Gilyana

Before my trip to Vietnam, I imagined everything like this: the bustling streets of Hanoi, fragrant coffee with condensed milk, green rice fields, boats among limestone cliffs and small markets where you can buy half the country if you don't remember in time that the suitcase has a weight limit. I made a list of places I wanted to see in advance, saved several routes on my phone, and even read about local customs so that I wouldn't accidentally commit some cultural feat like trying to enter a temple in unsuitable shoes. It seemed to me that I was well prepared for the trip, although, as it turned out later, no guidebooks are able to prepare a person for the moment when an ordinary evening suddenly becomes one of the warmest memories in life. I came to Vietnam alone, and at first this thought seemed extremely romantic to me. No one needed to explain why I wanted to spend two hours in the same market, photographing old signs, or why I suddenly wanted to turn into an alley that promised neither beautiful views nor famous landmarks. I could change my plans, have breakfast when I woke up, and walk until my legs began to cautiously hint that a vacation was not a competition in the number of kilometers traveled. However, in the early days it became clear that independent travel has one small drawback: if you get lost, no one can convincingly say that it was you who insisted on this turn, and then look for the way back with you. I came for new experiences, beautiful photos and stories to tell at home, but I did not expect that the most valuable memory would not be a landmark or even an amazing landscape. It happened in the small Vietnamese city of Hoi An, where old houses are painted in warm shades of yellow, balconies hang over narrow streets, and colorful lanterns are lit in the evening. It was here that I received a gift, which at first seemed to me just a nice gesture from a stranger, and later turned into a story that I remember whenever I want to believe in small miracles again. Hoi An, where even the evening seems like a legend I arrived in Hoi An in the late afternoon, when the heat of the day was gradually receding, and the streets were beginning to fill with people. The city looked as if someone had decided to put together antique Chinese lanterns, Vietnamese houses, French colonial facades and the smell of freshly cooked food in one place, and then generously add a little magic for those who are not in too much of a hurry. I walked along the Thubon River, stopped by souvenir shops and tried to take pictures so that flashlights, water and at least one person who wasn't looking directly into the lens were in the frame at the same time. After several unsuccessful attempts, I realized that my idea of a dream photo was somewhat different from passersby's idea of free movement on the street, so I put my phone away and decided to just enjoy the evening. Hoi An is especially beautiful after sunset, when reflections of colorful lights appear over the river, and the old town gradually turns into a setting for a story about distant lands and lost treasures. It is easy to imagine how many centuries ago merchants arrived by water with goods from other parts of Asia, and in the narrow alleys there were people who spoke different languages and brought their own traditions with them. I read that historical Hoi An was an important trading port through which international trade links passed, and walking through its streets, I couldn't help but imagine what it was like before the advent of tourist cafes and souvenir shops. However, my historical reflections were regularly interrupted by quite modern questions: where to buy water, isn't it time for dinner, and why I found myself again near a shop with beautiful things, even though I promised myself not to buy anything. In a small square, I stopped by a woman who was selling handmade silk lanterns. They hung over the counter in rows, shimmering in shades of red, gold, and green, and swaying gently in the evening wind. The woman smiled at me and motioned for me to examine the product, and I, as a person who knows how to enter a store solely to look, held a flashlight in my hands a minute later and tried to decide where I was going to put it at home. I asked the price, listened carefully to the answer, and thought sadly that my suitcase would soon run out of space not for clothes, but for all the things that seemed beautiful to me precisely because I was far from home. The Legend of lanterns and little Happiness While I was examining the lanterns, the woman noticed my interest and began to talk about the tradition of lighting them in Hoi An. Of course, we communicated in a mixture of English words, gestures, and smiles, so I can't say that I understood every phrase perfectly correctly, but I remember the meaning of the conversation. Vietnamese lanterns are often associated with wishes of happiness, well-being and good luck , and in Hoi An they have become one of the symbols of the city, especially during the monthly lantern festival, when the electric lighting in the historic center partially gives way to the soft glow of traditional lights. I listened to her and looked at the colorful lanterns, imagining how people lit them in their homes many years ago, hoping for peace, prosperity and the well-being of the family. At that moment, I remembered another famous legend of Vietnam – the story of the magic sword of Emperor Le Loy. According to legend, in the 15th century, the heavenly forces helped the future ruler to obtain a sword, with which he led the fight against Chinese rule. After the victory, the emperor went to the lake, where a huge golden turtle took the sword and carried it into the depths, returning the heavenly gift to its owners. This legend is associated with the name of Hoan Kiem Lake in Hanoi , which is often translated as "Lake of the Returned Sword." Of course, I couldn't know what exactly the woman at the counter was thinking when she told me about flashlights, but I liked to imagine that in this country old stories still live alongside everyday life, and people pass them on to each other not only in books, but also during ordinary conversations. I asked the woman if flashlights could really bring good luck, and she laughed, as if I had asked a very serious question about something that should primarily please the eye. Then she explained that the most important thing for her is the good wishes that people associate with such gifts. Maybe I didn't understand every word, but the smile and gestures were more eloquent than long explanations. I was about to buy a small flashlight when the woman suddenly shook her head, selected one of the smallest ones from the counter and handed it to me. At first, I didn't even understand what was going on, and I decided that she wanted to show me another model. But the woman put the flashlight in my hands, smiled and made it clear with a gesture that it was a gift. I started to refuse because I was embarrassed to accept a thing from a man who earns money by selling his own products, but she gently insisted. We talked a little more, as much as our tongues would allow, and then I thanked her and walked away from the counter, still not fully believing that a strange woman had just given me a beautiful thing for nothing. The most unexpected gift turned out to be very small The flashlight was made of thin silk stretched over a lightweight frame, and it fit in my palms. It didn't look expensive or luxurious, and its color wasn't particularly rare, but there was something surprisingly warm and real about it. I carefully put the gift in my bag, checked several times for creases in the fabric, and continued walking, although my thoughts kept returning to the woman at the counter. It was unusual for me to receive something from a person I had met just a few minutes ago, and it was even more unusual for me to realize that I didn't need to give anything in return except gratitude. In the evening, I sat down in a small cafe near the river, ordered Vietnamese coffee with condensed milk and took out a flashlight to examine it again. The coffee turned out to be so strong that after the first sip, I wondered for a moment if I really wanted to have a quiet evening or if I accidentally ordered a drink for someone who has to raise a small bridge tomorrow. I added some ice, stirred the coffee and began to watch the people on the embankment, and my gift lay on the table next to it. There was a lot of talking, boats moving slowly through the water, vendors offering souvenirs to tourists, and I sat there feeling unusually calm, as if this little flashlight had helped me stop hurrying for a few minutes. I often bought souvenirs while traveling and brought home magnets, postcards, ceramic cups and things that seemed important to me at the time of purchase. But this flashlight was different from everything I had brought before, because I hadn't chosen it myself and hadn't planned to include it in my luggage. He appeared in my life quite unexpectedly, thanks to the kindness of a stranger, and that's why he became special to me. I suddenly realized that a gift is valuable not only for its value or beauty, but also for the story behind it, and sometimes a few minutes of human involvement are more memorable than a whole day scheduled along a tourist route. The legend of the turtle and another miracle story The next day, I decided to visit one of the places associated with the legends of Vietnam, and again I remembered the story of the golden turtle who took the magic sword from Emperor Le Loy. I couldn't see Hoan Kiem Lake in Hoi An itself, because it's located in Hanoi, but the legend interested me so much that I started reading more about it at the hotel. I liked that in this story, not only the magic sword that helped to win the victory is important, but also the moment when it had to be returned: a wonderful gift does not necessarily have to belong to a person forever in order to fulfill its purpose. Of course, this is just a legend, not historical proof of the existence of a magical weapon or a golden turtle , but it is such stories that help to feel how closely history, folk memory and everyday life are intertwined in Vietnam. A stuffed turtle in a showcase at the Jade Mountain Temple I was thinking that gifts can also be like little legends. One person gives another a thing, sometimes quite by accident, and years later this object reminds not so much of the object itself as of the time, place and feelings that accompanied the meeting. I had enough things at home that cost more than my flashlight, but none of them could tell the story of Hoi An's evening promenade, a woman who didn't know my name, and a conversation in which a smile was more important than words. I wanted to keep this story not only in my memory, but also in the item itself, so I decided not to hide the gift in a suitcase among other souvenirs, but to bring it home in my carry-on. Jade Mountain Temple That evening, I took another walk through the old town, paused by the river and watched the lanterns reflected on the water. I remembered going to the Jade Mountain Temple and admiring the stuffed turtle. I didn't buy another souvenir, although several times I found myself wanting to find something similar to put next to the gift. Then I laughed at my own habit of turning any beautiful impression into an excuse to buy and went on, enjoying the walk. Sometimes it seems to me that traveling teaches us not so much to pack our things as to notice things that cannot be packed in a suitcase: someone else's smile, unexpected kindness, the aroma of an unfamiliar dish, or the feeling that for a few minutes you were not just a tourist in a strange country, but a guest. What I brought home from Vietnam When the trip came to an end, I carefully wrapped the flashlight in soft clothes so that it wouldn't get wrinkled on the way, and checked several times to make sure I hadn't left it in the room. From the outside, it probably looked a little funny, because I treated a small thing as if I were transporting a fragile museum piece, although in fact I was most afraid of losing the memory that was associated with it. At home, I found a place for the flashlight near the bookshelf, where it reminds me of Vietnam and that evening in Hoi An. Sometimes I turn on a small lamp next to it, look at its soft colors and mentally return to the embankment, where boats were rustling, there was a smell of food and an unknown woman gave me a piece of her world. Now, when people ask me what souvenir I brought from Vietnam, I tell them about this particular flashlight. I could list the beautiful places I've seen, the dishes I've tasted, and the routes I've walked, but most of the time I think of a story about an unexpected gift. She reminds me that even in an unfamiliar country, where you don't always understand the language and don't know the local customs, you can meet someone who wants to share something good with you just because they want to. And even though I will never know the whole story of that woman and will not be able to say exactly why she decided to give me a flashlight, I am pleased to think that that evening I received not only a souvenir, but also a small lesson in kindness. Perhaps that's why I still consider that flashlight to be the most unexpected gift of my life. It wasn't expensive, it wasn't pre-selected, and it had nothing to do with the holiday, but it appeared at a time when I didn't expect anything special at all. I came to Vietnam for impressions, and I left with something that brings me back to one simple thought every time: sometimes the most valuable gifts come from people we meet for just a few minutes, and the most beautiful legends are born where we are ready to see a little magic in an ordinary day.

I used to think that traveling was necessary in order to see beautiful places, take photos, taste unfamiliar food and bring home a suitcase of impressions, which can then be disassembled for several weeks. I made up routes in advance, saved interesting cafes, marked the sights on the map, and tried to plan for literally everything, including the weather, transportation, and a backup option in case of rain. I wanted every trip to be perfect, because vacations don't happen that often, and the money I spent, it seemed to me, should definitely pay off with unforgettable emotions. But one day I went to Italy and came back with a completely different understanding of travel, and of myself too. Italy, which I went to for beauty I started my trip with Florence, a city that has long existed in my imagination thanks to photographs, films, and endless stories from other travelers. I imagined old streets, cozy cafes, bridges over the Arno, beautiful squares and that special Italian sun in which even an ordinary cup of coffee looks worthy of a magazine cover. I prepared thoroughly: I made a route by day, marked the museums, selected several restaurants, and even calculated how long it would take to get from one place to another. If diplomas were awarded for careful travel planning, I would already be confidently teaching this discipline. The Ponte Vecchio Bridge On the first day, everything really went almost perfectly, and I enjoyed walking around the city, looking at the facades of buildings, photographing storefronts, and checking my phone from time to time. However, by lunchtime, I discovered that instead of enjoying myself, I was beginning to feel strangely anxious.: It seemed to me that I was staying too long in one place and might not have time to watch everything else. While I was admiring the beautiful square, the next point of the route was already scrolling through my head, and for some reason during lunch I checked my watch, as if I had not had a dream trip, but a responsible work shift with a strict schedule. The funny thing is that I came to Italy for a vacation, but I managed to turn my own vacation into a project with deadlines, checkpoints and an internal boss who constantly demanded to speed up. The day when everything didn't go according to plan On the second day, I decided to take the tram to one of the attractions along a pre-saved route, but I realized pretty quickly that I had taken a wrong turn. At first, I calmly looked at the map and decided that nothing terrible had happened, because even in an unfamiliar city it is impossible to get lost completely if you have a smartphone and at least a little common sense. Ten minutes later, common sense was already silent, the smartphone showed a route that for some reason I could not compare with the surrounding streets, and I stood near an unfamiliar intersection and felt my wonderful tourist mood slowly evaporate. Florence Tram I tried to go back, but in the end I went even further, and then I found that the charge of the phone had noticeably decreased exactly when I needed it most. To top it all off, it started to rain, and I had to find shelter under the awning of a small store, clutching my bag and wondering why people always look so carefree in photos when traveling, and at that moment I looked more like a drenched person who accidentally lost an argument with the navigator. I was annoyed, tired, and almost ready to cry out of frustration, because it felt like I'd ruined my precious day. That's when, for the first time in the entire trip, I stopped trying to fix the situation immediately. I just stayed under the awning, waited for the rain to ease a little, and looked around instead of frantically searching for the right road again. An elderly Italian woman stood next to me with a bag of groceries, who said something to me in Italian, smiled and gestured to the sky, as if we both understood perfectly well that the weather sometimes has its own plans. I didn't understand almost a word, but for some reason I smiled back, and the tension I'd been carrying around for the last half hour suddenly became a little weaker. The most unexpected walk When the rain stopped, I decided not to try to catch up with my own route anymore and just walked down the street, which seemed beautiful to me. I didn't know where it would lead, I had no idea how long the walk would take, and for the first time in several days, I didn't feel the need to immediately find out all the details. On the way, I came across a small bakery, several old houses with green shutters, a cozy courtyard, and a cafe with tables and chairs wet from the rain. Sicilian Round Buccellato pie I went into a bakery, bought a pie, and to be honest, I barely pronounced the name, but now it seems to me that there is nothing complicated about it. I went on my way, enjoying the fact that I had absolutely nowhere to rush. Then I found a small cafe, ordered coffee, and sat by the window, where I could see people returning to their business after the rain. No one paid attention to the fact that I was sitting alone, no one demanded that I go somewhere immediately, and no one except my own inner critic thought that I was wasting valuable time. I was looking at the street and suddenly realized that for the first time in the last few days I was really where I came from. Before that, it was as if I was always looking at Florence through a list of attractions that I had compiled myself, and completely forgot to notice the life around me. And now it was good for me to just sit, drink coffee, look at passersby and feel the smell of fresh pastries mixing with the aroma of wet stone. At that moment, I realized that the warmest memories don't always appear where you had planned them in advance. Sometimes they start with a wrong turn, a dead phone, and rain that you didn't order at all. I stopped being afraid that I would miss something. After that day, I began to gradually change my attitude towards traveling. I still wanted to see the famous places of Florence, but I no longer perceived every failed route as a personal defeat. If I wanted to stay in the square, I stayed, if my legs were tired, I sat down to rest, and if I happened to find a beautiful street, I allowed myself to walk along it, even when it was not marked in my saved places. The Arno River One morning I went for a walk without a detailed plan and found myself near the Arno River, where I watched the reflections of buildings in the water for a long time. I could have been standing in line at the museum or rushing to another famous landmark, but instead I just enjoyed the silence and the soft morning light. It suddenly became completely unimportant to me how many photos I would take and how many points I would have time to mark on the map, because I finally stopped measuring the quality of my vacation by the amount I saw. It was probably then that I first felt the real freedom for which people go on trips. Not the kind of freedom that is beautifully written about in books, but a completely simple one: the ability to decide for yourself how to spend the day, not scold yourself for being tired and not try to turn every minute into a useful achievement. What Italy has taught me I didn't return home as a completely different person, and I don't want to pretend that one trip can instantly resolve all internal issues. I still sometimes worry about small things, make too long to-do lists, and can spend half an hour choosing between two completely identical options. But after Florence, I began to notice more often the moments when I create unnecessary tension for myself, trying to control what is impossible to control completely. Piazza della Signoria I realized that I don't have to do everything perfectly to enjoy life. Sometimes you can make a mistake with the road and accidentally end up in Piazza della Signoria, choose the wrong restaurant, get caught in the rain, or spend half the day completely differently than you intended, and still return home happy. Moreover, it is precisely such imperfect moments that sometimes become the most vivid memories, because they do not have a pre-conceived scenario and the need to meet their own expectations. I also learned how to navigate the transportation system. Traveling by public transport is cheaper, but the main thing is that I realized how to hear myself better. If I'm tired, I no longer need to prove to myself that I can walk another ten kilometers; if I want to be quiet, I don't have to fill every free minute with conversations and activities. And if something doesn't go according to plan, it doesn't mean that the day is ruined, and I haven't prepared well enough for life myself. The most important souvenir On my last evening in Florence, I walked through the familiar streets I had passed in the early days. I looked at the buildings, recalled my little adventures and smiled at how much I was worried about the lost route, which eventually gave me one of the most enjoyable days of the trip. I no longer wanted to have time to go somewhere else, buy another souvenir, or make sure to take the perfect keepsake photo, because I felt that I was already taking the most important thing with me. I took home not only photos, several postcards and memories of delicious Italian coffee, but also a new attitude towards my own mistakes. Now I knew that not everything in life needs to be controlled, that random turns sometimes turn out to be more interesting than pre-laid roads, and rest should not turn into a competition in which I appointed myself both a participant and a strict judge. When people ask me what my journey has taught me, I usually reply that I have become calmer about the unexpected and have learned to allow myself spontaneity more often. But to be honest, Italy has taught me much more.: You don 't have to wait for the perfect circumstances to feel happy, because life doesn't only happen when everything goes according to plan . Sometimes it happens in the rain, on an unfamiliar street, over a cup of coffee in a small cafe, or at the moment when you finally put your phone away and just look around. And now, when I think of Florence, I don't think about how many sights I've seen, but about how one day I accidentally lost my way and for the first time in a long time I stopped being afraid that I was going the wrong way.

I knew about Niagara Falls long before I saw it with my own eyes, and as is often the case with very famous places, it seemed to me that I already roughly understand what awaits me there. I saw photos, watched videos, read travelers' stories, and imagined a huge stream of water, beautiful viewing platforms, and the obligatory keepsake photo where I stand with a very serious face and pretend that this is exactly how I planned to spend the day. In fact, everything turned out to be completely different, because Niagara Falls turned out to be one of those places that you can't really imagine from photographs, no matter how good the phone screen is. I arrived there with a fairly ordinary tourist mood, when the day has already been roughly scheduled in my head and it seems that now I will quickly look at everything, take photos, take a walk and go on about my business. However, the closer I got to the waterfall, the more I began to realize that my careful plan was gradually ceasing to matter. First I heard the roar of water, then I felt the humid air, and then I saw people ahead, who for some reason were all looking in the same direction, and then I became very curious about what was going on there. First look at Niagara I went out to the observation deck, looked up, and just stopped for a few seconds, because my brain clearly didn't have time to process what I saw. In front of me was a huge mass of water that was rushing down with incredible force, and it was all happening on such a large scale that the first thought was completely simple.: "Now I understand why people come here from all over the world." In photographs, the waterfall seems beautiful and impressive, but in person it is completely different, because you don't just look at it, you hear it, feel the spray, see the movement of the water and realize how small you become next to such natural power. I didn't even take out my phone for a few minutes, although before the trip I promised myself to take everything in a row and bring home photos that I could then admire on long winter evenings. At that moment, I didn't want to photograph anything at all, because I was afraid of missing the first impression while I was looking for the right angle. Of course, I couldn't stay without a phone for long, because the tourist inside me quickly defeated the romance, and after a few minutes I was already trying to figure out how to remove the waterfall so that it didn't look like another beautiful picture from the Internet. The photos didn't turn out the way I wanted them to. This is where a separate part of my journey began, which is usually not written about in beautiful travel articles. In the first photo, someone else's head somehow mysteriously got into the frame, in the second, the wind tousled my hair, in the third, the lens was covered with small drops, and in the fourth, I seemed to catch a beautiful moment, but for some reason I looked as if I had just learned about the existence of a waterfall and was very surprised by it. I wiped the camera several times, changed the position, moved away and came back again, until I finally realized that I was trying to photograph something that didn't need my photographic skills at all. At some point, I just put my phone away and decided to look with my eyes instead of through the screen, and that's when the impression became even stronger. There was a constant hum around, the water was moving so powerfully that the eye literally clung to this stream, and the air was filled with the smallest drops. I stood and thought about how many people had looked at the same waterfall before me and felt about the same feeling when you realize that nature sometimes knows how to create spectacles much more spectacular than any human project. Splashes, wind and my slightly wet image Of course, I knew that there would be water next to the waterfall, but for some reason I wasn't prepared for how quickly it would be on me. At some point, the wind brought a cloud of fine spray directly in my direction, and at first I tried to pretend that everything was under control, although after a few minutes my hair began to get wet, and small drops appeared on my jacket. As a result, my neat tourist image of a man who came to enjoy nature quickly turned into the image of a man whom nature decided to refresh a little without prior approval. But for some reason, this particular moment is especially memorable to me, because travel rarely consists only of beautiful shots. We usually take pictures of ourselves against the backdrop of the sights, try to look perfect, fix our hair before taking the picture, choose the best angle, and then completely forget that a real trip is still wet sleeves, tired legs, accidentally spilled coffee, and situations where the navigator suddenly decides that you can do just fine without it. Niagara quickly explained the rules of the game to me in this regard: it is impossible to stay completely dry here and at the same time feel like a real participant in what is happening. Why was the sound the most striking to me? To be honest, before the trip, I didn't even think about the sound of the waterfall, because we usually perceive such places with our eyes. But when you stand next to Niagara, the first thing you start to hear is it, and this hum becomes such a natural part of the space that after a while you can no longer imagine the surrounding landscape without it. You can talk, laugh, take pictures, discuss the route, but somewhere in the background there is always a powerful sound of water, which reminds you that something absolutely incredible is happening just a few meters away from you. I liked that it's impossible to turn this sound off, pause it, or turn it down, and there's a special honesty to nature about it. You can come for a few minutes or spend half a day nearby, but the waterfall does not change its character for the sake of tourists and is not at all interested in whether you managed to take a good photo. He just keeps falling, making noise, and gathering people around him, who stand and stare at him with the same slightly dazed expression on their faces. I realized that I don't want to rush anywhere here. I usually try to get as much time as possible when traveling, especially if I know that I can only be in this place once. I always have an internal list: to see, to take pictures, to walk a little more, to find a beautiful street, to go to a cafe, to look again, and then be sure to check that I did not miss anything. But near Niagara Falls, this mode suddenly turned off, and for the first time in a long time I wanted to just sit and look at the water, not thinking about the next destination. Niagara Riverfront I found a place where I could clearly see the waterfall, and for a while I just watched what was happening around me. Someone was taking pictures, someone was standing completely still, the children reacted joyfully to the spray, and the adults were trying to take photos in which their faces were not covered by wind or drops of water, and the whole picture was very vivid. I suddenly thought that it was probably for the sake of such moments that we travel – not for the sake of a tick in front of the name on the map, but for the sake of a feeling that then suddenly pops up in my memory years later. Niagara seemed completely different to me in the evening As the day began to come to an end, I returned to the waterfall and looked at it with slightly different eyes. In the morning, I was a person who had just arrived and was trying to understand the scale of what was happening, and in the evening I already felt as if I had become a little familiar with this place and had managed to get used to its noise, humid air and endless movement of water. Of course, it's impossible to get used to Niagara completely, but after a few hours next to her, the first shock is replaced by some kind of calm admiration. I took out my phone again and took some photos, even though I already knew they wouldn't be able to convey what I saw anyway. Everything looked beautiful on the screen, but a completely different image remained in my memory – the sound of water, cold splashes on my face, wind, wet hair and the feeling that in front of me was not just a famous landmark, but a huge natural force. It was this image that I remembered most often later, although there were many more photos left on my phone. What did I take with me When I left Niagara Falls, for some reason it seemed to me that I would definitely come back here. Not because one day was not enough for me or I did not have time to look at something, but because some places cannot be closed in my head with one trip, like a completed item on a list. I wanted to hear that noise again, see the falling water again, stand next to it without a phone and just watch nature do what she does best for a few minutes. I went there thinking that I would see one of the most famous waterfalls in the world, but in the end I got much more than I expected. Niagara reminded me that photographs are sometimes too good at reducing impressions, because the real scale of a place is revealed only when you are next to it, feel the spray on your face and realize that it is impossible to put a frame or make a beautiful filter in front of you. And, probably, that's why my first acquaintance with Niagara Falls remained in my memory not as an ordinary tourist trip, but as the very moment when I first saw a huge wall of water and for a few seconds I simply forgot where I was going to go next. I came to see Niagara, but I left with the feeling that I had been near something much more than just an attraction, and now I know for sure that some places need to be seen with my own eyes at least once, even if after that you come home with wet hair, hundreds of photos of the waterfall and about zero really perfect ones. frames.

Marienplatz New Town Hall The last big city of my trip was Munich. And, to be honest, by this point I was already a little tired of living by the principle of "today is another city," but at the same time I absolutely did not want the journey to end. Munich turned out to be a great finale. I walked along Marienplatz, looked at the New Town Hall, reached the Frauenkirche and just walked around the center without a special plan. After a few days with train schedules, hotels, and attractions, I especially enjoyed not planning anything. I went into a cafe, ordered coffee, and just sat by the window, watching the street. Then I went for a walk again, reached the English Garden and finally felt that there was no need to rush anywhere. English Garden In the evening, I returned to the hotel, packed my suitcase and looked at the ticket for the next train with some sadness. Do you know that feeling when the journey is already ending, and suddenly it seems to you that you have just got into the taste? That's how it was with me. What I liked about traveling through Germany by train After this trip, I realized that Germany is really great for railway travel. I didn't have to think about parking, gasoline, toll roads, or where to park my car in the city center. Instead, I just came to the train station, found my train, put my suitcase down and settled down by the window. Sometimes I read, sometimes I looked at the landscape, sometimes I just drank coffee and did nothing – and this "doing nothing" turned out to be an unexpectedly pleasant part of the trip. View from the Monopter Of course, not everything was perfect. Somewhere I got a little confused with the platform, somewhere I walked for too long and then practically ran back to the station, and one day I got so carried away with shopping that I tried to put all this stuff in a suitcase all the way. But it is precisely from such trifles that a normal journey is formed. If everything goes perfectly, then sometimes there's not even anything to tell. And I also unexpectedly discovered a life hack for myself: when I start to get nervous, I just look at the photos, and the anxiety goes away. My route Brandenburg Gate in Berlin If you put the whole trip in one line, my route looked something like this: Berlin → Hamburg → Cologne → Dresden → Nuremberg → Munich . I specifically chose cities with different personalities. Berlin gave me history and modernity, Hamburg gave me water and a port atmosphere, Cologne gave me the famous cathedral and the Rhine, Dresden gave me tranquility and beautiful architecture, Nuremberg gave me a medieval mood, and Munich was the perfect end to my trip. Nuremberg Speicherstadt in Hamburg And the best part is that I didn't have to choose between "see Germany" and "relax." I rested on the train, and in the cities I became a tourist again. When I returned home, I had a huge number of photos on my phone, some completely unnecessary souvenirs were in my suitcase, and a new route was already forming in my head. Because after such a trip, I realized one thing: Germany by train is not just a convenient way to travel between cities. This is a separate type of travel, where the road also becomes part of the story. And if I were asked now if I would repeat such a route, I would answer without hesitation: yes. But next time, I would put at least a couple of extra days between cities, because my main disadvantage as a traveler is that I constantly try to see more than is physically possible. And then I wonder why I fall on my bed in the evening with my phone in my hand and say to myself, "That's it, we're not going anywhere tomorrow." And that's why I get up again in the morning and go to the train station.

The next stop was Nuremberg. I've wanted to visit here for a long time because of the old town and the famous Nuremberg Castle. When I left the train station and walked towards the historical center, it seemed to me that the city was specially created for long walks. Narrow streets, old buildings, small squares and a huge number of details that you want to consider. Nuremberg Castle I went up to Nuremberg Castle, walked around the grounds and looked at the city from above. Then I went back down and went to explore the old center. At some point, I decided that I perfectly remember where my hotel is located, and confidently went in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes later, I finally opened the map and discovered that my internal navigator had clearly taken the day off. But thanks to this mistake, I walked through several streets where I had no intention of going at all. And again, it turned out what often happens in travel: a route error sometimes leads to a better experience. Experience has taught me this, so I no longer worry when things don't go according to plan. To make sure, I take a second phone in case the charging on the first device runs out or the memory card runs out.

After the noisy Cologne, I wanted some quiet, so Dresden became the next city. I liked him almost immediately. There was a kind of calm mood here that made it possible not to run from one attraction to another, but just to walk and look at the buildings. Zwinger Palace I went to the Old Town, saw the Zwinger, the Dresden Castle, the Frauenkirche Church and strolled along the Elbe. It was especially beautiful in the late afternoon, when the light became softer and the city gradually calmed down. Frauenkirche Church Dresden turned out to be the city where I finally slowed down a bit. I didn't plan my route by the minute on purpose, I just walked, went into small shops, sat in cafes and looked at passers-by. And it was here that I realized that traveling by train has another advantage: cities can be changed quite easily, but there is still time between them when you can just relax.

Cologne Cathedral Cologne was the next destination on the route. And here it was impossible to pretend that I had come just to walk around the city, because almost immediately after leaving the station, Cologne Cathedral appeared in front of me. This is the case when the photo is familiar to you long before the trip, but in reality the building still turns out to be impressive. I just stood there for a few minutes and looked up, because I was trying to understand how people built such structures several centuries ago without modern technology. I went up to the cathedral's observation deck, and there I had to remember that I wasn't actually an athlete. The stairs seemed endless, but after climbing, I decided that since I had started, I needed to reach the end. There was a view of Cologne and the Rhine from above. The city looked completely different, and the train I arrived on already seemed like some small detail of a large German map. The Hohenzollern Bridge After the cathedral, I walked through the old town, reached the embankment and crossed the Hohenzollern Bridge. There I took a classic tourist photo again, although I promised myself this time not to photograph obvious places. Cathedral Bridge But let's be honest: if you came to Cologne and didn't take a picture of the cathedral, then you're either a very strong person or you just forgot your phone.

I went from Berlin to Hamburg. The train ride turned out to be so comfortable that I quickly realized why I even came up with the idea of traveling this way. I sat by the window, put coffee next to it, and just stared at the landscape behind the glass for a while. At such moments, you especially understand the difference between traveling by car and by train: you don't have to watch the road, look for parking, or think about where to turn. You can just sit and watch the country change. Hamburg Seaport Hamburg turned out to be very different from Berlin. Here I immediately felt the proximity of the water and a completely different atmosphere of the city. I went to the Elbe, walked along the embankment, looked at the port, and then reached the Speicherstadt district. The Elbe The old brick buildings, canals, bridges, and water made me feel like I was in a movie set. Moreover, such a film where the main character was supposed to look very elegant, but instead she goes with a backpack, takes pictures of everything and tries not to lose her phone and train ticket at the same time. I also liked the Elbe Philharmonic. Even if you don't go inside, the building itself already makes an impression. The Elbe Philharmonic I stood next to her for a long time, looking at the water and thinking how different Germany could be in just a few hours of travel. It's like my vacation started a long time ago, and I still have a few months ahead of me. Next time, I'd like to come back for at least 2 weeks.

When I was going to Germany, I realized that I wanted to see several cities, but I didn't want to change hotels every day, carry a heavy suitcase up the stairs and turn my vacation into a competition with the navigator. At some point I thought: why not travel through several German cities by train? The idea seemed great right up until the moment I opened the map and started adding cities one by one. At first, only Berlin, Hamburg and Munich were on my list, then suddenly Cologne, Dresden, Nuremberg appeared, and then I looked at a couple more photos and realized that if I continued like this, I would need not a vacation, but a separate stage in my life. As a result, I chose a route that allowed me to see a completely different Germany: modern Berlin, maritime Hamburg, romantic Cologne, historic Nuremberg, fabulous Munich and a slightly different, more peaceful Dresden. The main character of the trip was the train. I specifically didn't take a car because I wanted to experience Germany exactly the way a passenger sees it: with train stations, platforms, large windows, a cup of coffee on the way, and the very moment when the train starts moving and you look out the window and realize that the next city is already becoming part of the journey. The first city on my route was Berlin . And it was a pretty logical choice, because after the road, I wanted to start from a place where there was a sense of scale and energy. Berlin greeted me exactly as I expected: a little chaotic, a little harsh, and at the same time incredibly interesting. I settled down near the center, left my suitcase and almost immediately went for a walk, because I just don't know how to sit in my room after arriving. Brandenburg Gate The Quadriga of the Brandenburg Gate First of all, I went to the Brandenburg Gate, then I went to the Reichstag building, walked along Unter den Linden and reached the Museum Island. On paper, the route looked pretty compact, but in reality, by the evening I found that I had walked as much as I usually walk in a few days. The Old National Gallery I was especially impressed by the sense of history that is literally found here at every turn. Berlin does not try to pretend that it had only a beautiful past, on the contrary, the city fairly honestly shows different periods of its history, and this makes walking through it much deeper. In the evening, I decided to go to a cafe, but first I stood outside for about ten minutes and tried to figure out where the entrance was. It turned out that the entrance was literally two meters away from me, I was just looking completely the wrong way. In general, the first day of the trip immediately reminded me: German organization is great, but it does not guarantee the organization of the tourist at all.

I didn't plan anything serious on purpose on the last day. I wanted to have a quiet breakfast, walk along familiar streets, take another look at Venice, and just sit somewhere with a coffee without checking the departure time every five minutes. After 10 days of constant movement, such a slow ending turned out to be exactly what was really needed. I walked through the streets and remembered the beginning of the trip when I first arrived in Rome and still did not know how much I would have time to see. During these days, I managed to live in three completely different cities, get lost several times, get tired of my own suitcase, eat a lot more pasta than I had planned, and take so many photos that I had to deal with my phone's memory later. St. Angel's Bridge I went home with the feeling that ten days is both a long time and absolutely not enough. A lot, because during this time you can see Rome, Florence and Venice, feel the difference between them and get a real idea of traveling in Italy, and a little – because you only have to look at the map, as it becomes clear how much more is left beyond this route. What would I change in the route now? If I were planning a trip to Italy for ten days again, I would keep about the same principle: several cities, a normal amount of time in each and a minimum of pointless travel. It is much more pleasant for me to spend three days in one place, to have time to walk in the morning, afternoon and evening, to see the city not only from the tourist side and leave myself time for random discoveries, than to wake up every day thinking that today I need to go somewhere again. My itinerary turned out like this: Rome – 3 days, Florence – 3 days, Venice – 3 days and one more day for moving and a quiet end to the trip. Of course, this is far from the whole of Italy, and I understand perfectly well that there are a lot of places outside of this route that I also want to go to now: Tuscany, small towns, the coast, the south of the country and many places that I hadn't even considered before. And that's probably what I like most about traveling. A good trip doesn't end when you check all the sights, but when you return home and after a couple of days start looking at photos again, remembering random streets, the taste of dinner, and some completely ordinary evening view. After my Italy, I still have exactly this feeling: I didn't "see Italy in ten days", I just got to know her, and the acquaintance turned out to be so pleasant that now I want to continue.

I decided to devote the ninth day to more relaxing walks and trips to the islands. After my busy days in Rome and Florence, I just wanted to look at the other side of Venice and take a break from the constant stream of people in the center. The trip around the city on the water turned out to be very pleasant, especially because I was in no hurry and did not try to do absolutely everything in a few hours. I admired the Grand Canal, took a lot of photos, drank coffee, looked at houses, and again found myself thinking that it was much more interesting for me to observe the ordinary life of the city than just moving from one landmark to another. At some point, I looked at the navigator and discovered that I had gone completely wrong from where I had planned. But after a few days in Venice, I already perceived it almost as part of a mandatory program. Tagliatelle with bolognese sauce In the evening, I returned to the city and had one last Italian dinner. I really liked the tagliatelle with bolognese sauce, before the trip to Italy I would have called them pasta. But now I see the difference and I will try to cook wide noodles with meat stew at home. It was a little sad to get ready to go home, because in ten days I had already gotten used to this rhythm: waking up, going outside, walking a lot, looking for a new cafe and constantly being surprised that the next turn turned out to be more beautiful than the previous one. At such times, you especially want to stop time for at least another couple of days.

The next day, I went to St. Mark's Square and the Doge's Palace. Of course, there were a lot of people, and I understood in advance that Venice is not the place where you can count on the complete absence of tourists in the center. But when I stopped trying to take the perfect photo without a single person in the frame, it became much easier to just enjoy what was happening. View of the Basilica from St. Mark's Square The courtyard of the Doge's Palace After the main attractions, I purposely walked away from the busiest streets. And that's where the Venice that I particularly liked began: small bridges, narrow passages, windows of old houses, boats against the walls and a completely peaceful life outside the main tourist routes. Sometimes I would just stop in the middle of the street and think that if I didn't know where I was, I might think I was in an old movie set. In the evening, I walked along the canals for a long time and got a little lost again. But for some reason, getting lost in Venice is not scary at all, because even when you don't understand where you are, there will almost always be a beautiful canal, bridge or small square ahead. However, when I finally found my way back, my legs clearly believed that the excursion program for today had been over-fulfilled.

In the morning, I packed my suitcase again and went to the train station. By this point, I was already a little tired of the constant "assemble–disassemble–reassemble" process, so this time I decided not to complicate my life and just double-check everything before going out. Of course, it was at that moment that I almost left one thing in the room, because for some reason traveling makes me forget things that I never forget at home. Santa Maria Novella Train Station The journey to Venice was quiet, and upon arrival, a new story began. With a suitcase, Venice turned out to be much more difficult than I imagined: bridges, stairs, stones underfoot and the absence of familiar streets along which you can just walk calmly. At one point, I looked at my luggage with the expression of a person who is beginning to suspect that it is the main obstacle on the way to beautiful Italy. Grand Canal Gondolas After checking in, I went for a walk anyway. I purposely left my first evening in Venice free and didn't try to find all the famous places right away. I just wanted to walk along the canals, look at the houses, listen to the sound of the water and from time to time stop where it was especially beautiful. Next to the traditional Venetian boats, I couldn't help but feel like the heroine of an Italian movie. It is not surprising that Venice has gradually begun to make the impression on me that I want to return here for, it is incredibly beautiful and cozy here. Gondolas are used as the main type of water transport in the historical center. And the symbol of the city, as I understand it, is a popular tourist attraction. I took a boat to the Church of Santa Maria della Salute. The Grand Canal. Church of Santa Maria della Salute It seemed like an amazing journey to me. I thought about how lucky Italians are, because they can swim like this every day. The temple was built as a sign of gratitude after the devastating plague epidemic of 1630-1631 receded. On the seventh day of my trip, it became the last destination. I had no desire to go anywhere else, I wanted to keep calm and peaceful, which I received after visiting the church.

On the sixth day, I decided to take a little calmer and look at Florence from above. The way up turned out to be a little more difficult than it looked in my imagination, but when I finally stopped and saw the city in front of me, it became clear that all these ascents were not in vain. Florence looks completely different from above, and at such moments it's especially clear how compact a city can seem, which a few hours ago you were winding kilometers through. After that, I just walked around without a clear plan. I looked into stores, first I looked at branded items, and then I bought small souvenirs that would surely be in the closet with the inscription "Italy" at home, and again I photographed everything that came across on the way. I actually noticed a strange thing about myself: the longer I travel, the less I photograph the sights and the more I take pictures of ordinary things – streets, a cup of coffee, a hotel window, a table in a cafe and some funny sign. Ponte Santa Trinita I was captivated by the place of Ponte Santa Trinita, it is located between the districts of the historical center and Oltrarno. Unlike the crowded Ponte Vecchio, it's peaceful here. This is probably the perfect place to take a break, breathe in the air and feel the atmosphere of the city. It was in Florence that I finally abandoned the idea of adding a few more cities to the trip. At some point, it became clear to me that if I tried to look at everything in ten days, I would only remember train stations, train numbers, and where I left my charger. And I wanted to return home with the feeling that I really was in Italy, and not just moving around with a suitcase.

In the morning, I went to explore the historical center of Florence and quickly realized that it was almost impossible to just walk down the street here. Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore There is always something around that attracts attention: a facade, a square, a showcase, a sculpture, an old door or another street that looks like it was specially built for photographs. I walked to the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, walked around the center, looked at the Palazzo Vecchio and went back to the Ponte Vecchio Bridge. Palazzo Vecchio At some point, I realized that my plan for the day had completely ceased to exist. And you know, I decided not to resist, because Florence is just the kind of city where it is more pleasant not to run along the points, but to allow myself to deviate a little from the route. I went into small shops, looked at the windows, photographed the streets and periodically sat down to drink coffee, although before that I confidently promised myself that "today I will save time." Museum of Anthropology and Ethnology of Florence After a few hours of walking, I decided to go to the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnology of Florence and spend part of the day there. I didn't expect that there would be so many exhibits here. An art historian told me that there are about 25,000 artifacts collected here. After a while, my brain began to hint rather delicately that another piece of art might be too much of a challenge for him right now, so I went looking for food. Margarita with tomato sauce, mozzarella and herbs In the evening, I sat in a small cafe for a long time, looked at the people around me and thought that in Italy, for some reason, food very easily becomes part of the route, and not just a necessary break between the sights. I wanted to try real Italian pizza. I ordered a traditional Margarita with tomato sauce, mozzarella and herbs. And it was the most delicious pizza, which I ate completely by myself, although I originally planned to take a couple of slices with me.

I decided to start the fourth day calmly, because after three days of active walks, I already wanted to just walk along familiar streets without the obligatory to-do list. I took another look at the center, reached Venice Square, had a coffee, and gradually began to return to the hotel to get my things. At times like this, I always regret a little that I can't just leave my suitcase in Rome and come here for another week, because that's when you get the feeling that you've just begun to understand the city. Venice Square in Rome My traditional struggle with a suitcase was waiting for me at the train station. It would seem that there are few things, everything is neatly assembled, but once you start looking for the right platform, this small bag suddenly turns into an impossible object. Fortunately, the train to Florence turned out to be convenient, the journey passed quickly, and after a while I was driving to a new city and looking out the window, realizing that the first part of the journey was over. The Ponte Vecchio Bridge I checked in in Florence and didn't plan a long route on purpose in the evening. I just went out for a walk, looked at the city at a calm pace and realized what it would be like for me. So far, the Ponte Vecchio Bridge has impressed me the most. I read that it was built in 1345. It is clear that repairs were carried out, reconstruction was carried out, but it is still amazing that such high-quality structures were built earlier. In general, after Rome, Florence immediately seemed more intimate and cozy to me, although even then I suspected that my feet would be discovered very soon: a small city does not mean a small number of steps, but that's another story.

I devoted the third day to the Vatican and prepared myself in advance for a lot of impressions. St. Peter's Cathedral makes a completely different impression in person, even if you have already seen it in photographs dozens of times before the trip. You stand inside and realize that it's just impossible to look at everything at the same time, so at some point I stopped trying to memorize every detail and just enjoyed being there. St. Peter's Cathedral After the Vatican, I decided to change the pace a bit and headed towards Trastevere. I really liked its small streets, old houses, balconies, laundry that dries completely without any desire to match tourist photos, and small restaurants where people quietly dine and talk. Santa Maria in Trastevere Square and fountain I took turns several times where I had no intention of going at all, and each time I found something interesting, so I gradually stopped looking at the map and just allowed myself to get a little lost. Republic Square In the evening, I found myself back in the center of Rome and found myself thinking that the city was already beginning to become familiar. Of course, I could still easily get lost, but now I was doing it much more confidently, because I already knew several landmarks and had a rough idea of which way to go. For me, this is always a special moment in a journey – when a strange city gradually ceases to be a stranger.

On the second day, I went to the Colosseum. I tried to arrange the tickets in advance, because even before the trip, I imagined that spending a few hours in line under the Italian sun was not exactly the experience I was flying to Rome for. The Colosseum When I finally found myself next to the Colosseum, I realized why it was impossible to perceive it only as another item on the list of attractions.: The photos convey the shape of the building, but they don't convey the sense of scale at all when you're standing next to it. The Roman Forum After the Colosseum, I went for a walk around the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill. The walk turned out to be much longer than I expected, because there I always want to stop, look around and imagine how it all looked many centuries ago. Palatine At some point, I realized that my legs had already stopped sharing my interest in history, and if they had a voice, they would probably suggest switching to studying ancient Rome exclusively in a sitting position. After such a walk, I decided not to overload the evening and just went for a walk around the city. I went to have dinner, sat outside for a while and watched the people who were passing by for a long time. I actually liked that in Rome, even an ordinary evening turns into a little trip.: you don't have to go to any particular landmark, just go outside, and the city itself begins to show you something interesting.

When I first started planning a trip to Italy for ten days, I had a very simple plan: to see as much as possible, eat delicious food, walk a lot, and preferably not be late. Already at the stage of setting the route, it became clear that the last condition would be the most difficult to fulfill, because Italy does not have a stopwatch at all. Here you can leave the hotel "literally for half an hour", and three hours later find yourself at a table in a small cafe with pasta in front of your nose and the thought that, since you've already come, you should try tiramisu. Rome Leonardo da Vinci Airport In the end, I decided not to try to travel all over the country in ten days and made a route so that each move would make sense. I wanted to see Rome, Florence and Venice, and between them leave enough time for ordinary walks, casual discoveries and those very moments that cannot be included in the tourist plan. It turned out to be a route that I was quite happy with, although I said to myself a couple of times: "Gilana, why did you walk there again if you could get there?" I arrived in Rome with the feeling that I would quickly settle in, drop my things and go for a walk, like a real organized tourist. In practice, everything looked a little different: first I was looking for the right exit from the subway, then I was trying to figure out which way to go, and then I saw the first beautiful street and, of course, I went completely the wrong way, because how could I walk past such a house and not take a picture of it. Trevi Fountain On the first day, I specifically did not arrange a sightseeing run. I walked around the center, reached the Trevi Fountain, looked at the Pantheon and just got used to Rome. I wanted to feel the city, not tick off ten famous places, so I walked a lot, looked into the alleys and periodically sat down somewhere to drink coffee. The Pantheon By the evening, I had already realized one important thing: Rome is impossible to watch "casually." Even an ordinary dinner trip here turns into an excursion, because there is so much history, beautiful facades and small squares around that the phone almost begs to be picked up.

Previously, packing for a trip for a week looked to me like I was going to move to another country for permanent residence instead of having a vacation. I packed clothes "just in case" in a suitcase, three pairs of shoes, cosmetics in quantities that would be enough for a small beauty salon, a first-aid kit the size of a suitcase, and for some reason I always took things that I hadn't even taken out during the entire trip. As a result, I had to cover the suitcase with my entire body weight, and at the airport I looked hopefully at the scales every time, as if they could show a couple of kilograms less out of pity. Over time, I realized a simple thing.: I don't need to take half an apartment with me for a week of travel . It's much more convenient to put together a small, thoughtful set of things that will really come in handy, rather than dragging along everything that theoretically might be needed if ten unlikely circumstances coincide at once. Therefore, now I'm going to be much calmer and try to adhere to the principle: it's better to take universal things that are easy to combine with each other than to fill a suitcase with clothes for all occasions. Clothes: smaller is better, but so that everything fits together For a week, I usually take a few T-shirts or tops, a pair of comfortable trousers or jeans, one more elegant thing for the evening, and a light sweatshirt or shirt that I can throw on if it gets chilly in the evening. If the trip involves the beach, I add a swimsuit, a light dress or a sundress, and if I'm going to walk a lot, then I think in advance not so much about beauty, but about how comfortable it will be to spend the whole day in these clothes. It helps a lot to choose things in one color scheme in advance, because then in the morning you don't have to stand in front of a suitcase with the expression of a person who has just lost the meaning of life. Almost every item should be combined with at least two or three others, then a small number of clothes make quite a lot of options. And yes, I still sometimes take a thing solely because it's beautiful, and then I discover that it can only be combined with another thing that I didn't take either, but this is my personal travel genre. Shoes: this is where I learned to stop myself. Shoes used to be a separate story, because it seemed to me that for a week you definitely need sneakers, sandals, shoes, another pair of sneakers "in case of rain" and something beautiful for the evening. As a result, half of the suitcase was occupied by shoes, but I was still walking in one of the most comfortable pairs. Now I usually take one basic comfortable pair for long walks and the second one is lighter or more elegant, depending on the direction. If I'm going to the sea, I add shoes for the beach, and if I have to walk around the city a lot, I don't do any experiments with new shoes before the trip, because the memories of the trip should be associated with beautiful streets, not with patches on the heels. Cosmetics and care: no need to take the entire closet I also try to collect cosmetics without fanaticism, although it is especially easy to start saying to yourself: "Well, this is a small jar, it weighs almost nothing." Then it turns out that I have fifteen such small jars, and together they somehow weigh like a good brick. For a week, I usually have enough cleanser, cream, sunscreen, shampoo and conditioner in small packages, a toothbrush and paste, deodorant and a minimal set of cosmetics. If the hotel provides shampoo, shower gel, and other basic products, I don't see the point in lugging my huge vials, especially if I'm traveling with hand luggage only. First aid kit: small but useful A small first-aid kit is mandatory for me, because sometimes the body likes to arrange surprises precisely when you are a thousand kilometers from home and plan to walk all day. I take only the usual tools that I have already used before, as well as what I may need on the road: patches, first aid supplies, medicines that I personally need, and basic things in case of minor troubles. At the same time, I'm not trying to assemble a mobile hospital department, because pharmacies are easy to find in most popular tourist destinations. The main thing is not to forget the necessary medicines, if you really need them regularly, and check in advance the rules of their transportation in the country where you are going. Documents and money: this is more important than the fifth dress This is where I prefer to be safe, because a forgotten T-shirt is much easier to experience than a forgotten document. Before traveling, I check my passport, tickets, hotel reservations, insurance, and other documents that may be needed on my trip, and I store important data not only on my phone. I also don't put my money in one place, because I don't like the idea of being left without all my funds because of a lost wallet at all. It is usually convenient to have a bank card and a small cash reserve, and also check in advance how well the usual payment methods work in the destination country. And I always charge my phone before leaving home, because a modern traveler without a phone sometimes feels like he was dropped off in the middle of civilization, but forgot to give out a card. Technique: only what you will actually use My phone, charger, and power bank are almost always on the mandatory list. If I take a laptop or tablet, I ask myself an unpleasant but useful question in advance.: "Am I really going to use it or do I just want to feel like a very organized person?" If the answer is the second, the equipment stays at home. When traveling without it, there are enough things to remember, photograph, search and charge, so an extra gadget easily turns from a useful assistant into another item that needs to be dragged around museums and cafes. What to put in your carry-on bag I try to put everything in my carry-on luggage that is unpleasant to stay without even for a few hours: documents, money, phone, charger, necessary medicines, headphones and the most important little things. If I'm flying with my luggage, I can also put in a basic set in case of delayed baggage – for example, a change of T-shirt and necessary personal hygiene products. After several trips, I especially loved the rule "the most valuable and the most necessary are nearby." Because a suitcase can get lost, get delayed, or suddenly decide to live your life at another airport, but it's better not to let your passport and phone out of control at all. What I don't take on trips anymore The most useful part of my list is, perhaps, the list of things that I stopped taking. I no longer pack clothes in a suitcase for every possible scenario, several identical things "in reserve", huge bottles of cosmetics and shoes that are uncomfortable to wear. I don't even take half of my first-aid kit if it's not necessary. I also stopped taking things just because I "suddenly feel like it." During a week of travel, you usually want something completely different: to walk, eat something delicious, look around, take pictures of beautiful places, and sometimes just sit in a cafe and watch people. And the lighter the suitcase, the more enjoyable it is to do all this, especially when you have to drag it up the stairs in an old European hotel and it turns out that the elevator exists only in theory. My universal list for the week If we put everything together in one simple list, then for a week-long trip I would check something like the following: documents, money and cards, a phone and charger, a power bank, necessary medicines, personal hygiene products, several sets of comfortable clothes, underwear and socks, outerwear for the weather, comfortable shoes, a small cosmetic bag and everything you need for a specific destination. And then I add things according to the situation: a swimsuit for the sea, a raincoat for a rainy city, warm clothes for a cool climate, an adapter for sockets, if needed, or something special for hiking and outdoor activities. The main thing is to first look at the weather, the program of the trip and the features of the country, and only then open the closet and start throwing everything in there under the alarming "well, suddenly it will come in handy." As a result, my ideal suitcase for a week looks rather modest, but it can be lifted without involving relatives, a neighbor, or a random passerby near the entrance. And, perhaps, this is the main sign that I have finally learned how to get ready for a trip normally.: I take everything I need with me, but I leave enough space for new experiences, and sometimes for a small souvenir that happens to be half the size of a suitcase.

I got lost in Marrakech by accident, although now, remembering this story, I realize that the word "accidental" here describes my actions too affectionately. I decided to turn off the usual tourist route myself, because it seemed to me that if everyone goes in one direction, then the real life of the city is probably somewhere in the opposite direction. At that time, it seemed to me that this was a great idea, because I was walking with my phone in my hand, the card was open, the charge was almost full, and my confidence in my own abilities to navigate the terrain was off the charts. For the first twenty minutes, everything was really going great, and I even managed to praise myself several times for not just walking along the central streets with a crowd of tourists. There were narrow alleys of the medina, small shops, doors behind which some completely different life was taking place, the smell of spices, fresh bread and something fried, which I could not come up with a name for. I took pictures of everything and thought that it was for such moments that you came to an unfamiliar country, and then I took another turn, then another, and at some point I realized that I had no idea where I was. The map decided to confuse me completely The funny thing started when I took out my phone and opened the card with the expression on the face of a person who can easily solve any problem now. The map showed that the street I needed was literally a few minutes away, but for some reason there were several walls, closed passages and alleys between me and this street, which on the screen looked like completely normal roads. I went to the right, then came back, then decided that I should go to the left, and after a few minutes I found myself again near the same bench with copper lamps. Menard Gardens At that moment, for the first time, I suspected that Marrakech had just decided to play with me a little. I was particularly struck by the fact that I could walk forward for several minutes without changing directions at all, and then find a familiar door in front of me, which I had already passed by. The phone confidently showed the arrow, I also confidently followed the arrow, and only one small circumstance prevented us from succeeding – I did not understand at all where this arrow was leading me. I wanted to see the Menard Garden, but it took me a while to visit the historical landmark. And then I remembered the "Clone" At one point, I stopped in the middle of the alley, looked at the walls surrounding me, at the people who were quietly going about their business, and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, I remembered the TV series "Clone" . Apparently, my brain decided that if I was already in Morocco, lost among the oriental streets and everything around me looked so unusual, then it was time to get the old TV classics out of my memory. I even imagined for a second that I was the heroine of some episode, who now had to walk beautifully down east street in a flowing dress, mysteriously look into the distance and know where she was going. The reality, however, looked much less romantic: I had a bottle of water, a backpack, slightly disheveled hair and a completely confused expression on my face, because the heroine of "Clone" would at least roughly understand where she was going. At that moment, I could only say one thing for sure: I was definitely somewhere in Marrakech. I was saved by a man I didn't even ask for help. I was about to admit defeat and call a taxi when an elderly man appeared nearby, who, apparently, had long been accustomed to watching tourists trying to defeat the local alley system. He looked at me, then at the phone, then back at me and asked me something in French, and I explained with the most serious look that I needed to get to the Menard Gardens or one of the mosques. Qutubiya Mosque He smiled as if he had heard this phrase a thousand times before, waved his hand and motioned for me to follow him. At first, I was a little doubtful, because my mother's inner voice immediately turned on in my head: "Don't go anywhere with strangers." But the man just led me through several alleys, turned off near a small shop, then turned again, and after a few minutes I saw a familiar street. The stranger pointed to the Qutubiyah Mosque. All the locals know where it is, it is very difficult to get lost in this place. It took me a moment to believe that we had really got to where I needed to go. I thanked him, but he just smiled, waved his hand and calmly walked back, as if every day he rescued lost tourists armed with phones and absolute confidence in his navigation abilities. It turned out that I had found more than I had lost. The most interesting thing happened after I returned to a familiar street and saw several sights and ate. I realized that if I hadn't gotten lost, I would never have seen those small workshops, quiet courtyards, benches and completely ordinary corners of Marrakech that would not have been included in any of my pre-planned routes. Sometimes we try so hard to plan everything, open the map, mark the sights and calculate the time, that we forget to leave a little room for accidents. The ruins of the first Qutubiya Mosque Now that I think back on that day, I no longer think about how long it took me to find my way and how many times I passed by the same door. For some reason, I remember the ruins of the first Koutoubia mosque, the smell of spices, the sun spots on the walls, that same unflappable man, and the moment when I suddenly thought of a "Clone" in the middle of Marrakech, even though I hadn't thought of the series in many years. That's probably why I'm much more relaxed about small failures now. If you get lost in an unfamiliar city, you should first check the map, phone charge, and direction of travel, but sometimes you can just stop and look around, because it's the next wrong turn that may turn out to be what you came to this country for.

I went to the city of Nessebar with the feeling of a person who has finally decided to arrange a normal vacation without adventures, unexpected surprises and running around with a suitcase on unfamiliar streets. I booked my accommodation in advance, looked at photos of the Old Town, and roughly outlined where I would walk, where I would have breakfast, and on which days I would just lie by the sea, because after several trips I already knew perfectly well that if I didn't plan anything, there would definitely be some surprise, and if I planned everything down to the smallest detail, there would be more surprises more. At that time, of course, I still did not know how precisely this rule would work in Bulgaria. It all started on the way, when my transport was delayed, and then it turned out that next I needed to somehow sort out the transfer, which for some reason I hadn't thought about at all in advance. I was standing with my suitcase, my phone in one hand, and a map in the other, trying to pretend that I knew exactly where to go, even though I was actually ready to ask the first person who looked more confident than me. At that moment, I was still optimistic and convinced myself that small difficulties were even useful, because later there would be something to remember, although an inner voice was already rather sarcastically asking why I needed all this "journey for the soul" in the first place. Nessebar greeted me with rain When I finally got to Nessebar, the first thing I saw was the sea, the old houses and the sky in such a color, as if someone from above decided to turn off the sun on the day I arrived. A few minutes later, it began to rain, and not the beautiful rain that looks good in photographs, but a completely real one, capable of turning a neat traveler's hairstyle into an independent art project in five minutes. I hid under a small canopy and just stared at the wet streets for a while, trying to figure out why in the photos Nessebar looked like a place where a little Mediterranean fairy tale was sure to happen every day, while in my version of the fairy tale all the characters were running around with bags over their heads. I got to the apartment already wet and a little tired, and there the following surprise awaited me: the room turned out to be noticeably smaller than I imagined from the photos. In general, I believe that photographs of hotel rooms sometimes live a separate life and have absolutely nothing to do with reality, because in the picture the room may look like a small palace, but in real life you open the door and realize that it's better not to open the suitcase yet, otherwise it can't be put back together. I put my things down, changed my clothes, looked at myself in the mirror and decided that there would be no plans today, because my vacation was already actively planning me without my participation. A day that should have been ruined The road to the Old Town The next day, I woke up thinking that now everything would definitely get better and I would go sightseeing, but the weather decided to continue the experiment. The rain kept coming and going, heavy clouds hung over the sea, and my plans for a long walk through the Old Town looked less realistic, especially after I realized that I had left my umbrella in the room and didn't want to go back for it at all. At some point, I just gave up and went for a walk as is, because if you constantly wait for the perfect weather, you may one day discover that the entire vacation has passed between the door and the weather forecast. And that's when everything suddenly changed. I turned off the usual tourist street because I wanted to hide from the next rain, and found myself in a quiet alley where there were no crowds, no souvenir shops, no people trying to sell me another magnet with a view of Nessebar. There was a small cafe there that smelled of fresh pastries and coffee, and I went there solely because I was wet, cold, and ready to consider hot tea a full-fledged attraction. Sometimes the best route is the one that doesn't exist. I stayed in the cafe much longer than I had planned, and then I talked to a woman who worked there and knew the city very well. She told me where to go, where it's better to look at the sea, at what hours the Old Town becomes especially beautiful, and where you can have a quiet dinner without feeling like you're in a tourist pipeline. I wrote down a few places on my phone and suddenly found myself thinking that this was the first time during the whole trip when I wasn't in a hurry at all. After that, I just went for a walk without a route. Nessebar turned out to be completely different when I stopped trying to see it "correctly" and allowed myself to just turn off wherever I wanted, stop near the old stone walls, look at the sea and look into the small courtyards. I got lost several times, got caught in the rain again once, and then spent another ten minutes trying to figure out where I was on the map, even though there was such a small city around me that it seemed enough to just walk in any direction and sooner or later reach the sea again. And then my perfect dinner was lost. Koprivshchenskaya cavalry In the evening, I was going to have dinner at a place that I had found on the Internet in advance and had already mentally included in my list of "must-have vacation experiences." At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to try Koprivschenskaya kavarma. I've heard a lot about this dish, and I've already imagined eating lamb with onions, bell peppers, mushrooms, and other ingredients. However, the restaurant was closed that evening, and I stood in front of the door for a while with an expression on my face, as if I had personally come here solely to make sure that it really wasn't working. In the end, I had to look for something else, and I went to a small place nearby, where at first I was even a little upset that everything didn't turn out as planned. Baked pepper salad And then they brought me dinner. I ordered a baked pepper salad for the Koprivshchenskaya cavalry. On a full stomach, everything didn't seem so bad. Yes, it was raining again outside the window, and the lights were reflected on the wet stones of the Old Town, but I suddenly realized that I was completely fine. I was sitting there alone, without a perfect plan, without a nice pre-selected table, and without the feeling that I had to catch five more sights before 9 p.m., and for the first time in days, I was just enjoying being somewhere else. At that moment, I finally decided that my vacation didn't seem to be ruined–it just refused to match my scenario. Nessebar taught me not to argue with travel. After that, I stopped trying to get everything back to the original plan. If it was raining, I took a coffee and went for a walk around the Old Town, if it was sunny, I went to the sea, if some place turned out to be closed, I just looked for another one, and if I turned the wrong way again, I was no longer nervous and perceived it as part of the route. It turned out that traveling is much more enjoyable when you're not trying to make every day be perfect. The old mill When it was time to leave, I caught myself with a strange feeling: I had hardly visited where I was going to visit initially, but I saw much more of what I was not looking for at all. I remembered the old mill, the wet streets, the smell of coffee after the rain, the old stone houses, the sea under the gray sky, the occasional cafe, and the very evening when my carefully chosen restaurant was closed. And, probably, that's why Nessebar remained in my memory not as a perfect picture from a tourist brochure, but as a real trip in which everything went a little wrong, but it really turned out. Now that I think back on that trip, I even find it a little funny how much effort I put into preparing the perfect route. Because Nessebar quickly explained to me a simple thing: sometimes the best vacation starts at the very moment when you stop trying to control every step of it. And if one day I go there again, then, most likely, I will not plan anything in advance at all – although, knowing myself, I will at least book a place.

Sometimes the most beautiful moments in travel happen quite unexpectedly, when you don't plan anything special and don't even suspect that you will remember this particular evening years later. This happened to me in Paris, when I calmly went for a walk along the Seine and did not even think that on that day I would see the sunset, which I still consider the most beautiful in my life. I just wanted to take a walk after a busy day, look at Paris in the evening, sit by the water and maybe buy a coffee somewhere on the way, because without coffee, I'm generally able to turn even a romantic walk into a search and rescue operation. Paris was especially beautiful that day, although, to be honest, I still didn't realize that something unusual was happening, because the city was just gradually shifting from daytime to evening mode. There were more and more people on the embankment, some sitting right by the water, some talking with friends, some taking pictures of bridges, and others, like me, just walking without a specific route and pretending that they knew exactly where they were going. The Seine was surprisingly calm, pleasure boats were slowly passing through it, and the light was getting softer by the minute, as if someone had deliberately started to dim Paris a little before the most beautiful moment of the evening. I stopped by the Seine by accident. I reached a place with a particularly beautiful view of the river, and decided to stay a little longer, although I had originally intended to go further. This is probably one of the most pleasant features of Paris: here you can just go for a walk and suddenly find yourself standing in the middle of a completely cinematic scene, and no one even warns that something beautiful is about to begin. I sat down by the water, looked at the opposite shore, and suddenly noticed that the sun was already starting to sink lower, turning the buildings a warm golden hue. At first, the changes were almost imperceptible, but just a few minutes later Paris began to look completely different, and I found myself not wanting to go anywhere anymore. The light gradually turned golden, the water reflected the sky, long luminous paths appeared on the surface of the Seine, and the old buildings on the shore seemed to become a little warmer and softer. At such moments, I absolutely don't want to think about how many more places to see, how many photos to take, and whether I'll have time to see everything I've planned today, because it feels like the most important thing is already happening right in front of you. Paris, which turned golden for a few minutes. The sun was sinking lower and lower, and I literally watched the color of the city change, and it happened so gradually that it was impossible to determine the exact moment when an ordinary evening suddenly turned into an incredibly beautiful one. The buildings turned golden, the sky turned shades of pink and peach, and that soft light appeared over the Seine, which is impossible to convey properly in any photograph, although, of course, I tried to do it about every thirty seconds. As a result, the phone turned out to have a huge number of pictures that differ from each other by just a few minutes, but now I can officially claim that I have documentary evidence of how Paris changed color. It was especially beautiful to look at the water, because at that moment the Seine reflected everything at once – the sky, bridges, buildings, lights and the last rays of the sun. A boat sailing along the river left a small wave behind it, which broke the golden reflection into hundreds of small highlights, and I caught myself thinking that if someone had told me right now that this was a movie set, I wouldn't even have argued. Paris sometimes turns on the "too beautiful" mode without warning, and all that remains is to stand by and hope that the memory will retain at least some of what the eyes see. The most beautiful was the sky But it was the sky that struck me the most, because it was literally changing before my eyes, and each new shade seemed even more beautiful than the previous one. The gold gradually turned into pink, then a delicate peach color appeared, and a little higher, a cold blue was already emerging, and it all looked so harmonious that for the first time in a long time I just stopped photographing anything and looked in front of me. This is probably the moment when you realize that sometimes the camera only gets in the way, because you try to capture a beautiful shot and forget that the most important thing is not happening on the phone screen, but right in front of you. I was sitting by the Seine and thinking about how strangely memories work, because we rarely remember the whole day, but years later we can quite clearly remember one evening, the smell of the air, the color of the sky, or the feeling of the place we were in. I don't remember all the details of that day anymore, I can't reconstruct my route by the minute, and I'm not even sure where exactly I drank the coffee I was going to buy at the beginning of the walk, but I remember that light over the Seine perfectly. And that's probably why I call this sunset the most beautiful in my life. When the city started turning on the lights. Gradually, the sun disappeared below the horizon, but the evening did not end there at all, because Paris began to turn on its lights, and the city changed again. It got a little darker on the embankment, warm lights appeared in the windows, boats continued to sail along the Seine, and the people around were still in no hurry to disperse, as if no one wanted to be the first to admit that this beautiful moment was over. I also sat for a while longer, although I already knew perfectly well that it was time to return, because there was a road ahead, and tired legs after a day of walking began to hint quite transparently that romance was romance, but tomorrow they would demand compensation. I still got up and walked further along the Seine, but now I was constantly looking back, because Paris looked completely different after sunset. I liked walking slowly, listening to the noise of the city, looking at the reflections of lights in the water and realizing that this evening turned out to be much more beautiful than any pre-planned one. Sometimes we try too hard to organize the perfect trip, schedule every hour and decide in advance where we will meet the sunset, and then it is a random walk that becomes the memory for which we want to buy a ticket to this city again one day. Why do I remember this particular sunset? It probably wasn't just the color of the sky or how beautiful the Seine was that evening, because similar sunsets probably exist in many parts of the world. For me, it became special because of everything that was happening around me: Paris in the evening, a leisurely walk, the sound of water, people on the embankment, old buildings that gradually changed color, and that absolutely rare condition when you don't want to rush anywhere and don't need to prove anything. I was just sitting by the Seine and felt amazingly happy that I was here at this particular moment. Now I sometimes think that maybe in a few years I won't be able to remember exactly the date of that walk, the name of the street, or even what I was wearing, but I'm pretty sure I'll recognize that sunset again if I ever see something like it. It remained with me not as a photograph, but as some kind of inner memory of Paris, which one evening turned out to be especially quiet, warm and beautiful. And that's why, if I'm ever asked to name the most beautiful sunset of my life, I probably won't even think for long, because the Seine will appear before my eyes again, the golden light on the water and Paris, which slowly faded into the evening. I want to see this Paris again. I know that one day I will walk along the Seine embankment again, and most likely I will look for exactly the place where I once stopped to watch the sunset. Perhaps the weather will be completely different, there will be more people nearby, some buildings will look different, and the sky will decide to arrange an ordinary gray Parisian evening for me, because the weather, as you know, does not have to cooperate with my memories at all. But even if that sunset never happens again, I still want to go back there, sit by the water and watch Paris gradually change under the evening sky again. Because some moments cannot be planned, repeated, or specially purchased along with a plane ticket, and that's why they become so valuable. The most beautiful sunset of my life happened when I just went for a walk along the Seine and had absolutely no idea that in a few hours I would have a memory that I would come back to again and again. It's probably for such casual gifts that I love traveling, because you never know what an ordinary day will suddenly become the one that you'll remember with a smile all your life.

I have long wanted to see Norway by car, because it seemed to me that in this country the path itself should be no less important than the destination. An airplane can quickly take you from one city to another, but then you'll miss all the fun: waterfalls that suddenly appear around a bend, small wooden houses on the shore of a fjord, sheep that are completely uninterested in traffic rules, and mountains that look like someone specially put them as decorations for the movie. One day I decided that Norway needed not just to see, but to drive through, as far as I had enough time, energy and patience for Norwegian prices. First impression of the road It was like I was inside a huge postcard, only the postcard was constantly moving. The scenery outside the window was changing, and before I could get used to one view, another, even more beautiful, would appear a few minutes later. Sometimes the road ran along a calm fjord, then a real mountain serpentine began, and then suddenly a waterfall appeared, and I started looking for a place to stop, because it was simply impossible to pass by such a sight. At some point, I realized that my main plan for the day was something like this: drive, stop, take pictures, drive again, and stop again. What I remember the most I was especially impressed by the fjords, because the photos don't convey their true scale at all. When you stand next to the water and look up at the huge rocks, you get the feeling that the person here is generally a random character who was forgotten to be removed from the frame. Several times I just stood silently and looked around, although it's usually difficult for me to spend more than five minutes without a phone, photos, or any comments. Here, I just wanted to remember everything with my eyes, because even the best camera couldn't convey the feeling of this space. The difference between expectation and reality At the same time, traveling by car in Norway turned out to be not as carefree as I imagined. At some point, I decided that I had already gotten used to the local roads well enough, and it was then that another section appeared ahead, where the road went up, became narrower, and there was nothing around but mountains and rocks. I looked at the navigator, then at the road, then back at the navigator and tried to figure out why it was so calmly telling me that the next turn was still a few kilometers away, as if I were driving along Moskovsky Prospekt. An unexpected adventure In Norway, I had to accept that the usual human "quick run to the store" here could turn into a separate expedition. There were shops everywhere, so one day I decided that I would definitely find water without any problems, and I set off almost light. After a while, it turned out that the nearest store was not at all where I would like it to be, and my body was already beginning to hint very transparently that it was time to think ahead. As a result, I learned to treat water, food, and snacks almost as a strategic resource, especially when the mountain road loomed ahead again. Mobile wardrobe The funniest thing happened with the stops. In Norway, it's almost impossible to drive past a beautiful place and tell yourself: "Okay, I'll take a picture next time." The next time may simply not happen, because in five minutes an even more incredible landscape will appear around the bend. Therefore, my car gradually turned into a mobile wardrobe, a snack warehouse and a photo studio at the same time, and I myself learned to change clothes between stops as quickly as if I were participating in some very strange travel show. A separate story is the Norwegian weather It can change in the time it takes you to get out of the car, take out your phone, and try to take a beautiful photo. I could start the day with the sun, get caught in the rain an hour later, then see the fog, and after a while find myself back in the sunny valley. At first, I tried to plan photos and walks depending on the forecast, but I realized pretty quickly that Norway would do it its own way anyway. So I just started carrying a jacket, a raincoat, and hope for the best. One of the most memorable moments was the feeling of absolute freedom that appears during a car trip. You can stop wherever you want, turn off to a small village, linger by the fjord, or just park by the road and look at the mountains for a few minutes. On a typical trip, I often think about the time, the schedule, and what else I need to see, but here I've gradually stopped counting the hours. For the first time in a long time, it didn't matter at all how many sights I could see in a day. What I've learned Norwegian roads have taught me to take my time. Here, speed seems to become secondary by itself, because there are too many things around for which you want to go slower. Especially beautiful sections begin where the road passes between the mountains and the water, and then I caught myself thinking that I absolutely do not want this segment to end. Even if the next destination was waiting for me, I wanted to stay inside this landscape for a little longer and drive without any purpose. Another memory One day, after a long drive, I was so tired that I decided to have a quick snack and continue on my way, but I managed to cause a small disaster in the car with coffee and food. On a normal trip, I would have been upset, but here I just looked at all this, sighed and thought that now I have another Norwegian memory, just not the most photogenic. But in the evenings, I felt especially strongly what all this was about. After driving all day, I wanted to find a small cozy house or hotel, take off my shoes, put my phone on charge and just sit by the window. Mountains were dark behind the glass, and water was visible in the distance, and I was going through the photos of the day and couldn't decide which one turned out better. And each time, I discovered that the photo I thought was ordinary actually looked like it had been specially prepared for a travel magazine. A special atmosphere It seems to me that this is why a car trip through Norway is remembered not by individual sights, but by the feeling of the road. I remember not only fjords and mountains, but also turns, rain on the windshield, small stops, coffee at a roadside cafe, sheep near the road, and those moments when I just sat behind the wheel and realized that I was in a place that I had previously known only from photographs. When the trip was over, I caught myself with a strange feeling.: I wanted to return not so much to a particular city or a particular fjord, but to get back in the car and drive somewhere further. Perhaps this is the main secret of Norway – it makes you enjoy not only where you come from, but also the road itself. And the road there is so beautiful that sometimes you completely forget where you were going to go at all.

I've wanted to go to Italy for a long time, but for some reason I kept putting it off. It seemed that an independent trip there was already the highest league of travel. We need to figure out tickets, housing, trains, public transport, restaurants, Italian names that are impossible to pronounce the first time.… And then I thought, well, what am I missing? And I started organizing the trip myself. Spoiler alert: I only lost a few hours of sleep, some nerves, and once almost lost myself at an Italian train station. Now about everything in order. I chose the route first. I wanted to see a diverse Italy, so I decided to make an approximate route: Rome → Florence → Venice → Milan. I have allocated about 10 days for the trip. No one wanted to sit with my moody cat any longer. At first I wanted to add Naples, but then I looked at the map and looked at myself. And I decided that 4 cities were enough for me for now, because a vacation is still a vacation, not a suitcase-carrying championship. I searched for the tickets myself. At first, I spent several nights in a row comparing dates. To be honest, this is the moment when it seems that you are almost an aviation expert. In my search engine it was: "If you fly on Tuesday, it's cheaper by so much." "If you come back on Sunday, it's more expensive." "If you fly to a nearby airport, you can save money, but then spend the money on a transfer." At some point, I opened so many tabs that I no longer understood which ticket I was going to buy. In the end, I found a suitable option and bought it. And here an amazing thing happened. Before the purchase, I was just planning a trip, after the purchase, I was already on my way to Italy. There was no turning back. Housing: here I became almost a professional critic I chose hotels not only based on photos, but also looked at the map, the distance to the center, reviews, and especially reviews from recent months. You know, a photo of a ten-year-old room can look great. But in reality, you will be greeted by a bed that remembers the football World Cup. In Rome, I chose a place closer to the center, in Florence – so that I could walk a lot. In Venice, it was as convenient as possible, because I wasn't going to carry my suitcase across the bridges. Although, as it turned out later, Italy decided to have a little laugh at my plans. Rome I purposely left the first day almost free. I flew in, checked in, left my things and just went for a walk. Without a list of twenty attractions. And it was the right decision. It's impossible to look at Rome properly if you run along the route all the time. I walked, went to cafes, looked at the streets, squares and buildings. And then, of course, I went to the Colosseum. And that's when I realized one simple thing.: no photo conveys its size. You stand next to me and think: "So. But now I'm really in Rome." I tried not to skimp on food in Rome to the point of fanaticism. Because coming to Italy and eating only buns from the supermarket is already too harsh an experiment, but I didn't arrange a restaurant for myself every night either. I alternated between cafes, small trattorias and ordinary places where you could just have a snack. Florence I went from Rome to Florence by train. And here the independent journey showed me its real face.: I bought a ticket in advance. I checked the time. I checked the train number. I checked the train station. I checked the ticket again. In general, I was 97 percent confident in myself. The remaining 3% still let me down. At first, I couldn't find the right platform at the train station. Then I found it, and after a while I saw the train and realized that I was standing at the wrong car. I ran with my suitcase as if the whole Italian railway was chasing me. But I did, and Florence absolutely captivated me. This is where I first caught myself thinking that I don't want to rush anywhere. You can just walk down the street. Look around. Come in for coffee. Sit down. Go again. That's why I love independent trips. Venice and my suitcase I was already traveling to Venice with some experience: I knew that I needed to look at the route. I imagined that train stations could be big, and I realized that I shouldn't relax. However, I did not take into account the bridges: there are a lot of bridges and steps. Now imagine me with a suitcase. I go up, down, up again, and down again. After a while, I was already looking at each new bridge with the expression of a person who is ready to personally discuss some issues with the architect of Venice. But then I went out to the canal, saw the gondolas, looked at the old houses. And she forgave everything, and Venice can be forgiven a lot. I saved Milan for last. After Venice, Milan seemed to me quite different – more businesslike, faster and more modern. I liked this switching of travel modes. I specifically left time just for walking and shopping. But, of course, the trip couldn't end without an adventure. Last night, I decided to wash a couple of things. Why? Because, apparently, I decided to prove to myself that even in Italy I am capable of running a household. I loaded my clothes into the washing machine and pressed the button. It was only later that I realized that the instructions were exclusively in Italian. I stood in front of it and looked at the buttons as if I were trying to decipher an ancient manuscript. In the end, everything was washed, but I still don't know which mode. How much did I spend? I set a budget in advance and tried to stick to it. The main expenses turned out to be as follows: the flight depended on the dates and the city of departure; Housing is the most visible expense item, especially in popular cities; I bought trains between cities in advance, where it was profitable; urban transport – metro, buses and sometimes taxis; The food –it all depended on where I ate.; museums and attractions were also laid out in advance. But there was one important point, I left a separate reserve of money for unforeseen expenses. And I strongly advise you to do the same, there is always some expense during the trip, which was not in any plan. "Well," I said, "since I'm here," a sudden taxi, an extra ticket, and a few purchases that just happened to be "necessary." What I realized after this trip Organizing Italy on my own turned out to be much easier than I imagined. Yes, you need to spend time, you will have to study something, you can make a mistake with the train, get lost, or not immediately figure out the ticket vending machine. But that's exactly what makes the trip my own: I chose the cities myself, decided where to live, and made up the route. She could have changed it herself at any moment. And most importantly, I wasn't in a hurry and didn't depend on anyone. If I wanted to spend three hours in a cafe, I did. If I wanted to turn into a small alley, I turned off. If the attraction suddenly wasn't impressive, I didn't have to stand next to it for exactly 47 minutes just because it was written in the program. And when I returned home and started sorting through the photos, I realized that what I like most are not photos of famous places, but completely ordinary ones.: Coffee in the morning. The street after the rain. The train window. A small trattoria. A suitcase in the middle of the room. My tired legs after 20 thousand steps. And the very picture of me standing on an Italian street and smiling. Because at that moment, I already knew for sure.: I was able to organize everything myself. And now Italy for me is not just a country where I once went. This is a country that I know the way to now. Even if sometimes this road passes through three bridges, the wrong car, and a shower that turns on only after negotiations with it.

When I was planning a week in Paris, everything looked perfect in my head: coffee and a croissant in the morning, museums and walks in the afternoon, and a glass of wine in the evening with a view of the Eiffel Tower. Of course, reality quickly made its adjustments. But my experience has shown more than once that expectations and reality are not the same thing. During the week, I managed to get lost, get wet in the rain, come to the closed door of the restaurant and choose the wrong subway line several times. But it seems that it is precisely because of these small failures that I remember Paris as the present. Day 1. Exploring Paris and the first failure On the first day, I decided not to overload the sights. I left my suitcase, left the hotel, and just went for a walk. The first point of the route was the Seine embankment. From there, I walked to Notre Dame, looked at the Isle de la Cité, and then headed towards the Latin Quarter. And it was here that the first failure occurred. After the trip, I naturally got hungry, and instead of choosing a normal cafe, I sat down in the first place near the tourist street. As a result, I got an expensive, but cold and tasteless omelet. But in the evening I bought a baguette, cheese and fruit and had a simple dinner. It turned out much tastier and much more Parisian than my expensive lunch. Day 2. Louvre, Tuileries and 20,000 steps The Louvre Museum was scheduled for the second day. I naively thought that I would spend two or three hours there. As a result, I came out almost five hours later with the feeling that my brain was no longer able to perceive art. After leaving the Louvre, I walked through the Tuileries Garden to the Place de la Concorde, and then decided to walk to the Arc de Triomphe. It turned out to be a mistake))) By the evening, the phone showed more than 20 thousand steps, my legs officially refused to cooperate, and the new shoes, of course, rubbed my heel. I had to find a pharmacy and buy patches. The romance of Paris at that time looked something like this: I was sitting on a bench, taping my leg and eating chocolate from the nearest supermarket. When the lights on the Champs-Elysees came on in the evening, the good mood finally returned. Day 3. Montmartre and the rain that "should not have been" I completely reserved the third day for Montmartre. In the morning I went up to the Sacré Coeur Basilica, looked at the city from above and went to wander through the small streets. It was the Paris I had imagined before the trip: old houses, small cafes, artists, stairs, balconies, and random beautiful courtyards. And then it started to rain. The umbrella was left in the room, of course, because it was sunny in the morning. 10 minutes later, I was already standing under the tiny awning of the store, along with several other equally optimistic people. As a result, I bought the most tourist umbrella in Paris, which broke down two days later. After the rain, I still made it to the Place des Tertres, and in the evening I found a small bistro away from the busiest streets. I ordered onion soup and decided that wet jeans could be considered part of the French experience. Day 4. Eiffel Tower and the Subway War The fourth day is the Eiffel Tower. I specially came in the morning to see her without the evening crowd. Then I walked along the Champ de Mars, reached the Trocadero and sat for a long time with coffee, just looking at the tower. After lunch, I decided to take the subway to another area. And this is where my personal war with Parisian transport began. It turns out that I got on the wrong side, and noticed it after a few stops, got off, moved to another platform, then for some reason I got the wrong direction again. At one point, my route on my phone looked like I had specifically decided to explore underground Paris. The trip, which was supposed to take twenty minutes, stretched for almost an hour. But in the evening I returned to the Eiffel Tower. When the lights turned on, all my transportation misery instantly ceased to matter. Day 5. Croissants, Mare and a closed cafe On the fifth day, I decided to arrange the most peaceful morning for myself. I found a bakery, bought a fresh croissant and coffee, and went for a walk around the Marais. I really liked this area: here you can walk for hours without a specific purpose, go into small shops, look at the windows and periodically stop for coffee. The main gastronomic point of the day was supposed to be the cafe, which I had saved at home. I specially set the route so that I could be next to him for lunch. Came. Closed. It turned out that the establishment was not working that day. Of course, it did not occur to me to check the schedule in advance. In the end, I bought a sandwich and ate it on the first bench I saw. And suddenly it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable dinners of the entire trip: the usual Parisian life is around, someone is walking the dog, someone is reading, someone is in a hurry to work. No specially created atmosphere, just a city. Day 6. Versailles and the fatigue of beauty On the sixth day, I decided to get out of the center and go to Versailles. The palace is really impressive, but by this point I had already realized an important thing: even beauty can get tired. After the halls, paintings, gold, and endless photographs, I went out into the gardens and realized that what I most wanted was not cultural experiences, but just to sit down. Of course, I also forgot to have a proper breakfast before the trip. That's why I looked around Versailles for about half of it with one thought: "Where can I eat here?" There were no plans for the evening. I returned to Paris, went to the supermarket, bought ready-made food and had dinner in my room. And you know what? After six days of restaurants and cafes, this dinner seemed almost perfect. Day 7. Paris without a plan I purposely left the last day empty. No tickets. No mandatory museums. There is no timetable by the minute. I went out to the Seine again, bought coffee, went to several bookstores, walked the streets for a long time and returned to places that I liked in the early days. And that's when I realized that my best day in Paris turned out to be a day without a route. During the week, I saw the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Montmartre, Notre Dame, the Marais, Versailles and dozens of beautiful streets. But for some reason I remember not only them. I remember the broken umbrella. Patches after 20 thousand steps. A closed cafe, for which I walked half the city. A trip in the wrong direction by subway. Dinner from the supermarket and that unfortunate omelet on the first day. That's probably how travel should be. Because the ideal route can be saved in notes. And the real trip starts exactly at the moment when something doesn't go according to plan.