Adam

I used to consider myself a person who likes to travel, although, to be honest, I loved mostly the part of travel where everything is known in advance: tickets are bought, the hotel is booked, the route is laid out, and the nearest restaurant is found at home according to reviews from other tourists. I liked to imagine myself as a brave explorer of new countries, but in reality I preferred that the research took place on schedule, without unpleasant surprises and preferably with a good Internet connection. If the navigator said turn right, I turned right, even if a street with incredibly beautiful houses started on the left, and if the app showed that it was a seven-minute walk to the train station, then I started to get nervous on the sixth. In general, my comfort zone was well equipped.: There were familiar routes, clear rules, and the confidence that in any incomprehensible situation, I could open my smartphone and pretend that I was in control. One day, I realized that even my vacation had turned into a small work shift, where I was simultaneously responsible for logistics, food, security, and timely arrival at attractions. I could spend half a day preparing for a walk, studying reviews about cafes and comparing routes, but at the same time I completely did not notice the city itself. I wanted everything to be perfect, and that's why I was constantly afraid that something would go wrong. At some point, I caught myself thinking that it had been a long time since I had experienced a real surprise, because I carefully excluded even accidental discoveries from the program, as if they could ruin my vacation. The trip where everything went a little wrong The turning point was my trip to Istanbul, where I went for a few days, hoping to take a quiet walk around the city, see the famous sights and finally take a break from the usual hustle and bustle. The first morning started quite well: I had breakfast at the hotel, checked the weather forecast, opened the map and went to explore the area, having prepared the route in advance with such seriousness, as if I was going not to walk around the city, but to lead a small operation. It was with great difficulty that I figured out how the subway works in a big city, but my difficulties did not end there. Istanbul Metro Line M8 However, an hour later it turned out that the street I needed was blocked, the navigator persistently offered to go through an alley, and I did not understand where I was at all. The most annoying thing was that there were beautiful old houses, small shops, the smell of fresh pastries and noisy cafes around, but instead of enjoying what was happening, I stood in the middle of the street and angrily pointed my finger at the phone screen. After several unsuccessful attempts to get the situation back under control, I finally put my smartphone in my pocket and decided to just go where I wanted to go, and not where the blue line on the map was pointing. Of course, it was at this moment that I finally lost my direction, but I saw a street cat that lifted my spirits. In Turkey, animals are treated with great respect, and I have met cats more than once on my way on this journey. Then I found a small coffee shop where the locals were sitting, talking, reading newspapers, and they didn't look like people who urgently needed to run somewhere. I ordered tea, not really understanding how to pronounce the name correctly, and received a glass of hot drink, which turned out to be much tastier than I expected from a place I found by chance. As I sat at a small table and watched the passers-by, it gradually dawned on me that for the first time in the last few hours I was truly on a journey, and not trying to organize it so that not a single minute was wasted. The first step is to talk to a stranger. On the same day, I had to face another challenge, which probably looked completely frivolous from the outside, but for me it turned out to be almost a feat. I wanted to get to one observation deck, but I got confused by public transport stops and couldn't figure out which way to go. Previously, I would have continued to study the diagrams, spent another half hour searching for information, and most likely ended up calling a taxi so as not to tempt fate, but this time I decided to ask for directions from a man who was standing nearby drinking coffee. My English suddenly seemed terrible to me, the gestures looked ridiculous, and a phrase that I had mentally rehearsed several times flew out of my head at the very moment when the stranger turned to me. I tried to explain where I wanted to go, showed the address on my phone and prepared myself for not being understood, but the man calmly looked at the map, explained something and even showed me where I needed to move. Moreover, he noticed my confusion, smiled, and helped me figure out the route for a few minutes, although he probably had his own things to do. At that moment, I realized how much I sometimes exaggerate my own fears: I was afraid of sounding stupid, mispronouncing a few words, or making someone uncomfortable, while the other person just helped me and continued my day. Taksim Square After this small victory, I began to change my behavior a little bit, although I can't say that in one day I turned into a fearless traveler who is able to talk to anyone in any language. I was still worried when I had to ask questions, sometimes I was confused and periodically checked the route, but now at least I didn't consider every unplanned situation a personal defeat. But now I feel much more confident, even in crowded places, like Taksim Square in Beyoglu district. The architectural ensemble of the square was designed in 1930 by the French architect Henri Prost, which is perhaps why this place feels such a genuine European style. It turned out that leaving the comfort zone does not necessarily have to be accompanied by a parachute jump, climbing a dangerous peak or traveling into the jungle without any connection with civilization. Sometimes it's enough to admit that you don't know the way, ask for help, and let another person see that you're not as omniscient and independent as you used to seem to yourself. I started doing things that I hadn't dared to do before. In the following days, I purposely left free time in my schedule so as not to turn every exit from the hotel into another race for the sights. I could turn onto an unfamiliar street, go into a small bakery, try a dish whose name meant nothing to me, or just sit by the water, watching the ferries and people rushing about their business. Sometimes my experiments turned out to be not very successful: one day I ordered food, focusing solely on the photo on the menu, and received a dish that looked as if the chef had decided to test my readiness for extreme tourism right at the dining table. I ate as much as I could, washed it all down with tea, and mentally ticked myself off for my courage, even though my stomach didn't quite seem to share my enthusiasm. Sirkeci Terminal I went to the historic railway station in Istanbul, although it was not part of my itinerary. It's just that I wasn't far away and I don't regret being in this place at all. Gradually, I noticed that I stopped depending so much on other people's reviews and pre-written recommendations, because I had my own impressions that could not be found on the Internet. One cafe might turn out to be noisy and crowded, another street might look completely different from the beautiful photographs, and some unremarkable courtyard would suddenly become a place to return to. I was no longer trying to prove to myself that I knew how to travel properly, and for the first time I allowed the trip to be what it was. This didn't mean that I stopped planning or became a reckless person, it was just that I now realized that a good route was needed for convenience, not to deprive myself of all the surprises. The most interesting discovery was that along with the habit of controlling every little thing, my constant anxiety gradually disappeared, especially in public places. Previously, I could ruin my mood because of a late bus, sudden rain, or a closed museum, because I perceived any deviation from the plan as a problem that needed to be fixed immediately. Now I often asked myself another question: what interesting things can be done in this situation? If it started to rain, I looked for a cozy cafe, if the route changed, I looked at new streets, and if something didn't work out, I tried not to waste the rest of the day on irritation. Of course, sometimes I grumbled anyway, especially when my sneakers got wet or my phone ran out of battery at the most inopportune moment, but at least now I realized that this was not a disaster, but an ordinary part of the journey. What has changed in me since my return When I returned home, it seemed to me that no great changes had happened, because I had not conquered a mountain peak, traveled around the world, or even learned to speak a foreign language fluently. I just spent a few days in an unfamiliar city, where I sometimes got lost, tasted unusual food, asked for help, and allowed myself to change plans when circumstances turned out differently. However, in the first weeks after the trip, I noticed that I began to feel more relaxed about situations in which I had previously felt insecure. It was easier for me to ask questions, meet people, try new things, and admit that I might not know something without seeing it as a disadvantage. I also realized that my comfort zone was not something bad, as is sometimes said in motivational articles, where a person is asked to immediately drop everything familiar and go towards the unknown. In fact, I still like comfortable hotels, pre-purchased tickets and the opportunity to see the route before leaving home, because comfort really makes traveling more enjoyable. The problem began when the desire to feel confident turned into fear of any deviation from the usual order, and the desire to anticipate everything prevented me from enjoying what was happening. Now I try not to destroy my own comfort zone, but to gradually expand it, adding new experiences and situations to my life in which I have to learn something unfamiliar. Since then, I've started agreeing to small adventures more often, even if I'm not sure everything will go perfectly, and I try not to turn down an interesting opportunity just because it seems unusual. Sometimes it's a trip to an unfamiliar city without a detailed plan, sometimes it's a conversation with a person I'll never see again, and sometimes it's a completely simple thing to go to a restaurant where the menu is written in an unfamiliar language and try to figure it out without the help of an interpreter. I don't always feel confident, and to be honest, sometimes I want to get back into the old habit of being in control, but now I know that worrying doesn't necessarily mean I'm doing the wrong thing. Perhaps it is at such moments that I learn a little more about myself than I could have learned if I had remained in familiar circumstances. Sometimes it's enough just to take a wrong turn. Now, remembering that trip to Istanbul, I realize that what I remember most is not the famous mosques, beautiful views, and photos that I brought home, but a few completely ordinary moments that were not originally on my itinerary. It was a cup of tea in a small cafe, the help of a stranger, a walk through streets whose names I didn't even remember, and the feeling that I didn't necessarily need to know in advance how each day would end. It was then that I truly realized for the first time that traveling can change a person not only through new places, but also through situations in which habitual ways of behavior stop working. When the ability to control everything disappears, you have to look around more carefully, reach out to people, make decisions, and trust yourself a little more than before. Galata Bridge I can't say that I became a completely different person after this trip, because habits don't disappear in a few days, and confidence doesn't appear at the click of my fingers at 3.15. But I definitely stopped considering my own fear as an obligatory reason to give up something interesting and learned to perceive the unknown not only as a threat, but also as an opportunity. Now, if I find myself on an unfamiliar street and realize that I've taken a wrong turn, I try to look around first, and only then grab my phone and demand immediate rescue from the navigator. I had this strategy on an unfamiliar bridge over the Golden Horn Bay, and later I found out that it was the Galata Bridge, built in 1910. Its length is 484 meters, probably like the length of my anxious thoughts before. But I'm glad I realized that, after all, sometimes the most important discoveries begin at the very moment when you lose your way, stop panicking, and for the first time in a long time allow yourself to just see where the road leads.

There are cities where I know in advance where I'm going to go, where I'm going to have lunch, and at about what time I'm going to start regretting wearing uncomfortable shoes. Valencia is just one of those places where it is easy to make a route for several days: the old town, the market, the City of Arts and Sciences, the beach, the gardens of Turia, and then for a long time to try to understand why the legs no longer want to participate in the cultural program. But one evening I was sitting at the hotel, flipping through the map without any specific purpose, and noticed a small green dot slightly off my usual route. It was called Jardín de Monforte, the Gardens of Monforte, and I had absolutely no idea what it was. I opened the photos, looked at some pictures and thought the place looked nice, but nothing special. In Valencia, it's generally difficult to surprise a person with a beautiful garden when you have a huge Turia next to you, so at first I just wanted to close the map and forget about this find. But then my tourist curiosity kicked in, which sometimes leads me to beautiful places, and sometimes makes me go completely wrong for half an hour. This time, fortunately, the card turned out to be right. I just wanted to see what was out there. The next day, I went there without much expectation. And that's exactly what I liked later: I didn't go to the famous landmark, didn't stand in line, and didn't even have time to come up with a beautiful photo for my phone in advance. The Monforte Gardens are not far from other green spaces in Valencia, but they look as if they were deliberately hidden from a person who walks too fast through the city. There is a completely different world behind the stone fence, and a small pavilion precedes the entrance. The official tourism website of Valencia also calls Monforte one of the lesser-known places in the city, and the city Park Service describes it as a neoclassical garden for walking and relaxing. I went inside and just stood there for the first few seconds. Not because I saw something grandiose, but because I did not expect to see such a thing in this place at all. A few minutes ago, I was walking along an ordinary city street with cars, traffic lights and people in a hurry, and now I found myself among neatly trimmed bushes, marble sculptures, fountains and quiet alleys. And then I realized that I had accidentally found exactly what I was looking for, even though I hadn't even known what I was looking for before. A small piece of another Valencia The Monforte Gardens are designed in the neoclassical style and occupy just over 12 thousand square meters. There are sculptures, fountains, hedges, flower areas and old trees, and the garden itself is designed so that something new constantly appears around one corner. Monforte Gardens I especially liked the feeling that the garden wasn't trying to show itself all at once. You walk along one path, see a fountain ahead, turn off – a sculpture appears, a few more steps – and another corner opens. At some point, I realized that I had completely stopped looking at my phone. When traveling, I usually photograph almost everything that seems interesting to me, and then in the evening I find about one hundred and forty-seven identical photographs of the same building in the gallery, taken with a slight angle change. Here, I just wanted to keep going. I almost walked by Monforte Gardens in Valencia The funny thing is, if I hadn't opened the map by accident, I might not have gotten here at all. I was walking through Valencia and I knew perfectly well that there was a large city park nearby, but I didn't know anything about Montfort. That's why I like such places more than many famous attractions. When you arrive at the Eiffel Tower or the Colosseum, you know in advance what you're going to see, have a rough idea of the photos, and even understand where the rest of the tourists will be standing. But here I had no expectations at all. It was almost like opening the door to a room you didn't know existed before. The story I learned after the walk Later, I decided to read a little about this place and found out that the history of the garden is much more interesting than I expected. Its origin is connected with a former suburban area outside of old Valencia, and in the 19th century, the Marquis de San Juan, Juan Bautista Romero, acquired the site, who commissioned architect Sebastian Monleon to turn the area into a garden. After the death of the Marquis, the garden passed to the Monforte family, and in the 20th century it became the property of the city. It opened to the public in 1973. I especially liked to find out after the walk. Before that, I was just walking among the trees and sculptures and thought that in front of me was a beautiful old park, but then it turned out that there was quite a long story behind this beauty. However, I have one habit that I can't beat: first see the place, then admire, and only then read where I've been. That's probably why my travels sometimes feel like an investigation in which I'm the main suspect. The most unexpected thing is silence The silence surprised me the most. Not absolute, of course, because Valencia has not disappeared anywhere behind the stone fence, but after the noise of the city inside the garden it really becomes much calmer. I sat down by one of the fountains and just stared at the water for a while. Someone was reading a book nearby, then a couple were talking in low voices, and somewhere else footsteps could be heard on the path. And that's when I realized that I didn't want to go anywhere at all. For a person who usually lives by the principle of "once you arrive, you need to see everything" during a trip, this is quite a serious achievement. Of course, I messed up everything. Then I decided to take some photos. This is where my traditional struggle with reality began. In the first picture, a man I hadn't noticed at all somehow got into the frame. On the second one, I cut off half of the sculpture. On the third one, everything was fine, except for my finger, which somehow ended up in front of the camera. I looked at the result, sighed, and decided that maybe the universe was trying to hint: stop taking pictures, just sit. Sometimes she's right, but it still turned out to be some good shots, in my opinion. A place where I took my time I spent a lot more time in the garden than I intended. Initially, I thought that I would go in for twenty minutes, see what kind of place it was, take some photos and continue the route. As a result, twenty minutes turned into an hour, and then I found that I was already starting to remember where the nearest cafe was and whether I could buy something cold there. This is probably the most accurate indicator of how much I liked the place: if I start looking for food after a walk, it means that the trip is going well. Officially, the Monforte Gardens are now free , and now the city indicates for them the opening hours of 10:00-20:00 from March to October and 10:00-18:00 from November to February. Why did I remember this particular place? That day, I realized one simple thing: the most interesting places to travel are not always located where there are large signs. Sometimes they appear on the map as a small green dot that you notice completely by accident. At first you think, "Okay, I'll come and see," and then you sit by the fountain and realize that this is the moment you'll remember better than another must-see. The Monforte Gardens have become just such a place for me. I did not plan to come here, did not read about them before the trip, and did not even include them in the original itinerary for Valencia. I just opened the map one evening, saw a green spot and decided to check what was there. Now I'm deliberately leaving room for accidents. After this story, I changed my attitude towards routes a bit. I used to think that a good route was when everything was pre–planned: where to go in the morning, where to have lunch, what to watch in the afternoon, and where to go in the evening. Now I make sure to leave a few hours just for randomness. Because it was an accident that once led me to a small neoclassical garden in the middle of Valencia, where I suddenly slowed down, stopped looking at my watch and for the first time all day just sat by the fountain. And if you ever visit Valencia, Spain , don't be surprised if the map suddenly shows you some green dot that you've never heard of before. If I were you, I wouldn't be in a hurry to close it. Sometimes there is a place behind such a point, which you then remember much more often than the sights for which you came to the city in the first place.

I came to Venice for just one day and I understood in advance that this is the case when a plan can only be beautiful on paper. I wanted to see St. Mark's Square, the Doge's Palace, ride a vaporetto, walk through the small streets, look at the Rialto Bridge and, of course, not get completely lost among the canals. As a result, I completed part of the plan, I had to move some of it a little, and a few more times I just turned off where I wanted to go, because Venice is a city where sometimes it makes absolutely no sense to follow a strict route. I arrived in the morning and tried to start the day early on purpose. Venice seemed very different to me in the early hours: there weren't many tourists yet, the streets were relatively calm, and the water in the canals reflected the old facades of houses. Even then, I realized that one day here is not enough, but if you don't try to set a world record for the number of sights you've seen, you can get a very intense and beautiful trip. St. Mark's Square – the first real impression St. Mark's Basilica The first thing I did was go to St. Mark's Square . This is probably the most obvious place to start exploring Venice, but sometimes obvious places become obvious for a reason. When I went out to the square and saw the Basilica of San Marco, the bell tower and the surrounding historical buildings, my first impression was something like this: "Now I'm really in Venice." I liked the combination of architecture and water the most. The square itself is huge and solemn, but the lagoon begins literally nearby, so the whole space is perceived in a completely different way than an ordinary European square. I took a little walk, took photos, and just stood among the buildings, looking at the details. I especially liked the Basilica of San Marco - its Byzantine architecture is very different from what I used to see in Italian cities, and that's why I remember it the most. Of course, I took a few photos, although I promised myself in advance to take fewer photos. But let's be honest: if you came to Venice and didn't take a picture of San Marco, you can assume that you just happened to be in Italy. The Doge's Palace is a place where history is literally all around After the square, I went to The Doge's Palace . I expected to see a beautiful old palace, but inside the monument of architecture of Venice turned out to be much more interesting than I expected. The Doge's Palace I liked the huge halls, the grand staircases, the paintings on the walls, and the very atmosphere of the place. It is especially well understood here how rich and influential the Republic of Venice once was. I walked from hall to hall and periodically stopped to examine the ceilings and paintings. At some point, I caught myself thinking that I didn't understand at all how much time had passed, because Venice had made me forget about the clock again. The Bridge of Sighs Separately impressed The Bridge of Sighs . Of course, I saw it in photographs before the trip, but it turned out to be much more interesting in person, especially when you understand its historical significance. It was here that I liked the feeling that you are not just looking at a beautiful building, but literally passing through a part of the city's history. Vaporetto is the best way to see Venice from the water After the Doge's Palace, I decided to take a break from hiking and took a vaporetto . And that's where my favorite part of the day started. If you walk around Venice, you constantly see the canals from one level, but the city opens up from the water in a completely different way. Old palaces, house facades, bridges, boats, and churches gradually float by, and at some point it feels like you're inside a movie. I sat down so that I could look out, and I spent most of the trip with my phone in my hand. Then I realized that I already had enough photos to make a separate photo album, but I continued anyway. I especially liked the view of the Grand Canal . This is perhaps one of those cases when even an ordinary trip by public transport becomes an attraction in itself. The Rialto Bridge is beautiful, noisy and not empty at all The next stop was the Rialto Bridge . If St. Mark's Square is a symbol of Venice's parade grounds, then the Rialto turned out to be more lively and everyday for me. Of course, there were a lot of people here. Very much. Rialto Bridge I tried to take a photo without a crowd, but after several attempts I realized that it was like taking a picture of Venice without water. So I just stopped fighting reality and started looking around. The bridge offers a beautiful view of the Grand Canal, and there are shops, cafes and shopping malls around. I liked this particular combination: a historic bridge, old buildings, water, boats and ordinary urban life. I stayed here longer than I had planned, because the traffic on the canal can be watched almost indefinitely. The small streets of Venice are what I liked the most. After the Rialto, I decided to move away from the main tourist routes a bit. And this is where I liked Venice, perhaps the most. I just turned into one of the small streets and walked without a map. After a few minutes, it became much quieter around, there were almost no people, and instead of the next famous landmark, small squares, old houses, laundry on ropes and small bridges appeared. This is the Venice I wanted to see – without the crowd, without the obligatory photo, and without the feeling that there are still five points to go. I opened the map several times to make sure I still understood where I was, but then I decided to put it away. However, after a while I realized that I had no idea where I was at all. But it turned out to be no problem. Getting lost in Venice is almost an obligatory part of the program. Gondola – is it worth a ride? Of course, I couldn't spend a day in Venice without at least thinking about a gondola. In the end, I decided to go for a ride. And here I had mixed expectations. On the one hand, this is a very tourist story, on the other hand, there are things that you want to try at least once. When the gondola left the shore and we sailed through a small channel, I realized that the decision was right. Venice looks completely different in narrow canals: the facades of houses are just a few meters away from you, small bridges float by from above, and the noise of the big city gradually disappears. Island Venice I especially liked that from the water you can see the details of buildings that are impossible to notice when walking. However, when the trip was over, I looked at my watch and realized that the day was starting to come to an end too quickly. Venice in the evening is a completely different city In the evening, I returned to St. Mark's Square again. And here I had my second big impression of the day. Evening Venice is completely different from morning Venice. Piazzetta There are fewer people, the light is getting softer, the facades of buildings are starting to light up, and the water reflects the lights. I just walked around the square, then went out to the embankment and looked at the lagoon for a while. After a whole day on foot, I was already tired, but I didn't want to leave at all. Perhaps this is the main drawback of Venice: the city constantly makes you think that in five more minutes you will see something even more beautiful. What I liked the most If you choose a few places that are particularly memorable, I would put myself in the first place. Venice from the water . Not a specific attraction, but the feeling of a city when you sail along a Large Canal or a small side canal and see old buildings very close. St. Mark's Square The second place for me was St. Mark's Square . Yes, it is touristy, noisy and quite crowded, but its scale and architecture are really impressive. I liked the Doge's Palace for its history and interiors, and the Rialto because it feels like real urban life. But most of all, I was surprised by the ordinary small streets. It was there that I stopped perceiving Venice as a famous tourist attraction and began to perceive it as a real city. My one day in Venice If you put everything together in one route, my day looked something like this: St. Mark's Square → St. Mark's Basilica → Doge's Palace → Bridge of Sighs → vaporetto ride along the Grand Canal → Rialto Bridge → walk through the quiet streets → gondola ride → evening walk at San Marco . The courtyard of the Doge's Palace The route turned out to be intense, but I have never regretted that I came just for one day. Of course, one day is not enough to explore Venice in peace, especially if you want to visit museums, islands and other areas of the city. But sometimes a short trip can also turn out to be real. I managed to see the main sights, rode on the water, got lost, returned several times to where I had already been, took a lot of photos, and by evening I finally stopped realizing how many kilometers I had walked. Rialto Bridge When I left Venice, for some reason it seemed to me that I had spent several days here, although in fact only one had passed. Perhaps this is the peculiarity of this city. Venice doesn't look like a place you just visit. You enter it for one day, and you come out feeling like you've left a piece of yourself there. And, of course, I already knew then that I would be back. But next time I'll try not to build such a dense route. Although who am I kidding? Five minutes after buying the ticket, I'll open the card again and start adding everything there.

I decided to spend the last day without trying to set a world record for the number of sights I saw. In the morning I set off towards Elounda, from where I can get to Spinalonga Island. Elounda Spinalonga Spinalonga is one of those places where history is felt especially strongly. A fortress, Venetian fortifications and a settlement associated with the history of the former colony for people with leprosy have been preserved on the small island. When you walk along the stone streets and look at the sea around, it is quite difficult to perceive this place just as a beautiful tourist destination. After Spinalonga, I returned to the mainland and decided not to rush anywhere else. I had lunch in Elounda, then I found a place by the sea and just rested for a few hours. Of course, my inner tourist tried to convince me that the last day should not be spent without new attractions. But I beat him. Sometimes, after four days of trips, climbs, beaches, and streamers, the best plan is to have no plan at all. What have I seen in five days? If you put the entire route into one scheme, it turned out to be quite intense: Heraklion – Knossos Palace – Rethymno – Chania – Elafonisi – Lasithi plateau – Agios Nikolaos – Elounda – Spinalonga . At the same time, I didn't specifically try to go around the entire island, because in five days it would have turned into a competition with the navigator rather than a vacation. Kules Fortress What I liked the most was that Crete is constantly changing. In the morning you can walk among the ancient ruins, after a couple of hours drive along the mountain road, and in the evening sit by the sea with a plate of local food and watch the sunset. Elafonisi at sunset If I were to re-create this route now, I would most likely leave the same places, but make it a little quieter. I would allocate more time to some points, especially to Chania and the coast, because there it is very easy to say to yourself "I'll look quickly" and suddenly discover that three hours have passed. And I would definitely take the car again. Because the main advantage of Crete for me turned out to be not only in the famous sights, but in the road itself between them. You're driving around the island, mountains, olive groves and the sea are changing outside the window, there's another turn ahead, and you don't know what's going to happen there – and that's why I love these trips. In general, the five days in Crete went about the way a good trip should go: I watched a lot more than I had planned, spent a little more time on the road than I promised myself, got lost several times, changed the route a couple of times, and on the last evening I was already thinking about only one thing – why didn't I take a vacation at least for ten days.

On the fourth day, I got back behind the wheel and drove towards the eastern part of Crete. On the way, I decided to stop at the Lasithi plateau, because I wanted to see not only the coast, but also mount Crete. After the seascapes, everything changed dramatically. The road went up, there were mountains, small villages and a completely different rhythm of life. I visited several places of interest. Below I attach a photo of the monument, which I could not pass by. It was built to preserve the memory of the tragedy and the role of events in the struggle for the liberation of Crete. Monument commemorating the destruction of Lassithi by Ottoman and Egyptian troops in May 1867 I stopped several times just to look at the landscape and once again became convinced that a car in Crete is not only a means of transportation, but also a way to constantly find places that I did not intend to look for. Lake Vulismeni, Agios Nikolaos After the plateau, I headed towards Agios Nikolaos. The city is located around Lake Vulismeni, and I enjoyed just walking around it, sitting in a cafe and watching the boats. After the mountain road, this place felt almost like a resort break before the final day. It's a pity that I didn't charge my phone, I could have taken more pictures. But this is a lesson for the future – to keep an eye on charging and always take a power bank with you. In the evening, I took a walk along the embankment and realized that in four days, Crete had already managed to show me several completely different faces. At the same time, the island still managed to remain the kind where you can just stop by the road, look at the sea and realize that you don't need any attractions at the moment.

I devoted the third day to nature and went to Elafonisi beach. The road there itself has become part of the journey.: mountains, small villages, serpentines, and views that made me look for a place to stop several times. A stretch of Elafonisi beach with pinkish sand and rocks along the coastline When I finally came to Elafonisi, it became clear why people were willing to travel quite far here. The clear water, light sand, lagoon and the famous pinkish hue of some parts of the beach create a very beautiful picture. However, I realized pretty quickly that if you want to enjoy a place in peace, it's better to arrive earlier, because later there will be significantly more people. After the beach, I did not immediately return to Chania and decided to take a short ride along the coast. It was the very day when the plan finally began to crumble, but only in a good way. I turned off the main road several times, stopped near the sea and just sat on the rocks, because after a few days of intense program, I wanted some silence. I returned to Chania already quite tired, but with the feeling that the third day was the most relaxing. There are no palaces, fortresses or long lists of attractions – just the road, the sea and the feeling that there is no need to rush anywhere.

On the second day, I went to the west of the island. The first stop was Rethymno, which is also called Rethymnon. I immediately liked the combination of old architecture, narrow streets and the sea. I walked around the Old Town, reached the Venetian harbor and climbed to the Fortezza fortress, from where I have a great view of the city and the coast. Fortezza Fortress Rethymno turned out to be just the place where I kept telling myself, "Ten more minutes and we'll move on." Then half an hour would pass, I would find another beautiful street, go in for coffee, and forget about the schedule again. As a result, I left Rethymno later than I had planned, but I decided not to worry, because on vacation it is sometimes useful to at least sometimes lose my own plan. Fortezza Fortress is one of the largest surviving Venetian fortifications in Europe. The scale is amazing, of course, and I've never regretted making an unplanned stop. Chania Then I went to Chania. The old town of Chania turned out to be one of my favorite places in Crete: Venetian buildings, narrow streets, harbor, lighthouse and a huge number of small cafes. I walked along the embankment for a long time, and then I just sat on the terrace and watched the people. I especially liked the Venetian Harbor with a lighthouse. It became even more pleasant here in the evening, when the daytime heat subsided a little and the city began to look completely different. I realized that Hanyu could have been left for a separate day, but my itinerary was already beginning to resemble an attempt to live through three vacations at the same time.

The island on the map doesn't seem so big, but when you start making up a route, it turns out that between "let's see the palace in the morning, then go to the beach, and look at another city in the evening" and reality lie kilometers of roads, mountain serpentines and my eternal optimism. In the end, I decided not to try to see absolutely everything, but made up a five-day itinerary that combined ancient cities, beautiful beaches, mountain roads, and several places I really wanted to get to. I took a car and booked accommodation in advance, because in Crete a car greatly expands the possibilities. You can also travel by public transport, but I wanted to choose for myself where to stay and where to drive further, because sometimes it's a random observation deck that turns out to be more interesting than the point that you marked on the map for a week. The route turned out to be quite dense, but in five days I managed to see completely different Crete – historical, mountainous, beach and the lazy one, where you just want to sit by the sea and not go anywhere. Fragments of the Palace of Knossos recreated from the ruins The archaeological complex of Knossos I decided to start the first day in Heraklion, because it didn't seem like the most sensible decision to fly to Crete and immediately leave somewhere on the other side of the island. After getting the car, I went towards the Palace of Knossos, which is located very close to Heraklion. And it was here that I realized for the first time that photographs do not convey the scale of a place: when you walk among the ancient walls and imagine that an entire Minoan civilization existed here several thousand years ago, you begin to look at an ordinary vacation a little differently. The Palace of Knossos turned out to be exactly the attraction for which it is worth arriving early. Quite a lot of people come here during the day, so it's much more pleasant to walk in the morning, especially if you don't want to spend half the tour in line or look for a place where you can take a photo normally. I honestly tried to listen carefully about the history of the palace, but from time to time I caught myself thinking that I was standing and just looking at the stones, trying to imagine what it all looked like in ancient times. Kules Fortress After Knossos, I returned to Heraklion and went for a walk in a good mood. I looked at the Venetian Harbor, the Kules Fortress, strolled along August 25th Street and looked at Lviv Square. After the historical ruins, it was especially pleasant to just sit in a cafe, drink coffee and watch the city. The Venetian Fortress in Heraklion I also went to the Venetian Fortress, which is located 9 kilometers west of Heraklion. After all, it's convenient to travel by car, I didn't have to look for a taxi and negotiate with the driver in a foreign language. I feel confident and enjoy the long-awaited vacation. By the evening, I realized that the first day had been quite eventful, although according to the plan it seemed that I would only see a few places. It was then that I first remembered my favorite rule of car travel: if the navigator says it's twenty minutes to the next point, it doesn't mean at all that I'll arrive there in twenty minutes.

After Kyoto, I went to Osaka, and here the mood changed again. If Tokyo seemed huge and fast–moving to me, Kyoto seemed calm and atmospheric, then Osaka turned out to be more relaxed, noisy and somehow very lively. Here I immediately enjoyed just walking the streets, looking at the signs, looking into the shops and watching the people. Osaka opens up especially well in the evening, when the signs light up and the streets become even more lively. I was walking around the Dotonbori area, looking at the huge restaurant signs, and at some point I realized that I had come to Japan not only for the temples and beautiful architecture. Sometimes the most interesting thing is just to walk down the street and see how the ordinary life of the city works. Sushi And, of course, the food in Osaka deserved special attention. This time I ordered sushi and tried other local dishes, told myself several times that I had definitely had enough for today, and then twenty minutes later I found myself again near some small establishment. At some point, I realized that my route through Osaka could already be divided not by sights, but by snacks, because it looked much more logical that way. How I allocated the week If you look at the whole trip now, I divided the week like this: I gave the first three days to Tokyo, devoted two days to Kyoto, and left two more days for Osaka. This route turned out to be quite intense for me, but it did not turn into an endless race between train stations, temples and a hotel. In Tokyo, I focused on neighborhoods, modern urban life, and public transportation, because that's where I wanted to feel the scale of the Japanese capital and see what it looks like at night. Kiyomizu-dera Kyoto was reserved for quieter walks, temple complexes, traditional architecture and the atmosphere of old Japan, and Osaka was used as the final part of the trip, where you could relax a little, walk a lot and eat everything that caught your eye. What I realized after a week in Japan The main discovery for me was that Japan does not look at all like a country that can be properly understood from photographs or short videos on the Internet. Yes, I saw famous places, tasted local food, rode trains and walked a huge number of kilometers, but most of all I remember the usual moments: small streets, vending machines, stations, evening shops, quiet areas and the feeling of how different everything around me is from my usual life. Traveling by train is quite convenient. I realized that a week in Japan can be made very eventful if you plan your route in advance and don't try to accommodate everything every day. Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka seem to complement each other well, because after the huge capital, it's nice to find yourself in a quieter Kyoto, and then switch to the bustling and gastronomically carefree Osaka. And I finally became convinced that Japanese public transport is terrible only for the first couple of hours. Then you start to look at the map quite confidently, find the right platform, and even feel a certain inner sense of pride when the train departs exactly when it is written in the timetable. However, somewhere inside there is still a small voice that reminds: "Don't relax, we are in Japan after all." Dotombori, Osaka When I flew home, I had a strange feeling that I was just getting to know this country. In one week, I managed to see Tokyo, Kyoto and Osaka, but instead of wanting to tick off Japan, I had a completely different desire – to return and see what was left off the route this time. This is probably the best indicator of a successful trip: when you return home with a suitcase full of things and photos, and your head is already starting to come up with a new route.

During my long-awaited trip to Japan, I went to Kyoto. I was a little worried before the trip, because the Japanese trains seemed so precise and organized to me that I was sure that if I made a mistake once, the whole system would collapse because of me. In practice, everything turned out to be much calmer, especially when I figured out the ticket and realized where my train was, although the habit of arriving at the station in advance still saved me a few nervous minutes. Japan's high-speed trains The train itself has become a separate part of the journey. After the rather noisy and eventful Tokyo, it was nice to just sit down, put a bag next to it and look out the window for a while. Japan was gradually changing outside the window, the urban development was replaced by more peaceful landscapes, and I finally felt that the journey had really begun, because before that everything was happening too fast. Kyoto greeted me with a completely different mood. Here, for the first time during the trip, I felt that I could slow down a little and just walk down the street without trying to get somewhere every ten minutes. The narrow streets, traditional houses, temples, small shops, and completely different architecture made it feel like I was in Japan, which I had only seen in photographs before. In Kyoto, I purposely left time for walks without a strict plan. Of course, I had a list of places to go without it, but I already realized that trying to visit everything in one day would end up with me looking at photos in the evening and wondering exactly where I had seen it all. Therefore, part of the day I just walked along the streets, looked into small shops and cafes and sometimes allowed myself to turn off the route. Nijo Castle One of the most pleasant moments was a walk through the historical districts of the city, where the contrast with Tokyo is especially well felt: fewer skyscrapers, less visual noise, more small details that you want to pay attention to. I was impressed by Nijo Castle, which is the former fortified residence of the Tokugawa shoguns. It is not only a national treasure of Japan, but also a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I continued walking through historic Kyoto and several times caught myself thinking that instead of photographing another landmark, I was just standing and looking around, because the street itself already looked like a finished photograph. At some point, I decided to have a bite to eat, confidently chose a place, sat down, looked at the menu and realized that my confidence ended with about the word "menu". As a result, I spent several minutes trying to figure out exactly what I was going to order, and then I just chose a dish at random and decided to consider it part of the cultural experience, because sometimes it's easier to admit defeat to an unknown Japanese dish on a trip than to try to pose as an expert. I guess I wasn't very hungry, I didn't like the taste. I wish I had ordered sushi.

When I first started planning a week in Japan, I had a pretty simple idea: to see Tokyo, go to Kyoto, visit Osaka, and return home with the feeling that I understood this country at least a little. Of course, the naivety was enormous, because Japan doesn't just end in one week – it manages to change your idea of what an ordinary traveler's day should look like several times. As a result, my itinerary turned out to be quite dense, but it was thanks to this that I managed to see three completely different faces of Japan and understand why some tourists say after the first trip that a week was enough for them, while others are already at the airport starting to plan the next one. I arrived in Tokyo with the feeling that everything around me is familiar from photographs, movies, and the Internet, but in reality, my brain still refuses to accept what is happening. Shinjuku Skyscrapers, Tokyo Huge intersections, high-rise buildings, small alleys, vending machines, shops, endless signs, and people walking very confidently while you're standing with your phone and trying to figure out why the navigator suggests you go through three underpasses. For the first few hours, I generally felt like a person who was accidentally dropped off in a very well-organized future. Akagi-jinja At the same time, ancient customs have been preserved in this country, and when visiting temples, it feels like I've been transported back in time. I respect Eastern philosophy, so I decided to visit the modern Shinto shrine in Tokyo Akagi-jinja. That's right, you can read about the sacred space for a long time, but it's difficult to describe a visit to the sacred space. In short, it was as if he had put his thoughts in order. Shibuya Station I decided not to turn it into a marathon of sightseeing and just walked around the city, because after the flight, my body still did not fully understand which part of the world it was in. I started in the Shibuya area, looked at the famous intersection, walked around the streets for a while, and then just walked wherever my eyes looked, which turned out to be quite a pleasant activity in Tokyo. However, after a while I realized that "going anywhere" in a city of this size is a great way to accidentally discover yourself in a completely different area and discover at the same time that for some reason it has already been forty minutes to walk back. Marunouchi Square on the west side of the railway station building On the second day, I already felt a little more confident and decided to test Tokyo public transport in practice. I studied the main routes in advance, installed the necessary applications, and even convinced myself that everything was under control now, but Japan quickly reminded me that a tourist's confidence lives until about the first major train station. At the station, I moved from one level to another for a while, looked at the signs in Japanese and English and pretended that I understood perfectly where I needed to go, although an inner voice quite convincingly suggested that I just take any train and see what happens. In Tokyo, I especially liked how naturally completely different things coexist here. You can find yourself among huge modern buildings in the morning, then turn into a quiet street where there is almost no one, and ten minutes later you can stand near a small temple and observe a completely different atmosphere. These are the moments I remember the most, because Tokyo turned out to be not so much a collection of individual attractions, but a huge city that is constantly changing right in front of your eyes.

I noticed one funny thing a long time ago: while you are just planning a trip, it seems that everything will cost quite reasonable money. Flight – well, let's say 50-60 thousand rubles, housing – a little more, food is generally nonsense, and entertainment can be chosen according to your mood. And then you start putting everything together and realize that for some reason this "little bit" has turned into a pretty decent amount, so now before each trip I try to at least roughly calculate the budget in advance. To make it clearer, I decided to take a regular trip for 7 days and one person , without luxury, but also without the "I live on bread and spend the night at the train station" regime. We are talking about normal housing, ordinary cafes and shops, public transport, several paid attractions and a small reserve for all sorts of unplanned joys. Europe from Moscow – about 120-160 thousand rubles Sheremetyevo International Airport If we talk about popular European destinations, I would now put about 120-160 thousand rubles per person on a week-long trip from Moscow. Flights and accommodation here usually become the main items of expenditure, especially if you go to an expensive European city. Approximately my budget would look like this: 60-70 thousand rubles for flights , about 30-45 thousand for housing , another 15-20 thousand for food , about 5-7 thousand for transport and about 5-10 thousand for museums, attractions and entertainment . Plus, I would leave a small reserve, because it seems that no one has ever managed to travel without an unplanned cup of coffee and some absolutely necessary souvenir. Paris That's why I'm focusing on about 120-160 thousand rubles per week for myself. Moreover, Paris, Amsterdam or other expensive cities can easily raise this bar higher, and in a more budget-friendly direction it can be much cheaper. Asia from Moscow – about 95-130 thousand rubles The situation with Asia is more interesting. The flight from Moscow itself can take up most of the budget, but after arrival, many daily expenses turn out to be more pleasant for the wallet. Thailand For example, if we take Thailand, then I would put about 50-65 thousand rubles for a flight, about 20-30 thousand for housing, 10-15 thousand for food, about 5-7 thousand for transport, and 5-10 thousand more for excursions and entertainment. It turns out about 95-130 thousand rubles per week . And here, for the first time, I understood why some people, after their first trip to Southeast Asia, start thinking about staying there longer. When you compare the cost of a week of vacation with a European city, and then imagine a month of living in a warm climate, the idea doesn't look so crazy anymore. But India is already an option for wintering. India stands a little apart from me, because I would consider it not only as a destination for a week, but as an option for a long winter stay. If you fly there for 7-10 days, the budget can be calculated in about the same way as for other Asian countries, but the real interest begins when it comes to at least a few weeks or a month. India For a week-long trip, I would focus on about 90-120 thousand rubles per person , if you do not choose expensive hotels and do not arrange a celebration of life for yourself every evening. A flight can take about 45-60 thousand rubles , accommodation for a week – about 15-25 thousand , food and transport – about 15-20 thousand more, and the rest can be left for excursions and entertainment. Aeroflot But if we talk about the month of wintering , I would lay approximately 100-150 thousand rubles per month plus a flight , depending on the chosen state, city and housing level. In a simpler version, you can spend less, and if you want a nice apartment, restaurants, trips around the country and comfort without constantly counting every rupee, the budget will be higher. In this regard, India is interesting precisely for its duration. It's one thing to come for a week, rush somewhere every day, try to see everything at once and fall into bed in the evening, but it's quite another to rent a house for a month, settle in, find your favorite cafe, go to the market and gradually get used to the local rhythm. We must not forget about the visa There is only one point that I would definitely consider before buying a ticket : Russian citizens need a visa to travel to India. At the same time, a tourist e-Visa can be issued online through the official Indian visa portal, that is, you do not need to go to the consulate solely for the purpose of applying for an electronic tourist visa. VFS Global Visa Service Center Various e-Tourist Visa options are available for tourists, including short-term for 30 days, as well as long-term options for one and five years. At the same time, a long-term visa does not mean that you can stay in India indefinitely without restrictions: the official portal separately sets the maximum period of stay during a calendar year. Therefore, if the idea of wintering in India really interested me, I would first decide on the duration of the trip and a specific visa option, and only then buy tickets. And it would definitely be submitted through the official website, because the Indian Embassy in Moscow itself warns to use the official e-Visa portal and not to use questionable intermediary sites. How much do you need for the winter? If I were to imagine my ideal scenario, I wouldn't be traveling to India for three days with a hectic schedule. I would take a ticket, rent a place for a month and try to live a normal life there instead of constantly being a tourist with a phone in one hand and a card in the other. Goa My benchmark for a month in India would look something like this: flight – 45-60 thousand rubles , accommodation – 30-50 thousand , food – 20-30 thousand , transport – 5-10 thousand , entertainment and trips – 10-20 thousand . The result is about 110-170 thousand rubles along with the flight , if we talk about a fairly comfortable, but not luxurious option. And here it becomes interesting to compare not the cost of a week's trip, but the cost of a whole month. It turns out to be a paradoxical situation: sometimes one month of wintering in a relatively inexpensive country is comparable to one week in an expensive European city. My little expense chart If you put it all together, then my guideline for one person is now something like this: Europe, 7 days: 120-160 thousand ₽ Thailand, 7 days: 95-130 thousand ₽ India, 7 days: 90-120 thousand ₽ India, 1 month: 110-170 thousand. , along with the flight Japan, 7 days: 140-190 thousand ₽ Of course, this is not a price tag at the entrance to the airport and not a promise that everyone will be able to repeat the trip to the ruble. The final amount is greatly influenced by the season, flight dates, city, exchange rate, housing level and how much a person likes to turn an ordinary dinner into a gastronomic event. But for pre-planning, I like such numbers much more than the phrase "it all depends on you." Now at least you can open your calendar, look at your bank account, and honestly tell yourself: "So, I'm still planning Europe, I'm considering Asia, and it looks like I've already mentally rented an apartment in India." And do you know what the most dangerous thing is? After such calculations, the journey ceases to seem unattainable. You don't think anymore: "Someday I'll go to India for the winter," and you start counting how many months are left until winter and how much you need to save each month. And this is a completely different level of planning – and much more dangerous for the quiet life of my bank account.

When I first looked at the public transport scheme in Tokyo, I had the feeling that this was not a map of the city, but a plan for some kind of secret military operation. There are many lines, even more stations, different companies, transfers, exits with numbers, and all this at first glance looks like the Japanese decided to test the tourist's stress tolerance. Therefore, I decided not to pretend that I understood everything the first time, but arranged a small experiment for myself and spent two days specifically testing public transport in different areas of Tokyo. During these two days, I managed to travel by subway, ordinary city trains, make several transfers, get lost inside the station, get off in the completely wrong direction, and once stand for quite a long time with my phone in my hands, pretending that I was not lost, but just studying architecture very carefully. In the end, I realized the main thing: Tokyo's public transport is much easier than it seems, if you don't try to memorize the entire system. There are literally a few things you need to figure out, and then the city starts transporting you almost by itself. Metro and trains are not the same thing. The first thing I would advise you to understand before your first trip is that Tokyo has a subway and there are railway lines that belong to different companies. Tokyo Metro and Toei Subway are especially important for tourists, and besides them there are JR and private railway lines. On the map, they may look like a single transport system, but in fact they are several different systems that are very closely related to each other. And that's where I hung up a little bit at first. I'm used to cities with subways, so I chose a station, boarded a train, and I don't really think who owns the car. In Tokyo, this approach also works, but sometimes you have to look more closely, because the desired route may not take the subway, but the railway line, and the usual transfer suddenly turns into a small quest. The most useful invention of a tourist is a transport card After the first day, I realized that buying a separate ticket for each trip is a way to voluntarily complicate my life. It is much more convenient to use a Suica or PASMO transport card if it is available to you in a suitable format, and simply attach it at the entrance and exit. The mechanics are elementary: I put the card or device to the reader at the turnstile, passed through, and put it back on the exit. The system itself understands how much you need to charge for a trip. I especially liked that I didn't have to stand at the vending machine every time and find out exactly how much it cost to get to the right station, although the first couple of times I still habitually approached the vending machine with the face of the person who was about to take the exam. If you already have a transport card set up on your phone, it makes life a lot easier. The phone becomes both a map, a navigator and a pass to the transport system, and I gradually began to feel like a local, although ten minutes after that I was looking for the right exit again. How to figure out which train to take This is where the rule that helped me the most: don't just look at the name of the terminal station. In Tokyo, it's much more reliable to check the direction, line, and specific route shown by the navigator. I usually opened the route on my phone and looked at which line I needed to get on, which platform the train was leaving from, and exactly where to get off. The navigator shows not only the station, but also the direction of travel, the number of stops, transfers, and travel time. Therefore, I stopped trying to decipher the entire map of Tokyo on my own after about a couple of hours. At the same time, I noticed one interesting thing: a train can arrive at the line you need, but not every train necessarily goes where you need to go. Therefore, before boarding, I always checked the direction on the electronic board and the name of the terminal station. It's better to spend an extra twenty seconds checking than to find yourself after a few stops in a completely different part of Tokyo. Transplants are the most interesting On the first day, I was somewhat suspicious of transfers, because the station could be huge, and the transition between the lines sometimes took a considerable time. Moreover, the word "station" in Tokyo does not always mean a small platform with two exits and a coffee machine. Some stations are so big that you can walk inside quite well. There are shops, cafes, signs, stairs, escalators and so many people that at some point I stopped realizing whether I was still traveling on business or already participating in some kind of Japanese city festival. But here's the good news: the pointers are usually very detailed. You just need to take your time and look at the name of the desired line, the color of the line and the exit number. At first, I tried to follow the crowd, because it seemed logical that so many people couldn't make a mistake. It turned out that they could, especially if this crowd was just heading to the mall. My First Day: Shibuya, Shinjuku and Asakusa I decided to check the transportation in different atmospheric areas, so I started with Shibuya. Everything happens fast here: people walk in all directions, trains arrive one after the other, there are huge screens, shops and intersections around, which I saw in photos about a thousand times before the trip. After Shibuya, I went to Shinjuku, and it was there that I finally realized that in Tokyo it was important to look not only at the station number, but also at the exit. In some cases, the wrong exit can turn a short walk to the right place into a full-fledged tour of the area. One day I went out, looked around and realized that I had no idea where I was at all, although just a minute ago I was absolutely confident in my navigation abilities. Kaminarimon Gate Then I drove towards Asakusa and saw the Kaminarimon Gate leading to one of the oldest Buddhist temples, Senso-ji. After the bustling Shibui and Shinjuku, this area feels completely different, and I liked that the same public transport allows you to move between completely different parts of the city in a fairly short time. At some point, I caught myself thinking that I no longer perceive a subway ride as a separate adventure, although in the morning I was still photographing the signs with the expression of a researcher of an unknown civilization. Day two: Tokyo Railway Station, Ginza and Odaiba Ginza On the second day, I decided to complicate the experiment and went to the Tokyo Station area, then to Ginza and further towards Odaiba. It was on this day that I finally understood why many people advise looking at the route in advance before traveling, rather than relying on intuition. Tokyo Station is huge, and it's easy to feel like a small part of a large mechanism inside it. I checked my phone several times, checked the platform numbers and signs, and then checked my phone again, because I was already beginning to suspect that my brain was deliberately trying to send me the wrong way. But after a few trips, there is a certain confidence. You already understand that first you need to find the right line, then the direction, then the platform, and after the trip, do not rush immediately to the first exit, but see which exit is needed. And that's when Japanese transport stops seeming chaotic and starts looking very logical. What should I do if I don't understand Japanese names? Japanese station names can be intimidating at first, especially when you look at the scoreboard and try to simultaneously read the hieroglyphs, the Latin alphabet, and also understand where the train is heading. But a tourist does not need to know Japanese to use public transport. Stations usually have designations in English, and lines have colors and alphanumeric designations. In addition, modern navigation applications perfectly show the route, so I almost always followed the Latin name of the station and the line number. The most useful thing is to save the name of the place or station where you are going in advance, so that if something happens, you can simply show it to the station employee. In my experience, the Japanese transport staff were very attentive, and even when I looked like a person who did not understand where to go at all, they tried to show me the direction. What about buses I also tried buses, although I traveled most of the routes during these two days by train and metro. The bus system in Tokyo is also well organized, but personally it seemed to me a little less obvious for the first acquaintance with the city. The main difference is that you need to take a closer look at the route, stop, and payment method. If this is your first time in Tokyo and you plan to travel a lot between areas, I would first get used to the subway and railway lines, and leave the buses for those cases when a particular route is really more convenient to travel on the ground. What surprised me the most What struck me most was not even the number of lines or the size of the stations, but how calmly it all works with a huge number of people. In some places, it feels like there's an endless stream of passengers in front of you, but the system continues to function without feeling chaotic. I also quickly got used to the fact that you shouldn't talk loudly on the phone in public transport and generally it is customary to behave quite calmly. After the bustling tourist cities, it's a little unusual at first, but after a while you start to appreciate the opportunity to safely get to the right place without participating in someone else's phone conversation on the entire platform. My main mistakes The main mistake is to underestimate the size of the stations. If the navigator says that the transfer will take five minutes, I now automatically add a reserve to this time, especially if we are talking about a major transport hub. The second mistake is to look only at the name of the station and forget about the exit. In Tokyo, this can be critical, because one exit may be almost next to the right place, and the other will send you walking for several blocks, and you won't realize it right away. And the third mistake is trying to remember everything. After two days, I realized that it was not necessary to keep a map of all of Tokyo in my head. It's enough to know where you need to go now, open the route, check the line, direction, platform and exit, and then just calmly follow the signs. How long does it take to figure it out To be honest, two days were enough for me to stop being afraid of Tokyo transport. I didn't become an expert, and I certainly couldn't tell which line ran with my eyes closed, but I stopped seeing each trip as an intellectual marathon. Now I would calmly get on the train, change trains, get off at the right station, and not even take pictures of every pointer in memory. Although, knowing myself, after five minutes I would probably have taken out my phone again and checked the route again – just for peace of mind. What I recommend to tourists If this is your first trip to Tokyo, don't try to explore the entire transportation system in one evening. Choose several routes for the first day, install a convenient navigation app, understand the transport map, and always check the direction of travel before boarding. And be sure to set time for major stations and transfers. In Tokyo, the distance between two points is sometimes measured not only in kilometers, but also in the number of stairs, escalators, corridors and turns that you have to go through inside the station. After two days of my experiment, the conclusion was pretty simple: Tokyo's public transport looks scarier than it really is. The first trips can make you feel like a person who accidentally got inside a huge mechanism, but then you begin to understand the logic of this system and already calmly move around the city. And the best part is that Tokyo becomes much more accessible when you stop being afraid of its transport. You can walk around Asakusa in the morning, then find yourself among the skyscrapers of Shinjuku, then have coffee in Ginza, and in the evening look at the city from Odaiba, and all this without having to take a taxi every time. For me, this is exactly what turned out to be the main secret of Tokyo transport: at first it scares, then it surprises, and then you're already sitting in the carriage, looking out the window and thinking where else to go today.

I've wanted to go to Italy for a long time, but every time I started counting the cost of the trip, the numbers looked like I wasn't going on vacation, but to buy a small villa in Tuscany. What scared me the most was not even the accommodation or the flight, but how quickly the money disappears on the spot: I drank coffee, had a snack, bought a ticket, drove somewhere, decided to just sit on the square in the evening - and now the wallet has noticeably lost weight. On this trip, I decided to test on my own experience whether it is possible to see Italy, eat a balanced diet, live in a decent place and at the same time not return home with the feeling that, together with the Colosseum, I accidentally financed half of Rome. I started saving before the trip. The first thing I did was stop looking for a trip based on the principle of "where I want to go right now." Usually, I first imagined myself with a glass of wine somewhere in a beautiful square, and only then I opened the prices and began to suffer quietly. This time I did the opposite: first I looked at the dates, the cost of the flight and accommodation, and only then I decided which route would be more convenient for me, because Italy is beautiful in almost any direction, but I absolutely did not want to overpay for the right to be there three hours earlier. I also took my time with the tickets, because sometimes the difference between neighboring dates turns out to be quite noticeable. If it is possible to move the vacation a little, I would definitely check several departure and arrival options, and also look not only at the direct route to the main city of the route, but also at neighboring airports. However, it is important here not to fall into your own savings trap: if a cheap ticket takes you to the airport, from where you then need to get to the city for half the cost of the flight itself, there is no special victory. I didn't choose a place to live in the very center In Italy, I quickly realized one simple thing: the word "center" can sometimes add a completely obscene amount to the cost of living. Of course, it's convenient to live near the main square, especially when you can leave the hotel in the evening and find yourself among the beautiful streets in five minutes, but sometimes you pay for this walk even before you put on your shoes. Therefore, I began to look at areas a little further from the most touristic places, but near the metro, train station or a good bus stop. As a result, sometimes it took ten to fifteen minutes to walk, but the room rate was noticeably more pleasant, and at the same time I saw ordinary Italian streets, small shops, locals, and cafes where no one tried to sell me pasta for the price of a good lunch. It turned out to be a pleasant discovery for me: sometimes a place that is a little further from the tourist center leaves much more impressions. I almost stopped buying breakfast at the cafe. I started my first morning in Italy beautifully: I left the hotel, sat down at a table outside, ordered coffee and something to go with it, looked around and felt like a hero in a movie. The second morning, I did about the same thing, but I was already beginning to wonder why a few minutes of a beautiful life were so confidently reducing my budget. After that, I began to alternate the options. If breakfast was included in the room rate, I used it calmly, and if not, I bought something from a supermarket or a small bakery and made my own breakfast. At the same time, I did not give up Italian coffee and pastries at all, because savings should have reasonable limits, and depriving me of the opportunity to drink a normal espresso in the morning would be some kind of wrong punishment. I had to rethink the relationship with the restaurants a bit The most dangerous phrase in Italy for my wallet sounded like this: "Well, since we're here, let's go to a beautiful place." Usually, a menu appeared after it, followed by several dishes, drinks, dessert, and at the end a bill that made me study the ceiling very carefully and remember all my life decisions. Therefore, I began to pay attention to the places where Italians themselves eat, and did not strive to have dinner next to the main attraction every evening. For a full meal, it was often enough to choose a simple local place a little away from the tourist square, and sometimes I took pizza, panini or other takeaway food and went to the park or square with it. It turned out to be cheaper, but the atmosphere didn't suffer at all, because sitting with a slice of pizza somewhere in Italy is, in my opinion, a completely independent cultural experience. I stopped buying water and snacks on every corner. This is where I realized how imperceptibly money can disappear. When you walk all day, you're constantly thirsty, then suddenly hungry, then more coffee, then ice cream, and every time it feels like a few euros is just a small thing. And in the evening, you put everything together and realize that your little "trifle" has quietly turned into the cost of a decent dinner. That's why I carried a bottle of water with me and bought small snacks in the store in advance. In Italy, drinking fountains or public water sources can be found in many cities, so a bottle becomes quite a useful thing, especially in summer. But I bought ice cream anyway, because I came to Italy, not to attend a financial seminar. I compared the train and the bus between the cities. If the route involves several cities, I would not automatically buy the first ticket I see. There are different transportation options in Italy, and the cost of a trip can greatly depend on the time, type of train, and how much the ticket is purchased in advance. Sometimes a fast train is the most convenient solution, especially when it comes to popular destinations between major cities, but sometimes a slower option or a bus can significantly reduce costs. I was just comparing several options before buying, because an extra couple of hours on the road for me was a perfectly acceptable payment for the opportunity to leave money for a normal dinner, and not for transportation. In museums, I looked at the conditions of my visit in advance Previously, I could come to the attraction and only find out the ticket price on the spot, after which I stood in front of the ticket office with the face of a man who suddenly realized that he had already seen the architecture from the outside today and maybe that was enough. In Italy, this approach is especially dangerous because there are many attractions, and the desire to see absolutely everything can very quickly turn a vacation into an expensive marathon through museums. The Colosseum Therefore, before the trip, I checked the official websites of the places I was interested in and saw if there were free hours, special days, or combined tickets. As part of a government initiative by the Italian Ministry of Culture, admission to some museums is free. There are certain hours when you can view the exhibition or other exhibits for free. Among the participants are the Colosseum in Rome, the Capitoline Museums, the Uffizi Museum in Florence and other objects . However, I would not rely solely on free days, because sometimes so many people gather there that saving turns into queuing training. I stopped trying to see absolutely everything. Probably, this solution turned out to be the most economical. When I first made up the route, I wanted to be everywhere in a few days: Rome, Florence, Venice, somewhere else along the way, preferably to capture the sea and somehow accidentally end up in Tuscany at sunset. Then I looked at the map and realized that I was going to spend a significant part of my vacation on trains and at train stations. Therefore, I chose several places and left a normal amount of time between them, so as not to run around Italy with a suitcase and the expression on the face of a person who is late for his own life. As a result, I not only spent less on moving, but also felt for the first time that I was really resting, and not fulfilling the tourist standard. How much can you save in the end I would not promise any universal amount, because the budget for a trip to Italy depends very much on the city, the season, the duration of the trip, the level of accommodation and how much a person likes restaurants with a view of the main attraction. But even without extreme savings, it is quite possible to reduce costs by doing a few simple things: looking for flights and accommodation in advance, looking at areas a little further from the center, using public transport, comparing options for moving between cities, buying some food in regular stores and checking prices for attractions in advance. At the same time, I realized one important thing: saving money on a trip does not mean constantly denying yourself everything. I quietly drank Italian coffee, ate pasta, bought ice cream, went to museums and sometimes chose a beautiful cafe just because I liked it there. It was just that now I understood how I could avoid paying too much, so that I wouldn't have to stand in front of the last pizza on vacation and not count in my mind whether I still had enough money for the return train. Italy has generally turned out to be a country where reasonable savings do not prevent you from having fun, if you do not try to turn the trip into a competition "who will spend the least". You can live not two steps away from the Colosseum, but go out for a walk around Rome every morning, you can have dinner at a beautiful restaurant once, and take a pizza to take away another evening, you can travel between cities in a way that is not the most expensive way and at the same time not feel like a second-class tourist at all. After all, I went to Italy not to proudly show my friends a photo of my empty wallet, but to return home with photos, memories, and at least a small amount of money for my next trip.

When I was first planning a trip to Santorini, there was a very definite picture in my head: snow-white houses, blue domes, narrow streets, incredible views of the Aegean Sea and, of course, that famous sunset, for which a huge number of people come to the island every year. I imagined myself with a cup of coffee somewhere on the terrace, looking at photos of Santorini and already knew about which photos I would take, although I understand perfectly well that a person who plans photos in advance will still take three times as many shots as he intended. But among all these beautiful plans, there was absolutely no place for an ancient city hidden under a layer of volcanic ash, and it eventually became the most unexpected place on my trip. When I first heard about Akrotiri, it was hard for me to imagine that on such a picturesque island you could find something so different from the usual image of Santorini. I came here for the sea, the white houses and the feeling of eternal summer, but instead one day I went to see an ancient settlement and did not expect at all how much it would impress me. That's probably why I remember Akrotiri especially strongly, because the most striking discoveries in travel often happen where you originally did not intend to go at all. The road took me to a completely different Santorini Before the trip, it seemed to me that Santorini was primarily about beautiful towns on the edge of the caldera, endless staircases, terraces overlooking the sea and photos that look like they were specially processed for a tourist catalog. But the further I got away from the most famous places on the island, the more the impression changed, because behind the usual tourist pictures, a completely different Santorini gradually opened up, more peaceful, ancient and somehow surprisingly real. It was then that I realized that the island is much more interesting than it looks from the photographs, and that behind its white facades there is a story that I had hardly thought about before. I remember driving towards Akrotiri and thinking that I would probably watch everything pretty quickly and then return to my usual walks around the island. I generally have this wonderful habit of underestimating certain places in advance, and then wondering why I didn't set aside half a day for them, because it turns out that's where I want to stay the longest. At that moment, I didn't know yet that in a few hours I would be walking around an ancient settlement and trying to imagine what life looked like here thousands of years ago. The city that was under the volcano Akrotiri turned out to be completely different from the places I used to see when traveling, because here the story literally lies in front of you in the form of streets, buildings and preserved details of an ancient settlement. This is an archaeological monument of the Minoan era, which was buried under volcanic ash after a powerful eruption, and it is thanks to this that many elements of the ancient city have been preserved to this day. When you learn this story, you begin to look at everything around you with completely different eyes, because you realize that this is not just ruins, but a place that was once a real city, where people lived, worked, walked the streets, built houses and completely did not suspect that thousands of years later travelers would come here. and try to imagine their lives. The most amazing thing for me was the feeling of time that almost physically arises here, although it sounds a bit pretentious, and I usually try to avoid such formulations. But when you stand among the ancient walls and look at the preserved elements of the houses, you really begin to feel how huge is the distance between your life and the lives of the people who were once here. I even caught myself thinking that my usual problems like a lost ticket, a dead phone, or another search for the right road look completely ridiculous against the background of the history of this place. I didn't expect to see houses here at all. I was especially surprised by how developed this settlement was, because in my head the ancient city looked very different. I imagined a few stones, a couple of walls, and a plaque with a long historical description, which I would read about halfway through, and then move on, because tourist concentration sometimes lives by its own laws. But Akrotiri turned out to be much more interesting, and gradually I began to notice the layout of the streets, multi-storey buildings, rooms and various details that made it possible to imagine how difficult life was for people here many thousands of years ago. I especially liked that here you can not just look at individual artifacts, but try to mentally reconstruct the whole city, and this completely changes the impression of the tour. You walk along the ancient streets and realize that once upon a time there were people walking here who were in a hurry about their business, talking, cooking, meeting with neighbors and, perhaps, also sometimes getting annoyed because of some completely everyday trifles. And it was this thought that for some reason made ancient Akrotiri much closer to me, because history ceased to be a set of dates and became the history of ordinary people. The most unexpected discovery of my trip It was probably here that I finally realized that travel rarely gives us what we expect from it, and this is one of the main reasons why I love it so much. I came to Santorini for beautiful views, the sea, white houses and photos, and in the end, I was most impressed by a place that I knew much less about before the trip than about the famous streets of Ai. It turns out to be quite funny: I could choose a beautiful postcard from Santorini for a long time, and then the most valuable memory turned out to be the ancient city, which thousands of years ago was hidden under volcanic ash. I came out with a completely different feeling of the island, because now Santorini was no longer just a beautiful setting for photos and romantic walks. Behind the white houses and blue domes, a huge story suddenly appeared, in which there were volcanic eruptions, ancient civilizations, cities and people whose traces have been preserved after thousands of years. And I liked this discovery precisely because it happened completely unexpectedly and made me look at the island I already knew from photographs with completely different eyes. After Akrotiri, I looked at Santorini in a different way. Later, when I found myself among the white houses and narrow streets again, everything around me was perceived a little differently, because now I saw beyond the beautiful landscapes not only a modern tourist island. I looked at the volcanic landscape and thought that it was he who once changed the fate of an ancient settlement, and the sea, which travelers admire today from the terraces of restaurants, was a part of the lives of people who lived here long before the first tourists appeared. Even an ordinary walk now seemed like a small time trip to me, although, of course, I still continued to photograph beautiful doors and stop at each particularly good view or temple. And that's probably where the real value of travel lies for me, because sometimes it imperceptibly changes our perception of familiar things. Before the trip, Santorini was for me a beautiful Greek island that I had seen many times in photographs, and after Akrotiri it became a place with an incredibly deep history, where the beauty of nature coexists with the memory of an ancient civilization. I came for one impression, but I got a completely different one, and that's why this day has remained in my memory much more vividly than many pre-planned points on the route. A place I wasn't expecting at all If you ask me now which place turned out to be the most unexpected in my entire trip to Greece, I will name Akrotiri without much thought. Not because there were the most spectacular photos or the most famous views, but because it was there that I went without any special expectations and it was from there that I left with the feeling that I had accidentally discovered a completely different side of Santorini. Sometimes it seems to me that such places become the main memories of a trip, because we don't have time to think in advance what our impression should be, and therefore we perceive everything much more honestly. Now, when I remember Santorini, I see not only white houses, blue domes and sunset over the Aegean Sea, but also the ancient streets of Akrotiri, the silence of the archaeological complex and the feeling that there is a history that is several thousand years old under my feet. And if they had told me before the trip that the ancient city would be the most unexpected place for my trip, I probably would have just smiled and replied that I was definitely going to Santorini for something completely different. And now I understand that it's these unexpected turns that make traveling really interesting, because you never know which place will suddenly stay with you much longer than everyone else.