Stories about solo-travel in comfort and style

Welcome to my travel blog. This blog is not necessarily – or not only – about where to go and what to do where; it is rather intended to reflect upon how we perceive travel in order to create lasting memories and positive take-aways for our daily lives.

Through my blog, I want to share tips and my experiences on how to travel more comfortably. Mainly, I want to share thoughts, impressions, and reflections on my travels as a solo-traveller. That does not mean that this blog is exclusively meant for people who travel on their own; to the contrary, I would love to reach a wider community of people who simply enjoy exploring new things and perspectives.

I will publish a new blog every other Sunday. If you like, you can subscribe for free to get each new post hand-delivered to your Email inbox.

Once upon a time, diamonds were a girl’s best friend

19.07.2026
A Daytrip to Antwerp, Belgium

The compulsive traveller that I am, I cannot just stay put for months on end in one place. I need to go somewhere and see something else, eat something else and just expose my mind and soul to different influences. This is how I came to plan a day trip to the Belgian city of Antwerp, world famous for its Diamond Exchange and Diamond quarter. With good train connections from the Netherlands and a reasonable travel time, this entire trip seemed like a good idea.

For once, I planned a bit and came up with a shopping list of places I was likely to go and check out while there. If anything, it served as a sort of itinerary for the day. I had no plans for any museums (not such a fan of Rubens to be very honest) and diamonds aren’t within my budget anyhow. It was all about atmosphere, coffee, and waffles. Most prominently, and on top of my list, was, however, a bagel café.

I woke up as early as on a weekday and made my way to the train station where a middle-aged passenger played Chopin on the train station piano while I waited. He played beautifully and the melody went so well with the quiet and peaceful morning. It was really cold for the season, but the crisp air was somehow soothing. I had to change trains only once on the Dutch side and boarded the EuroCity train to Belgium that looked like a relic from the 1970s. The train’s weird colour scheme and ancient appeal somehow transported me back in time, but surprisingly, it was very clean at the same time and in spotless condition. As such, I had nothing to complain about. It did not take long before we crossed the border into Belgium and lots of people were boarding the train. Everybody was going to Antwerp. Arrived at Antwerp Central Station, I could not help but be impressed by its three-story train system and the imposing architecture from colonial times.

My first serious stop was going to be the bagel café, but before that I wanted to stroll through the deserted streets of a shabbating Diamond quarter. Deserted it was, shabbating as well; but I could tell it wasn’t only because of shabbat that shops and buildings looked empty. There were an inordinate amount of signs on residential buildings and shops advertising them for sale or to be let, which was only rivalled by the number of security cameras zooming in on me.

I walked through a few blocks (most definitely looking more suspicious than touristy); none of it was glamorous. If anything, it was depressing. A few men in religious attire were crossing the streets, and so did soldiers with balaclavas and rifles ready to be used. I saw a dusty, abandoned shop that had once sold books and Judaica, a closed hat shop looking for a buyer, and an enormous areal of what must have been residential blocks before the bulldozer had its way. What was indicated as a ‘Diamond factory’ on google maps seemed to have been razed to the ground as well. I suppose that these days, diamonds mainly grow in labs and it shows. The glory days were definitely over. Further down a side street, I could see the Diamond Exchange in a cordoned off street; at least that looked more alive somehow.

After this little sight-seeing tour, I decided it was time for a good bagel. The place wasn’t far. Established in 1879, now Bagelstein was located in a diner style front shop within, or affiliated with, the Radisson Blu hotel between Central Station and China Town. Not the most glamorous of neighbourhoods as such, but I was determined to give it a go.

I ordered Belgian spring natural water with my chicken, cream cheese and extra salad sesame bagel because I was intending to go to various cafés throughout the day. The bagel was soft and tasty. I did not regret coming all the way for it. What I loved the most was that it was served as a good bagel should be and not in this bizarre, deconstructed style I find in the Netherlands where all the toppings are draped on bagel halves I never know how to eat without soiling myself.

After I finished my bagel, I looked at the list of places (mainly cafés) I had drawn up at home. Walking towards what appeared to be the main shopping street, I walked past the usual suspects of fast-food chains bizarrely sandwiching in traditional diamond jewellers. A bit further down, mundane high street shops were lining the once glorious façades of the street. The first stop on my list was a ‘speciality coffee’ place close to the church of Notre Dame.

Arriving at my destination, I was extremely underwhelmed to find out that the place was just s store front – no indoor seating (the pictures on google had clearly lied), and the overpriced coffee was ‘served’ in a takeaway cup; in other words, you had to pick up your tiny paper cup and find a seat among the randomly assembled tables in front of the shop – McDonald’s style. The weather was getting worse, with droplets of rain mingling with the cold air.

Sitting on my plastic outdoor chair, I spotted a sign advertising a ‘chocolatier’ on the other side of the square, which I decided to check out, even just for bringing back some Belgian chocolate as a souvenir.

When I approached the shop, I realized that it was empty and abandoned. A sign was mounted on the door explaining that the shop was closed for good, thanking all customers of past decades for their loyalty.

To the side of the abandoned chocolatier, I realized, was another dying business: traditional lace. The shop was currently in the middle of its ‘closing sale’ with all items drastically reduced. When I entered, an almost cheerful old lady was assisting two Japanese tourists interested in a tablecloth in flawless English to find the biggest discounts. It made me so incredibly sad to witness this entire charade.

Although I didn’t need anything, I felt emotionally compelled to pick up something and aimed for two extremely fairly priced hand-embroidered moth-repelling little lavender cushions, only to be almost admonished by the old lady for not noticing that they came as ‘buy one get one free’. When I left the shop with four cushions instead and a tear in the corner of my eye, I wondered whether the square would soon be adorned with yet another bubble tea shop, kebab stall and made-in-China knick-knacks instead.

Since the cappuccino I just had didn’t really hit the spot, I ventured on in search of a different café. I walked over to the Grootemarkt aka grand place where several wedding ceremonies appeared to be held in the majestic city hall. Parties of guests would stand in groups celebrating the different couples who had just tied the knot. I went to take a seat in one of the more traditional looking cafés that gave me a good vantage point for what was going on in the square. Feeling touristy, I decided to go for Belgian waffles, but unfortunately, they did not have any. I settled for yet another cappuccino – Belgian roast. It was actually pretty good. When the rain returned, wedding guests came to shelter under the large parasols, ordering pints of beer while waiting out the short shower in high spirits.

When I left along the imposing buildings that frame the main square, now housing an Irish pub, Turkish kebab and Japanese Sushi, I stumbled upon an artisanal chocolatier. The shop smelled divine. A few tourists were buying chocolate pralines with funky flavours, but I stuck to chocolate bars and purchased some from the chatty shopkeeper as a souvenir of this trip.

Still thinking of Belgian waffles, I searched google maps – but all the places reportedly selling them were literally fast food-style storefronts and you had to gobble down your 1500 calories in the rain and on the street. It was a no-brainer. In my opinion, unhappy calories are better left uneaten.

I set out in the direction of a matcha café featuring on my list, which was supposed to be in the fashion district. Getting there led me through a hipster borough with organic supermarkets, second-hand shops and vegan cafés. Since it wasn’t really vibing with me and the vibes were quickly changing into ‘I wonder whether it’s safe down here?’, I decided to abandon the mission and returned to where I came from. I did have a matcha latte on the way back in one of the numerous tea shops that lined hipster-ville highstreet, and decided to try out some window shopping in the more commercially oriented part of town instead.

After resisting to buy a pair of sneakers I did not need, and steering clear of a pretty, sky-blue cardigan (apparently the ‘it’ colour of 2026!), because it somehow reminded me too much of my boss’s never changing attire, I was kind of done for the day. Headed back to central station, I came across a traditional Flemish bakery – ostensibly very popular because the queue was real!

I bought more bread than was reasonable for a solo household (that’s what freezers are for) and it was most definitely the highlight of my trip.

Trying to get a better picture of the fascinating indoor façade of Antwerp central station, I took the escalator to the higher floor.

In the left-hand side corner, relatively unspectacularly looking from the outside, is the most magnificent café I have a seen in a while. When I entered, I was stunned at the opulent gold-gilded décor and high ceilings of its interior. Finally rounding off the day with a Belgian must have, I ordered my waffle and sat in admiration until it was time to get back on the time machine.

Little did I know that EuroCity train reservations are only valid for the exact train you book. Even though it does not let you reserve seats like the EuroStar, you apparently cannot take an earlier connection as I did. And so, it came that I ended my day trip with a beautiful fine from Belgian railways. Don’t be like me. Read the fine print on your tickets and maybe have another coffee instead of rushing for the earlier train.

As always, I am neither sponsored nor affiliated with any of the places, shops, and establishments mentioned in this blog.
The art of dining alone

05.07.2026
Chapter 3 – People watching par excellence

It has been a while since I published Chapters 1 and 2 on the topic of solo dining. If you missed them, just click on the links or browse through my older blogs if you like. Chapter 3 is dedicated to one of the most fun parts of solo-dining: People watching. Because, let’s face it, if you are in company, you hardly ever notice the people around you unless they are extraordinarily obnoxious. But watching people dine is one of the most interesting ways to people watch when you have nothing else to distract you. And without being a judge or psychologist, you learn to predict behaviours and can royally entertain yourself by anticipating certain scenarios. Who is going to pick up the check; who will be ordering what for desert; or who is simply going to eat next to nothing but order it all.

As a little disclaimer, I will have to insert a parenthesis here and tell you that I am helplessly old-school when it comes to table manners; my grandma taught me how to eat oranges and bananas with knife and fork. I will just let that sink in. “Sit upright and elbows off the table!” I sometimes still hear that phrase ringing in my ear, especially when I see atrocious table manners of fellow humans. How much I miss my gran. But she wouldn’t be all that pleased when dining out these days.

Earlier this year, I have been to this rather nicely located restaurant with a cool, laid-back appeal near Palma’s marina. While it wasn’t a particularly formal atmosphere, it wasn’t a beach bar either. However, some – or most of the foreign tourists – seemed to mistake it for the former and you saw it all. And I mean all. The chalk-skinned lady applying sunscreen all over herself at the table (to be clear: not just the face); the British new money couple silencing their already quiet three-year-old with headphones and a gigantic iPad before they had even ordered anything. Not only did this poor child not benefit from natural stimulants, but he also wasn’t really getting any proper food either. While her ladyship was sipping (or downing, depending on how you look at it) an entire bottle of white wine, picking through her spaghetti alle vongole and a fresh salad over probably checking her socials, her husband was busy ordering everything on the menu, complaining to the waiting staff and pretending to send work emails.

At some point, I made a bet with myself that this poor child would probably get some French fries shoved down his face or a sandwich from a Tupperware (after all, the multiple diaper bags must have been for something). In the end, it was actually both fries and a soggy sandwich from the Tupperware. And apparently, you can administer French fries to your child while still watching the screen of your phone. This display made me incredibly sad and as much as I am not a fan of screaming toddlers running through a restaurant, this entire scenario was somehow so much worse.

Next, we had a group of scarcely clad Americans lounging on their chairs, taking off their shoes and getting drunk in the tempting April sun; a mixed group of New Zealanders and/or Australians not taking ‘I am sorry, we do not have free tables unless you have a reservation…?’ as an answer and simply staying put (i.e. standing literally next to my table), blocking the walkways for the waiters and discussing topics of geopolitical import while simply just being a pain to everyone.

With the Germans, you just know that the women are the treasurers of the family budget, even in public. Mutti will take out her wallet and deal with the bill as overtly as humanly possible, that is for sure. Germans also find it only natural to use their mother tongue when addressing the staff, especially in Mallorca. It’s the 17^th Bundesland, is it not?

When it comes to food though, you can at least count on the Italians. A very large family gathering, including a few small children that were allowed to be in the presence and company of their parents and grandparents were seated right in my line of sight. No one was crying, no one was arguing. There they were, enjoying each other’s company and a meal under the pleasant shade of the fabric sails that were installed over stretches of the beautiful terrace of this restaurant. When I see scenes like that, I become sadly aware of being there by myself only.

The middle-aged Spanish couple, still clad in thin puffer jackets like me (because it was the beginning of April and far from warm) were quietly making their exit before I could signal the staff to bring the bill as well.

I challenge you to try it for yourself. Next time you are wondering whether you should go out to have lunch or dinner by yourself, you should find yourself a seat with a good vantage point and start observing what is happening around you rather than be on your phone. You can learn so much about people and their habits when they think no one is watching them and it can be so entertaining, just like watching a series.
Barcelona FOMO

21.06.2026
The ‘fear of missing out’ is real

Continuation

On day 2 of my 3-day trip, I took it easy. Sort of. I woke up late, got ready and went down for a long breakfast, otherwise known as two drawn out Cappuccini and not checking the time.

One of the things I enjoy most in hotels is the breakfast buffet. I am a loyal chia-oatmeal person all year round, so when I am somewhere with a buffet, I like to switch it up. My philosophy is to eat what I don’t have at home. The hotel had a few delicious mini-sized Spanish pastries I loved, but sitting next to a guy whose first meal of the day was basically diabetes on a plate, I felt like I should rather go for ‘girl boss vibes’ as my brother calls it and start my day with an instagrammable green juice and a healthy selection of yoghurt and nuts.

It was a public holiday and hence a lot of museums and other places would be closed. With hindsight, I did not plan this trip well. I should have known better. After all, there was a reason I had this Monday off at work. My initial (pre arrival) plan had been to go for a long run by the beach, but the 26.000 steps I walked on Sunday in a pair of Converse meant that this was no longer a viable option. However, being in a city with a beachfront, I had to go and see it. Keeping the promise I made to myself the night before, I took the metro instead; mostly anyway. I was really impressed by how clean the subways were and how easy it was to find my way.

When I arrived at the mediterranean shore, there were lots of people jogging and running along the promenade and I felt a wave of FOMO overwhelming me. How much I would have loved to join them and see the entire beachfront that way. Once more, I deeply regretted all the walking I did the day before. But pitying myself wasn’t really what I came here for. There was much more to see, and unfortunately, much more to be walked that day.

It was definitely time for another coffee, and one metro ride later I was checking out the neighbourhood around the casa Milà, found a place with watered down tourist cappuccino and a clean bathroom to ponder my options now that my beach visit had been shorter than expected. Apparently, this chill-looking café was nevertheless a pick-pocket haven because two of the very kind waiting staff almost suffered a heart attack when I placed my Longchamp tote (rest assured, I always keep valuables in a separate handbag that is with me at all times) on a chair to ‘reserve’ a table before going to order my coffee at the counter. It’s just one of the many downsides of travelling alone. You don’t have anyone who can occupy a table while you are getting the coffee; but according to them, I shouldn’t have done it; it wasn’t safe. It was a bit sad and unsettling to hear that, but well. Luckily, no one had nicked my things and even though the coffee wasn’t the best, it was a nice place and I had a good rest while my phone was recharging on the power bank.

Given the amazing shopping options I had spotted in Gàrcia late Sunday afternoon, I wanted to go to a few shops I cannot find back home in these dimensions. The main ones, such as the giant Zara, a nicely sized COS and Muji were open despite the public holiday. But the truth be told, I am not really a girl that likes to shop (within my budget at least). I run out of patience pretty quickly and also prefer spending my money on travelling rather than clothes I objectively do not need. So, my shopping adventure did not last too long and resulted in zero purchases.

When I felt like having something sweet, I suddenly got obsessed with Crema Catalana again. According to Google, there was a highly recommended spot in the Gothic quarter, so I decided to make my way there, taking the metro, of course. It turns out the place was a complete tourist trap with a girl serving everyone in English by default and Crema Catalana coming in plastic, aluminium-coated containers she took from a fridge to burn sugar on top for show. It wasn’t even that tasty. All in all, I doubt it was worth the calories, and it was definitely not worth the hype.

Even with taking the metro back and forth, I was already past my 10.000 steps and pretty ‘shopped out’, so I decided to take advantage of another thing I do not have where I live: the sunshine. I thus made my way back in the direction of the hotel, but without any rush. And in any event, no metro stop was conveniently located close to where I was staying.

Walking from the nearest station towards the hotel, I came across an intriguing looking second-hand bookshop that was open and had an impressive collection. I also found a Matcha café, where I could choose between different kinds of matcha – something I have never found in any other city I visited.

Unfortunately, the seating situation wasn’t the best, but I had a really tasty and very refreshing iced Matcha latte on a warm and sticky day.

When I came back to the hotel, I found a stretcher on the hotel rooftop right next to Señor Diabetes from breakfast who was having a muted fight with someone on the phone. And if he thought I was stalking him, that was his problem. Just chilling out here in the sun was so incredibly worth coming all the way to Spain for. My FOMO disappeared.

A small wave of FOMO woke me up on day 3 though, when I suddenly felt the urge to ‘make the most’ of my time until I had to leave to the airport. Since I already brought my gym kit all the way, I decided to go for a little run despite my calves putting up a screaming protest. But let me tell you, seeing the Basilica of the Sagrada Família at sunrise with no one but a security guard and a few birds around was definitely one of the highlights of my trip.

FOMO doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It can also be a motivator. Since I am not really doing well with crowds and I had avoided getting close to the Basilica for this reason, I was extra grateful for having gotten out of bed before breakfast and forced myself on a mini run around the blocks to see this impressive architectural masterpiece in peace and quiet.
Barcelona walking

07.06.2026
Day 1 of getting some steps in

I am a strong advocate of doing your best to maintain physical fitness to – among other things – preserve your ability to travel as you please. But even so, some travels might be hugely exhausting when you are not being chaperoned around or using taxis and Ubers all the time. You easily clock 20,000 steps a day or more. Make that a three-day trip and you will want to skip leg day for a week. And that’s precisely what happened to me in Barcelona. Despite using an Uber for the farthest trip up the hill to the beautifully situated Fondació Joan Miró, I ended the day with 26,000 steps as I underestimated the sheer size of this city. There is so much to do and see in this mediterranean metropolis that a three-day trip feels like a reconnaissance mission at best. You will leave feeling like you saw a maximum of 2 per cent of what the city has to offer and that is truly a shame.

From the Fondació Joan Miró, of which I mostly loved the view on the city to be very honest, I made my way through the beautiful, surrounding park (Jardins de Laribal), heading to the Catalan Museum of art (Museo Nacional d’Art de Catalunya), as admission was also included in the Barcelona art pass I purchased before my trip. With the art pass, you can visit 6 museums within Barcelona for 38 EUR in total, and it is valid for an entire year. Given the prices of museums these days, it was already a good deal for visiting only two or three.

I had originally intended to also see the Picasso Museum but due to the public holiday, the museum was closed and I did not manage to see it in the end. At the same time, my limited time and similarly limited interest in modern art made the decision to skip it somewhat easier, and who knows, I might come back before my art pass expires.

I also did not last too long at the Catalan Museum because I skipped the modern art altogether. From the museum – located on a hill and slowly but surely filling up with swaths of tourists, I walked towards the Greek theatre or auditorium where people were having a yoga session on this breezy Sunday morning.

The adjacent café/restaurant looked really inviting, overlooking the city, rose garden and Greek theatre, but since it wasn’t even noon yet, it was completely empty, and I resisted my urge for a coffee refill. I decided to walk (when I should really have taken bus line 55 to the Plaça de Catalunya in the city centre) to a café and ended up on a pretty long walk through the streets of Barcelona.

I met people walking their dogs and older couples going for their Sunday stroll. There was something very chill about this walk until it started feeling a bit too long. However, one of the most reassuring things about Barcelona’s architecture is that the straight blocks of houses make it virtually impossible to get lost. Equipped with a power bank and broadly relying on Apple maps, I wasn’t stressed at any point.

Feeling a distinct lack of traditional Spanish or Catalan vibes, I decided to go all boho and find a matcha café, as I was craving a large cold drink of something refreshing and needed a little pick me up and rest.

After what felt like endless walking, I reached Bonsai, a matcha/speciality café where I had a delicious iced matcha latte to which I added more caffeine at a nearby café afterwards, as the matcha place did not have a bathroom. The café reminded me a lot of those ‘concept store’ places that look the same from Copenhagen to Tokyo and the cappuccino was equally underwhelming.

But at least my feet got a rest for a little longer. What really struck me was the fact that this place was full of English-speaking people in their 20s and 30s who appeared to be digital nomads of sorts. They were hunched over laptops or led audible conversations about ‘living in Barcelona’ without noticeable attachment to Spain and its culture. At least to me, they looked and behaved like regulars, and tourists like me were mostly just coming in to grab a coffee and left.

With Spanish lunch time rolling around, I decided to head towards Passeig de Gàrcia and closer to the shopping area of town, looking for somewhere to eat as I pass. I came across a restaurant called Zendra specializing in meat and grilled fish when I had already settled on baked goods from the Corte Ingles bakery.

Since my leaking water bottle had not only ruined my most precious stash of blister plasters but also sogged through my freshly purchased olive bread, the choice was an easy one. The place looked nice, and I was hungry.

The food, ambience and service were very nice; the only disappointment was the lack of Crema Catalana on the dessert menu.

I thus opted for a café solo and went on my way to snap a photograph of the famous casa Battló and Gaudí’s casa Milà aka la Predrera in the busy tourist saturated boulevard full of designer stores and the patiently waiting nouveau richesse standing in line to spend a few thousand Euros on Chanel’s latest Coco beach collection. The Gaudí house hosts a café and a restaurant, and interest was abundant.

I took my pictures and walked on, popping into a few large stores the size of which reminded me much of London’s Oxford Street-sized stores I only know in their miniature version from other European cities. Window shopping, like walking, can be incredibly exhausting and so I ended my day fairly early with a glass of red on the hotel roof top bar that supposedly featured a stunning view of the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia had it not been for the unkempt bushes ordaining the banisters that made the declared ‘selfie point’ pointless to say the least.

Still full from lunch, I wasn’t in the mood for dinner and called it an early night. The bed was comfy and I promised myself to try the metro on day 2.

To be continued …

As always, I have paid the hotel, flights, food and admission fees myself; I have not been sponsored nor am I affiliated with any of the foundations, museums, or businesses mentioned in this blog.
About my blog

24.05.2026
One year on

I would be lying if I said it was easy to find the courage to start a blog. I had been motivated to so for a while, but that is the thing with motivation: It doesn’t actually do anything unless you move, unless you take the first step. It can help you get going on the days you don’t feel inspired, but that is about it. At the end of the day, it is courage that pushes you to start something new, something you were afraid of. Just as travelling alone. It takes courage. It takes resilience and the will not to give up, and to keep trying to figure out better ways.

Last year, on 1 June, I started this blog. It wasn’t easy to figure out the web design side of things all by myself, so initially, I did not even tell my friends and family that the blog had gone live. Slowly but surely, I gained a bit a confidence, put in a lot of work and dedication and made it look okay for starters. I still think the design can be improved, but we will get there slowly. More important to me is that I keep my promise of posting regularly.

When I first started, I had so much to write about! I initially posted every Sunday. Although I never missed an upload, I soon realized that this pace was not sustainable. I would run out of trips to talk about. With a full-time job and a dedicated workout routine, there was neither going to be enough material nor time to write quality pieces for my blog on a weekly basis. This is why I switched to fortnightly blogs instead.

Looking back, I am so happy I started this endeavour. I enjoy my one-man show very much. I get inspired, I write, I edit without anyone’s interference (I apologize for the occasionally overlooked typographical errors) – a complete luxury for all of us who work a desk job in which they write for other people and lack that kind of editorial freedom in their daily lives.

I truly hope my blogs have made you smile, laugh, think and reflect, or even encouraged you to do or see something new. Maybe you found the courage to go dining on your own or visited a museum by yourself. This is my goal. I want to reach people, maybe even ‘influence’ them in a positive way and offer some insights into what it is like to be travelling alone as a woman. My greatest compliment would be that someone who was afraid to travel on their own finds the courage to try it. Or for couples to look kinder on that lady sitting by herself on the breakfast or dinner table in the hotel. Because maybe she isn’t weird. Maybe she just had enough of cancelling plans because of others cancelling on her.

Some people asked me why they cannot comment on my blogs. I thought about this for a while when I set it up and it was a conscious choice to disable commenting. Sure, tutorials on ‘how to grow your audience’ would tell me that interaction with your readers is key. But I am not really about that. Those of you who are old enough to remember newspaper articles printed on paper might understand where I am coming from. In a world full of paid subscriptions, constant notifications, reviews and comments, hyping, copying, ghosting and cancelling people, I want to be plain, simple, uncomplicated and accessible for free. I only want to be about my content and nothing else. You can read it. You can like it. You can talk to your friends about it or even share it with them. You can dislike it and never visit my site again. All of it is great, and valid and amazing.

Back in the day, when we read paper newspapers or magazines, we couldn’t comment either. And it was fine.

At least I think that way. Because we were able to think about what we read and form our own opinions about it before scrolling down to the comments to check whether our own opinion was validated by others. When we read books, we cannot comment about them to the author either. Does that take away from what we read? I don’t believe so. Either the book or article resonates with you, or it doesn’t.

Of course, I hope that my content resonates with a lot of people, gets talked about and shared, but even if I reach just one person who takes something away from my blogs, I am happy because my work is done.

And if you are truly interested in finding out more about me or tell me something nice, I invite you to follow me on Instagram (link in my ‘about’ page). There, I share more pictures and stories about me, my travels, my gym routine or my slightly unhealthy coffee obsession and a like, comment or ‘follow’ are much appreciated.

In closing this reflective piece, I would like to thank all of you who have made this journey so very enjoyable. Even if I don’t know you. For as long as I will find joy in writing my travel diary, I will keep posting blogs in this space. And while you are reading this, I am already on my next travel adventure. So, stay tuned, healthy, and curious. And I hope to see you back here in a fortnight!
A day trip to Lake Como

10.05.2026
After my recent rant about public transport, I thought I needed to make up for it with a positive experience. And what better example than a picturesque Italian escape? It is no secret that Milan is one of my favourite city destinations, and from there, Lake Como is just a stone throw away – even with public transport. I have done the day trip to the world-famous lake twice. Once in autumn and once in spring. Both times, it was amazing, relaxing and absolutely worth it.

If you are staying centrally in Milan, you can easily reach Lake Como and Como town by train from both Milan Central station arriving at Como San Giovanni or Cardona station arriving at Como Nord Lago. The journey from either only takes little over an hour and is extremely affordable. From either, you’ll arrive close to the shore of the lake, just outside of Como town; a pleasant 5-minute walk will take you right into the centre and to the shore, where you can take a ferry to get to other towns located around the lake or simply tour it for pleasure as I did.

When I went to Como last, I left Milan sometime in the late morning after a slow and relaxed start (or probably a gym session…?) and an extensive breakfast at the hotel I was at. I had absolutely no rush, took the metro to Cardona station where I waited for the next available train to Como. There’s no point stressing over departure times as the trains are a regular service and you’ll never have to wait long for the next one. When I arrived, I bought my ticket for the ferry that tours the southern part of the lake from Como up to Torno and Moltrasio, returning on the western shore via Cernobbio.

You can buy your ticket at a kiosk sort of place right in front of the different piers facing the lake and you can choose your departure time. I decided to first have lunch and take the boat later on. And just to be clear, it is a relatively small boat; maybe ferry isn’t even the right word to use, but it is still more of a public transport-getting from A to B kind of situation rather than a yacht where you chill with a glass of bubbly while admiring the view of your room at the Mandarin Oriental from the lakeside.

In search of a cute little restaurant, I strolled around town, found a place where I could sit outside despite the season of the year and had risotto al funghi. The food was good, but nothing I particularly need to recommend to you here. I partly opted for sitting outside because my lunchtime would have made any Spaniard proud, and most restaurants were pretty much empty by the time. And if there is one thing I really do not enjoy, it is eating in an empty restaurant.

After rounding off my lunch with a delicious espresso, I walked back to the pier to take the boat. Although it was only at the end of March and not even cherry blossom season yet, it was not too cold to sit on the open deck of the ferry, which made the experience all the more special and enjoyable since I had unobstructed views. I took so many videos of the beautiful shoreline that I ended up running out of battery on my phone. It was lucky that the train back to Milan had power outlets to recharge.

I think that lake Como is such a beautiful destination that is so easy to reach and so different from the bustling city of Milan, that it would almost be a crime not to go when you have come to this iconic fashion city. For me, the little town of Como isn’t really a place I would come to specifically shop or do things. I just found it very pretty to walk through, grab coffee and recharge the soul with wonderfully Italian, slightly Alpine aesthetics.

Como town is just very pleasing and comforting. Small and slightly uneventful, which make it a perfect destination for a chill and scenic day trip. And because it can be reached so effortlessly by train, it makes it a perfect last-minute destination, too. You don’t need to plan ahead; just board the train. So, if you are shopped out in Milan and long for something quiet, you have a most beautiful alternative.
Train travel

26.04.2026
Or maybe I just have an OCD

If you are no stranger to public transport, maybe live in a world capital, such as New York, London, or Paris, you are most likely able to relate to my germaphobia when it comes to trains and subways. And aside from the germs, sticky handles and manky floors there is the issue of punctuality or reliability of services.

Some trains can, of course, be nice and punctual (I would love to travel through Switzerland once I win the lottery) but, at any rate, in some of the places I frequently travel to and where I am used to taking buses, trains, metros or long-distance trains, there are only different levels of delays, cancellations and grime. I don’t know about you, but for me, the ‘next level’ is the kind where I come home and put all of my clothes into the wash right away.

Having gone through life as a visually impaired person, I have always been entirely dependent on public transport whether I liked it or not. When all my classmates got their driving licences, I was already wasting my time on drafty platforms and sat on grimy bus seats. The trip I am writing about today is a perfect example of the colossal waste of time and discomfort travelling on public transport often is. It would ordinarily be a 2-to-3-hour drive at your own leisure with a boot full of stuff if you so desired. Instead, it takes me 6 to 7 hours door to door and anything larger than a small carry-on trolley will prove to be a handicap. Even on the expensive high-speed trains that link several European capitals, I have experienced my far share of traveller’s grief; starting from out of order loos to train breakdowns in the middle of nowhere, and staff threatening to simply offload luggage because people dared to bring more suitcases than the tiny shelves could hold. To this day, I have not understood why there is next to no space for suitcase storage on a long-distance train linking capitals and airports.

Sometimes, I just wish I was born in the olden days when trains had luggage carriages and people would take care of guarding your suitcase. Now, the rail companies resort to cutting staff to the bare minimum and advising you that there are pickpockets on the train, which basically means that it will be tough luck if your seat is far down the other end of the carriage and your suitcase goes missing while you try to enjoy your journey. Stay anxious, and God forbid you might fall asleep.

I have probably been spoiled lately when most of my trips were by plane, a fact I was rudely reminded of when I recently travelled to Germany to spent orthodox Easter with family. While I did splash out on a first-class high-speed train ticket for the first leg of my trip, the comfort if bought me was rather limited. For some reason these trains do not make seating compulsory (a reason why I avoid those high-speed trains around the Christmas holidays like the plague) and anyone can get on it, no limits. Literally.

Frequently, this means having to argue with a person who has occupied the seat you have reserved for a fee they were not willing to pay. Corridors are full of people standing or sitting on the floor like bored teenagers during school recess. I have also once been on a train that was so overcrowded that the entire corridor was full of people standing, with a lady literally standing over me breathing down my neck for two and a half hours. It was highly uncomfortable to say the least. This time, I had a noisy family of six crashing the first-class carriage for a portion of the way with heaps of plastic bags, kids running all over the place, music blaring from phones or tablets and a number of fellow passengers getting agitated and confrontational, and – no surprise – no train staff to be seen to deal with the situation. It remains doubtful whether these people had a ticket, let alone one for first class. I, however, pretty much regretted paying the extra fee for that part of my trip, as already on the prior intercity train the first-class compartment was adorned with spilled food and trash on the floor and the only tangible difference to the second-class carriages was the colour of the faux leather seats.

WC fees in the station where I switch trains are up 60% within two years – an increase that is directly proportional to the decrease in service and cleanliness, with the only ‘cleaning’ being a half-hazard mopping of the floor; no towels, no soap, the usual. Great value for money. But it can always be worse I suppose. At least toilet paper was still stocked. The ‘voucher’ you get in exchange for the exorbitant toilet fee gets you a 50-cent discount on a 3.80 EUR espresso at Starbucks served by a grumpy, lost-looking student wearing a ‘save the planet’ T-shirt and a random array of tattoos all over her arms. This waitress/barista couldn’t care less about your customer experience, which is apparent from the blank look on her face when you tell her what you’d like to order. These days, you are not even asked for a fake name to be attached to your order anymore. Default solution: paper cup, no questions asked. It is also your own problem if you first need to clear the trash of other customers off the table should you wish to enjoy your beverage sur place to kill your waiting time. Having the table wiped down? A daring luxury. I recommend a stash of anti-bacterial wipes. They always come in handy. Sitting at my freshly disinfected table, I wonder what these employees answer when they are asked in their job interviews what it is that motivates them and why they want to do this job as opposed to any other.

Upon arrival at my destination’s central station, I am greeted by people pushing into the train before I can get off, the escalators don’t work, and the general vibe is pissoir and ‘just make sure you don’t touch anything’. I am left wondering, once again, why nothing changed for the better in the 35 years I have been arriving at this station. I feel the urgent need to disinfect my hands ASAP but cannot. I first need to use the sticky touch screen machine to buy my 4 Euro ticket for 2 stops on the tram. At some point, they obviously discontinued the ‘short distance’ ticket that was available in my youth. Granted, that’s a while ago. But most seem to be free riding anyway; no checks, no tapping in with a transport card, no barriers, nothing. Getting off at the underground station – this one was surprisingly clean but always has been since it is in the poshest area of town, I am stopped by an elderly Japanese lady who asks me why the lift isn’t working. I am afraid I have no answer for her. I smile politely and walk on. Only to find that the escalator isn’t working either. Luckily, I go to the gym and suitcase carries are part of my full body workout routine. From there, I drag my little carry-on down a number of blocks, attentively watching out to avoid the dog poo on the sidewalks.

Taking the tram and bus to church the next evening, I can’t help but wonder why everyone just gets on through whatever door, including those displaying the ‘no entry’ sign. God only knows who of these people actually held a valid ticket, but the driver, who keeps the front door closed, appears unbothered. Yet again, I could have just gotten on without paying. After church at night, the driver lets us in at the front, visibly confused when I ask for a ticket and give him cash for it. Does anyone ever pay I wonder? Then again, it shows.

Making my way back home on the high-speed train on Sunday afternoon (second class this time) I am boxed into my assigned window seat (because why would we be able to choose a seat when we are already paying for it!) by a grouchy lady doing crosswords on the tray-table in front of her. She is visibly inconvenienced by the fact that I want to get to my seat and have luggage to hoist up to the rack made for people 6 feet tall. Sighing with impatience, she also gives me the annoyed side-eye when I dare to ask her to let me use the bathroom after a while. Since I want to silence those hostile vibes, I take my headphones out. And just like that they have run out of battery and a power outlet is apparently also too much to ask for on a long-distance highs-peed train. However, I must be fair and recognize that the newer trains display seat numbers right by the aisle in a rather large font. At least this saves me from being aggressed by fellow passengers yelling at me as it used to be common practice before when I could not find my seat and no one was willing to help me ‘because I wore glasses’. It is the little wins we need to celebrate, right? And I am indeed very grateful for this huge improvement.

Various delays (nothing new here) make me miss my connection and I am waiting for the intercity train to get home. Dirty would be an understatement for that one and somehow, I have no idea why trains are just so gross all the time. I swear the floor hasn’t been mopped in a month, and I am not even talking about the fabric on the seats. All I can think of is to not lean back and touch that seat with my hair.

Dehydrated as usual when I take public transport to avoid having to use the loo, I arrive home. I throw all my clothes into the laundry and take a long shower. I am really done with trains for a while and there’s no way I want to wear those jeans again before I haven’t washed them.

And at the end of the day, I wonder whether those people advocating for train travel instead of taking a plane have actually ever been travelling on trains for real. Or maybe it is just me and I am spoiled and suffering from an OCD more serious than I think.

For obvious reasons, this blog does not contain any pretty pictures. I apologise for that. As usual, I have paid all tickets, coffees and toilet fees myself. I would welcome being sponsored by Swiss or Japanese railways or the fancy Orient Express from Paris to Venice in the future. Just kidding!
Oranges from Sóller

12.04.2026
Many years ago, I watched a German documentary about the almond blossom season in Mallorca in which the orange express, also known as the tren de Sóller was prominently featured. While I am personally less fascinated by train mechanics than I am by traditional almond sweets, beautiful landscapes, and glorious beaches, this documentary somehow lingered in my mind to the day I came to visit the island myself – a decade or more later. Before I set out to this little mediterranean paradise, the image of the train rushed back into my conscious memory. I sought to plan the trip in those few days in September I had at my disposal for touristic excursions before attending to the real reason for my travel to Spain.

Skeptical as I am, however, I did – not so diplomatically – ask my local friend whether this train trip to Sóller was ‘just a tourist trap or actually nice’. He was borderline offended by my question and assured me that, while it was definitely touristic, it was a very nice trip on which he had even taken his in-laws a few years ago. Since this sort of resembled an approval of the whole endeavour, I put the tren de Sóller firmly on my travel itinerary for Mallorca in 2025.

It was a beautiful day in late September, the weather was perfect, and the views did not disappoint. While the first part of the journey leads through the fertile plains of the island’s interior, the Serra de Tramuntana is not far from the island’s capital.

Soon, the train takes its route through tunnels and across narrow bridges nestled between the valleys and towns of this northern mountainous region. Lush vegetation and shadows of increasingly higher mountains feel so far removed from the yachts and urban buzz of the capital. Arriving in Sóller, one already sees the spires of its large Gothic-style church of Sant Bartomeu, which appears as grand an opulent in this little town – and is very similar in style – to that of Palma, from afar.

Sóller, unfortunately quite overrun by tourists, is charming and grand in architecture; a clear reminder of its bygone days when almonds and fruit made for precious commodities and lucrative trade. As with all touristic and Instagram-hyped ‘bucket list’ places, simply taking a side road will let you enjoy it in peace and quiet as most people are less interested in seeing them than in being seen in them.

To this day, Sóller remains famous for its citrus fruit and the train used to be a means of transporting the fruit to the capital and elsewhere. It dates back to 1912 and shares many of the characteristics of the iconic trams of Lisbon or Milan. The glazed caramel-coloured wooden seats and up-sliding windows exude the same glory of the olden days that I personally love very much, probably because they evoke happy childhood memories of summers spent in Lisbon with my grandmother and walking around its Baixa and Chiado as a student. As a Serb, I however feel compelled to warn you of the near certain potential of promaja (draft) created by scantily clothed Northerners opening windows on all possible sides of the wagons to let in the cold mountain air because their iPhones told them it was warm in Palma.

Not being able to hire a car and explore the natural beauty of any place to which I travel on a more individual basis, I am always looking for ways alternative transport options can help me get around and see as much as possible. The tren de Sóller lets you get off in Sóller, walk around and then rejoin it for the last stretch of the journey to the Port.

The Port has a long promenade framed by beautiful sandy beaches and a marina at the end; many cafés and restaurants line its beachfront with stunning views on turquoise waters. I highly recommend a piece of almond cake while savouring the landscape.

You can buy your tickets for the tren de Sóller at the designated station called the Ferrocarril de Sóller just across the Plaça de Espanya in Palma, adjacent to the Estació Intermodal and central coach station. While you can also get to both Sóller and Port de Sóller by coach No. 203 from the Estació Intermodal, I would recommend the train for several reasons. First, it is simply very nice and unique. Second, you are able to book your return for a specific time when buying your ticket, which leads me to my third reason: enforced limited seating that prevents all sorts of unpleasantries you may very well experience when queuing for the coach according to the principles of touristic Darwinism and self-centred foreigners not believing in queues.

All in all, I join my friend in telling you that the train trip to Sóller is touristic, but very nice indeed.

All recommendations are my genuine opinions. I have paid all fares and food at full price by myself and I am not sponsored or otherwise affiliated with any company or establishment mentioned in this post.
Chasing magnolias

29.03.2026
A day well-spent in Milan

Magnolia season seems to have become the European equivalent of cherry blossom season in Japan, with tourists making their way to designated magnolia spots. And I am no exception to those tourists because I am the ultimate flower-girl. I love flowers, and especially all flowers that come in pink. In many cultures, including Japan, magnolias symbolize purity, nobility, dignity, perseverance and love for nature. Magnolias are one of the world’s oldest known flowers, mentioned in the Ketuvim and Old Testament of the Bible, for example. In Europe, magnolias are in full bloom around mid to end of March, depending on the country you are in.

Last March, I went on a long weekend to Milan, and seeing magnolias was one of the many benefits of this visit. I had looked up how to get to the Piazza Tommaseo, a famed magnolia-watching spot and I will tell you about it today.

I have been to Milan many times, and the city never disappoints. It is one of my go-to travel destinations if I am very honest with you because I always find exactly what I am looking for at that moment in my life; a good break, food, tradition, shopping if I feel like it, and beauty all around as well as supermarket shelves with a good selection of Taralli. The hotel I stayed at in Santa Sofia was wonderful and perfectly located. I could take the tram or the metro and nothing in the centre of Milan was really far away. After having shopped a bit and had pizza and ice cream on day one, I felt like doing other things and seeing a new part of town on day two. So, I looked up how to get to the small Piazza located in a mainly residential area famous for its magnolia trees.

From the Piazza del Duomo, you would walk around the corner on to Via Tommaso Grossi and its tram 1 stop, which – generously speaking – is conversely just opposite the big Starbucks Coffee Roastery and the enormous Uniqlo shop on Piazza Cardusio, which also has a metro stop of line M1. While you can get to Piazza Tommaseo by taking the metro, I would highly recommend not doing so and taking tram 1 instead, because that way, you actually get to see Milan over ground, which, I suppose is part of the reason you came to visit in the first place.

And before we get onto that tram, let me just give you a warm recommendation for the Starbucks Roastery. While Starbucks or cappuccino after 11 a.m. clearly aren’t part of Italian culture, this place is nevertheless very special and beautiful and, in my opinion, a touristic must visit, not least because you can sit down for a while having your coffee as opposed to standing at a bar for 5 minutes only. That will come in very handy after or before a full day of touristic walking around. Second, if you are into cakes, this café is a feast for the eyes and probably the tastebuds, too. Since I did have my cappuccino before 12 and was hence still full from a fantastically oversized breakfast, I stuck to coffee – probably the fourth of the morning – and very much enjoyed the smell of freshly roasted coffee beans, the chance to sit and people watch for a while as well as the never-to be-discounted access to a clean restroom.

But back to our magnolia-spotting adventure: Via Grossi is the first and last stop of tram 1’s trajectory, thus your chances of getting a seat on the rather small tram is quite high. As the tram winds its way through the city centre, it passes Cadorna station, Piazza Virgilio and then reaches the Via Venti Settembre stop after no more than 20 minutes. This stop is located in a quiet area of town with large boulevard-like streets, framed by plane trees and imposing villas. And if you get off at the wrong stop, it does not even matter, because the next one will be just straight ahead, and I can assure you, you won’t get lost. Now, if you managed to get off at the right stop, you should cross the street to the left, walk on, cross Via Tamburini, continue straight past the beauty salon on your left-hand side and turn left at the corner into Via Petrarca.

You then continue walking straight ahead for about five minutes, crossing one more street, and you will reach the ‘side entrance’ to Piazza Niccolò Tommaseo, where kids will be playing and influencers taking their shots against the beautiful backdrop of the Church of Santa Maria Segreta, just like I did last year.

While I have a soft spot for Milan’s historic trams and always find travelling over ground much more interesting when I am travelling, you also have the option of taking the metro back to the Duomo or wherever you were coming from. M1 stop Conciliazione is just a short walk down Via Gian Battista Bazzoni if you exit Piazza Tommaseo to the left of the church.

I, of course, made my way back to tram 1, which was filled with afternoon travellers, neighbours and chatty old ladies speaking to the driver, as well as tourists from near and far. I love sitting on the same side of the tram I sat on when I arrived, so I can see what the other side of the streets I saw earlier has to offer.

Unfortunately, the weather wasn’t the best when I went. It was a rather grey and misty afternoon, but the old, enormous magnolia trees did not disappoint. It was truly beautiful, and so was that part of the city. And if it had not been for the magnolias, I would never have discovered it.

If you are interested in seeing what else I did that day, have a look at the short reel I put together of day 2 in Milan 2025.
Two days in Florence, Italy

15.03.2026
My last blogs have largely been dedicated to my opinionated philosophizing about travel. With the beginning of spring and a more outward looking perspective on how to spend time, however, I am finally able to share a real travel blog with you again. I have been alluding to it before but did not want to spill the beans just yet about where this journey was going to take us.

Day 1

I am blessed to be living in Europe, where many beautiful destinations can easily be reached within a few hours and short weekend breaks to a completely different country are within the realm of the possible. This time, I took advantage of a direct flight connection to the beautiful city of Florence in Tuscany. I have never been to Tuscany before, and I thought it would be a good idea to see it before the summer crowds arrive. In my opinion, it would also be a waste to dedicate precious warm summer days that could be spent on the beach roaming the museums. But who could visit Florence and skip the museums? It would be a sin.

But be aware, if you do not plan this out months in advance, you’ll be disappointed. Nowadays all major museums have online ticket sales and those come with time slots of 15-minute windows. Of course, you can also buy tickets on the spot, but you will wait in line for a very long time. Already now at the end of February, the queues were substantial.

For a change to my usual blogs, I will actually run you through my itinerary in case you would find it useful for your own plans.

I arrived at the airport at noon (with hand luggage only) and took a taxi to the old town, which took about 30 minutes. I was lucky to chance upon a very nice and kind taxi driver who spoke excellent English and with whom I really had a nice chat; usually, I am not a big fan of chatting with taxi drivers. He asked me – as most of them do: So, you are travelling alone? And when I get the weird vibes, I usually come up with a lie such as I am joining my husband who was here on a business trip or something along those lines. But this guy was normal, so I said “Yes, I am travelling alone” and in his opinion that was a great idea because I did not have to compromise on anything – especially food – and just do what I wanted. It really made me smile, because that’s not a response I usually get.

My hotel was located at the Piazza dell’indipendenza, next to a park and a short walking distance from the centre. I was already able to leave my luggage in the room, freshen up a little and walk to my first destination of the day, the Capelle Medicee where I had booked myself a timeslot to see Michelangelo’s secret chamber at 13:30. I made it on time easily (although I had stressed about that a little when the plane was delayed) and even grabbed a focaccia from the supermarket around the corner because I was starving as well as an espresso at the bar across before turning up about five minutes early. And I cannot stress this enough, but if you do book this tour – which I highly recommend – you must be punctual. The museum organizes the tour for a group of no more than four people at a time because the secret chamber is very small.

Our guide was a refreshingly genuine and enthusiastic young lady who explained both the story of the secret chamber as well as the intricacies of the drawings and sketches and answered all our questions in both Italian and English. The guided visit lasted about 20 minutes and all of us had plenty of opportunity to look around and really take in what we were seeing. After the guided tour, you can freely visit the rest of the museum on your own.

After the Medici chapel, I had some time to walk down to the river Arno, take a few beautiful pictures of the bridges and riverbanks, and eat a gelato at the corner of Ponte Santa Trinita before slowly walking back into the town centre for my next stop of the day, the Galleria dell’Academia museum. My time slot started at 15:30 and I made it comfortably on time without having to rush.

While I would not call myself an art lover per se or connoisseur of any kind, I do have a natural appreciation for everything beautiful, and I get immensely impressed by the mastery of artists so many centuries ago. There were a few paintings from the beginning of the 14^th century that really stuck with me due to their immense beauty, detail and vibrancy.

I often find the larger paintings more difficult to appreciate due to my visual impairment, as I cannot see the detail that I would imagine many people with normal eyesight would be able to catch.

The same goes for statutes, such as Michelangelo’s David that is cordoned off for good reason, given the focused interest of most visitors to the museum. I actually found myself more fascinated by the smaller works on the first floor, where I was able to approach the painting at a closer range and really appreciate the detailing.

As impressive as the Galleria was, I suffered my usual art-overload about halfway through and felt a bit depleted at that point in the afternoon. I then decided to look for a Bar-Tabacchi (coffee bar/kiosk) and top up my coffee levels before heading back to the hotel to rest and refresh before my solo dinner appointment.

It was indeed the first time I had made a dinner reservation weeks in advance and to my surprise at the time, it was entirely possible to reserve a table for one, which you cannot do in some countries mind you.

With hindsight, I really think it was a great idea to reserve a table because otherwise I would have just roamed the city aimlessly and probably doubted whether I would even be interested in a dinner for one. But because I had this reservation, it really felt like a fixed appointment, even if it was only with myself. Now, whether I would recommend randomly picking a restaurant off google maps like I did, I don’t know. But in my case, it worked out very well.

I had looked at the pricing and menu beforehand and gotten an idea about the kind of restaurant it was, which proved to be accurate. It was a nice, traditional restaurant with a lot of local charm and at no point did I feel uncomfortable dining alone. The waiting staff was very friendly, the food was great and overall, it was a very nice evening. I can warmly recommend it for those interested.

Day 2

I am not going to lie when I say I was very tired on my first evening and decided to sleep in; that said: for someone who usually rises at 5 a.m. ‘sleeping in’. means 8:30. After quite a disappointing breakfast buffet visit, I made myself another coffee in the room, as it proved to be highly superior to that in the windowless breakfast basement without wifi or telephone reception. I then headed out towards the Duomo to attend Sunday mass at 10:30. While I am not Roman Catholic, living abroad with next to no access to churches of my own confession, I have learned to find a moment of prayer and reflection among congregations of other Christian denominations and focus on the readings. What I found slightly disturbing though was that attendees were encouraged to ‘follow’ the mass on their phone by scanning a QR code with ‘the program’. Thus, for those fortunate enough to be in full possession of their visual senses, you had them glued to their screens.

After mass, I set out on a hike to the Piazzale de Michelangelo from where you have a panoramic view down on the city with the skyline of the dome of the Duomo, its belltower and the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio. I passed the queues of tourists waiting for admission to Arnolfo’s tower, left behind the Ponte Vecchio, horrified at the masses of tourists which caused me a little onset of claustrophobic discomfort and activated my natural flight instinct. Like this, I randomly followed over-packed streets only to find that I was on the wrong track. At the Palazzo Pitti – framed by a sizeable queue of patiently waiting tourists – I made a U-turn and found my way up the hill towards the Piazzale. It was a pleasant but steep walk in the end, so I would only recommend it to those who are reasonably in shape, otherwise just call a taxi.

Having made it to the top, I was greeted by the breathtaking view on one of Europe’s most beautiful skylines, but also by touristy stalls of knick-knacks, trinkets and the usual merchandise made in China. Blasting Latin music from a street performer and girlfriends directing their portrait-taking boyfriends on the various angles of perfect Instagram content did not kindle my desire to further explore the Piazzale itself. I took some of my own soon-to-be Instagram pictures and made my way back down to the river. It was past noon and definitely time for a meal in any event.

For lunch, I came across a very nice Pizzeria named Forneria, not too far from the Ponte Vecchio. A perfect blend of locals and tourists, friendly staff, good food and a clean and modern atmosphere make me really recommend this place to you. In their main sitting area, you also get a stunning view on the river and the old city. I could unashamedly charge up my phone while enjoying my pizza and a tiramisù.

Walking around for the rest of the afternoon, taking in the stunning architecture and blending into the city’s afternoon passeggiata I finally reached a point where I could walk no more. I had yet another coffee and because I needed to drag out that seated break for a little longer, a glass of Prosecco (when in Rome…as they say!). After some people watching and general contemplation, I cancelled my dinner reservation because I was still too full after the lunch I could not even finish.

Eventually, it was time to make it back to the hotel and facing the real world at the click of a button switching on the news. I shouldn’t have. Because for those two days that I spent in Italy, I could focus on nothing but a mental break and taking in the beauty life has to offer.

I don’t travel in order to tell you stories or post pictures. It is the other way around.

I like to tell you stories, because I love travelling. When you travel alone, there’s no one to share your impressions with, so they become stories that need to be told. I travel because I seek the tranquillity and peace of mind that I only experience when I am away from the routine and when I am able to slip into a different place and reality.

The next morning, I slept in, drank all the coffee in the room and skipped that unappealing breakfast altogether. A yoghurt and some delicious strawberries I had purchased the day before were a far better choice before heading back to the airport with no rush.

I hope you enjoyed my little itinerary and it would mean the world to me if any of my humble recommendations will help you in planning your own trip to Florence, or anywhere or even just make you dream about it.

As always, all recommendations are my own spontaneous and heartfelt recommendations. I have not been sponsored in any way or obtained any gifts, favours, products or food for free in preparing this blog.