Up in the Mijas Mountains, whitewashed villages clung to the hillsides, their narrow streets curling like ribbon around the cliffs.

We opted for slower travel, all by trains, and passed through some of the most beautiful places. The weather was perfect, the sun was shining, and a bottle of water cost you an arm and a leg — alas, it was Switzerland!

There is something about Florence that makes getting lost feel like a gift. And at sunset, when the sky softens into hues of apricot and lavender, the city glows—as if it, too, knows it is loved.

As if beneath the waters of the canals lay chests of hidden treasure, or that down a dark alley, secret societies gathered in rooms of incense and red velvet, whispering as they unraveled impossible riddles.

The train wound along the coast, a ribbon threading through a story of wealth, history, and escape. Monaco, where opulence drips from every surface, where the yachts sit in the harbor like polished jewels, where the very air smells of possibility.

We were living and moving with such ease—no stressful or time-abiding itinerary.

We lay on the grass at the top of the cliff and the sun shone through the grey. The ocean turned turquoise and seagulls drifted in circles above us. It was the epitome of peace.

Is it humanly possible to be in love with a fragment of the Earth? This may sound strange but Ljubljana felt like a lover I’d been waiting for.

The town itself was a misty, magical place where cobblestone streets wound between hidden cafés and gardens, where time stretched a little longer.

Marseilles isn’t a city for tourists. The beauty can’t be photographed. It can only be shared. It’s a place where you have to take sides, be passionately for or against. Only then can you see what there is to see.

It was so beautifully cinematic. The sky grew more grey. The street lights flickered on and glowed softly as mist rolled in with the breeze uncovering faint stars in the sky to accompany the moon rising.

One day, I was in the wilderness, wrapped in silence and midnight sun, and the next, I was on Santa Ana off the Ramblas in Barcelona, where the air pulsed with warmth, with chatter, with life.