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.
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 joiningmy 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 gelatoat 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 14th 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.
When I think of auntie Catherine’s living room featuring a stationary bike, I would not necessarily call that room a ‘gym’. However, this seems to somehow be okay when you have a hotel. Having that kind of ‘gym’ immediately entitles you to a surcharge of at least 50 EUR on your rooms per night. Better yet: you put up a mirrored wall next to that single stationary bike, so that it photographs as two stationary bikes in a spacious and inviting room, rather than the closet that it really is. It also appears to be mandatory to have that closet somewhere in the basement and an awkward backroom elevator or semi-outdoor staircase leading down to it to move your hotel up the starred ladder.
But not all hotel gyms are let-downs. There are indeed hotels that do have a decently sized, well-equipped fitness room. The hard part is to identify them when you book.
It is almost a science to spot the optical illusion of the mirrored closet in the pictures on the hotel website or booking platform; if you care about your gym time even on a trip, you’ll likely have figured that out a while ago. I can’t say I am nailing that science yet, but I can definitely spot a misnomer in a second these days.
If you are travelling to a city destination and not staying in a five star or chain hotel, very likely, the ‘gym’ won’t be great and not feature more than that single stationary bike, one treadmill (mostly facing a blank wall) and a cross-trainer aka elliptical machine. If it has a rower, you hit the jackpot. It will also help to be short because most of these fitness rooms have extremely low ceilings, and I often wonder whether anyone over 1,80 m tall will hit their head when stepping onto the treadmill. If you are lucky, that basement room may have a few weights, but those would serve most people for a warmup set and, in any event, there won’t be space for doing anything other than a biceps curl with this rather basic set of home workout tools.
In such settings, you are probably better off just getting your 20.000 steps in by doing some robust sightseeing on foot.
There is also the variant of ‘next-door-access’ to a real commercial gym. This can be fabulous or the most traumatizing experience in your gym career as happened to me last time I went to London.
My God. I wouldn’t call myself feeble or overly self-conscious, shy or hesitant, but that gym intimidated me and made me feel uncomfortable to the core. I don’t know about other ladies, but the fact that this testosterone cage was exclusively filled with loudly grunting gym-bros, had not been cleaned in a decade, featured ‘unisex’ toilets/bathrooms/showers or whatever it was (the sign on the door frightened me too much to even have a peek inside) was unbearable.
I have never felt so out of place and unsafe in a gym than there; and the worst part: it is advertised as ‘belonging’ to the hotel. A four-star hotel mind you. Turns out, it was a commercially run place for which the hotel gave you a ‘token’ (attached to a large wooden brick so you wouldn’t steal it!) to enter and made you walk around the building in the freezing cold for access. However, lockers (yes, I wore a puffer jacket on the way there) for where to put your jacket weren’t accessible to the hotel guests because that would have required a padlock. So, great thinking there, Mr. hotel manager, you have really done the research or maybe I just need to improve my skills at reading the fine print.
At the other end of the spectrum, I have been to several very nice ‘next-door gyms’. Spotless, clean, and well-equipped. One of the best next-door gyms has been in my favourite beach destination, where, honestly, going for a run along the promenade was much nicer, but I was curious to try out this gym and found myself walking right into a real-world men’s health magazine. Quite an unforgettable experience! And people were welcoming and nice and even though I did not necessarily ‘fit’ with the crowd, I did not feel looked-at, intimidated or out of place.
The premium option in the world of hotel gyms though are the ones that are so great that even locals have a gym membership at the hotel; often, you’ll find that option in generous spa/wellness areas of larger hotel chains. I have had great experiences in the Middle East. In Dubai, it even came with a stunning Burj Khalifa view.
But rather than giving you a run-down of the different options and kinds of hotel gyms that exist, I wanted to tell you why I find hotel gyms necessary or important. There are several reasons. For one, I love my gym routine and if I am, for instance, travelling for business and the trip lasts an entire week or longer, the thought of skipping the gym is a terrifying one for me. I need my workouts to stay alert and feel good or to relieve the stress of the day or mentally wind down after a long day of meetings and sitting.
Second, hotel gyms are a kind of refuge for me when I don’t necessary feel like solo-dining but don’t also want to exclusively be stuck in the room or sit in the lobby getting hit on by middle-aged creeps. Getting a workout in and then rewarding yourself with a hot shower and in-room dining is so much more fulfilling than just stuffing your face with a club sandwich and watching the news on tv.
Third, and this would go for summer vacations mainly, if I have been lying on the beach all day, I have the urge to move. I cannot just get out of bed, go for breakfast, to the beach, back for dining and back to bed. Plus, most desirable summer destination will have excellent food options and burning a few more calories before enjoying dinner has never hurt anyone. Of course, you can swim and go for long walks in some places, but not everywhere. For example, when I went to Crete, the sea was too rough to swim and the area around the hotel not the most inviting unfortunately. Have a look at that blog post if you are interested. The ‘gym’ in that hotel, however, was a complete joke. It consisted of a few pull-up bars out in the open and to address perceived ‘female’ needs the hotel offered yoga classes in the mornings. Needless to say: I attended neither. But that holiday was also one of those where I missed the gym the most. It could have compensated for a lot and filled an emotional void.
I wonder whether other people feel like I do or whether you would find it crazy to go to the gym during a holiday or business trip? In my opinion though, it really depends on how long the trip lasts and what your purpose really is. If you just want to recharge your batteries and do absolutely nothing – which we all need once in a while – then, forget about the gym. If all you want to do is walk around Rome, Paris or London, you also likely do not need a treadmill (although you might worry about your upper body gains). But if you travel solo and loathe successive solo-dinners, you may actually appreciate this little sanctuary to re-charge your batteries in a different way. And, more often than not, this is how I feel about a hotel gym, as a sanctuary.
Am I the only one or do other people also admire the art of travelling light? I am always amazed by people who can go on a week-long trip with a carry-on suitcase and still look somewhat put together. I don’t know how they do it. It’s aspirational. I, on the other hand, have no problem bringing a full-sized suitcase and a carry-on on a three-day trip (yes, Milan 2025; it was great). And believe it or not, that amount of luggage doesn’t cater for all options, weather situations or a change of coats. I simply do not manage to pack efficiently; it is as simple as that. While in real life, I am content with little and get overwhelmed by too much stuff and cluttered spaces, packing a suitcase is somehow in a different orbit. I can actually remember the last time I managed to travel with carry-on only, and that was to London in October 2024. Because, you guessed it, the trip was hardly 48 hours and the weather in London in October will always be cold and rainy and all you need is a pair of rainproof shoes, a jumper and not much else.
But currently, I am staring my aspirational choice of a “no check-in baggage” ticket option right in the eye; and I am determined to make it work. We all need to challenge ourselves from time to time and get out of our comfort zone (the comfort of being overly prepared in my case). I tell myself that it will be for only two nights and that I can do it, but somehow, I am still having doubts. In my defence, I need to also let you know that I have a small carry-on trolley and not the maxed-out kind that many other travellers use. I find it sleeker, handier, and in all honesty, I often travel on the smaller planes where the large ones just don’t fit, and the airline makes you check them in at the gate. And then what? Shall I carry my laptop, camera etc. in my hand from that point on? Definitely not. So, even though I find it difficult to pack less, it was a conscious choice to buy this ticket fare.
Not because I am excessively cheap, but because I thought that bringing an actual suitcase on such a short trip would be completely ridiculous. And if there is one thing I hate, it’s to look ridiculous. At the same time, I also hate being inappropriately dressed. It’s a real struggle for a person who likes to make a bella figura at all times.
One of the factors that makes this experiment of hand-luggage only travel somewhat easier is that there is no time for … wait, no; the hotel doesn’t have a gym. That was one of the compromises I had to make when looking for an aesthetically pleasing and affordable hotel option. It’s a shame of course, but what can you do? So, discounting an entire gym outfit, including chunky trainers will definitely come in handy when trying to minimize the number of things I am going to bring. Maybe one of these days I should tell you about my love-hate relationship with hotel gyms. It’ll be a fun blog to read, I promise.
But it is not necessarily the gym that I miss. Sometimes, I would just love to go for a nice morning run to see a place in the silent hours before it will all be flooded with traffic or flocks of tourists. I get jealous at the morning runners in Paris or on beach promenades. There is just something so scenic and calm about running along the river banks; joining the regulars and covering so much more area than you ever could on a walk. Let’s just say that for now, I will put that plan on the back burner and see how and if I have space left in the end. Unlikely, you are probably thinking. And I am sure you are right.
Ever since I booked this trip, got my museum tickets, and chose a hotel, I have been mulling over the question of what a woman actually needs on a weekend trip. Will I take a chance on the hair dryer? Improbable. So that will need to come. What about shoes? That’s a difficult one. Although – unlike what my work colleagues seem to believe – I am not a reincarnation of Emilda Marcos (aka your average luxury fashion influencer). I do, however, strongly believe in dressing for the occasion.
In my case, this will be an urban environment, likely featuring cobble stone streets, and long-distance walking for two days. I don’t believe in wearing trainers out in daily life and Converse seem, well, not elegant enough for the place I am going to. Likely I am looking at three pairs of shoes here: one for walking, one for dinners out, and something comfier to wear on the plane? In any event, I recommend bringing more than one pair of shoes. If ever they turn out to be uncomfortable and you get into a blister situation, you want to be able to change your shoes, believe me. I was once so desperate and in pain that I ended up buying a new pair of moccasins in Paris (as in: the first ones I could find), and that isn’t really a great plan because in the grand scheme of things you probably neither need nor want the ‘first best option’ pair of shoes in your closet later on.
With clothes, I am surprisingly much lower maintenance. I have embraced being the basic girl when it comes to outfits, because I find them more age appropriate ever since I crossed the 35 divide and basic outfits are much easier to combine. The same three or four pieces can go a long way in terms of different outfits. Since I must be extra minimalist here, I’ll content myself with one pair of dark denim – because they are both day and evening appropriate and can be dressed up or down, depending on the context.
Toiletries and makeup are a no-brainer since I have my pre-assembled a ‘travel bag’ in a drawer and I can simply grab my gym kit for makeup. However, there’s always the miscellaneous stuff: a hairbrush, chargers, a journal, my agenda, spare glasses, sunglasses, an umbrella, and a foldable shopping bag because in most European countries, you no longer get a bag in the shops and supermarkets – or they are made of paper, which will be pointless once it starts to rain.
Even though nobody likes to talk about these mundane items, they do take up real space. So, to all those: “Why are you bringing so much stuff” interrogators, please let me know how you deal with these items when you travel. I am genuinely curious and would really appreciate some comments or ideas.
And in the end, I need some space, as in ‘ma’ or empty space, because I might just buy a little something.
I realized it was nearly two weeks since my last post and, I am not going to lie – I have no travel story to tell you this time around. At the same time, I’d hate to not post, because I have made this commitment that I would post something every other week and here we are – earlier than expected somehow.
January and February are not my favourite months. The weather is atrocious and sometimes disabling (when roads are icy and getting around becomes a problem) and I therefore tend to have no plans to go anywhere; this holds true even more so after the recent travel debacle I told you about two weeks ago. If you will, I am in a state of travel hibernation and to go full disclosure: I did not even unpack my carry on until a week after I returned. Yes, you heard that right. I don’t know whether that’s a form of denial or simple laziness. Uninspired I would call it, but only a psychologist would be able to give you an accurate answer to that one.
During the hibernation months I am usually on auto pilot: gym, work and not much else. Maybe because I am constantly feeling tired and cold, or maybe it is because it appears that nighttime lasts about 15 hours a day. Everything is slow and full of effort somehow. I tend to prepare and eat the same meals until I get terribly bored of them once March rolls around and I otherwise take great comfort in my routine and hibernation. The only place I am willing to push the boundaries is the gym, really; my highlight of the day.
But of course, I am thinking about travelling at this time of year and taking baby steps towards it. Well, ok, maybe some concrete ones, too, as I did book a flight for a trip as soon as the weather allows and I am currently reviewing my options in terms of hotels, museums etc. Frighteningly enough, I find that these days all museums seem to have time slots and advance ticket sales for three months down the line. That doesn’t sit terribly well with my resolution to be more spontaneous I must say. But at the same time, I also don’t want to find myself in the situation where I go somewhere special and find that I completely failed to prepare, being left without tickets to a museum I really wanted to see. It wouldn’t be the first time, mind you, but in life we learn, or at least, we should learn from our mistakes. In this modern world, being spontaneous has unfortunately become quite a luxury.
I don’t want to give away too much at this point, but the place I am going to is somewhere I have never been before, and I am very excited about. It’s going to be a short weekend trip, as my 9 to 5 doesn’t allow for much more at the moment, but I really hope I will have ‘enough’ time to see and experience some world class art, culture, and food while still soaking in the local atmosphere. The other question is whether I will be able to pack light for a change …
I am hoping it won’t be too touristy at this time of the year and that I’ll be able to find places to eat that aren’t over-hyped tourist traps. Sadly, this is a problem I frequently encounter during my travels. Being somewhat limited in my radius for reasons of travelling alone as a woman and not being overly comfortable to wander the unknown at night, I sometimes find that accessible options are tourist traps, and that’s a real shame. I suppose excessive online reviews and countless repetitive copy-cat style travel vlogs seeking out places ‘because they are viral on TikTok’ don’t help. If I already see thousands of TripAdvisor reviews, I am a lot less likely to want to try a place to be perfectly honest with you. It’s maybe stupid, but it just doesn’t sit right with me because I think no local will ever step foot in such a place and that in itself makes me doubt quality and authenticity. Feel free to call me a snob. I’ll take that as a compliment.
Another thing that makes me very excited about going to this place is that I am trying to retrace a few of my grandma’s steps. She bought me a pair of golden earrings in one of the artisan jewellers in this city. Sadly, they have fallen victim to a burglary, including the little case they came in, but I vividly remember the writing on the small black box and how special this souvenir was for me. I must have been ten years old or maybe twelve. If you have read one of my first blogs back in summer 2025, you will know that my grandma has very much inspired my love and courage for solo-travel.
My main trouble seemed to be to find an aesthetically pleasing hotel. Scrolling through the pictures on the platform I tend to use, I see lots of dated décor and colourful plush options that give me the hives just from imagining the dust mites having the time of their lives. There is an equally shocking abundance of curtains and wallpapers with overladen colourful patterns and colour-schemes that appear to be in a sort of screaming war with each other. It does not seem to be so easy to find calm and clean lines at an affordable price point; but what I find more puzzling is that the pictures I see of nightmare-worthy décor fetches top ratings from former hotel guests. Clearly, we are not on the same wavelength here and I need to just try out something that seems to be more my own vibe. I think I found a place that satisfies what I am looking for, and if it is beautiful and an overall good fit, I will let you know in a forthcoming blog.
So, if you are also feeling the winter blues, just enjoy the downtime. Spring will come soon enough, and travel will be more fun again. I promise.
It is that time of year again. Resolutions. While I haven’t really seen the dreaded influx of new-years-resolutioners clogging up the gym floor, I know that many people consciously make plans for bettering themselves this year (and every year come 1 January.) Some people vow to finally lose the weight (and I am no stranger to that myself), some finally decide to hit the gym, or quit a long-lingering vice to ‘become healthier’. But setting new year’s resolutions doesn’t always have to do with bettering ourselves physically. It can also be focused on organizing one’s travel plans for the next twelve months. And this year, I have decided to play it slightly differently. In fact, I decided to organize them less.
It’s not like I ever really sat with my calendar and planned out the year. I have always been the ‘organized mess’ type of person. I go by gut feelings and general direction, rather than daily to do lists because life has taught me that only few things are within our hands to plan ahead and in detail. I also tend to get bored of sameness and rigid schedules or regimes, and that’s a good thing, because it keeps me hungry to explore what else life has to offer.
And even though I like my routines, I need to break out of them once in a while because otherwise I would go mad. So, when I speak about organizing my travel plans, I rather mean thinking about where I want to go, how often I can afford to travel within a twelve-month period and where I will likely go. Once I have thoroughly thought about it, I will book at least one trip that will be fixed in my calendar to have something to look forward to. It’s like a goal with a plan rather than a lofty ambition of ‘I want to travel this year’. I book a flight and a hotel and pencil it into my agenda. It creates a fait accompli in my head and gives me something to dream about during the drab, dark and rainy days of winter. If I feel particularly adventurous, I will book the non-refundable rate to make it that little bit more concrete and non-negotiable. Most of these travel anchors in my agenda will be sunny destinations, or well-travelled cities I know will breathe some life into my nine-to-five reality. Booking something relatively far down the line, like in September for instance, amplifies my excitement and I normally prefer to aim for that time of year when it comes to this one definite trip.
But this year, I decided to be more adventurous and the only fixed trip in my agenda is connected to a medical check-up in the first quarter of the year, while the rest of the pages in my 2026 agenda will remain unchartered territory for now. For the first time in a while, I am not going to rush to get a good deal on my favourite summer destination. I decided to chill out a bit this year and really take it month by month. Baby steps they say when it comes to other goals, such as lifting PR weights or losing a set amount of weight. In 2026, I will try this approach. And who knows, maybe I will get inspired beyond my usual limits.
Because, let’s be honest, more often than not, my pre-planned trips are city breaks to places I have already been to. Not terribly exciting for a travel blogger you might think, but not necessarily wrong either. Perhaps a little uninventive but at the same time, I genuinely love the places I keep returning to and it’s not like I have seen all there is to Paris or Milan within a 48-hour dash into the centre of town. If there are places that work for you as a solo traveller, that you enjoy and look forward to visiting periodically, why not? You also return to your favourite café or restaurant, don’t you? The kind of traveller and person that I am, I am not looking to become that insta-girl affixing 80 flags to her profile or checking off a bucket list of countries just to prove I am a worthy of calling myself a travel blogger. It is in fact very unlikely that you will see much more than Paris and Milan and maybe a bit of the rest of Europe on my blog or Instagram in the next decade. Because travelling solo isn’t easy; travelling solo when you are female and handicapped and hence without a driving licence, is harder. It’s not like I wouldn’t enjoy a road trip through Spain; it’s just that these kinds of trips aren’t in the cards for me as long as I travel solo.
Does that mean I will no longer venture beyond my comfort zone? No, of course it does not. Because I might just wake up tomorrow and decide to go to Australia. But trips like that require actual planning ahead and I am not sure I am ready for it yet. On the contrary, a weekend trip to a city nearby always works out somehow, even if it will mean working harder to meet a certain deadline a few days ahead of time to be able to take that Friday or Monday off.
Much about my travels is about getting a break from my everyday routine and 2026 will be no different in that regard. It is about breaking out of those habits and about getting new ideas. It’s that different perspective and input that I am chasing in my travels. Just this time around, I want to be a bit more spontaneous and go with the flow rather than planning out several trips at once. Let’s see how it will turn out, but I am very excited for a bit more spontaneity this year.
London and I have a very difficult relationship. It’s been a rocky road. At the same time, I have very strong bonds and deep friendships with people who live there, and this is the main reason I started coming to London again in the recent years; because in other regards London feels like a distant relationship that ended in unfinished conversations. But as with all failed relationships, things happen for a reason and to teach us lessons in life. And in the end, all lessons take us forward and let us grow. London and I were just never meant to be, no matter how thankful I am today for the lessons I learned.
When I come to London now, I of course choose to see its pretty and glamurous side only. And pretty it can be!
I really must give it to London; it can be so charming and over-the-top. Nothing really compares. December is for sure one of my favourite times to see London, probably the favourite time. The crisp air and overheated stores, the sumptuous décor and iconic Christmas lighting give it that very special touch. I can’t help but find it exceptionally Christmassy; it just has this very special allure.
Strolling down Regents Street or browsing through glossy, high-end things at Selfridges, I simply love it. Have you ever been to Fortnum and Mason’s Food Hall? Or the one in Harrods? It’s breathtaking. Not that I am into Christmas pudding, but the sumptuous packages just captivate me so much. No one overdoes Christmas quite as well as the British!
I think it is the mesmerizing atmosphere that fascinates me the most. While I normally find the dark days in the Northern hemisphere depressing, they make London extra special for me. You can be out and about in a busy street in the dark at 3 p.m. and it is charming and nostalgic, even when it rains.
When I go to visit London now, I am very selective about the parts of it I want to see. I only stay in the boroughs arranged around Hyde Park, because they remind me of the good times we had. Hyde Park was always there for me. We hung out a lot, and it never judged. I started running in Hyde Park, 20 kg overweight from countless late nights in the library over the years, in red leggings I found in Zara on sale. It sends shivers down my spine when I think of that outfit with the blessing of hindsight, but my skinny student budget only went so far.
Hyde Park connects all my favourite places in this city, starting from the Greek Cathedral of Hagia Sofia in Bayswater where I used to attend Saturday evening prayers to High Street Kensington on the other end. I still love taking the double decker buses just for sightseeing along its bounds and I would even dare to go as far as to say that I miss Hyde Park.
Watching its enormity from a double-decker bus is so much prettier and chill than squeezing into the tube sniffing commuters’ armpits and pushing the bounds of my germaphobia.
When I come to London now, I never stay long. Because, in keeping with its personality, it remains unattainable for most, and I like to keep it classy. After all, I have moved on since student days and like to stay in comfort and style. I come to spend quality time with the people I love. As with any harsh environment, the bonds you forge in it are there to last a lifetime. My friends and I, we went through a lot together and I must see them once in a while to replenish on love.
This time, my best friend and I treated ourselves to a wonderful Peking Duck experience at the Min Jiang Restaurant in the Royal Garden Hotel on High Street Kensington, overlooking my trusted old companion, Hyde Park. It was delicious and definitely on another level compared to our student days when we could hardly even afford egg fried rice in China town.
These days, I always make a point of stopping at Whole Foods as well, one of my absolute favourite supermarkets in the whole world. It’s just a quirky habit of mine to visit supermarkets abroad. Whole Foods Kensington is huge, it’s amazing and just extra. I simply love it. If you don’t really know London, or don’t know what part of town to see besides the tourist classics, I highly recommend High Street Kensington. It is classy with a variety of shops, cafés and restaurants, and home to all the major high street brands without being as crowded as Oxford Street. You’ll find all the British staples, such as Marks & Spencer, Holland & Barrett and Boots, too but don’t have to elbow your way through on the pavement. Caffé Concerto used to be one of my favourite places to go for a birthday treat. It’s changed a bit since, but the cakes still look delicious in the display.
While London and I definitely grew estranged, I am still very happy to return every once in a while, and you can rest assured that I will continue to share some insights and recommendations in the future whenever I go.
I am not affiliated with or sponsored by any of the restaurants, shops, and hotels mentioned or otherwise featured in this blog post.
The comfy traveller's diaries 