• Wendy Altschuler has traveled around the world with her husband and three sons.
• Her kids agree that Japan has been their favorite destination.
• Sumo wrestling was the highlight of their trip.

My kids have been fortunate to enjoy the benefits of my main work perk as a longtime travel writer: accumulating airline miles.

Of all of the places we've traveled around the world — including Peru, Greece, Dominican Republic, Thailand, India, Singapore, UAE, and Aruba — Japan remains the absolute favorite for all three of my boys.

During our summertime trip to Japan, we explored incense-heavy shrines, wandered through gardens bursting with hydrangeas, marveled at castles, indulged in street food, met wild monkeys, and sauntered through a bamboo forest. The kids made it clear that Japan lights up all five of your senses — no matter what age you are.

We all enjoyed finding a beach full of smooth pottery pieces, remnants from a long-ago shipwreck; and watching a crazy robot show in Tokyo with swirling lights and loud music while eating dinner.

But the highlight of their trip was learning about sumo wrestling.

The whole family tried sumo wrestling

In Nara, near Kyoto and Osaka, we encountered sacred deer that bowed when we fed them crackers. It was near there, at the foot of Mt. Nijo in Katsuragi City, where I had another quest for my boys — to learn about Japan's oldest sport: Sumo wrestling.

Katsuragi is the origin of sumo, Japan's national sport with 1,500 years of history. At Kehayaza Sumo Museum, we took our shoes off and sat in a box seat on top of cushions to watch.

We were the sole spectators at the event that aims to educate visitors on the art of sumo. Rather than attend a Grand Sumo Tournament, which can be difficult to visit with only six tournaments held each year, the museum is much more open, affordable, and accessible for families on a year-round basis.

There was beautiful singing, a display of flags, and rice throwing to purify the elevated ring, which was made of clay and covered in rough sand. Two massive rikishi, or sumo wrestlers, entered the circular ring, the dohyo, wearing only a mawashi, or loin cloth. We observed as the two athletes lifted and stomped each leg, slapped their stomachs, and prepared for the match.

They learned about Japanese culture

Sumo originated as a ritual dance to entertain the gods at shrine festivals. Nowadays, professional sumo has six divisions. Wrestlers move up the ranks depending on their skill, and their pay increases as they progress and evolve. The Grand Champion, or Yokozuna, is an exclusive title that can earn the wrestler 2.8 million yen, or $18,000 per month, per the South China Morning Post.

Tickets for standard seats to the tournaments start at around 2,500 yen and go up to around 20,000 yen for ringside seats. Box seats, which accommodate four people, can cost up to 60,000 yen per box.

A benefit of visiting the museum is that entrance is free for visitors with foreign passports.

We all stepped into the ring

With eyes wide, my boys were dialed in as the straight-faced men collided while endeavoring to push each other to the ground or out of the ring to win the match. We were told that in sumo, often, the opponents aren't the same size or weight, like in American boxing, which allows spectators to root for an underdog.

After the match, my husband was asked if he wanted to try. He cautiously stepped into the ring with the largest of the two wrestlers and went through the entire ritual — tossing the rice in the air, bowing, clapping, crouching down with his fists on the ground, mirroring the correct footwork, and facing his opponent. I went next. Then each of my boys got a chance to test their mettle.

While a referee — dressed in a long red and gold robe, black pointed hat, white belt, and holding a small paper fan — officiated, my boys followed the ceremonial tasks and squared off with their skilled challenger. I'll never forget how the athlete, who seemed so imposing when he was brawling with his opponent, morphed into a playful fellow when my kids each entered the ring.

When the near-naked wrestler picked up my firstborn son, who was 12 at the time, and swung him around by his mawashi, I roared with laughter. I still smile when I think about how high-pitched the wrestler's giggle was, completely contrasting his size and power.

My youngest pressed firmly into his challenger's belly, not moving him an inch, and then, par for the course, he became airborne, just like his older brother. My middle son took a different strategy: he stood on his tippy toes and went for the shoulders, attempting to drive his adversary off balance.

The final match was unfair: all three boys were against their dad. After the match, we thanked the sumo wrestlers for the immersive education.

Later, at home, I organized a postcard writing project in which short travel stories were mailed to isolated seniors. My youngest wrote about getting in the ring with a 400-pound sumo wrestler in Japan: "I was only 8, I obviously lost."

• In college, Wendy Altschuler studied abroad in India.
• She traveled back 20 years later, eager to bring along her husband and three sons.
• It showed her how different it feels to travel in your 20s alongside students versus exploring with kids in tow.

It was dark when I arrived in India, the air was slothful with a gluey viscosity. I was still in college and had never traveled this far away from home before.

I hadn't decided to study abroad in India on a whim. I had spent months preparing, saving, and studying. Delving deep, I was fully immersed in my classes, reading every book on the recommended list and watching every film.

I also spent a lot of time wandering along Chicago's Devon Avenue, or Little India, which was home to 15 blocks of South Asian restaurants and shops at the time.

Of course, none of this prepared me for what I experienced in Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur: the Golden Triangle.

Studying abroad in India

During my last year in school, as part of my study-abroad program, I volunteered at a children's home about 90 minutes south of Delhi. Through my work, I learned the power of Jugaad, a Hindi word — an ethos, really — which compels one to make the most of what one has, even if it's very little.

After a day of serving others, I'd return to the YMCA, my home in New Delhi at the time. I'd meet up with classmates to chat about the day's discoveries. I'd share about how generous and selfless it was for the home leaders to help. Others would discuss how difficult it was to witness families living on the street.

More than once during my first stay, a stranger welcomed me into their home, often just two rooms for their entire family. They would offer me a hot cup of tea or a bangle for my wrist. The people who ostensibly had the least seemed hell-bent on giving the most.

This was a formative time in my life, an era of tipping my toe into what might be possible for my future. The kindness and sincerity of the people I met in India, both at the children's home and also in other places I visited, made an indelible impression on me.

I returned 20 years later with my three sons

So, when I got the opportunity to bring my three boys to India two decades later, I raised my hand.

As a travel writer, I've had the opportunity to visit many countries around the world, and as a result, I've accumulated a fair amount of airline miles. My husband, who also travels for work, does the same.

We decided to cash in our miles and book a family trip to South and Southeast Asia, taking advantage of extended layovers. This included four days lighting up all five of our senses in India.

We made the most of our limited time by visiting some of Delhi's landmarks, including Red Fort, Chandni Chowk, Humayun's Tomb, India Gate, Lotus Temple, and Jama Masjid. These were all the same locales my feet had wandered through as a university student.

We hired human-powered cycle rickshaws to explore the constricted streets of Old Delhi, where hundreds of snaking power cords blocked out the sky above. I watched my sons' eyes widen as we narrowly avoided itinerant goats, men and women carrying hefty bundles on their heads, beeping motorbikes, and green and yellow tuk-tuks.

The most distinctive stop for me was the timeworn YMCA. I didn't recognize it, truly, until I saw the hallway leading to the bedrooms where I could picture myself running down the stairs, a palpable sensation where I remembered unerringly how I felt when I was young, well before the demands of adulthood and motherhood.

In a snap of a finger, so powerfully poignant that errant tears escaped down my cheeks, I was now standing there, in the exact same spot, with my husband and three children. Time is wild.

Later, we'd leave Delhi and travel to Agra, stopping off at the famous Taj Mahal. A multi-generational family of women smiled and asked to have a photo with me at Agra Fort, and each time I spotted them around the grounds, we would all wave and giggle, verifying that the warmth and adoration were mutually felt.

In Jaipur, the Pink City, my 15-year-old middle son met a man who coaxed a green bird out of a cage. The bird then selected a red card with his beak, a delightful fortune of goodwill. When the rain poured down in sheets while visiting Chandra Mahal and City Palace, my boys dared each other to step out from under the safety of the overhang and get soaked — a dare my youngest took hook, line, and sinker.

Looking at the photos that my kids had taken later — elephants walking in the road, magnified details of gems stuck in walls, garbage on the ground, and plenty of goofy selfies — I recognized that they were going through something completely different on this journey than I was, which is the magic of travel.

Sojourning in India during my 20s with other students was undoubtedly a much different opportunity than seeing the country with my family in tow. We can all wander through the same destination together, but our ages, life experiences, and circumstances will always dictate a unique, personalized adventure. It's up to us to assign meaning to what we experience.

India is fragrant smoke, turmeric powder, mustard seeds, and dangling strings of chilies; tight round marigolds, fresh jasmine, and bursting bougainvillea; raucous tuk-tuks and inert cows. It's humidity, then a deluge of rain then beams of sunshine. It's smiles under draping colorful scarves and a bob of the head. There's an effervescence that must be experienced firsthand to comprehend, to believe, to feel.

My boys will likely be unpacking their journey for years to come, just as I am decades later still; and perhaps, in 20 more years, we will meet in the country of curry, textiles, forts, and flowers once again.