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.
I have recently been specifically obsessed with anything hair-related. I sometimes go through these phases; I always have. Although my hair obsession has always been strong, it feels somewhat amplified lately because my hair and nails are not having the best moment right now. I know, it is time for some supplements, but these usually take a few months to do their magic.
Or, maybe, I am just extra worries about those hair-related issues, because I am preparing for the next trip. Travel hair is a real thing. Most hotels – and I have written about this before – feature that off-white-coloured air fryer passed off as a hair dryer. Mounted into the wall with a cable as short as that useless 1m charging cable that comes with a new iPhone. It will do nothing for you apart from ruining your hair in a second. Just thinking about it gives me the shivers and revives my high-school trauma of crispy fried hair after every swimming lesson I did not manage to get out of.
Blessed with naturally wavy, coarse and voluminous hair, for me, the frizz as well as the crazy, curly baby hair halo are a constant looming nightmare. Thus, I need to be extra smart about what I pack when going on a trip. At the same time, when I manage to pull off a good hair day, the world is my oyster and I feel like a super model, even when I am just wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. In my opinion, hair is the business card of your personality; it’s what people see first and what defines your style.
Now, the complication with that statement is, of course, that you cannot control the outside factors like the weather, for example, that’s why you need to be prepared.
Since we have also established quite a while ago that I have given up on packing light, I am not even ashamed to tell you that I will pack an entire salon for three nights abroad.
Besides the tragic hair dryers, I would also reckon that most hotel toiletries are made for a minimum effort rinse of men with hair no longer than an inch. If you happen not to fall into that category, you have probably already learned that the two-in-one generic shampoo that smells like you borrowed it from your dad is likely going to give you a lot of volume – and not the good kind.
If you, on top of that, use that dreaded hair dryer, you’re not going to look cute. It’s a fact. And if you do fall within the former category, I would still advise you to stay away from all of it and use your own products and hair dryer.
In the past, I would try to tame the frizz occasioned by the hotel hair dryer with the straightener I brought with me, but that only damaged the hair even further. I have thus come to terms with the fact that I just need to bring more stuff. It is what it is. If you can empathize with me and are also looking to up your hair game while travelling, here’s what I will pack:
A hair dryer and maybe a straightener, too;
Shampoo and conditioner for my hair type;
An anti-frizz spray or cream;
A heat protection of some sort;
Hair oil;
A solid shower cap;
A microfibre hair turban.
I am, of course, still mindful to reduce bulk and weight in my luggage and aim to bring most products in travel sizes. I have also purchased a smaller hair dryer for the same reason during Black Friday sales last year. Most drugstores and department stores nowadays feature a good selection of beautiful over-priced minis of the shiny and glossy products that I love so much.
Those minis are excellent for refilling and usually much sturdier (and cuter) than the plain travel kit bottles that will break after the first use. My hairdresser in Belgrade once gifted me a hair oil sample I still refill a decade later; it is just the perfectly sized bottle for a long weekend away.
My last pro tip is that you should always bring your own sturdy shower cap. The flimsy hotel kind is not really made for people with long hair or lots of it. I find it doesn’t seal properly, and you’ll end up with the mess you sought to avoid in the first place when you are having a no-hair-wash-day shower. A microfibre hair turban is also a must. I’ve been told by many hairdressers that cotton towels damage your hair unnecessarily and let’s not forget the sheer weight of those hotel towels towering on your head.
I know that to some of you this packing list may sound excessive. However, I challenge you to try it. Let’s normalize bringing an entire hair wardrobe on trips because a good hair day will make the rest of the day great, too!
How I don’t buy things, but pay for comfortable experiences
One of the most popular posts on my blog has been ’10 Common Sense Ways to Save Money for Travelling’. In that post, I shared my basic bookkeeping habits, inspired by Japanese Kakeibo and common sense. I have taken this approach for quite a while now and you would be surprised how well it works. Whatever I save at the end of each week, I consider to constitute comfort tax – the money that will cover for all the unreasonable and unforeseen expenses that naturally arise when you travel.
I don’t buy things, I buy experiences. And above all, I buy comfort. Travelling on a plane? I will pay for the aisle seat, because I don’t want to end up stuck at the window or in the middle with a gigantic sleeping neighbour blocking me in. Arriving late? I’ll pay for the taxi. Arriving in a new place? I’ll ask the hotel to send a pick-up.
Whenever I chose the ‘cheap’ option in the past, it stressed me out to the core. For pick-up options, I ended up wondering where that dingy old van was going to take me. I remember having a pick-up driver I booked through the booking platform (because it was cheaper) demand that I “come to the parking” rather than actually picking me up as requested at arrivals. It was late and I did not know my way as it was the first time that I arrived at Milan Linate airport. The fact that I am even trying to justify myself here is not right. I paid for a pick-up service, not a taxi. While I did successfully refuse this and made him come pick me up, it was unpleasant and uncomfortable. Often the prices for the real deal are unreasonable, no question. But when you travel, especially when you travel alone, it is not worth risking it in my opinion. And apart from paying for comfort and security, you always need access to emergency cash in case you get stranded.
Money can literally buy you peace of mind. And this is the approach I learned to take in the past couple of years.
I went for a coffee in a café this morning – a flat white – and kakeibo style, I paid cash. It was shocking to see that 5 EUR note leave my hand for a single cup of coffee with next to no change in return. I didn’t regret the coffee. That’s not my point. My point is that you can get better at saving money for what you value most by visualizing the mindless spending. By swiping our cards or phones, we just do not realize where it all goes and at the end of the day, we feel we cannot afford to travel because there’s not much left in the account at the end of the month. That’s when travel takes a backseat and if you do decide to travel, you likely end up having to go for the cheap option, cutting the comfortable corners here and there. If we reduce our spending to a more mindful spending, there is more money for travelling. You just have to be disciplined, as with most things that are worth attaining and working towards in life.
While I am absolutely not qualified to give you financial advice, I wanted to add a little follow-up on my earlier post: What can we implement on a regular basis to optimize the budget we have at our disposal when we are finally embarking on that trip? All those coffees I did not have on the go might pay for all my taxi fares. All those impulse purchases I did not make might have enabled me to get a room with a view. All the make-up I did not buy, might finance overprized, delicious hotel breakfasts.
I had a follower write to me asking what I did in life and how come I was so rich to travel all the time. I am not. I am just careful about what I spend of my weekly budget, and I collect all the surplus as comfort tax. I put that tax away, so that it can be used for buying me comfortable experiences, it’s as simple as that.
Instead of a ‘real vacation’, I have been spending some time with family in the village of my childhood. There is a lot to be said for a simple life, retro-style.
While social media wellbeing accounts propagate simple habits as a kind of ‘to do list’, living simply is the purest form of relaxation there is. Picking your fruit directly from the tree is arguably the most wholesome luxury there is. Enjoying your morning coffee in the garden without being confined by a schedule; not checking your phone for hours because you forgot where you put it and buying cherries at the farmer’s next door can hardly be topped in terms of well-being hacks.
Maybe it’s midlife, maybe it is just the desire to escape the constant emails, notifications, work whatsapps after hours and deadlines. I don’t know, but for someone like me, who mostly travels to city destinations, the dolce far niente vacation is a necessary fixture in the year. And who’s around in August anyway?
It’s not like anything is really happening at work or elsewhere. Everybody is waiting for September to have the world reset. And to be ready for September, you really got to chill a bit.
Every summer, I have the desire to disconnect from the modern world as much as I can. Last year, I was lucky enough to go to Croatia and spend my day swimming and sunbathing all day. This year, I have found a different way to disconnect. I have been focusing on the things I remembered from my childhood that I have missed in my day to day: baking a cake with the plum’s picked at the farmer’s next door or listening to old vinyl records and spending time in the garden. The goal was to be offline as much as possible; slow living at its finest.
I can truly feel how it benefited my soul. In the mornings, I sat with no purpose on the terrace with a coffee in hand. I enjoyed plugging wilted flowers in the garden and watch the figs grow ripe. I had no desire to go to town and no desire to shop. Disconnecting like that for over a week can be so soothing and relaxing, almost zen.
Like top athletes have off-seasons, so should those of us who are always in motion. If you are honest with yourself, wandering through a hot and stuffy metropolis in summer is not going to address the feeling of being a hamster in a cage. Only doing nothing can really do that.
How practicing gratitude can save you a lot of money
Last year, when I wrote about my favourite of all vacations (summer vacation), I could not really predict the prices of everything leading me somewhere sunny and warm would soar to new heights in 2026. Whether it is the flights, the hotel, or simply the 8 EUR pool side coffee, this year is looking a little gloomy in the beach department. But here’s the thing:
How blessed am I to be living in a country with a beach? Even though I long for a sea to swim in rather than one to just look at, it is simply not in the cards right now for me to go and chill on the shores of the Adriatic or Mediterranean for a fortnight or so. But it doesn’t mean I cannot appreciate the different kind of beauty of what I have at home.
Of course, the weather is the biggest factor for me in all of this, because sitting in a cold breeze wearing essentially winter clothes that I have worn for 8 months consecutively in the middle of August isn’t really that cute. But, if summer stays around for longer than the fortnight it has already been here, what is at my doorstep is literally someone else’s dream holiday.
I can easily take public transport in the early morning, make my way to the dunes and hang out on the beach with not much on my mind for the rest of the day; reading a book and gazing into the horizon. Sipping cappuccino in a surfer café-beach bar shack isn’t so bad after all, because it is so far removed from my everyday life. Vacation mode switches on as soon as the soles of my feet hit the sand.
If you realize the privilege of being exactly where you are, every staycation can become glamorous and relaxing.
I have a loyal follower on Instagram with whom I sometimes exchange. He lives in a city I once lived in. Every Saturday, he goes for a run and posts pictures of his morning run. To him, it’s just a run. To me, it is reconnecting me with a place I miss a lot; it lets me dream of walking down the streets and visiting shops and places I loved.
After all, isn’t that what all Instagramers do: “This is where I am at, and how beautiful is it”? And I don’t mean that in a negative way; to the contrary. It can also be the ‘wish you were here’ urge, we feel the need to share in the moment. I think that when we think about where we live in that way, if we make home ‘instagrammable’ so to speak, it can make us so much more appreciative of and grateful for what we have.
You can completely romanticize the entire experience by changing your perspective. Your normal is someone else’s dream. Whether you are going to the beach, hiking in the mountains, looking over the hills of Tuscany or sunsets at the Pacific, or whether you sit and eat ice-cream in Central Park; whether you live in the Netherlands, Tokyo, London, or the South of France, someone else would love to be where you are right now.
Maybe the Tropezians get bored of Saint Tropez, too. Have you ever thought of that? But they wouldn’t show you that on Instagram, would they?
Maybe your forest walk would be the ultimate luxury for an asthmatic city dweller.
Maybe it is time that we looked at our staycations with the eyes of a tourist. What would you make of your days if you had saved an entire year to pay for the flights and the hotel to transport you to where you are? What would you do if you only stayed for a week? Maybe draw up a list of things you’d recommend a stranger do in your place and use it as an itinerary for your staycation.
Just do things you never find the time for. Try the new neighbourhood restaurant, go for a hike, read that beach side novel; whatever it is.
Being grateful for what we have can really make or break a staycation. The most important thing is to exit the routine and change your vantage point. And in the end, you do not even have to pay for flights.
I really hope you all have a good time vacationing and hope to see you here again soon.
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.
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 17thBundesland, 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.
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.
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 theBarcelona 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 thePicasso 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.
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!
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.
The comfy traveller's diaries 