That includes travel spending because, let’s be honest, roaming the internet for documents isn’t nearly as fun as roaming the town where your great-grandparents grew up. Numerous tour companies cater to our hunger to visit the homeland—planning the logistics, conducting research, even helping track down relatives. Ancestry.com works with outfits such as Kensington Tours and EF Go Ahead Tours. Other companies focus on specific regions, including Africa (African Ancestry) and Europe (Family Tree Tours, Legacy Tree).

For many Americans, visiting their native lands is not only an emotional quest but a logical step in their research. They want to learn what they can’t at home, walk where their ancestors walked and meet relatives they never knew existed. Here are four travelers who did just that.

In April 2024, I traveled on an Ancestry/Kensington Tours Personal Heritage Journey along with an on-site genealogist, Yuzo Ochiai. Before I went, I was only interested in finding documents and grave sites in Okinawa. Meeting people would be a waste of time, I thought, because my grandparents left for Hawai‘i in 1906. I was 100 percent wrong.

The first day, the genealogist and I walked through my maternal grandmother’s city of Itoman. We had a photo of a dental office and a prewar address that we thought might be connected to my family. The building is gone, but there’s a newer dental clinic across the street. The receptionist there couldn’t help, so we walked down the street and knocked on doors saying, “Do you know anything about the clinic or about these people?” And it was, “no, no, no, no.”

We entered a hardware store run by an older husband and wife and shared our information. He pulled up a map and said, “Go to this address and somebody should be able to help you.” No one was home, but three women came out from across the street. One of their husbands called a man who used to live there and told him, “I’ve got a genealogist with a guy from Oregon who thinks he’s related to you.” When we met, his sister was there too. We discovered that their dad and my mom are first cousins.

I had a picture of two parents and their two young children. The back of the photo said the baby was named Junko. “That’s me!” the sister said. It was surreal: A few hours before, she was sitting at home, minding her own business, and now she’s meeting a relative and seeing her picture. It was like a reality show.

I didn’t consider how meeting me would impact them. They bombarded me with questions. “Tell me about your mom. Tell me about your dad. Tell me what you do for a living.” They now had a living link to their family in Hawai‘i. Even when the genealogist wasn’t available to interpret, we communicated and joked by pointing and using sign language. It was like being with my cousins in Hawai‘i.

People matter. I learned that. If you do this kind of trip, don’t be like me. Don’t be so focused on other things. Don’t forget that connections to relatives will lead to other things—documents and graves and stories and photos. Everywhere we went, people were super helpful. The genealogist was from Osaka, and this was his first time to Okinawa, so I experienced the country through him as well. He told me at least 10 times, “I can’t believe how nice people are.” It increased my appreciation for my people. I feel closer to Okinawa. And I feel more connected to my culture.

We came here because I’ve researched my family history for over 40 years, and I’d exhausted the records at home. I wanted to see where our ancestors came from. Family Tree Tours handled the logistics, helped with my research and found relatives. In the town of Offenbach an der Queich, I met about a dozen fifth cousins from the Gensheimer family, on my father’s side, at the community hall. The mayor attended and gave us a tour. Three different Gensheimer families live there. My research showed they’re all related, which they didn’t know.

Throughout the trip, I learned about my family. I received names and charts. I saw houses where my maternal and paternal ancestors lived. I learned that my cousin—the one who served us caramel liqueur—lives and farms on ancestral land, as our family has lived and farmed there for centuries. I learned that my maternal ancestors were in Amelsbüren before 1500. I discovered that one cousin on my paternal side works for the mayor, one is an elected official and other family members own a winery. I’ve been corresponding with some of my German cousins since our vacation, and we’ve exchanged names, dates and photos. I feel like I have a bigger family now.

As I walked through my ancestors’ villages and met relatives, I felt awe and gratitude and amazement at their hospitality for someone they’d just met. And I felt happy. I was like a sponge, taking it all in.

The trip was profound for me. Sometimes I was in awe; sometimes I was in tears. We held a memorial on the shores of Bunce Island, where ships brought in and shipped out slaves. We dressed in white and stood in silence. Some prayed. Most of the slaves were shipped to South Carolina and Georgia, and I felt a connection: My mother was from South Carolina.

We met the Temne on a trip to Tasso Island. The ladies and children sang welcome songs as we left the boat, and we sat under a wide, beautiful tree. The chief attended, and we were inducted into the tribe.

I wanted to join the Tasso Island community long term. I’m learning the language, and I am now a chieftain. My title is ya bomposseh, which I have been told means “woman chief.” I’ll be working with the chief to help women and girls in the villages. My daughter and I returned to Tasso in November 2023 and brought food and baby formula. Now that I’m retired, I’d love to go back once a year. I don’t feel like a visitor there. I feel at home.

I started planning another trip, and I wanted to revisit the church. I connected with an Irish cousin, Pauline. Back in 2020, I’d gone to Detroit for a family funeral. Pauline and her husband flew over—I had a cousin who kept in touch with the Irish relatives—which is how we met. We lost touch, but when I started planning the trip, I wrote to the parish priest at St. Michael’s, and he reconnected me with her. “Stop by my brother’s house,” she said. “He’ll welcome you. He’ll put you up.” We arrived at his house in a big bus. There were 18 of us—me, Ronnie, our five children, two daughters-in-law, eight grandchildren. Inside, around 30 people were waiting. Many of them were cousins I’d never met. We sang, danced and played the tin flute.

That afternoon, we went to St. Michael’s. As we walked through the parish graveyard, and as my Irish cousins identified the graves of our family, my connection to these ancestors grew. Our get-together was in a cousin’s house, which belonged to my great-great-grandmother, and I met a nearly 100-year-old aunt. Her memory was fading, and only later did I realize she had been my mother’s playmate. It amazed me to think I met someone who knew my mother when she was a child. It’s this invisible but still powerful link. My maternal grandfather and grandmother both came from this town, so I met many family members from both sides. This is a small, closely knit community. Everyone knows everyone else, and their families are in some way related, even if it’s distant. One cousin took me outside and identified, from a distance, each family’s property. He showed me the farms and land of the family—names that I’d heard growing up.

This type of trip stays with you. Like family, it grows new roots. Since we’ve returned home, we’ve stayed in touch with the Irish relatives through Facebook. One of my cousins from New York is visiting Ireland with her sisters this summer.