Travel Letters
Thirty-three hours by coach. Too little sleep, almost no money left, and one final stretch still to go. Somewhere between Brussels and Oslo, I realise that getting home isn't always about arriving. Sometimes it's simply about trusting that you'll get there.
Travel Letters
Sometimes travelling isn't about collecting experiences. Sometimes it's about giving yourself permission to do almost nothing. A free coffee. A second-hand book. A walk through unfamiliar streets. A quiet hostel room. The world can wait until tomorrow.
Travel Letters
Sometimes the hardest part of travelling isn't arriving somewhere new. It's walking through the door and becoming one of the strangers.
Travel
From London's hidden workers' cafés to quiet walks along the Thames, this is a travel letter about slowing down, reconnecting with an old friend, and discovering a city through the moments that rarely make it into guidebooks.