Destinations
Pick a continent, I’ve probably left a coffee stain there.
Pick a continent, I’ve probably left a coffee stain there.
Old cities that smell like bread in the morning and wine at night. Tiny alleys where you get lost on purpose, castles on hills, trains that actually run on time, and sunsets that make you text your mom photos like a kid. I keep coming back because every corner feels like someone’s grandma is about to offer me food. Four different escapes already written, more brewing.
Neon that burns your eyes, temples before the heat hits, street food that ruins all future meals, night markets where you buy nothing but eat everything. Chaos one minute, total zen the next. I lose track of days here, and that’s the whole point. From islands with black sand to cities that never ever sleep, I’ve got the short routes that skip the tourist circus.
Continental breakfasts that are actually good, highways with mountains bigger than my life problems, tacos at 2am that fix everything, jazz in basements, penguins on beaches, and people who hug you after ten minutes. North, central, south, whatever, it’s all one big messy family reunion I crash every chance I get.
Spices that follow you home in your clothes, red dust on your shoes forever, rooftops with call to prayer and cold beer, animals that pose better than influencers, and sunsets so orange they feel fake. Still the smallest section because every trip here breaks my brain in the best way, but the two I’ve written already feel like cheating the system.
