The first 48 hours
The start of this journey has been a breathless whirlwind — New York to Manchester, London, Brussels, Cologne, Munich. But the real map isn't measured in miles, it's found in the people: creative sparks with an artist from Ghent, a grounding conversation with a Romanian construction worker, and laughter that filled my heart with hope.
On the road
Vienna: Blister bursts under my left foot. Thank god I have a right foot to hop on.
Munich → Salzburg: Boarded the wrong train — thank you, ÖBB, for the fix and the hospitality in the premier lounge.
Split: Fell off the train disembarking. So embarrassing.
Mostar: Visited the beautiful, completely diverse Old City. If only the rest of the world was like this.
A lesson in human connection
Inside a cramped rail compartment, total strangers transformed into friends. Pictured left to right: Leo, Marta, and Ena — before parting ways, they handed me cards, a keepsake of a temporary, deeply impactful moment.
Mostar Rail Station
The immense scale of the building reflects a bygone era of bustling Yugoslav train networks — now a cavernous, quiet monument to post-socialist transition, still launching modern Talgo trains through the canyons of the Neretva toward Sarajevo.
Stuck in Zagreb
Nuremberg – Courtroom 600
Europe is growing, while the world shrinks.