapped in paper bags. You will see a little girl with two pigtails sitting with her grandfather, simply happy.

This man raised me. He didn't just play the role of a grandfather—he gave meaning to my life. He was everything a child could wish for: patient, kind, caring and full of love. Society may define relationships in fixed roles, but my grandfather broke all those moulds for me. He was more than a grandparent; he was my anchor, friend and home.

I vividly remember our travels together. One such memory takes me back to the peak summer of July when I was around seven or eight. He took me from Amritsar to Chandigarh so that I could visit the Chhatbir Zoo. It was my first time visiting a zoo, and despite the scorching heat, he made sure my little wish was fulfilled.

I remember being scared when I saw a snake and immediately hiding behind him, clutching his leg. I felt safe, strong and even brave enough to face the world like that, though I was still peeking out with one eye from behind him. A few steps later, I heard a lion roar. That was it; I'd had enough of the zoo. I tugged at his hand and said, “Mujhe cold drink leni hai, aur nahi ghoomna.” (“I want a cold drink. I don't want to see the zoo anymore.”) Without a word or scolding me, he held my hand and led me to a small café. We sat there, sipping Coca-Cola. That moment of quiet understanding meant everything.

The next day we visited Nek Chand's Rock Garden. This time, I was excited. But after walking around for a while, I grew tired. I asked other family members to pick me up, but they simply told me to be strong and to keep walking. Then I looked at my Nanu. Before I could speak, he gently lifted me into his arms and said in Punjabi, “Aa nikkdi, garden ghoomiye.” (“Come, little one, let's explore the garden.”)

There were no open shops that day, and under the blistering sun, I insisted on having crisps and a cola (my version of fun). Everyone else was exhausted. But my Nanu walked out of the garden, probably 20 minutes each way, to find a packet of crisps. When he returned and handed them to me, it felt like I was the main character in the world.

I lost my grandfather to Alzheimer's disease years ago. His gradual loss of memory made me realise how important it is to preserve every little moment I shared with him, to keep them alive, cherished and loved.

Now, crisps don't taste the same, not without him. They don't carry the magic they once did when they came with his smile and love.

Isn't it strange that when we are children, we have a rush to grow up, pretending to be adults and dreaming of independence? But when we do grow up, we realise we carry a child within us who wants to go back to feeling safe and loved and who can laugh without reason.

Fatherhood isn't confined to biological ties. It's an emotion of warmth, protection and unconditional care. This Father's Day, I write this note to my Nanu, the one who gave me all that and so much more. He may no longer walk beside me, but he lives in every memory, every act of kindness I try to carry forward and every corner of my heart.

Rahat Sharma is a social media executive for Outlook Traveller, Outlook Eats and Outlook Luxe