Travel with Spirits

Category: Philosophy on the Road

  • Cities in Between 🌇

    Cities in Between 🌇

    Where Sustainable Travel Becomes Visible

    Most trips are defined by destinations. Capitals. Landmarks. Final stops.

    But when traveling overland across Europe, what shapes my understanding of movement are often the places in between.

    These are not highlight cities. They are transfer points, regional stations, ferry terminals, and small towns connected by secondary lines. They are rarely the reason for travel, yet they make travel possible.

    Regional routes that quietly hold the network together.

    A regional train waits at a modest platform. It is not high-speed. It is not new. But it connects smaller towns to larger systems. People stand beside their luggage, watching the doors open and close.

    Sustainable travel depends on these routes. Not only flagship intercity lines, but the everyday infrastructure that feeds into them.

    Rural towns that remain connected by road and rail.

    Along the way, the train passes through villages that rarely appear on itineraries. These places are not tourist destinations, yet they remain connected. Flying would bypass them entirely. Rail and road move through them.

    Connectivity is part of sustainability. If infrastructure does not exist beyond major hubs, lower-impact travel becomes limited.

    Stations that serve residents more than visitors.

    At a small-town station with faded lettering, tracks run past ordinary neighborhoods. No airport-style controls. Just platforms and schedules. These stations represent continuity.

    Road travel makes transitions gradual.

    Crossing a bridge by bus, the skyline appears gradually. Overland travel reveals transitions rather than compressing them. It requires more connections, but keeps distance visible.

    Not a destination, just a pause in the network.

    Rain falls on a small regional platform. The train pauses briefly before continuing. No landmark. No dramatic arrival. Just a functional stop within a larger system.

    High-density hubs supporting regional lines.

    In larger stations, departure boards list regional and international services side by side. Commuters, families, and travelers move between platforms. Sustainable mobility relies on density.

    Daily routines unfolding beneath train schedules.

    Under digital timetables, passengers buy coffee and snacks. The system works not because it is dramatic, but because it is routine. Lower-carbon travel depends on repetition and use.

    Transfers and waiting are part of the process.

    Waiting is part of this structure. Transfers take time. Choosing rail or bus instead of flying often means accepting these pauses. It also means staying connected to geography rather than skipping over it.

    Sea crossings integrated into the land network.

    At a ferry terminal, passengers queue quietly. Ferries are not zero-emission, but in many regions they act as essential connectors where bridges do not exist.

    Multi-modal travel depends on what exists between cities.

    Two cyclists sit beside their loaded bikes at a bus shelter. Their journey depends entirely on the infrastructure between cities.

    Sustainable travel is often discussed in terms of emissions per passenger kilometer. Rail generally produces far lower CO₂ than flying. Buses often fall in between. But numbers alone are not enough.

    Infrastructure determines what choices are possible.

    In parts of Europe, rail lines end. In others, buses fill the gaps. Ferries connect coastlines. The cities in between are where these systems overlap and function together.

    Flying reduces travel time by skipping space. Overland travel moves through it.

    If sustainable travel is about lowering impact, it is also about supporting the networks that already exist. And those networks live in the cities in between.

  • Beyond Railways: Buses as Real Connections in the Balkans 🚌

    Beyond Railways: Buses as Real Connections in the Balkans 🚌

    Low-carbon travel is not always seamless.

    In parts of Europe, especially across the Balkans, railways simply do not connect in practical ways. International routes are limited, slow, or suspended. Borders between EU and non-EU countries involve passport checks, customs procedures, and unpredictable waiting times.

    In these places, buses are not a secondary choice. They are often the only one.

    Where Rail Ends

    High-speed rail dominates headlines, but buses quietly fill the gaps.

    At Barcelona Nord, I was reminded that Europe’s transport system is layered. Trains dominate Western Europe, but buses extend the network.

    Andorra appears not as an exception, but as routine infrastructure.

    There is no railway connection between Barcelona and Andorra. The only realistic way into the Pyrenees is by coach. The three-hour ride climbs steadily. The road narrows. The air cools. It is not dramatic. It is simply how the region functions.

    San Marino: A State Without Rail

    Where there is no rail, the bus is the system.

    San Marino has no active railway. To reach it, I took a bus from Rimini.

    The road winds upward from the Adriatic coast.

    The route climbs into the hills. There is no visible border checkpoint, but you are crossing into a sovereign state. Here, buses are not an alternative. They are the infrastructure itself.

    Crossing the Balkans

    A regional hub where road replaces rail.

    In Podgorica, buses connect Montenegro to Serbia, Kosovo, North Macedonia, Albania, and further into the EU.

    Skopje, Pristina, Thessaloniki. Road corridors where rail is limited.

    Cross-border journeys are tangible. Drivers collect passports. Officers board the bus. Luggage compartments are opened. Sometimes the process is quick. Sometimes it takes much longer. You feel the border.

    Everyday Mobility

    Practical vehicles forming the backbone of regional mobility.

    The buses are practical. Seats worn. Curtains faded. Air conditioning inconsistent.

    Daily mobility, not curated tourism.

    Passengers include workers, students, families, traders carrying large bags.

    Informal logistics networks moving alongside passengers.

    I once watched a washing machine being loaded into the luggage hold. It did not surprise anyone. These buses move people and goods together.

    The Part I Struggle With

    Scheduled stops determine comfort.

    There is one reason I still prefer trains when possible.

    Many long-distance Balkan bus routes last eight to ten hours. Most coaches do not have onboard toilets. You wait for scheduled stops. When you need a bathroom, you wait for the next one. And the facilities are often basic, sometimes not particularly clean.

    This is the only part of long-distance bus travel I genuinely struggle with. Trains offer more space and consistent facilities. On buses, comfort depends heavily on timing.

    Extending the Network

    Where rail ends, road continues.

    Despite these limitations, buses extend Europe’s mobility network where tracks end. From Barcelona to Andorra. From coastal Italy into San Marino. Across Balkan borders where rail infrastructure was never rebuilt or modernized.

    They do not compete with trains. They replace what does not exist.

    Sustainable Travel in Imperfect Systems

    Mobility shaped by geography and history.

    From an emissions perspective, buses sit between rail and flying. In Europe, rail averages around 14g CO₂ per passenger kilometer. Coaches often range between 25–60g. Short-haul flights typically exceed 150g.

    Rail is clearly lower. But in regions where rail does not exist, the real comparison is not bus versus train. It is bus versus flying.

    In the Balkans, choosing the bus is not about chasing the lowest possible number. It is about working with the infrastructure that exists.

    Sustainable travel is rarely about ideal systems. It is about making the best possible decision within real ones.

    In much of the Balkans, and in mountain states like Andorra or San Marino, buses are not secondary transport. They are the backbone.

  • Sustainable Travel at Sea ⛴️: When the Sky Becomes Water

    Sustainable Travel at Sea ⛴️: When the Sky Becomes Water

    Not every crossing requires flying.

    Ferries transform distance into experience, turning the sea into a living transition rather than empty space. Departure and arrival become visible, tangible processes. You do not disappear into the sky. You move across the surface of the world.

    From Rail to Water

    Land gradually gives way to water.

    The journey often begins on rail. Along the Adriatic coast, the horizon widens slowly. The sea appears beside the tracks. Travel feels continuous.

    The edge of Italy, where movement changes form.

    Arriving in Ancona, geography shifts. From here, movement becomes maritime.

    Industrial, practical, transitional.

    The ferry terminal is functional rather than romantic. Vehicles queue. Passengers gather. It is where one landscape ends and another begins.

    Boarding the Crossing

    A floating structure replacing the runway.

    Boarding reveals scale. The vessel rises above the dock like a moving building. Cars disappear below deck. Foot passengers climb upward.

    Transit that allows rest.

    Cabins are compact but self-contained. Unlike air travel, you can unpack slightly. You can lie down. You can sleep.

    At sea, the journey is inhabited, not endured.

    Even a small private bathroom changes the rhythm. The crossing is not a gap in the journey. It is part of it.

    Northern Routes and Everyday Infrastructure

    Sea as corridor, not obstacle.

    In northern Europe, ferries feel embedded in daily life. Baltic crossings carry commuters, families, and freight.

    Transport and social space intertwined.

    On Viking Line routes, restaurants, cabins, and open decks transform transit into shared experience. The sea becomes connective tissue.

    Signals of transition within maritime travel.

    Environmental messaging is increasingly visible. The shift is gradual but tangible.

    Infrastructure linking regions where bridges cannot.

    In Scandinavia, ferries replace highways. Engines rest while ships carry vehicles across water.

    Why Ferry Travel Still Matters

    Ferries are not zero-emission. They consume significant fuel, especially when carrying vehicles and operating overnight. Compared to rail, maritime travel generally produces higher emissions per passenger.

    In northern Europe, however, the transition is visible.

    Operators on Baltic and North Sea routes, including Viking Line and Fjord Line, have introduced LNG-powered vessels, hybrid systems, and shore power connections. These upgrades can reduce CO₂ emissions by roughly 15–30% compared to heavy fuel oil, while sharply lowering sulfur and nitrogen oxides.

    The Baltic Sea is a designated Sulphur Emission Control Area, and since 2024 maritime transport has been gradually integrated into the EU Emissions Trading System.

    Average emissions per passenger kilometer in Europe are approximately:
    Rail: ~14 g CO₂
    Ferry: ~20–80 g CO₂
    Short-haul flight: ~150–250 g CO₂

    Rail remains the lowest-carbon option. But when the alternative is short-haul flying over water, ferries often represent a lower-impact choice.

    Sustainable travel is rarely about perfection. It is about direction.

    When the sea replaces the sky, movement becomes visible again.

    And at sea, that direction is slowly changing.

  • Night Trains: Aligning Movement, Rest, and Sustainable Travel 🚞

    Night Trains: Aligning Movement, Rest, and Sustainable Travel 🚞

    Night trains occupy a distinct place in European railway culture. Long before budget airlines reshaped mobility, sleeper services connected ports, capitals, and inland cities across shifting borders.

    In 2022, I boarded my first night train with an Interrail pass. I expected nostalgia. What I found was continuity. I slept deeply and arrived whole.

    That experience shaped my 2025 journey. I built part of my Interrail route around night trains, curious whether movement and rest could truly coexist.

    Bar to Belgrade

    Bar station, where the Adriatic coast gives way to inland rail.

    Bar station feels functional rather than iconic. No spectacle. Just infrastructure serving daily life.

    Rail as everyday infrastructure, not tourism theater

    The night service to Belgrade operates as connective tissue across the Balkans.

    Convertible seats transforming public space into temporary bedroom.

    The compartment was simple. Convertible seats, luggage secured overhead, strangers sharing space with quiet courtesy.

    Corridors become transitional architecture after dark.

    As darkness settled, borders were crossed quietly. By morning, Belgrade arrived gradually. No rupture. Just transition.

    Bucharest to Budapest

    Compact European sleeper design balancing density and privacy.

    The Bucharest to Budapest route felt more refined. Blue bunks stacked efficiently. Curtains offering privacy.

    The dining car as one of Europe’s last democratic travel spaces.

    In the dining car, travelers shared drinks while the countryside passed unseen. Distance became social.

    A narrow bunk. The steady rhythm of steel on rail.

    By morning, Romanian hills had given way to Hungarian plains. You do not crash into arrival. You ease into it.

    Rosenheim to Warsaw

    Mobility depends on timing, language, and awareness.

    A last-minute platform change. An announcement in German I missed. The train departed.

    I took a regional train from Rosenheim to Vienna and from there an overnight bus to Warsaw.

    The contrast was immediate.

    No berth.
    No soft corridor light.
    No gentle sway of steel on rail.

    Sleep came in fragments. Yet distance still closed overnight. Borders were crossed. Morning arrived.

    Why Night Trains Matter

    Night trains are often described as climate-conscious alternatives to short-haul flights. The environmental difference is significant. According to the European Environment Agency, rail travel averages around 14 grams of CO₂ per passenger kilometer, while short-haul flights can exceed 150 grams.

    But their relevance is not only environmental.

    Across Europe, operators such as ÖBB Nightjet are expanding cross-border services, responding to renewed demand for slower, lower-impact mobility.

    Night trains integrate rest into transit. They preserve geography instead of skipping over it.

    They may be slower than planes.

    But environmentally and culturally, they offer something increasingly rare: continuity.

  • Sustainable Travel in Europe 🌍

    Sustainable Travel in Europe 🌍

    From Pilgrimage to Low-Carbon Movement by Interrail and Beyond

    A Slow, Grounded, and Cultural Way of Moving Through Europe

    For a long time, travel meant arrival. Flights, itineraries, destinations, checked off one by one.

    But over time, I began to understand something more essential: what shapes a journey most is not where we go, but how we move.

    This series traces my shift toward sustainable travel in Europe, not as a set of rules, but as a lived practice shaped by the body, time, and low-carbon movement.

    It began with walking. And it continues, still unfolding.

    🥾 Walking: The Body as Teacher

    When body becomes the vehicle.

    In the spring of 2025, I walked the Camino de Santiago from Zamora. Three weeks of near-zero-carbon movement redefined my sense of distance, time, and presence.

    Before walking the Camino, I traveled the way most modern travelers do. I chose the fastest way to arrive. Flights, connections, time zones. As if the journey only truly began once I had “arrived.”

    But after walking for weeks, I felt something I had never felt so clearly before: The body needs time in order to enter a place.

    When movement slows down, the senses awaken. Terrain, climate, distance, fatigue, none of these are inconveniences. They are signals.

    That was when I understood that sustainable travel is not only an environmental choice. It is also a form of respect for the rhythm of the body. This is why, after the Camino, I began rethinking the way I move.

    From Camino to Sustainable Travel →

    🛤 Trains: The Low-Carbon Backbone

    Watching landscapes change instead of flying over them.

    From May to July 2025, I traveled across Europe by train, using an Interrail Global Pass. Trains allowed me to arrive gradually, watching landscapes shift in real time.

    The value of train travel is not only its lower emissions. It creates a transition space. A stretch of time where body and mind adjust together.

    On daytime trains, I watched light shift, weather change, temperatures rise and fall. On platforms, I shared waiting time with commuters, families, solo travelers. These ordinary moments brought back a sense of humanity to travel.

    Trains do not erase distance. They make distance understandable. For the body and mind, that is a form of gentleness.

    Traveling Europe by Train: Learning to Arrive Slowly →

    🚂Night Trains: Time Reimagined

    Sleeping while the land moves.

    Not every journey needs to pause at night.

    Night trains dissolve the opposition between movement and rest. Instead of losing time to airports, artificial light, and exhaustion, I sleep while the land continues to move.

    There is something profoundly gentle about waking up in a new country without rupture. No sudden dislocation. No abrupt transition. Just continuity.

    The body travels. The mind rests. And arrival feels aligned rather than imposed.

    Night Trains in Europe (coming soon)

    ⛴️Ferries: When the Sea Replaces the Sky

    The sea as transition, not empty space.

    Not every crossing requires flying.

    Ferries transform the sea into a visible passage rather than an empty gap between destinations. Standing on deck, watching the coastline slowly recede, I can feel departure happening in real time.

    Arrival unfolds the same way, gradually, perceptibly. The sea is no longer something to be bypassed. It becomes part of the journey itself. In that slowness, distance regains meaning.

    Ferries as a Gentle Crossing (coming soon)

    🚌🚏 Buses: Beyond the Railways

    Not romantic—but real.

    Not every place is connected by rail.

    In parts of the Balkans and other peripheral regions, buses are not a romantic choice, they are the only realistic one.

    They may not be punctual. They may not be comfortable. But they exist within the everyday lives of local people. Choosing them, for me, is a form of practical sustainability.

    Not pursuing ideal systems, but selecting lower impact, more human ways of moving within real conditions.

    When railways end, movement does not stop. It simply becomes more grounded.

    Traveling by Bus Beyond Railways (coming soon)

    🌆 Cities in Between: The New Space of Transition

    Slow travel happens in the in-between.

    The greatest gift of slower movement has been rediscovering the in between.

    Not the landmarks. Not the destinations. But the spaces between cities and countries that are usually ignored.

    In these transitions, I learned to accept uncertainty, delays, waiting. I began to understand that time is not wasted. It is a container. These experiences cannot be replicated by air travel.

    Cities in Between (coming soon)

    🍷🥂☕️🍻 Drinks on the Move: Culture in Motion

    Shared tables. Moving landscapes.

    Movement is not only about distance. It is also about ritual.

    Coffee on cold platforms at dawn. Beer after long days of walking. Wine in dining cars while fields blur past the window. These small drinks are not indulgences. They are anchors.

    They root me in a place without spectacle or performance. They invite conversation, or quiet observation. They turn anonymous transit spaces into temporary living rooms.

    Tasting something local between destinations is one of the most grounded forms of cultural connection. It is not about consumption. It is about presence.

    Drinks on the Move: Tasting Europe Between Destinations (coming soon)

    If travel is an extension of life, then sustainable travel is the choice to let that extension coexist rather than extract.

    Perhaps what we are truly trying to reach is not a particular city. But a way of moving that feels more aligned with ourselves, and more respectful of the world.

  • Traveling Europe by Interrail: Learning to Arrive Slowly 🛤️

    Traveling Europe by Interrail: Learning to Arrive Slowly 🛤️

    Trains as the backbone of low-carbon movement

    In 2025, from May to July, I traveled across Europe with a three-month Interrail pass. It was about choosing trains as the backbone of my movement, and letting distance, time, and transition become part of the journey.

    After walking the Camino, my relationship with movement had already changed. I no longer wanted to “arrive” abruptly. I wanted to enter places gently. Trains offered exactly that.

    A train station is not just a stop, it’s a pause between places.

    Unlike flying, where space collapses into departure gates and arrival halls, train travel stretches geography back into something human scaled. Cities don’t disappear all at once. Suburbs thin out. Factories become fields. Fields turn into forests. Sometimes forests rise into mountains.

    You don’t just arrive somewhere.
    You watch one place slowly become another.

    Watching landscapes change, instead of flying over them.

    Daytime train journeys became my favorite classroom. Sitting by the window, I learned how light changes across hours and regions, morning softness over farmland, harsh noon sun on platforms, clouds gathering near borders, rain streaking across the glass somewhere between countries.

    Weather mattered again. Temperature mattered. Time mattered.

    Inside the train, time stretches and the mind settles.

    Interrail made this rhythm possible. With one pass, I crossed borders without severing continuity. Different languages, different rail systems, but always the same ritual: finding my platform, reading the board, stepping onto the train.

    Stations became thresholds rather than stress points. Some were grand and echoing with iron and glass. Others were quiet, almost empty, with only a bench and a sign. Each one held a pause, a moment to breathe between places.

    Borders feel different when you cross them on the ground.

    On platforms and inside carriages, I encountered people I would never meet in the air. Commuters heading home. Elderly couples with grocery bags. Backpackers half asleep. Families sharing snacks. Solo travelers staring out the window, just like me.

    We didn’t always talk, but we shared time and space. Travel felt communal again.

    Travel becomes communal when you move at human speed.
    Not every train is polished, and that’s part of the story.

    Choosing trains was also a conscious environmental decision. Rail travel produces far lower carbon emissions than flying, especially within Europe. But beyond numbers, sustainability became something I could feel.

    Less rushing.
    Less disconnection.
    More presence.

    The journey itself was no longer something to endure. It became part of living.

    Choosing trains as the backbone of low-carbon travel.
    Movement without rushing.
    Travel that stays close to the land.

    What surprised me most was how trains changed my sense of arrival. By the time I stepped off, my body had already adjusted. My mind had slowed down. There was no jet lag between where I was and where I had been.

    I arrived whole.

    Traveling Europe by Interrail taught me that sustainable travel is not only about lowering emissions. It’s about aligning movement with the nervous system, with attention, with care.

    Trains didn’t just connect cities.
    They taught me how to arrive, slowly, gently, and with intention.

    This article is part of my Sustainable Travel Series, exploring how movement, culture, and low-carbon choices reshape the way we travel in Europe.

  • From Camino to Sustainable Travel 🥾

    From Camino to Sustainable Travel 🥾

    It has been almost a year since I set off from Zamora in late March and began walking the Camino de Santiago.

    Those three weeks on the Camino did not give me clear answers at the time. Instead, they planted something quietly. Over the months that followed, that seed slowly grew, reshaping how I understand travel, movement, and arrival.

    Spring on the Camino, when the river slows, my pace follows.

    In 2025 Spring, I chose to walk the Camino step by step with my own body. Later, I spent three months traveling by train and short-distance cruises within Europe, moving gradually from city to city. This rhythm made something very clear to me: when movement slows down, the body, emotions, and awareness are able to arrive together.

    I used to travel very differently. I moved frequently between continents, Europe, the United States, Asia, often within short periods of time. Those journeys were efficient and exciting, but they left me feeling fragmented. My body would already be in a new time zone, while my thoughts were still lingering on the continent I had just left.

    At dusk, the landscape changes slowly—an invitation to pause.

    The way I traveled in 2025 was not only about reducing carbon emissions. It became a shift in how I live. When I stopped rushing to cross distances and allowed myself time to truly enter a place, something inside me softened and aligned.

    On the Camino, I often walked alone. My footsteps landed on dirt paths and stone roads, passing through open fields, forests, streams, and quiet villages. The yellow arrows appeared again and again. They did not rush me or promise a destination, they simply pointed forward.

    The arrows don’t point to an ending, only to the next step.

    And yet, I was not always alone. Along the way, I met pilgrims from many different countries. Sometimes we walked together; sometimes we simply shared a short pause. Language was not always necessary. Under the same sun and with the same tired legs, understanding came easily.

    In the afternoons, we would stop at small village bars, cold, freshly poured beer, simple tapas on the table. Spanish sunlight spilled across the wood surfaces, a light breeze passed through the streets, and time felt generous. These ordinary moments became some of the clearest memories of the journey.

    Cold beer, olives, and a pause that feels exactly right.

    The train journeys and short European cruises that followed continued this same rhythm. Cities were no longer places I skipped over; they were connected, one by one. Outside the window, landscapes changed gradually, and my thoughts were given space to settle.

    This way of traveling feels gentler, to the environment, and to myself. It is not about achieving perfection or zero impact, but about making conscious choices before each movement.

    Now, I find myself drawn to this kind of travel, where movement is not only about reaching a destination, but about practicing a way of living that can be sustained over time.

    When the body, mind, and spirit arrive together, the world opens itself in quieter, kinder ways.

    This article is part of my Sustainable Travel Series, exploring how movement, culture, and low-carbon choices reshape the way we travel in Europe.

  • Interrail 2022 🗺️– 3 Months, 21 Countries, and a Journey That Changed Everything

    Interrail 2022 🗺️– 3 Months, 21 Countries, and a Journey That Changed Everything

    From May to August 2022, I embarked on my first major Interrail adventure — a 3-month train journey through 21 European countries that became the foundation for my travel lifestyle today. It wasn’t just a trip; it was a deep dive into the heart of Europe, its landscapes, cultures, and the unique rhythm of slow travel.

    Whether you’re dreaming of backpacking Europe by train, planning your own Interrail route, or simply curious about the magic of long-term travel, here’s my full review — with stats, highlights, and personal insights to inspire your journey.

    Trip Overview

    May–August 2022 · 21 countries visited
    Trains: 104 · Distance: 22,952 km · Time on trains: 11 days 14 hours 39 minutes

    This route was almost 95% by train, proving that Europe’s rail network is one of the most rewarding and sustainable ways to explore the continent. I used the Interrail Global Pass to weave together iconic capitals, hidden gems, and breathtaking natural landscapes.

    Countries Visited

    Here’s the full list of countries from my Interrail 2022 journey, in the order they appeared on my passport stamps and travel memories:

    1. 🇵🇹 Portugal
    2. 🇪🇸 Spain
    3. 🇫🇷 France
    4. 🇳🇱 Netherlands
    5. 🇩🇪 Germany
    6. 🇦🇹 Austria
    7. 🇮🇹 Italy
    8. 🇬🇷 Greece
    9. 🇹🇷 Turkey
    10. 🇷🇴 Romania
    11. 🇧🇬 Bulgaria
    12. 🇷🇸 Serbia
    13. 🇭🇺 Hungary
    14. 🇨🇿 Czech Republic
    15. 🇵🇱 Poland
    16. 🇨🇭 Switzerland
    17. 🇱🇺 Luxembourg
    18. 🇩🇰 Denmark
    19. 🇸🇪 Sweden
    20. 🇳🇴 Norway
    21. 🇫🇮 Finland

    Tip: If you’re planning a similar route, mixing major hubs like Paris and Rome with smaller cities such as Brno and Luxembourg will give you a richer, more balanced travel experience.

    Trip Highlights

    • 🏔 Scenic train rides across the Swiss Alps and Norwegian fjords
    • 🏞 Discovering the Lofoten Islands in Norway — a photographer’s dream
    • 🌌 Crossing the Arctic Circle in Sweden and experiencing the midnight sun
    • 🏛 Exploring ancient history in Athens, Greece, and Istanbul, Türkiye
    • 🌇 Sunset views over Ankara, Türkiye
    • 🌊 Coastal sunsets in Pisa, Italy
    • 🏰 Medieval old towns in Brno, Budapest, and Luxembourg City
    • 🍷 Regional wine & spirits tastings in Portugal, Spain, Italy, and the Balkans
    • 🎶 Immersing in Balkan culture in Belgrade, Sofia, and Bucharest
    • 🌉 Iconic cityscapes of Paris, Berlin, Rome, and Stockholm

    Why This Journey Was Special

    Interrail 2022 was my first long-distance, multi-country train journey — and it completely transformed my travel philosophy. At the time, I was studying philosophy and practicing the Socratic method as a way to engage more deeply with the world. My goal was to learn how to talk to strangers when traveling, ask thoughtful questions, and discover stories I could never find in guidebooks.

    This journey became my personal classroom on wheels. I learned how to balance fast-paced exploration with the art of slow travel, how to stay flexible with plans, and how to connect with local culture beyond the typical tourist experience. From brief chats in train stations to hours-long conversations on night trains, I became more confident in approaching strangers — and far less shy than when I started.

    It wasn’t just about ticking countries off a list; it was about living the journey. From quiet moments watching landscapes blur past the window to spontaneous detours into cities I’d never heard of, every train ride carried a sense of possibility.

    If you’re planning your own Interrail or Eurail trip, my biggest advice is to leave space for the unexpected. Some of my most memorable travel moments happened in places that weren’t on my original itinerary. Whether you’re seeking scenic train rides, cultural immersion, or meaningful human connection, Interrail offers the perfect blend of adventure and self-discovery.

    📍 Read more Interrail stories, route guides, and travel reflections at Travel with Spirits. Follow my journeys on Instagram @travelwithspirits.

  • Welcome to Travel with Spirits: Tasting the World, One Spirit at a Time

    Welcome to Travel with Spirits: Tasting the World, One Spirit at a Time

    Have you ever wondered what it means to truly taste a place—not just its food or drink, but its stories, its energy, and its soul?

    Welcome. I’m Megan, and this is Travel with Spirits—my personal project, spiritual compass, and ever-evolving conversation with the world.

    🌍 Why I Started This Blog

    Travel has always been more than sightseeing for me. It’s a dialogue. A shared moment with a stranger. A sip of something unknown. A street corner that teaches you something about yourself.

    This blog was born from my desire to document the intersection of travel, local spirits, and spiritual insight. From sipping mezcal under the stars in Oaxaca, to quiet reflections in Buddhist monasteries in Thailand, I started noticing something: every country has its own rhythm—and its own drink that carries centuries of wisdom, laughter, pain, and joy.

    Through Travel with Spirits, I want to capture those moments.

    🧭 My Mission

    To explore the world with curiosity and respect—one country, one story, one spirit at a time.

    I aim to:

    • Share authentic travel experiences across the globe
    • Celebrate local spirits and drinking cultures as a window into human connection
    • Reflect on spiritual and philosophical insights inspired by each place
    • Encourage dialogue and openness across cultures

    This isn’t just about alcohol—it’s about spirit, in every sense of the word.

    🔮 My Vision

    By the end of 2030, I aim to visit 100 countries—not to tick boxes, but to listen, taste, reflect, and connect.

    Through this journey, I want to build bridges:

    • Between ancient wisdom and modern travel
    • Between people from different paths
    • Between outer exploration and inner growth

    🤝 Let’s Collaborate

    Are you a traveler, writer, distiller, spiritual teacher, or someone building soulful experiences?
    I’m open to collaborations in travel, storytelling, spirits, or meaningful business ideas.

    Let’s create something together—something that inspires, connects, and expands.

    📲 Stay Connected

    Follow more moments and musings on Instagram:
    👉 @travelwithspirits

    Let’s raise a glass to the world—and everything it teaches us.

    Welcome aboard.
    This is just the beginning.

  • 👋 Hello World… and Welcome to Travel with Spirits

    👋 Hello World… and Welcome to Travel with Spirits

    This isn’t just a blog. It’s a toast to the world.

    I’m Megan — traveler, spirit lover, philosopher at heart, and the soul behind Travel with Spirits. Whether it’s a glass of local wine in the Croatian hills, a shot of rakija in the Balkans, or a quiet tea moment in a Buddhist temple, I believe every drink carries a story, and every journey carries meaning.

    🍷 Why “Travel with Spirits”?

    Because I don’t just travel for the places—I travel for the people, the stories, the flavors, and the philosophies that live within each destination.
    And yes, I love tasting local spirits (the drinkable kind), but also the deeper spirit of each place: its energy, rhythm, and soul.

    ✨ What to Expect Here

    In this space, you’ll find:

    • Travel reflections from around the world
    • Stories behind local drinks and traditions
    • Thoughts on spirituality, growth, and global connection
    • Conversations with strangers who became teachers
    • A countdown to 100 countries before 2030 🌍

    🤝 Let’s Connect

    This blog is just the beginning. I’d love to hear from you—whether you want to collaborate, share travel tips, or simply raise a virtual glass together.

    Follow me on Instagram: @travelwithspirits
    Or say hi: travelwithspirits@gmail.com

    Cheers to the road ahead.
    Let’s travel, sip, reflect, and grow—together. 🥂